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.

12. The King's Riddle, Part 2

CHAPTER TWELVE

The King's Riddle, Part 2

JANUARY 24, 1972

"What's it mean?" Remus asked. "To kill a god?"

He'd thought of nothing else for the better part of three weeks. It'd strike him like a dagger to the heart—the gravity, the tragedy of it all—in the middle of class sometimes, and he'd grind his teeth to keep the panic at bay. He'd found himself spacing off during breakfast or dinner, when James and Sirius were both animatedly plotting some nefarious prank or other. Remus would feel his eyes go hazy. The noise of the Great Hall would simmer down to nothing as suddenly, the only think he'd be able to see was Sirius Black in shimmering, silver armour, sword drawn, ready to slay the dragon. He'd see it with such vivid clarity—taste the venomous metal of Sirius's armour with each inhale—that he'd wonder if he'd been having some terror-induced fever dream, right there in the middle of the Great Hall.

Because no matter now many times Remus blinked, the image never left his mind. Sirius was King Arthur, on a perilous, futile quest for the Holy Grail. He was Beowulf, D'Artagnan, and St. George, off to slay the dragon.

He was Adam, standing before the snake, damned to take the fruit.

Remus felt as though he hadn't slept since before the full moon—eons ago, when the world was still a decent place, save for the wolf that tore him to pieces every month. Before he'd found Sirius Black on the bathroom floor bloody, beaten, and broken.

From behind her desk, McGonagall stared at him with wide, cat-like green eyes, her spine rigid. Rather intelligently, she said, "What?"

Remus forced himself to concentrate enough to repeat the question.

A perfectly sarcastic eyebrow went up. Remus was privileged enough to watch in real time as Professor McGonagall schooled her expression back to neutral. "What, in Merlin's name, are you writing your essay about, Lupin?"

Technically, given that he was sitting detention with McGonagall for his behaviour in Care of Magical Creatures, he was supposed to be writing something of a reflection on said behaviour that he'd yet to formally apologise for. He had no plans on doing so.

Remus looked down at his parchment and the words he'd written over and over and over and over. He'd traced the words with his pen, scribbled them out and written them again. He'd circled, underlined, and jabbed his pen into the parchment so hard that it'd left indentations.

Sirius Black, how tragically flawed

Thought he might be the boy to kill God

Now Nothing's dictating

And that dark kiss is waiting

For the murder of the boy who killed God.

After his and Sirius's confrontation with Peeves, Remus had spent the next several nights after detention searching the dark corridors for the poltergeist. When he'd finally tracked Peeves down, Remus had goaded Peeves into repeating the verse over and over, until Remus had it memorised.

Now, it haunted his every heartbeat.

Surreptitiously, Remus covered his mad-man scribbles before McGonagall could see what he'd written. He didn't need her assuming he'd lost his mind. Not when McGonagall may have, possibly—impossibly—become his most vocal advocate among the staff.

Though, he'd yet to forgive her for sending Sirius quite literally into the maw of the beast.

"Wand-crafting," Remus lied, in reference to his essay. "Is it a metaphor?"

"You have an actual magic wand on your desk, Lupin. I hardly think—"

"No. Killing God. A god. Either one. Is that a metaphor or is it an actual possibility?"

McGonagall looked as though she had a thousand and four questions on the tip of her tongue, but after a moment of consideration, she walked around her desk, crossed one hand over the other, and leaned against the solid mahogany.

"I suppose, Lupin," she said, "that would depend upon which religion or spirituality one subscribes."

"All of them. Any of them," Remus replied.

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line. She took her time before answering. "Are you familiar with Melville's Moby Dick, Lupin?"

Not prepared at all for the question, Remus blinked. "Um."

"He's a Muggle author," McGonagall explained, unnecessarily. "I find that, sometimes, on very special occasions, stories and literature are the source and summit of all religion. And those that study these stories, the priests and priestesses of the written word."

Remus's jaw dropped.

"Have you heard the tale of Captain Ahab?"

He shook himself a little, tried to focus on McGonagall's question rather than her startling reverence of Muggle literature. "Um. Yes. Well, I know the story. It's one of my mum's favourites. I have her copy in my trunk."

In truth, Remus loathed Moby Dick as much as one could possibly loathe a book whilst still being in ardent opposition of the act of burning a book and erasing it from existence. He'd tried starting it more times than he could possibly count—and mostly at his mother's insistence—but he'd never managed to stay awake beyond the first five chapters. He found the narration incredibly grating and pretentious, even for a classic.

"I imagine," McGonagall said, "that to endeavour to kill a god of any sort bears a striking similarity to Ahab's quest for the white whale."

Futile. Perilous. Deadly.

Jesus Christ.

"Oh." It was all he could muster.

McGonagall frowned. Stress lines creased around unblinking eyes. "Was there a point to this metaphysical exercise, Lupin?"

"No, ma'am," Remus replied, far too quickly. "Just curious."

Remus didn't have even the smallest of hopes that she actually believed him.

"I suppose," McGonagall said, fixing her deadly gaze on Remus, "that if one were to sail into the open ocean hellbent on the murder of the white whale, one damn-well better have his friends next to him, when the storm breaks loose."

Remus swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."

JANUARY 27, 1972

Sirius recognised this place.

Well, all the dancing, faceless people were hard to mistake for anything other than fragments of his own shattered mind.

He still had yet to decide if this was a nightmare.

The faceless bride and groom took centerstage as the dance floor cleared for them. A waltz—or what Sirius assumed to be a waltz—began, but Sirius couldn't hear a single note. The groom took the bride's hand, kissed it, then bowed deeply before her, his other hand extended behind him in the most dramatic way possible.

Sirius found himself laughing at the groom, then covering it with a snort, and it was strange, because Sirius knew he shouldn't laugh. He didn't feel like laughing.

The weight of the world was so goddamned heavy these days.

The groom spun the bride in a circle. Then, with all the mirth and merriment due to him on a night like this, the groom grabbed his bride by the waist and lifted her for all to see.

Sirius didn't dare look away. Even faceless, she was incomprehensibly beautiful. He could almost see her face, as the groom spun her again, but her exact features were still veiled in shadows. He could see her lips, though, painted a pale pink, as she mouthed the words, "I love you", to her new husband. If he concentrated, he could just make out a splattering of freckles in between the shadows that danced across her face. And maybe—maybe—just a glimpse of red hair.

A pair of arms wrapped around Sirius's middle as someone pressed close against his back. The touch did nothing to him, save kick his heartbeat up, and Merlin, Sirius revelled in the feeling of safety—of… Love. He closed his eyes, drowning in the scent of rain and starlight, ready and willing to spend the rest of oblivion wrapped in the comfort of these arms.

A scarred hand found its way under Sirius's jacket. A chin rested on his shoulder.

"That'll be us someday," a raspy voice whispered in his ear. Sirius felt the head on his shoulder incline towards the bride and groom. A second later, Sirius felt a soft kiss on the side of his neck.

Remus.

Merlin.

Revelling—bloody-fucking dying—at the feeling of Remus's hands on him, Sirius reached up and twisted his fingers in Remus's ridiculously curly hair. Just because he fucking could. It was his fucking dream and no cursed tattoo was going to stop him, god-fucking-damnit.

"Dibs on the dress," Sirius said, and it came out far breathier than he intended.

Remus laughed into his neck. "White's not your colour, love."

The arms around his waist loosened slightly as Sirius turned to face Remus. He found himself gazing up at a slightly older, yet familiar face and haunting, beautiful golden eyes. Sirius reached out a hand to trace the pink and silver scars across Remus's nose. His fingers danced over the constellations of freckles splattered across Remus's cheeks, travelling down to follow the line of the scar that split Remus's upper lip.

"Hi," Sirius breathed, not moving his fingers from Remus's lips. He felt the muscles tug at the scar beneath his fingertips as Remus smiled down at him.

"Hi, love." Remus's eyes were molten flame. "Dance with me?"

"Won't we ruin their big moment?" Sirius jerked his head towards the bride and groom.

"Of course," Remus said, smugly. "Can't let them have all the fun."

There, again—just like the last time he'd had this dream—at the end of the sentence was… something. A name, perhaps, but not his own. Or, at least not one Sirius's mind recognised enough to actually interpret beyond a vague awareness that something was said.

But the way Remus said it, the way the syllables rolled off Remus's tongue…

It was as melodic and heartfelt as the song that hadn't yet been written. It could have been part of the love song, as slow and as perfect as the one the bride and groom danced to across the room.

In his heart of hearts, in the very depths of his tattered soul, Sirius knew the name Remus used was meant for him.

Remus said it again—a question this time—and Sirius tried desperately to comprehend the syllables.

Once more, nothing. Just empty air where a melody was meant to be. It was… rather disquieting, to say the least.

"Sirius?" Remus said, a nearly imperceptible frown creasing the spot between his eyes.

Instead of responding, Sirius grabbed Remus's hand—because he fucking could—and dragged him towards the dance floor. When they were close enough to the newly-weds, he heard Remus let out a laugh—all mirth and mischief and mayhem—before two strong arms once more wrapped around Sirius's waist.

The next thing Sirius knew, his feet were no longer touching the ground. Remus spun him around, hands on Sirius's hips, much like the groom had spun the bride.

Sirius may or may not have squealed in terror and delight. Around them, Sirius felt the laughter from the crowd, felt the rhythm, the thrumming of the silent song that he couldn't begin to comprehend. But it was there, in the beat of his heart, in the taste of the music just out of reach—as real and as solid as the miracle of Remus Lupin holding him in his arms.

Eventually, Remus stopped spinning and his arms folded beneath Sirius's hips, bearing Sirius's weight as though it were nothing. Sirius rested his hands on Remus's shoulders for support. From this angle—held off the ground and towering over everyone—Sirius looked down at Remus and whatever laughter that had bubbled in his throat a moment before died on the tip of his tongue.

There was nothing funny about the way Remus looked at him. Eyes of golden fire and whiskey left in the sun stared up at Sirius as though he was a the only thing in the universe. Remus's lip twisted upward in a smirk, and then…

Then, he was kissing Sirius.

It was nothing like the few kisses they'd shared the last time Sirius had found this in-between place, this dream-maybe-nightmare. This was…

Devastating.

Remus's tongue was in his mouth, breathing, tasting, devouring him from the inside out. Merlin, Remus tasted light starlight and words not yet written and Sirius knew he'd claw a hole in the fabric of the universe if he'd somehow be allowed to stay in this moment forever.

One of Remus's hands snaked up his spine, pulling him closer still, while his other remained firmly on Sirius's arse, supporting his weight. Sirius had half a mind to wrap his legs around Remus's waist, but he refrained, just in case he accidentally toppled them over and ruined the moment. Instead, Sirius yanked at Remus's hair, momentarily surfacing for air, before adjusting the angle and taking control of the kiss, matching Remus's enthusiasm blow for blow.

In his periphery, he was vaguely aware of the empty, nothing-noise of the crowd. Someone—the groom, maybe—slapped Remus's shoulders. The gesture was followed by the trill and rhythm of silent laughter that Sirius couldn't be bothered to care about.

Nothing made sense, in this shadowy dreamland, this in-between place, save for the taste of Remus Lupin on his tongue.

Remus nipped at his lips, their teeth clacking together, and Sirius could feel the growl rumbling though Remus's chest. Remus bit down on Sirius's bottom lip, tugging on it as he slowly pulled away.

Sirius couldn't think. Any attempt at words in any sort of human language vacated his brain and left no notice of return. He clawed at Remus's hair, pulled at his shoulders, trying to drag him closer once more. Remus, the bastard, was taller and stronger than Sirius and seemed to revel in the desperation that must have been written all over Sirius's face.

With a chuckle, Remus lowered Sirius to his own two feet.

"Don't let go, Re." His voice may have been edged with a note of panic, but Sirius couldn't bring himself to care. He had absolutely no confidence in his legs to support his own weight. Not after that.

This only seemed to make Remus laugh and really… his laughter could have been proof of a higher power. It made Sirius melt into the floor for a whole different reason.

"Never," Remus whispered, leaning his forehead against Sirius's.

One by one, the faceless crowd faded back into the shadows of future memories from whence they came, until even the bride and groom where whisps of nothing on the breeze.

One of Remus's hands fell to Sirius's hip, dragging him impossibly close. Merlin, Sirius melted into him. There was nothing else he could do. Resisting the gravitational pull of Remus Lupin was a Herculean task.

Remus's other hand found Sirius's, as he led them in a dance.

"What year are you from?" Remus asked, nudging Sirius with his nose, but doing nothing to otherwise break the spell and rhythm of their dance.

"1972," Sirius breathed into Remus's neck.

Sirius felt Remus tense up, his heart-rate thundering underneath the palm of Sirius's hand.

"When in 1972?" There was tension in Remus's voice that had no business being in a place like this. Unless… Unless this was some twisted nightmare after all.

"January," Sirius said. "You found me in the bathroom."

"Christ." Remus's eyes squeezed shut. Then, so quiet Sirius knew he probably wasn't meant to hear, Remus said, "I can still taste the blood."

Sirius didn't know what to make of that.

Once more, Remus leaned his forehead against Sirius's. "Everything's about to change, Sirius. You're tearing up the script and burning pages as we speak. The future is waiting for you to rewrite the ending."

And maybe, if he breathed in deep or was capable of taking his eyes off Remus for more than a heartbeat, he'd see the flames dancing at the edges of the dream.

"That's what it means, Sirius." Remus's voice drowned the flames, stopped the fire from devouring them whole. "To kill a god is to write your own ending. You decide where you go from here."

Sirius frowned up at him. "What if I don't want to decide? What if I don't want to burn it all down?"

Remus smirked. "I don't believe that for one goddamned second."

Sirius didn't budge. "Hypothetically, then."

Remus's expression softened. "Then… Then she wins. Then we obey the words and destines already written for us."

Sirius swallowed, despite the not-so-proverbial noose around his neck. He didn't even bother wiping away the tears that welled in his eyes. "I can't lose the possibility of this, Remus. Of us, like this, in this place. If it means letting Fate kill me instead—"

Remus silenced him with another kiss. It tasted like burning embers and the ashes of the aftermath, and Merlin, Sirius knew he'd rather burn with the heavens than never touch Remus like this again.

"I told you, Sirius." Remus's breath tickled his lips. "You and I are endgame. In every version of reality."

"Promise?"

Sirius felt the earthquake of Remus's laughter beneath his fingers.

"I solemnly swear it." Remus leaned back just far enough to plant a kiss on Sirius's forehead. "Time to wake up, Siri."

"Is it the vipers again?" he asked, but he wasn't scared. How could he be, when Remus held him so close?

"No, love. No vipers tonight." He kissed Sirius one last time, and Sirius prayed he could remember the taste for the rest of forever. "Just a friend and a blanket of stars."

He opened his eyes to darkness and an empty bed. Sirius reached over, as he so often did in the middle of the night, searching for Remus's hand—Merlin, his fingertips—but the other side of the pillow wall was cold. Sirius was fairly sure that the covers hadn't even been pulled back.

Though Sirius couldn't see more than a few inches in front of him, he could taste the crisp, cold air coming from the open window.

Just a friend and a blanket of stars.

Sirius smiled to himself, crawled out of bed, and yanked the duvet off before making his way out the open window.

Remus—his Remus—bathed in starlight, sat crosslegged on the roof, a blanket on his lap. Somehow—impossibly, given the darkness—he held a book in his hands and seemed to be reading by the light of the rising moon.

"Hi," Sirius croaked, taking his place beside Remus and waving a warming charm over the both of them. He didn't know how Remus could've possibly been out here without one. Sirius could taste the frost with every inhale. "How long have you been out here?"

Sirius waved his wrist and cast a Timus. It was after three in the morning.

"Couple of hours," Remus replied. "Didn't want to wake you. You haven't been sleeping."

"Neither have you." He'd lost track of the nights he'd felt Remus lying awake beside him, the number of times they'd lain there in silence, letting their own thoughts and waking nightmares devour the darkness between them.

"Hm," Remus acknowledged, closing his book. Sirius couldn't quite make out the title in the dark.

The silence stretched between them, enveloping the castle, the moors, swallowing the world whole. Sirius normally didn't mind the silence—he'd danced to it, revelled in it, just minutes ago, years from now—but this felt different.

There were too many words left unsaid.

"Do you ever dream of something you know you're not meant to remember?" Sirius asked the silence.

