Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night was thick with mist, curling like ghostly fingers around the dimly lit street. The gas lamps flickered weakly, casting pale pools of light onto the wet cobblestones.

A boy stumbled through the shadows. Sixteen years old, but in the half-light, he could have been younger. His dark hair clung to his forehead, matted with sweat and something darker. Blood, maybe. It seeped from a gash above his brow, mingling with the rainwater that trickled down his face. His chest ached with every shallow breath, but the pain was nothing compared to the gnawing emptiness in his stomach — and the unbearable weight in his heart.

Sirius Black had always known he would leave. He’d dreamed of it a hundred times, lying awake in the stifling grandeur of Grimmauld Place, surrounded by shadows and whispers of a legacy he wanted no part of. But he never imagined it would end like this — bruised, bleeding, with his wand clenched so tightly in his trembling hand that his knuckles shone white.

Number Twelve had been his prison, but at least it had walls. Out here, the night stretched endlessly, cold and unfamiliar. Yet even through the haze of pain, one thought rang clear.

James.

The Potters’ house. It wasn’t far. He could make it. He had to make it.

Gritting his teeth, Sirius forced his legs to move, one step and then another. The shadows shifted around him, and for a moment, he thought he heard the echo of laughter — his mother’s cruel cackle, his father’s low growl. But it was only the wind. Still, it drove him forward, faster now, his ragged breath visible in the chill air.

Finally, the house came into view. Warm light spilled from behind the curtains, the golden glow like a beacon in the dark. His chest tightened. He could almost hear James’ voice, full of laughter, and Mrs. Potter’s gentle hum from the kitchen. The kind of warmth that Sirius had only ever glimpsed from the outside before he met James.

He staggered up the front steps, every breath burning like fire. His trembling hand rose to knock, but the moment his knuckles brushed the wood, the strength drained from his body. The door blurred before him. His legs gave out, the cold biting through his soaked clothes. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one burning in his chest. Warmth waited on the other side of the door, just out of reach. He lifted his trembling hand once more, the knock barely a whisper against the wood. Would they hear him? Would they even want to?

Still, he forced himself to move. His hand dragged upward, knocking weakly. Once. Twice. Each sound was swallowed by the night. He knocked again, his fingers trembling, hoping — praying — that someone would hear him.

What seemed like hours later, the door finally opened.

“Sirius,” he heard his best friend gasp.

The other boy didn’t hesitate. He spun around, panic flashing across his face as he bellowed into the house.

“Mum! Dad!”

James dropped to his knees beside Sirius, his hands hovering uselessly. “Sirius, just hold on. You're going to be okay," he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.

The warmth of the house reached him, a stark contrast to the cold that clung to his skin. But even that comfort couldn't break through the haze of pain.

"No hospital," Sirius managed to whisper, his voice barely audible. "Can't let them find me."

James's eyes flashed with confusion, but before he could say anything else, the world tilted once more, the golden light blurring into shadows.

When he woke, the world was a blur of shadows and light. His head throbbed, and his limbs felt like lead. The soft hum of distant voices filtered through the haze, but nothing made sense. 

He was in a bed, the blankets covering him were soft, far too soft. Nothing like the stiff, uncomfortable sheets he was used to. The pillow cradled his aching head, but the kindness in such a single comfort threatened to unravel him.

Where was he?

Blinking slowly, Sirius turned his head. The room was dim, lit only by the pale glow of a nearby lamp. Beside the bed, slouched in a worn armchair, was James. His head was tilted to the side, chin resting against his chest, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing suggested he had only just drifted off.

“James,” Sirius croaked, his voice rough and strained, like he hadn't used it in days.

James jerked awake with a start, his eyes flying open behind his slightly crooked glasses. For a moment, he looked disoriented, but the second his gaze landed on Sirius, relief flooded his face.

"Sirius!" James gasped, his voice shaky with relief. "You're awake! Merlin, you had us worried."

Before Sirius could respond, James was already scrambling to his feet. “I’ll get my parents!” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. Then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Sirius blinked after him, the lingering haze in his mind making it difficult to process anything. But one thing was certain. He wasn’t at Grimmauld Place.

He was safe. For now.

Hurried footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder with each passing second.

Mr. and Mrs. Potter appeared in the doorway, their expressions a mix of relief and concern. James followed closely behind, his wide eyes never leaving Sirius.

"How are you feeling, son?" Fleamont Potter asked, his voice calm but full of concern. "You gave us quite a scare — you've been out for almost three days."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but the effort only produced a dry rasp.

“Oh, you must be thirsty,” Euphemia Potter murmured, already reaching for the jug of water on the bedside table. “Here, let’s get you something to drink.”

The glass caught the soft light as the water swirled, clear and clean. Sirius flinched as Euphemia's hand brushed beneath his head — the gesture too gentle, too kind. It reminded him of things he had never known. 

“Drink, sweetheart,” she murmured, holding the glass to his lips. The endearment lodged in his chest like a knot. No one had ever called him that. He tried to shake the thought away and obeyed, the water cooling the raw ache in his throat.

The water was cool and clean. It tasted nothing like the metallic tang of blood or the bitter potions that had been forced on him at Grimmauld Place. 

The simple relief was almost overwhelming. When he finally lowered the glass, Euphemia offered him a reassuring smile.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” she said softly.

Sirius gave a slight nod, his voice still absent, but gratitude shone clearly in his weary eyes.

"Are you ready to talk about what happened?" Fleamont asked gently, his eyes searching Sirius’s face.

A flash of memory struck him like a curse — his father’s twisted snarl, the gleam of his wand, the word "Crucio" spat with vicious satisfaction. The unbearable, searing pain that had consumed him. It echoed through his bones even now, a phantom of what once was.

But how could he say it? How could he make them understand the cruelty that lived behind the doors of Grimmauld Place?

His throat tightened. The words lodged there, refusing to come. Instead, Sirius shook his head and turned away, his gaze fixed on the wall. The room suddenly felt too warm, too small.

He could feel the sting behind his eyes, but he refused to let the tears fall. Not here. Not now. His hands curled into fists beneath the blankets, his fingernails digging sharply into his palms. The pain was grounding — a reminder that he was still here. Still breathing.

And that, for now, would have to be enough.

"Alright, sweetheart," Euphemia said softly, her voice warm and reassuring. "You don't have to say anything right now. You're safe, and that's all that matters. If you need anything, just let us know, alright?"

Sirius managed a small nod, the knot in his chest easing ever so slightly. The weight of their kindness — so freely given — was almost too much. He didn’t deserve it. Not after everything. But still, he clung to the comfort it brought.

With one last gentle smile, Euphemia smoothed the blankets over him before she and Fleamont quietly left the room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving a hush in their absence.

James didn’t follow. Instead, he dropped back into the armchair beside the bed, his legs tucked beneath him like he was settling in for the long haul. The tension that had briefly lifted returned, but this time, it wasn’t so unbearable.

“Sirius” James's voice broke the silence, careful but firm. “You don't have to tell me everything. But… I need to know. Did they —” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Did your parents do this to you?”

Sirius’s gaze flickered away, his fingers twisting in the blanket. The words were there — they burned at the back of his throat. But the weight of them was too much. "It doesn't matter," he mumbled instead, the words hollow.

"Of course it matters!" James fired back, his voice rising, thick with emotion. "You didn't deserve any of this, Sirius!"

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened after I got here?"

James sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He could tell Sirius was desperate to change the subject, and as much as it hurt, he knew better than to push. Forcing him to talk would only make him shut down.

"Well," James said, running a hand through his hair, "after you passed out, I told my parents you didn’t want to go to the hospital. They didn’t waste any time — called a friend of theirs who’s a healer. She came over and patched you up."

Sirius frowned, confusion flickering across his face. He didn’t remember saying anything about avoiding the hospital. But the thought of waking up in St. Mungo’s, vulnerable and exposed, sent a cold shiver down his spine. His parents would have found him. They always found him.

He swallowed hard, a wave of gratitude washing over him. James and his family hadn’t just taken him in — they’d listened. They’d trusted him, even when he barely trusted himself.

"Thanks," Sirius mumbled, the word feeling too small for what he truly meant.

James didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes — fierce and unwavering — said enough.

"Why don't you get some rest? We can talk more tomorrow," James said softly.

"Okay," Sirius murmured, though the idea of being alone made his chest tighten. He didn’t want to be selfish — not after everything. James had probably barely left his side for the past three days. Asking him to stay felt like too much.

But before Sirius could dwell on it, James spoke again, his voice softer this time. "I can stay."

It was as if he'd read his mind.

"No, it's okay," Sirius insisted, though a part of him hated the words as they left his mouth.

James hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but he nodded. "Well, just call out if you need me. I'll be right across the hall."

"Thanks," Sirius whispered.

With one last lingering glance, James turned to leave. He paused at the doorway, concern still etched into his face. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but instead, he simply gave Sirius a reassuring nod before pulling the door closed behind him.

The room instantly felt colder. The shadows on the walls stretched longer, and the quiet settled heavily around him. Left alone with his thoughts, Sirius stared at the darkened ceiling, the weight of the past pressing down on him once more.

As he closed his eyes, he clung desperately to the hope that his memories would not come for him.

When James entered his room, he finally let the worry and fear he'd been holding back consume him. He collapsed onto his bed, clutching his pillow as though it could steady him. Every muscle in his body trembled with the urge to scream — to rage at the injustice of it all.

He’d known. Deep down, he’d always known that Sirius’s parents were capable of hurting him. But knowing wasn’t the same as seeing. The image of Sirius slumped on the doorstep, pale and bloodied, burned behind his eyelids. James squeezed them shut, but the memory lingered, refusing to fade.

How could they do that to their own son?

The question twisted like a knife. And why wouldn’t Sirius talk to him about it? Didn’t he trust James?

But no — that wasn’t it. James knew better. If Sirius didn’t trust him, he never would have dragged himself here in the dead of night, barely able to stand. He’d come to James because he knew he’d be safe. That knowledge brought a bitter sort of comfort, though it did little to ease the ache in James’s chest.

I’ll make this better. The silent vow echoed in his mind. He didn’t know how, but he would. Whatever it took, James would be there for Sirius — and when his best friend was ready to talk, he’d listen. Until then, he wouldn’t push.

But there was one thing he needed to do.

Remus had made him promise — as soon as Sirius woke, he was to send word. James had no doubt that Remus would be anxiously waiting for news.

With a reluctant sigh, James forced himself up from the bed. The room felt too still, the echoes of his thoughts pressing in on him. Shaking off the weight as best he could, he crossed to his desk, grabbing a scrap of parchment and a quill.

It was time to write to Remus.

When Sirius woke again after a night of restless sleep, the gnawing emptiness in his stomach hit him all at once.

This time, however, he had the clarity to take in his surroundings. The room was nothing like the cold, rigid walls of Grimmauld Place. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow across the warmly furnished space. The walls were a soft cream color, lined with shelves packed with books, enchanted trinkets, and a few moving photographs. A large, cushioned armchair sat in the corner, and a worn, patchwork quilt was draped over the foot of the bed. Everything about the room exuded comfort.

The bed he lay in was large and far too comfortable, the blankets smelling faintly of lavender. On the bedside table, a small clock ticked steadily, next to a jug of water and a stack of chocolate frog cards. Sirius's gaze lingered on a framed photo of the Potters — James, Fleamont, and Euphemia — all smiling and waving. It was a picture of happiness, a warmth he had rarely known.

Before he could dwell on it, the door creaked open, and James strode in, a bright grin plastered across his face.

"Morning, sunshine," he teased, his voice far too cheerful for so early. "Are you hungry? Mum’s making breakfast."

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "Starving."

"Then get up already!" James laughed, practically bouncing with energy.

With a reluctant stretch and a muffled grumble, Sirius pushed himself upright. 

He followed James out of the room, the wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath their feet. The house felt alive in a way Grimmauld Place never had — warm, welcoming, and touched by the faint scent of cinnamon and something savory drifting up from the kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows at the end of the hall, casting golden patches onto the walls and floor.

James moved with his usual boundless energy, his hand sliding along the polished banister as he practically skipped down the steps. Sirius trailed behind, his legs still stiff and sore, but the familiar presence of his best friend made it easier to push through the lingering aches. The soft hum of distant conversation floated up from below, mingled with the rhythmic clinking of dishes.

"Smells like Mum’s making something good," James said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "You're in for a treat. Her bacon is legendary."

Sirius tried to return the smile, but the knot in his chest refused to budge. The thought of sitting at a breakfast table, surrounded by warmth and kindness, felt foreign. Meals at Grimmauld Place had been tense affairs — silent, except for the occasional biting remark or the scrape of cutlery. Even the memory of it made his stomach twist.

"You alright?" James asked, his grin dimming just slightly. He'd always been quick to catch even the smallest shift in Sirius's mood.

"Yeah," Sirius lied, though his voice was unconvincing. "Just tired."

James didn't press, but the concern in his eyes lingered. "Come on, then. Food makes everything better — Mum swears by it."

He gave Sirius a nudge, and for a moment, the weight lifted just enough for Sirius to manage a faint, grateful smile. He clutched the banister a little tighter as they reached the last few steps, his legs trembling slightly beneath him. The effort of making it downstairs seemed like a victory, even if it was a small one.

As they neared the kitchen, the warmth of the crackling hearth wrapped around Sirius like a blanket. The walls were lined with framed photographs — James as a toddler, grinning with his parents at the beach; a younger Fleamont Potter, laughing mid-spin with Euphemia on what looked like their wedding day. The laughter in those pictures felt so genuine, it was almost startling.

James noticed his lingering gaze and smiled. "Mum insists on keeping them all up. Says a house isn't a home without proof of a little happiness."

Sirius didn’t respond, but something about those words stayed with him. A home. He wasn’t sure what that truly meant. But maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to find out.

"Oi, no more brooding," James teased, elbowing him playfully. "There's a mountain of bacon with your name on it."

And with that, they stepped into the dining room, where the tantalizing smell of bacon and eggs grew stronger, mingled with the faint sweetness of freshly made bread.

Fleamont Potter sat at the dining table, the Daily Prophet spread open in his hands. The rustle of paper was the only sound until he glanced up, a warm smile crossing his face.

"Good morning, boys," he greeted, folding the newspaper neatly and setting it aside.

"Good morning," they echoed in unison.

Sirius looked around fully expecting to see a house-elf bustling about, but instead, the sound of clinking dishes came only from Euphemia's wand as it gracefully directed plates through the air.

“Good morning,” she greeted them with a cheerful smile before going back into the kitchen to bring out the rest of the food.

“No Tilly this morning?” Sirius asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

James shook his head, grinning. “Mum and Dad give her Sunday's off. Say no one should work every single day, even if they try to insist on it. You should've seen Tilly the first time they suggested it, she nearly fainted on the spot.”

Sirius blinked in surprise. House-elves at Grimmauld Place were treated like vermin — ordered around, punished, and never once shown kindness. The idea of giving one a day off, simply because it was fair, was …. unthinkable. Yet here, it seemed natural.

“And besides,” James added with a smirk, “Mum's convinced she's a better cook anyway. She's not half bad either — you'll see.”

“You're far too modest, dear!” Euphemia's cheerful voice called from the kitchen. James grinned, unabashed.

Euphemia returned to the room, gently settling the remaining plates onto the table.

"Once we've finished breakfast, we’ll head to Diagon Alley for your school supplies,” she said warmly, her gaze shifting between the two boys.

"I don't have any money," Sirius murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Oh, sweetheart, that's alright," Euphemia said gently, her voice filled with warmth. "We'll take care of everything."

"I can't accept that," Sirius said, the words catching in his throat. "You've already done too much for me."

The weight of her kindness pressed down on him, suffocating. He should refuse. He should insist he didn't need their charity. But the truth gnawed at him. He had nothing. Not a single knut to his name, his parents had ensured that.

You're a disgrace, a burden.

The echo of his mother's voice slithered through his thoughts. But Euphemia didn't look at him like a burden. There was no pity in her eyes, only warmth. 

“Nonsense,” Fleamont's voice was steady, calm in the way only a father could be. “You're safe here, Sirius. And as long as you are, you're family.”

The words lodged in Sirius's chest, too heavy to hold. Family. He'd heard that word twisted and wielded like a weapon his whole life. But this? This was different. And that terrified him.

"Yeah," James added with a grin, clapping Sirius on the shoulder. "You're my brother. Now sit down and eat, so we can get going. Remus said he'll meet us there."

Sirius hesitated for a moment, the overwhelming kindness washing over him. It was almost too much to believe. But as he looked around at their reassuring smiles, the weight on his chest lightened just a little.

"Okay," he said quietly, his heart full of gratitude. Then, with a small smile, he joined them at the table, ready to face the day ahead.

Chapter Text

When they arrived in Diagon Alley, the lively chatter and clamor of the bustling crowd enveloped them. The cobblestone street was packed with witches and wizards, weaving between colorful shopfronts and street vendors calling out their wares. The rich scent of roasted nuts mingling with the sugary aroma wafting from a nearby sweet shop. Owls hooted from their perches in Eyelops Owl Emporium, and a burst of green Sparks erupted from a young witch's hand in a demonstration outside Ollivanders.

They had barely taken a few steps when the sound of their names cut through the noise.

"James! Sirius!"

Turning toward the familiar voice, they saw Remus striding toward them, Peter Pettigrew trailing close behind. Beside them was Dorcas Meadows, her brown curls bouncing as she waved enthusiastically.

“Hey, guys!” James grinned, his excitement evident as they reached them.

“Hey!” the trio echoed, smiling warmly.

Remus's gaze lingered on Sirius for a moment, the concern in his eyes flickering before he managed to mask it.

Sirius noticed. His stomach twisted, and he couldn’t help but glance at James. Of course, he must have told Remus. It made sense. Still, the weight of knowing that someone else was aware of what had happened gnawed at him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Sirius forced a smile, but the familiar weight of shame curled in his chest. He hated the way Remus's concern made him feel exposed, like a crack in a wall he's tried so hard to patch up. Did Remus pity him? The thought made his stomach churn.

"How about you kids go grab some ice cream and catch up while we handle the school supplies?" Fleamont suggested, his smile warm and encouraging.

"Sounds good!" James replied eagerly, his eyes lighting up. "There's a new flavor at the ice cream parlour I've been dying to try!"

Sirius shook his head at James's enthusiasm, but a small smile tugged at his lips.

After bidding farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, they set off toward Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.

"So, how have your holidays been?" Dorcas asked as they settled onto a bench, their ice creams in hand.

Sirius tensed, unsure how to respond, but James quickly answered for him. "Great! And even better now that Sirius is staying with me for the rest of the month before we head back to Hogwarts."

Dorcas's eyes lingered on Sirius a moment too long before offering a warm smile. "That's great!"

Sirius couldn't shake the feeling that she knew more about his home life than she let on. She never pried, never asked uncomfortable questions, but there had always been something in her gaze — a quiet understanding that Sirius wasn't sure he deserved. 

James grinned, finishing off a spoonful of ice cream. "What about you guys? Do anything exciting?"

Dorcas's eyes lit up. "I went to Spain for a month with my parents," she said, her excitement clear.

She had barely finished recounting her trip to Spain when Peter piped up, his eyes wide with exaggerated drama. "Oh, you wouldn't believe it! My mum thought it'd be a brilliant idea to teach me some 'life skills.' So I tried cooking with one of those self-stirring cauldrons. Thought I was making a simple stew — ended up with a swamp in the kitchen."

Remus chuckled. "A swamp?"

Peter nodded, clearly proud of how absurd it sounded. "Green bubbles everywhere. Mum had to get a cleaner from the Ministry to sort it out. I’m banned from using the cauldron now."

"Probably for the best," James teased.

"What about you, Remus?" Dorcas asked, her gaze turning curious.

"Oh, nothing quite as explosive," Remus said with a small smile. "Spent most of the time at home." His voice softened, though he quickly recovered. "We also went on a couple of day trips. Quiet places, lots of trees. Good for reading."

Sirius, noticing the slight tension, shot him a grin. "And did you manage to read through the entire library this time?"

"Almost," Remus retorted dryly. "But there was a little distraction. I volunteered at a creature sanctuary for a bit. They had a litter of Kneazles that needed looking after."

"Seriously?" James perked up. "You’re practically a magnet for anything furry."

Remus shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting. "They seemed to like me."

"And how many tried to claw you?" Peter added, snickering.

"Only two," Remus admitted, making them all laugh. "But I earned their trust in the end."

Sirius caught Remus watching him from the corner of his eye. Not with pity — no, Remus wasn't like that. It was more like… concern, carefully disguised beneath casual conversation. Every now and then, his gaze flickered to Sirius's hands, which were clenched tightly around his ice cream cone.

“You alright?” Remus asked softly, his voice low enough that only Sirius could hear.

“Yeah,” Sirius lied.

Remus didn't argue. He just gave a small nod, like he understood. Sirius hated how much he did.

They sat back, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon and the sweetness of their ice creams, the bustle of Diagon Alley serving as a lively backdrop. Even with everything Sirius had been through, the chatter of his friends reminded him that some things — like their endless teasing — never changed.

As laughter faded and the last bites of ice cream were savored, the chatter of the Alley drew them back into the present.

Before long, James's parents appeared through the bustling crowd.

"Alright, boys," Euphemia said with a warm smile as they  approached them. "We've got all your supplies, except for your robes. Why don't we head over to Madam Malkin's and get you measured up?"

"That's actually perfect," Remus said. "Getting our robes is the one thing we still need to do as well."

"Wonderful," Euphemia replied with a smile. "Looks like it'll be a group outing, then!"

As they approached Madam Malkin's, Sirius's gaze was drawn to a mother fussing over her young child, straightening their robes with a tender smile. A pang of longing twisted in his chest. He had never known that kind of warmth from his own mother.

The woman brushed a stray curl from her child's forehead, smiling as she fussed with the tiny robes. The warmth in her touch, so absent from Sirius's memories, sent a dull ache through his chest.

"Are you alright?" James murmured, his voice low so the others wouldn't hear.

Sirius swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yeah. Fine."

James didn't look entirely convinced, but after a brief pause, he let it go. With a reassuring clap on Sirius's shoulder, he led the way into the shop.

The bell above the door chimed softly as they stepped into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. The shop was bright and tidy, with bolts of fabric stacked neatly along the walls. Mannequins in elegant dress robes floated mid-air, twirling slowly to display their fine stitching. A faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, mingling with the occasional puff of dust from the seamstresses’ charms.

Madam Malkin, a cheerful witch with a measuring tape draped around her neck, bustled forward to greet them. "Welcome, welcome! Here for school robes, I assume?"

"Yes, please," Euphemia answered with a smile. "For all five of them."

"Wonderful! Step right this way, dears," Madam Malkin said, gesturing toward the fitting area. A row of cushioned stools lined a tall, gilded mirror, its surface enchanted to adjust and highlight any clothing mishaps.

Sirius eyed the mirror warily. He didn’t like the idea of his reflection staring back too closely, as if it might expose more than just ill-fitting robes. Still, he followed the others.

"On the stools, then!" Madam Malkin clapped her hands, and several enchanted measuring tapes sprang to life, zipping around the teenagers like small, excitable pixies.

"Try not to flinch," Remus muttered with a smirk as one of the tapes shot past his ear.

"Easy for you to say," Peter grumbled, his nose wrinkling as a tape prodded his shoulder. "I swear these things are cursed."

"I think they’re brilliant," Dorcas chimed in, watching with amusement as one of the tapes wound around her waist. "Efficient and fast — unlike waiting around for you lot to stop messing about."

James chuckled, standing with his arms out as the tape measured the length of his arms. "She’s got a point."

"Of course she does," Sirius quipped, his voice lighter now. "Dorcas always has a point. Usually about how we’re all idiots."

"Only when it’s true," she shot back with a grin.

Remus gave Sirius a pointed look, clearly pleased to see his friend joking again. But even so, there was no mistaking the undercurrent of concern that lingered beneath it. Sirius caught it but chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the faint hum of magic in the air.

Madam Malkin bustled between them, occasionally muttering charms to adjust hems and seams. "You'll all grow a bit more this year, I imagine," she remarked. "Though not too much, I hope. No need for robes trailing on the ground like some melodramatic potions master."

"Severus Snape might disagree," James muttered under his breath, earning a snicker from Peter.

As the final adjustments were made, Sirius's eyes wandered back toward the shop’s large window. Outside, the Diagon Alley crowd bustled on, parents guiding eager first-years from shop to shop. That same mother and child from earlier passed by once more, the little boy clutching a brand-new wand box with a gleeful expression. The mother’s laughter carried faintly through the glass.

Sirius felt the pang return, sharp and unavoidable. But this time, he didn’t let it linger.

"All done!" Madam Malkin announced, giving her wand a final flourish. The measuring tapes zipped away, and the teenagers stepped down from the stools, inspecting their reflections.

"You lot clean up nicely," Dorcas said, adjusting the sleeves of her robes with satisfaction.

"Naturally," James replied, flashing a grin. "We are a rather dashing group, after all."

"Speak for yourself," Peter said, tugging at the collar of his robes with a grimace. "These things itch."

"You'll live," Remus said dryly.

Euphemia and Fleamont approached, their arms now free of shopping bags. "You all look wonderful," Euphemia said, her eyes sparkling. "And just in time, too. I think a trip to The Magical Menagerie is in order. You might find some supplies for your pets, or perhaps a new friend"

“I've been thinking about getting an Owl,” Peter brightened.

“Or a rat,” James teased. “Something to match your aesthetic.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Could be worse,” Dorcas added. “You could end up with a crup that thinks your shoes are a chew toy.”

“Or a cat that knocks your ink bottle over every chance it gets,” Remus said with a knowing smirk.

Sirius, who had remained quiet through most of the exchange, couldn't help but chuckle. There was something grounding about the playful banter.

“Come on,” James declared, slinging an arm around Peter's shoulders. “Let's go see if we can find you a proper companion. Maybe one that doesn't destroy the house.”

With that, the group stepped out of the shop, the vibrant bustle of Diagon Alley surrounding them once more. The Magical Menagerie awaited, it's windows filled with curious creatures and the distant sounds of squawks and purrs spilling out into the streets.

The Magical Menagerie was a cacophony of sound. The moment the door swung open, the chatter of animals — hoots, yowls, chirps, and the occasional hiss — filled the air. Cages lined the walls, some stacked high with sleeping rodents, while others held sleek, watchful creatures that tracked every movement. The rich smell of hay and magical herbs mingled with the musk of animals.

“Well,” James declared, clapping Peter on the back, “let’s find you the perfect pet. Something that doesn’t involve summoning a Ministry cleanup crew.”

Peter scowled. “One swamp incident and I’m marked for life.”

“Only fair,” Remus quipped, inspecting a cage of sleek black ravens. “Though, to be honest, the Ministry report was the best thing I’ve read all summer.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t hide the amusement tugging at his lips.

Across the shop, Euphemia and Fleamont browsed thoughtfully, their eyes lingering on a vibrant display of enchanted collars. Meanwhile, James practically dragged Sirius through the rows of cages, pointing out every oddity with the enthusiasm of a kid in Honeydukes.

A loud screech interrupted them, and all four boys turned. Peter stood before a large brass cage, his eyes wide with delight. Inside, a majestic tawny owl ruffled its feathers, glaring down as if thoroughly unimpressed.

“He’s brilliant,” Peter whispered, captivated.

The owl let out another indignant screech.

“And loud,” James added, rubbing his ear. “Perfect match.”

Peter grinned, undeterred. “I think I’ll call him…” He paused, tapping his chin dramatically. “Horace.”

“Horace?” Sirius echoed, one eyebrow raised. “You’re giving your owl a name that sounds like a dodgy uncle at a family reunion?”

“Better than Snuffles ,” Peter shot back, smirking. “Besides, he looks like a Horace.”

The owl, as if in agreement, gave a resounding hoot.

“Speaking of Horaces,” James chimed in, his voice dripping with mock dread, “this one won't try to recruit you for his ‘collection.’”

Sirius grimaced. “Merlin, I hope not. One Horace Slughorn is more than enough.”

Remus snorted. “You've got to admit though, he's persistent. Must be half convinced you'll end up as minister of magic or something.”

“More like he's hoping I'll send him free quidditch tickets someday,” Sirius muttered, though his amusement was clear.

With Peter preoccupied, Sirius wandered further into the shop. The shadows between the cages were thick, the air humming with the occasional crackle of magic. He ran his fingers along a row of empty enclosures, the cool metal biting against his skin.

And then — a soft rustling.

A pair of golden eyes gleamed from a nearby crate, glinting with curiosity. A small black kitten peeked out, its fur a storm of dark gray with faint silver streaks. Its ears twitched, and with a slow, deliberate stretch, it emerged, tail flicking lazily.

Sirius froze. The kitten blinked up at him, then, with no hesitation, trotted forward. Tiny paws tapped against the stone floor as it rubbed itself against his leg, purring like a distant thunderstorm.

“Oi,” Sirius whispered, kneeling down. The kitten wasted no time, immediately climbing onto his knee. Its claws pricked lightly, but the warmth of its little body sent an unexpected rush of comfort through him.

“What’ve you found?”

James’s voice broke through the moment. Sirius glanced up, but James wasn’t teasing. His grin softened as he crouched beside him.

“Looks like you’ve been claimed, mate.”

Sirius scratched behind the kitten’s ears, and it leaned into his touch. The sensation was strange — soothing, grounding. He couldn’t remember the last time something had sought comfort from him without fear or expectation.

“Well, we can’t leave him behind,” James declared. “We’ll have to name him.”

“Regulus used to call black kittens ‘Grimlets,’” Sirius murmured, a faint trace of nostalgia in his voice. “He thought they were omens. Said they’d guard against evil spirits.”

The words lingered for a moment, but behind them, a darker memory stirred. He could almost feel the cold air of Grimmauld Place, the suffocating presence of the house that never truly felt like home. He remembered the sharp bark of a tiny puppy, a gift from uncle Alphard. The little thing had been all paws and floppy ears, bounding after Sirius with unwavering devotion. He'd named him Patch, after the white spot on his chest.

But that joy hadn't lasted.

The flash of Bellatrix's twisted grin was impossible to forget. Her laughter had echoed through the darkened corridor as she dangled Patch's lifeless body in front of him. The poor pup's soft fur was matted, the warmth gone. And when Sirius stumbled into his room, there it was. Patch strung above his bed like some grotesque prize.

Even now, years later, the image burned behind his eyes. He swallowed hard, forcing it down.

“Grimlet,” James repeated, snapping him back to the present. His friend's voice was light, approving. “Grim for short. Solid name.”

A soft chuckle drew their attention. Euphemia and Fleamont stood nearby, watching with fond smiles.

“Well,” Euphemia said warmly, “it seems Sirius has found a friend.”

“We’d be terrible hosts if we didn’t welcome him properly,” Fleamont added, his eyes twinkling. “Consider him a gift, Sirius.”

Sirius’s breath caught. “I— You don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” Euphemia interrupted gently. “Every boy should have a pet. And it seems this one has already made his choice.”

Sirius looked down at the little kitten, who peered back with wide golden eyes. He could still feel the ghost of Bellatrix’s laughter, the echo of old wounds. But then Grim curled against him, purring without fear.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, the memory of the past didn’t drown him.

Not entirely, anyway.

The sun had shifted lower in the sky, casting Diagon Alley in a warm golden hue. Sirius held Grim carefully in his arms, the kitten squirming slightly before settling into the crook of his elbow. The street was still bustling, witches and wizards weaving between shops, laughter and chatter echoing in the air.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite troublemakers,” a voice called.

Sirius’s head snapped up. Fabian Prewett was grinning as he strode toward them, his auburn hair tousled and his sleeves rolled to the elbows. There was always something untamed about Fabian — the kind of person who seemed like he belonged at the heart of a duel and a party in equal measure.

“Fabian!” James greeted him with enthusiasm. “What are you doing here?”

“Meeting Gideon for a drink,” Fabian replied, though his eyes were already scanning Sirius with concern. “But I’m glad I ran into you lot. Sirius — how are you?”

The question struck harder than it should have. Fabian had always looked out for him. Back at Hogwarts, he'd been a constant presence, stepping in when things got rough — especially when rumors about the Black family’s treatment of their eldest son spread. Sirius had never forgotten that.

“I’m alright,” Sirius said, though the words felt thin.

Fabian didn’t look convinced. “You’re with the Potters?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah. Staying with them.”

Fabian’s expression softened. “Good. They’re good people.” He hesitated, his gaze steady. “If you ever need anything, Sirius, you know where to find me.”

Sirius swallowed, the knot in his chest tightening. “Thanks.”

James, sensing the weight in the air, clapped Sirius on the shoulder. “We’d better get going. Mum’s probably already planning dinner for a small army.”

Fabian grinned. “Stay out of trouble, lads. And Sirius — take care of yourself.”

Sirius nodded, but just as they turned to leave, something in the crowd caught his eye.

Black robes. Pale faces.

His mother, her expression cold and regal. She walked with practiced elegance. His father, cold and rigid at her side. And there, trailing a few steps behind, was Regulus.

Sirius’s stomach lurched.

The world seemed to tilt. He should look away, but he couldn’t. Regulus glanced up, his face briefly visible through the crowd. For a heartbeat, Sirius swore his brother saw him.

But then they were gone.

They didn't see him.

But that didn't matter. Sirius saw them. And it was enough to tear the fragile thread of comfort he'd been holding onto.

“Sirius?” James’s voice was low, careful.

“I’m fine,” Sirius muttered, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

James didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes lingered. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Sirius gave one last glance to where his family had disappeared, the ghost of his mother’s presence lingering in the air. But then James’s hand was on his shoulder, grounding him.

With Grim still curled against his chest, Sirius followed his best friend through the bustling street, the shadows of the past trailing just behind.

Chapter Text

The rest of the month passed far too quickly.

For the first time in his life, Sirius Black had experienced what it meant to be part of a family. Not a family bound by blood and twisted expectations, but one built on laughter, warmth, and the simple joy of belonging.

Those days at the Potters’ house had been peaceful — a sharp contrast to the suffocating halls of Grimmauld Place. There was no heavy silences or whispered threats. No cold glares from his mother that seemed to pierce right through him. And no sound of his father's booming voice, demanding Sirius to come to him — a threat always lingered beneath the words.

There was only the smell of Euphemia’s cinnamon scones in the morning, Fleamont's booming laughter as he recounted old stories, and James dragging Sirius outside for hours of Quidditch until their arms ached.

Sirius had never imagined that a house could be filled with so much light.

But as the summer days slipped away, the looming return to Hogwarts brought with it an undercurrent of unease. He wasn't sure why. Sirius had always counted the days until he returned to Hogwarts. It had been his escape, his salvation. But now, even the castle’s familiar towers felt distant, as though the shadows of Grimmauld Place had followed him. The whispers would spread. They always did. And no matter how far he'd run, the weight of his family name still clung to him.

News of his departure from Grimmauld Place would have traveled quickly. The whispers would follow. No matter how far he ran, they always found him.

He could still remember the murmurs that used to trail behind him like a second shadow. The stifled laughter when someone noticed the bruises he hadn't been able to conceal. The sideways glances when his family name was mentioned in class. Black. Notorious. Twisted. Most assumed the worst, and Sirius had never bothered to correct them. After all, the truth would have been worse than any rumor.

In his third year, he'd overheard a pair of Ravenclaws whispering in the library — something about how "Black must have it easy, being from that family." He'd gripped his quill so tightly the nib snapped, ink blotting the parchment. Easy. They thought being a Black meant wealth and power, without ever considering the price of that privilege.

By fifth year, the whispers had shifted. Rumors spread after a particularly nasty row during the holidays left him returning to Hogwarts with a noticeable limp. "He must've fallen off his broom," James had lied, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. Sirius had hated how easily the lie slipped from his friend’s lips, but he hated the truth more.

And now, they would all know. The whispers wouldn’t be about suspected bruises or cryptic family reputations — they’d be about his escape. His disgrace.

But even with that fear gnawing at him, one thought brought a small sliver of comfort. He had James. And the Potters. And Grim, curled up in his crate, oblivious to the turmoil that twisted inside Sirius.

For once, he wouldn’t be facing the whispers alone.

But there was no time left to dwell. The morning of September 1st had arrived, and Sirius stood once more on the platform of 9 ¾.

The bustling crowds surged around them, parents tugging luggage carts and younger siblings chattering excitedly. Steam from the scarlet Hogwarts Express curled into the air, mingling with the rhythmic hum of conversation. The air smelled of hot metal and soot, and the shriek of the train’s whistle echoed through the platform.

Sirius shifted the weight of his trunk, Grim's small crate balanced carefully on top. The kitten meowed softly in protest, the noise barely audible beneath the din of the station.

“Quit your fussing, Grim,” Sirius murmured, his fingers brushed against the bars of the crate. “We're all miserable here.”

“I'm not,” James piped up cheerfully. “Merlin, I've missed this.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, though he couldn't entirely suppress the hint of a smile. James practically buzzed with excitement, his parents trailing behind them with matching grins.

“You'd think you were going to be crowned King of Hogwarts,” Sirius teased.

“Not yet,” James shot back with a dramatic flourish. “But it's only a matter of time.”

Sirius rolled his eyes again, but part of him couldn’t help the pang of envy. James moved through the world so easily, like it was his playground. No weight of a family name dragging him down. No memories of curses echoing through his mind.

James had parents who smiled when they saw him, who loved him without conditions. Sirius had seen that love firsthand — the warmth of the Potters’ home still lingered like a stubborn ember in his chest.

And yet, no matter how far he ran, he couldn’t shake the fear that the shadows of Grimmauld Place would always follow him.

But James? James had never needed to run.

Euphemia shook her head fondly. “Just try to keep out of trouble this year. And keep an eye on each other.” Her gaze softened as it flickered to Sirius. “And that goes for both of you.”

“Yes mum,” James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

Fleamont stepped forward, clapping Sirius's shoulder firmly. “You have a home with us son, don't forget that.”

The words landed heavily. Not because they hurt — but because they didn't. They were offered so freely — without demand or expectation. Sirius swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. He had never heard those words before. Not like this. At Grimmauld Place, ‘home’ had been a cage — a reminder of what was expected to be. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. It was all he could manage.

Without another word, Euphemia pulled both words into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around them like a protective shield. James didn't hesitate, leaning into his mother's warmth, but Sirius froze for a moment. The unfamiliarity of the gesture struck him — the softness of Euphemia's touch, the steady comfort she offered without a second thought. Slowly, he let himself relax, the knot in his chest loosening just a little. 

“We're always here for you,” she whispered, her voice barely above the bustle of the platform.

Sirius nodded, unable to speak. The warmth of her embrace lingered even as she pulled back, her smile soft and reassuring.

Euphemia fussed with the collar of James’s robes one last time, earning a groan of protest. “And write to us, both of you. No excuses.”

“We will,” James promised, throwing an arm around Sirius's shoulders. “Come on, we don't want to miss all the good compartments.”

With one final wave, they pushed their way through the bustling platforms, the towering engine of the Hogwarts Express hissing impatiently. The sounds of laughter and chatter grew louder, but Sirius barely noticed. The warmth of the Potter's goodbyes still lingered, a shield against the gnawing uncertainty that stirred within him.

And for now, that was enough.

The train's narrow corridor was crowded with students, laughter and chatter echoing off the walls. Every so often, an eager first-year darted past, dragging oversized trunks and owl cages. 

“Five galleons says Remus is already hiding in a compartment with a book,” James remarked, maneuvering past a group of third-years. “And Peter's probably running late, as usual.”

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh. “Poor bloke. Bet his mum's still trying to fix his hair.”

“Like that will help,” James snorted.

They finally stumbled upon an empty compartment near the middle of the train. With a thud, James dropped his trunk onto the seat and flopped down dramatically. Sirius set Grim's crate by the window, where the kitten blinked up at him, unbothered by the chaos.

“Alright, Grim,” Sirius said, sliding the latch to open the door. “Enjoy the view.”

The kitten gave a lazy stretch and then curled up once more.

Sirius stood for a moment, the hum of the train vibrating beneath his feet. The comfort of the compartment should have settled him, but it didn't. Instead, his eyes lingered on the passing students through the glass. Some faces were familiar — girls giggling, boys jostling each other, Prefects flashing their badges. Normal. It should have felt normal.

But Sirius couldn't shake the feeling of eyes lingering just out of sight.

They're not here.

The words echoed, empty and distant, in his mind. His parents wouldn't follow him here. They wouldn't dare set foot on the platform. And yet, the phantom weight of their presence clung to him.

“Oi,” James's voice cut through the fog. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replied quickly, sinking into the seat opposite him. “Just tired.”

James didn't look convinced, but he let it go. “Well, lucky for you, I've brought enough chocolate to feed half the school. You'll be alright in no time.”

Sirius smirked. “Reckon I'll need it if you're planning on talking the whole way.”

“Exactly,” James said brightly. “I'm doing you a favour.” 

The compartment door slid open before Sirius could retort.

“There you are!” Remus's voice rang out as he stepped inside, Peter bumbling in behind him, already red-faced and out of breath.

“Saved you a seat,” James said, waving dramatically. “Though we may regret it.”

Peter collapsed onto the nearest seat, clutching at stitches in his side. “Thanks — I think.”

Horace, however, was far less appreciative. The owl let out a loud, offended hoot from his cage, flapping his wings indignantly as if the ride through the corridor had been a personal insult.

“Oh, shut it,” Peter grumbled, glaring at the bird. “It's not like I dropped you.”

“Yet,” Sirius added with a grin. “He's probably keeping count.”

“Wouldn't put it past him,” James snickered. “Horace looks like he holds grudges.”

The owl narrowed his eyes, puffing up his feathers in what could only be described as pure disdain. Sirius half-expected him to list grievances on a tiny scroll.

“Well,” Peter huffed, adjusting the cage on the seat beside him, “you lot can laugh, but when he delivers all your letters with suspicious stains, don't come crying to me.”

Horace gave one final, triumphant hoot, clearly satisfied with the threat.

Remus rolled his eyes but smiled, settling into his seat across from Sirius. "Still in one piece?"

"More or less," Sirius replied, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was used to the question by now—used to the way Remus always checked in without making a fuss. It was just what he did.

"Good," Remus said simply, his gaze lingering a second longer than necessary before flicking down to the book in his lap.

Sirius barely noticed, too busy rolling his eyes at James, who had just launched into yet another dramatic speech about Lily. But out of the corner of his vision, he caught something—just a flicker—like Remus had been watching him, studying him, before quickly looking away.

Probably just making sure he wasn’t about to fall apart. That was all.

Still, there was something about the way Remus always noticed. The way he never pried, but always knew.

James, never one for lingering silences, leaned back dramatically in his seat, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, now that we've got all that sentimental nonsense out of the way,” he declared, “reckon this will be the year Lily finally realizes I'm her one true love?”

Sirius shook the thought away, smirking as he turned back to James. “Only if she gets hit with a particularly strong Confundus charm. Twice.”

“Oi!” James shot him a mock glare. “I'll have you know, I've matured over the summer. She won't be able to resist.”

Remus arched an eyebrow. “Because nothing says maturity like attempting to hex the Slytherin quidditch team from the stands.”

“That was tactical,” James insisted. “Psychological warfare.”

Peter cackled. “And how many detentions did that ‘warfare’ get you again?”

“Details, Wormtail. Details.”

Sirius shook his head, the laughter that bubbled from his chest feeling easier than it had in weeks. The train rumbled steadily beneath them, the echoes of their laughter drowning out the distant hum of other compartments. 

For now, Hogwarts awaited — and with it, the promise of a new year.

The train's whistle blew one last time as it pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the familiar screech of metal on metal echoing through the crisp air. Beyond the platform, the dark silhouette of the castle loomed in the distance, its towers barely visible through the mist curling over the mountains.

Students spilled from the train, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they tugged their trunks along the gravel. Lanterns swung on iron posts, casting golden light over the sea of black robes. The cool breeze carried with it the faint smell of pine and the promise of rain.

“Finally,” James stretched his arms above his head, grinning. “I thought we'd never get here.”

“You slept half the way,” Remus pointed out, raising an amused brow.

“Exactly,” James shot back. “Prime napping time, wasted.”

“You do realize sleep is something you can do at night, right?” Remus deadpanned, adjusting his satchel over his shoulder.

“Blasphemy,” James muttered. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Peter snorted, dragging his trunk behind him, the wheels rattling noisily over the uneven stones. His newly acquired owl, Horace, gave a loud, indignant hoot from his brass cage, his amber eyes glaring at anyone who dared pass too closely.

“Alright, alright,” Peter muttered, struggling to balance both the cage and the trunk. “You'd think I stuffed you in a cupboard the way you're carrying on.”

“Maybe he's just offended by his name,” Sirius smirked.

“Horace is a dignified name,” Peter huffed, though the owl let out another disgruntled screech as if to disagree.

James snorted. “Yeah, real dignified. He's practically the king of the platform.”

Sirius followed in step, Grim's crate balanced carefully under one arm. Unlike Horace, Grim observed the chaos with sleepy disinterest, only occasionally flicking his tail when the owl’s screeching grew particularly obnoxious.

“At least Grim has some manners,” Sirius remarked dryly, scratching the kitten’s ears through the bars. “No theatrics from him.”

“For now,” James grinned. “Give it a week. You'll wake up to him tearing through our dorm like he owns the place.”

Sirius didn't respond right away, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The thought of Grim wreaking havoc in the Gryffindor dorms — instead of being confined to the shadows of Grimmauld Place — was oddly comforting.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Sirius murmured.

Grim gave a low, contented purr, as though he agreed.

“Merlin help us,” Remus sighed, shaking his head. “Between Grim and James, we’ll be lucky if the dorm survives the year.”

“I resent that,” James said, though he was grinning.

“Sirius!”

A familiar voice rang out from the crowd. Dorcas Meadowes waved from further down the platform, her brown curls bouncing with the movement.

“Oi, Meadowes!” James called, cupping his hand around his mouth. “Looking for someone more interesting already?”

Dorcas rolled her eyes but laughed, her hands on her hips. “Not likely, Potter. You're hard to miss with that hair of yours. I thought I saw it glowing from the other end of the platform.”

“Jealousy,” James declared with a grin. “It's alright, I’m used to it.”

Sirius snorted. “You've just gotten more unbearable over the summer.”

“Impossible,” James replied, smirking. “I was already at full capacity.”

As Dorcas made her way toward them, Sirius caught sight of a towering figure beyond the crowd.

“Ello, ‘ello!”

Hagrid’s booming voice cut through the chatter, his large form impossible to miss. The Keeper of Keys and Grounds stood nearby the end of the platform, waving cheerfully as he gathered the group of wide-eyed first-years. The lantern swinging from his massive hand cast long shadows over the gravel.

“First years, over here! That’s it — come along now!”

“Hagrid!” James called out, his grin widening. “We missed you!”

“Missed me, did ya?” Hagrid chuckled, his beetle-black eyes crinkling with warmth. “You lot caused enough trouble last year, I reckon I’ve had plenty of time to recover.”

Sirius managed a grin. “We’re aiming for a new record this year.”

Hagrid barked a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from the likes o’ you.” His eyes lingered on Sirius for a moment, the concern behind them subtle but unmistakable. “Glad to see yeh back, Sirius.”

The words lingered, foreign yet comforting. Not once had anyone at Grimmauld Place ever said they were glad to see him. And even now, a part of him wasn’t sure he deserved it.

Sirius’s throat tightened. “Thanks, Hagrid.”

No questions. No prying. Just warmth — the kind Sirius wasn't sure he’d ever grow used to.

Remus, standing beside him, caught the change in Sirius’s expression. He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed briefly against Sirius’s arm—a quiet, grounding gesture. Sirius glanced at him, and Remus offered a small nod. No words needed.

“Carriages are waitin’ for ya,” Hagrid said, nodding toward the winding path beyond the station. “Off ye go. And behave yourselves!”

“Can’t make any promises,” James called over his shoulder, already pulling Sirius along.

The crowd thinned as they made their way toward the thestral-drawn carriages. The black, skeletal creatures stood silently in the mist, their leathery wings folded neatly at their sides. Their pale, pupil-less eyes gleamed in the dim light.

He'd never seen them before. Not in all the years he’d traveled this path. But now, there they were — as clear as the castle on the hill.

A memory flashed unbidden — the pale light of Grimmauld Place’s drawing room, the sharp crack of a curse, the lifeless body crumpled to the floor. The metallic tang of blood had lingered in the air, mingling with the chill of the stone.

Sirius climbed into the carriage without another word, the weight of what he’d seen pressing down on him. The thestrals stood like sentinels, their hollow eyes unblinking. He could feel the echo of his father’s curses, feel the cold stone floor of Grimmauld Place beneath his feet.

“Sirius?”

James’s voice pulled him back. He blinked, the skeletal creatures now partially concealed by mist.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said quickly, though his voice was thin. “Just… forgot how eerie they look.”

Remus’s gaze flicked to Sirius, a quiet understanding passing between them. But he didn’t press.

James frowned, his gaze flicking toward the empty air where the thestrals stood. “You — you can see them?”

Sirius nodded stiffly. “Yeah.”

James hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. Then, with a forced grin, he bumped Sirius’s shoulder lightly. “Well, at least they’re not dragging us off to some horrible fate. Yet.”

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh, though the tension in his chest didn’t fully ease.

James didn’t press further. But Remus’s eyes lingered on Sirius, thoughtful. He wasn’t the type to pry, but Sirius knew he wouldn’t forget this.

The carriage jolted forward, the castle looming closer with every step.

The carriages creaked to a stop, the looming silhouette of Hogwarts casting long shadows against the star-speckled sky. Lanterns glowed warmly along the castle’s towering stone walls, the hum of laughter and conversation drifting through the air as students poured inside.

Sirius walked alongside James, Remus, and Peter, the familiar sight of the castle doing little to quell the weight in his chest. He'd spent years thinking of Hogwarts as his true home. Yet now, even beneath its ancient walls, the shadows of Grimmauld Place clung stubbornly to him.

They made their way through the massive oak doors, the warmth of the castle greeting them as they stepped into the entrance hall. The golden light from the floating torches flickered against the polished stone, illuminating the faces of students eager to return.

Sirius exhaled, shoulders tensing under the weight of invisible hands. The ghosts of home never let go easily.

Beside him, Remus shifted just slightly, close enough that their arms brushed as they walked. Not by accident. He didn’t say anything, but Sirius could feel the glance, the quiet awareness.

Always noticing, always knowing.

They spotted Dorcas once more amongst the crowd of students. Beside her was Marlene McKinnon and Lily Evans. The moment Lily spotted them, she flicked her long red hair over her shoulder and turned away, making a point to ignore them.

James, undeterred, straightened his shoulders as if her blatant dismissal were merely a minor setback. “Still got time,” he muttered to Sirius. To James, a new term simply meant another opportunity to win her over.

Sirius shot him an amused look; his friend was far too stubborn in his pursuit of the girl.

Marlene’s eyes flicked toward Sirius, the ghost of a frown tugging at her lips before she quickly schooled her expression. She didn't say anything, but there was something in her gaze—a flicker of something unreadable, sharp and restrained. It was gone in an instant, masked by a polite smile as Dorcas nudged her, but Sirius felt it all the same.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it, but the weight of it lingered.

"Come on," James said, ever oblivious, his grin unwavering. "Let’s find a good spot in the Great Hall before all the best seats are gone."

Sirius nodded, forcing a smirk to his lips. He could feel Marlene’s gaze on him for a moment longer before she turned away, her laughter mixing with Dorcas’s as they disappeared into the crowd.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was imagining it.

He felt a nudge at his elbow—subtle, but grounding. When he turned his head, Remus wasn’t looking at him. He was watching the crowd, his expression unreadable, his fingers still hooked around the strap of his book bag. But there was something about the way he lingered near, as if he could sense the way Sirius’s thoughts had started to spiral.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Remus murmured, his voice low enough that only Sirius could hear.

Sirius huffed a quiet breath, barely a laugh. “Am I?”

Remus finally glanced at him then, arching a brow. “You always do.”

The corner of Sirius’s mouth twitched, something loosening in his chest just slightly.

“Let’s go,” Remus added, tilting his head toward the Great Hall. His voice was casual, but the weight behind it wasn’t. It was steady. Certain.

Sirius nodded once, his steps falling into pace beside Remus as they followed James and Peter through the crowd. The uneasy knot in his stomach hadn’t disappeared entirely.

But it was easier to ignore with Remus at his side.

The Great Hall was as magnificent as ever, the enchanted ceiling reflecting the velvety night sky, scattered with stars. Candles floated lazily above the long house tables, casting a warm glow over the sea of black robes. Laughter echoed from every corner, students reuniting and swapping stories of their summers.

“Reckon the feast will be as good as last year?” Peter asked, eyeing the golden goblets waiting to be filled.

“As long as they don't run out of treacle tart,” James replied with mock seriousness.

“You have the priorities of a troll,” Remus said dryly, though a smile tugged at his lips.

They slid into their usual spots at the Gryffindor table, just as the doors to the hall opened once more. Professor McGonagall strode inside, her sharp gaze scanning the crowd as she led the line of anxious first-years to the front. The Sorting Hat waited on its stall, it's patched and frayed mouth twisting slightly as it prepared for the ceremony.

Sirius glanced towards the staff table. Dumbledore sat in his usual spot, his bright eyes twinkling beneath his half-moon spectacles. Beside him, Hagrid gave an enthusiastic wave.

“Ten galleons says the Hat sings something cheerful,” James whispered. “Maybe a ballad about house unity.”

“I'm not taking that bet,” Sirius muttered. “The Hat's been on that theme for years.”

“Could use a bit of it,” Remus said pointedly.

Sirius didn't argue. The division in the wizarding world had grown sharper over the summer. Whispers of disapearances and dark magic had even reached the castle by the end of last term. And now, with the knowledge of what Sirius had walked away from, it felt impossible to ignore.

But the Sorting Hat's song began, and for a moment, the weight of those thoughts eased. It's familiar, raspy voice filled the hall, weaving words of wisdom and tradition. By the time the sorting started, James had resorted to dramatically ranking each first-year's level of nervousness.

“That's one's a solid eight,” he whispered, nodding toward a boy who nearly tripped on his way to the stool. “Classic trembling hands.”

“Five,” Peter chimed in, eyeing a girl who shuffled forward with stiff determination. “She's keeping it together.”

“Two,” Sirius added, pointing at a wide eyed boy who had to be nudged forward. “He might faint.”

“You lot are terrible,” Remus said, though even he was biting back a grin.

One by one the first year's were sorted, applause erupting from the tables as each house welcomed its newest members. Sirius clapped politely, though his mind wandered. His eyes flickered across the hall, instinctively searching the Slytherin table.

He was there. Regulus sat near the middle, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. He looked older. Stiffer. The perfect son. The one who stayed. Their parents would be pleased. 

For a heartbeat, Sirius swore his brother saw him. But there was no anger on Regulus's face — no resentment. Only emptiness. Sirius wanted to hate him for it. But all he felt was an aching reminder of what he'd lost.

“Sirius?” James's voice was low, careful.

“I'm fine,” Sirius replied quickly, dragging his eyes away. “Just thinking.”

But James didn't look convinced.

When the sorting concluded, Dumbledore rose, his arms outstretched in welcome. The hum of chatter settled into expectant silence.

“Welcome, welcome!” His voice rang out, warm and commanding. “To those returning, I say welcome home. And to our newest students, I assure you — Hogwarts will become home to you as well.”

Sirius shifted in his seat. Home. The word clung to him, wrapping around his thoughts. The Potters had given him a glimpse of what that word could mean. But even here, surrounded by the chatter of his friends and the golden warmth of the Great Hall, the shadows of his past refused to let go.

The feast appeared with a flash of magic, golden platters piled high with roast beef, roast chicken, buttery potatoes, and every dessert imaginable. James wasted no time, enthusiastically piling his plate as Peter followed suit.

“You gonna eat?” Remus asked, watching as Sirius absently picked at a roll.

“Yeah,” Sirius replied, though he wasn't sure he could stomach much.

“Long year ahead,” Remus added gently, “but we're here. Together.”

Sirius managed a small smile. It wasn't much, but it was something.

The feast had come and gone in a blur of golden platters and lively chatter. The tables were now bare, the remnants of pumpkin pasties and treacle tarts cleared away by the house-elves. Laughter echoed through the Great Hall as students pushed back their benches, the energy of first night lingering in the air.

“Think I ate half a chicken,” James declared, patting his stomach with satisfaction. 

“Only half?” Remus quipped, smirking. “You're losing your edge.”

Peter groaned dramatically, clutching his side. “If I see another treacle tart, I might actually burst.”

“You said that after the third one,” Sirius pointed out, shaking his head.

Peter shrugged. “Yeah well, I meant it after the fifth.”

The boys joined the flow of students filtering out of the hall, the chatter of old friends and the buzz of new first-years trailing behind them. Remus had disappeared to attend to his prefect duties. The enchanted torches lining the corridor flickered warmly, casting long shadows along the castle walls. Hogwarts, with its towering archways and ancient stone, felt unchanged. And yet, for Sirius, something about it felt undeniably different.

The weight of the day pressed heavily on him — the return, the sorting, the fleeting glance from Regulus across the Great Hall. He hadn't seen his brother since. The absence of his family should have brought relief. But instead, it left behind an ache he couldn't quite shake.

“You alright Pads?” James’s voice cut through the hum of the corridor.

“Yeah,” Sirius answered, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

James gave him a look that said he wasn't entirely convinced but didn't push. “Come on, then. Let's get to the dorm before Peter starts snoring in the common room.”

“I resent that,” Peter mumbled, though his yawn betrayed him.

The Fat Lady greeted them with a drowsy smile, already half-asleep in her portrait frame.

“Password?” she asked, stifling a yawn.

“Fortuna Major,” James announced proudly.

“Correct. In you go.”

The portrait swung open, revealing the familiar warmth of the Gryffindor common room. The large hearth blazed with cracking fire, illuminating the red and gold tapestries that lined the walls. Plush armchairs were scattered across the room, already occupied by lingering students eager to squeeze a few more moments from the night.

“Feels good to be back,” James grinned.

Sirius couldn't argue with that. For all the unease that had followed him, the common room still held the comfort of familiarity. It smelled of old parchment and woodsmoke, with just the hint of whatever sweets the first-years had smuggled in from the feast.

But the day had been long, and the pull of sleep was stronger that the draw of the common room's warmth.

“Dorms?” Remus suggested, reappearing next to them now that his prefect duties were over. He started heading toward the spiral staircase that led to the boys’ dormitories.

“Dorms,” Sirius agreed.

The door creaked open to reveal the familiar sight of the Gryffindor sixth-year boys’ dormitory. The circular room was lit by the faint glow of the moon streaming through the high arched windows. Four-poster beds stood proudly beneath crimson hangings, their golden tassles swaying gently in the breeze from the open window. Trunks were pushed to the foot of each bed, waiting to be unpacked.

Sirius's gaze drifted to his own bed, and a quiet warmth filled his chest. There, curled up in the middle of the Scarlett duvet, was Grim. The small kitten had claimed his spot without question, his black-gray fur blending into the shadows. His tiny paws were tucked beneath his chin, and the faintest rise and fall of his chest betrayed his peaceful slumber.

“Looks like someone made himself at home,” James whispered with a grin.

“Smart lad,” Sirius murmured, his voice softer than he intended.

He crossed the room, careful not to disturb the kitten as he sat at the edge of the bed. Grim stirred slightly, his golden eyes blinking open in the dim light. For a moment, Sirius held his breath — but instead of bolting, the kitten gave a soft, contented purr and nestled closer to the blankets.

Sirius reached out, his fingers brushing gently over Grims fur. The warmth of the kitten against his hand was grounding — a quiet reminder that he wasn't alone.

But even as the tension in his chest eased, the thought lingered.

He knew he couldn't avoid it forever. The questions would come. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow — but soon. James, Remus, and Peter weren't fools. They knew him too well. The bruises had faded, but the shadows hadn't. And no amount of laughter in the Great Hall or games of Exploding Snap in the common room would hide the weight that clung to him.

He would have to find the words.

How did you explain the kind of pain that twisted through your bones long after it was over? How do you describe the moment you realized that the people meant to protect you were the ones who hurt you the most?

Sirius didn't know.

But he'd have to try.

James, Remus, and Peter busied themselves with their trunks, the low hum of their conversation fading into the background. Sirius barely noticed. For the first time since stepping onto the platform that morning, the knot in his chest loosened.

Grim was here. Hogwarts was here. And though the shadows of his past still lingered, they didn't feel quite so overwhelming.

Not with this small heartbeat purring steadily beside him.

“Welcome home Grim,” Sirius whispered, scratching the kitten behind the ears. And for once, the word didn't feel like a lie.

Chapter Text

“GOOD MORNING EVERYONE!” James's enthusiastic voice rang through the dorm, far too loud for such an early hour.

Sirius groaned, immediately retreating beneath his sheets like a vampire avoiding sunlight. Grim, equally unimpressed, let out a low hiss before leaping off the bed. The cat shot James a glare that promised vengeance.

“Traitor,” Sirius mumbled from beneath the covers.

James, undeterred, marched over and yanked the blankets away with a flourish.

“It's a beautiful day, my friend!” he declared, beaming down at Sirius with far too much cheer. “Time to rise and shine!”

Sirius squinted up at him, scowling. “Time to shove a sock in it, more like.” He swatted weakly at James, who danced away with a laugh.

From the safety of his own bed, Remus chuckled, amused by the familiar morning chaos. Meanwhile, Peter remained blissfully oblivious, his snores rumbling through the room like a broken engine.

“Go wake Peter up. If I have to suffer, so does he,” Sirius grumbled, his face still half-buried in his pillow.

James, never one to pass up a bit of mischief, perked up immediately. “Excellent idea.”

With a grin, he rushed over to Peter’s bed. A quick flick of his wand sent the mattress tipping sideways. Peter let out a startled yelp as he tumbled to the floor in a mess of tangled blankets.

“Hey!” Peter's voice muffled beneath the tangle of blankets. “What was that for?”

James shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Sirius told me to wake you up.”

“And if Sirius told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?” Peter demanded, still tangled in his sheets.

James grinned. “I mean, probably. How high is the cliff? Is there water at the bottom? And why's Sirius asking me to jump in the first place?”

“It was metaphorical,” Peter groaned, glaring up at him.

“Well, that's just stupid,” James shot back with a shrug.

Remus, who had wisely gotten up before becoming James's next victim, spoke up. “It is time to get up now anyway, Peter. We need to get down to breakfast to receive our new timetables.”

Peter groaned but begrudgingly began to untangle himself from the mess of twisted blankets.

“Sirius,” Remus said gently, walking over to the other boy's bed. “It's time to get up.”

Sirius mumbled something unintelligible, his face still buried in his pillow.

“Sorry, what was that?” Remus asked, raising a brow.

With a dramatic groan, Sirius lifted his head just enough to be heard. “I said, mornings suck.”

James, clearly far too awake for this hour, clapped his hands together. “Come on, lads! First day back, new pranks to plan, Snivellus to torment — the possibilities are endless!”

“You're lucky I don't hex you,” Sirius muttered, dragging himself out of bed with a grimace. Grim, still perched on the windowsill, flicked his tail in agreement.

“You'd miss me too much,” James shot back with a grin.

Peter, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, scowled. “I miss my warm bed already.”

Remus, who had already begun dressing, shook his head. “You'll miss breakfast if you don't hurry.”

“See? Reasonable advice,” Sirius said, stretching with a yawn. “Unlike whatever nonsense James is spewing.”

“You love my nonsense,” James retorted. “It's part of my charm.”

Remus, who had been watching Sirius with an affectionate smile, let out a quiet chuckle. There was something undeniably warm in his gaze, something unspoken yet deeply felt. It wasn’t just amusement at the morning antics—it was fondness, a quiet appreciation of Sirius simply being Sirius. The sight of Sirius standing there, sleep-mussed hair falling into his eyes, still grumbling about mornings, made something ache softly in Remus’s chest.

Once they were dressed, the four of them made their way down to the common room, dodging stray first-years and the occasional piece of enchanted parchment. The air was filled with the familiar hum of Gryffindor House waking up, and the golden light filtering through the windows promised a bright day ahead.

They reached the Great Hall, where breakfast was already in full swing. Students crowded around their house tables, swapping stories about their summers and speculating about the year ahead. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the soft morning light, streaked with wisps of clouds.

Dorcas, spotting them instantly—and much to Lily's visible dismay—waved them over with an exaggerated flourish. Her grin was unapologetically smug.

Sirius, never one to pass up the chance to be a nuisance, dropped into the seat beside her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Morning, sunshine,” Sirius greeted with a grin, reaching for a piece of toast from the platter in front of her. “Miss me?”

“Terribly,” she drawled, though the amused twinkle in her eyes gave her away. “You lot managed to survive the first night without causing a catastrophe?”

“Barely,” Remus said dryly, taking a seat across from them. “James declared war on sleep. Peter was collateral damage.” Peter scowled, though the effect was ruined by the yawn he tried to stifle. “He's too much of a morning person, it's disturbing.”

James, entirely unbothered, slid into his seat next to Remus, his hair even more unruly than usual. “You're all just jealous of my boundless energy.”

Lily, who had been attempting to ignore their arrival, shot James a withering look.

“Boundless idiocy, more like it.”

“Ah, Evans,” James beamed, clearly taking her insult as a form of greeting. “Lovely to see you too.”

Lily muttered something under her breath, but Sirius swore he saw the slightest twitch of a smile. Dorcas, enjoying the exchange far too much, leaned her elbow on the table and smirked.

“So what’s the bet on how long it will take for you two to cause a scene today?”

“Before lunch,” Remus said without hesitation, not even looking up from buttering his toast.

Sirius chuckled, shooting him a look. “No faith in us at all, Moony?”

Remus’s lips quirked upward, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his tea, watching Sirius over the rim of his cup. Something about his gaze made Sirius pause, though he couldn’t put a name to it—like Remus knew something he didn’t.

“You lot have no faith in us,” James said with mock offense, piling eggs onto his plate. “We might surprise you.”

“No, we won’t,” Sirius countered, smirking as he reached for the pumpkin juice. “But we’ll be entertaining.”

Just as James opened his mouth—likely to continue his banter with Lily—Professor McGonagall strode down the aisle between tables, stopping beside them with a bundle of parchment scrolls in hand. She gave them all a pointed look before distributing their timetables.

“And so it begins,” Remus muttered, catching his own schedule as it was delivered.

“You think McGonagall will let us off easy this year?” James asked, waving his timetable dramatically.

“Not a chance,” Remus replied, skimming through his own. “She’s probably doubled down after last year’s ‘fireworks incident.’”

Sirius reached for his, quickly scanning the parchment. “Transfiguration first,” he noted with a satisfied nod. “Could be worse.”

“Could be better,” James grumbled, his eyes narrowing. “Double Potions with the Slytherins right after. Because that’s exactly what I needed this year—a Snape-filled morning.”

“Oh, come on,” Sirius smirked. “You love Potions.”

“I love trying to make our cauldron explode and blaming it on Snivellus,” James corrected, dramatically slumping against the table. “That’s different.”

Peter snorted, shaking his head. “Just try not to set anything on fire this time. I’m still convinced the fumes from last year gave me a twitch.”

James grinned. “That wasn’t my fault! It was an… unexpected chemical reaction.”

“Unexpectedly aimed at Snape,” Remus added dryly.

Sirius huffed a laugh, his gaze flicking to Remus. The corner of Remus’s mouth twitched as if he were holding back a full grin. Sirius had always liked that look on him—the way amusement softened the sharp angles of his face, the way his eyes warmed when he was teasing rather than scolding.

James groaned dramatically. “Why couldn’t we have Care of Magical Creatures instead? I’d much rather wrangle a Blast-Ended Skrewt than sit through two hours of Snape glaring at us.”

“Well, I, for one, am looking forward to Charms,” Dorcas said, examining her timetable. “Flitwick said we’d be starting advanced spellwork this year.”

“N.E.W.T level already?” Sirius asked, raising a brow. “Trying to outshine us all, are you?”

“Please. Outshining you lot is hardly an achievement,” Dorcas quipped. “Especially when half your time is spent hexing Slytherins in the corridor.”

“Character building,” Sirius replied with mock seriousness. “Besides, who else is going to keep Snape on his toes?”

Lily shot him a glare, but there was no real malice behind it. “Maybe you lot should try focusing on your studies for once.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Sirius retorted, flashing a grin.

Though her glare lingered, Sirius noticed the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

James dramatically shoved his timetable away. “If I survive Potions without permanent damage, I’ll consider it a success.”

Remus shook his head in amusement. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly charming,” James said with a grin. “And modest too.”