"Yes. At least once a month," Remus said, simply. Sirius looked at him. "Though not, I assume, in the way you mean."

Sirius wasn't entirely certain what he meant. In the waxing moonlight, he couldn't stop picturing the scars Remus didn't yet have.

"I dreamed about you, Remus," Sirius said.

Remus closed his book and turned fully to look at Sirius. Remus smirked. "Was I wearing clothes?"

Sirius snorted at his own question thrown back in his face.

"We were dancing," Sirius replied, because although there were definitely clothes involved, he wasn't exactly going to fess up to the rest of the dream. Merlin, he didn't have the capacity to even begin to process that right now.

"To a song that hasn't been written yet." At Sirius's startled sputter, Remus elaborated, "You talk in your sleep too, you know."

He had known that, actually. Regulus used to complain about it almost every night, when he used to sneak into Sirius's room after the last torch went out at Grimmauld Place.

Sirius could feel those same, lingering flames flickering away and boring a hole in his heart. A void—a nothing—that used to be something like love and devotion. It ached and stole his breath, because deep in the recesses of his soul—in the fiery pits of brimstone and nightmare and nothing—Sirius came face to face with his greatest sin.

He'd abandoned Regulus—his brother—to a pit of vipers.

Bargains had been made, oaths sworn, and magical contracts bound in blood and ruin, but at the end of the day, it'd never erase what he'd done.

If he were truly any sort of Gryffindor, he would have endured, if in the end it would have spared his brother's fate.

Because… because the writing was on the wall, stitched into that damned tapestry in Grimmauld Place. If abandoned to his own fate, Regulus would be a slave to his destiny, even as Sirius liberated himself from his own damnation.

"Sirius?" Remus said, leaning into him. A jolt of… something—fire, maybe—shot though Sirius at the contact. Not pain, exactly—not with the duvet separating them. Just… something. "Where'd you go?"

"Hm?" Sirius swallowed and pushed aside thoughts of his brother. He was certain he'd revisit the subject in his nightmares.

Remus stared at him, face alight with wonder and scars, his eyes almost golden in the darkness around them. Every fibre of his being craved to reach out and touch, trace the magic leyline scars, taste the—

Salazar's fucking tits.

No. No. Now was not the time to deal with that. Not while other monsters and unknown gods still lurked in the shadows.

"Do you believe in fate, Remus?"

He hadn't actually meant to ask the question, nor did he really know where it came from, but Remus seemed entirely unfazed by it.

"I wish every damn day that I didn't," Remus replied. "But I've seen her hands weaving the chords of life far too often to live in denial."

"How very reasonable of you," Sirius said, but the sarcasm inherent in the words failed to translate when he spoke them aloud.

"Yes, well. Perhaps I'll go off and join Ravenclaw after all." Remus toyed with the frayed cover of his book.

Sirius snorted, because that was fucking ridiculous. Remus Lupin was the bravest of all of them. Not like James, who bled crimson and gold, nor Lily, their chosen king, but… brave—not fearless—despite the reality of their waking nightmares. Remus and Gryffindor simply belonged in the same sentence. It just made sense.

"Apart from your rather extensive horde of Muggle literature," Sirius said, nodding to the frayed and yellowing book in Remus's lap, "you're nothing like those uptight arseholes." Remus scoffed derisively and Sirius knew he wasn't going to win an argument against Remus's own self-deprecating inner monologue, so he changed the subject. "What are you reading, anyway?"

Remus sighed heavily and held up the book.

Just because he could—and not at all to show off—Sirius flicked his first two fingers together and summoned a bright red flame, which he cradled in the palm of his hand. The fiery light was just enough to illuminate the well-loved cover of the book.

Sirius stared at the cover in silence for a solid minute, until the flame in his hand petered out and died, the darkness once more swallowing them whole.

"Is that… pornography, Remus?!"

Remus's laugh was so sudden—so genuine—that it seemed to startle both of them. "What?! No, that's—"

"Liar. It literally has 'dick' in the title."

"Ugh. That's the—"

"Gimme your porn book, Remus," Sirius demanded, already reaching for the book. He pried it from Remus's hands. Well, not so much pried. Remus let go as soon as Sirius tugged on it, so as to avoid contact. "Are there pictures?"

Sirius squinted in the darkness, thumbing through the worn pages.

"No, there aren't—"

"Then is it one of those romance books Marlene told me about? She said Evans has a secret stash, but Evans won't share them with me. She said they're private, which, really, is just rude. Porn belongs to the masses. You'd share your porn books with me, right, Remus?"

"What?!" Remus's voice might have squeaked a little. Sirius thought it was adorable. "Jesus Christ, Sirius, it's about a whale!"

Sirius's eyes narrowed. "Is that a euphemism for his dick?"

Remus groaned and tilted his head back, sharing his grief and lamentations with the waxing moon. "That book—" Remus said the word book the same way someone might say toe jam or scraggily ear hair. "That book is utter shit. I'd sooner throw it off this tower."

"So… No porn, then?"

"No porn, Sirius."

"Hm." Sirius wasn't sure if he believed him. "Why are you reading it if you hate it so much?"

"I am trying to ascertain the viability of futile quests against whales and/or gods."

The mood change was so abrupt, Sirius very nearly choked on it. "Um… what?"

"Nothing." Remus heaved another sigh. "It's my mum's favourite, that book. She always said it was frightfully romantic to go on an adventure on the high seas."

Sirius wasn't entirely sure he was following the conversation, though he was fairly certain they weren't talking about a damn whale. Or porn. Unfortunately. Still, he said, "But you disagree."

"I think," Remus said, voice thick, "that the seas are filled with monsters and the quest to destroy them… It's heartbreaking, damning, to choose a quest like that. It's not worth the ransom price."

Sirius grimaced, because, he, more than most, happened to know a thing or two about ransom prices.

How can he ever face another? The death-marked prince has killed his brother.

"Maybe it's not about choice," Sirius heard himself say. When bright, golden eyes flicked to his in shock—in aberration at the desolation in his words—he continued. "Maybe it's about resignation. Surrender. Inevitability."

"Nothing's inevitable, Sirius."

"You're wrong."

Although Remus waited—stared at him, as though starving for answers Sirius knew he'd never have—this time, Sirius refused to elaborate.

You and I are inevitable. In every version of reality.

Sirius wouldn't risk breathing life—finality—into such a dream, lest he curse it by letting the words leave his tongue. The dream was to fragile, too precious, to take that kind of risk.

"Sirius?" Remus's voice seemed to echo over the castle, despite it being no louder than a breath of air.

"Hm?"

"Sirius, I—" Remus opened and closed his mouth, stuttered out a few more incoherent syllables, before cutting himself off with a frustrated growl. He tried again. "I got a letter from my mum."

Sirius's brows pinched. He didn't remember any owls coming for anyone recently, besides James. "When?"

"This morning?" It was far to much of a question.

"Liar." It was far too much of an answer.

"She's sick."

Sirius wondered if that was true. And, more importantly, what kind of wold-ending nightmare might compel Remus to invent that sort of lie.

"I need to leave, to be with her. I don't know how long this time, but… it'll be a few days. At least. And I don't know if… Well, I do, but—Christ, I'm not going to be here for Lily's party. I need to… go home. Be with my mum."

Remus was babbling and Sirius just… let him.

Let Remus lie right to his face.

The lie festered between them. Neither of them were brave enough to tear it apart. Not now. It was just allowed to exist out of… necessity, more than anything else.

After a long, devastating silence, Sirius said, "Are you ever going to tell me the truth? About your scars, why you leave? Why your damn eyes change colour? Any of it?"

Sirius fully expected more excuses, more half-truths and tricks of circumstances. He expected wide eyes and panic: a squealing rat with its tail caught in a trap, desperately wising it'd been its neck instead. He expected a prayer, a plea, a bargain for the end of torment and questions.

What he got instead was an acknowledgement of the lie. Not a detailed confession or admission of guilt, but still, it was… something.

"The night we graduate. Remember?" Remus said, trying to force levity into his words. "We have a date."

A… date?

"That's in six years, Remus," Sirius deadpanned, rather than allowing himself to fixate on anything else.

Remus stared at him for a long moment before he said, "You'll figure it out long before then. Of that I have no doubt."

There was… cataclysm in Remus's eyes.

Not knowing what else to do, how else to convince Remus that he'd already lived through hell and that whatever it was didn't fucking matter, Sirius pressed close to Remus's side, leaning into him from shoulder to hip. It… tingled, twinged a bit, but with the duvet separating them, the vague potential of pain hardly even registered.

There were far more devastating things, he'd learned, than soul-shattering pain and cursed tattoos.

"Would it be so bad if I knew?" Sirius asked, trying and mostly succeeding in keeping the pout out of his voice.

Remus's eyes squeezed shut. "I don't know anymore."

"But you're… afraid?" Sirius guessed.

"Petrified," Remus croaked.

And Sirius Black understood that, too, better than anyone.

So, instead of pestering Remus, instead of voicing any one of the thousands of questions he'd already asked, Sirius shifted, wiggled around until he freed a corner of the duvet. He managed to drape the loosened corner over his head—his hair be damned—and pulled it tight to form a hood. Satisfied, Sirius leaned his head against Remus's shoulder.

Remus tensed, for just a moment, apparently waiting for Sirius to jerk back from the pain. Except he didn't—wouldn't—because he was safe and this… this was worth so much more than pain.

After recognising that Sirius wasn't going anywhere, Remus reached out and wrapped his right arm around Sirius's shoulders. When Sirius still didn't pull away, Remus tugged him gently, prompting Sirius to lay back against the roof, with his head pillowed on Remus's chest, their bodies separated by the duvet. Remus's other hand tangled in the duvet, pulling Sirius as close as possible.

Sirius felt Remus draw in a breath, then shudder with the exhale, his breath faintly whistling in the frosty air.

"Are you cold?" Sirius heard himself say, though he wasn't about to move. They couldn't stay like this all night—eventually the pain would come back to haunt him, even with the duvet—but if they went back inside, there'd be an infinite chasm of pillows between them and Sirius wasn't ready for that. He needed to feel—to touch, as much as he possibly could—to measure the steady cadence of Remus's heartbeat.

He needed it more than the air in his lungs.

"Not even a little," Remus breathed, though Sirius was sure then warming charm had worn off a while ago.

"You know," Sirius told the stars above them, because he could see nothing else. "Nothing could ever be so bad. No monster too frightening or secret too terrible. I'm not going anywhere, Remus."

Sirius could feel the tremor in Remus's words. "You say that now, but—"

"And I'll say it forever."

"You don't know what you're promising, Sirius."

"I'm promising you, Re. I solemnly swear it. Nothing will change this. Us."

"Sirius—"

"You've seen my nightmares. My horrible, dark secrets, and yet you're still here. You still… fought for me."

Remus seemed to consider his words carefully. "You haven't told me everything."

Sirius wasn't going to deny it. "No, I haven't. But we have a date for that." To his immense relief, Remus laughed softly, barely loud enough to hear, but Sirius felt the rumble in Remus's chest.

Sirius inched imperceptibly closer. "Think about my secret. Picture the worst thing—the absolute worst thing you can imagine—"

"Are we talking about crossdressing or getting thrown in Azkaban here, Sirius?"

"Hush, you." But Sirius laughed, despite the fact that Azkaban wasn't so far outside of the realm of possibilities, given his sins. "Worst thing possible, would you leave?"

The consequences of such a question hadn't occurred to him before the words left his mouth.

Remus could destroy him with his answer.

But…

"No," Remus said. "No. Nothing would change."

Sirius could have howled his triumph to the stars. "You're everything, Remus. They'd have to throw me in Azkaban for you to get rid of me. I'm not going anywhere."

For a brief moment, Sirius wondered if he'd wandered back into his dream, back into the in-between, where nothing bothered to exist except him and Remus Lupin. It was perfect, this moment, and if Sirius had the capacity to will away the ticking clock, the mounting pain, the gnawing weight of fate and tomorrow, he wouldn't hesitate. Anything, to stay in Remus's arms, just one moment more.

Remus let out another shuddering breath, then pulled Sirius close, fusing them together. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, fought back tears, because it was almost too much, too close, too—

Then, Sirius felt the press of Remus's lips on his forehead, just between his eyes, and… and it didn't hurt. Or, maybe it did. Perhaps it burned with the fires of eternity, but Sirius didn't care.

This was a dream, a promise.

This was inevitable.

JANUARY 28, 1972

"Are you absolutely sure we had to miss dinner for this? Can't we do this after?"

Sirius paused, peering around the next corridor. "Shut it, Pettigrew. You're supposed to be invisible."

"Yes, but, see, they were serving mashed potatoes."

"They always serve mashed potatoes."

"Not these kind. They're American or something. Lots of butter."

"It's a potato. They all taste the same."

Peter let out an affronted gasp. "This, coming from the same person who hates chocolate. Chocolate! No appreciation of flavour whatsoever. Either that, or you just enjoy being miserable."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Throw the damn stone, Pete. I'm pretty sure you ate half of Hickory Dave's last meal. Fried grits and pickle juice, was it?"

Triumphant, Sirius turned down the empty hallway.

"Left, Sirius! I said left," came Remus's voice. Sirius retraced his steps, this time, turning veering down the opposite corridor. "And, for the record, I agree with Peter. Not about the fried grits. That's just… wrong."

Sirius spun on his heel, expertly and—dare he say, suavely—walking backwards as he stuck his tongue out at the empty space behind him.

They'd agreed, mere moments after Remus had explained the plan (twice, for Peter's sake), that it'd be best if Sirius remain outside the invisibility cloak. For one, and most practically, with four of them under there, he'd be smashed up against both Remus and James, which would certainly mean excruciating pain and thus put a damper on their adventure. Secondly, they all agreed that although he was exposed and out in the open, Sirius was the most capable of talking his way out of any trouble, should they encounter a professor or Filch.

Suave, Sirius concluded, smugly.

That was, of course, only half a second before he accidentally walked backwards into the statue of the one-eyed witch.

The one-eyed witch's hand placement was rather… unfortunate. She was stooped over enough and Sirius was just short enough that her scraggily, stoney, cold hand reached right between his legs.

Sirius squealed, scrambling away, his magic flaring and sparking, hands raised at the witch in his panic.

Behind him, just… hysterical laughter.

Remus whipped the invisibility cloak off the three of them. James was bent in two, half-leaning on Peter, laughing his arse off.

"You know, Sirius. In some cultures, copping a feel like that means you're married," Remus deadpanned.

Sirius straightened, smoothed back his hair. Tried to regain what dignity he had. "Yes, well." Sirius took a step closer to the witch. Stood on his tip-toes to look her in the eye. "I could do worse. She's far prettier than most of the pureblood girls my mother keeps trying to sell me off to."

At that, Remus grimaced.

James, though, didn't miss a beat. "You mean like Kayla Greengrass?"

Sirius tried to conjure a face to fit the name. The name, he knew. He was sure he'd met her, sure his mother had mentioned her. But still, he asked,"Who?"

"The Slytherin who's got a crush on you."

"What?" Sirius wheezed.

"What?!" Remus snapped.

"She's blonde," James supplied.

"And pretty," Peter added.

Sirius wrinkled his nose. "Gross."

James narrowed his eyes. Crossed his arms. "Why is that gross?"

Sirius wasn't going to touch that one. Instead, he went with, "Aren't we supposed to be focusing on your love life, Potter?"

"Yeah, I thought there was supposed to be a tunnel," Peter said, leaning around them to get a better look at the one-eyed witch. "All I see is Sirius's wife."

Sirius groaned miserably.

Remus stepped forward, drawing his wand. "All right, lads. From henceforth, all secret passages in and around Hogwarts—"

"There's more of them?" Peter piped up.

"At least seven," Sirius said.

"Shut it," James whispered. "He used the word henceforth. He's being serious."

"No, I'm Sirius."

"Sirius," Remus said, voice flat. "I will throw you off the roof."

Sirius grinned, wickedly. He winked, his tongue poking out.

Remus visibly swallowed, eyes lingering just long enough to make Sirius preen, before clearing his throat.

"As I was saying, all secret passages in and out of Hogwarts are a Marauders-level secret. If word gets out and too many people start using them, Filch will make sure they're closed off and then no one can use them. Which would significantly hinder any and all future butterbeer acquisition plans. No one knows but us."

"And our king," Sirius added, mostly because he was pretty sure she already knew. Remus had said both he and Lily went to Hogsmeade over the holidays.