Sirius turned back to Remus just in time to catch a look—fleeting, almost imperceptible. Like Remus had been watching him when he wasn’t looking. It was gone before Sirius could think too hard about it, replaced by an eye roll as Remus picked up his goblet.

 The sound of clinking goblets and chatter filled the air as the group finished breakfast, bracing themselves for the first day of the term—and whatever chaos it might bring.

After breakfast, the Gryffindors filed out of the Great Hall, joining the river of students heading to their first classes. Transfiguration had passed without much incident—a relatively tame introduction to the curriculum that promised more practical lessons in the coming weeks. Sirius found himself already itching for something more interesting.

He and James lagged slightly behind the others as they made their way through the crowded corridors. “You think Slughorn will make us do introductions again?” James mused.

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Sirius replied. “He loves hearing about 'promising young talent.'” He made a grand gesture, mimicking Slughorn’s pompous voice. “Ah, my dear boy, you must consider the Slug Club, a gathering of only the most gifted!”

James snorted. “I still don’t know how you keep dodging that invitation.”

“Charm,” Sirius smirked. “And the ability to disappear at the right moment.”

Their lighthearted exchange was cut short as they turned a corner, and the mood in the hallway shifted. Standing by the entrance to the dungeons, arms crossed and expression twisted with disdain, was Severus Snape. His black robes billowed slightly as he leaned against the cold stone wall. A sneer tugged at his lips as his dark eyes locked on them.

“Look who finally dragged themselves out of bed,” Snape drawled,  his voice dripping with contempt. "Still pretending, Black? Must be exhausting trying to be something you're not."

Sirius tensed, his easygoing demeanor flickering. "And what exactly would that be, Snivellus? Enlighten us—I could use a good laugh."

But even as the words left his mouth, Sirius felt the familiar hollow ache. No matter how quick his tongue, some wounds ran too deep to be soothed by bravado.

"A Black trying to play the hero," Snape spat, his tone low. "But no matter how far you run, you'll always be like the rest of them."

James stepped forward, hands curled into fists, but he didn't reach for his wand—not yet. "Watch your mouth."

Snape's wand twitched at his side, and for a moment, the tension crackled. Students passing by cast wary glances, but no one dared to interfere.

"Touch a nerve, Potter?" Snape sneered. "You're so desperate to play the golden boy, yet you're no different than the arrogant fool you idolize."

The insult was barely out of his mouth before his wand flicked upward. A flash of dark energy shot from its tip, aimed directly at James. But before the spell could make contact, Sirius was quicker.

With a swift wave of his own wand, a shimmering shield erupted between them, deflecting the hex effortlessly. The impact sent a sharp crack echoing through the corridor, the force of the spell vibrating against his shield, followed by stunned silence.

"Really, Snape?" Sirius's voice was low, dangerously calm. "Attacking people in the middle of a corridor? Even for you, that's pathetic."

Snape's expression twisted further, but before he could retort, the heavy sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Professor McGonagall appeared, her stern gaze assessing the scene.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded sharply.

Sirius lowered his wand but didn't break eye contact with Snape. "Just a little misunderstanding, Professor."

Snape's mouth opened as if to protest, but McGonagall's glare silenced him. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr. Snape. And consider yourself fortunate that I don't assign detention on the spot."

With a reluctant sneer, Snape turned sharply, disappearing into the shadows of the dungeon. McGonagall's gaze lingered on the boys for a moment before she gave a curt nod.

"Get to class. And I suggest you avoid further… misunderstandings."

As she strode away, James let out a low whistle. "Well, that was a proper start to the year."

"Snivellus never learns," Sirius muttered, though a flicker of satisfaction lingered in his eyes.

But as they descended into the dungeons, the shadows of Snape's words clung to him.

You'll always be like the rest of them.

The sneer in Snape's voice echoed in his mind, twisting through his thoughts like smoke. No matter how far he ran, how fiercely he tried to carve his own path, there would always be those who believed the Black name was stitched into his skin—impossible to tear away.

And what terrified Sirius most was that sometimes, in the dead of night when the shadows whispered, he believed it too.

The Potions classroom had been stifling, the air thick with the scent of bubbling cauldrons and damp stone. Slughorn had, as expected, greeted Sirius warmly, making an offhand comment about how the Slug Club always had room for another Black. Sirius had smiled and laughed it off, but the whole thing left his skin crawling.

Now, as the class emptied out into the corridor, Sirius exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off the lingering discomfort.

Remus, who had been unusually quiet through the lesson, slowed his pace to fall in step beside him. "You alright?"

Sirius blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?"

Remus gave him a pointed look. "Snape."

Sirius scoffed, forcing a smirk. "Oh, come on, Moony, I've had worse insults thrown at me."

Remus didn’t look convinced. His hazel eyes, always sharp despite the exhaustion that lingered behind them, studied Sirius carefully. "That doesn't mean they don't get under your skin."

For a second, Sirius considered brushing him off. Making a joke, deflecting like he always did. But something about the way Remus was looking at him—steady, patient, seeing him—made it harder to lie.

He shrugged, looking away. "It’s nothing I haven’t heard before."

Remus’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he simply nudged Sirius’s arm lightly with his elbow, a small gesture, barely noticeable. But Sirius felt it.

"Come on," Remus said, voice softer now. "Let’s catch up with the others before James starts another bet with Dorcas about how long it’ll take him to get detention."

Sirius huffed a laugh, the knot in his stomach loosening just a fraction. "Ten minutes, tops."

Remus’s lips quirked. "Five."

And just like that, the moment passed. But as they walked down the corridor together, Sirius found that the weight of Snape’s words wasn’t quite as heavy as before.

The rest of the day passed quickly without much incident. James managed to avoid blowing anything up, much to Remus's relief, though Peter’s failed attempt at a vanishing spell resulted in his ink bottle disappearing—only to reappear moments later, upside down over his own head. By the time dinner rolled around, the four of them were in good spirits, laughter echoing through the Great Hall as they swapped stories and dodged the occasional flying bit of food from a rowdy table.

But just as Sirius reached for a second helping of treacle tart, a sharp flutter of wings interrupted him. A sleek black barn owl swooped low, its dark feathers catching the flicker of candlelight. It dropped a sealed letter directly in front of him before banking sharply upward and disappearing out the nearest window.

The laughter around him faded, the warmth of the Great Hall dimming as Sirius stared at the familiar wax seal, his stomach twisting. The elegant insignia of the House of Black gleamed on the dark seal—a sharp contrast to the lively chatter surrounding them. His fingers hesitated before breaking it open.

James, mid-bite, leaned closer with a frown. “What's that?”

“Nothing,” Sirius replied quickly, though the tension in his voice was hard to miss. He folded the parchment and shoved it into his pocket, the words already burned into his mind.

Meet me by the Black Lake after dinner. We need to talk.
—Regulus

Sirius's pulse quickened. Regulus never reached out—not like this. Whatever this was, it wasn't just some petty demand from their mother or another scathing remark from his relatives. Regulus wanted to talk. And that alone was enough to keep Sirius's thoughts far from dessert.

Across the table, Remus's sharp eyes lingered on him. Sirius could feel the weight of his gaze, the way Remus was studying him—too perceptive for his own good. He forced himself to grab his fork again, pretending the letter hadn’t just thrown him off balance. But he knew Remus had noticed. Knew that later, when James and Peter were too distracted, there would be quiet questions, a careful inquiry.

For now, though, Sirius kept his expression neutral, his grip tightening around the handle of his fork.

He'd deal with it later.

The Black Lake was still, its dark waters mirroring the soft glow of the crescent moon. A thin mist hovered just above the surface, curling like smoke in the cool night air, it's damp chill clinging to Sirius's skin. He stood at the water's edge, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his robes. Despite the lingering warmth of the day, a chill clung in the air, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

He heard footsteps before he saw him. Regulus approached quietly, the hood of his cloak drawn up, though the silver gleam of his eyes beneath it was unmistakable. Neither of them spoke at first. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the occasional ripple of the lake.

“You came,” Regulus finally said, his voice low.

“Well, you did ask,” Sirius replied, forcing an air of nonchalance. He kicked a loose pebble into the water, watching the ripples disturb the surface. “What do you want, Reg?”

Regulus hesitated, his fingers twisting in the hem of his sleeve. “I wanted to see you. And… I thought it was about time we talked.”

“About what? How mother's still cursing my name? How father's pretending I never existed?” Sirius's voice was sharp, though not nearly as harsh as it could have been. “I already know how they feel. No need to deliver family updates.”

Regulus flinched but didn't argue. He lowered his gaze to the ground, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. “It's not about them,” he murmured. “It's about you.”

Sirius blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“I'm glad you left,” Regulus said, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of his words. “I didn't want you to die, Sirius. And I was sure if you stayed, you would.”

For a moment, Sirius couldn't speak. He had braced himself for accusations or resentment — not this. “You're glad I left,” he echoed, the words foreign on his tongue.

“Yes,” Regulus said firmly, though his eyes were troubled. “I'm not brave like you. I didn't — I couldn't stand up to them. But that doesn't mean I wanted them to —” he swallowed thickly, his jaw tightening. “I should have done more. I should have stopped them.”

Sirius's chest tightened. The memory of the night — the searing pain, the shouts, the flash of green light that barely missed him — loomed large in his mind. But there was no point in dwelling on it. Not now.

“You couldn't have stopped them,” Sirius said, his voice softer now. “No one could.”

Regulus opened his mouth as if to say more, but then hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “And Alexandria… what she did —”

“Don't,” Sirius cut him off, the name alone igniting a spark of pain in his chest. “I'm not talking about her.”

Regulus studied him for a moment, his eyes searching, as if trying to read all the words Sirius wouldn't say. There was understanding there, though Sirius hated that his brother had any reason to understand.

“Have you told them?” Regulus asked after a beat. “Your friends. Do they know what happened?” 

Sirius shook his head, his jaw tightening. “They wouldn't understand.”

Regulus's gaze didn't waver. “Maybe they would,” he said quietly. “Maybe they'll surprise you.”

Sirius wanted to argue, to push away the suggestion like he had so many times before. But instead, he said nothing. The idea of laying bare the things he had endured — the things Alexandria had done — felt impossible. Yet, a part of him wondered if Regulus was right.

The silence returned, but this time it was less suffocating. The tension had eased, if only slightly.

“You're not as much of a git as I remember, Sirius finally said, attempting a faint smirk.

Regulus almost smiled. “And you're still insufferable.”

A breeze stirred the surface of the lake as the brothers stood in the fading moonlight. Whatever fractured bond remained between them was fragile, but it was still there. And for now, that fragile thread of understanding was enough.

“We should… try to write, I suppose,” Regulus offered awkwardly.

Sirius gave a short nod. “Yeah. We should.”

Without another word, Regulus turned and began to walk away, his figure soon swallowed by the shadows. Sirius lingered a moment longer, staring out at the lake. The reflection of the stars shimmered across the water, and for the first time in a long while, Sirius didn't feel entirely alone.

The dormitory was quiet when Sirius finally pushed open the door. The warm glow from the enchanted lanterns cast flickering shadows along the stone walls, and the faint crackle of the dying fire filled the air. James was already sprawled across his bed, snoring lightly, one arm draped over his face. Peter had curled into a tight ball beneath his blankets, his breathing deep and steady.

Only Remus was awake. He was seated on his bed, a book open in his lap, but his golden-brown eyes flicked up the moment Sirius stepped inside.

Sirius hesitated for just a second—barely a pause—but Remus caught it. He always did.

“Where were you?” Remus’s voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the concern laced within it.

Sirius shrugged, kicking off his shoes before flopping onto his bed with deliberate nonchalance. “Nowhere important.”

Remus shut his book with a soft thud . “Nowhere important,” he echoed, his gaze steady. “So… the letter earlier, the one you so quickly shoved into your pocket, had nothing to do with it?”

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Moony, don’t start.”

Remus didn’t move from his bed, but his expression softened, the stubborn crease between his brows deepening. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Sirius insisted, rolling onto his side, away from Remus. “It was just my brother. That’s all.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment before Remus finally asked, “Why?”

Sirius sighed, rubbing at his face before turning to look at him. “He just… wanted to check in on me.”

Remus’s eyes searched his face, as if measuring the truth in his words. “That’s not like him.”

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well… maybe people change.”

Remus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pushed himself off his bed and crossed the room, settling down beside Sirius. His presence was solid, grounding. Close enough that Sirius could feel the warmth of him, even through the chill lingering from the night air outside.

“You know,” Remus said softly, “if you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”

Sirius tilted his head to look at him, finding nothing but sincerity in those amber eyes. It was too much—too gentle —so he smirked, attempting to dispel the weight in the air. “I know, Moony. That’s why you’re my favorite.”

Remus huffed, shaking his head. “Right. I’ll remember that the next time you and James drag me into detention.”

Sirius grinned, the tension in his chest easing, even if only slightly. “Exactly. Can’t have my favorite prefect hating me, now can I?”

Remus rolled his eyes, but his concern hadn’t faded entirely. “Just… don’t shut us out, Sirius.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Whatever it is—whatever’s weighing on you—you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Something in Sirius’s chest tightened at the words, but he masked it with a lazy stretch, throwing an arm behind his head. “Yeah, yeah. You’re getting sappy on me, Moony.”

Remus just shook his head with a small, knowing smile. “Go to sleep, Padfoot.”

Sirius didn’t argue, but as he lay there, staring at the ceiling long after Remus had returned to his own bed, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—Regulus had been right.

Chapter Text

Sirius jolted awake, his heart pounding and breath coming in ragged gasps. He could still feel the ghostly weight of phantom hands, the echoes of laughter curling around his thoughts like smoke — his mother’s cruel cackle, and faintly, a softer, more treacherous giggle — unmistakably Alexandria’s, though he hadn’t heard it in years. The sound twisted in his memory like a thorned vine. For a fleeting, irrational moment, he half-expected to see her standing in the shadows, watching him with dark, glinting eyes and that old, unsettling promise etched into her smile.

The corners of the room seemed darker, alive with secrets.

A soft rustling beside him pulled him back to reality. Grim, his small black kitten, stirred from sleep, sensing his distress. The kitten stretched before padding over to Sirius, nuzzling against his side and purring softly — a comforting presence that grounded him, if only slightly, in the here and now.

Across the room, the disturbance had roused James from his sleep. He propped himself up on one elbow, squinting in the dim light.

“Sirius?” James’s voice was thick with sleep and concern. “Merlin, mate, you were shouting. What’s going on?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his frown deepening as he searched Sirius’s face for answers.

Sirius forced a shaky smile, willing the tremor from his voice. "Nothing, just a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

James frowned, clearly unconvinced, but before he could press further, a soft snore rose from the bed nearby. Peter remained blissfully unaware, lost in his own dreams.

Remus, however, had stirred.

Sirius felt the weight of his gaze before he even turned to look. Remus had always been a light sleeper — too attuned to shifts in the atmosphere, too perceptive for his own good. Now, in the dim glow of moonlight, his eyes were sharp and steady, watching Sirius not with sleepy confusion, but quiet, growing concern.

"Everything okay?" Remus’s voice was soft, careful — too careful. Like he already knew the answer.

"Just a nightmare," Sirius repeated, his tone firmer this time. "Nothing to worry about."

The words tasted like a lie, but the truth was far heavier. They couldn't know. Not about her. Not about how her hands had felt like ice and fire all at once. Not about what she did — and what she made him do. The memory clung to him like smoke, refusing to dissipate. Even now, in the safety of his dorm, it felt like her ghost lingered.

Remus studied him for a moment, concern evident in his gaze, but there was something else there too — something Sirius couldn’t quite name. A hesitation. A softness that he felt more than saw.

"If you need to talk…" Remus murmured, trailing off like he wanted to say more but thought better of it.

Sirius nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

He wasn’t sure what unnerved him more — the nightmare or the way Remus was looking at him, like he was something fragile. Like he mattered.

As his friends settled back into their beds, Sirius lay down, Grim curling up on his chest. The kitten's rhythmic purring served as a lullaby, soothing his frayed nerves.

He shut his eyes, but sleep didn’t come easily. Not when the shadows whispered. And not when, in the quiet, his mind drifted back to Remus — the way his voice had been just a little softer, his worry just a little different than the others’.

Sirius told himself it was nothing.

And yet, the thought lingered.

James woke with a burst of energy, throwing open the curtains of his four-poster bed. “Quidditch practice is back on!” he announced, his voice ringing through the dormitory like a morning bell.

Sirius groaned, barely lifting his head from the pillow. The restless night had left him feeling like he hadn’t slept at all. Shadows clung beneath his eyes, and every muscle ached — a bitter reminder of the nightmares still gnawing at the edges of his mind.

“Brilliant,” Sirius muttered, his voice muffled against the fabric. “Exactly what I need. Broomsticks and Bludgers.”

James ignored the sarcasm, already scribbling furiously on a scrap of parchment. “We've got an open spot on the team. Tryouts are tonight. Everyone’s going to see what Gryffindor’s made of this year!”

Sirius groaned again, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. Grim, still curled contentedly on his pillow, purred without a care in the world. Sirius absently scratched behind the kitten's ears, earning a pleased flick of the tail.

“Up, Padfoot!” James called, grabbing a pillow and lobbing it at him.

Grim gave an indignant meow as Sirius dodged the blow. “You’re going to traumatize the poor cat,” Sirius grumbled, rubbing his face.

“Grim’s made of tougher stuff,” James replied breezily. “Now come on, breakfast is calling.”

“You’re entirely too cheerful for this hour,” Sirius muttered, forcing himself to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

Remus, already dressed and adjusting his tie with practiced care, chuckled softly. “You’ll thank him once you’ve had a cup of tea.”

Peter, who was struggling to find his other sock, chimed in, “and bacon. Definitely bacon.”

With a dramatic groan, Sirius gently scooped up Grim, who mewed in protest before settling into the crook of his arm. He trudged to his trunk, pulling out a crumpled shirt and jumper. The morning light filtering through the dorm windows did nothing to improve his mood. The ache from his sleepless night still clung to him like a stubborn fog. He caught his reflection in the cracked mirror above his bedside table — dark circles under his eyes, hair in wild disarray. Even for Sirius Black, it was not his best look.

“Looking dashing, as always,” he muttered to himself with a sarcastic grin.

Once they were all reasonably presentable, James led the way down the spiral staircase. The Gryffindor common room was beginning to stir, a few students already lounging by the fire or chatting in the corner. James beamed as he approached the message board, parchment in hand.

“This,” he said dramatically, “marks the beginning of another legendary Gryffindor Quidditch season!”

He slapped the notice onto the board with a flourish, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The words stood out boldly:

Gryffindor Quidditch Tryouts — Tonight!

6:00 PM on the Pitch.

Looking for Our Next Star Player.

“Perfect,” James declared proudly. “Now, breakfast.”

Sirius rolled his eyes but followed, the familiar energy of Hogwarts life starting to stir something warmer inside him. Even with the lingering exhaustion, he couldn't deny the comfort of returning to routine. 

The Great Hall buzzed with its usual morning chatter, long tables crowded with students digging into plates of eggs, toast, and porridge. Overhead, the enchanted ceiling reflected a pale, cloudy sky, hinting at drizzle. The cool scent of rain hung in the air, blending with the warmth of baking bread and sizzling bacon.

Despite the inviting smells, Sirius couldn’t shake the weight of his restless night. The chatter felt too loud, the light too sharp. Even the thought of breakfast did little to lift the exhaustion sinking into his bones.

James barely made it through the doors before waving down a tall seventh-year with broad shoulders. “Oi, Murphy! Got a minute? We need to talk strategy before tryouts.”

Without waiting for a response, James bounded toward the Gryffindor table, already launching into a rapid-fire debate about formations and possible recruits. Sirius trailed after him, shaking his head with a weary grin. Grim had been left behind in the dormitory, no doubt curled up on Sirius’s pillow for a well-deserved nap — something Sirius rather wished he could do himself.

“You're not seriously going to eat with that lot, are you, Dorcas?”

Sirius froze mid-step, the familiar sneer catching his attention. Marlene McKinnon’s voice cut through the air like poison. She sat a few seats down, her arms crossed, a look of disdain twisting her pretty face. A couple of girls around her giggled softly, though the tension in the air was palpable.

Dorcas Meadowes, however, did not so much as flinch. She was mid-bite of her toast, her sharp eyes narrowing with irritation as she set it down with deliberate calm.

“And what lot would that be, Marlene?” Dorcas asked coolly.

Marlene's gaze flicked toward Sirius, who was still a few steps away. “The runaway Black,” she said with mock sweetness. “Must be exhausting keeping up with his dramatics. I'm surprised you can tolerate it.”

The words struck like a cold slap, though Sirius forced the usual smirk to his lips. He’d grown used to the whispers, the pointed looks. No matter how much distance he put between himself and his family, their name clung to him like a shadow.

But this — this wasn’t just about his last name. This was Marlene.

Once, they’d been close. Not friends, exactly, but something that had teetered on the edge of it. They'd shared laughs, stolen bottles of firewhiskey, dared each other to sneak out after curfew. And for a while, Marlene’s laughter had lingered longer, her eyes had brightened a little more when they met his. There had been whispers, too — teasing comments from James and Peter about how Marlene fancied him.

Sirius had brushed them off. Not because she wasn’t beautiful — she was — but because even then, there was a restlessness in him that wanted no part in whatever expectations people might have. And when Marlene’s subtle advances were met with Sirius’s easy deflections and jokes, the lingering fondness quickly soured.

Her words twisted like a knife, sharper because they’d once shared firewhiskey and secrets. He forced the smirk anyway, because that was what he did.

But before Sirius could retort, Dorcas was already speaking.

“Right,” she said dryly, “because choosing to leave a family of Death Eater sympathizers is just so dramatic. How terrible of him to have morals. You really should write to Witch Weekly about it.”

A few nearby students snickered, and Marlene’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“And while you're at it,” Dorcas continued, her voice taking on an edge, “maybe you can explain how insulting your classmates makes you any better. Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't.”

Sirius blinked, warmth spreading through his chest. He hadn't expected Dorcas to defend him so fiercely.

“She’s right,” another voice chimed in.

Lily Evans, further down the table, had been listening. She glanced up from her tea, her green eyes cool and unwavering. “Sirius left because he refused to stand by their beliefs. That’s more than most purebloods can say. And frankly, it’s a hell of a lot braver than running your mouth about things you don’t understand. But then again, bravery’s not exactly your forte, is it, Marlene?”

Marlene scowled, but with half the Gryffindor table now watching her, she muttered something under her breath and turned back to her breakfast. The satisfaction on Dorcas’s face was unmistakable.

Sirius didn't miss the subtle glance Marlene shot him, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. Regret, perhaps? Or frustration — like she was waiting for him to act like the version of Sirius she once thought she knew. He didn't know what she had expected — for him to crumble? Apologize for daring to exist outside of the Black family name? Whatever it was, she didn't get it.

With a quiet exhale, Sirius finally moved to sit next to Dorcas, a ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Dorcas smirked. “Smartest thing you've said all morning.

As Sirius reached for a plate of toast, he caught Remus's eye across the table. Unlike James, who was still deep in his Quidditch conversation, Remus had heard every word. His brows were furrowed, and his lips pressed in a thin line. He didn't say anything, but the subtle shake of his head spoke volumes — unimpressed, as always, with the cruelty that lingered even within their own house.

“Don't let it bother you,” Dorcas said softly, noticing the flicker of irritation still lingering in Sirius's gaze. “She’s just bitter you're more interesting than she'll ever be.”

Sirius let out a low chuckle. “I'll drink to that. Pass the pumpkin juice, will you?”

A few seats down, Peter was entirely oblivious to the lingering tension. He was leaning toward a curly-haired Ravenclaw, his cheeks flushed as he stumbled through whatever conversation they were having. His voice pitched slightly higher than usual, and he fiddled with the hem of his robes. The girl, looking amused, giggled at something Peter said — though whether it was at his joke or his nervous fumbling was anyone’s guess.

"Looks like Wormtail's making progress," Sirius commented, smirking.

"Or making a fool of himself," Remus added dryly, though there was no real bite to his words.

"Hey, at least he’s trying," Dorcas said, buttering her toast. "That’s more than we can say for most people."

Sirius snorted. "True. Maybe I should take notes."

Lily arched an eyebrow. "You? Take notes? On how to flirt? I think the world would collapse."

"Oi!" Sirius feigned offense, though the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.

It was at that moment James finally reached them, his face glowing with enthusiasm. He clapped a hand on Sirius's shoulder, clearly unaware of whatever had just transpired. "Right, Murphy’s on board. We’re set for tryouts tonight. Going to be brilliant."

The tension lingered ever so slightly, but James was too caught up in his excitement to notice. His grin faltered only for a moment as he glanced around, sensing something had happened. "What’d I miss? And why’s everyone suddenly glaring at their toast?"

Sirius shrugged, determined not to give Marlene the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten under his skin. "Nothing important. Just the usual morning drama." He reached for a slice of toast, his tone light. "But I’d much rather hear about the grand plans for Gryffindor’s next victory. Got any secret strategies up your sleeve, Captain?"

James’s eyes gleamed at the change in subject. "Glad you asked!"

And just like that, the conversation shifted, the Quidditch talk drowning out any trace of the earlier remarks. Even Remus seemed content to let it drop, though there was still a flicker of disapproval in his gaze. Peter, still utterly clueless, gave Sirius a thumbs-up from his spot, clearly proud of how his conversation had gone. Sirius returned it with a half-hearted grin, though his mind lingered, just for a moment, on the words he’d overheard.

James pulled an imaginary broomstick through the air with a flourish. “I'm thinking we might change up the formation this year. Plus, with a new spot open, we've got a chance to bring in some real talent.”

Sirius chuckled. “Or just someone willing to put up with you.”

James gasped in mock offense. “I'll have you know I'm an excellent captain.”

“Terrifying, more like it,” Dorcas added, though her grin suggested she didn't entirely disapprove.

“Details,” James said dismissively. “Anyway, tryouts are at six. Be there or forever regret missing the dawn of the best Gryffindor lineup Hogwarts has ever seen.”

Sirius raised his goblet in amusement. “To your delusions of grandeur.”

“And our inevitable victory,” James added with a wink.

The tension from earlier slowly ebbed away, replaced by the usual warmth of their morning banter. Even Remus, though still somewhat stiff, managed a small, amused shake of his head. Breakfast carried on, the echoes of laughter and clinking cutlery filling the Great Hall once more.

The day blurred past in a haze of classes Sirius could hardly recall. The words of Marlene McKinnon still lingered at the back of his mind, though he did his best to shove them aside. Dorcas and Lily had put her in her place, but that didn’t stop the occasional whisper or lingering glance that followed him through the corridors.

By the time the sun began to dip behind the castle, painting the stone walls in golden light, the Gryffindor common room had grown restless with excitement. The Quidditch tryouts were only an hour away, and students buzzed about, discussing who might make the team. James, naturally, had spent the better part of the evening going over plays with anyone who would listen.

But not Remus. He’d been unusually quiet all day, his gaze lingering on Sirius a little longer than usual, as if weighing words left unsaid. It wasn’t a surprise when Sirius caught the soft tread of footsteps behind him on his way to grab his broom — Remus falling into step like a shadow.

“Hey,” Remus called softly, his voice threaded with something that made Sirius's chest tighten, though he couldn’t quite name it. “Got a minute?”

“Tryouts are soon," Sirius replied, forcing a crooked grin. "If I’m late, James will hex me for ‘sabotaging Gryffindor’s eternal glory.’” But his joke fell flat in the quiet space between them. Remus’s expression didn’t shift, his eyes still clouded with worry.

“This won’t take long.”

With a resigned sigh, Sirius nodded. “Alright. What’s on your mind, Moony?”

Remus didn’t answer right away, just motioned for Sirius to follow. They slipped into the dormitory, leaving the hum of the common room behind as the heavy door clicked shut, the quiet pressing in around them.

Remus’s gaze flicked toward the floor, then back to Sirius. His brows pinched together, as though he was still searching for the right words.

“I wanted to check on you,” he said at last, voice steady but tight. “After what happened at breakfast.”

Sirius scoffed, though there was little amusement in it. “You mean Marlene’s little performance? Don’t worry about it.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Dorcas and Lily handled it. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t bother you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sirius.”

There it was — the quiet, insistent tone Remus always used when he saw straight through Sirius’s carefully constructed defenses. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“I’m not going to pretend it didn’t sting,” he admitted, “but it’s not like I didn’t see it coming. Half of them think I’m a traitor. The other half thinks I’m going to wake up one day and decide I’m just like the rest of the Blacks. Either way, I’m the family disgrace.” He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “Nothing new.”

Remus frowned. “That’s not fair. People admire you more than you realize.”

“Do they?” Sirius snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Remus studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And how are you doing? Really.”

“I told you, I’m—”

“Fine?” Remus finished, arching a brow. “You always say that. Even when you’re not.”

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, the words hitting far too close. He could feel the weight of Remus’s concern pressing down on him — not in a suffocating way, but in that steady, stubborn way only Remus could manage.

“And I’m not just talking about this morning,” Remus continued quietly. “I mean… the summer. What happened. You never talk about it.”

Sirius tensed. His jaw clenched as memories flickered at the edges of his mind — the shouting, the cold, the searing pain that still haunted his dreams. And through it all, her face lingered.

Alexandria.

Dark eyes, almost black, like twin voids that seemed to swallow all light. The way they watched him, unreadable and unnerving. Her smiles were delicate, practiced — but never warm. Her voice was always honeyed, her words layered with the promise of something darker beneath. His mother’s delighted praise echoed in his memory, the clinking of goblets raised in celebration. The toast to an engagement he never agreed to.

A betrothal.

Alexandria’s slender fingers had curled around his wrist that night, her gaze lingering as if she already owned him. “We’ll make a fine match, Sirius,” she had whispered, the words brushing against his ear like a curse. “Whether you like it or not.”

He remembered the pressure of his parents’ eyes, the expectation suffocating him. The heavy weight of tradition. And then — the searing flash of pain. His mother’s wand, his father’s booming voice. The Black family had a way of ensuring obedience.

But Sirius had refused .

He ran.

“There’s nothing to say,” Sirius finally muttered, forcing the memories back into the shadows. “It’s done.”

“Sirius—”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Sirius cut him off, his voice sharp. “I made it out. That’s all that matters.”

Remus didn’t respond right away. His eyes softened, the usual warmth in them tinged with worry. “It matters how you feel about it,” he said gently. “You don’t have to pretend you’re alright just because you think it’s what we expect. You know I’m here, right? When you’re ready.”

Sirius hated how the words made his throat tighten. Because despite his instinct to push it all down, a part of him wanted to say yes . To let it spill out — all the fear, the anger, the guilt. But the words remained lodged in his chest.

“I know.”

Remus gave him a long look, clearly unconvinced. But just as Sirius opened his mouth — whether to deflect again or maybe, just maybe, to try — the door burst open with a bang.

“Oi!”

James stood in the doorway, grinning as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His hair was windswept, likely from the constant attempts to make it look effortlessly tousled.

“It’s time!” James declared dramatically. “The pitch awaits. The crowd demands a show. And Gryffindor’s fearless captain cannot be late!”

Sirius forced a grin, latching onto the distraction. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Prongs.”

James clapped him on the back, already launching into a speech about how they were going to dominate this year. Remus lingered for a moment, his eyes still on Sirius, but he said nothing more. Instead, he gave a small nod — a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

And as they headed out the door, Sirius tried not to think about the conversation he’d almost had.

Almost.

By the time the Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts began, the sky had darkened, the last golden streaks of sunset swallowed by soft, gathering clouds. Lanterns flickered to life, casting long shadows across the grass as eager students filled the stands, chattering excitedly.

James was in his element, practically thrumming with energy as he strode in front of the hopefuls, the pitch as much his stage as his battlefield. “Right!” he called, his voice carrying easily across the field. “I want to see quick reflexes, solid flying, and most importantly — Gryffindor spirit! We've got one spot open this year, and I expect you lot to give it everything you’ve got.”

Sirius, lounging against his broom, exchanged an amused glance with Dorcas. “Think anyone’s going to survive under his reign of terror?”

“He’s already rehearsing next year’s victory speech,” Dorcas replied dryly, though a fond smile tugged at her lips. “Honestly, James, you should just marry the Quidditch Cup and be done with it.”

James shot her a grin. “Tempting, Meadowes, but I don’t think it would fit in a wedding dress.”

Dorcas smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. We all know you’d be the one wearing it.”

Peter, perched eagerly on the edge of the stands, cupped his hands around his mouth. “Show ‘em what you’ve got, Prongs!”

James gave an exaggerated salute. “That’s the spirit, Wormtail!”

Sirius chuckled, though the sound lacked its usual warmth. Peter noticed. He’d been watching Sirius all day — from the moment they left the common room to now — his concern growing with each forced laugh and distracted glance. Even as they joked, Peter’s eyes flicked toward Sirius with concern, like he was trying to gauge just how much of his friend’s bravado was an act.

“You alright, Padfoot?” Peter asked, his voice dropping low beneath the chatter, eyes flicking to Sirius with quiet concern.

“I’m fine,” Sirius replied, too quickly. “Just tired.”

And he was. More than tired. The weight of the past few days had settled into his bones, pressing down with every breath. Alexandria’s voice still echoed in his mind, sharp and taunting. You were always going to end up alone, Sirius. No one stays. And then there was Regulus — standing by the lake that night, his voice barely more than a whisper. I thought they were going to kill you.

Sirius exhaled, blinking hard, trying to shake the words from his head. He couldn’t afford to drift off — not here, not now.

Peter didn’t look convinced, but before he could press further, the first group of hopefuls kicked off from the ground, soaring into the air. The competition was fierce, but the energy of the game was infectious. Players dove and weaved, the Quaffle streaking across the field in flashes of red. James, of course, flew with calculated precision, shouting instructions and testing their skills at every opportunity.

But it wasn’t just the tryouts that held his attention.

Sirius didn’t miss the way James’s eyes kept flicking toward the stands — or, more accurately, toward one particular spot where Lily Evans sat with a group of her friends. Her arms were crossed, her expression one of polite disinterest, but Sirius caught the faintest hint of amusement in her gaze.

“Watch this,” James muttered under his breath, grinning like a fool.

“Oh, this’ll be good,” Sirius murmured to Dorcas, both of them trying to suppress their laughter.

With a dramatic flourish, James kicked off into a sharp spiral, executing a textbook Sloth Grip Roll. The move was unnecessary — no Bludgers were even in play — but James performed it with all the flair of a professional. When he came out of the spin, he tossed the Quaffle high into the air, catching it effortlessly and making sure Lily had a perfect view.

Lily, for her part, raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. Then, without breaking eye contact, she gave an exaggerated yawn and leaned toward one of her friends, whispering something that made the other girl snicker.

Sirius clapped slowly. “Magnificent. Truly.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James grumbled, though he couldn’t quite hide his grin. “That was brilliant.”

“For a peacock, maybe,” Sirius smirked. “Pretty sure I saw her roll her eyes, mate.”

“Roll her eyes?” Dorcas scoffed, still watching Lily with interest. “No, that wasn’t an eye roll. That was a ‘Merlin help me, I think I might actually find him charming’ look.”

James perked up. “Really?”

“No,” Dorcas said flatly, and Sirius howled with laughter.

Peter chuckled, but his laughter faded quickly. “You’re sure you’re alright?” he asked again, his tone hesitant. “You just… you’ve been quiet. Since this morning.”

Sirius forced a grin. “Since when have I ever been quiet?”

Peter didn’t laugh this time. His concern was evident, gnawing at the edges of his usual cheerfulness. He opened his mouth as if to say more but thought better of it. Instead, he gave Sirius a small, uncertain nod and turned his attention back to the tryouts.

Sirius leaned on his broom, watching the chaos unfold with idle amusement — until his gaze flicked toward the stands.

Remus was there, sitting apart from the loudest of the crowd, his book forgotten in his lap. He was watching Sirius. Not the players, not the game, but him.

For a second, Sirius felt something strange settle in his chest. A weight he couldn’t quite name.

His exhaustion pressed in again, his limbs heavier than they should be, his thoughts sluggish. He felt stretched thin, like he was existing on the edge of something fragile. It was easy to ignore it when they were laughing, when James was showing off, when the world was loud. But in the quiet moments, when the lantern light flickered just right, he could feel it creeping in again — the loneliness, the ache of it, the exhaustion that ran deeper than sleepless nights.

To shake it off, he swung one leg over his broom and kicked off, cutting sharply through the air. The wind rushed past him, tugging at his hair as he executed a quick dive, twisting out of it at the last second. He didn’t need to show off — this wasn’t his tryout — but something about the way Remus was watching made him want to move.

From the stands, Remus’s eyes followed every movement. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way he watched — something careful. Almost hesitant.

Sirius wasn’t sure what to do with that.

The tryouts continued for another hour. The air was filled with cheers, groans, and the occasional laugh when an overeager player spun out of control. By the end of it, the choice was clear.

“Well done, McKinnon!” James clapped a younger boy on the back, who beamed with pride. “You’re on the team. Welcome to the best lot in Hogwarts.”

The rest of the players dispersed, some congratulating the new Chaser while others slumped off, disappointed. As the team huddled together, discussing strategies for the season, Sirius stretched his arms above his head, already thinking about the warmth of the Gryffindor common room.

Chapter Text

Morning light slanted across the classroom, catching in the dust motes floating lazily through the air, a stark contrast to the restless churn beneath Sirius’s skin. He slouched in his chair, chin propped on his fist, barely listening as Professor McGonagall lectured on Vanishing spells. His mind was elsewhere — on the yawning absence where Remus should have been, on the full moon rising tonight, and the tight coil of unease winding tighter in his chest.

He could still hear Remus’s stifled gasps from last year’s moons, the way he’d bite down on his lip to keep from crying out, the way he’d force a crooked smile after like he could fool them all. Sirius swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat. He hated the thought of him facing that agony alone tonight, cornered by pain and shadows.

Their first full moon back at Hogwarts. They’d done this more times than he could count, but tonight felt different. Maybe it was the long summer spent apart, powerless to help Remus through his transformations. Maybe it was the way Snape had been watching them lately, sharp-eyed and too observant. Or maybe it was Alexandria’s shadow, slithering closer with every thought, her poisoned promises curling in the corners of his mind. Out of reach. His fault.

Restless, Sirius shifted in his seat and flicked a glance toward the Slytherin side of the room — then froze.

Snape was watching Remus’s empty chair, a thin, knowing smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. It wasn’t the first time Sirius had caught Snape lingering near them on moon nights, scribbling in that battered notebook like he was piecing together a puzzle. Each glance, each scribble, had been easy to ignore in the past — until now. Sirius’s breath caught sharp in his throat. That smirk — no, it couldn’t mean what it looked like. It was subtle, but Sirius knew that expression too well. It was the look Snape wore when he thought he was cleverer than everyone else. When he thought he had them cornered. 

Sirius’s grip tightened on his wand beneath the desk. Hex him, curse him, wipe that smug grin clean off his face. But before he could so much as move, McGonagall’s clipped voice cut through his spiraling thoughts like a whipcrack.

“Black!”

He blinked, belatedly realizing she’d called his name more than once. James jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow, not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Perhaps,” McGonagall said coolly, one brow raised, “you’d care to demonstrate the Vanishing Spell? Or would you prefer to vanish from my classroom instead?”

Sirius forced a grin. “Evanesco,” he said, flicking his wand at the quill on his desk.

The quill vanished neatly, but McGonagall’s unimpressed stare lingered. “Next time, Mr. Black,” she said, “try vanishing your distractions as well.”

A few students snickered, the sound scraping raw across Sirius’s nerves. He slouched deeper in his chair, catching Dorcas Meadowes’s glance across the aisle. Her gaze was steady, knowing. She saw too much. Always had. She didn’t smirk like the others. She knew too well what Remus’s “illness” really meant.

But Sirius’s mind stuck on Snape — the smirk, the glint of sharp satisfaction in his eyes. A chill settled low in Sirius’s stomach.

The moment the bell rang, Sirius was the first out the door, James and Peter close at his heels. They weren’t halfway down the corridor when the sneering voice stopped them cold.

“Missing something, Black?”

Sirius turned, his heart already thudding. Snape leaned against the wall, arms crossed, every inch of him oozing smugness, like he could already taste their downfall.

“Or should I say… someone?” Snape added, his eyes glittering with malice.

James stepped forward, his jaw tight. “Sod off, Snivellus.”

But Snape ignored him, gaze fixed on Sirius with unnerving precision. “Funny, isn’t it?” he drawled. “Your little pack never feels quite complete at certain times of the month. Almost like clockwork.”

A cold weight coiled in Sirius’s chest, sinking fast. He forced a lazy smirk onto his face, though his fingers itched for his wand. “Blimey, Snape,” he said, light and sharp, “if I knew you paid this much attention to us, I would’ve sent you a signed photo.”

Peter gave a nervous laugh. James didn’t.

And neither did Snape.

There it was. In his eyes. In the curl of his lip. Suspicion, sharp as a blade pressed to their throats. Not certainty. Not yet. But too close for comfort.

Dorcas appeared, perfect timing as always, sweeping past Snape with calculated ease. “Honestly, Snape,” she said, looping her arm through Sirius’s and steering him away, “you spend more time thinking about us than you do washing your hair.”

James barked a laugh, and Sirius smirked as Snape’s expression darkened. They didn’t stop until they’d rounded the corner, out of sight.

“He’s onto something,” Peter muttered.

Sirius raked a hand through his hair, the tight coil in his chest twisting. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low. “I know.”

The thought gnawed at him, even as he tried to shake it off. Maybe they’d grown too bold. Maybe they’d let their guard down just enough. He gritted his teeth against the tide of dread rising in his chest.

Snape’s smirk dug beneath his skin like a splinter, impossible to ignore, festering with threat. Not just suspicion — it had been a promise. A threat of something waiting, just beneath the surface, ready to unravel everything.

For the first time that day, Sirius felt it: their luck had finally run out.

Sirius shoved the lingering tension aside, burying it beneath the familiar noise of routine. It wasn’t the first time Snape had prodded at them about Remus’s absences — but this time, it had felt different. Sharper. More deliberate.

The thought made his skin itch, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. Instead, he let himself get swept up in the usual chatter, clinging to it like a rope in stormy seas, as they stepped into Charms class.

James lit up the moment he spotted Lily Evans at the front of the room. With a too-casual flick of his hair, he strolled over and dropped into the seat beside her.

“Evans, you look absolutely radiant today,” James declared, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. “New shampoo? Or just the usual glow of someone hopelessly in love with me?”

Lily barely spared him a glance as she drew out her wand. “It’s called not looking at you, Potter. Works wonders.”

Sirius snorted, the sound a brief escape, and dropped into the seat behind them with Dorcas, elbowing her lightly. “How long d’you reckon before she hexes him?” His voice came out lighter than he felt. Better to keep things normal. Keep things easy.

Dorcas hummed, pretending to consider it. “If Flitwick doesn’t show in the next two minutes, I’m betting on a full Bat-Bogey hex.”

James, ever the dramatist, pressed a hand to his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Evans, you cut me to the quick. I’m here purely to be your dedicated, supportive partner in education.”

Lily sighed, clearly fighting the tug of a smile as she turned to face him properly. “Fine. If you really want to help, try not distracting me for once.”

Sirius opened his mouth for a wisecrack, but the words snagged in his throat as he caught the softening of James’s smirk — just slightly. Instead of firing off another ridiculous line, James straightened in his chair.

“Deal,” he said.

Lily’s eyebrows lifted, mild surprise flickering across her face before she turned back to her notes without comment. Dorcas shot Sirius a glance, her brows raised, and he grinned in response.

Maybe James Potter was capable of listening after all. Stranger things had happened.

The moment didn’t last long. Professor Flitwick bustled into the room, launching straight into a lecture on advanced Summoning Charms. James held out for about ten minutes before sliding a folded note beneath the desk toward Lily.

Without looking up from her textbook, Lily set the parchment alight with a flick of her wand. 

For the first time all morning, Sirius had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

“Merlin,” Dorcas whispered, grinning. “If they ever do get together, I think we should start preparing evacuation plans.”

Sirius leaned back in his chair, watching James whisper something else to Lily, earning an exasperated glare in return. “Nah,” he murmured, smirking. “That’s just when the fun begins.”

A flicker of genuine amusement broke through his fog. For a moment, it felt almost like normal.

The rest of the day blurred by — lessons, half-hearted homework, and James’s relentless pursuit of Lily’s attention. By dinner, Sirius was only picking at his food, his stomach knotting tighter with every passing moment.

Remus was already gone, escorted to the Shrieking Shack by Madam Pomfrey, as always on full moon nights. But tonight, it felt heavier. Closer. 

“Eat something,” James muttered, nudging Sirius’s plate toward him. “You’ll need the energy.”

The nudge jolted Sirius from his spiraling thoughts.

Sirius huffed but stabbed a piece of roast potato anyway, chewing without much appetite. Across from them, Peter bounced in his seat, jittery and restless, like a coil wound too tight — caught between excitement and nerves.

As Sirius forced down another bite, his gaze drifted across the Great Hall — and caught, for a fleeting moment, on a familiar figure at the far end of the Slytherin table.

Regulus.

His brother sat stiff-backed, a crease etched deep between his brows, shoulders hunched as if weighed down by something more than the usual tension of House politics. He wasn’t eating, just toying with the edge of his plate, eyes dark with something Sirius couldn’t quite read. Worry? Guilt?

Their gazes met for a heartbeat, and Sirius felt his chest tighten. Regulus’s expression shifted — not the usual cold mask, but something raw, frayed at the edges like it might unravel at any moment. A sick twist coiled tighter in Sirius’s gut. Did Regulus know something? Some flicker of Alexandria’s plans, whispered in darkened corridors? Or was he just drowning in the same poison she’d poured into their family — a poison that was seeping closer every day? Then, just as quickly, he looked away, murmuring something to a fellow Slytherin before rising from the table and slipping out of the hall.

Sirius’s stomach twisted, tight and sour, as if his insides were knotting themselves into rope. He swallowed hard, the potato suddenly dry and heavy in his mouth.

“Pads?” James prompted quietly, drawing his attention back.

Sirius blinked, forcing his gaze away from the doors Regulus had disappeared through. Beneath the table, his fingers found Grim’s soft fur. He scratched behind the kitten’s ears, feeling the small, steady rumble of purrs against his palm — a small, stubborn anchor against the knot in his chest. “I’m fine,” he lied, pushing the unease down deep. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. Not with the full moon ahead.

Dorcas, who had been watching them carefully through dinner, leaned in a little closer. “Same plan as usual?” she asked quietly, her gaze sharp but shadowed with concern.

James nodded, keeping his voice low. “After everyone’s gone to bed. Under the cloak, through the passage.”

Dorcas pressed her lips together — not arguing, but not at ease either. Her eyes flicked, just once, toward the door where Regulus had gone — maybe she’d seen Regulus too, or maybe it was just the weight of the night ahead.

“I’ll cover your tracks in the castle,” Dorcas said quietly, her gaze flicking between them. “If anyone starts sniffing around after curfew, I’ll send them the other way.”

Sirius flashed her his usual grin — too sharp, too bright. “What would we do without you?”

"Probably get caught," Dorcas said dryly, though her eyes lingered on Sirius, edged with concern.

"You will be careful, won't you?" she added, her gaze settling firmly on him.

“Course,” Sirius replied, flashing her his most confident grin — too sharp, too bright, the grin he always wore when things were splintering beneath his feet. “We always are.”

Dorcas didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, settling back in her seat. The conversation drifted away to safer topics, but the tension lingered beneath it all, unspoken yet heavy.

And still, as Sirius pushed food around his plate, the image of Regulus’s pale, drawn face clung to him like a shadow. 

The castle lay in silence, heavy and watchful, as the three of them crept from Gryffindor Tower. The common room fire had burned down to embers, casting long, flickering shadows as they moved beneath the invisibility cloak.

“Watch your feet, Pete,” Sirius whispered as they slipped through the portrait hole. “You always step on my heels.” The familiarity of the words steadied him, if only a little.

“Sorry,” Peter muttered, stumbling slightly as they hurried along the darkened corridors.

James led the way, guiding them through Hogwarts’ familiar hidden paths until they reached the entrance to the secret tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. The night air bit at his skin, sharp and cold, clouds skimming past the pale, watching face of the rising moon.

Sirius crouched low, heart thudding, and waited as Peter transformed into Wormtail. His small, rat-like body scurried across the grass, vanishing into the shadows like a ghost fleeing the light.

A moment later, the tree froze.

James and Sirius didn’t hesitate. They slipped through the opening, descending into the tunnel below. The air inside was damp and musty, every step a hollow drumbeat off the narrow stone walls, loud in the silence, as they made their way along the winding passage toward the Shrieking Shack.

As soon as they stepped into the abandoned house, Sirius felt it — the prickling tension in the air, thick and suffocating with the weight of what was coming. His skin crawled beneath his clothes. A shiver crawled down his spine, not from the chill, but from something deeper. He shoved it down. Buried it deep. He couldn’t afford to feel it now.

James met his eyes, his voice low but steady. “Ready?”

Sirius dragged a breath into his too-tight chest — thick with Regulus’s warning, Snape’s smirk, Alexandria’s lingering threats — and forced a grin that felt like splintered glass. “Always.”

With a final breath, he shifted. His body stretched and reshaped, fur rippling over his skin, bones grinding as they reformed, until he stood on all fours as Padfoot. Beside him, James transformed into Prongs, his towering stag form casting long shadows across the shack’s battered floorboards.

Peter scurried back to them as Wormtail, small but eager. Together, they waited beneath the rising pull of the moon, hearts thudding in sync with its call.

And then — the howling began. Low at first, then rising, raw and wild, splitting the night open.

The howl shattered the stillness of the shack, long and guttural, a sound that crawled beneath Sirius’s skin and set his fur on end. He had heard it more times than he could count. It never got easier — it never would.

A series of crashes followed — furniture splintering, claws raking deep gouges into wood. Padfoot met Prongs's gaze, their instincts locking into place — no words needed.

Time.

They stepped forward together, entering the main room just as the transformation ended.

Where Remus had been, a monstrous figure now stood — taller, leaner, fur bristling and amber eyes gleaming in the firelight. His breath sawed in and out, rough and ragged, still carrying the ghost of agony. For a fleeting heartbeat, wild amber eyes flickered with something almost human — something that clawed at Sirius’s chest.

Recognition.

A fragile spark in the storm.

Then the wolf lunged.

Prongs moved first, planting himself between the wolf and Wormtail, antlers lowered in warning. Padfoot growled low, circling Remus’s side — posture loose, but muscles coiled tight beneath his fur. This was their purpose: to keep him grounded, to protect him from himself — and to protect everyone else from him.

The wolf hesitated, nostrils flaring as it caught their scents. The first full moon after summer took longer for recognition to settle. But then, slowly, the wolf's tense frame eased, the snarl slipping to a wary growl.

Good. He knew them. Relief pricked at Sirius’s chest, sharp as a thorn.

For a while, they were just that — a strange, mismatched pack in a forgotten house. Prongs kept steady distance, a fortress on four legs. Wormtail darted quick and clever, yipping like an overeager pup. Padfoot stayed closest, pressing to the wolf’s side, bumping him gently to hold his focus.

It worked — until it didn’t.

The shift came fast. Too fast. The wolf twisted with frightening speed, claws raking across Padfoot’s flank. Pain flared, sharp and hot, lighting his nerves on fire as Sirius yelped and stumbled back.

The wolf rounded on him, ears flat, lips pulled back in a vicious snarl. For the briefest moment, the wolf faltered. His amber eyes flickered, a ghost of Remus clawing through the feral glaze, a sound like a whimper catching in his throat. But then the snarl deepened, burying the human beneath the beast once more.

Before it could pounce, Wormtail darted in — a flash of gray fur — and bit sharply at the wolf’s heel. The wolf snarled, spinning toward the sudden sting, and Prongs charged, his antlers driving the wolf back with brute force.

Wormtail scurried away as the wolf thrashed, but the worst of the fury had ebbed.

Padfoot forced himself upright, ignoring the fire in his side, his breath tearing from his lungs. The pain roared under his ribs, but it didn’t matter. He had to stay close. He always had to be the closest.

Prongs nudged him, concern radiating through the silent bond between them.

Padfoot huffed and wagged his tail once in reassurance — I’m fine. Stay focused. He had to be fine. He always had to be fine. 

Wormtail returned, carrying something small between his paws: a leaf cupping a few precious drops of water from a crack in the floorboards. He placed it carefully beside James before scrambling up to his shoulder, squeaking insistently.

Prongs dipped his great head, and for a moment, there was a flicker — James’s presence behind the eyes. The stag scooped water with his antlers, letting it drip gently over Padfoot’s wound.

Padfoot grunted, his ears flicking back, but he didn’t pull away. The sting was sharp, but Sirius barely registered it — not when Moony still fought the monster within.

And the night, Sirius knew, was far from over.

Dawn bled across the sky as they stumbled back into their dormitory, exhaustion dragging at every step.

Sirius barely had the energy to shift back to human form before collapsing onto James’s bed. His side screamed with every movement, but he would’ve crawled through fire if it meant getting to Moony. Now, finally inside, the weight of the night crashed over him all at once. His shirt clung to his skin, warm and damp with blood.

Grim, who had been pacing restlessly, sprang onto the bed the moment Sirius collapsed. The little cat sniffed at Sirius with wide, worried eyes, letting out a distressed meow as he nudged his head against Sirius’s arm, as if sheer force of will could heal him.

“Let me see,” James said, already rummaging through his trunk for supplies.

Sirius groaned but didn’t argue, tugging his shirt up just enough for James to inspect the damage. The scratches weren’t deep, but they burned like fire.

James cursed under his breath, snatching a cloth with the grim efficiency of too much practice. “You always have to be the one closest to him, don’t you?”

The words struck too close to home.

Sirius stared at the ceiling, exhaling slow and shaky. “Better me than you or Peter.”

James went quiet, the tension in his jaw easing slightly as he pressed the cloth more gently to Sirius’s side. “You don’t always have to take the brunt of it, you know.”

Sirius let out a breathless chuckle. “Yeah, I do.”

Peter hovered nearby, wringing his hands. His face was pale, his round eyes darting nervously between them. “Maybe we should get Madam Pomfrey,” he offered hesitantly. “That looks bad, Sirius.”

Grim let out another worried chirp, curling tighter against Sirius’s injured side, his small body vibrating with frantic purrs, like he could will Sirius better through sound alone. His warmth seeped through Sirius’s aching ribs, pulling a fleeting memory to the surface — the day he’d been gifted Grim, a scrap of hope clinging to life when everything else had felt broken.

Sirius scoffed, brushing Peter off with a wave of his hand. “Nah, she’ll just fuss over me, and I’d rather not spend the morning getting lectured.” He winced as James pressed a bit harder than necessary. “Oi! Trying to patch me up or finish me off?”

James sighed, shaking his head as he worked.

James’s hands stilled for a moment, his brow furrowing deeper. “You scared us out there, Pads.”

Peter bobbed his head, his voice quiet. “We thought for a second you might not get up.”

Sirius forced a grin, too sharp around the edges. “What, miss my charming face already?”

But the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and neither James nor Peter smiled back.

Peter fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot, hands wringing like he could squeeze the worry out of them. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Absolutely, Wormy,” Sirius said, flashing a grin too thin to be convincing. “Might even get a cool scar out of it.”

Peter didn’t look convinced. His gaze kept flicking toward the dormitory door, as if expecting something worse to follow.

And then, as if summoned by the thought, the door creaked open.

A hoarse voice sliced through the quiet like a blade.

“You’re hurt.”

Remus stood in the doorway, looking impossibly small, his face pale and drawn, eyes fixed on Sirius’s injury with something like horror. His hands trembled at his sides, fingernails still stained faintly red. His expression crumpled.

Peter let out a nervous squeak, stepping back like he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of what was coming.

Grim stiffened, tail flicking warily, his eyes darting between Sirius and Remus.

Sirius yanked his shirt down, forcing a grin that felt brittle at the edges. “What, this? Barely a scratch, mate.”

But Remus didn’t move. His breathing hitched, jaw clenched tight enough to ache.

Sirius felt it like a punch to the chest.

“I… I did that, didn’t I?” His voice was barely a whisper.

James opened his mouth, probably to say something reassuring, but Remus was already shaking his head, fists balling at his sides. His voice broke on the words. “I hurt you.”

Peter swallowed hard, glancing helplessly between them.

Sirius sat up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs. Grim meowed in protest, pressing closer like he could hold him in place. “Moony, listen—”

But Remus was already backing away, horror etched into every line of his face.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, then turned and fled the room.

“Shit,” Sirius swore under his breath, pushing himself to his feet despite James’s protest.

His side burned like fire, the deep ache flaring now that adrenaline had abandoned him, but he barely felt it beneath the sharper pull in his chest at the look on Remus’s face.

“I’ll go talk to him.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “Should I—should I come with you?”

Sirius shook his head. “Nah, Wormy. I’ve got this.”

James sighed, resigned, but didn’t argue.

Grim leapt down from the bed and padded after Sirius, his small body radiating worry. Sirius ran a hand through his tangled hair, wincing as pain flared in his side.

Remus always felt the weight of the full moon — but this time, Sirius could see it crushing him. He remembered other mornings after — the way Remus’s eyes would cloud with guilt, shadowed as if he saw every claw mark in his dreams. Tonight would be worse. He could feel it in his bones.

And Sirius wasn’t about to let him face that guilt alone.

Chapter Text

Sirius found Remus exactly where he expected: curled in the corner of the Gryffindor common room, half-hidden by the shadows near the dying fire. Embers crackled softly, casting flickering orange light across his hunched frame. His hands were clenched tight in his lap, nails digging into the fabric of his robes. He didn’t even look up when Sirius approached.

Grim was already there, curled on the couch beside Sirius’s usual spot. The kitten’s yellow eyes flicked up as Sirius sat down with a wince. Grim let out a quiet, concerned chirp, pressing against Sirius’s side.

“Oi, Moony,” Sirius greeted, scratching Grim absently behind the ears as he sank into the cushions. He hadn’t realized how sore he was until he sat down.

Remus’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Where else would I be?”

“Anywhere else,” Remus said bitterly, voice hoarse and tight. “Sirius, I—”

“No,” Sirius cut him off. “Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Sirius knew the look in Remus’s eyes too well — that tightness, that self-loathing. It mirrored the expression Sirius used to wear when staring down the long, cold halls of Grimmauld Place. The idea that Remus would ever see himself the way Sirius had seen his own family — monstrous — made something coil sharp and defensive in his chest.

Remus turned sharply, frustration flashing in his eyes. “I nearly tore you apart.”

Sirius scoffed, forcing a crooked grin. “Please. I’ve had worse from James’s bloody Quidditch practice.” He nudged Remus’s knee lightly. “You didn’t mean to, and more importantly, I’m fine.”

Remus’s gaze lingered on the bruises peeking from Sirius’s collar, the scratches along his wrist. Sirius resisted the urge to shift under the weight of that gaze. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You’re not fine.”

“Fine enough.” Sirius shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Grim, who tucked his head under Sirius’s hand. “Moony, stop torturing yourself over this. It happened. We move on.”

Remus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t understand,” he said, guilt roughening his voice. Remus’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles whitening as if he could squeeze the guilt from his bones. “I hurt you. And you’d only just healed from—” He broke off, as though the words caught in his throat, but forced himself to finish. “From what happened this summer.”

Sirius stiffened for the briefest second, then forced his body to relax, shaking off the shadow that always came with memories of Grimmauld Place. “This isn’t the same.”

“It is,” Remus insisted, low and raw. “I—” His breath hitched. “I hurt you. Just like they did.”

A quiet fury rose in Sirius’s chest — not at Remus, never at him, but at the very thought of comparing himself to them.

“No,” Sirius said firmly, locking eyes with him. “It’s not the same. You’re nothing like them.”

Remus looked away, jaw tight. “Sirius—”

“No.” Sirius’s voice gentled, but didn’t waver. “They wanted to hurt me, Moony. They meant it. You never would.” He nudged Remus’s arm. “And that’s the difference.”

Remus inhaled shakily, eyes fixed on the fire. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for Sirius — then curled back into his lap instead. He didn’t argue, but Sirius could see it in his posture — the doubt, the guilt, coiled tight beneath the surface.

“I hate that I hurt you,” Remus whispered. “I hate that I could do it again.”

Sirius frowned. He wasn’t great with emotions — that was James’s territory — but for Remus, he’d try.

“Well,” Sirius said carefully, “you didn’t mean to. And you won’t again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Sirius said, more forceful now. “Because we’ve got this down to a bloody art, Moony. Last night was just a fluke.”

Remus exhaled, tilting his head back against the couch. “I don’t know how you always sound so sure.”

“One of my many talents,” Sirius smirked, scratching Grim under the chin. “That, and making things worse before I make them better.”

Silence stretched between them — not uncomfortable, just heavy, like a storm waiting to break. The fire crackled, warm and alive. Grim let out a soft purr, pressing closer as if to lend them what little comfort he could — a warm, living weight at Sirius’s side.

Then, quietly, Remus murmured, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His eyes lingered on Sirius, raw and unguarded, like he was seeing him for the first time. His fingers moved this time — brushing Sirius’s hand gently, a small act of contact he clearly needed more than he admitted.

Sirius grinned, though his chest ached a little at the honesty in Remus’s voice. “Probably starve. And have a much duller life.”

Remus shook his head, something shadowed in his expression, but said nothing more.

Around them, Gryffindor Tower began to stir. Doors creaked open. Voices drifted down from the dormitories. Someone grumbled about a forgotten essay. A group of first-years stumbled sleepily past them, yawning.

Sirius stretched, grimacing as his ribs protested. Grim chirped in annoyance at the movement.

“Come on,” Sirius said, pushing to his feet with a wince. “Breakfast. Before Dorcas skins me alive for skipping it.”

Remus hesitated, then slowly rose to join him. “Alright,” he agreed, though doubt still lingered in his voice.

A voice from the staircase made them both turn.

“Damn right,” Dorcas said, descending with sharp eyes. She was already dressed, her wand tucked behind her ear, her gaze sweeping over them. Her eyes lingered on Remus, seeing more than she let on. “You two look like hell.”

Remus gave a tired smile. Sirius smirked. “Good thing I always look devilishly handsome. Covers up the damage.”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “Right. Keep telling yourself that, Black.”

Before Sirius could retort, James and Peter appeared at the top of the stairs. James’s expression was quieter than usual, but when he met Sirius’s gaze, he offered the smallest nod — steady, reassuring. It said: I see you. I’ve got you.

Peter yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Sirius clapped his hands together. “Right, let’s get moving before Wormtail eats all the toast.”

Peter huffed. “I do not eat all the toast!”

“You do, actually,” James muttered as they started toward the portrait hole.

“I have a healthy appetite,” Peter argued.

Dorcas snorted. “Yeah, for about five people.”

Sirius grinned, nudging Remus as they stepped into the corridor. Behind them, Grim remained on the couch, watching them with sharp yellow eyes. His tail flicked once before curling around him.

The tension from earlier wasn’t gone — not entirely. But there was laughter now, the promise of toast and teasing, the steady rhythm of people who refused to let each other fall apart.

And that, Sirius thought, was something to hold on to.

The Great Hall was already filled with the usual morning buzz when the group arrived. Golden light streamed through the enchanted ceiling, casting a warm glow across the Gryffindor table as students tucked into their breakfasts. The scent of fresh bread and bacon filled the air, but Sirius wasn’t particularly hungry.

Neither was Remus, if the way he hesitated before sitting down was anything to go by.

Sirius lowered himself onto the bench with practiced ease, every movement carefully measured. He swallowed a wince as his ribs protested, masking the stiffness in his limbs with a tired stretch. His whole body felt leaden — bruised and battered, yes, but also worn in a way no amount of sleep seemed to fix. Still, he grinned through it — for Moony’s sake.

Dorcas slid into the seat across from them, immediately snagging a piece of toast. “So,” she said, eyeing Sirius with raised brows, “are we just going to ignore the fact you look like you got mauled by a rabid hippogriff?”

Sirius groaned, dropping his head onto the table. Less dramatic than usual — even that sent a throb through his skull. “Merlin’s sake, Meadowes, good morning to you too.”

James, barely touching his food, frowned. His gaze kept straying to Sirius’s side like he expected him to keel over at any second. Sirius resisted the urge to tell him to stop looking at him like he might break. “She’s not wrong, though,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

Sirius waved a dismissive hand, ignoring the sharp twinge in his wrist. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Remus muttered. His voice was quiet but heavy, like a weight dropping between them. Sirius glanced over, the words catching uncomfortably in his chest.

Dorcas tore off a chunk of toast and lobbed it at Sirius’s head. “Eat something before you pass out dramatically in class.”

Peter, buttering his toast with care, squawked in protest. “Why does he get to be dramatic, and I just get accused of eating all the toast?”

Sirius grinned despite himself, though it pulled at the bruises along his ribs. “Because it’s true, Wormy.”

Peter huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

James, however, wasn’t so easily distracted. He stabbed at his eggs, brow furrowed. “This could have been worse, Sirius,” he said, voice low so only their group could hear. “You know that.”

Sirius hesitated. He did know that. He just didn’t want to think about it.

Dorcas nudged her plate toward him. “At least eat something before you start plotting whatever disaster you and James are about to unleash.”

Sirius smirked, reaching for the toast. His fingers curled stiffly around it, the bruising along his knuckles a sharp reminder. “Now you’re encouraging it.”

Dorcas grinned. “Depends how entertaining it’ll be.”

James sighed but didn’t argue. He just shook his head and finally started eating.

Sirius took a bite, then nudged Remus — gently. “See? We’re all fine.”

Remus didn’t look at him. His fingers were white-knuckled around the edge of his plate, his usual composure stretched taut. For a heartbeat, Sirius thought he might let it go.

He didn’t.

“You’re not fine,” Remus said, low and taut with frustration, like a fraying rope about to snap. Sirius’s chest tightened, the sharp edge of guilt cutting deeper. “And I don’t understand how you can sit there and pretend you are.”

From down the table, Lily glanced over, the lines between her brows deepening. She didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt — but the way her gaze lingered said she heard more than she was meant to.

Sirius blinked, caught off guard.

“Moony, I—”

Remus shook his head sharply. “No. You nearly got yourself—” He exhaled hard, cutting himself off. His fists tightened on the table. “And then you come here and joke, and they—” His gaze flicked to James and Dorcas, a flash of something resentful beneath the surface before he forced it down. “Like it’s nothing. Like it’s just another story to tell.”

Before he could answer, James set his fork down with deliberate care, his gaze flicking to Sirius, steady and serious. “He’s right, Pads,” James said quietly, the usual spark in his voice dulled by concern. “You can’t keep playing it off like it’s nothing.”

The weight of both their gazes pinned him for a heartbeat. Sirius felt it like a hand closing around his chest — tight and uncomfortable.

From a few seats away, Lily’s eyes lingered on them. Her gaze softened, like she wanted to say something, but she turned back to her plate, her fingers tight around her fork.

Dorcas went still, the tease draining from her expression. James’s frown deepened, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth.

Sirius swallowed hard, something tight settling in his chest. He hadn’t meant to upset Remus. Merlin, he hated this look — the one where Remus folded in on himself, guilt bleeding through every line of his body.

For all Remus’s careful control, Sirius could feel it simmering underneath: anger, frustration, and something deeper, rawer. Guilt. Not just because it had been Sirius who was hurt, but because Remus was the one who hurt him.

And something else, too. Something Sirius didn’t dare name. Something that lingered in the way Remus sometimes looked at him, like he was teetering on the edge of saying more, but never quite crossing the line.

Sirius reached, instinctively, for levity — his oldest shield. He forced a crooked grin. “Moony, you care about me. I knew it.” He clung to the joke like a lifeline, needing the levity as much for himself as for Remus.

Across the table, James glanced between them — just a flick of his eyes, but it was enough. Quiet understanding, and something more protective beneath it.

The deflection landed between them, brittle and bright.

Remus’s eyes lifted, and for a moment, Sirius caught a flicker of something unspoken in his expression. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he shook his head, exhaling softly.

“You’re an idiot,” Remus muttered.

Sirius clapped a hand to his chest — wincing at the flare of pain. “Ouch. Wounded.”

The corner of Remus’s mouth twitched. Barely. But it was there.

He reached for his goblet, taking a slow sip of pumpkin juice like it might steady him. “Just…” He paused, voice dropping. “Don’t act like it doesn’t matter. Not with me.”

It was barely more than a whisper, but Sirius caught every word.

“Alright, Moony.”

Remus’s hand brushed lightly against Sirius’s knee beneath the table — brief, grounding, and enough to say he’d heard him.

Remus gave a small, almost imperceptible nod and finally picked up his fork.

But Sirius couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted between them — deeper than words, heavier than either of them wanted to admit. Something they wouldn’t be able to ignore for much longer.