"And our king," Remus confirmed.

Both James and Peter nodded in agreement.

Without any further ado, Remus raised his wand, pointed at the witch, and said, "Dissendium."

The smell hit him before anything else. Sirius almost gagged. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, the scent of the room coating the inside of his nose. Mildew mixed with damp, mixed with—

"So much damn chocolate," Sirius moaned in dismay amidst the thousand-some-odd crates in the basement of Honeydukes.

"Want to try some, Sirius?" James snarked, prying open the nearest box and promptly tossing a chocolate bar to Remus.

"I am so damn allergic."

"Yes, but what a glorious way to go," Remus said, ripping open the wrapping and breaking off a large piece.

"I'd rather eat fried grits and pickle juice."

"Ha!" That was Peter, vindicated.

"We're here for butterbeer," Sirius groused. "First one to find some gets a prize."

"What kind of prize?" Peter asked.

"I'm not snogging you again, Black," James said, opening another box. "Choose something else."

Sirius twirled his fingers at the box closest to him. It was filled with Chocolate fucking Frogs.

"I don't care, Jamie," Sirius said, half-gagging. He quickly made his way across the room, blindly fumbling open another box. Little sugar butterflies scattered out of the box, flying in his face, and consequently, all over the basement. "I will literally do anything if it gets us out of here faster."

James and Peter paused in their own searches, shared a look. Remus had yet to open a single box, but something sparked in his golden eyes.

"Will you do my homework for a week?" Peter asked.

"Sure," Sirius said, barely containing an eye-roll. Between him and James, they practically always did Peter's homework anyways.

"Will you go to the Gryffindor-Slytherin match next week?" James asked. "You've been at Hogwarts for almost six months and haven't been to a Quidditch game. Sirius, it hurts my soul."

There was a reason for that. Sirius hated crowds. Still, he said. "Yes, fine, whatever."

Sirius opened another box. More fucking chocolate. Fudge this time.

Sirius Black was going to die from second-hand chocolate.

"Merlin's fucking tits, where's the fucking butterbeer?!" Sirius cried in dismay.

He turned to Remus. Who still hadn't moved.

"You're not helping," Sirius said.

"I'm weighing my options."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "What do you want if you find the butterbeer?"

Remus shrugged. "Nothing, really."

"Spit it out, Lupin."

Remus crossed his arms. Nodded at James and Peter. "Both of their things."

"How very nice of you, Remus," Sirius snarked. "What else?"

"I want you to talk to Snape at the party."

Sirius, very eloquently, said, "Huh?"

"Talk to him. He's going to be awkward and lonely. Lily will be thrilled he's there, but she'll be busy with other people too. He'll be a Slytherin in a room of Gryffindors, so… Talk to him."

Sirius groaned. "I already invited him. Isn't that enough?"

"Not if you want to get out of here before you drown in chocolate."

Sirius crossed his arms. Pouted. "Why?"

"Because I want to know if he's worth saving." That made Sirius pause. James and Peter looked up from their respective non-butterbeer-containing crates. Remus sighed. "Lily thinks he is. I want to know if she's right."

She's wrong. Sirius had never been more fundamentally sure of his ability to read a person than he was of his assessment of Severus Snape. He knew exactly what type of person Snape was. A tragic childhood or sop story wouldn't change a damn thing.

They all had tragic childhoods. It didn't mean they all chose to be monsters.

"Fine," Sirius said, simply because he wanted nothing more than to march right back up to Gryffindor tower and shove the nozzle of a firehose up his nose to clear out the smell.

He fucking hated chocolate.

Remus, trying to hide a smirk, tucked his chocolate away and walked to a stack of unmarked crates against the back corner of the cellar. He flicked his wand at the one on top and the lid levitated just enough to reveal forty-eight bottles of butterbeer.

"I win," Remus said.

And the thing was, Sirius had known Remus would win. It was inevitable, really. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been stupid enough to bet Sirius for Snape.

Remus Lupin was a conniving bastard.

Sirius admired that in a person.

Still, he was morally obligated to bitch about the outcome of the bet. Just a little. "That's cheating. You've been here before."

"Wasn't exactly looking for butterbeer last time."

"You must have scouted the premises."

"Nope." Remus smirked.

"I hate you," Sirius said. It was the closest Sirius was going to come to admitting defeat.

"Liar," Remus said, and yeah, he was right about that too.

James stepped forward, his eyes darting back and forth between Sirius and Remus. "This has all been very… enlightening, but I'm going to have to side with Remus on this one. We need to get out of here. Unfortunately, Peter found a dead rat in the corner and has since passed out. I need someone to help me carry him back to Hogwarts."

Sirius took a second to process that. "Peter… what?!"

Sure enough, when James stepped aside, a pale and seemingly-lifeless Peter-Pettigrew was passed out cold on the mildew-ridden floor. Next to him, a dead rat, with it's neck broken in a trap.

"Huh," Sirius said. "Should've brought Marlene's camera."

James tried to smack him. Sirius dodged it, expertly. He'd been expecting it.

"Come on, Remus. Help me carry him. Sirius, levitate the butterbeer."

"Yes, Mom," Sirius said, already calling his magic to the tips of his fingers.

Remus went over to Peter. He nudged him with his foot, but Peter did not stir. James started towards them, but stopped, patted his chest, then fished through every pocket in his robes until he finally whipped out a small pouch. He produced a handful of Galleons from the pouch and carefully placed them on the first rung of the ladder that led up to Honeydukes.

"Can't have them going broke on account of our thievery," James said to Remus's raised eyebrow. "This place needs to stay open. We need butterbeer."

Remus looked like he wanted to say something, maybe reach into his own pocket and pull out a few meagre sickles, but before he got all altruistic about it—or worse, felt guilty that James alone was funding their endeavours—Sirius said, "Should I bring back the rat too? It seems as though Peter's made a friend. Perhaps we ought to give it a funeral. Out of respect."

Remus snorted a laugh at the same time James buried his face in his hands. Sirius counted that as a win.

JANUARY 30, 1972

"I miss Remus."

"That's the fourth time you've said that in the last twenty minutes," James said, but he sounded more… curious than annoyed.

Sirius toyed with the sleeve of his robe as he watched Fabian and Gideon hang the banner that Dorcas had made over the mantle. The robe and scarf Sirius was wearing belonged to James, as James had insisted on Gryffindor colours in light of bringing an enemy (Sirius's word) into the Gryffindor stronghold. Sirius's own robes had been transfigured time and again to fit the colours of his house and they'd begun to fray around the edges. Not that Sirius minded. Marlene said it made him look like a rockstar. (He wasn't entirely sure what she meant, but he liked how it sounded.) But, when he'd donned his own robes earlier, James said it was not appropriate for his best friend to look like a ratty hoodlum if James was going to impress his future bride.

Sirius was reasonably sure Lily wouldn't give a shit, but the sleeves on James's robes were soft (although substantially too long) and the fabric warm and comfortable, so he hadn't said anything.

Instead, Sirius was thinking about Remus. Sirius sighed, dramatically, but also because he was coming to the conclusion that he was—perhaps—a bit heartbroken.

"I can't help it," Sirius said. " It's not fair that he has to leave all the time. He's supposed to be here."

"You've said that seven times." James nudged Sirius with his shoulder, just the briefest of touches. "What's going on with you, mate? You're being weird."

"Weird? I'm not being weird," Sirius said, but his voice cracked on several different syllables.

James turned on him. "See, that? That was weird."

"I have no idea what you're on about, Potter," Sirius said, despite the fact that they both knew Sirius was lying through his teeth.

"You miss Remus," James said, eyebrows waggling just enough to imply weight behind the words.

"Yes, I thought we'd established that."

"We did." James fidgeted, as though he wasn't quite sure where he was going with this. Sirius wasn't either. "Okay. I'm going to ask you a series of questions. You don't have to answer them. In fact, if I cross a line, feel free to hex me. But… be nice about it. Please? I'm still trying to woo my bride here and that'd be rather difficult if I'm bleeding out of my eyes."

"I'd clearly give you green polka dots on your face, Potter."

"Sirius." James's tone changed. There was no deflecting this particular conversation. Sirius inwardly cringed, but waved a hand for James to continue. "You and Remus sleep in the same bed."

Merlin. They were really going to talk about this, huh?

Sirius nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the party coming together in the common room. "He has nightmares." That was true, at least. Sirius looked down at his hands and mumbled, "I have nightmares."

That was—surprisingly—less true. Well… It wasn't not true. He just wasn't sure if that faceless world was part of his nightmares or his daydreams. Honestly, it could go either way. Because having that only in a dream was enough to rip out his—

No.

Sirius refused to think about that.

James had been quiet for a long time. "Why him? Why Remus?"

Sirius felt the corners of his lips rise in a semblance of a smile. It was a teasing smile, albeit a bit cruel. "As in, why not you, Jamie? Why aren't I spending every night in your bed?"

"Merlin, you're bloody impossible." James scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face. "Sirius, you're my brother and I love you. I'd burn the stars for you. You know that, right?"

James had been saying that a lot, lately.

Sirius still wouldn't admit—even to himself—how much he needed to hear it.

"All I'm saying," James continued, "is that you can talk to me. About anything. I'll always be here and I'll always be on your side. Come whatever."

"I know, James." It was all he could say, really.

They watched Fabian and Gideon try to level the banner, then bicker about the placement and balance and general feng shui of the room for several minutes, before Dorcas cut in and raised the left side of the banner (Fabian's) about a centimetre up. The twins paused, then nodded sagely, before clapping each other on the back for a job well done. Dorcas looked as though she'd aged several years in the past few minutes.

"How'd you know?" James seemed rather taken aback by Sirius's question. "How'd you know that Evans was… the one?"

Sirius said that last bit with a heavy dose of sarcasm, because he wasn't quite sure he believed in such things. He wanted to—Merlin, did he—but the whole thing tasted rather like fate and destiny and, on principal, Sirius Black was opposed to such things.

And yet…

Yet…

James had a dopey look on his face. It was, all things considered, kind of adorable. After a minute, James sobered and nudged Sirius until Sirius looked at him, trying to ignore the zing of pain that shot up his arm.

"You can't tell anyone." Sirius nodded and crossed his heart for good measure. James seemed satisfied. "My magic kind of… reacts to her? I guess. Like, okay. When I was a kid, I didn't feel magic at all. Mum said I wasn't a Squib, but it wasn't like I was oozing magic out my eyeballs or something. Not like you. And what magic I did have was kind of… all over the place."

"I seem to recall an incident excessive sneezing and burnt dinners."

"Oi. Shut it. But yes, exactly. When I'm around her, though, it's… settled. Steady. I dunno, mate, it just feels right. Like I've peeked at the end of the story and all that's there is her. Almost like we're—"

"Inevitable?"

"Exactly."

Sirius tugged at the end of his sleeves. "What if she doesn't feel the same?"

"Then I'll wait,"James said, and it was pride and love and all the courage that Sirius wished he possessed. "I'll wait until she reads the ending. If she's never ready, then all I can do is walk towards the future I see, even if I'm alone, and pray that she's there to meet me on the last page."

"You're that sure she will?"

"I hope so." He shrugged. "Given present circumstances, it may take… a minute or two. I don't care, though. I'll wait. And also, maybe, along the way, I'll prove to her that I'm kind of awesome."

"Good luck with that."

"And you'll talk me up because you love me too."

"I do, you know?" Then under his breath, Sirius muttered, "I don't think I told you that, but you're right. I-I love you and we're—"

"Brothers."

This made Sirius smile and it felt real. Because real was the look in James's dark eyes, that spoke of love and fairy-tale endings. Real was the smell of butterbeer, the sound of Marlene's laughter, Dee's sweet voice harmonising with the track on the Muggle music box thing that Sirius was still convinced was made of magic.

Real was the absence of Remus Lupin and the ache in Sirius's heart.

"Um, Sirius?" James said, and it should have broken the spell, but it didn't. It was just part of the symphony of real and love and family. "Weren't you supposed to go get Snape?"

"Nope." Sirius was rather proud of that particular development. "I made Frank do it."

"Frank? Longbottom?" James gave him a look. "Merlin, how'd you swing that?"

"Fabian threatened to throw the next Quidditch match against Slytherin if Frank didn't go along with it."

James's cry of dismay echoed over the common room. Heads turned. The record scratched. Sirius burst out laughing.

"Don't you fucking dare throw that game, Prewett!" James shouted at Fabian.

Fabian put a hand over his heart. Then, to Gideon, he said, "Aw. He sounds just like Frankie."

"Except Potter was about an octave lower," Gideon added.

"Adorable," Fabian cooed.

James stood and brushed his robes off, ready to storm off and make sure that their match against Slytherin was in the bag, when Sirius tugged on his robes.

"Jamie," Sirius said, voice sharp enough to cut through the Quidditch-fog dulling James's synapses. "Go find Evans. Party's gonna start."

That dopey smile came back in an instant, and with one last hard glare at the Prewetts, James ducked out of the portrait hole. They'd arranged for Alice and a couple of older Gryffindors to distract Lily in the library until they were ready for her. It was a brilliant plan, really.

Sirius closed his eyes, breathing it all in, trying not to pay attention to the ache in his heart. When he opened his eyes, his gaze snagged on the open window next to the mantle. There was a lunar eclipse tonight. They'd learned about it in Defence, when Rattleburn had taken them to the Astronomy Tower earlier that week. Rattleburn said on nights like theses, magic felt closer to the tips of your fingers.

Sirius believed her, long before he'd seen the look in Remus's eyes. The look that reminded him of the sight before him: shadows over the golden moon. Outside, the whisps of darkness dulled the full moon and cast the stars into black. It was beauty and chaos, predictable and deadly, dark when it was supposed to be light.

Merlin, he missed Remus.

A moment later, Frank Longbottom artfully shoved a blindfolded Severus Snape into the Gryffindor common room.

Silence, as Snape removed the blindfold and shot a glare at Frank.

"All right," Frank said, a frown carved into his face. "House rules—"

Fabian clapped his hands, gleefully interrupting Frank mid-lecture. "Places, everyone. Potter will be back in a moment. Black, get down here. Snake—"

"Snape," he snapped, with just a bite of Slytherin venom.

"Right, that's what I said," Fabian lied, smoothly. "You… front and centre. You're the surprise."

Sirius tried to hide his laugh as he carefully made his way through the crowd, gratefully nodding to Marlene when she shoved a fifth-year out of his space.

Fabian continued, "Lights out, music off until they get here. Frank, don't hit the butterbeer until our king arrives. She gets the first drink."

Snape was mouthing the word king with equal parts of disgust and awe.

"All right, break," Gideon ordered, and all around them, Gryffindors ducked behind tapestries and couches. Peter somehow got shoved in the unlit mantle.

Sirius picked his way to Snape, carefully dodging his housemates. When Snape saw him, his befuddled look flicked immediately back to venom. Not that Sirius had hoped for better. It was still Snape, after all.

Hands in his robe pockets, Sirius forced a smile. "You're with me, Snape. Behind the coffee table."

Snape scowled, but obeyed, crouching next to Sirius on the plush rug.

"I still bloody hate you all," Snape growled.

"I would not expect anything else."

"But thank you." It was said through gritted teeth and the room erupted into screams and Happy Birthday's a heartbeat later, Sirius couldn't be entirely sure that he'd heard Snape right.

They sprang up, all of them, shouting and cheering in true Gryffindor fashion. Someone—Sirius had good money on the Prewetts—set off a series of small, colourful fireworks. Marlene and Dorcas led a lovely happy birthday chant and song.

Lily Evans had both hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes. Behind her was James Potter, who may as well have been transported to the end of his fairy-tale.

When Lily saw the very bashful Severus Snape, she let out a small cry and ran to him, her hands grabbing greasy hair and pulling Snape to her. His arms wrapped around her, clutching her tight. Sirius watched James for a hint of jealousy, and although there was a tick in his jaw, that fairy-tale ending still danced in his eyes.

Lily pulled away, then said in a rush, "Oh my God, how are you here? You can't be here. You'll get detention!"

"He gets a pass tonight," Frank piped up, after an elbow to his ribs from Alice. "Just tonight."

"But how—"

Face red, Snape's eyes flicked behind Lily to James. Lily turned followed his gaze, and Sirius watched with immense satisfaction as her jaw dropped.

"You did this?" she said to James.

Suddenly bashful, the fair-tale prince fluffed up his hair until it stood up in every imaginable direction. He looked hopelessly ridiculous. Lily Evans didn't stand a chance.

"It was Sirius's idea," James said. "Pete and Remus helped us with the butterbeer. And Snape… showed up."

Clutching Lily's hand, Snape managed what probably constituted as a small smile, apparently rather proud of himself for doing just that.

Squeezing Snape's hand, Lily nodded to James. "Thank you."

James, if Sirius read him right, was about three heartbeats away from proposing marriage. Again. So, being the amazing friend he was, Sirius cleared his throat loudly. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a butterbeer—only spilling a little—and held it out to Lily. "Your Majesty, your drink. McKinnon?"

"Yeah?" Marlene called.

"Make the Muggle thing play the weird space song again."

"Oi, Black! That's Bowie, mate, and you will show some damn respect," Marlene snapped, but her tone had no bite to it. She muttered a spell and flicked her wand at the Muggle music box.

Fabian snagged Alice from Frank's arms and started an awkward, robotic dance that made her laugh and Frank scowl, and just like that, the party enveloped the whole room. Sirius managed to snag another butterbeer for himself and a slice of lemon cake, then with a subtle glance and a little help navigating from Gideon, he made his way back to the staircase at the edge of the room. Sirius sat down a few steps up, giving him an eagle-eye view over the whole common room.

Marlene and Dee danced carelessly to that Bowie guy, Marlene's hands on Dee's hips, as they both giggled and tried to mimic Fabian's ridiculous moves. Snape sat on the couch, talking with an animated Lily and Peter, and Merlin, Sirius could swear he saw Snape laugh.

Some time later, after his cake was gone, Sirius felt more than saw Lily come up and sit next to him. He'd been staring at the moon through the open window. It unsettled him, that moon in shadow from the eclipse. It made him feel like something was… off. The silence before the storm.

Merlin, he felt it in his bones.

Lily offered him another butterbeer. "Your idea, huh?"

"Anything for our king. Even more for our friend," Sirius replied, clinking his butterbeer against hers in a move that felt way too grown up. He nodded to James Potter who fucking somehow had antlers. Again. "James helped far more than he said."

"I heard. Severus told me." Severus Snape, who had somehow gotten wrapped up in a discussion with Fabian and Gideon. Sirius didn't know whether to laugh outright or feel bad for the poor bastard. They were about as far from Slytherin as one could possibly get without being James Fleamont Potter. Lily nudged Sirius's foot with hers. "Can I trust you with something?"

"'Course."

"Give this to James for me when you get the chance." With that, she leaned over and kissed Sirius's cheek. It sent a shock straight through him, and Lily pulled away almost immediately, before flushing fiery red. Without another word, she dove back into her party, snagging another butterbeer and downing it straight from Dorcas's hand.

Sirius hid a smile in his own butterbeer.

She'd called him James.

Sirius picked at the label of his butterbeer, eyes zeroing in on the bubbles in the bottle, when a pair of scuffed-up shoes and the tails of a green and silver scarf came into his eye line.

"I imagine," Snape said, hands in his pockets, mirroring Sirius's closed-off position from earlier, "that one such as yourself has something of an aversion to crowds."

"Ah," Sirius said, and it really, really should bother him, given how hard he'd worked to keep that damn tattoo a secret, but all he felt was resignation. "So you know about that."

"Everyone knows about it, Black," Snape said, with just a hint of derision. "Well, except maybe the bloody Gryffindors."

"The ones who matter know," Sirius said, somewhat surprised by his own honesty. "And after all that's happened, secrets like that aren't worth keeping."

Snape hummed in response. Then, apparently in no hurry to be rid of Sirius's company, he asked, "Where's Lupin tonight?"

Sirius had promised Remus he'd talk to Snape, but that didn't mean Sirius had to give any ground on secrets he himself had yet to uncover. "Family business."

"Is that supposed to be a riddle, Black?"

"Not one I will allow you to unravel, Snape."

Much to his surprise, Snape let it drop. "You're not like the rest of them, you know. Gryffindors."

"I'm aware."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Lot of that sort of thing going around tonight," Sirius muttered into his butterbeer, but he waved at Snape to continue anyway.

"Why is she friends with you?"

And Merlin, if that wasn't the question of the hour, but Sirius still couldn't resist riling Snape up. Just a little. "As in, why me not you?"

"No. No." Snape's voice was more resolute than he'd ever heard it. "If you'd seen where we— I know why she's friends with me, Black. Desperation born of loneliness and isolation. But you? She chose you. I saw it happen. It doesn't matter that I love her, that I'd kill for her. She still chose Gryffindor. She still chose you."

Sirius let out a long sigh, resigning himself to the inevitability of the conversation ahead. "What you feel for her isn't love, Snape. It's obsession."

Snape reared back. "It's not—"

But Sirius had two butterbeers and a lifetime of rage inside him and he was not yet ready to let up, promises be damned. "What would it take for someone like Lily Evans to stand by your side, Snape? Let's think about that for a second. Would Malfoy allow it? She's Muggle-born. And yes, we all know she's beautiful and brilliant and the most talented witch of our age, blah, blah, blah. But if that's all she is to you, Snape, then she's your bloody trophy. You may as well give her glass eyes and mount her on your shelf."

Snape reached for his wand. "How fucking dare—"

Sirius held up his hands, praying Snape remembered their truce. James would have Sirius's head if he started a fight on Lily's birthday. Lily would have his balls if he started anything with Snape.

"All I'm saying," Sirius said slowly, "is that if you want to earn her love, her choice, you need to be the one to change. Malfoy wants her dead, the Slytherins want her gone. If she's going to choose you, she needs to see that that's not you. You need to be better."

At that, Snape paled, the fight drained right out of him. "I can't. You don't understand. Malfoy, he—"

Sirius laughed, manic and broken. "I don't understand? I don't?! Are you fucking kidding me? Merlin, Snape, I understand better than just about anyone, what it means to make that kind of a choice. I know what it means to love like that. Enough to burn the stars and kill gods."

Snape sneered, and Sirius knew he wouldn't walk away from this unscathed. In one way or another, this would end in annihilation. "Yeah? And what would a Black know about love? You are a blood traitor. You aren't Slytherin or Gryffindor. You don't belong anywhere or to anyone. I don't think it's possible to love a creature like you."

Sirius tried desperately to keep his voice calm, deliberately ignoring the daggers Snape had thrown at him. "Yeah. I didn't think so either. But Lily does."

"You are as unworthy of her as an ant before a giant."

"I know." Sirius downed the rest of his butterbeer. "But that's the difference between you and me, Snape. I know I'm not worthy to breathe the same air as her, and I know I never will be. But that doesn't mean I won't spend every waking moment trying to be better, to be deserving of her loyalty, her devotion. Her love. You think you're entitled to everything just because you earned her friendship, but you're unwilling to fight by her side when the monsters come out, hungry for her blood. Hiding in the shadows and biding your time won't ever bring you peace, Snape. You'll lose her and you'll lose yourself."

"It won't matter. It won't be enough." Snape slumped, defeated. "All you bloody Gryffindors will lose this war."

"Maybe. Probably," Sirius conceded. "But at least we're willing to fight."

Snape was silent for a long, long time, then noise of the party drowned out in the prophecies laid out between them. Eventually, he glanced up, greasy hair falling in his face, and said, "My choice, hm?"

"That's the secret, isn't it? That's what we're all fighting for. The right to choose our own destinies." Sirius gestured to the party. "Maybe start by actually spending time with Lily instead of sitting over here and calling me names. She actually wants to talk to you, arsehole."

After a moment more, Snape nodded once and took a step away, then paused. He scuffed his foot on the ground and once more shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "You know, despite all evidence to the contrary and… this—" Snape gestured wildly between him and Sirius. "I've really enjoyed tonight. Slytherins would never throw a party like this."

Sirius tipped his empty bottle up in something of a toast. "Trust me, I'm aware."

"Black?"

"Hm?"

"Don't tell Malfoy," Snape said, fidgeting. "Not just that I was here, but about Lily, and all of this. He wants war and this…? It'd be a shame to watch it all burn."

Sirius took a second to process the gravity of that statement, but eventually, he nodded, and promised, "I wouldn't even consider of it."

JANUARY 31, 1972

Remus felt like death.

In fact, he was about eighty-five percent sure he was dead.

Did death hurt this bad? Probably. It seemed like it would. Everything hurt, always, all the time, and forevermore.

But then, he opened his eyes. Mostly. Kind of.

Instead of pearly gates—or hellfire, dealer's choice—Remus found himself looking up at the scorch mark on the ceiling of the hospital wing, from when Sirius had erupted in his attempt to get rid of Peeves.

So… Not dead.

Jesus fucking Christ, death would be kinder. Mr. Hyde had been out for blood.

Remus closed his eyes again against the stabbing pain from the dawn light.

Since he'd been bitten, Remus remembered several eclipses. The worst scars that marred his body—the one across his chest, the gouges running from his spine across his ribs—all of them were vivid accounts of the wolf's rage at the shadows over the moon. The night of the full moon belonged to Mr. Hyde, and when the moon disappeared when it was supposed to cast magic over the earth, the wolf sought vengeance and mayhem.

Remus was always the helpless victim.

And despite the rising sun and waning moon, the wolf still had its teeth on Remus's throat, gnawing and scratching for freedom in his mind.

He took a breath and forced himself to swallow a coughing fit. Christ, it hurt, which probably meant at least a few ribs were bruised. Remus could feel sticky blood on his hands, beneath his fingernails—remnants from the wolf's claws—and bandages around his wrists. The wolf liked to sink his teeth into any flesh available, supposedly to dull the pain of shifting from man to beast, and more often than not, Remus's wrists were the only flesh available. He'd learned from an early age to bandage those right away, to stop the bleeding in any way possible, lest he bleed out. You'd think the layers of scars—from teeth and burn marks from cauterising the wounds—would be tough to break open, but nothing stood a chance against a werewolf's fangs.

Aside from his ribs and his wrists and the general sense of restlessness and foreboding that should ordinarily only be a precursor to death, Remus was… Well, he wasn't dead yet. He might even be okay in a few hours. His left knee twinged a bit, but that was normal. He'd fucked that up a long time ago—somewhere around his third shift after Greyback bit him—and it'd never quite healed right. It probably didn't help that he broke it again every month when Mr. Hyde came out to play.

All things considered, Remus figured it could be worse.

Remus also had a gut feeling that Madam Pomfrey wouldn't see things the same way.

Still, he wasn't going to be held captive in the hospital wing all day. He'd missed enough as it stood already, and he had to finish reading the tomes Ollivander had sent before their meeting next week.

This time, Remus opened his eyes slowly, one at a time, allowing his groggy brain to adjust to the light. Like almost every month, he was naked, wrapped in a heavy blanket to preserve what was left of his modesty. And like the past few months, there were no clothes in sight for him. Madam Pomfrey apparently had plans to keep him here all day, but Remus was used to it.

Swallowing a groan at his creaking ribs and wobbly knee, Remus managed to sit up. Ensuring that the coast was clear, he clutched the blanket tight around himself and went to the small cupboard next to his bed. Naturally, Madam Pomfrey had locked the door that held his clothes and wand, but Remus had been practicing. It took him a few times, but the wolf was close enough to the surface to still add a little flair to his magic. He cast a wandless spell on the lock and it popped right open.

Dressing carefully, quietly, and quickly—all the while keeping an eye on Madam Pomfrey's shut office door—Remus tucked his wand in the waistband of his Muggle jeans and snuck to the heavy doors of the hospital wing. As he slowly made his way down the back staircase to the Great Hall—leaning heavily on the walls and railings to compensate for his knee—Remus absently tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. He'd grown since the start of the term in September; the bandages on his wrists stuck out beneath the soft, green cotton. He tried to stretch the sleeves, but they wouldn't budge much without properly choking him at the collar. His robe—which his father had insisted on buying about two sizes up—was up in the dorms, and Remus didn't quite know if he'd make it all the way to Gryffindor tower and back to the Great Hall without falling off a moving staircase.

Christ, his fucking knee.

His knee that suddenly gave out five steps from the bottom.

Unable to hold back a sharp cry, Remus collapsed and tumbled down the remaining stairs. His elbow slammed against the stone of the first floor, his forehead colliding with the last stair and everything… echoed. His vision tunnelled.

Fuck.

He prayed no one saw that.

Except when his eyes once again managed to focus, Remus found himself staring into beautiful, panicked, silver eyes.

"Remus?! Remus?! What the fuck? What happened? What's wrong?" Sirius's voice was pitched high and his words came faster than Remus's brain could process them.

Remus groaned, tried to force his brain and tongue to communicate enough to force out actual, English sentences, but what came out instead was a very articulate, "Ow."

He sat up. Or, maybe Sirius helped him up, judging by the sharp pain shooting up his arm and the fresh splotch of red-on-white that his brain vaguely registered in his field of vision.

Hazy, Remus wondered just how hard he'd hit his head. Everything seemed to be moving at warp speed, in slow motion, impossibly at the same time. Green blurred with white and red and pain, and suddenly, pale fingers grabbed ahold of both his wrists and all his stupid, useless brain could focus on was black nail polish on small, stubby fingers.

Sirius had painted his fingernails.

Instead of howling beasts, instead of pain, pits of fire and catastrophe, Remus Lupin's entire world was obliterated by the fact that sometime in the past three days, Sirius Black had taken it upon himself to paint his goddamned fingernails. He wasn't good at it. Not even a little; chipped paint was smeared all around the beds of his nails, rather like he'd dipped his fingers in a jar of paint instead of meticulously taking the time with each individual nail.

Remus was mesmerised. Hypnotised. Utterly ruined, inside and out.

Sirius's hands ran up and down his arms, tugging at his sleeves and grazing over the scars and the bandages and the blood, until his fingertips reached skin and…

And…

And Sirius pressed closer, black-tipped fingers growing desperate, hungry, as they clawed at Remus's chest, etching a pathway from his clavicle to his bruised ribs, almost as though they could sense the brand new scars underneath.

And…

Then, a hand cupped his face, traced underneath his eyes, over his split bottom lip, and goddamnit, Remus leaned into the touch. The trembling fingers cupped his jaw, drawing Remus's gaze from blood and fingernails to—

Silver.

Silver, that so perfectly mirrored his own pain, his brokenness, the hunger and desperation of the wolf that shared his soul.

Silver, stained with starlight, spilling into the eternity between them.

Tears.

Those were tears.

Ice cold terror shot down Remus's spine, his hands flying up in an attempt to shove Sirius away. "Jesus-fucking-Christ. Hands off, Sirius!"

Sirius fought him, batted at his hands to keep fussing with Remus's bandages, the bruises on his ribs. Teeth gnashing, eyes leaking and unblinking as tears stained his cheeks, Sirius mumbled a string of curses and nonsense as his fingers twirled and summoned useless spells in the little space between them.

"Don't care. Don't care, don't care, don't care. Episkey. EPISKEY! Fucking useless piece of—"

"Sirius!"

Using his good leg, a little leverage, a prayer, and what little he had left of Mr. Hyde's strength, Remus shoved and propelled Sirius off him.

Sirius skidded backwards across the damp, stone floor. As soon as he landed, he immediately scrambled to reach Remus again. This time, Remus was faster. He drew his wand and pointed it at Sirius.

His hand was only shaking… a lot.

"Don't touch me, you fucking idiot," Remus croaked, voice quivering just as much.

"You're hurt," Sirius said, nearly collapsing in on himself. He slumped against the wall opposite Remus—either drained or defeated, Remus couldn't be sure. Starlight drained from Sirius, like rivulets down a windowpane after a storm, leaving nothing but the tracks of his tears. "Why are you always hurt?"

It came out as a sob.

"Tell me you didn't do that to yourself," Sirius gasped out, pointing at Remus's bandaged wrists. "Tell me it didn't get that bad."

Christ.

How was he supposed to answer that?

The wolf had done it, had gnawed flesh from bone, but the wolf was Remus. Remus was the wolf, the creature that lurked in his own nightmares. As much as he tried to separate himself from that half of his soul, Remus could no more separate himself from Mr. Hyde as he could tear out his own beating heart. Remus and the wolf were one in the same. They shared a mind, a soul, damned though it may be.

He'd had no choice—not really. The scars had been done to him, by a beast he had no hope of taming, but Remus could not allow the half-truth to leave his tongue.

Because maybe, he deserved the pain. The scars.

He was a monster, after all. May as well look the part.