The moment passed like a ripple under the surface — quiet, but there. A subtle shift in gravity. Whatever came next, Sirius knew it wouldn’t stay buried.

By the time classes were over for the day, Sirius had decided — firmly — that enough was enough. The weight pressing down on them had lingered too long, and if no one else would shake it off, he bloody well would. Remus was still quieter than usual, James was being too serious for his liking, and even Peter was acting more nervous than usual. That simply wouldn't do.

“We need a prank,” Sirius announced as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room.

James, walking beside him, glanced sideways at Sirius. There was still a tightness in his jaw that hadn’t eased since the full moon, but the edge in his eyes softened. Maybe this was a good sign — Sirius stirring again, lighting sparks where shadows had crept in.

He finally cracked a small grin. “Finally, something sensible out of your mouth.”

Peter hesitated, fingers twisting at the strap of his bag. “Er — shouldn't we wait a little? I mean just after the full moon and all…”

Sirius waved off his concerns. “That's exactly why we need it. Everyone's acting like we're at a bloody funeral.” He shot a glance at Remus, who looked unimpressed. “No offense, Moony.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “I'm not dead, Pads.”

“Exactly my point.” Sirius clapped his hands together. “So, let's make a statement. Show everyone that the Marauders are still the Marauders.”

Dorcas nudged Remus with her elbow, a glint of challenge in her eyes. “You in, Lupin, or still brooding?”

Remus’s faint smile widened just a little, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I’ll watch you lot crash and burn.”

James’s eyes lit with that familiar gleam of mischief, already slipping into planning mode. “We'll need something big. Something dramatic.”

Dorcas, who had joined them on the way back, snorted. “You lot define dramatic.”

Sirius grinned at her. “That's the point.”

Dorcas crossed her arms, giving him a mock-considering look. “Alright, I'm listening. What's the plan?”

Sirius turned to James. “Prongs?”

James adjusted his glasses. “We could —” He paused, then smirked. “Oh, I've got it. What if we —”

He leaned in, whispering hurriedly as the group slowed their pace. Dorcas's face lit up in delight as he spoke, and even Peter let out a nervous chuckle.

“That’s completely deranged,” Remus muttered — but the corner of his mouth twitched anyway.

“Do we even have that many feathers?” Dorcas asked, already sounding excited.

James’s grin turned wolfish. “Leave that to me.”

Sirius smirked. “That is brilliant.”

Peter hesitated. “We're definitely getting detention for this.”

Dorcas clapped him on the back. “Of course we are. But it'll be worth it.”

Remus groaned, but the small, reluctant smile on his face told Sirius that he wasn't too against it. It wasn’t much, but Sirius would take it. Anything to lift that shadow off Moony’s shoulders, even for a moment.

It wasn’t just about being loud or clever. It was about getting Remus to laugh again. About proving to all of them — to himself — that things hadn’t broken beyond repair. That the Marauders were still the Marauders.

Sirius threw an arm around Remus's shoulders. “See, Moony? This is team bonding.”

Remus sighed. “Just… don’t get us banned from Hogsmeade.”

Sirius winked. “No promises.”

James grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Time to cause some trouble.”

The group fell into step, the weight that had followed them all day finally starting to lift — not entirely, but enough.

Sirius bumped his shoulder into Remus’s as they walked, his grin stubborn and warm. “Bet you missed this.”

Remus huffed, but the faint smile on his lips didn’t fade. “Only a little.”

Behind them, James whooped, already rambling about owl feathers and charm durations, while Peter trailed nervously after.

And for the first time in days, Sirius felt like the world might be tilting back into place — not perfect, but theirs.

The dormitory looked like a minor magical explosion had gone off — parchments strewn across the floor, potion vials cluttering the nightstands, and an alarming number of white feathers drifting lazily through the air.

The Marauders and Dorcas were huddled together in the center of the chaos, deep in their most serious mission yet: orchestrating the perfect prank.

James sat cross-legged on the floor, his wand hovering over a pile of freshly plucked feathers. Each one shimmered faintly, absorbing the enchantments he muttered under his breath. “Alright, the sticking charm is in place. Once these beauties attach, they won’t come off for at least twelve hours.”

Sirius, perched on his bed — a little stiff, but hiding it well — examined a bubbling cauldron with the air of a mad scientist. A flicker of pain crossed his face as he leaned forward, sharp and unwelcome, but he smothered it beneath a grin, burying it deep where no one could see. “And with just a dash of this lovely potion,” he mused, stirring the thick, pearlescent liquid, “the feathers will have a delightful side effect: they’ll shed continuously. So no matter how hard they try to shake them off…”

Peter, carefully adding ingredients nearby, gasped. “They’ll keep growing back?”

Sirius’s grin sharpened, eyes gleaming. “Like weeds.”

Dorcas cackled from her spot on Remus’s bed. “Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.”

Remus, sitting beside her with his arms crossed tight over his chest, gave a longsuffering sigh. “You lot are going to get us expelled.”

“Not us, Moony. Them.” James pointed at himself and Sirius, his smirk crooked. “We’ll take all the credit.”

“Detention,” Remus corrected flatly. But there was a faint, unwilling twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Sirius waved him off with dramatic flair — though the motion tugged at his side, and he inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Details, details. Now, activation spell — we need subtle.”

James nodded, flicking his wand experimentally. A feather twitched, then shot straight at Peter, sticking firmly to his arm.

“Test subject Wormtail reporting for duty,” Sirius teased, winking at Peter.

Peter yelped. “Oi! Warn me next time!” He flailed in a panic, but instead of falling off, the feathers spread rapidly up his sleeve. “Oh no—oh no—get them off!”

Dorcas doubled over, howling with laughter, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “Merlin’s beard, you look like a molting Puffskein!”

James, barely containing his own grin, lifted his wand. “Relax, Wormtail. Finite Incantatem.”

The feathers vanished in a puff of smoke. Peter scowled, brushing at his robes. “Not funny.”

“Actually,” Sirius said, lips curling into a lazy smirk, “it was very funny.”

James, still chuckling, jotted something down on a crumpled parchment. “Alright, so that spell works. We’ll set the trigger to a wand movement — simple, subtle.”

Remus, predictably, sighed again. “Just promise me this won’t end in a full-scale duel.”

Sirius pressed a hand to his chest with mock offence. “Moony, you wound me! Have we ever started a duel?”

“Yes,” Remus and Peter deadpanned together, without missing a beat.

Dorcas collapsed into fresh laughter.

Sirius grinned. “Alright, fair. But still — this is harmless fun! No explosions, no permanent hexes, and —” he swept a hand toward the enchanted feathers, “—a dramatic aesthetic upgrade for our dear Slytherins.”

James clapped his hands together. “Perfect. Let’s get these beauties ready.”

They set to work, the dorm filling with whispered spells, the occasional curse when something went wrong, and the bright, infectious sound of laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Dorcas, through a mouthful of chocolate she’d pilfered from Remus’s stash earlier, quipped, “Dinner’s going to be spectacular.”

Sirius chuckled, but a small wince crept in as he shifted on the bed. His gaze flicked, just for a heartbeat, to Remus — who was already watching him, sharp-eyed beneath his usual frown of exasperation.

Their eyes met across the chaos. Sirius caught the tension in Remus’s jaw, the way his fingers curled tight around a quill.

Sirius gave him a wink, playful and defiant. I'm fine.

Remus’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t trust himself. Their eyes stayed locked across the cluttered dormitory — just a moment, but in it, Sirius felt something settle. Not forgiveness, not quite. But trust. The kind that stretched thin and still held.

After a beat, Remus shook his head and muttered under his breath, “Idiot.” But there was no bite to it, only the worn edges of affection.

Sirius’s grin lingered as he looked around at them — his ragtag family, woven together by trouble and laughter. For a moment, it felt almost normal.

Dinner would be a disaster — a beautiful, feathery disaster. Just the way they liked it.

The Great Hall buzzed with evening chatter, students packed shoulder to shoulder as they tucked into dinner. The Marauders sat at their usual spot at the Gryffindor table, exchanging sly glances as they waited for the perfect moment.

Sirius — all faux-innocence and badly hidden mischief — nudged James. “You sure everything’s set?”

James pushed his glasses up with a smirk. “Pads, please. When have I ever let you down?”

Remus snorted softly. “Do you want a list?”

“Oi,” James protested, mock-offended. “No need for that.”

Peter fidgeted beside them, his gaze skittering anxiously from table to table. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“No,” Dorcas replied brightly. “But it’ll be funny, so who cares?”

Sirius grinned wide. “That’s the spirit.”

Just as Professor McGonagall settled into her seat at the staff table, James discreetly flicked his wand beneath the table. A ripple of nearly invisible magic shot across the Hall, drifting like a fine mist over the Slytherin table.

For a breath, nothing happened.

Then—

POP.

With a loud, echoing crack, a spectacular explosion of green and silver feathers erupted across the Slytherin table, drenching robes and faces in a blizzard of fluff. Feathers flew like snow in a storm, clinging to everything and everyone in their path. Students yelped as the enchanted plumage stuck fast to their robes, hair, and skin, turning half the table into a flock of disgruntled, molting parrots.

Sirius and James doubled over in silent laughter as chaos erupted. One particularly furious Slytherin girl let out a screech, flapping her feathered arms in horror. “What is this?!”

Dorcas was already clutching her sides, tears in her eyes. “Oh—Merlin—I can’t breathe—”

Sirius’s gaze swept across the Slytherin table, drinking in the pandemonium — until it snagged on a familiar figure.

Regulus sat apart from the worst of the feathered carnage, his face pale, eyes flicking to Sirius for the briefest moment before dropping quickly to his plate.

Something twisted in Sirius’s chest — sharp, unwelcome, and familiar. That look — not anger, not quite shame — something quieter, like regret laced with warning. Sirius forced himself to look away.

Then, at the center of the pandemonium, Severus Snape sat frozen, his dark robes now dusted with emerald feathers. His expression could have curdled milk. Slowly, with precise disgust, he plucked a feather from his sleeve. His eyes, black as storm clouds, snapped to the Gryffindor table — locking, unmistakably, on Sirius and James.

Naturally, Sirius had the audacity to give him a cheerful, cheeky little wave.

Snape’s lip curled into a snarl, his face darkening with fury. He muttered something sharp to a fellow Slytherin, his gaze never leaving Sirius, a promise of retribution smoldering in his eyes.

Remus leaned slightly toward Sirius, voice low. “Snape’s going to make you pay for that.”

Sirius grinned, eyes never leaving Snape. “Let him try.”

“Oh, Severus,” came a lilting, falsely sweet voice, “Green suits you. Shame about the feathers.”

Lily Evans.

She turned away from the Slytherin table, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Her green eyes sparkled with poorly concealed amusement, though she quickly composed herself, giving a half-hearted shake of her head as if disapproving — but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

James, catching this, puffed out his chest with triumphant pride. “See, Evans? I knew you had a sense of humor.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

Before James could offer a surely disastrous retort, a sharp voice sliced through the noise.

“Who is responsible for this?”

Professor McGonagall had risen from her chair, arms crossed, her gaze sweeping over the Hall like a hawk surveying the battlefield.

Without hesitation, Sirius and James pointed at each other.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. She pinched the bridge of her nose as if she could feel a headache blooming. “Of course.”

A hush rippled across the Hall as she stepped forward, her sharp gaze flicking from the culprits to the scene of utter feathery devastation. For the barest second, her lips twitched — as if fighting a smile — but the warning in her eyes was clear: one wrong move, and they’d be scrubbing cauldrons with their bare hands and polishing every trophy in the castle until Christmas.

Peter, half-hidden behind Remus, let out a strangled noise of dismay as Sirius turned toward him with a sly grin. “You owe me toast for this, Wormtail.”

Peter groaned. “I knew you’d bring that up.”

McGonagall’s gaze cut back to the guilty parties, steely and unflinching. “Detention,” she declared crisply. “Both of you. One week. Assisting Professor Flitwick.”

James sighed, spreading his arms wide in mock tragedy. “Ah, the price of art.”

Sirius beamed at the glorious spectacle of Slytherins still frantically swiping at the ever-regenerating feathers. He leaned back with satisfaction, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Worth it.”

Remus shook his head faintly but didn’t hide his smile. “Idiot,” he murmured. But the warmth in his voice said: I’m glad you’re laughing again.

Even with the tug in his ribs and the promise of detention, Sirius felt lighter than he had in days.

As McGonagall turned away, her stern mask slipped for just a heartbeat — and Sirius caught it. The flicker of amusement, sharp and fleeting, passed across her features before she composed herself once more.

But then, as she reached the end of the table, she glanced back — not at the group as a whole, but at Sirius specifically. Her gaze lingered, not scolding, not amused, but watchful. As if she saw through the grin he wore and into the exhaustion beneath it — the ache he thought he was hiding.

Sirius looked down, his smirk faltering. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what to do with being seen like that.

Then, with crisp efficiency, McGonagall turned on her heel and returned to the staff table, her robes sweeping behind her like a closing curtain.

The Marauders exchanged victorious grins.

Dinner had delivered feathers, fury, and a week’s worth of detention — in short, everything a Marauder could hope for.

Chapter Text

October had settled fully over Hogwarts, bringing with it a sharp chill that clung to the castle walls. It had been weeks since the last full moon, but already the next loomed heavy over the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, casting a familiar, unspoken shadow.

The faint glow of early morning crept through the cracks in the thick red curtains. The air was cool, the crisp October breeze brushing against the ancient stones. The steady breathing of his sleeping friends was the only sound, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards.

Sirius lay on his side, the blankets tangled around his legs. His back ached from yet another restless sleep, dark shadows lingering beneath his eyes — evidence of the nights he refused to acknowledge. The nightmares had been particularly cruel since returning to Hogwarts: flashes of firelit rooms, cold voices dripping with disdain, the ever-looming memory of her dark, soulless eyes and her cold fingers tracing his fate.

He barely stirred when the soft thud of wings echoed from the window. Grim, already alert at the foot of his bed, let out a questioning meow, tracking the large tawny owl hovering just beyond the glass. With an impatient ruffle of feathers, the owl pecked at the windowpane.

Sirius groaned. He hadn’t expected any mail — certainly not from anyone he cared to hear from.

Grim pounced toward the window, pawing curiously at the bird. With a resigned sigh, Sirius pushed the blankets aside and stumbled to his feet, careful not to disturb James, who was snoring away on the next bed over. He unlatched the window, letting the owl sweep inside on a gust of cold morning air.

It landed on the edge of his trunk, talons curling over the aged wood. A black ribbon sealed the parchment tightly, but it was the unmistakable wax seal that caught Sirius’s breath in his throat — a twisted serpent coiled around the letter B.

The Black family crest.

His stomach lurched violently, a cold, hollow weight settling beneath his ribs.

He didn’t move at first, as if ignoring it might undo whatever curse it carried — but his eyes, traitorous things, stayed locked on the Black family crest, cold and certain as death itself.

For a heartbeat, he considered hurling the letter straight into the fire. Whatever poison his family had brewed for him this time wasn’t worth reading. But the weight of the parchment — too heavy, too real — held him captive.

His fingers hovered over the seal, reluctant, heart hammering against his ribs.

With trembling fingers, he untied the ribbon and cracked the seal. The wax splintered like a crack of thunder in the quiet room, loud and final.

The owl gave a low hoot, then swept back out the window, leaving Sirius alone with the dreadful weight in his hands.

He unfolded the letter. The elegant, slanted script was unfamiliar, but there was no mistaking the expense of it.

> To Mr. Sirius Orion Black,

It is with great regret that I write to inform you of the passing of your uncle, Alphard Black. His estate has been settled in accordance with his will. Despite familial estrangement, Mr. Alphard Black left explicit instructions that the entirety of his remaining assets be transferred to you.

Details regarding the inheritance will be arranged with Gringotts Bank. Further inquiries can be directed to our office.

With condolences,

Artemius Greaves

Magical Estate Solicitor

His hands shook.

Uncle Alphard was dead.

The words blurred on the page as Sirius lowered the letter to his lap. Alphard — the only Black who had ever dared to defy their family name, who had seen Sirius beyond the bloodline — was gone.

A memory surfaced, sharp and sudden: a darkened corridor at Grimmauld Place, moonlight slanting through moth-eaten curtains. The corridor had smelled of damp stone and old smoke, the shadows long and brittle beneath the flickering gas lamps. Alphard finding him there, after another screaming match with his mother. Without a word, he had slipped a galleon into Sirius’s palm, his voice low and rough with quiet defiance.

“For when you’re free.”

Simple words. But Sirius had clung to that coin like a lifeline, running his thumb over the worn gold as if it held a map to freedom.

He had meant to write. He wanted to write. To say thank you. But the words had never come.

Now, they never would.

And he couldn’t stop his mind from slipping further, to her — to Andromeda. His cousin. His favourite, once. Before she had fallen in love with a Muggle-born and vanished from their world like a star snuffed out. He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since the day his mother burned her name off the family tapestry while Sirius had stood frozen, too young and too scared to say anything.

Andromeda had chosen her freedom, consequences be damned. He admired her for it now more than ever — even as guilt gnawed at the memory of how he had only watched her fall away from their family tree, too afraid to follow. If he’d reached out to her, maybe he wouldn’t feel so alone now, with Alphard’s gold weighing like a chain.

First Andromeda had fallen away. Now Alphard. The ones who had cared about him were slipping through his fingers, one by one.

Guilt twisted inside him, sharp and relentless. He hadn’t written to Alphard. He hadn’t written to Andromeda either. He hadn’t said goodbye to either of them. Alphard had risked everything, and Sirius had repaid him with silence. And Andromeda… well, he could only hope she was out there, free, still holding fast to her own defiance.

The dormitory walls pressed too close. His chest tightened, breaths shallow, uneven. Even the cold October air could not soothe the searing weight of regret blooming in his ribs.

His knees buckled beneath the weight of it all, and he collapsed onto the edge of the bed as if the air itself had turned to iron.

Grim padded over at once, brushing against his leg with a soft purr, his tail flicking anxiously, as if sensing the storm in Sirius’s chest. His small warmth pressed close — steadying Sirius, just as he had the night Sirius escaped, when hope had felt like a reckless bet clutched too tightly in his chest.

James stirred in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, his arm flopping across the pillow in a graceless sprawl. Peter snorted softly in the next bed, oblivious to the world. Remus’s bed, as expected, was empty — the full moon would rise tonight, and Sirius knew how restless it made him in the hours before.

Sirius envied him.

He could almost hear Alphard’s voice in the back of his mind, rough with laughter, “There’s more to being a Black than a name, Sirius. Remember that.”

But Alphard was gone now. Just another ghost in Sirius’s long shadow of loss.

And the inheritance — the gold Alphard had left behind — felt like iron shackles. No matter how far he ran, no matter how many walls he tried to tear down, the name Black clung to him like a curse. He could almost hear his mother’s voice, cold and triumphant: You’ll never escape us.

The parchment crumpled in his grip. The gold would come. He would be free of poverty, but never free of the cost. His fingers sparked faintly, a restless hum of magic protesting his grip, like it knew no spell could undo this.

Without a word, Sirius rose. He tugged his robes over his shoulders with mechanical motions. Grim, still watching him with wide, worried eyes, followed as he crossed to the door.

The letter lay abandoned on the bed — a silent chain to a past that refused to let him go.

Dorcas had barely touched her breakfast. Her stomach twisted into a hard knot as her gaze skimmed the Gryffindor table, landing on the empty space Sirius should have filled. He was always there — half-asleep, picking at his toast, flashing that crooked grin even when he looked ready to drop. His absence gnawed at her, sharper than she wanted to admit.

When James finally arrived, sliding into the seat across from her, his usual grin nowhere in sight, the knot in her stomach tightened painfully.

“Where’s Sirius?” Dorcas asked, her concern sharper than she meant.

James raked a hand through his already messy hair, glancing around before lowering his voice. “He’s not coming,” he said, dropping heavily into his seat. “There was a letter on his bed this morning. Bad news.”

Dorcas leaned in, heart pounding. “What happened?”

James hesitated — just a breath — then said, softer, “His uncle. Alphard. He passed away.”

Even before he finished speaking, Dorcas felt her chest tighten. She knew what Alphard had meant to Sirius — one of the only people who had ever seen him for who he was, not what his bloodline demanded. Alphard had helped him when no one else would. Losing him would carve a wound deep enough that even Sirius’s bravado couldn’t hide it.

“I think it hit him pretty hard,” James added, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “He didn’t say anything. Just… left. I thought about going after him, but…” His voice faltered. “Maybe he needed space.”

“Maybe I could try,” Dorcas said, already rising to her feet.

James’s eyes brightened with a flicker of hope. “Yeah. He went down to the lake. If anyone can get through to him, it’s you.”

Dorcas nodded once, her pulse loud in her ears as she hurried from the Hall. Behind her, the buzz of breakfast faded into a dull, distant hum.

The cool air bit at her cheeks as she stepped outside, the grass soft and damp beneath her shoes. Clouds sagged low over the lake, the water dark and restless under the autumn wind.

And there — sitting alone on the worn rocks by the shore — was Sirius.

He sat hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees, his whole frame drawn tight. His fingers toyed absently with a loose thread at the sleeve of his jumper, winding it tighter and tighter until the knuckles showed white. Even from a distance, Dorcas could see it — the exhaustion, the hollow look in his grey eyes where the usual spark had been snuffed out.

Something in her chest cracked at the sight.

She approached quietly, careful not to startle him. The soft crunch of her boots on the grass was the only sound between them.

Sirius didn’t look up. “Thought you’d be at breakfast,” he said, voice low and rough.

“Wasn’t hungry,” Dorcas answered, settling beside him without hesitation. She gave him space, but stayed close enough that he’d feel her there. “James told me about Alphard.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze never shifting from the water. “Of course he did.”

“He’s worried about you,” Dorcas said gently. “So am I.”

He let out a breath — not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff. There was no sharpness to it, only a deep, tired ache. “You lot worry too much.”

“Sirius,” she said softly, “he was your favorite. You don’t have to pretend this doesn’t hurt.”

He didn’t answer. The wind tugged at his dark hair, pulling strands across his face, but he didn’t move to push them away. Dorcas watched the struggle flicker across his expression — the rawness he couldn’t quite hide.

“I knew it would happen,” he murmured. “He was getting on. But—” His voice cracked, rough with grief he couldn’t swallow. “He was the only one who ever gave a damn. Stuck his neck out for me. And now he’s just… gone.”

Dorcas’s hand hovered — she almost pulled back — but she forced herself to lay it lightly on his arm. He stiffened, instinctive and defensive, but didn’t pull away. Her heart squeezed painfully. “I’m sorry, Sirius. He loved you.”

Sirius nodded stiffly, the movement sharp and mechanical. “Yeah. Enough to leave everything he had to me.”

Dorcas blinked. “Everything?”

“Every last bloody knut,” he muttered bitterly. “Guess that’ll really send dear Mother into a fit. Bet she’d curse his bones to dust if she could.” His laugh was hollow and humourless, the sound of someone too tired to find it funny anymore. “Alphard’s final act of rebellion. Guess it runs in the family.”

“You were his family, Sirius,” Dorcas said, steady and sure, willing him to believe it. “The one he chose.”

For a long moment, Sirius said nothing. His gaze stayed locked on the restless lake, the weight of grief pulling his shoulders low. Finally, he shook his head, his voice barely a whisper.

“I can’t think about this right now,” he murmured. “Just… not yet.”

Dorcas squeezed his arm gently, grounding him without forcing anything more. “Alright,” she said softly. “I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.”

He didn’t answer, but some of the rigid tension in his frame eased — just slightly. Enough.

They sat together in silence, the lake lapping at the rocks, the cold wind threading between them but unable to cut the connection holding them there.

And after a while — when the noise from the castle began to creep back into the world around them — Sirius let Dorcas lead him away from the shoreline, his steps slow but steady, back toward the dull roar of life inside Hogwarts.

The heavy oak door to the Potions classroom creaked open, spilling the lingering scent of crushed herbs and scorched ingredients into the corridor. Students poured out — some chattering over successful brews, others grumbling about melted cauldrons and minor explosions.

Sirius and Dorcas trailed behind the crowd, Sirius dragging his feet with a bone-deep exhaustion. Potions had never been his favourite class, and today had only sharpened his dislike. Slughorn had hovered over him for most of the lesson, laying on syrupy praise and thinly veiled comments about his “fine family heritage.” Sirius had wanted to hex him into next week.

“Well, that was dreadful,” Sirius grumbled, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. “If I hear one more word about how ‘fortunate’ I am to carry on the Black family legacy, I might hex myself just to end it.”

Dorcas offered a crooked smile. “I’m impressed you didn’t throw the cauldron at him.”

“Tempting,” Sirius replied darkly. “But then I’d probably end up trapped at some Slug Club dinner, forced to listen to him drone on about rare potion ingredients. No thanks.”

As they rounded the corner, Peter caught up to them, slightly out of breath, his gaze flicking anxiously toward Sirius. He’d been watching Sirius all day, ever since breakfast — since Sirius had barely touched his food.

“Dunno why you don’t just tell Slughorn to sod off,” Peter said, aiming for casual but landing closer to nervous.

“Oh, and miss all that delightful attention?” Sirius quipped, flashing a lopsided grin. “Perish the thought.”

They continued down the corridor, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows along the stone walls. Despite the usual hum of student chatter, Sirius felt the weight of the morning pressing down harder with each step. The news of Alphard still gnawed at him, just beneath the surface of distraction Potions had barely provided.

He almost didn’t notice the looming figure until it was too late.

“Mr. Black! A word, if you please!”

Sirius stiffened instantly, recognising the syrupy tone even before he turned. Horace Slughorn bustled toward them, beaming with false delight. His robes flared as he waddled closer, gold buttons glinting in the torchlight.

“Professor,” Sirius greeted flatly, schooling his face into something that resembled a smile. Dorcas stepped instinctively closer, her brows knitting.

“Marvelous work in class today,” Slughorn declared, clapping a heavy hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “Truly marvelous! Such natural talent — and with your family name, no less! Shame you’ve been keeping yourself away from my little gatherings.”

Sirius barely resisted the urge to shrug off the man’s hand. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy, indeed!” Slughorn chuckled, giving his shoulder an almost possessive squeeze. “But surely you could spare a bit of time, eh? Especially with your... recent inheritance. Quite the talk, you know!” His eyes gleamed with thinly veiled hunger. “Doors will be flying open for you, Sirius. You’d be a star.”

Dorcas’s frown deepened. “Professor,” she said evenly, “I think Sirius needs some space.”

“Space? Nonsense!” Slughorn’s grip lingered too long, his smile never faltering. “No better time for opportunity, my dear! Sirius — truly, you’re poised for greatness.”

Sirius shifted uncomfortably, jaw tightening. From the corner of his eye, he caught Lily Evans slipping past, deftly avoiding Slughorn’s attention. Her sharp gaze flicked toward Sirius, and for the briefest second, their eyes met. Sympathy softened her expression before she vanished into the crowd.

It was brief, but it stuck — that look. Like she saw more than he meant her to.

“I’m not interested,” Sirius said flatly.

“But surely—”

“Oi! Professor Slughorn!”

James’s voice rang out like a hex — cheerful, but edged. He strode toward them with an easy grin, clapping Sirius on the back. “Sorry to interrupt, but Captain’s orders. Quidditch waits for no man.”

Slughorn’s jolly facade flickered. “Oh. Well, of course! Priorities, I understand.” He straightened, disappointment tugging at his features. “But do think about it, won’t you, Sirius? You’ve a bright future ahead.”

Sirius’s mouth twisted, but he said nothing. A future built on a name he hated didn’t feel much like a future at all.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Sirius replied, deadpan.

With a final, clammy pat, Slughorn bustled away, his billowing robes vanishing around the corner like some overfed ghoul. As soon as he vanished, Sirius exhaled sharply.

“Did he have to be so bloody handsy?” he muttered.

Sirius rubbed his shoulder absently, as if he could scrub off the lingering weight of Slughorn’s touch.

“Disgusting,” Dorcas agreed with a wrinkled nose.

“Like a slug,” James added, though his grin was tight.

“You alright, mate?” James asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied Sirius.

“Peachy,” Sirius lied, slipping his hands into his pockets.

James’s gaze held for a moment, sharp and searching, but he let it go.

They resumed walking, but Sirius’s thoughts snagged on the absence in their group like a thorn. Remus hadn’t come to Potions. He’d likely been resting, conserving his strength for tonight — the full moon.

Sirius swallowed hard, guilt biting at him sharper than Slughorn’s words ever could. He hated knowing what lay ahead for Remus, hated knowing he couldn’t ease that burden, no matter how close he stayed.

He hunched against the corridor’s chill, hands buried deep in his pockets — as if moving faster could outrun the ache pressing at his ribs.

James nudged him lightly. “Coming? Or are you planning to loiter here all day?”

Sirius forced a smirk, chasing the dark thoughts back into their corners. “Wouldn’t want to keep you from your fan club, Potter.”

James scoffed, slinging an arm around Sirius’s shoulders as they walked on. Dorcas and Peter followed, sharing a quiet glance between them.

Sirius kept moving, kept his feet beneath him. The weight in his chest hadn’t gone — it never really did — but for now, at least, it didn’t crush him.

The day bled into dusk, and Sirius spent every moment avoiding curious glances until he finally found Remus alone.

The dormitory was dim, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the stone walls. A crisp breeze filtered through the cracked window, rustling the crimson curtains of the four-poster beds. Laughter and footsteps echoed distantly from the grounds below, a reminder of ordinary things — distant, unreachable tonight.

Sirius lingered in the doorway, his hand resting against the frame. His gaze drifted to the far corner of the room, where Remus sat hunched on his bed, pale and drawn beneath the burnished light. A half-packed bag lay at his feet, the fabric wrinkled as though abandoned mid-task. His fingers tugged absently at the fraying edge of his sleeve, twisting the wool between anxious hands.

Despite the effort to feign normalcy, the exhaustion carved into his features was unmistakable — dark shadows beneath his eyes, skin stretched thin. The full moon would rise in hours, and the toll of it already weighed on him.

“You missed a real spectacle in Potions,” Sirius said, his voice easy, practiced. He stepped into the room, letting the door click softly behind him. “Slughorn spent half the class breathing down my neck like an overeager Niffler. I was tempted to sabotage my own cauldron just to see him panic.”

Remus huffed a weak laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Shame. I might have found that entertaining.”

Sirius managed a grin, but it felt thin around the edges. He crossed to his bed and dropped down beside Grim, who blinked up at him, concerned, but didn’t stir. Silence settled between them, thick with everything unsaid.

“How’re you feeling?” Sirius asked at last.

Remus’s hand pressed briefly to his side, where old scars hid beneath his jumper, before he forced it away.

“Like I’ve been trampled by a herd of Hippogriffs,” he replied, his voice rough with weariness. “But it’ll pass.”

Sirius watched him closely. He saw the way Remus rubbed at his temples, as if he could will away the growing ache. The way he fought, as always, to seem composed. It made something sharp twist in Sirius’s chest.

“You don’t have to go through it alone,” Sirius said softly. His voice caught on the words, more confession than comfort.

Remus’s jaw tightened. “I’m not alone. Madam Pomfrey will be there.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Sirius leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “You don’t have to shut us out. We could—”

“No.” The word was immediate, hard-edged. Remus’s hands gripped the blanket beneath him, his knuckles pale. His eyes flickered with something raw — fear, maybe, or shame — before he looked away. His voice dropped, tight. “I can’t risk it, Sirius. Not after last time.”

Sirius swallowed, the knot in his throat tightening. “We’ve done it before. Me, James, Peter — we’ve got it handled.”

“Not this time.”

The finality in Remus’s tone made Sirius falter. He wanted to argue, to pull him back from the spiral of guilt and silence — but one look at Remus’s eyes, dimmed with fatigue and dread, kept him still.

“I know you’ve had… a lot on your mind,” Remus continued, his voice quieter, like it pained him to speak the words aloud. “Your uncle — Alphard. James mentioned it. I’m sorry, Sirius. I know he meant the world to you. And with everything else — the summer, Slughorn, the whispers…” He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers trembling. “You don’t need this too.”

Sirius’s throat tightened, but he forced the smirk that had always been his armour. “Please. It takes more than that to knock me down.”

But Remus didn’t soften. His gaze held, heavy with something old and aching. “You’re running yourself ragged pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

“I can take it,” Sirius said, sharper than intended.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Remus murmured.

His eyes dropped to his trembling hands, and for a moment, he seemed unbearably small beneath the weight of it all. “I can’t risk hurting you again. Not when I’m barely holding myself together.”

The words cut deeper than Sirius wanted to admit. He hated this — hated the resignation in Remus’s voice, hated that his stubborn friend had already sentenced himself to solitude. But Sirius also knew: when Remus made up his mind, it was like iron.

Still, he pushed. “Moony… please, let me help.”

Sirius wasn’t sure if he was begging for Remus — or for himself.

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it again — whatever words he wanted to say caught somewhere between fear and longing.

Then his gaze snapped up, burning with fierce, helpless frustration. “You don’t understand,” he snapped — then faltered, like the words had betrayed more than he meant. “You never could.”

Sirius’s hand hovered in the air, caught between comfort and hesitation, before curling into a fist — a promise he couldn’t keep. His chest ached with words he couldn’t shape into something convincing.

He didn’t know what he was doing — only that if he stood still, he'd shatter.

“Please, Moony,” he rasped. “Don’t push me away.”

He couldn’t lose anyone else — not now. Not when everything still felt like it was slipping through his hands.

But Remus didn’t turn. His back remained stiff, shoulders rigid beneath his jumper as he shouldered his bag.

The silence stretched, aching and brittle.

Then, softer, almost surrendering, Sirius said, “At least let me walk you to the hospital wing.”

Remus hesitated, the fight draining from his posture. The silence throbbed with all the things he couldn’t say — but in the end, he just nodded. “Alright.”

They didn’t speak as they crossed the dormitory, the silence louder than any words. Sirius’s fists curled in his pockets, his frustration simmering beneath the surface, hot and restless. He hated this helplessness, hated being a bystander to Remus’s pain. But he followed, because he would always follow.

“You’ll be careful?” Sirius asked quietly as they reached the door.

Remus offered a tired smile, the edges tinged with something fragile. “Always.”

And together, they stepped into the corridor, side by side — not saying what needed to be said, but not walking alone either.