And if, one day, the wolf ended up severing an artery in his rage, killing them both…

Remus wondered if that would mean salvation.

Peace.

He wondered if he'd fight it. Or, if he'd just watch the blood drain out.

Fresh starlight tracked down Sirius's face. It looked like the end of the world.

"Tell me you won't leave me alone," Sirius rasped. "I can't—"

Sirius's voice caught on a hiccoughing sob.

Fuck it.

Peace and salvation did not belong to creatures like him.

It felt like instinct—whether his or the wolf's, Remus couldn't be certain—to go to Sirius. To comfort, to protect. To wipe away the tears and annihilate anyone who'd ever caused him pain.

Still wobbling a bit on his bad knee, Remus slumped down hard next to Sirius. As soon as Remus was within arms-reach, black-tipped fingers began fidgeting and itching to touch him once more.

Half terrified that Sirius was literally going to crawl into his lap, Remus growled, "Touch me, and I'll fucking hex you, Black."

Sirius froze, considered, and stuck out his tongue. Then, he lashed out, grabbing Remus's hand and squeezing tight enough to crush bone and, Christ, it nearly killed them both. "Dare you to try."

"Sirius," Remus warned, trying to pull away even as the creature that shared his mind begged him to never let go.

"I can't heal you, Remus," Sirius hissed through his teeth.

Black fingernails dug into the palm of his hand.

"And I can't take away your damn tattoo," Remus said, surprised by the steadiness in his own voice.

Sirius released his hand and shifted away. He drew his knees to his chest and draped his arms over them and Remus felt the loss of his touch like the air that immediately fled his lungs. Like the invisible dagger he couldn't seem to pry from his heart.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Both Remus and the wolf would give anything—scorch the earth and rend any soul—to be able to pull Sirius close without any pain. To be able to run fingers through his stupid, stupid hair that Remus was secretly obsessed with. To brush against him in the halls, to wake him from his nightmares and memories.

Remus had been having these dreams. They were inane and stupid and if Remus could blame them entirely on the wolf and his stupid time of the month, he would in a heartbeat. But the wolf only knew instinct and nightmare, and these dreams… They were none of that. Not really.

Nightmares, only in the sense that he couldn't hold on tight enough to the dream to manifest it in the waking world.

Sometimes, Remus dreamed of starlight and… falling.

"What happened?" Sirius asked, staring straight ahead at the otherwise empty hallway. His tone suggested he didn't expect much of an answer.

Remus thunked his head against the ancient stone. "Lions and tigers and bears. Oh, my."

"What?!" Sirius's back went rigid, eyes flicking up and down Remus's body, searching for claw marks. Teeth marks.

They were there, too, carved into his flesh and bleeding under bandages. Just…

His scars were from a different sort of monster.

"It's a line from a movie." Sirius stared at him, expression blank. Remus explained, "Like a picture, but the people move and talk. It's a Muggle thing, with actors and costumes and sets. And, in this case, tin men and flying monkeys."

Finally—finally—Sirius's face split into something that might have been a smile: the beatific light of the morning star after a cold, horrific night. Wiping tears away, Sirius asked, "Does it have space men?"

That was… unexpected. "Space men?"

"Yeah. Like Bowie."

"Bowie?! Who the hell told you about Bowie?" Remus paused. "Wait. He's not a wizard, is he?"

"Not that I've heard. Though, that would be awesome." Sirius turned fully to face him, excitement etched into every feature. This was the Sirius Black that haunted his dreams. "Marlene had a magic music box. I was sitting by myself at Lily's party because of—" (Here, he gestured to his tattoo.) "—and Marlene said I wasn't allowed to look depressed at a Gryffindor party, so she sat me down in front of the music box and told me about the songs. She had Bowie's whole lot on this black disk thing. We'd listened to everything about three times by the end of the night. She let me read the disk cover, too. Long story short, there was butterbeer, James grew antlers again, Pete caught on fire, and I had something of a religious experience with David Bowie." His face went deadly… serious. "I'm in love with him, Remus. I'm leaving you for Bowie. We shall be married by the end of the year."

And that was just so much to process all at once that Remus's brain gave up on higher cognitive functions altogether. After several failed attempts at articulating his thoughts amidst the sudden maelstrom in his brain, Remus finally managed, "I don't think that's allowed."

Sirius—inexplicably—smirked. It was the same one he used when he'd done something particularly devious. "Knew you'd be jealous."

Remus Lupin almost choked on his tongue.

"No. No." (Yes, howled Mr. Hyde, vowing to rend David Bowie's flesh from his bones.) "I mean it's illegal. For two blokes to…" Remus trailed off with a very comprehensive and only mildly offensive hand gesture. "In the Muggle world."

"Oh." Sirius frowned, eyebrows knitting together. "Why?"

And Remus wasn't entirely certain what choices he'd made in his life that led him to explaining the intricacies of historic and pervasive homophobia in Great Britain to a pureblood wizard in a magic castle on the morning after a full moon.

"They think it's immoral," Remus said, unable and unwilling to come up with a more reasonable explanation.

Sirius was quiet for a moment, before he all but erupted with, "Well, that's stupid. I will marry David Bowie if I damn-well please. He's got a nice arse. Looks good in those pants."

There were so many follow-up questions dancing on the tip of his tongue that Remus could not possibly be expected to decide which one took priority, so he just said, "So. Good party then?"

"Bit lonely, with just me and Bowie after Marlene abandoned me. Would've been better if you'd been there." Sirius shrugged. "But Snape got drunk, so that's a bonus."

Remus snorted. "Really? Didn't think he had it in him."

"He didn't. I may have spiked his drink with firewhisky." That triumphant smirk was back. "Evans didn't even notice until the end of the night."

"Was she mad?" Remus asked.

"Nah. She had fun. Snape had fun. Evans is now officially on speaking terms with James. It was good." Sirius looked down at his hand, picked at the edges of the nail polish. "She did make me walk Snape back, though."

"And however did an inebriated Snape fare against the likes of Sirius Black?"

Sirius's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "He asked me not to tell Malfoy. Well, begged is more like it. Not that I'd tell Malfoy shit, but.."

"Yeah," Remus grimaced. "Snape's in too deep."

"You were right, though. Or Evans was." Sirius said the words like they physically pained him. "There's part of him that wants out, wants to change. Maybe even be a decent person, but…"

"He's Slytherin," Remus finished, because even the vipers that lacked venom tended to be deadly to their prey.

"Too Slytherin." With a succinct nod and a sigh, Sirius pulled himself to his feet. He flicked a quick tidying spell over himself, which straightened his robes and made his hair fly back into a semblance of order, before offering a hand out to Remus. "Come on. Today is shit. Let's go back to bed."

Remus glared pointedly at the offered hand. "Um. Why is today shit?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and gestured wildly at the entirety of Remus.

Remus stuck two fingers up at him. Then, he stood. All on his own, thank you very much. "I'm fine."

His declaration was only slightly contradicted by the face he made when he put weight on his knee.

Sirius, graciously, pretended not to notice. "I want to go back to bed. I'm a bit hungover, I think. Not sure. Never been hungover before. But, I suppose I could be."

Remus sincerely doubted it. "Sometimes I forget you're a spoiled brat," he said, not without affection. Sirius still looked offended. "Have a nice nap, then."

Except Sirius grabbed the tail of Remus's shirt as he tried to move past him. "You're coming with me," Sirius insisted.

"But… bacon. And coffee. Sirius, I need coffee."

It'd been reason number one for his daring escape from Madam Pomfrey. She said coffee wasn't good for him and never let him have any, especially after the full moon.

It was the one and only time Remus had ever dared to question her medical expertise.

"I'll bring you coffee in bed," Sirius said, still not releasing Remus's shirt.

"I thought you were hungover."

He got another dramatic eye-roll in response. Remus stopped and crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't even wince at the movement.

With a frustrated huff, Sirius relented. "Fine. Coffee first. But we're still ditching class."

"Are we now?"

"Considering you should still be in the hospital wing, we absolutely are."

With that, Sirius hurried past him towards the Great Hall. Shaking his head and hiding a smile, Remus followed. When he caught up—knee be damned—he brushed up against Sirius's shoulder for a mere fraction of a second. Enough for lightning to strike, while the rest of the storm was kept at bay.

"Just to be clear," Remus said. "You lied about being hungover to spare my feelings?"

"Yes, I did. You're welcome."

By the time they arrived, breakfast was in full swing, but the Great Hall was quiet. Muffled whispers and half-hearted attempts at conversation echoed futilely throughout the Hall. The air tasted of sulphur and rain, and the wolf in his head growled in the wake of the oncoming storm.

Unlike most mornings, the head table was empty of all staff, which was… disconcerting. Even if Sirius dragged him to breakfast before the sun was up, a member of the staff—usually Rattleburn, as she, like Sirius Black and literally no one else on God's green earth, was a morning person—was always there in what Remus assumed was a supervisory capacity.

Remus and Sirius sat in their normal places, across from each other at the far end of the table, next to James and Peter. James seemed to be neck deep in a very greasy breakfast, his hair ruffled and shooting up in every imaginable direction. Peter, remarkably, was somehow asleep in the presence of a full buffet, head down on the table, next to his own equally greasy breakfast.

Like most mornings, Sirius waved over a kettle and poured Remus a cup of coffee. Remus may or may not have downed about half of it almost immediately. A burnt tongue was nothing compared to the rest of his injuries.

"Morning," James muttered around a mouthful of food. If he'd noticed Remus's limp or his bandaged wrists, he didn't even so much as blink. He just smirked, cheeks stuffed full of toast. "You missed one hell of a party, mate."

"Shut up, Potter. Something's happening."

Lily Evans stood at the head of the Gryffindor table, her arms crossed an a deep frown set on her face. Sirius froze, toast halfway to his mouth. Frank joined her, mirrored her posture and expression, and tried to pretend as though she wasn't the one in charge.

"What do you see, Evans?" Frank asked.

"It's quiet."

And the thing is… it was. Remus noticed it earlier, when they walked in, sure, but now…

Now, it was haunting.

The wolf inside him whispered that they were the key on a kite in the middle of a lightning storm.

Sirius stood up on the bench. "Where are the Slytherins?"

Remus turned and… The fourth table at the end of the hall was completely empty.

That… couldn't possibly be a good omen.

The windows overhead all flew open at once.

More owls than Remus had ever seen in one place—more owls than resided in the Hogwarts owlery—burst into the Great Hall, cawing and hooting in a flurry of feathers and talons. The owls swooped in and out, almost rabid, deranged. They dove, empty talons clawing at students, before launching back into the air. Floating candles flickered and went out—magic be damned—at the beat of the owls' wings. A group of Hufflepuffs screeched just as loudly as the owls themselves as talons began grabbing at hair and robes.

Magic crackled to life around Sirius's black-painted fingertips. James stood and drew his wand. The Prewetts flanked Frank and Lily.

Mr. Hyde howled for retreat even as Remus stood to fight.

Then, newspapers began falling from the sky. Some of them were on fire, flaky pages caught in the flickering tongues of the ceiling candles, now raining from the sky like falling stars. Chaos and calamity, as students screamed and dove under tables, as centrepieces and scarves and robes caught fire.

"Put out the fires! Now!" Lily Evans roared, drawing her wand and casting an Aguamenti at Peter, who was—predictably—the first Gryffindor to catch fire. He woke with a startled shout which morphed into a panicked screech when his brain failed to compute the apocalypse raining down around them.

Sirius sprang on the table, kicking aside his plate and toppling Remus's coffee. He sprinted down the length of the table, towards the head table, dodging panicked students and casting spurts of water as he went.

"Remus! Move!" Lily shouted, just as another flaming letter fell from the air. He had just enough time to duck out of the way before his hair caught fire. The paper landed in front of him, the flames sizzling out in the spilled coffee. Around the burnt edges of the paper, Remus caught a snippet of the headline, and cold, cruel eyes staring up at him from a half-charred picture.

Eyes he recognised. Eyes that should be laced with starlight, but instead, were devoid of life and laughter.

Sirius's beautiful eyes, cold and cruel and hollow, on his mother's face.

Orion Black and wife, Walburga, Matriarch of House Black, congratulate T. Rid—

The char and the coffee ate away at the rest of the words on the page.

"Sirius!" That was James. His voice cracked. "The banner!"

Remus's head whipped to the enormous Hogwarts banner that hung over the head table. Flames licked up the dangling tassels, inching higher and higher until the whole thing sparked and ignited in less than a second.

Sirius's shouted curse was lost amidst the screams, but in a second, both Prewetts were by his side, their wands and Sirius's magic aimed at the banner, trying desperately to douse the flame.

Remus stood rooted on the spot, just a few feet away from the wrecked and upturned benches of the Gryffindor table. His knee throbbed, lungs burned from the smoke, as his vision blurred grey amidst falling ash and owl feathers. He coughed into his elbow, tried to stagger his way towards Sirius, towards Lily, but there was a large group of Ravenclaws in his way. He shoved, growled, then yelped as they jostled his knee as they pushed past him, going for the door. A first year stumbled in front of him and Remus bent long enough to haul her to her feet. Once on stable footing, she shouldered past him roughly without so much as a muttered thanks.

Remus leaned heavily against the Gryffindor table, his knee wobbling dangerously, as he tried to catch his breath, to shove the panic away for just a few more minutes. He looked up and… talons. Remus had just enough time to throw up both his arms to keep the near-rabid owl from gouging out his eyes. He let out an unbidden cry when, still intent on murder, the owl dug its talons into the bandages covering Remus's left wrist. The bandage split, tore away, and Remus swallowed bile as sharp claws ripped into his already marred flesh. His own blood gushed to the surface, trailing down his arms, splattering his teeth, as the owl raised its wings, screeched, and dove in again for his eyes.

Blinded by pain and heart thundering in his throat, Remus's wand fell uselessly to the ground, clattering and rolling under the upturned table. He saw flashes of feathers and talons and black, black eyes, but he knew nothing but pain.

That, and his name on Sirius's tongue, shouting at him over the roar of agony in his head.

Then: "Sectumsempra!"

Feathers and talons fell limp in an instant. The owl crashed back down to earth. Its head rolled at Remus's feet.

And there, standing on the Gryffindor table, hair mussed and robes singed, was Sirius Black, his wand pointed at the decapitated owl between them.

Remus imagined that, if he ever had the privilege and fortitude to look the wolf in the eye, it'd bear the same expression as Sirius Black did right then.

Ferocity and pride.

Christ, he was beautiful.

"Remus!"

Remus realised he may have zoned out. Again. Smoke filled his lungs, coated his teeth, and… and something hurt.

"Fuck, Remus, you're bleeding."

The world narrowed once more to black-tipped fingers reaching for him, but this time, Remus had just enough conscious thought to react faster. He jerked back, out of reach. Sirius froze, but Remus couldn't think any further because… because…

Right. Blood.

Remus looked down at his wrists. The bandages were… well, torn to shreds would be a generous description. Fresh blood welled up around patches of dittany, drowning it, and trickling down the tips of Remus's fingers.

Shit.

This was going to end badly if he didn't stop the bleeding soon. In a practiced move, Remus raised both arms above his head to slow the steady trickle of blood. He pulled in deep breaths, forcing oxygen into his lungs and holding it there to keep the panic at bay, the spots out of his vision.

Sirius waved his wand, tried casting no less than half a dozen healing spells on him in quick succession, before swearing loudly. "It should fucking work. I don't under—"

"Sirius, can you make fire?" Remus snapped through his teeth.

Sirius's jaw clicked shut. Confused, he gestured vaguely around the room.

"That won't work. It'll get infected." Remus blinked, shaking his head, trying to clear away some of the fog. "It needs to be hot. As hot as you can make it. And concentrated. Incendio won't do."

Sirius's eyes went big when he finally realised what Remus meant. "No. You can't ask me to—"

"I'm asking you, Sirius. This… it's… Deep. Too much blood. I need—"

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, but his voice was steady as he said, "Madam Pomfrey is going to fucking murder me."

"Believe me, I'm at the top of her hit list right now." Then, with a deep breath in, Remus gnashed his teeth together and lowered his wrists, holding them out to Sirius. "Do it."

Sirius raised his wand—his wand—and Remus didn't have a moment to consider the consequences of that before Sirius roared, "Infernellium!"

And… Remus may have blacked out.

A bit.