Sirius made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, his steps slow and heavy, as though the weight of the entire day had latched onto his shoulders. The corridors were quiet, dimmed by the late hour. Somewhere distant, he could hear muffled laughter, the fading shuffle of students, but it felt far away — like the world had folded in on itself.

The frustration and fear gnawed at him, sharp and restless. His skin itched with it, his magic crackling faintly beneath the surface like a storm biding its time. He flexed his fingers as he walked, willing the tingling hum in his palms to settle.

He didn’t hear Snape approach until it was too late.

His voice, oily and cold, sliced through the stillness like a knife.

“Still playing the martyr, Black?”

Sirius froze. Magic sparked dangerously in his veins as Snape stepped into his path, eyes gleaming with malicious delight.

“You know,” Snape drawled, every word a calculated sneer, “I thought you’d be crying over your dear uncle’s death. Or is it that you’re too busy whoring yourself to the Dark Lord’s daughter to care?” His lip curled in a cruel smile. “Tell me — does she pay you, or is it the other way around?” His sneer sharpened, like he’d overheard whispers in Slytherin’s halls — secrets Sirius couldn’t outrun.

Sirius’s fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms until they stung. Heat prickled under his skin, wild and restless. He felt it coil there, dangerous — a flicker of magic, hot and aching, desperate for release. He forced it down, swallowing hard.

“You’re worthless, Black,” Snape pressed on, his voice silk over poison. “A dirty little nothing. Just like your pathetic friends.”

The flare of magic beneath Sirius’s skin pulsed harder, rising with every word, every venomous syllable.

Keep it together, keep it together.

But Snape wasn’t finished.

“I already know what you are, Black,” he hissed. His eyes narrowed to slits, voice dripping with sick satisfaction. “And I know what your precious little werewolf is too. Tell me, where does he go every full moon? Do you keep him on a leash? Or does he run wild in the woods like the beast he is?”

That did it.

The taunt hit something raw and volatile inside Sirius — deeper than rage, deeper than fear. His magic surged in response, a searing pulse beneath his ribs, making the very air around him tremble. His breath shortened, his chest tightening as he fought to leash it.

His vision blurred at the edges. His pulse roared in his ears.

For a split second, he felt it — the urge to let go, to let his magic snap free and blast Snape clear across the corridor. He could see it happening, feel the magic at his fingertips begging for release.

No.

Barely, he caged it.

Instead, his voice came low and dangerous, raw with fury. “You want to know where Remus goes?” His heart thundered, fists trembling with the effort of keeping his magic contained. 

The words poured out of him, unthinking, burning.

“You really want to know?” Sirius snarled, barely hearing himself now. “Fine. Go to the Whomping Willow. Touch the knot at the base. Be there when the moon rises.”

His voice dropped to a growl. “See what you find.”

The words left him like venom — and almost immediately, he felt the sting.

Regret slammed into him, cold and absolute.

Snape’s lips curled — triumphant, greedy, vile. He didn’t even have to reply. The satisfaction radiating off him said it all.

Sirius’s breath came fast and shallow, his chest tight with dread. His hands were still clenched, knuckles white, fingertips tingling with the raw energy he’d barely held back. He could feel it sparking uselessly against his skin, looking for an outlet, but there was none.

Because he’d already unleashed the worst damage with his mouth.

Snape was backing away, savoring his victory, and Sirius’s heart twisted painfully. What have I done?

His body moved before his brain caught up. He spun on his heel and ran, bolting through the corridors, shoving past startled students, his breath ragged in his chest. His magic crackled under his skin with every step, but it had nowhere to go but deeper inside, burning him from within.

Gryffindor Tower blurred past him. He barely registered the Fat Lady swinging open, or the startled glances from other students as he dashed through the common room and up to his dormitory.

He slammed the door behind him, chest heaving.

His eyes found the enchanted two-way mirror on his bed — the one he and James had painstakingly crafted over the summer. He snatched it up with shaking fingers.

“James,” Sirius gasped, the words tumbling out in a panic, “I messed up — I told Snape. I told him where Remus goes. The Whomping Willow—he knows.”

The mirror flickered, and then James’s face appeared, his expression tight with shock and horror.

For a heartbeat, his face paled, eyes wide with something like betrayal for a split second before it sharpened into fury.

“You what?” he snapped. “Merlin, Sirius, how could you—”

But the words choked off as the weight of the situation crashed into place. 

“I didn’t mean to!” Sirius’s voice cracked, too raw to contain the storm of guilt and fear inside him. “He just kept going on and on about Remus and everything, and I—” His words broke, swallowed by a thick knot in his throat. “I just… snapped.”

James’s jaw clenched. His eyes flicked to something behind him, and when he looked back, his gaze was hard with resolve.

“Right. I’m going after him now. He won’t get far.” James’s voice was clipped and fast. “You stay put. Don’t let anyone else find out. I’ll handle this.”

Before Sirius could get another word out, the mirror flashed and went dark, leaving him staring at his own pale reflection.

His breath rasped in his throat. His magic still hadn’t settled. It pulsed through him, wild and restless, feeding on his fear and fury. His fingers twitched around the frame of the mirror, nearly crushing it in his grip.

He forced himself to loosen his grip.

In. Out. In. Out.

But the panic didn’t leave. He slumped onto his bed, trembling. And the storm inside him just kept building — trapped with nowhere to go.

All he could do now was wait — and pray that James got there in time.

Chapter Text

The heavy doors to Dumbledore’s office creaked open, and Sirius was ushered inside — James at his side, Snape slinking behind him like a shadow of spite.

His heart pounded like a drum in his chest, nerves twisted into a knot so tight it felt like it might snap at any moment. He swept his gaze over the familiar room — the portraits of past headmasters dozing in gilded frames. One stirred as the door closed behind them, opening a single eye to peer down at Sirius with silent judgment before dozing again. The strange silver contraptions whirring softly on their shelves, the warm candlelight flickering like it might be a comfort.

But today, the office felt like a tomb.

Dumbledore stood behind his desk, his piercing gaze resting on the three boys before him. Professor McGonagall stood off to the side, arms folded, her sharp eyes fixed on Sirius with a look that sent a pang through his chest — not anger, but disappointment, deep and cold.

James stayed close, his posture rigid, jaw tight with frustration that Sirius knew wasn’t aimed at anyone else but him.

Snape, by contrast, looked like he’d swallowed a mouthful of victory. His lip curled in quiet triumph, and he radiated smugness so thick it nearly turned Sirius’s stomach.

The silence stretched. Heavy. Suffocating.

“Sit,” Dumbledore said at last, his voice calm but edged with steel.

Sirius dropped into the chair like his bones were filled with lead. Snape took his seat across from him, fixing him with a poisonous glare. James sat beside Sirius, fists tight in his lap, his knuckles white.

Dumbledore’s gaze settled on Sirius like a weight, heavier than the stone walls around them. Even the warmth in his eyes had vanished — replaced by something distant and unreadable. Sirius had never seen him like this. It made the room feel colder than stone. “Severus tells me,” he began, his tone deceptively gentle, “that you provided him with sensitive information concerning certain areas of the school grounds… and far more concerning, the nature of Mr. Lupin’s condition.”

His eyes, sharp as glass, flicked to McGonagall, then back to Sirius.

“Would you care,” Dumbledore continued, “to explain yourself?”

Sirius’s throat felt dry as ash. He swallowed hard, but it did nothing to clear the tightness in his chest. His magic prickled under his skin, restless and hot, sparking in his fingertips as if it too was twisting with guilt.

“I... I wasn’t thinking,” Sirius forced out, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Snape kept pushing — kept poking about Remus — and I just... I snapped.”

His pulse thundered in his ears. He could feel his magic pulse too, like a dangerous heartbeat under his skin, fighting to slip free. He clamped it down hard.

Snape’s sneer deepened. “Oh, you snapped, did you?” he spat, voice oozing venom. “Well, your little temper nearly got me killed. And him exposed.”

Sirius’s nails bit into his palms. The pressure helped, but only barely. His magic still hummed, like coals stoking themselves with every breath.

“You don’t know anything about Remus,” Sirius bit out, but the words felt empty. He’d made sure of that. He’d all but handed Snape the key.

Dumbledore’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “We all know what Remus is, Sirius. But more importantly, we know who he is. He is a student of this school, and he was placed in your trust.”

The words struck like a blow to the chest.

“You were reckless,” Dumbledore continued. “It is fortunate Mr. Potter acted quickly. Had he not intervened, this might have ended in tragedy.”

Sirius’s eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet James’s stare. The disappointment radiating off his best friend felt heavier than any curse.

Professor McGonagall’s voice followed, sharp as a blade. “Your actions, Mr. Black, were not simply foolish — they were dangerous. You risked Mr. Lupin’s safety, Mr. Snape’s life, and the security of this entire school. I am appalled.”

For a moment, McGonagall’s words blurred into another voice — his mother’s, cold and cruel, echoing off the marble halls of Grimmauld Place. “You disgrace the name Black with every breath.” He had fled up the stairs, Alphard’s coin clutched tight in his fist. Now, all these years later, the shame felt no smaller.

The walls of the office seemed to close in tighter. Sirius’s chest constricted, his breath tight and shallow. His foot tapped a restless rhythm against the stone floor, the anxious energy burning under his skin with nowhere to go.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall declared, her tone like iron. “Effective immediately. And two months of nightly detention — with me.”

Sirius barely nodded. He deserved it.

Dumbledore’s gaze, colder than Sirius had ever felt it, pinned him in place. “And you will be suspended from the Gryffindor Quidditch team for the remainder of the season.”

The words cut deeper than he expected.

His stomach dropped, like the floor had disappeared beneath him. His breath caught in his throat.

His head jerked up, something close to desperation sparking in his chest. “Professor, please—”

“This is not a negotiation, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore interrupted, voice firm but not cruel. “Privileges must be earned. And right now, you have forfeited yours.”

Sirius’s heart twisted, a sharp ache blooming in his ribs. Quidditch was his freedom. His escape. Without it, he felt like the walls were closing in even tighter. But he swallowed the protest down, forcing it beneath the burning tide of guilt. He had no right to beg.

“I understand,” he whispered, though the words scalded his tongue.

Snape’s lip curled in twisted satisfaction — but when Dumbledore’s eyes locked on his, something flickered. Not guilt. Not remorse. But a shadow of uncertainty, like the memory of nearly dying still clung beneath his bitterness. His fingers twitched at his sides. The sneer faltered — just for a breath — and something shifted behind his eyes. Not fear, exactly, but the echo of it. Whatever victory he’d imagined had turned bitter, soured by the realization that he’d come far too close to something he couldn’t control.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said, voice edged with quiet finality, “you will speak of this to no one. I trust you understand the importance of this.”

Snape gave a stiff nod, his expression smoothing back into something cold — but Sirius saw it. The crack beneath the surface. The cost of knowing.

“You are dismissed,” Dumbledore said.

As they rose, Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on Sirius one last time. His final words were quiet but searing.

“Think very carefully, Mr. Black, about the man you wish to become.”

The line lodged itself deep in Sirius’s chest.

They left the office in heavy silence. Snape slithered away without a backward glance, disappearing down the corridor like smoke.

James and Sirius walked in silence. The ache in Sirius’s chest throbbed in time with the tight, frayed thread of his magic, still crackling beneath his skin, fighting for release.

When they finally stopped in the corridor, Sirius opened his mouth to speak — to apologise, to beg for forgiveness, to say something that would fix the rift between them. But James beat him to it.

“You’ll have to explain yourself to Remus.”

The quiet words made Sirius flinch. His heart felt like it had cracked down the center. “I know,” he rasped.

James hesitated. His back was still turned, his fists tight at his sides. Then, in a voice rougher, lower, he added, “You scared me, Pads — not just Moony.”

James hesitated for a beat, then turned without another word. His shoulders were tight as he walked away, not looking back, leaving Sirius standing alone in the dim corridor, the weight of his mistakes settling heavy on his shoulders.

The magic under his skin still trembled, wild and restless. But Sirius clenched his fists and forced it down. Just like he forced everything else.

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower had been unbearable.

James didn’t say a word, his face carved into a tight, unreadable mask. Sirius tried—more than once—to bridge the silence. A muttered apology, a half-hearted joke, anything to shatter the oppressive quiet. But James didn’t respond. Not with words. Just the occasional sharp glance, heavy with disappointment, more cutting than any curse.

When they finally reached the dormitory, Peter was already in bed, curled small beneath his blankets. His steady breathing suggested he was asleep—or at least pretending to be. Sirius didn’t care enough to check.

James, still silent, kicked off his shoes and changed into his pajamas with mechanical efficiency. The creak of bed frames, the shuffle of cloth, the distant groans of the settling castle — they filled the room like ghosts. Too loud in the heavy quiet.

Sirius sank onto the edge of his bed, the weight of the day pressing down like a suffocating cloak. He opened his mouth again, searching for words, for something — but nothing came. What could he say? No words could undo what he’d done.

James climbed into bed, then paused — just for a breath. His fingers hovered on the curtain, like he might speak, might offer something. A glance. A word. Anything.

But then his jaw tightened, and he drew the curtain shut. The fabric whispered closed with a finality that echoed louder than any slammed door.

The sound landed in Sirius’s chest like a blow. Just last week, James had pulled him into a laughing headlock before bed, asked about Quidditch strategies, and stolen his socks. Now — nothing.

A hollow ache opened behind his ribs.

For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the floor, his vision blurring at the edges. His magic hummed beneath his skin, restless and frayed, like a caged thing pacing inside him. A faint pulse of light flickered at the tips of his fingers—barely there, but enough to make Grim’s ears twitch. Sirius gritted his teeth and shoved his hands beneath the pillow, burying the glow. He forced it down, curling his fingers into fists until his knuckles ached.

Even Grim, normally a comforting weight at the foot of his bed, couldn’t offer peace. The kitten stirred, golden eyes glowing softly in the gloom as if he sensed the storm brewing inside his master. He let out a low, uncertain chirp.

Sirius ran a trembling hand over the kitten’s fur, the repetitive motion the only thing anchoring him to the present. Static buzzed faintly at his fingertips, his magic brushing against Grim’s fur before he managed to will it away.

His clothes clung to his skin, damp with sweat and the weight of the day. Eventually, with leaden limbs, he forced himself upright. His fingers fumbled at the fastenings of his robes, clumsy and foreign, as if they belonged to someone else.

Even after tugging on his pajamas, the chill in his bones lingered.

Grim meowed again, softer this time, curling tighter against Sirius as he collapsed onto the mattress. The bed creaked beneath him, every sound magnified in the suffocating stillness. He curled onto his side, drawing his knees to his chest, but sleep refused him. His mind wouldn’t let go.

Every time he closed his eyes, the memories came clawing back.

James’s panic.

Snape’s twisted satisfaction.

And worst of all, the unbearable image of what might have happened if James had been too late—if Snape had reached the shack, if Remus—

And what would Remus say? Would he even look at him again?

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, as though he could will the thoughts away. But they burrowed deeper, gnawing at him like parasites.

He could still feel his magic, coiled tight in his chest, twitching beneath his skin like it wanted to lash out. He kept it contained, swallowing it back, forcing it into silence—just as he had forced himself into silence at Dumbledore’s desk.

Peter shifted in his bed, murmuring something in his sleep before settling again. Sirius barely noticed.

It was only when the first thin strands of dawn seeped through the cracks in the curtains that Sirius’s exhaustion finally overtook him. The pale gold crept in like an apology he didn’t want.

Morning always came, whether or not you deserved it.

His eyelids grew heavy, and with Grim’s steady warmth pressed to his side, he drifted into a restless, broken sleep—the weight of his guilt a shadow that followed him even into his dreams.

A sharp voice jolted him awake.

“We could have lost you, Remus!”

James.

Sirius blinked against the harsh sunlight streaming through the windows, his skull pounding with exhaustion. His limbs felt leaden, heavy with a guilt that had sunk bone-deep overnight. The voices were hushed but taut with tension, threading through the stillness of the dormitory.

“I know, James,” came Remus’s voice, rough and strained. “But he's my friend too.”

“Then he should have thought about that before he nearly sent Snape to his death.”

James’s voice was a low growl, the fury beneath his words barely restrained.

Sirius pushed himself upright, the blankets twisted around his legs. The ache in his chest sharpened at the sight before him — James, Remus, and Peter stood together in the center of the room, their faces shadowed with exhaustion.

But it was Remus who held Sirius's gaze, and the pain in those amber eyes was unbearable. Not fury. Not even betrayal. It was something worse — raw, aching disappointment. Like Sirius had taken something fragile and precious between his hands and shattered it.

Remus’s jaw was tight, his face pale beneath the bruises left by the full moon. His hands, still marked by healing scratches, trembled at his sides. But Sirius barely noticed. All he could see was that look — like Remus didn’t know whether to grieve him or curse him.

“You told him,” Remus rasped. “After everything we swore to protect… you handed him my chains.”

Sirius’s chest constricted, like his ribs were wrapped in iron. “I didn’t mean to,” he blurted, scrambling to his feet, his words tumbling over one another. “Remus, I swear — he kept needling me, and I—”

“Stop.”

The word cracked like a whip. Remus’s fists clenched tighter, his breath ragged.

“And that’s supposed to make it better?” Remus’s voice cracked, thick with something raw and bleeding. “You knew, Sirius. You knew what could happen.”

Alexandria’s voice slithered through his thoughts — taunting, inevitable — the echo of every mistake he’d ever made. He flinched, swallowing hard. Recklessness had always been his curse. Alphard’s loss. Remus’s trust. Hadn’t she always known?

You ruin everything.

The whisper curled through his mind, sharp as a blade. She’d said it during a summer row, her eyes glinting like glass, after he’d nearly hexed a house-elf for parroting his mother’s words. Reckless, she’d called him, broken by your blood.

And now, she was right.

“I would have stopped him,” Sirius said desperately, stepping forward. His magic simmered beneath his skin, crackling faintly at his fingertips, barely contained. “I swear on everything, I never wanted him to get to you. I—I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Remus shook his head, his voice hollow. “No. You weren’t thinking straight. And it nearly cost me my life.”

It wasn’t fury in his eyes. It was devastation. And it broke Sirius’s heart far worse than any shouted anger could have.

Peter shifted by the door, wringing his hands. “Can’t we fix this?” he asked, voice small, desperate.

He stepped closer, looking between them — not with answers, but with something rawer: fear. “We’re not supposed to fall apart,” he whispered. “Not like this. We’re the four of us. Aren’t we?”

No one answered.

Sirius opened his mouth, but the words snagged in his throat. James’s stare bore into him — grim, unyielding. Peter fidgeted, helpless. And Remus… Remus was shattering in front of him, and Sirius didn’t know how to stop it.

“Give us some space, Sirius,” James said at last, his voice tight, low. “We need time.”

Sirius’s breath caught. “James, please—”

“Just go.”

The finality of it cut deeper than any curse. Sirius’s hands shook as he bent to pull on his robes, Grim brushing against his leg with a soft, worried mewl. His magic prickled in his fingertips again, wild and fraying, and he had to clench his fists to hold it down. The air around him felt too tight, too heavy, like it might crack under the strain.

He fumbled with his shoes, his trembling fingers knotting the laces unevenly. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the rest of the world.

Without another word, he crossed the room, pushed open the door, and stepped into the common room. The door felt miles away. Every step hurt — not physically, but like each one pulled him farther from the only people who had ever made him feel like he belonged.

As it clicked shut behind him, Sirius thought he heard Remus whisper something — but it might’ve just been his own name, carried on a breath of regret.

The morning light was too bright, searing against his tired eyes. Voices swirled around him — whispers, sharp and too loud. He could feel them watching, the weight of their stares pressing into his back like stones.

“Sirius!”

Dorcas’s voice, sharp with concern. He didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

He pushed past the crowd, their murmurs a storm in his mind. His breath came fast and shallow. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls, harsh and hollow.

His magic clawed against his skin, seeping into the air around him — sharp and volatile — begging to be unleashed.

But he forced it down. Buried it deep.

He kept walking, even as it burned inside him.

Even as it felt like he might tear apart at the seams.

Sirius disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, leaving behind the weight of his mistakes — and the wreckage of what had once been whole.

Sirius didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there.

The unused classroom was cloaked in shadows, dust motes swirling lazily in the pale shafts of light filtering through the tall, narrow windows. Desks were shoved against the walls, the chalkboard slumped crookedly in the corner — all of it abandoned, forgotten.

But none of it mattered.

He sat on the cold stone floor, knees drawn to his chest, trembling hands tangled in his dark hair. Silent sobs racked his body, rough and ragged, the tears falling unchecked. His chest ached under the crushing weight of it — a hollow, gnawing pain that no words could ease. Every breath felt sharp in his ribs, a cruel reminder of the mistake he couldn’t take back.

Unforgivable.

The word clung to him, heavy and relentless. He didn’t deserve comfort. He didn’t deserve the warmth of friendship or the simple safety of laughter. He had ruined it.

Always. Always him. His temper. His pride. His recklessness.

He had lost Alphard — driven away the only family member who had ever seen him — because he couldn’t keep his anger in check. And now, Moony. He had handed Snape the map straight to Remus’s secret, as if it was some petty joke, as if it wasn’t someone’s life in the balance.

Recklessness was his curse. It destroyed everything he touched.

His thoughts spiraled like smoke through a collapsing room — Alphard’s voice, Regulus’s silence, the sound of Remus struggling to breathe through pain — all of it tangled, tightening. The heat under his skin wasn’t just magic. It was memory.

A soft creak broke through the suffocating quiet.

Sirius stiffened, quickly dragging the back of his sleeve across his eyes, as if it could wipe away the wreckage of what he’d become. But when he glanced up, Dorcas Meadowes stood in the doorway, frozen in place, concern written stark across her face.

Her usual sharp confidence faltered. For a beat, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt too heavy, thick with unsaid things.

“Sirius,” she said softly, her voice barely a breath against the rattling windowpanes.

He turned away, jaw tightening. “Just go, Dorcas.”

But she didn’t.

Without hesitation, she crossed the room and sat beside him, folding herself onto the cold stone floor as though the chill and dust meant nothing at all. She didn’t demand explanations. She didn’t ask questions. She just was — steady and quiet at his side.

“I don’t know what happened,” she said gently, “but I’m not leaving you alone.”

A flicker of something twisted in Sirius’s chest, sharp and defensive. His magic, restless beneath his skin, pulsed against his ribs like a second heartbeat. He pressed his palms flat to the floor, grounding himself.

“You should,” he rasped, his voice bitter and cracked. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Her hand hovered for a moment, then settled on his arm, warm and sure. “Maybe not,” she said. “But I know you . And I’m still here.”

For a long moment, Sirius said nothing. The silence pressed in, not empty but heavy — brimming with everything he couldn’t say. Dorcas didn’t press. She didn’t try to force comfort where there was none. Instead, she shifted closer, leaning her head lightly against his shoulder, her presence a quiet, steadying anchor.

“I’m sure it’s not as unforgivable as you think,” she whispered.

Sirius couldn’t answer. The knot in his throat was too tight. But he didn’t pull away. He let her stay.

The sounds of the castle drifted in — faint echoes of laughter, the distant hum of life continuing without him. Time slipped by in a blur, the weight in his chest easing just enough to let him breathe.

After a while, Dorcas’s quiet voice broke the hush. “Do you want to go to class?”

“No,” Sirius answered immediately, his voice rough and low.

She only nodded and shifted slightly closer. “Then we won’t.”

The simplicity of it nearly undid him. He had expected her to insist, to drag him back into the noise and the eyes of everyone who knew. But she didn’t. There was no judgment in her steady gaze. Only understanding.

“I’ll stay,” she said. “As long as you need.”

Sirius tried to speak, but the words tangled in his throat. He couldn’t thank her. Not yet. But as he let his head rest against hers, the ache in his chest dulled, just a little.

The silence lingered between them, but it wasn’t empty anymore. Dorcas stayed, her quiet strength steady beside him. Outside, the wind rattled the loose window, the castle alive with sounds of students and shifting stone, but inside the room, it felt like they were a world away.

Sirius’s breathing slowed, his pulse easing under his skin. The restless hum of his magic settled, not gone, but no longer clawing for release. Dorcas’s quiet presence anchored him, pulling him back from the edge.

Finally, his voice emerged, hoarse and thin. “I don’t know why you’re still here.”

Dorcas lifted her head, meeting his gaze without hesitation. “Because you don’t deserve to be alone.”

He let out a shaky, brittle laugh. “You say that like you understand.”

“I may not know everything,” she said softly, “but I know enough to stay.”

She hesitated, then added, “Do you remember our first year?”

The question caught him off guard. His brow furrowed. “What?”

Dorcas’s lips tugged into a small, bittersweet smile. “That older Slytherin — the one who tried to hex me outside the library. He was older, bigger, and I was terrified.”

The memory surfaced, flickering like a long-forgotten flame. “Yeah… I remember.”

“You didn’t hesitate,” she said. “You stood between us. Told him to back off. And when he didn’t, you hexed him so hard he ran into a suit of armor.”

Despite himself, a weak laugh escaped Sirius. “McGonagall nearly took my head off.”

“She did,” Dorcas said, her smile warming. “But you said something, remember? Friends protect each other .”

Her gaze softened, but her voice sharpened with quiet steel. “So don’t think for a second I’d leave you now.”

Sirius swallowed thickly. He wanted to argue, to tell her this was different — that he wasn’t worth it. Not this time. But the words never came. Instead, he just gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod, the weight in his chest lifting, if only a little.

And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, he let himself believe — just for a moment — that maybe, maybe he wasn’t as alone as he felt.

Chapter Text

Three weeks had crawled by, and Sirius had sunk into a routine so hollow it barely felt real.

Every morning, before the sun had fully risen, he slipped out of the dormitory before his friends stirred. It had become second nature — waking before dawn, dressing in the dim light, and sliding past James’s bed without a sound. And at night, he only went to bed once he was sure the others were asleep, waiting in the common room until the fire burned low and the halls were quiet. He didn’t know if they noticed. If they did, they never said anything.

Grim always noticed. The little cat never missed a thing — a silent shadow, loyal and watching.

The little cat would lift his head from Sirius’s pillow, blinking slow and drowsy as Sirius swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sometimes he’d follow, weaving between Sirius’s legs as they made their way down to the common room. He never left his side, but Sirius barely acknowledged him.

Easier. Safer. Less dangerous than feeling.

Dorcas, however, was persistent. No matter how much Sirius tried to avoid his friends, she never let him slip away entirely. Every morning, like clockwork, she caught him before he could disappear completely, her steps purposeful as she intercepted him outside the portrait hole.

“You’re coming,” she’d say, steering him toward the Great Hall before he could protest. Her tone left no room for argument — and Sirius, too tired to fight, never did.

There was no point.

She hadn’t even let him skip breakfast on her birthday a few days earlier, dragging him to the table with a quiet, stubborn look that brokered no excuses. He hadn’t said much — couldn’t — but she’d sat beside him anyway, close enough to let him know she wasn’t going anywhere.

But when she nudged her plate closer, hopeful he’d steal a bite, or sneakily placed extra food onto his own, he only shrugged it off with a hollow joke and pushed the food around like it was something poisonous, like swallowing even a bite might choke him. His appetite had all but vanished — and she noticed.

They all noticed.

James, especially.

Sirius could feel his best friend watching him, eyes sharp and tight with worry as Sirius picked at his meals. James never said anything outright, but Sirius saw it — the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched like he was holding himself back from grabbing Sirius by the collar and shaking him until something gave.

Peter’s nervous energy scraped against Sirius’s fraying patience like sandpaper. His hands were restless, his gaze quick and anxious, as if waiting for something — anything — to snap. His fidgeting made Sirius feel like he was under a microscope, exposed and rotting beneath it.

And Remus…

Remus wouldn’t even look at him. And that cut deeper than all the rest.

Sirius felt the weight of it every time he risked a glance, only for Remus to turn away, his shoulders tight with restraint. The silence between them gnawed at Sirius worse than any bruise, worse than the old wounds faded from his skin but not from memory. He couldn’t forget the last time Remus had laughed — the sound lived in his ribs like a ghost, echoing in every hollow breath.

Remus’s silence was worse than any shouting. It was the silence of something already broken.

But it wasn’t only Remus.

Across the Great Hall, past the clatter of plates and the murmur of morning chatter, Sirius sometimes caught Regulus watching him. His younger brother’s gaze lingered longer than Sirius could bear, a quiet, conflicted weight behind his eyes — like he wanted to speak, like he wanted to say something.

But he never did.

Sirius didn’t know what lingered behind that stare. Regret? Pity? A warning he hadn’t figured out yet? Whatever it was, it stayed locked behind those eyes — and Sirius couldn’t bring himself to ask. Every time Sirius looked up, Regulus looked away, shoulders stiff beneath the green and silver of his house robes. He kept his distance, always just a little too far to reach.

Sirius told himself it was better this way.

So he did the only thing he could: he buried himself in distraction.

Classes blurred together in a haze of ink and incantations. Each lesson slipped through his mind like water through cupped hands — impossible to hold onto. He let Dorcas drag him to meals without protest. He served every single one of his detentions with McGonagall in uncharacteristic silence, never offering his usual cheeky remarks, never testing her patience.

He scrubbed cauldrons until his hands ached, never looking up. If McGonagall was surprised by his silence, she didn’t say.

If anything, her sharp gaze lingered longer than usual. Keen. Knowing. She never pressed, never asked, but there was something in the quiet way she regarded him — a flicker of understanding beneath her stern façade. A patience he didn’t deserve.

Sometimes, in the hush of the empty classroom, when the only sounds were the scratch of quills and the soft crackle of the fireplace, Sirius felt as though she was waiting.

Not for excuses.

Not for confessions.

Just… waiting.

But she never pried.

No one did.

And for that, Sirius was grateful.

Because if they asked — really asked — everything he’d buried would come tearing out, feral and wild. And if it escaped, he wasn’t sure he’d survive what came with it.

By the time Potions rolled around that day, Sirius felt like he was moving through a fog.

The scrape of chairs, the low murmur of students settling in — it all washed over him like background noise. He drifted to a seat beside Lily, staring blankly at the front of the room as Slughorn began the lesson.

James and Remus sat together a few rows over, flipping through their textbooks. Sirius could feel James watching him again — one of those quiet, worried looks, subtle but far from invisible. Sirius didn’t need to look to know. It had been like this for weeks: James trying to catch his eye, waiting for Sirius to say something. Anything.

He never did.

Across from them, Peter fumbled with his ingredients, nearly dropping a vial of syrup of hellebore into his cauldron. Remus caught it just in time, his hand shooting out fast and steady.

“Ah, Amortentia ,” Slughorn announced brightly, his face alight with enthusiasm as he gestured toward the pearlescent potion simmering at the front. “The most powerful love potion in existence. Recognizable by its distinctive sheen and, most famously, its unique scent — tailored to the individual.”

Sirius stiffened. The name alone sent a jolt down his spine. He hadn’t thought about that potion in months — hadn’t let himself. But now...

Someone laughed. A chair scraped. The world kept moving like nothing was wrong.

“The scent reveals what one finds most alluring,” Slughorn went on, swirling a ladle through the cauldron. “It may be a person, a place, even a memory... But beware.” His jovial tone dipped into warning. “While Amortentia may mimic love, it is but a dangerous illusion.”

His voice grew distant. Muffled. Drowned beneath the sharp, rising ring in Sirius’s ears.

The shimmer turned slick and wrong, like oil over tainted water. It warped into something darker.

A different room. A different time.

Sweet berries. Thick and cloying. Wrong.

His pulse hammered against his ribs, each beat louder than the last.

Jasmine. Ash. Cold metal.

Alexandria’s scent.

His breath stuttered, coming shallow and fast. His hands curled into fists beneath the desk, nails biting hard into his palms.

James leaned forward, voice low with concern. “Sirius?”

Sirius didn’t answer.

Beside him, Lily stirred the potion, watching the swirling waves. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” she murmured, distracted.

But Sirius couldn’t hear her properly. He could only taste it now — thick and sweet, syrupy on his tongue like poison. He could feel it, heavy in his veins, slowing his thoughts, clogging his chest.

She used it on me.

Panic clawed tight in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

The walls closed in, suffocating.

Get out.

His chair screeched across the stone floor as he shoved it back, the sharp scrape splitting the hum of the classroom like a blade. Heads snapped toward him. Eyes fixed on him.

“Sirius?” Lily’s voice rose, sharp with alarm.

James was already pushing out of his seat, brows knit in tight worry. “Mate—”

But Sirius was already moving.

Ignoring Slughorn’s startled shout, he bolted for the door.

He barely made it past the threshold when Dorcas’s voice rang out behind him, urgent and strained. “Sirius, wait!”

He had to get out — before the walls swallowed him whole.

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

He ran.

Sirius barely made it three corridors before his legs gave out.

His back hit the cold stone wall as he staggered, chest heaving in sharp, uneven breaths. The castle spun around him, too bright, too close. His stomach churned. His skin felt wrong — like it didn’t fit, like he needed to crawl out of it.

His trembling hands braced against the wall. He curled them into fists, nails biting into his palms, desperate for something, anything, to anchor him. But the memory clung fast, a poison leeching into his bones.

"Drink up, darling."

A glass of wine. A soft smile that never reached her eyes. The scent of roses — and something sickly sweet, suffocating.

“Sirius!”

He flinched at the sound of his name, the sharp edge of it cutting through his haze. Footsteps pounded closer before Lily and Dorcas skidded to a stop in front of him, breathless.

Dorcas dropped to her knees at once, sharp eyes raking over him, all worry and no hesitation. “Hey, hey, you just ran off — what’s wrong?” Her voice was softer than before, gentle but steady, like she could stop him unraveling just by being there.

Sirius swallowed hard, shaking his head, tight and frantic. He couldn’t — wouldn’t — talk about it.

Lily crouched beside him, her voice careful but warm. “Sirius… was it the potion?”

His breath caught sharply in his throat.

Dorcas’s eyes narrowed, flickering with something close to understanding. She drew a quiet, steady breath. “What was it about the potion, Sirius?” she coaxed, low and even. “Tell us.”

His chest constricted, tight and unforgiving. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sting, against the roaring in his ears.

And then, barely above a whisper, his voice cracked.

“Alexandria.”

His voice cracked, fragile and raw.

“She— she used it on me.”

Silence.

Cold, suffocating silence.

Lily’s face paled. Dorcas’s breath snagged, her hand rising to cover her mouth, horror flashing across her features.

Sirius curled in on himself instinctively, bracing for the disgust, the judgment — the pity he hated more than anything. He knew that look. He hated it. He hated it—

But it never came.

Dorcas didn’t hesitate. She moved, firm and sure, and folded him into her arms.

Sirius stiffened like she’d burned him. He didn’t know what to do with the warmth, the quiet, unwavering comfort. His first instinct was to pull away, to scoff, to bury it beneath sharp humor and shields of bravado.

But his body betrayed him.

A choked, ragged breath slipped free — shaky and broken. His hands clenched in her robes, clutching tight, and before he could stop it, a sob tore from his throat.

Raw. Unguarded. Real .

Dorcas held him tighter.

Lily’s hand landed gently on his shoulder, steadying him with quiet strength. “Sirius,” she whispered, barely above the rustle of his breath. “That wasn’t your fault.”

Footsteps pounded down the corridor.

James. Remus. Peter.

Sirius didn’t lift his head, but he felt them stop. The weight of their presence hit like a spell — stunned silence, shifting feet, a held breath that filled the corridor like fog.

James’s breath hitched sharply. He braced himself for Remus’s voice — cold, cutting. For James’s disappointment. For Peter’s pity. James’s voice, when it came, was tight with fury barely leashed. “What happened?”

Dorcas’s arms didn’t loosen.

“You’re not alone, Sirius,” she whispered into his shoulder, fierce and sure. “I swear it.”

Sirius’s chest ached, tight and tangled. He wasn’t sure he believed her.

But for the first time in weeks—

He wanted to.

The drawing room of Grimmauld Place loomed, thick with velvet shadows and the bitter tang of dark magic. Sirius slouched in a high-backed chair, sixteen and defiant — black hair a tangled halo around storm-grey eyes, jaw locked tight, wand tapping a restless rhythm against his thigh.

Dinner had ended — his mother’s shrill pride still echoing in his ears, his father’s cold silence colder than the hearth’s dying embers.

Across from him, Alexandria reclined like a queen in exile, her dark eyes glittering, her mouth curved into that slight, knowing smile.

Her beauty was a blade. Dark hair cascading like ink, pale skin luminous in the firelight. A quiet, deadly menace that came from being his betrothed. Voldemort’s daughter.

A goblet slid toward him, crimson and glinting like blood. Her fingers brushed his — cold as frost, burning like flame.

He raised the goblet with a bitter smirk, drained it in a single swallow.

It burned sweet. Cloying. Wrong.

The room tilted. The edges blurred. His scowl faltered as his pulse picked up, sharp and uneven.

Alexandria’s smile deepened into something predatory.

She rose, moving toward him with feline grace, her robes whispering over the rug. Her scent enveloped him — jasmine, ash, something metallic and sweet, turning his stomach.

His mind shouted no . His body betrayed him.

His fingers fumbled for his wand — clumsy, thick. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “What’d you — what did you do?”

Her hand cupped his jaw — ice and fire — and her thumb brushed the corner of his lips. “Let go,” she whispered, her voice coiling through him like smoke.

His mind screamed. Don’t. Don’t.

But his body leaned in.

She drew him to the chaise by the fire, the room slipping further from focus — parents gone, silence crashing down. Her nails scraped over his ribs — a touch meant to control, not comfort. He gasped, shuddering. His mind screamed no. He fought — gods, he fought — but the potion dragged him under. His hands tangled in her hair, his body moving of its own accord, driven by the potion flooding his veins.

Her kiss swallowed him whole — sweet, suffocating, relentless.

His shirt hit the floor. Her robes parted. Firelight flickered over pale skin, casting her in molten gold. She straddled him, guiding him, whispering against his ear, "You’re mine ."

The potion twisted deep inside him, a dark tide drowning his will.

It ended fast. His breath tore ragged from his chest, her satisfied sigh sharp in his ear. She lingered over him, lips brushing his throat, fingers tracing possessive patterns over his skin. "We’ll make a fine match," she purred, smug, victorious. "Whether you like it or not."

A flash of clarity cut through the fog, sharp as a knife. Horror. Revulsion.

He shoved her away, stumbling back, snatching up his shirt, his wand — run . But she only laughed, her voice trailing after him like poison in his blood.

—

He remembered stumbling through fog, her voice in his ear, her hands dragging him back to bed—

He woke slowly.

Head pounding. Sheets twisted beneath him, soaked in cold sweat.

The grey morning light slanted through heavy curtains, casting long, slithering shadows across the guest room walls.

By the window, she stood.

Her dark hair gleamed in the light, her silhouette framed in cruel beauty.

His stomach twisted, bile rising. His voice scraped raw from his throat. “Alex — what did you do?”

She turned, her smile soft and chilling. “What I had to,” she said simply, crossing to perch on the bed beside him.

Too close.

His body recoiled, instincts screaming, but she only reached for him, gentle and terrifying.

Her dark eyes glinted. “We’re going to have a child.”

The world tilted. No .

“You used a love potion,” Sirius rasped, breath sawing in his chest.

She sighed, as though he were a petulant child. “Of course. You weren’t cooperating.”

His hands fisted the sheets, knuckles white. Cold sweat prickled down his spine.

“How could you?”

Her fingers traced his cheek with mock affection. “One day, you’ll understand,” she crooned. “We belong together.”

His heart thundered in his chest. His limbs felt weak, but his mind — his mind was aflame.

Run .

He bolted from the bed, staggering toward the door.

Her voice followed, silky and cold: "You can’t outrun this."

—

The corridor swam back into view — breath ragged, hands shaking. But the memory still clung like smoke, refusing to release him.

The past wasn’t done with him yet—

—

The drawing room again.

The suffocating stench of old magic. His parents sat like carved statues, their faces masks of disdain. Alexandria, poised beside them, her victory worn like a crown.

“She told us everything,” Walburga said, her voice honeyed venom. “And I must say, you disappoint me, Sirius.”

His stomach roiled. “You knew?”

Orion scoffed. “Of course we knew.”

His blood turned to ice.

“We approved,” Walburga went on, smooth and final. “This alliance has been long arranged. You should be grateful .”

The truth slammed into him like a curse. They’d known. They’d let it happen. They wanted it.

“She drugged me,” Sirius choked. “She —” The words curdled in his mouth.

“She secured the future of the Black family,” Orion said coldly. “You will do your duty.”

“You belong to this family,” Walburga snarled. “You’ll do as we say.”

Terror clawed at Sirius’s chest. Rage boiled over it. “I’d rather die.”

Silence fell like a guillotine.

Then — her wand sliced the air.

Agony exploded through his ribs. He hit the floor, breath torn from his lungs.

A boot pinned him down — his father’s voice a thunderclap. “Ungrateful boy.”

Another curse seared through him, lighting his nerves on fire.

Walburga loomed, her eyes aflame. “You will marry her. You will do as you are told.”

"I won’t."

Her mouth twisted. “Then you will die.”

Pain lanced through him. His vision blurred.

Orion’s final decree rang out, cold and irrevocable: “Either you marry her, or you are no son of mine.”

Sirius forced himself upright, swaying but standing, defiance burning in his chest. He had no wand, no shield — but he had his will.

He spat blood at their feet.

They raised their wands — death spells poised.

Sirius ran.

Snatching his wand mid-stride, he crashed through the door, Alexandria’s voice slicing after him: "You can’t leave me, Sirius—"

He didn’t look back.

He tore through the corridors, lungs burning, blood pounding in his ears.

One thought. One hope. One name. James.

The only person who ever gave him a choice.

He burst onto the street, ragged, battered — but free .

He knew, even as he fled, that he would carry this moment for the rest of his life. Some cages don’t need bars — just memory.

Silence stretched through the corridor, thick and suffocating.

Sirius sat curled against the stone wall, arms wrapped tight around his knees, breath uneven and raw from the weight of what he’d just confessed.

Alexandria. The love potion. The night that shattered him.

And now — her claim that she was pregnant.

If it was true… if she really had meant it — what did that make him? A father? A prisoner? The thought twisted something deep inside him, sharp and unbearable. He didn’t want to know. He couldn’t. The thought of it — of a child, of her carrying his child — left him breathless with terror. If it was true… if she really had —

Dorcas still had her arm around his shoulders, firm and grounding. Lily knelt in front of him, pale, her eyes wide with something tangled between horror and fury.

James and Remus stood a few feet away, frozen.

Sirius had known it would come to this. He’d braced for it — the moment when the truth, the ugly, awful truth, finally clawed its way out. But still, their reactions landed like blows.

James looked like he was about to be sick. His fists trembled at his sides, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack. His breath came in fast, sharp bursts, like he was barely keeping himself from exploding.

Remus’s amber eyes locked onto Sirius’s — unreadable at first, too still — but the storm behind them was undeniable: guilt, anger, grief.

Remus’s hands twitched at his sides before he shoved them into his pockets, like he had to physically restrain himself from reaching out.

No one spoke. Not at first.

Then Lily’s voice, barely a whisper: “Sirius…”

He looked away. He couldn’t stand the pity in her voice.

Dorcas was the first to move. She sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly pushed to her feet, as if she couldn’t bear the stillness any longer. “That bitch —” Her voice shook with fury. “She — she —” Words failed her. She dragged her hands through her hair, trying to keep herself from exploding. “I’ll kill her.”

A hollow, bitter laugh rasped from Sirius’s throat. “Get in line.”

James moved then, sharp and sudden — a violent step forward, then another, like his body wouldn’t obey the instinct to hold still.

“Why —” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and forced himself to try again, louder, angrier. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us?”

Sirius flinched.

James never sounded like that. Never.

“Because I didn’t want to,” Sirius muttered, hating the way the words felt in his mouth. Useless. Pathetic.

It wasn’t enough.

James cursed under his breath, dragging his hands through his hair like he wanted to tear it out. His voice rose, sharp and wild with fury and heartbreak. “You — Merlin, Sirius. You went through that alone, and you just —” He spun, punching the stone wall hard enough that the crack rang through the corridor. “You let us think you were fine?”

Peter, pale and nervous, hovered nearby, his voice small. “Blimey, Sirius…” He sounded like speaking too loudly might shatter them all completely.

Sirius had no answer.

What could he say? That he’d been too afraid to speak it aloud? That he’d hoped, foolishly, if he buried it deep enough, it might not be real?

Lily’s hand found his wrist, gentle, anchoring. Her voice was soft but strong. “This wasn’t your fault.”

Sirius swallowed hard, his voice rough. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Dorcas’s fists trembled at her sides. “She drugged you, Sirius.” Her voice cracked with disgust. “She —” She cut herself off, unable to even finish.

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed, his voice hollow.

The silence dropped like a shroud, choking the breath from the corridor.

Then Remus’s voice, steady but tight with something dark:

“What happened after?”

Sirius knew exactly what he meant.

What happened when his parents found out he refused to play along.

His fingers curled into his sleeves, nails biting his skin as the memory clawed at him.

His mother’s fury. His father’s contempt.

Pain slashing across his skin. Ungrateful boy —

His throat closed.

“I ran,” he forced out, distant. “They tried to stop me, but… I got away.”

James let out a strangled sound — something between a growl and a gasp. His fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides.

“They tried to stop you?” His voice shook, raw and furious. “They knew. They knew what she did, and instead of helping you —” His breath caught, thick with rage. “They hurt you?”

Sirius didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

James’s eyes shone with something dangerous, his whole body bristling. “I took you in — how the bloody hell did I miss this?”

He turned away sharply, fists still trembling. It looked like it took everything in him not to put his fist through the wall again.

Lily wiped her eyes quickly, and Dorcas spat a curse under her breath.

No longer blank. No longer cold — Remus was watching him now.

Now, Sirius could see it all — the storm behind those amber eyes. Guilt so sharp it might cut him open. Regret twisting deep, like he hated himself for not seeing it.

“You hid this?” Remus’s voice was hoarse, rough with something broken.

Sirius’s chest twisted painfully. He couldn’t take it.

“I don’t — I don’t need you all to look at me like that,” he rasped.

“Like what?” James shot back, too fast, too sharp.

“Like I’m broken .”

James flinched, as though Sirius had struck him.

“You’re not broken,” Dorcas said at once, fierce and certain.

Sirius let out a bitter breath of a laugh. “Feels like I am.”

“You’re not,” Lily repeated softly, squeezing his hand tighter.

Remus’s voice was rough. “I should’ve seen it.”

Sirius blinked, startled, looking up at him.

Remus’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His gaze didn’t waver. “I should’ve known. I should’ve known. ” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

For a heartbeat, Sirius couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

Quietly, uncertain, he whispered: “I don’t know what to do with any of this.” His chest ached, his voice frayed and lost. “I don’t know how to — how to carry it.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Remus said softly.

And for the first time in a long, long time…

Sirius wanted to believe him.

Chapter Text

The dormitory was silent, except for the faint scratch of Grim’s claws against the wooden floor.

Sirius sat on his bed, arms wrapped around his knees, staring blankly at the stone wall. The weight of everything he’d revealed that morning still pressed down on him, suffocating and inescapable. After his confession, his friends had quietly guided him back here — no words, just steady hands and solemn steps — as though they all knew he couldn’t make it on his own.

Grim, ever watchful, had settled nearby but wasn’t content to simply curl up and wait. Instead, the kitten batted a crumpled bit of parchment across the floor with single-minded persistence, tapping it once, twice — then pausing to look up at Sirius, as if daring him to engage.

Sirius didn’t move.

Another swat. The parchment rolled against his boot.

With a quiet sigh, Sirius reached down and scooped Grim into his lap. The kitten immediately nestled in, purring like a small engine, head butting against Sirius’s chest. Sirius’s fingers moved automatically, threading into the familiar softness of his fur, grounding himself in the rhythm of it. Slow strokes. Warm weight. Steady breath.

Only then did James speak.

He sat across from him, elbows braced on his knees. He’d stayed behind while the others reluctantly went to class, knowing Sirius needed someone there. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

“You should have told us,” James finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but there was unmistakable hurt laced in his words. “You didn’t have to go through that alone.”

Sirius swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I didn’t want to burden you,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

James let out a breath, dragging a hand through his already-messy hair. “You’re my brother, Sirius. I don’t care how much you think it would’ve burdened me — I would’ve wanted to know.” He shook his head, his gaze fierce but not unkind. “I do want to know. Always.”

Sirius hesitated, then finally sighed. “It wasn’t just about that,” he admitted. “If I told you… if I said it out loud, it would make it real. And I didn’t — I couldn’t handle that.”

James’s expression softened, his voice rough with understanding. “I get it,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have to carry everything on your own. You never did.”

Sirius didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure he could, not without his voice cracking in half. Instead, he stared at Grim, who had settled beside him, the small cat curled protectively against his side. Sirius reached down, fingers tangling in the kitten’s soft fur, stroking in slow, steady motions. Grim leaned into the touch, purring faintly, his warmth pressing into Sirius’s ribs like an anchor.

He focused on that — on the soft rhythm of Grim’s breath, the grounding weight of his tiny body — like if he just kept petting him, he could hold himself together.

James seemed to sense there’d be no more answers right now. He let the conversation settle back into silence.

Then, after a moment, he spoke again — quieter this time, almost cautious: “She really used it on you?”

Sirius’s stomach twisted. He didn’t need to ask who she was.

He nodded once, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

Grim shifted slightly, bumping his head against Sirius’s side as if sensing the spike in tension. Sirius’s hand moved back to him instinctively, stroking behind one ear.

James exhaled slowly. “That’s —” He broke off, shaking his head as though the words wouldn’t come. “You said you smelled berries?”

Sirius flinched. He hadn’t meant to let that slip, but somewhere between exhaustion and unraveling, it must have come out.

His mind drifted back. Grimmauld Place. The dim light of the drawing room. The wine. The thick sweetness, cloying and heavy. Alexandria’s voice a silk thread at his ear: Just a sip, darling.

His breath stuttered in his chest. His hand tightened slightly in Grim’s fur. The kitten purred louder, unmoving.

He forced himself back to the present, back to the quiet dormitory, where James was watching him like he might shatter.

“Yeah,” Sirius managed, voice raw. “Berries.”

James looked like he wanted to say something more, but before he could, a sharp tapping at the window drew both their gazes. He got up, crossed the room, and unlatched the window. An owl swooped inside, landing neatly on Sirius’s bed. It dropped a letter onto his lap and, with a flutter of wings, vanished back into the grey sky.

Sirius stared at the envelope. His fingers hovered above it for a beat, then closed around it, slow and tense.

The handwriting was unmistakable.

James hovered nearby, his voice quiet. “It’s from Regulus.”

Sirius’s fingers hovered over the seal. He shouldn’t. He knew whatever it said would ruin what little calm he’d scraped together. But still, he couldn’t stop.

He tore the letter open, his hands trembling. Grim pressed closer against him as if bracing with him.

Her name hit him like a curse — like the taste of that poisoned wine all over again, sweet and burning down his throat. Alexandria .

And in a heartbeat, he wasn’t in the dormitory anymore.

He was six years old, small and scared beneath the Black family Christmas tree, hiding from his mother’s fury. Regulus had found him there, crouching beside him, pressing a stolen ginger biscuit into his hand.

You don’t have to listen to her, Regulus had whispered, his voice trembling like it was a secret just for them. You have me, right?

Sirius’s grip tightened on the parchment.

> Sirius,

Meet me by the lake again, tomorrow after lunch. It’s about Alexandria. It’s worse than you think. Please — just come. 

—Regulus

His voice wavered as he read the last line aloud.

James lowered himself to the floor beside Sirius’s bed, leaning back against the frame. The dormitory was quiet except for the occasional crackle of the fire. Grim pressed closer to Sirius’s side, his small body a solid, comforting weight.

Sirius read the letter again. And again. But the words didn’t change.

Regulus wanted to meet. He had news about Alexandria.

His stomach churned.

James watched him steadily. “You can’t seriously be thinking about going alone.”

Sirius let out a sharp exhale, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s Regulus, Prongs. He wouldn’t ask to meet if it wasn’t important.”

“I get that,” James said, softer now. “But after everything — after what she did to you — you shouldn’t face this alone.”

Sirius hesitated. He wanted to argue. He wanted to say I can handle this.

But the truth was: James was right.

James leaned in, his elbows on his knees. “Just… promise me you’ll let someone go with you. We can figure out who later. But you’re not doing this alone.”

Sirius looked down at the letter, then back at James. Slowly, he gave a small, tired nod. “Alright. I promise.”

James let out a breath of relief, tipping his head back against the bedframe. “Good. Because if you tried to sneak off, I’d hex you into next week.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Sirius’s mouth. “I’d like to see you try.”

James’s grin was sharp, full of familiar bravado. “Oh, I would. And you know it.”

For the first time in weeks, the tension in the room cracked — just a little. A thin thread of ease slipped into the air between them.

The fire crackled softly.

Grim gave a low, content purr.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius could breathe.

At least for now.

When the others returned from class later that afternoon, the dormitory still felt heavy with the same weight that had settled between Sirius and James hours earlier.

James looked up as Remus, Peter, Lily, and Dorcas stepped inside, their expressions cautious, bracing for whatever they might find.

Sirius remained on his bed, still curled against the headboard, though he straightened slightly at their arrival. Grim lifted his head, golden eyes flicking between them before settling once more at Sirius’s side, a quiet sentinel.

Remus stepped forward, glancing at the others. “Can you give us a minute?”

Peter hesitated, shifting awkwardly. “Are you sure?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah. Just for a bit.”

Dorcas’s gaze lingered on Sirius, searching, but when he didn’t object, she exhaled through her nose and nodded tightly. “We’ll be downstairs if you need us.”

Lily hesitated the longest. Her eyes moved between Sirius and Remus, something sharp and worried behind her calm. Gently, she touched James’s arm. “Come on.”

James lingered by the door, his gaze bouncing between Sirius and Remus, clear reluctance in every tense line of his posture. But Sirius gave him a small nod — just enough — and James let out a breath like it cost him something to leave. He followed the others out, casting one last look over his shoulder before pulling the door shut behind him.

As the door clicked closed, silence unfurled between them once more. Sirius kept his eyes on the window, his fingers threading idly through Grim’s fur. Grim shifted closer, purring quietly, his warmth seeping into Sirius’s thigh. Sirius’s hand moved slowly, rhythmically, stroking behind the kitten’s ears — not for Grim’s comfort, but his own. The repetition was a lifeline, something small and solid in the storm. He felt Remus’s gaze like a weight, steady and unyielding.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Remus sighed and sat at the edge of Sirius’s bed. “I’m sorry.”

Sirius blinked, turning to him. “For what?”

Remus scoffed softly under his breath. “For being a prat. For not talking to you these past few weeks. For hurting you. Again.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I hated it, you know? Being apart from you. It was hell.”

Sirius’s chest twisted, tight and aching. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice rough. “It was.”

Remus ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “We should’ve been there for you. We should’ve made you talk about what happened this summer, instead of pretending you were fine.” He hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me.”

Sirius shook his head. “It wasn’t you, Moony,” he rasped. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone. It wasn’t something I could just—” His breath hitched, his fingers tightening unconsciously in Grim’s fur. “Snape knew. Some of it, at least.”

Remus stiffened. “What?”

Sirius let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “He used it against me. That night. When I told him how to get into the Whomping Willow.” He swallowed thickly. “Called me a whore.”

Remus inhaled sharply, his hands curling into fists in his lap. His jaw tightened until the muscle there ticked. “That —” He broke off, his voice shaking with fury. “That bastard.”

Sirius didn’t meet his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Remus said tightly. “No one had the right to use that against you. No one.” Sirius’s gaze jerked up, startled by the fire burning in his friend’s eyes. “You are not what he said.” Remus’s fists unclenched with effort. His tone softened, but his conviction remained steel. “Not even close.”

Sirius swallowed past the tight lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he murmured, but the word felt empty. Distant.

And yet, beneath it all, something gnawed at him. Something he hadn’t let himself truly consider until now.

How had Snape known?

Sirius hadn’t told anyone. Not the details. Not the worst of it. He’d barely been able to admit it to himself.

So how in Merlin’s name had Snape known enough to throw it in his face like that?

A chill crept down his spine.

Had someone told him? Had he overheard something? Or — Merlin — had he figured it out another way? Had he seen something in Sirius that even Sirius hadn’t understood? The thought made his skin crawl.

His fists clenched around the bedsheets, white-knuckled.

What if it hadn’t been something overheard? What if he could just tell? Like it was written into Sirius’s skin, obvious to anyone who looked too closely?

Remus’s fingers twitched in his lap, like he wanted to reach for Sirius but wasn’t sure if he was allowed. The hesitation was brief — barely a breath — but Sirius saw it. Felt it

Remus must have caught the shift in him because his expression softened. His hand hovered in the space between them, trembling slightly, before finally resting lightly on Sirius’s wrist — a quiet, deliberate choice.

“Listen to me,” Remus said, his voice steady now, anchored by quiet strength. “You are not defined by them. Not by your family. Not by what they did to you. And sure as hell not by anything Snape says.”

Sirius barely managed a nod, forcing himself to hold onto Remus’s words instead of the cold, festering dread inside him.

“We all make mistakes,” Remus continued, his grip firm, grounding. “I hurt you. You hurt me. But we always come back to each other, don’t we?”

Sirius met his gaze at last, his breath catching. “Yeah,” he whispered.

Remus’s lips tilted into a small, tired smile. “So let’s stop hurting each other, yeah?”

A faint, tentative smile tugged at the corner of Sirius’s mouth. “Yeah.”

And for the first time in weeks, something stirred inside Sirius — hesitant and fragile, like the whisper of a flame. Not peace. Not forgiveness. But something like hope. Small. Shaking. Alive — inside him.

Grim shifted closer again, as if sensing the moment. A small weight. A quiet promise.

Dinner in the Great Hall was unusually quiet at the Gryffindor table — no laughter, no jabs, no shared jokes. Just the low hum of other students and a tension none of them could shake. Sirius pushed his food around his plate, appetite long gone, the weight of Regulus’s letter pressing like stone against his chest.

Beside him, James kept sneaking glances at him, as if waiting for something to snap. Across the table, Remus, Peter, Dorcas, and Lily exchanged wary looks. Lily had joined them without needing to ask — she could sense something serious was unfolding, though no one had filled her in yet.

Finally, James sighed and set his fork down with a sharp clink. “Alright, let’s talk about it.”

Sirius tensed. “Talk about what?”

James shot him a flat look. “You know what. Regulus.”

That got everyone’s attention. Dorcas straightened slightly, her expression unreadable. Remus set down his goblet, eyes sharpening with focus. Peter hesitated but looked at Sirius expectantly. Lily, frowning, glanced between them.

“What about Regulus?” she asked.

Sirius exhaled through his nose, his fork clinking against the plate as he set it aside. “He wants to meet,” he admitted. “By the lake. He says he has news.”

Sirius didn’t say it out loud, but he had a sinking feeling that whatever Regulus had to say would change everything.

Lily’s brow furrowed. “News about what?”

“Alexandria,” Sirius said quietly.

A ripple of tension went through the group like a silent spell.

James didn’t hesitate. “You’re not going alone.”

Sirius gave him a sharp look. “I wasn’t planning to.”

But that didn’t ease the concern tightening James’s features. “Good. Because after everything that’s happened, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you meet your Death Eater of a brother by yourself.”

“He’s not —” Sirius cut himself off, teeth gritting. He shook his head, voice low. “Look, I know you don’t trust him. But he’s my brother, James.”

James’s gaze softened slightly, but his resolve held firm. “I get that, Pads. I do. But that doesn’t mean you have to do this alone.”

“I know,” Sirius said, quieter this time. He glanced around the table. “That’s why I need to decide who’s coming with me.”

“I’ll go,” James said immediately.

Dorcas crossed her arms over her chest. “So will I.”

Remus nodded without hesitation. “Same.”

Peter swallowed and nodded too, though there was a nervous tremor in the motion. “Me too,” he added, his voice thinner than the others. He fidgeted, then said, almost as an afterthought, “Regulus has always scared me a bit. He’s… quiet. But not in the way Remus is quiet.” He managed a strained chuckle. “More like he’s thinking things he’ll never say out loud. And you don’t really want to know what they are.”

No one responded to that.

Sirius’s gaze swept over them, something warm and aching curling in his chest at their loyalty. But still, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure how they’d react to whatever Regulus had to say. James and Dorcas were fierce — unwavering, but quick to anger. Remus would listen, he always did, but even he had limits. And Peter… Peter’s unease around Regulus had always run deeper than nerves, sharp and wary in a way Sirius couldn’t quite name.

If Regulus said something they didn’t want to hear — something Sirius didn’t want to admit — he wasn’t sure how any of them would take it.

He glanced down at his plate, uncertainty gnawing at his ribs.

What if Regulus turned them against him?

What if the truth changed everything?

“I appreciate it,” Sirius said, rubbing the back of his neck, voice rough. “But… if I have to take someone, I think I want it to be Lily.”

That gave them pause.

James blinked. “Lily?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah. She’s… she’s not tangled in all this the way the rest of you are. Regulus might be more likely to talk with her there.”

He wasn’t sure he could get Regulus to open up with the others watching — too many old grudges, too many sharp edges between them. But Lily… maybe she was the only neutral ground left.

Lily looked surprised, then thoughtful. “You really think that?”

Sirius offered a faint, tired smile. “I do. He won’t see you as a threat the way he does the rest of them.”

He thought back to what Regulus had once murmured, quieter than the sneers of their housemates: She’s different. Too fair to be a Gryffindor threat.

Sirius hadn’t given it much thought at the time.

Now, it felt like the start of an opening — however small.

The group exchanged glances, clearly surprised, but no one argued.

James let out a breath, giving a reluctant half-smile. “Well, that’s unexpected.”

Dorcas smirked. “You’re full of surprises, Black.”

Lily met Sirius’s gaze steadily. “Alright,” she said at last. “I’ll go with you.”

Remus caught Lily’s eye across the table. There was a beat — something like silent understanding — before he gave her the faintest nod.

She nodded back. No fear, just quiet resolve.

Sirius exhaled, the tension in his chest easing by a fraction. “Thanks, Lily.”

The tension still clung to them, like storm clouds waiting to break, but for the first time that evening, it felt just a little lighter.

As the plates began to vanish from the table, Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I still have detention.”

Remus’s eyes flicked to him. “After dinner?”

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered.

“I’ll go with you,” Remus said immediately.

Sirius arched a brow. “Moony, you don’t have detention.”

“I know,” Remus replied simply, grabbing his bag. “But I’m still going.”

Something twisted in Sirius’s chest — not pain, exactly, but the ache of being seen. Of someone choosing to stay anyway.

Sirius huffed a small, surprised laugh. “You really don’t have to, you know.”

“And yet, here I am.”

James grinned, the tension easing just enough for a flash of mischief. “It’s like you’ve forgotten Moony is the responsible one.”

“Clearly,” Sirius replied dryly, but there was a warmth beneath his sarcasm. He bumped his shoulder lightly against Remus’s before rising from the bench. “Alright then. Let’s get this over with.”

As they left the Great Hall side by side, Sirius felt, for the first time in days, like maybe — just maybe — he wasn’t facing it all alone.

The walk to McGonagall’s office was quiet, save for the occasional flicker of torchlight along the stone walls. Sirius kept his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture tight, shoulders drawn. Remus walked beside him without a word — not intrusive, not pressing — just there, a steady, quiet presence at his side.

“You really don’t have to do this,” Sirius muttered, shooting him a sidelong glance.

Remus didn’t so much as flinch. “Yeah, I do.”

Sirius sighed, but didn’t argue. He knew better than to try and change Remus’s mind when he had that tone.

When they reached McGonagall’s office, she looked up from her desk, quill poised mid-stroke. Her sharp gaze landed on Sirius first, lingering a beat longer than usual, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes before she tucked it neatly away beneath her usual stern expression.

“Mr. Lupin,” she said, her tone cool but curious. “I don’t recall assigning you detention.”

Remus set his books down on a nearby desk, calm as anything. “Thought I’d study while Sirius serves his. If that’s alright, Professor.”

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed fractionally as she regarded him — weighing the truth beneath his words. At last, she nodded once, crisp and efficient. “Very well. But if I hear so much as a whisper of trouble—”

“You won’t,” Remus replied smoothly.

Sirius couldn’t help the faint grin that tugged at his mouth, but he kept it to himself as McGonagall placed a thick stack of parchment in front of him.

“You’ll be rewriting these essays,” she instructed. “And this time, I expect them to be legible.”

Sirius groaned but pulled the parchment closer, dipping his quill in the ink with half-hearted defiance. As he worked, he could feel the occasional flick of Remus’s gaze from over his book, steady and quiet. The rustle of turning pages and the scratch of Sirius’s quill were the only sounds between them.

After a while, Sirius muttered under his breath, “You really didn’t have to.”

Remus didn’t even look up. “You already said that.”

Then he glanced over, his voice softer now. “But I’m still here. And I always will be.”

Sirius hesitated, fingers tightening slightly on his quill before he added, lower this time, “Yeah, well… thanks anyway.”

Remus’s page turned softly. He exhaled, almost a sigh. “Anytime.”

Across the room, McGonagall adjusted her glasses and — to Sirius’s surprise — her expression softened, just a fraction.

“Black,” she said, her voice less sharp than before, “you may take tomorrow off from detention.”

Sirius blinked, thrown. “Wait… really?”

She nodded once. “It is the first Quidditch match of the season. While you are still banned from playing, I imagine your team could use your support.”

Sirius hesitated, feeling a familiar twist in his chest. The reminder of the ban still felt like a curse burning just beneath his ribs. He missed the rush, the wind in his face, the feel of the pitch under his boots — the roar of the crowd, the thrill of catching James’s eye mid-play, knowing they were unstoppable. He forced a tight smile. “Right. Thanks, Professor.”

McGonagall gave a small nod, her gaze lingering for half a heartbeat longer before she dismissed them.

As they walked back toward the common room, Sirius kept his head down, thoughts tangled like thorns. His chest ached — pride, shame, and something else he couldn’t name knotted tight inside him.

“You alright?” Remus asked quietly beside him.

Sirius let out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. Just… doesn’t feel great.”

Remus didn’t press. He just walked alongside him, close enough that Sirius could feel the warmth of his presence brushing against him in the chill of the corridor.

The walk back to the common room was quiet again, but not heavy. Just thoughtful. When they climbed through the portrait hole, they found James, Peter, Dorcas, and Lily waiting as if they hadn’t moved from their spots. James straightened immediately from where he’d been slouching on the couch.

“How’d it go?” James asked, his voice taut but controlled.

Sirius shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “Same as always.”

James frowned slightly, like he didn’t believe that for a second, but he didn’t push. Instead, he clapped a firm hand on Sirius’s shoulder, the weight of it grounding.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s sit. You look like you could use a break.”

Sirius didn’t argue. He let James steer him toward the couch, feeling Remus settle beside him, quiet and steady. Grim, ever faithful, leapt up beside him and curled into the crook of Sirius’s side like a living shadow.

And for the first time in days, Sirius felt like he could breathe — not just because of the silence, but because of them. The weight hadn’t lifted, not entirely. But surrounded by warmth — James’s hand on his shoulder, Remus beside him, Grim curled safe at his side — it didn’t feel like it would crush him anymore. Not tonight.

Later that evening, the common room was quieter than usual. Most of the younger students had already gone to bed, leaving only a handful of Gryffindors scattered around the room, murmuring in low voices or finishing last-minute assignments. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the walls.

Sirius sat on the couch, his arms draped over the backrest, staring into the flames. The weight of the decision he had made still pressed on his chest, heavy and inescapable — but there was no turning back now. Across from him, James, Remus, Peter, Dorcas, and Lily were gathered, their expressions a mix of concern and contemplation.

“So,” James began, arms crossed as he leaned against the back of the couch. “Lily’s going with you.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah.”

Dorcas arched a brow. “I’m still not sure I get it, but it’s your call.”

Remus studied him, sharp and steady. “You sure about this?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” Sirius exhaled, rubbing a hand along his jaw. His fingers drifted absently through Grim’s fur, the repetitive motion helping to steady his pulse. The soft rise and fall of the cat’s breathing anchored him, a quiet rhythm against the storm building in his chest. “I just think Regulus will be more open if it’s her. He’ll expect me to bring you lot, and that means he’ll be on guard. But Lily? He won’t see her as a threat. And if this is about Alexandria…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

His fingers curled against the edge of the couch, knuckles white. He couldn’t afford to mess this up.

James frowned, the line between his brows deepening. “If it is about her, that’s even more reason to have backup.”

“I get it, Prongs. I do.” Sirius met his friend’s gaze head-on. “But I have to do this my way. If I show up with half of Gryffindor House, Reg’ll shut down before I even get a word out.”