When his vision cleared, Sirius was right in front of him, his wand between his teeth. Nimble fingers wrapped black fabric around Remus's wrists, perfunctory and precise, only making contact when absolutely necessary. Remus bit back a howl as Sirius pulled the makeshift bandages tight and tied them off, before immediately jumping back. Remus watched a shudder go through Sirius's body, before he tore off the remnants of his robe and tossed it on the smouldering table.

"You…" Remus tried. He coughed around his raw vocal cords. "You used your wand."

Sirius's face was unreadable.

"I told you," he whispered. "It's real good with Dark Magic."

"That spell… that fire… That was…"

"Yeah," Sirius sighed. "My mother likes to use it on the house elf."

Remus's eyes fell on the bloody carcass of the decapitated owl.

Sectumsempra.

That'd been two Dark spells, then.

No wonder the air tasted of hellfire.

"SIRIUS!"

That was Lily. Her voice sounded… strained.

At the sound of his name, Sirius leapt back up on the table, magic crackling around him, ready for the next wave of annihilation. Except… Around them, fires dwindled, time slowed, and the remaining owls either retreated back through the skylight windows or were cut down by various stunning spells.

The battle, for all intents and purposes, was over. Sounds of the aftermath flooded Remus's senses. Sobs and whispers and ash, then… overwhelming silence.

Across the Hall, flanked by James and Marlene, stood Lily Evans, holding an uncharted copy of The Daily Prophet. Feathers and dying flames swirled around her. Even from a distance, Remus watched in real time as every drop of colour drained from her face.

Remus blinked, gasped for air, maybe, and then Lily was running towards them, carelessly shoving aside cowering Ravenclaws and older Gryffindors.

The fire in her eyes was unrelenting.

"Get him out of here." She jerked her head at Remus, but her eyes never left Sirius. "Now, Black."

Sirius's frown deepened. The magic at his fingertips fizzled to nothing. "What? Why? What's—"

But Lily just turned to Remus. "It passed, Remus.. You need to—"

He knew, in theory, that she continued speaking, continued barking orders at the Gryffindors waiting on her command, but Remus could no longer understand a word she said.

It passed.

The Lestrange Doctrine.

Remus felt his heart drop to the ground and shatter.

There was no salvation for him after this.

A firm hand clapped on Remus's shoulder. He looked up to meet James's eyes. The wolf nearly howled in dismay at the pity he saw there.

"All right, mate?" James asked, softly. It was the only noise that cut through the chaos. James's eyes flicked down to Remus's wrists. If James was at all surprised by the extent of Remus's injuries, he didn't let it show on his face. "Just breathe, yeah? Can't have you passing out just yet. I'll take you to the hospital wing once this is all sorted. I'm sure Sirius will—"

Sirius.

The beast in Remus's soul knew that name.

Sirius, who paced back and forth on the Gryffindor table, occasionally kicking cups and leftover bowls across the room. On each lap, Sirius's eyes tracked back to Remus, one fist clenching in fury, the other obsessively twirling his wand. As he paced, Sirius let out of a string of increasingly creative curses in both English and French. Remus caught only snippets amongst the nonsense, but he heard the name Tom-Fucking-Riddle more than once.

"Sirius, shut up," Lily called, frustration evident.

Sirius whirled on her, and Christ, how Remus knew that sort of rage. The kind that made gods bow before mortals. "This was all part of the plan! Don't you see?! This was fucking Malfoy. The Slytherins did all this to prove a fucking point! The fires, the spontaneous-fucking-staff-meeting, the owls. All of it!"

James coughed and his fingers tightened on Remus's shoulder. "The owls?"

"They're cursed." Sirius stopped pacing. At James's blank look, Sirius flicked his wrist at the decapitated head still on the floor between them. It shot off the ground and right into James's fumbling hands. James managed to keep most of his dignity—save for a small yelp—when he caught it.

"Look at its eyes." Sirius sounded utterly drained.

And, sure enough, when James carefully turned the head over, a dark green—nearly black—sticky substance oozed from the remnants of the owl's eye sockets.

"Dark Magic always leaves a mark." Remus's wolf howled a war cry when met with the abject surrender in Sirius's voice. "Some curses leave more behind than others."

James dropped the head. It landed with a haunting thunk, the rest of the green-black ick oozing onto the feather-strewn floor.

James wiped his hands on his robes a few more times than strictly necessary. He looked up at Sirius. "Was… Was that Imperious? Did someone use an Unforgivable on a bunch of owls?"

Peter, crawling out from underneath a Ravenclaw bench, let out a whimper as he came to stand in the crowd of Gryffindors.

Sirius sighed, and Remus watched him straighten, once more hefting the weight of the world back on his shoulders. "It's probably a variation, but essentially, yes. Animals just have weaker minds. Easier to control. Not quite as unforgivable."

"Still worth a sentence in Azkaban," Lily snapped and Remus absolutely did not miss Sirius flinch.

James frowned. "But why would anyone—"

"Why else, Potter?" Lily spat, kicking the decapitated head. "To declare war."

Ominously on cue, Remus cringed as the monstrous doors to the great Hall creaked open. Before he could turn, before he could even conjure a thought of tearing his eyes away from the pandemonium and devastation warring in starlit eyes, a Knock-Back jinx struck him squarely between the shoulder blades.

Remus stumbled forward, his knee giving out and the stone floor rushing up to meet him, but before he could collapse entirely, he felt strong arms wrap around his middle. A heartbeat later, James hauled him upright. Keeping a hand on Remus's chest, James met his eyes, looked him up and down, then asked once again, "All right, mate?"

Before Remus could so much as grunt in response, Lily Evans leapt onto the upturned Gryffindor table and roared, "SEVERUS!"

When he finally managed to turn, a paler than usual Severus Snape stood in a duelling pose, his wand arm raised and noticeably trembling. Behind him, a legion of Slytherins, most—save Malfoy—with the hoods of their robes drawn low over their eyes.

In a single heartbeat, Sirius Black leapt onto a bench, onto the floor, then planted his feet firmly between Snape and the rest of the Gryffindors. Shoving his wand into his knotted hair, Sirius mirrored Snape's pose, magic crackling to life between black-tipped fingers.

Christ.

Sirius might be a fucking prodigy, but duelling without a wand was a veritable death sentence.

Pain be damned, Remus's wolf lurched to the forefront of his mind—fight, protect, pack, blood, mine—and he moved to—

Suddenly appearing at his side, Marlene grabbed his arm, before his fucking knee gave out for the thousandth time. Meeting his eyes, she shook her head once. It was a plea, an order, a question, an oath. His wolf wanted to fight her. He felt sharp teeth gnaw at his bottom lip until he tasted blood, but he forced himself to obey.

He was no use to Sirius like this.

James Potter took Remus's rightful place as Sirius's second. He raised his wand, and unlike Snape, there was no hesitation in James's posture. He would fight until the end, if need be. By Sirius's side.

Mr. Hyde growled in victorious satisfaction, then retreated enough for Remus to actually think.

Lucius Malfoy sauntered forward until he stood right behind Snape. He had both his hands in the pockets of his robes and a cruel, devilish smirk on his face. He rocked back on his heels and pretended to survey the room.

As though he wasn't directly responsible for all of this.

"My, my, Sirius," Malfoy crooned. "Your mother was right. You do tend to destroy everything you touch, don't you?"

Sirius didn't rise to the bait. No, this Sirius was the warrior, the assassin. This Sirius, Remus had only glimpsed on one occasion, when he threatened to murder the beast in Remus's heart. This Sirius was precision and vengeance, a viper ready to strike, as deadly and devastating as he was raised to be. Starlight eyes darkened to a black void, his magic sparked, but Sirius was in control.

"Shut up, Malfoy," James snapped.

Malfoy's face churned with derision and disgust at the mere thought of James Potter. "Didn't you see the paper, Black? I sent you so many copies."

Sirius bared his teeth.

"It's about time, really." The picture of casual superiority, Malfoy dragged his foot across the ash-strewn floor, thoroughly disturbing the aftermath. He gestured wildly to the cluster of Gryffindors standing behind Sirius and James. His eyes lingered to their king, Lily Evans, still standing on the table, then landed on Remus. To Sirius, Malfoy said, "This band of misfits you've acquired have no place within these walls, Black. Your father made sure of that."

Remus watched every muscle in Sirius's body tense up, but still, Sirius did not reply.

"What is it that Mr. Riddle said?" Malfoy feigned ignorance and stroked his chin, tracing a finger down the long, pale scar from Sirius's curse. "Snape, do you recall?"

Severus Snape's face went from bright red to green, then to something devoid of any sort of colour. He swallowed, opened his mouth, tried to conjure words, then—

"Severus. What did we talk about?" It was a threat, a noose around his neck, and the ransom price was evident in the cadence of Malfoy's voice.

Snape cleared his throat, then said, "Hogwarts has no place for monsters, half-breeds, or M-Mud—"

"Severus, if you say that fucking word, I swear to fucking Christ, I will never fucking speak to you again!"

Lily's voice cracked and trembled and Remus could almost taste the salt from the tears streaming down her face.

Something that sounded like insane, haunting laughter bubbled to life in Sirius's chest. To Snape, mad and maniacal, Sirius said, "You chose this? After everything?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

A shadow crossed over Snape's face, hiding his expression from all outside scrutiny. He half-turned back, only to duck to avoid Malfoy's ice-cold glare. Not lowering his wand or flinching in the slightest, Snape said, "I'm not a Gryffindor."

"You're a coward!" Sirius roared, and it echoed in the broken silence between them.

Snape didn't so much as blink. "Maybe that's the difference between you and me, Black."

For the briefest moment, Remus wondered if that was meant as a compliment or a death sentence.

Then, darkness glazed Snape's eyes. He raised his wand, and, "Confrin—"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Snape let out a sharp cry as his wand flew from his hand. Sirius caught it, and without care or remorse, snapped it in two. The magic whooshed from the wand, sparked and died in front of everyone. Sirius tossed the two halves of the wand at Snape's feet.

Horror and disbelief marred Snape's face as he bent to touch the shards of his wand.

Malfoy stepped forward, his mask of nonchalance evaporating as he drew his own wand.

"You should have learned your place when I carved it into your chest, Black!" Malfoy spat.

Sirius twirled his fingers, summoning magic to his fingertips, and once more striking a duelling pose. "My place is right here, Malfoy. Between you and them."

"Then you will die with the carrion you claim to defend."

Behind him, all of Slytherin dropped their robes and drew their wands.

"Gryffindor," called their king, from her place atop the upturned table. "Arm yourselves."

All around him, students drew their wands and took up their best, mostly trembling and terrified, duelling positions. Remus looked down just as Marlene pressed his forgotten wand into his hand, before she took up a position between the Prewetts in front of Lily. On his other side, a wide-eyed Peter held out his wand with both hands, and planted himself in front of a group of very singed Hufflepuffs. Frank and Alice, side by side, took up Sirius's left flank, cutting off the Slytherins from the Ravenclaws.

Summoning what little strength he had left and the eternal, ethereal whirlpool of the wolf's rage, Remus heroically limped over to Sirius's other side. Sirius looked back at him, for just a moment, ruin and decimation in his eyes. And Remus remembered his words, half whispered, half forgotten—a promise, a dream, an oath, a prophecy from eons ago, it seemed.

I'd go to war for you.

Christ, it was there in Sirius's eyes: the battles, both present and future, the casualties, and the lives strewn between them. And, in the midst of it all… silver and falling stars. If Remus didn't collapse from exhaustion and blood-loss, surely he'd drown in starlight long before Malfoy had a chance to—

Malfoy.

It was just enough.

With Sirius momentarily distracted, Malfoy took aim at Lily Evans. "Sanguis Sanguinem!"

To his horror, Lily jerked backwards with a sharp cry. She just managed to catch herself from falling entirely, but landed hard on her left wrist, barely keeping hold of her wand as she barrelled into a mess of half-finished breakfast plates. She was slow to get up, and when Fabian took her arm to help, she jerked away from him with another high-pitched cry, blinking back tears.

James Potter let out a roar. Remus watched in equal terror and awe as James tucked his wand into his belt, then rushed Malfoy. Somehow, James managed to surprise Malfoy enough to grab onto his stupid, blond ponytail. James yanked Malfoy's head back, swung his hips around, and hooked both legs around Malfoy's waist. James clawed at his eyes and bit his ear. Surprised and clearly terrified, Malfoy panicked and dropped his wand.

A Slytherin let out a shriek—Narcissa, probably—but it was cut short with a curse from Sirius.

The Carrows—Christ, Remus couldn't tell them apart on a good day—ran for Malfoy, but Remus through a slipping hex at the ground beneath them. They collapsed, sliding into each other and another small group of Slytherin first years. Between him and Frank, they were able to put them in a body-bind, then—

Then, fireworks. And a foghorn.

In a flutter of robes, cancelling spells, and a few shield charms, the Hogwarts professors entered the Great Hall with the full force of a hurricane. It took mere seconds for the fighting to stop and the remaining fires to be drowned by the professors' spells.

Every professor—even Hagrid—swarmed the Hall, wands (and pink umbrella) raised in defence of a yet-undetermined enemy.

Every professor except, of course, Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was conspicuously absent.

Remus didn't quite know what to make of that.

For a glorious moment, everyone stood frozen in place. That is, until Professor Cuckoo marched right up to Malfoy. James, who still clung to his back and had a fairly decent grip on his hair, jumped back immediately, holding up both hands in surrender.

Malfoy's ear was bleeding from where James bit him.

The primal part of Remus's mind was a little upset Remus hadn't been the one to dig his fangs into Malfoy's flesh.

"Mr. Malfoy," Cuckoo began. "Would you care to explain what—"

Out of the corner of his eyes, Remus saw Sirius twirl his fingers and mutter a hex.

A second later, Lucius Malfoy croaked like a frog.

All eyes turned to Sirius Black.

Sirius turned a wicked smile up at Professor Cuckoo. "Oops."

Remus might have rolled his eyes or even laughed if he wasn't in serious danger of passing out.

Professor Cuckoo turned his glare to James. "Would you explain, Mr. Potter, what made you attack a Hogwarts prefect without provocation?"

"Without prov— Professor, that's hardly fair!" James shouted.

Sirius Black had murder in his eyes. "Who the fuck do you think did all this?!"

Professor Cuckoo turned up his nose. "Mr. Black, I do not think it's appropriate—"

"I believe you should listen to them, Professor Cuckoo," snapped Professor Rattleburn. She was crouched next to Lily, her wand out. Lily sat on the ground, crosslegged and fuming, with Dorcas's arms wrapped around her shoulders. "She's been cursed."

Professor Cuckoo snorted. "Self-defence, I'm sure of it."

Rattleburn stood, stretched to her full height, which was a few good inches over the top of Cuckoo's head. "Are you really so naive as to think that this is unrelated to the news of this morning from London?"

Her eyes cut to Remus for just a second.

"I believe, Amelia," Cuckoo sneered, "that your personal politics are clouding your objectivity on the matter."

"Oh, please, like you're one to talk. You and your filthy Death—"

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by another volley of fireworks from McGonagall's wand.

"That's enough," McGonagall snapped, glaring between her colleagues. Then, she turned to Sirius. "Mr. Black, if you could—"

"They attacked us, Professor." Eyes turned to Severus Snape, who was folded in on himself and trying to make himself look even smaller. "We came in and the Hall was on fire. Black challenged me to a duel. He threw the first spell, then Potter attacked Malfoy."

Narcissa stepped forward. "It seems the Gryffindors and their… kind were upset by the Wizengamot's decision. They burned copies of The Prophet in protest. They wouldn't allow anyone to read the article."

"That's not—"

Remus hobbled over and clamped a hand on James's shoulder, partly because he was about to fall over and partly because Remus could read the fucking room. Nervous Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs cowered around the Hall, but as Narcissa spoke, more and more Ravenclaws shuffled over to stand amongst the Slytherins. Despite the fact that they were attacked just the same as everyone else, they'd chosen a side.

Malfoy glared at Sirius. Pointed a crooked finger. He croaked, gagged, then croaked again, but nothing came out.

So, Narcissa said, "They want revolution, Professor. My cousin more so than most."

It only took a heartbeat. The Gryffindors shouted curses and obscenities at the Slytherins. Wands were drawn. Marlene all but launched herself at Narcissa. Fabian and Frank, their wands raised, flanked alongside a group of hesitant Ravenclaws who—if Remus wasn't vividly hallucinating at this point—had literally been fighting alongside them a few minutes ago.

Except… No spells were cast, no fists were thrown. The entire Hall held its breath.

Lightning poised to strike.

"ENOUGH!" McGonagall called. "Enough. Students are to report to their prefects and their Head of House. Everyone is to remain in the dormitories until further notice. Am I understood?"

There was a small muttering of affirmatives from the crowd.

Frank, ever the prefect, lowered his wand, half an eye still on the hostile Ravenclaws, and said, "Right. Gryffindor, let's go."

Dorcas helped Lily to her feet, holding her tight under her arm. Fabian and Gideon draped exhausted arms over each other and followed after Frank. James patted Remus's hand on his shoulder once, twice, and gave him a wan smile. Sirius turned, his righteous fury dissipating in an instant when he caught sight of Remus.

"Merlin, Remus," he whispered fingers clenching on air. "You're okay. You're okay, right?"

Remus opened his mouth, ready to lie to his face, despite the fact that he was about to collapse, but—

Sirius traced the tip of his finger over Remus's bandaged, burnt, and gouged wrist. He flinched, and edged closer, until mere centimetres separated them. Then, for the briefest of seconds, Sirius stood on his tip-toes and pressed his forehead to Remus's.

"Told you today was shit," Sirius breathed.

Snape coughed loudly. It sounded venomous. "You're a fucking blood traitor, Black. If you were anything more than the waste of noble blood, you'd know whose side to take while you still have pride and power in your name. When your father hears—"

James, fast as a whip, drew his wand and cast a silencing spell over Snape. Snape choked on his words.

Then, in the sight of God, the professors, and the entire fucking school, Sirius Black walked up, as slow and calculating as a predator before his prey, and punched Snape in the face. His fist landed with a sickening crack. Blood spurted from Snape's broken nose, in between his fingers and onto the floor.

"Look, Snivellus. Guess you were right. I did attack you." Sirius snarled at him, shaking out his hand. Magic still sparked between his fingers, in the corners of his eyes. "Except unlike you, I know how to throw a fucking punch."

No one said or did anything for nearly a solid minute. Remus wasn't entirely sure anyone dared to even breathe.

Then, McGonagall: "Mr. Black—"

Sirius whirled on her. "I'll be in your fucking office." He pointed at Remus. "Someone get him to the goddamned hospital wing. Now."

With that, Sirius Black stormed out of the Great Hall. All eyes of Hogwarts, past, present, and future, followed him.

It took nearly two hours for McGonagall to show up. An announcement came over a castle-wide Sonorus charm at one point that declared classes had been cancelled for the rest of the day for "unsanctioned but necessary repairs". Sirius wondered who, at this point, actually benefited from that kind of blatant lie.

Everyone had been there.

Everyone had seen what he'd seen, heard what the Slytherins had said.

Everyone, right or wrong, had taken a side.

When McGonagall entered the office, she looked for a moment, as though she'd forgotten he'd be there waiting.

"Mr Black, given the morning we've all had, I strongly advise you to return to your dorm. Whatever this conversation entails can surely wait until things have—"

Well, Sirius was not going to stand for any of that. Especially after that morning. Especially when he was fairly certain McGonagall was contractually obligated to kick his fucking arse from here to London. He'd broken Snape's wand. Punched him in front of everyone.

So, he jutted out his chin and demanded, "How's Remus?"

McGonagall frowned and pursed her lips. "You're not to see him, I'm afraid."

Honestly, Sirius had expected that. And, if he was being honest anyway, he'd expected worse.

Best case scenario would be Madam Pomfrey mounting his head on the castle's tallest rampart.

McGonagall continued, "Pamona seemed rather upset that—for some incomprehensible reason—you decided to take it upon yourself to cauterise Lupin's wounds with what appears to be an Infernellium curse."

Though McGonagall's words were meant as a dagger to his heart, Sirius found no reason to deny her accusations. What would be the point?

He shrugged.

At either his indifference or what she perceived as his stupidity, McGonagall was furious, her composure breaking with each passing second. "Not only are you not even remotely qualified to perform any sort of medical procedure—let alone one as precarious as that—but to use Dark Magic to do is is phenomenally—"

No.

Of all his sins, of all the reason his soul was twisted and burned and damned, Sirius Black refused to feel even remotely guilty about that.

"That goddamned owl cut his vein open. He could have bled out!"

McGonagall matched his volume and tone. "Then you should have gone for help!"

Sirius snarled at her. "There was blood and fire and none of you were fucking there!"

She recoiled slightly, but it was enough. Sirius was poised and ready to strike, and she knew it. Her voice wavered. "We were… indisposed, Mr. Black. Given the news this morning, I'm sure you can—"

"No, I fucking can't, Professor!" Sirius started pacing, in an attempt to quell the maelstrom raging inside his head. "The Slytherins planned this. And Remus was… hurt." He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the memory of Remus falling down the last few stairs out of his mind. "Remus was hurt and they still attacked him."

"And you retaliated."

Sirius actually laughed at that. "No shit."

"If Mr. Snape is to be believed, you snapped his wand in half after defeating him in a duel."

Again, there was no use denying it. "Yep."

McGonagall scowled. "You of all people, Mr. Black, should understand what a devastating and heartbreaking thing it is to lose one's wand. It is a physical manifestation of a wizard's connection to his magic. To snap another's wand for any other reason than the highest of crimes is inhumane."

You of all people.

Like he needed a reminder of the state of his own magic, a tally of all his sins.

Sirius bared his teeth. "I'd do it again. Snape might be a puppet on a string, but he threatened all of us. He made his choice."

"And you chose to be the executioner?"

"Yes!" Sirius roared. "He had a choice and he chose them!"

"The Slytherins?"

Sirius was quiet for a moment, glaring up at her. He chose his words carefully, waiting for the bits of poison to leak into his voice. "Snape chose everything that I ran away from, Professor, because he's too much of a coward to stand up against people like Malfoy."

McGonagall's face was now infuriatingly neutral. She said nothing.

"You've figured out what Malfoy did, right?" Sirius laughed, bitter and derisive. "Malfoy cursed Evans! You've checked his wand for the curse? Sanguis Sanguinem? If your unfamiliar, it's a fucking blood curse, Professor. The whole fucking castle saw it. Malfoy couldn't threaten Remus, so he cursed Evans instead."

She let out a heavy sigh. "I am aware of Mr. Malfoy's actions."

"Then take his fucking prefect badge! It's the least you could do!"

McGonagall pursed her lips. It added lines to her face that hadn't been there before.

Sirius knew her answer. He stopped pacing.

"You can't, can you?" He narrowed his eyes. Nodded once in complete and utter resignation. "Because Abraxas Malfoy sits on the school board."

A crease appeared between McGonagall's eyebrows, but she gave no other reaction. "Now is not the time to be carrying out your personal vendettas against the Malfoys, Mr. Black."

"Yes, it fucking is! Don't you see?! This is all happening because no one bothered to—"

Finally—finally—Professor McGonagall broke.

"We are at war, Mr Black!"

Her voice cracked, diplomatic neutrality shattered into a million, razor sharp edges. Then, for a horrifying second, she looked as though she might cry. When she finally composed herself enough to form sentences once more, her words were quiet, uncertain, as though she were the only one left in the broken universe.

"We are at war, and you're right," she breathed, and Sirius's heart nearly stopped at the confession. At what it must cost her to admit such a thing. "I-I prayed this had all ended with Grindelwald. That in the wake of his defeat, we'd come together to build a better society for the next generation. How very naive I was."

She looked at him, a hurricane in her blue eyes, and for the first time since he'd arrived at Hogwarts, Sirius dared to believe—just for a second—that she actually saw him. Not his name, not his family, not even just another Gryffindor under her care.

Him.

Still, she said, "We are at war and you are a child."

Sirius Black had never been a child. He was a soldier, a spy, a victim, and a criminal. He was damned and fated, loved and reviled. He was…

Canon fodder.

McGonagall went on. "You're too young to remember or even comprehend how Grindelwald stole the minds and hearts of the young. Of the otherwise innocent. You're too young to have seen how he twisted their fears, their insecurities, their weaknesses and ambitions, and melted them into a battlecry against the defenceless. You're too—"

That was quite enough of that. Sirius raised his chin and crossed his arms. "I'm no younger than you were when you joined the war, Professor."

Sirius could hear her jaw click shut. Her eyes, filled with regret only a moment ago, grew wide with shock.

Then, realisation.

"Merlin," she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You broke into Slughorn's office."

Sirius smirked, rather proud of himself. "I did."

"You have the—"

"Detention records?" he supplied. "Yeah. They're currently framed and hanging over the mantle in the Gryffindor common room."

"Salazar's bloody tits," McGonagall breathed, so quiet Sirius barely heard it. He barked a laugh and she glared at him.

"James and I have been taking notes. And, I've got to say, I'm rather impressed by—"

"Those records are of war and extenuating circumstances, Mr. Black. They are not to be used as inspiration for—"

Sirius shrugged. "We are at war, Professor. You said so yourself."

Her lips bled into a thin line. "Children should not be called upon to fight."

"You were," he said simply. Sirius tilted his head to the side in a challenge. "For every incident in that record, I'd bet all the Galleons in my vault that there are three that weren't recorded."

McGonagall said nothing. It was answer enough.

"I've heard stories from the war, too, Professor, and I know how Dumbledore fought back. He needed people on his side, so he chose the angry and the broken, same as Grindelwald. He just had better P.R., because at the end of the day, the old man won. After that, no one really bothered to look into how."

McGonagall looked affronted. "Dumbledore never believed in the radical blood purity of Grindelwald—"

"Maybe not," Sirius conceded. "But he needed soldiers to fight in his crusade. So, he gave out favours, second chances, and minor miracles. He made sure to accumulate the debts of his soldiers, so that when the time came, they'd be willing to fight for him. To die for him."

McGonagall was half-way between fury and revulsion. "You make him out to be a monster. He's—"

"Monsters are the men who declare themselves gods, not the creatures they create." At her bewildered expression, Sirius muttered, "Remus made me read Frankenstein. I liked it. A lot."

Professor McGonagall was quiet for a long time, simply staring at him like he was the most remarkable and beguiling thing in all of creation. Finally, she said, "There is so much work that even you can't understand, Mr. Black."

Sirius took a step towards her. "Tell me I'm wrong about Dumbledore. Tell me that's not exactly how he raised you. As a soldier."

McGonagall waved her hand in protest. "I was young, impetuous, and wholly ignorant of the ways of this world. You cannot possibly—"

"You don't get it, Professor. I'm volunteering."

All the colour drained from her face. "What?"

"That's what the old man wants, isn't it? Soldiers. Cannon fodder. I'll be his fucking martyr, if that's what it takes." Sirius paused, eyes alight with fury. "So long as it means people like my father, like Malfoy, like Tom Riddle burn."

McGonagall slapped her hand down on the desk so suddenly that Sirius flinched. "No."

Sirius snarled. "You said the last war never came to Hogwarts. This one is already here. Are you going to deny it?!"

Her expression hardened. She wasn't.

"Then let me—"

"No!" she shouted, desperation cracking each word. "Don't you understand, Black? If I allow you to fight, then it'll be mere moments before Potter and Lupin follow you right into the jaws of death. That little Pettigrew fellow too. He'll be the first to fall, mark my words. Following his friends, but with no real conviction or even marginal competence of his own. Then, your king, Black. You saw how she fought for all of you today, even as she herself was left cursed and defeated and without her dearest friend. She will try to save every one of you, but she will fall."

Sirius recoiled in horror, backing away from McGonagall as her words dripped poisoned onto what was left of his soul.

"Don't you see? You wish to martyr yourself, to fight a righteous war against tyranny and cruel, maniacal gods and monsters, but you will be the last of any of them. They will die for you, not your war, if you are not careful."

Sirius's breath caught, escaped his lungs, then absolutely refused to return. He gasped, rasped, panicked as tears welled in his eyes, but he fought them with as much conviction as he'd fought the Slytherins that morning. He wanted to run away from all of it, go up to the hospital wing, grab Remus, and never return. He wanted to escape in the dead of the night with his king and his fairy-tale prince, build a kingdom surrounded by walls that no one—not even his mother—could topple and destroy.

But, when he slammed his eyes shut, all he could see was chaos and devastation. James Potter, eyes unblinking, unseeing, wand just out of reach. Lily Evans, close by, hunched in on herself, but equally dead. And Remus—

Remus, as bloody and broken as he'd been that morning, his throat slashed by monstrous claws.

Sirius forced air into his lungs. Croaked, "What am I supposed to do?"

"Survive, goddamn you," McGonagall rasped. "That's all there is to it."

It was the most outrageous and incomprehensible command that anyone had ever placed upon his shoulders. Because, at the end of the day, it might very well prove to be impossible.

Seeing the devastation on his face, McGonagall nodded. Just once.

"My offer of tutelage still stands, Mr. Black," she said, once more calm and composed. "But hear this: I refuse to raise a martyr. Whether for this war, or for Albus Dumbledore, or bloody Merlin Pendragon himself, I will not raise you as a lamb to be led to the slaughterhouse. That's my condition, Mr. Black."

His face scrunched up in confusion. "What is?"

"I absolutely refuse to outlive any of you." McGonagall's face was ice-cold stone, but he could see the cracks in the granite. She bowed her head. "I've outlived far to many already."

"But you will train me to fight?" He couldn't keep the note of desperation out of his voice. Whatever McGonagall believed, war and devastation filled the entire canvas of his future. He'd fight one way or another. He'd seen it, every time he turned his eyes up to the heavens.

It was written in the bloody stars.

He'd very much like to burn them down before he met his own end.

"Yes," she said, resigned. "And, if you listen very carefully, you might just learn when to walk away."

Not bloody likely.

Still, he said, "Then, I accept."

And maybe—just maybe—McGonagall smiled at him. "We start on Tuesday, Mr. Black. After dinner. Don't be late."

Sirius inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Professor."

He made for the door, hands in the pocket of his robes, fingers tracing the frigid, runic lines on his wand hidden there. He'd almost reached the door, when—

"Mr. Black?"

He paused, turned slowly on his heel to look at her, one hand still on the door. Her eyes softened when she saw the stiffness in his every movement. This time, he was certain she smiled.

"You are so very Gryffindor. For as long as I live, I will never stop being ashamed of how long it took me to realise it. And of what it almost cost you in my ignorance."

Sirius decided to take a slight detour on his way back to Gryffindor tower. To… sort out his thoughts. Screw his head on straight. Calm the storm threatening inside his veins. Et cetera.

As it turned out, a slight detour translated to a casual stroll to the opposite end of the castle. He figured there was no one better to sort out his head than Remus Lupin and Remus Lupin was currently in the hospital wing. Hence the slightly-more-out-of-the-way-than-originally-anticipated detour.

Plus, he knew he wouldn't be convinced that Remus was actually okay until he saw him with his own eyes.

So what if Madam Pomfrey brought in a team of horses to draw and quarter him.

As Sirius climbed to the top of the staircase, he caught little snippets of conversation and some muted shuffling.

"Oh, will you just give it here!"

Sirius felt himself smile as he came to a stop right before the last corner. The sounds of James and Lily's familiar bickering were a startling comfort after the day he'd had.

From his vantage point, Sirius could see James and Lily facing each other outside the doors of the hospital wing. Lily glared ice-daggers up at James, one hand on her hips, the other making sly grabbing motions for—

James lurched back, clumsily yanking the invisibility cloak out of her reach and subsequently nearly tripping over its long tails. Pinwheeling his arms, he managed to keep his balance, before collecting himself and draping the cloak haphazardly over his lower half. He looked like a floating torso and head, with one arm wildly gesticulating.

"It's my invisibility cloak!"

Lily stuck out her chin. "You said I could borrow it."

James floundered a bit, but said, "Yes, but not without supervision."

"I'm your king, Potter. I don't need your bloody supervision!"

A mischievous, devilish grin spread across James's face. He held out the invisibility cloak. "Well, you see, Evans, its something of a family heirloom and—"

"Bullshit! You let Sirius borrow it last week."

James held up a finger. "Ah, but Sirius is both a Marauder and my brother in every way that counts. He more than counts as family."

Although it was impractical, self-indulgent, and more than a little ridiculous given present circumstances, Sirius preened at how readily James Potter claimed him as his own.

"But—"

"But!" James cut in, waving the finger in her face. "If, say, you were to join and/or become a member of my family—in a significant, contractual, and eternal love and devotion sort of way, of course—I could then bequeath upon you the—"

Sirius cleared his throat—loud and obnoxious—to save James from what was sure to become another rejected marriage proposal. Their heads swivelled.

"Hi," Sirius said, with a small, pathetic wave as he walked over to them.

Lily, as always, wasted no time, gave no quarter. "What did McGonagall say?"

Sirius wasn't exactly ready to talk about that, nor had he even begun to process the magnitude of McGonagall's warnings. "I don't have detention, if that's what you're asking."

James opened and closed his mouth. "But… you punched Snivellus."

Lily buried her head in her hands and sighed. Exchanging a look with James, Sirius narrowed his eyes, trying to determine exactly how mad she was about that.

Apparently, not as mad as he'd thought.

It'd been a crazy morning all around. Impossible things at every turn.

"Right or wrong," Lily said, as James immediately chimed in his ardent support for the former, "it doesn't explain what you're doing here."

Sirius tilted his head. Wasn't it obvious? He thought it had been obvious. He pointed at the doors to the hospital wing.

"Remus," he said.

Lily's hands went right back to her hips. "Door's locked."

"Right." Sirius twirled his hand, revelling, for a moment, in the exhilarating, intoxicating tingle of his own magic as it was summoned to his fingertips. "I can fix that."

Except Lily wedged herself between Sirius and he door so fast that Sirius took a hearty leap backwards to avoid colliding with her entirely.

"Merlin!" he snapped. "What the fuck, Evans?"

Maybe she was holding a grudge after all?

She waved an accusatory finger in Sirius's face. "I knew you'd show up here eventually, you bloody idiot!"

"Hang on!" Invisibility cloak draped over one invisible arm, James wiggled himself into what was still a dangerously minuscule space between Lily and Sirius. For his own safety, Sirius took another half-step back as James turned on Lily. "You said you were reporting to the hospital wing because of Malfoy's curse."

Lily stuck her tongue out at him. "Grow up, Potter. It's a blood curse. It doesn't have a cure."

James turned wide, desperate eyes to Sirius.

The poor, heroic fairy-tale prince seemed to be having a hard time reconciling his perfect world with the idea of blood curses. There was no monster to fight, dragon to slay. Just helpless victims and pain, unimaginable.

Though it killed him to break the fantasy, shatter the spell, Sirius just shrugged. Lily was right.

"At least hers will wear off," he said, gesturing hopelessly at his own chest.

"I'm here," Lily interjected, though she did spare Sirius a pitying glance, before she pointed at him once more, "to stop him from breaking into the hospital wing."

Sirius pretended to be affronted. Neither of them bought it. He changed tactics. "Look, Evans, I need to see Remus. He was hurt and I—"

"And you used Dark Magic on him!" Lily snapped.

Sirius jerked back, the accusation in her voice like a physical blow. He drew in a breath. "I— You didn't see him. Before." Sirius waved his arms, helpless and broken and so very, very defeated. "He… He fell and... His wrists… They were like that before the damned owl."

Once more, Lily marched right up to him, until Sirius was forced to face the fury in her emerald eyes. "Listen to me, Black, " Lily said, through her teeth. "You used Dark Magic on your best friend. That is unacceptable."

"He was—"

"Find another fucking way!" Lily shouted, right in his face. "You're the fucking expert here, Black. You're fucking smart enough to figure this out. You don't get to just panic and resort to—"

There was a small explosion behind Sirius's eyes and he just… erupted.

"You're not fucking listening, Evans!" he roared, tearing at his hair, trying not to pace. "His wrists were already cut and I tried."

Lily froze.

James drew in a sharp breath.

And that was the last bit of fire that Sirius had inside him. All that remained was embers in the ashes, as the darkness grew colder and colder. He walked backwards until his back hit the opposite wall, but he did not sit. If he allowed himself to relax, stopped fanning the embers with the very last of his strength, he'd freeze from the inside out.

"I tried everything." Sirius's voice cracked on the last word. "Every healing spell I know. With my wand and without it. Nothing worked. Nothing ever works. He always comes back bloody and I can't do a fucking thing."

Lily's fury evaporated instantly. Gently, she said, "Sirius, you're not a healer."

James nodded along. "You may be a prodigy, but you're still a first year. No one expects you to know everything, mate. Least of all Remus."

"Don't you get it? Can't you— Why can't you see it?" Sirius face was rapture and devastation, but he forced himself to explain. "Remus leaves and he comes back here hurt. Every. Damn. Time. And sometimes… Sometimes, his wrists are cut. Do you know what that means?"

For a moment, James and Lily stared at him. Then, slowly, hauntingly, they exchanged a look.

Sirius held his breath.

And, just as Sirius knew he would, James shook his head, as adamant and resolute as the last shelter in a raging storm. "Remus wouldn't—"

Sirius could do nothing else but shatter the fairy-tale world that only existed in James Potter's mind. It was cruel and heartless, but in the wake of battle, with a noose already around his neck, Sirius Black had no other choice.

"And what would you know of pain like that, James?" Sirius tilted his head, daring James to answer.

Lily's reprimand was equally cruel. "Sirius."

Sirius's eyes flicked to her.

"They used Dark Magic on him. Did you know that, Evans? That's why none of the healing spells work. Whoever's doing this is torturing him." He gestured helplessly between them. "Neither of you don't know what that's like. How could you?"

There was venom in his question, but Sirius couldn't hold it back any longer.

He was raised by vipers, after all. Somewhere along the way, he learned to spit poison, too.

"So, yes, Evans, I used Dark Magic," Sirius continued. Then, reaching into his robes, he pulled out his wand. It was as cold and as heavy as ever, as he held it out to her. "My wand is dead. Did I ever tell you that? Remus knows. I think he knows. My wand is dead and it only works when I use Dark Magic. So… fuck it. Cursed or not, if it saves him, I do not give a shit. I will not ever allow Remus to become the first casualty in this war, either by his own hand or Malfoy's or some fucking feral owls. I will burn the stars before I allow that to happen."

Lily crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. Her voice was quiet. Dangerous. A threat, a prophecy, a condemnation, all in one. "There is more than one way to kill yourself, Sirius."

And Sirius laughed. "I don't care."

And that, apparently, was the end of the rope for the fairy-tale prince.

"Fuck. You." James marched right up to him. Jabbed his finger into Sirius's chest. One. Twice, punctuating each word. It burned, just like it was supposed to. Just like Sirius deserved. Ice-fire in his veins. "I care, you fucking arsehole."

And, despite the pain, Sirius didn't resist when James grabbed him by the back of the neck and pressed their foreheads together.

"If you go, I go," James said. "That's how this works. Until the very end."

And, bloody fucking Merlin, McGonagall was right and Sirius couldn't breathe.

James let him go, and took half of Sirius's heart with him, and fuck, if that didn't hurt more than anything else.

"Your rage does nothing for anyone, Sirius," Lily said. "Not now. Not after today. There's a time and a place for you to wage your war, but now… We need—" She swallowed, nodded, then finished: "Remus needs you, and all the impossible things you keep locked up in your heart."

McGonagall's order echoed in his brain, quiet at first, then loud as a trumpet at the break of dawn.

Survive, goddamn you.

Sirius had nothing else to say. Nothing to fight for.

They were safe, for now: his prince, his king, and the impossible, beautiful boy on the other side of the door.

The war could wait for tomorrow.

And, of course, Lily Evans saw the surrender in his eyes. She reached out carefully and tugged on the sleeve of his robes. "Come on, love. Let's go back. Remus is safe. You can rest now."

Merlin, wasn't that a revolutionary idea?

Still, Sirius found himself nodding. With one final look at the doors to the hospital wing and one last, unanswered prayer, Sirius followed Lily and James down the corridor.

As they walked, James bumped Sirius's shoulder. Sirius was so far beyond any concept of pain at this point that he almost didn't notice.

"Tomorrow," James said, "you and me will plot revenge on the Slytherins. I bet Minerva McGonagall might've had some brilliant ideas back in her day."

And, despite everything, Sirius felt himself smile.

It didn't last, because echoing down the long corridor was a haunting, sing-song voice.

Sirius froze, his empty, broken heart turning to ice.

"Well, then, soldier, how goes the war?" Peeves faded into existence from absolute nothing right before them. He was upside down, floating and grinning madly, smile carved deep and inhuman right across his face. He cawed, "Quoth the raven, 'Forevermore'."

"Shit," Lily breathed, stopping shoulder to shoulder with Sirius.

"Hi, Peeves," James said, sounding more annoyed than anything.

He should be terrified.

Peeves floated down until he hovered right in front of them. He twisted his head a full three-hundred-sixty degrees, then mock-saluted them. "Little filthy Filch-y asked ol' Peeves-y to help him patrol the corridor. Said their might be trouble about."

"Nope," James said, hiding the invisibility cloak behind his back. "No trouble here."

Peeves ignored him entirely.

"Firsties out of bed, Filch-y says. Peeves is great with trouble, I tells him! It's yummy with entrails and chops. Chop, chop, chop! Trouble tastes like a king—" Dark, dead eyes stared right at Lily. Slowly, with a maniacal grin, Peeves's attention tracks to Sirius. "—and her little doggie."

A long, forked tongue snaked out of Peeves mouth, inches away from Lily's face.

James coughed. On Sirius's other side, he whispered, "Um. Did he just threaten to eat you?"

Sirius was fairly certain it was so much worse than that.

"Jamie." Sirius kept his voice quiet, barely moving, save for the muscles necessary to form the words. "Go find the Bloody Baron. Now."

Because Andromeda had told him stories, and Sirius prayed beyond hope and sanity that this one was true.

"What?" James said, affronted. "Why do I have to go?"

Because, for some fucking reason, Peeves wasn't paying any attention to James Potter at all.

"Don't ask questions, Potter," Lily snapped, her eyes locked on Peeves. "Just do it."

The second she spoke, Peeves lashed out. He spun in a circle, laughing hysterically.

It was a sound that Sirius knew would haunt his nightmares.

For the rest of his goddamned life.

"Though she's no king of mine," Peeves sang. "She'll be dead at twenty-nine."

In less than a heartbeat, Sirius watched all the colour, all the life drain out of James Potter's face.

"Right. Bloody Baron, you said?" Sirius gave a sharp nod. "I'll be back in a tick."

Peeves didn't bat an eye as James took off running down the corridor.

Now, all Sirius had to do was stall.

If he could get Peeves to focus on him, Lily could get away before Peeves carved her name into the same prophecies and destinies and damnations already written for Sirius.

"Oi! Peeves!" Sirius shouted, waving his arms. "Remember last time? I told you to leave us the fuck alone! So kindly fuck right off, or I'll—"

Lily ignored him entirely, her eyes fixed on Peeves. "What do you mean?"

Sirius choked on his words. "Evans—"

Peeves grinned ear to ear, flittering around near the ceiling. "This war you fight is one with Fate. She'll claim her life ere twenty-eight."

Sirius drew in a sharp breath.

No.

No.

Because, once upon a time, Peeves was a Seer, and the Veil was thinnest inside his mind.

He knew everything and nothing, all at once.

"Evans," Sirius said, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Back away slowly. When we get to the stairs, we run in opposite directions and—"

Again, Lily ignored him.

"Well, guess-fucking-what?" she said. "This isn't my war. I didn't ask for any of this!"

I did, said a voice in Sirius's head, and it was right.

No matter what any of them said—McGonagall, James, or Remus—he'd begged for this, the moment he pleaded with the hat to put him in Gryffindor.

Whatever came after, whatever war raged outside these walls—because of him or because of Tom Riddle—Sirius had chosen to fight.

"The king will fight both hell and heaven. But she'll be dead before twenty-seven."

Sirius hadn't understood what it'd mean to kill a god. He hadn't understood when Silas said it, so, so long ago now. He didn't fully grasp the concept even when he'd been forced to answer Remus's questions after Peeves said the verse the first time. Killing God—a god, any god—was impossible to comprehend, even when one held the metaphorical sword in hand to do the deed.

Sirius Black hadn't understood. Not really.

Now, he just might.

It would cost him everything.

"Evans—" he begged.

Peeves floated down from the ceiling, slowly, until he was eye level with Lily Evans. For a long, haunting moment, neither of them moved. Green eyes stared right into nothing, and all Sirius could do was watch.

Then, Lily said, "I stumbled upon your world by accident and happenstance."

Peeves replied, "Dead men and kings in the River Styx. She'll make the crossing ere twenty-six."

Lily said, "If I didn't open that letter, I'd be at home with my family and everything would be fine. Just fine."

Peeves replied, "While Moon and Stars are left alive, she'll be dead before twenty-five."

"Stop," Sirius pleaded, begged, bartered with nothing. No one. Because there was no one out there who would hear his prayer. He was destined to kill god, after all. "Please stop."

Lily said, "My sister wouldn't hate me. My mother wouldn't look at me like I'd somehow brought the devil into her home."

Peeves replied, "Weighed measured, wanting more. The king won't live to twenty-four."

Lily said, "I'd be content and just fine. I'd listen to Severus's stories of magic and wonder and a world I could only imagine in my wildest dreams when he came home every summer."

Peeves replied, "Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, dead before they're twenty-three."

"Fate is fucked!" Sirius roared, twirling his fingers, but nothing came to his fingertips. He had nothing left to give.

Nothing.

He was damned to kill a god, but not before she won.

She'd have her vengeance, her pound of flesh, and there was nothing Sirius Black could do about it.

Lily said, "I'd live another life. In another world. And I'd be perfectly fine."

Peeves replied, "'Fate is fucked,' or so says you. She'll cross the Veil ere twenty-two."

"No," Sirius croaked. Prayed, to the god he was damned to kill. "Please, God, no."

Lily Evans bared her teeth and stared right into that Veil. "What a fucking nightmare!"

And Peeves replied, "Said the mother to her son, 'I'll be dead at twenty-one.'"

In the face of death, the King of Gryffindor didn't so much as blink.

Then, from down the hall, came a booming roar. "PEEVES!"

Sirius almost sobbed in relief as the Bloody Baron charged down the hall, his sword raised high over his head.

Peeves let out a high-pitched yelp, then a full-blown screech, before disappearing into thin air.

The Bloody Baron bellowed in fury—the cry echoing and reverberating in Sirius's soul—before turning and galloping down the opposite hallway, hollering after his enemy.

James Potter huffed his ways up the last few stairs. He leaned against a wall for a moment, to catch his breath, then seemed to take in the scene. For half an eternity, no one moved.

"So," James said, drawing out the word. His eyes darted between Lily and Sirius. "What'd he say?"

That, apparently, was enough to snap Lily out of whatever apocalypse world she'd been in. She marched up to Sirius and grabbed his wrist. He let out a startled cry and, for a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Malfoy's curse guaranteed that touching Sirius boiled Lily's blood in her veins, just as much as it did his.

Through her teeth, she growled, "You are not to speak about this to anyone. Ever. Do you hear me, Black?!"

He nodded, frantic for relief—reprieve—from her touch and prophesied damnation.

She let go. She said, "People are superstitious enough as it is."

Without so much as sparing a look at James, Lily shouldered past both of them and up the stairs to Gryffindor tower.

James and Sirius watched her go in silence, save for Sirius's laboured breathing. He rubbed the spot where she'd touched him, wondering if it'd actually burned him.

He almost wished it would.

It was far less than he deserved.

"You'll tell me later, right?" James asked.

"No, James, I won't." Sirius shrugged, then slowly followed after Lily, leaving James Potter wide-eyed and confused in the middle of the hall. "King's orders."

Later, in the middle of the night, Sirius pulled back the curtains to James's bed and crawled in without a word. Remus was gone and Sirius couldn't bare to face his nightmares alone.

Not tonight.

James was awake, lying on his back, staring up at nothing. He didn't so much as blink as Sirius situated a pillow between them.

"Peeves said she was going to die, Sirius," James told the ceiling.

"He's just a poltergeist, James," Sirius lied. "It doesn't mean anything."

James rolled on his side to face him. "Then why do you look so fucking scared?"

It wasn't an accusation. It wasn't an insult, or a cry of cowardice in midst battle.

It was just the fucking truth.

And somehow, that was so much worse.

Sirius wished he was brave enough to vow vengeance, retribution, annihilation for anyone who threatened their king, but the truth was, he had nothing.

Nothing.

He was destined to kill god and the ransom price was Lily Evans.

"Go to sleep, Jamie," Sirius whispered. Begged.

Eventually, they closed their eyes and prayed for oblivion.