Lily, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. “I don’t mind going,” she said, her voice steady as she offered Sirius a small but certain nod. “If you think it’ll help, then I’m with you.”

James sighed heavily, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t like this, Pads.”

“I know,” Sirius admitted quietly. “But he’s my brother. I have to do this.”

A weighty silence settled over them, thick and unspoken, each of them turning over what tomorrow would bring.

Peter cleared his throat softly. “When are you meeting him?”

Sirius flicked his gaze to the clock above the fireplace. “Tomorrow. After lunch.”

Remus leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes intent. “Then we’ll be waiting here. If something goes wrong, you know where to find us.”

Sirius allowed himself the smallest smirk. “And here I thought you weren’t a worrier, Moony.”

Remus gave him a long, unimpressed look. “You’ve given me plenty of reason to be.”

James snorted, and Dorcas rolled her eyes — but the tension eased, just a little.

Sirius reached down to run his hand through Grim’s fur, the small black cat warm against his leg. He felt the steady thrum of life beneath the sleek fur, the comforting weight of his familiar anchoring him.

Tomorrow, he would face Regulus. Whatever news his brother carried about Alexandria — he would face that, too.

But tonight, with the fire crackling low, his friends nearby, and Grim’s quiet weight against his side, Sirius let himself breathe.

Just for a moment. Just until morning.

Chapter Text

James had taken mercy on them that morning, letting them sleep in for once. It was the weekend, after all, and after everything that had happened recently, they all needed the extra rest. Emotions were still high from Sirius’s confessions, and while they hadn’t spoken about it much since, the weight of it lingered in the air between them. The dormitory was quiet, the usual sounds of shuffling robes and hurried footsteps absent for now. The golden light of the rising sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the sleeping boys.

Sirius lay sprawled across his bed, Grim, curled up on his chest, purring contentedly. He scratched behind the kitten’s ears absentmindedly, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the muffled sounds of the castle waking up. The extra sleep had been nice, but his mind had been anything but restful. The sun was warm on his face, but the weight in his chest hadn’t lifted with the dawn.

Eventually, the scent of breakfast drifting up from the Great Hall and the distant hum of students stirring in the castle became impossible to ignore. James cracked one eye open, stretching before glancing over at Sirius. “You planning on staying in bed all day, or are you gonna grace us with your presence?”

Sirius yawned. “Might just stay here. Seems like a fine life — me, Grim, and no responsibilities.”

James smirked, tossing a pillow at him. “Come on, Padfoot. Breakfast won’t eat itself.”

Sirius groaned but sat up, carefully moving Grim to the side before swinging his legs over the bed. The kitten meowed in protest but promptly curled into the warm spot Sirius left behind.

By the time they made it down to the Great Hall, Remus, Peter, Dorcas, and Lily were already at the Gryffindor table, halfway through their meals. Lily raised an eyebrow as they approached. “Sleeping in, were we?” she teased, nudging her plate aside to make room for them.

James grinned, dropping into the seat beside her. “Well, it is the weekend. Even heroes need their rest.”

Sirius snorted as he grabbed a slice of toast. Sirius snorted as he grabbed a slice of toast. “Heroes, is it? I must’ve missed the bit where you saved the world.”

He managed a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers curled tight around his goblet, laughter a beat too slow. His gaze kept drifting to the window, like he was waiting for a storm only he could see.

“I did, actually,” James said smugly. “You just slept through it.”

Remus shook his head, smirking. “I think the world would be in far worse shape if James were its savior.”

“I’d make a fantastic savior,” James argued. “First rule: Free butterbeer for all Gryffindors. Second rule: Ban all essays over ten inches.”

Dorcas laughed. “Truly, you’re a man of the people.”

“Damn right I am,” James said proudly.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Yet somehow, I feel like we’d all end up in flames.”

James clutched his chest dramatically. “Ah, Evans, you wound me.”

Sirius chuckled, but the warmth of the moment only slightly dulled the ache simmering beneath his ribs. They carried on with breakfast, the usual chatter filling the air like nothing had changed. James launched into yet another animated rundown of the upcoming Quidditch match, practically vibrating with excitement. He detailed every play he’d mapped out, every move he expected from Slytherin, and exactly how Gryffindor would crush them. The others humored him, laughing and chiming in, but Sirius grew quieter with each passing moment.

He tried not to let it show, but the truth lingered bitter on his tongue. The sting of not playing still burned. He missed the wind in his hair, the wild rush of flight, the crowd roaring his name. Quidditch had been the only place he’d ever felt truly free — not a Black, not a burden, just Sirius in the sky, weightless and untouchable. Now, even that small freedom had been taken from him.

Still, there was comfort in pretending today was normal — a morning full of homework and laughter and James’s ridiculous competitiveness. For a little while longer, he let himself pretend.

After breakfast, the group made their way back to the common room, where they spread out across the cozy space. Books and parchment covered the tables as they half-heartedly attempted to tackle their assignments. James and Sirius, however, quickly abandoned their homework in favor of a spirited game of Exploding Snap. The cards crackled with energy as they slapped them down, each explosion sending bursts of smoke into the air.

Even as Sirius smirked and slammed a card down, a curl of dread tugged at his ribs. Every boom of the cards sounded too much like a clock ticking toward something he didn’t want to face.

James smirked as he won another round. “Reckon I should take up professional card playing if Quidditch doesn’t work out?”

Sirius scoffed. “You’d be insufferable.”

Dorcas snorted. “He already is.”

Lily looked up with an exasperated sigh. “She’s not wrong.”

The morning passed in an easy rhythm of banter, studying, and games until the castle’s bell signaled lunchtime. The group gathered their things and headed down to the Great Hall together, conversation light and comfortable. As they ate, James continued his Quidditch talk, Remus offered sarcastic commentary on their upcoming assignments, and Peter nearly choked on his pumpkin juice when Dorcas made an offhand joke at his expense.

After finishing their meal, Lily nudged Sirius lightly. “Ready to go?”

He nodded, but her eyes lingered on him, searching. Not with pity — with purpose. She didn’t need to say it: she had his back.

Sirius gave her a faint smile, grateful more than he could say.

The two of them slipped out of the Great Hall, weaving through the corridors and out onto the castle grounds. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the scent of fallen leaves as they made their way toward the lake. The wind tugged at the hem of his robes, and the back of his neck prickled — not from cold, but from memory. The water shimmered under the midday sun, blinding and still. Beneath the shadow of a tall elm, Regulus stood waiting — straight-backed, hands folded, eyes unreadable. Sirius’s stomach turned. It had begun.

Regulus looked wary when he saw Lily with Sirius, his posture tense. Sirius immediately caught on and shook his head. “Whatever it is, you can say it in front of her.”

Regulus hesitated, something flickering in his expression — guilt, maybe, or fear — before he looked away for the briefest moment. Then he drew a steadying breath, squaring his shoulders like it physically hurt to speak.

“Alexandria is pregnant,” he said, voice low but firm. “She’s staying at Grimmauld Place until the baby is born in April.”

The world tilted. Sirius blinked, but the words didn’t rearrange themselves. Pregnant. Alexandria. Grimmauld Place.

For a moment, all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears.

He froze. Beside him, Lily inhaled sharply, eyes wide in stunned silence. A storm rose in his chest — anger, disbelief, panic — crashing over him all at once. His hands curled into fists.

His knees gave. He staggered back until his spine hit the rough bark of a tree, breath catching like a trap in his chest. “She’s carrying —” The words stuck, thick and bitter. They didn’t feel real. They felt like poison.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No, that can’t —” A short, hollow laugh escaped him. His stomach twisted. “That’s not happening.”

Regulus’s expression flickered — pained, uncertain. “I just thought you should know. I don’t —” He hesitated, glancing down before meeting Sirius’s eyes. His voice cracked slightly. He looked away, jaw clenched like the words had cost him something. “You have a right to know.”

Sirius swallowed thickly, nodding once. He could see the conflict in his brother’s face, the same battle he had always been fighting, stuck between family and something more. “Thanks,” he muttered.

Regulus nodded stiffly before glancing toward the castle. “I have to go. I have practice before the match.”

Sirius huffed a humorless laugh. “Right. Can’t have Slytherin losing on your account.”

Regulus hesitated, then smirked faintly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

As his brother disappeared into the castle, Sirius remained rooted in place, staring at the water. The ripples on the lake blurred as his mind spun, Alexandria’s name echoing like a hex. Pregnant. His child. At Grimmauld Place. The weight of it pressed down, suffocating.

It wasn’t just about her. It was the idea of a future she’d forged without his consent — using his blood, his body, his fear. A future he hadn’t agreed to. One she’d taken.

And then, unbidden, sharp, a memory flickered to life — from years ago.

He was eight, sprawled on the grass in the tangled garden behind Grimmauld Place, the air thick with summer rot. Alexandria sat on a mossy bench, her dark, almost black eyes glinting as she held out a chipped teacup filled with a sludgy mix of nightshade and fountain water. “Let’s make an oath,” she’d said, her voice soft but insistent. “Drink this, and we’re bound forever — blood to blood, magic to magic.” He’d refused at first, repulsed by the dead spider floating in it, but she’d leaned closer, her gaze pinning him.

“Refuse, and you’re no better than a Mudblood.” He’d gagged it down, the bitterness worse than the spider. She’d laughed — high, cold — brushing his wrist like she was already claiming him. “Now you’re mine,” she’d said, and even then, something in her stare had made his skin crawl.

The memory dissolved, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He should’ve known then. That gleam in her eyes, that need to bind him—it hadn’t been just a game. Lily’s voice broke through the haze, soft and steady beside him.

“Don’t tell the others,” he murmured after a moment. “Not yet.”

Lily frowned. “Sirius—”

“Not before the game,” he insisted. “James and Dorcas have enough to think about. I’ll tell them later.”

She studied him for a moment before nodding. “Alright. But you have to tell them, Sirius.”

“I will,” he promised, though the words felt heavy in his mouth.

For now, he just needed time to breathe.

The silence between them stretched before Lily spoke, her voice careful. “Sirius…. Can I ask you something?”

He exhaled, still staring at the water. “Go on.”

She hesitated, then asked, “Who… who is Alexandria? I mean, really?”

Sirius let out a bitter chuckle. “She was my friend. When we were kids. As much as anyone could be a friend in that house.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I should've seen it, though. The signs were there. Even when we were young, she had this… way about her. A darkness. I ignored it. Thought maybe she'd grow out of it.” He scoffed. “I was an idiot.”

Lily watched him, her expression soft with understanding. “You weren't an idiot, Sirius. You were a kid.”

He shook his head. “Then I went to Hogwarts, and I didn't see her again until this past summer. And now…” he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s… she’s carrying my child.”

Lily reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “You're not alone in this.”

Sirius swallowed, his throat tight. “I know. But it doesn't make it any less terrifying.”

Lily was quiet for a moment before speaking softly. “I know what it's like to watch someone become someone you don't recognize.”

Sirius looked at her, and she sighed. “Severus. We were friends before Hogwarts. Best friends. But the deeper he got into… that world, the more I realized I couldn't follow. It's awful, seeing someone you care about become something you hate.”

Sirius studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Yeah. It is.”

They sat there in silence until the distant sound of the castle grounds growing livelier caught their attention. The crowds were starting to gather for the Quidditch match. 

Lily stood, brushing off her robes. “Come on. The others will be waiting.”

Sirius took one last look at the lake before following her, the weight of the revelation settling deep in his chest.

He wasn’t ready. But neither was he alone.

Sirius sat stiffly between Peter and Remus, arms crossed, his knee bouncing restlessly. Normally, Quidditch was a welcome distraction, something to pull him out of his own head. But today, it wasn’t working. His mind kept circling back to the lake, to James, to what had almost happened.

Lily cheered beside him as Gryffindor’s Chasers stole the Quaffle, but Sirius barely reacted. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tight.

Remus glanced at him sideways, brow furrowing. He didn’t say anything, but the tension in his posture mirrored Sirius’s, like he was waiting for the moment everything would snap.

The cheers of the crowd blurred together, sharp and dissonant — a thousand voices pressing into Sirius’s skull. The colors of the pitch felt too bright, too fast, the roar of the crowd crashing over him like waves he couldn’t swim through.

He exhaled sharply and stood.

“I need air,” he mumbled, pushing his way down the stands without another word.

Lily frowned, watching him leave. Remus shifted like he might follow, but she lightly touched his arm. “I’ll go,” she said, then turned to Peter. “Stay and watch the match. I’ll be back.”

Remus didn’t protest — but his eyes didn’t leave Sirius’s retreating back.

Lily took off after him, weaving through the crowd with growing dread tightening in her chest. She found him just outside the stadium, standing with his hands braced against the stone wall, his head bowed. His shoulders were drawn tight, and he barely reacted when she approached.

“Sirius?”

He turned slightly, his face carefully blank. “Shouldn’t you be watching the match?”

“Shouldn’t you?” she shot back.

“Not in the mood.”

Before she could press further, a slow, mocking voice interrupted them.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?”

Lily’s stomach twisted as she turned to see Severus Snape stepping toward them, arms folded, a smirk tugging at his lips. His dark eyes flicked between them before landing on her.

“I have to say, Evans, your taste in company has really plummeted lately. First Potter, now this?” He sneered. “At this rate, you’ll be hanging around werewolves and house-elves.”

Lily folded her arms. “Get lost, Severus.”

Snape ignored her, his gaze shifting to Sirius with thinly veiled disgust. “What’s wrong, Black? Finally realizing you don’t belong anywhere? Poor little runaway, so desperate for attention you’ll throw yourself at anyone who’ll have you.” His smirk widened. “We all know what you are — a filthy little blood traitor, selling yourself to anyone who’ll look twice.”

The words cut deep, not because they were new — but because they echoed the ones Sirius had already told himself in the darkest hours of the night. They scraped against memories he couldn’t outrun: Alexandria’s cold smile, the press of the goblet into his hand, her voice silk-sweet and poisonous. Drink, Sirius. It’s just for fun.

His stomach turned. The world tilted. He could still taste the sickly sweetness, thick like syrup, sticking in his throat.

Lily’s breath caught. Fury surged through her.

“Excuse me?!”

Snape barely spared her a glance. “Oh, don’t act surprised, Evans. You think he follows Potter around just for fun? He’s a Black. If he’s not throwing himself at someone, he’s stabbing them in the back.” His eyes gleamed cruelly. “Or, in my case, sending them straight to the wolf’s den.”

Sirius went completely still.

Lily’s stomach twisted. She glanced back toward the Quidditch pitch, the image of Remus’s quiet face flashing through her mind. Something about what Snape said… it didn’t sit right.

Snape tilted his head mockingly. “Didn’t he tell you? Your dear friend here set me up to die three weeks ago. If not for someone else interfering, I’d be a corpse. But I suppose you don’t mind having blood on your hands, do you, Black?”

Lily stared at him, stunned into silence for half a second — then, before Sirius could move, her hand shot out on instinct, connecting with Snape’s cheek in a sharp, echoing slap.

Snape’s head snapped to the side, but when he turned back, his smirk remained, satisfaction flickering in his expression. He met Sirius’ wide-eyed gaze and exhaled a slow, amused breath.

“You’ll choke on the truth soon enough.” With that, he turned and strode away, his robes billowing behind him.

Lily’s hands trembled as she lowered them. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she turned to Sirius.

“Sirius?”

He stood frozen, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite name.

“It’s not true,” he said, voice hoarse.

“Then tell me what he meant.”

“I can’t.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Lily swallowed, staring at him — and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the truth. Not because she didn’t trust Sirius.

But because she wasn’t sure she could bear what the truth might say about all of them — about how much darkness they’d let grow in the cracks between them.

The walk back to the common room was silent.

Sirius barely registered the winding corridors or the portraits watching them pass. His mind was a storm of tangled thoughts — Snape’s voice echoing in his skull, not just the insult, but the accusation behind it. A reminder of what he couldn’t undo. His stomach twisted at the memory of Lily freezing, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the way she’d looked at him afterward — like she wanted to believe him, but wasn’t sure she could.

Because in that moment, the trust between them had cracked. And Sirius had seen it. Clear as day. In her eyes.

The Fat Lady swung open, and they stepped into the empty common room. It was quiet. The celebration hadn’t made it back yet, and for a brief moment, the crackling fireplace and scattered armchairs felt like a sanctuary.

Sirius exhaled sharply and collapsed onto the couch, rubbing a hand down his face. Lily hesitated before sitting beside him.

She studied him, brow furrowed. “Are you —”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.

Lily sighed. “Sirius…”

She wanted to push. He knew she did. But instead, she just sat there, her fingers twisting in her lap.

A few minutes passed in thick silence before the portrait hole burst open.

The rest of Gryffindor House had arrived.

The roar hit him like a spell — sudden, overwhelming, grating against already frayed nerves.

Cheers erupted as the common room burst to life, students flooding in, laughter and shouting echoing off the walls. Bottles of butterbeer and firewhiskey were passed around with wild enthusiasm. James practically stumbled through the entrance mid-reenactment of his final goal, wand in hand, grinning like a madman while Dorcas laughed at his dramatics.

“Oi!” James called out, grinning when he spotted them. “Where’d you two disappear to?” 

Lily tensed beside Sirius, but before she could answer, James plopped onto the couch’s armrest beside him.

“We slaughtered them, Pads!” James beamed. “You should’ve seen it! That last play — brilliant.”

Sirius forced a small smirk. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

James, still too caught up in the post-game high, didn’t notice Sirius’ dull tone.

Remus, however, did.

He had entered quietly, trailing slightly behind the others, but now he was watching Sirius carefully. His eyes flickered to Lily, then back to Sirius — wary, tense.

He stayed near the fireplace, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Dorcas flopped onto the couch beside Sirius. “You missed one hell of a match,” she teased, nudging his shoulder.

Sirius barely reacted. 

Dorcas’ smile faltered. “You okay?”

Before he could answer, a loud cheer erupted from across the room, and Sirius glanced up to see Peter in the middle of it.

Peter.
 

Laughing.

Dancing with Marlene near the fireplace, his face flushed and carefree.

Something clenched in Sirius’ chest.

He was glad for Peter — really, he was. 

But it felt wrong.

It felt wrong to see Peter so at ease while Sirius himself was sinking.

James handed him a drink. “Come on, Pads,” he said. “Have a drink with me.”

Sirius hesitated.

But then he thought about Snape. About Regulus. About the way Lily had looked at him.

He stared into the glass, saw the flicker of firelight ripple across the surface — like the shimmer of Amortentia. Like the night she said, “You’re mine.” His stomach turned. He tipped it back anyway.

He took a sip.

It burned — sharp and scorching, just like Alexandria’s nightshade tea.

James grinned. “That’s more like it.”

At first, Sirius just held the drink. Sipped it occasionally.

Across the room, Sirius felt someone watching him. A tall seventh-year, drink in hand, smirking too much. He looked away. But the stare lingered — predatory, patient.

A faint echo stirred — Alexandria’s laugh, the clink of glass as she toasted him under Grimmauld’s dim chandelier, her eyes gleaming with something he hadn’t understood then.

But then, one sip turned into another. And another. The firewhiskey numbed the ache. Numbed everything. He wasn’t even tasting it anymore. He just needed it to keep going, to keep from thinking.

James, distracted by the celebrations, didn’t notice right away.

But Remus did.

Remus hadn’t moved far from the fireplace, but now his eyes were locked on Sirius — watching each sip like it was a countdown. His jaw was tight, his fists curling a little more every time Sirius tipped the bottle back.

Remus frowned, brows drawn in deep concern. He opened his mouth to say something —

But Lily shook her head. “Not now,” she whispered.

Remus clenched his jaw. His whole posture tensed like a spring. He didn’t sit. He didn’t join the others. He just watched, like he was waiting for something to snap.

Dorcas, who had been dragged into the celebration by Marlene, glanced back at Sirius, concern flickering in her eyes before she was pulled away again.

It wasn’t until James turned back toward Sirius and really looked at him that he realized something was off. His best friend wasn’t drinking for fun. He was drinking like he needed it.

James’ grin faded.

He was about to say something when a shadow loomed over Sirius.

“Didn’t know you liked to drink, Black,” a low voice murmured.

Sirius stiffened.

A seventh-year boy stood behind him, too close.

Sirius rolled his shoulders, trying to shake him off. “Piss off.”

The boy chuckled. “Come on, don’t be like that. You’ve been throwing yourself at half the school all year. Why stop now?”

Sirius froze. The hand on his back felt like claws. Alexandria’s claws. She’d touched him the same way — slow, possessive, like he was already hers. His lungs locked.

The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because Snape had just said something similar. Maybe because he had thrown himself at people this year — because he didn’t know what else to do.

 A sick feeling twisted in his gut.

The hand on his back slid lower.

Sirius didn’t move. Couldn’t. His body locked up the moment the hand touched his back — like his skin had turned to stone.

His body locked. His breath stalled. He was back there again — pinned, helpless — until a blur of motion shattered the spell. The boy was yanked back.

A fist connected with his jaw.

The music stopped. The room fell silent.

Remus stood there, chest heaving, his knuckles still clenched.

He glanced at Sirius — not just to check on him, but to make sure he wasn’t breaking in front of everyone. His fists stayed at his sides, but his body leaned forward, caught between rage and restraint.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled.

He looked murderous.

Before he could swing again, James grabbed his wrist.

“Moony,” James said, voice sharp now. “Not here.”

Lily stood beside them, eyes wide with fury.

The seventh-year sneered but didn’t push his luck. He melted into the crowd, disappearing before McGonagall could catch wind of anything.

Lily touched Sirius’ arm. “Come on.”

Together, she, James, Remus, and Dorcas guided Sirius upstairs.

The moment they reached their dormitory, Sirius collapsed onto his knees in the bathroom, heaving into the toilet. Lily knelt beside him, rubbing his back as he vomited.

The bile burned on the way up, bitter and acrid, but he barely felt it — too numb, too raw.

James and Remus stood by the door, tension thick between them.

Remus looked like he was going to explode. His hands were balled into fists again, and his eyes hadn’t left Sirius since they got upstairs.

“I should’ve stopped him earlier,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for days.”

James shot him a look. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Well then act like it,” Remus snapped, his voice tight with barely contained frustration. Then it cracked — the edge of anger giving way to something rawer, more vulnerable. “He’s falling apart, and we’re just standing here, letting it happen.”

Dorcas crossed her arms. “What the hell happened?”

James frowned. “You were with him all day, Lily. You went with him to meet Regulus. What the hell did he say?”

Lily exhaled, still rubbing Sirius’ back. “Alexandria is pregnant.”

Silence.

James paled. “What?”

Lily nodded. “Regulus told him this morning.”

Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

Lily hesitated before adding, “And after the match, Snape found us. He — he said some awful things, and then he told me Sirius tried to kill him.”

James and Remus immediately scoffed.

“Oh, come on,” James snapped. “That was his fault! He goaded Sirius into it, and he walked right into it! Sirius never —”

Lily cut him off, her voice sharp. “Then tell me what happened.”

Silence.

James and Remus exchanged a glance. James opened his mouth — then stopped. His eyes flicked to Sirius, who still hadn’t moved.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said finally, voice low.

Remus said nothing, but his shoulders tensed, gaze locked on the floor.

And that silence — that deliberate silence — said more than any answer could.

Lily’s stomach twisted. Her voice cracked as she said, “Just tell me he didn’t mean it. Tell me Snape was lying.”

Still, nothing.

That silence said more than any answer could.

A weak groan from Sirius snapped them all out of it.

“Come on, let’s get him to bed,” James muttered, stepping forward.

Remus moved instantly to Sirius’ side, slower and more careful than James. He crouched beside him, brows drawn in deep worry.

“You with us, Pads?” he asked gently, brushing Sirius’ hair from his damp forehead. “We’ve got you. You’re alright.”

Sirius mumbled something incoherent, his head lolling.

James and Remus each took one of Sirius’ arms, hauling him up between them. His legs barely supported him as they half-dragged him toward his bed.

They laid him down carefully, and Grim immediately jumped onto the bed, curling up beside Sirius’ chest with a protective little chirp.

Sirius muttered something, his fingers weakly brushing over Grim’s fur before his body sagged, completely dead weight now.

James ruffled his hair, looking genuinely stressed for the first time that night. “Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

Remus didn’t take his eyes off Sirius. He stood there for a long moment, like he didn’t trust that Sirius would still be breathing if he looked away.

Lily wanted to argue, but she took one last look at Sirius and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Fine,” she murmured. “Tomorrow.”

But she already knew she wasn’t going to like the answers.

And neither, she feared, was Sirius.

Across the room, Sirius stirred faintly, a frown tugging at his brow even in sleep. His fingers twitched in Grim’s fur, a faint whimper slipping through his lips — too quiet to understand. Whatever dreams haunted him, they weren’t letting go.

Chapter Text

Sirius woke slowly, his head pounding with a relentless, echoing ache. The voices around him were distant at first, muffled beneath the fog in his mind. Grim was curled against his ribs, warm and steady — the only thing grounding him.

"You should tell him how you feel," Dorcas murmured.

There was a protesting noise from Remus, followed by a hushed chuckle from Lily. Sirius furrowed his brow slightly but kept still. Then, he felt a shift in the air — someone had turned toward him. A moment later, James was at his side in an instant.

"What happened?" Sirius croaked, his throat dry and scratchy.

James sighed. "You got really drunk, mate."

The firewhiskey had burned going down — sharp, punishing. It had scorched his throat like Alexandria’s nightshade tea. He remembered the way it used to make him cough as a kid, how she’d laugh and say, “You’ll learn to like the pain.”

Sirius cracked his eyes open, taking in the group around him. Remus, Peter, Dorcas, and Lily were all there. Lily looked conflicted, her gaze darting between him and the others. Something was off. Sirius frowned, about to ask, but before he could, Remus spoke up.

“They know,” Remus said quietly. “Everything from three weeks ago.” He hesitated. “And... I told Lily. About me.”

Sirius blinked, his brain slow to catch up. "You told them?"

Remus nodded. "They needed to know."

Sirius exhaled sharply, sinking back into the pillow. His mind reeled from the implications, but he was too drained to argue about it now. A moment later, he felt the mattress dip beside him. A hand — Remus’s, he realized — hovered near his wrist before settling lightly on the blanket. Sirius glanced at him, but Remus looked away quickly, as if he hadn’t meant to linger.

His thoughts were cut short when James cleared his throat.

"And... we know about Alexandria," James said carefully.

Sirius's stomach twisted. "What?"

"Lily told us," James admitted, watching his best friend closely. "We made her. We were worried."

Sirius clenched his jaw. His first instinct was to lash out — but James’s eyes held no judgment, only worry. Sirius let out a slow breath, nodding.

Remus handed him a glass of water. Their fingers brushed — warm, fleeting, electric. Sirius’s breath caught, subtle but unmistakable. He glanced up, just for a second, then looked away like it hadn’t happened. But the moment lingered — just a beat too long. He took a few quiet sips, then set the glass down.

"You don’t know who Alexandria really is," Sirius muttered.

James frowned. "Then tell us."

Sirius looked down at the glass in his hands, fingers tightening around it. The words felt like poison in his mouth — truth he’d swallowed for years.

“She’s Voldemort’s daughter,” Sirius said — flat, final. The words dropped into the room like a curse.

Silence crashed over the room like a thunderclap. Peter made a choking noise, Remus stiffened, and Lily’s eyes widened in shock. James's mouth opened, then shut again, stunned into silence. It was Dorcas who broke it.

"That doesn’t change anything."

Sirius let out a bitter laugh. “It changes everything. She’s always been controlling — manipulative. I’ve known her my whole life. When we were five, she told me we’d get married one day — said I didn’t have a choice.” He shook his head, jaw tight. “I thought she was just a bossy little girl. But as we got older... she always found ways to keep control. Subtle at first. Then not.”

Remus’s brows pulled together, concern flickering in his eyes. “How long have you known?”

“Always,” Sirius said quietly. “She told me before I even understood what it meant. And by the time I did… it was already too late.”

Lily stepped forward, voice gentler now but no less steady. “You should’ve told us sooner.”

She paused, eyes locking onto his. “You’re all dancing around it, but I need to know — just tell me she didn’t have your heart. Not really,” Lily said softly, voice trembling with the weight of it. “Because I’ve seen what love twisted by power looks like. And I don’t want that for you.”

Sirius’s silence stretched — too long, too heavy.

“I didn’t choose her,” he said at last, his voice raw. “I just… didn’t know how to get away.”

James stepped forward, laying a steady hand on Sirius’s shoulder. “You don’t owe her anything, Pads,” he said quietly but firmly. “She used you. That’s not love. And it sure as hell doesn’t define you.”

Sirius let out a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the floor. “She never wanted me — not really. Just the idea of me. A name. A legacy. Something she could claim and control.”

He looked down at his hands, voice barely above a whisper. “What if I yell like Father did… What if I ruin this kid before they even have a chance?”

His fingers curled into the blanket, knuckles white.

“You won’t,” James said instantly.

“Because you care,” Remus added. “Even now, when you’re falling apart, you’re still thinking about the baby.”

Peter shifted beside Remus, his eyes flicking downward. “Yeah… still. That’s… that’s good.”

But his voice was thin. His fingers fidgeted with a loose thread on his jumper, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze.

Sirius didn’t press, but the unease stuck in his gut like a splinter.

Dorcas crossed her arms. “Well then, when this baby is born — we’ll go get them.”

Sirius’s head snapped up. “What?”

Sirius’s gaze drifted to Peter, whose eyes flicked down quickly. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, and when Sirius caught his gaze, Peter looked away.

Was it fear? Doubt? Or something else entirely?

“You said you didn’t want them near that family,” she said simply. “So we won’t let them be.”

The certainty in her voice was echoed by nods from James, Remus, and Lily. Peter looked pale but didn’t object.

Lily reached out, giving his hand a squeeze. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. But when the time comes, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Sirius swallowed past the lump in his throat. The doubt was still there, clinging to the edges of his thoughts like cobwebs.

But for the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like it was winning.

The fear didn’t vanish — it never really would. But in this moment, it loosened its grip.

Not when he had them.

As they stepped into the Great Hall, the sight of floating jack-o’-lanterns and fluttering bats greeted them. The long tables were decorated with bowls of sweets and steaming pumpkin juice, and the enchanted ceiling mirrored the stormy grey sky above. It was Halloween.

The torchlight blurred at the edges, and his friends’ laughter came through like muffled echoes behind glass. His mind was still tangled in the mess of last night’s revelation, looping over the same thoughts he hadn’t been able to shake since waking up. Alexandria is pregnant. He was going to be a father. The words still didn’t feel real.

He didn’t know how to be a father — hell, most days he could barely take care of himself. The idea of a child — his child — growing up in that house, under her influence, made something twist hard and bitter in his chest. He didn’t doubt that Alexandria would love the baby, in her own way, but her love had never been gentle. It was possessive. Demanding. A weapon dressed as affection. And the thought of his child being shaped by that made him feel sick.

"Disappointment is in your blood, Sirius."

The words slammed into him like a hex, so sudden he almost stopped in his tracks. For a brief moment, he was back in Grimmauld Place, standing rigid beneath his father’s cold gaze, the air thick with cigar smoke and resentment. The crackle of the fire, the sharp scent of aged whiskey, the suffocating weight of expectation pressing down on him. He could almost feel the burning grip on his shoulder, the way his father’s fingers had dug in, bruising and final.

A student brushed past him, jolting him back to the present. He exhaled sharply, forcing the memory away. Not now. Not here. He kept moving, his pace a little too quick, as if he could outrun the ghosts that clung to him.

And then — out of the corner of his eye — he saw him .

The seventh-year boy from last night.

The one who had cornered him, sneering filth into his ear, grabbing at him like he had a right.

For a breath, Sirius’s chest seized. A flash of memory surged up, unwanted — rough hands, the heat of panic rising in his throat, and then — Remus. Remus’s fist slamming into the boy’s jaw, sharp and fast, the crunch of bone unmistakable. A flicker of savage satisfaction followed by the stunned hush of the common room.

The boy’s lip was still split. Sirius saw it now, a smear of faded bruise along his jawline as he laughed with his friends at the Ravenclaw table, smug despite it all. His gaze didn’t land on Sirius — but it didn’t have to. Sirius felt the echo of that moment, a bruise that hadn’t healed.

He forced his eyes away, shoulders tensing. Brush it off. Keep moving.

The warmth and chatter of the Great Hall felt muted, like he was hearing it from underwater. The flickering candlelight seemed dimmer, the golden glow unable to reach the cold weight pressing in on his chest. James nudged him playfully, and Sirius forced a half-hearted smirk, but it felt wrong — like a mask slipping off the moment no one was looking.

A shadow flickered in the jack-o’-lantern’s glow — Alexandria’s face, younger, pressing a sweet into his hand with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, the taste lingering like poison.

She’d always known how to make something seem harmless — how to hide the venom beneath the sugar.

“Oi.” Dorcas’s voice sliced through the fog in his head, more jarring than the clang of silverware. She nudged his arm, pressing a small vial into his hand. “Here. Drink that before you sit down. You still look like hell.”

Sirius blinked, dragged back to the present. “What?”

Dorcas rolled her eyes. “Hangover cure. You’re welcome.”

He took it without argument, uncorking the vial and downing it in one go. The taste was just as vile as always. He grimaced. “Merlin, that’s disgusting.”

“Better than spending the day with a headache,” Dorcas said smugly, steering him toward the Gryffindor table.

As they sat, Sirius felt the warmth of Remus beside him — close enough that their elbows brushed. The contact lingered. Sirius didn’t pull away. Neither did Remus. His thumb tapped once against the table’s edge… then went still.

As the group made their way down the path toward Hogsmeade, the crisp autumn air nipping at their faces, Sirius found himself lagging behind. His thoughts swirled, caught between two very different people — Remus, with his quiet kindness and unwavering loyalty, and Alexandria, the shadow from his past that he couldn't shake.

Remus slowed his pace to match Sirius’s, casting him a knowing glance. “You’re quiet,” he observed. “That’s never a good sign.”

Sirius huffed a short laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the scenery.”

Remus arched a skeptical brow. “Right. And I’m the Minister of Magic.”

Sirius smirked but said nothing. He could feel Remus’s gaze lingering, patient but insistent. Finally, Sirius sighed, kicking at a loose stone on the path. “Just… thinking.”

Remus hummed. “About?”

Sirius hesitated, debating how much to say. He had never been great at baring his soul — too many years spent guarding it. But this was Remus. “About Alexandria,” he admitted, voice quieter than before. “And about… them. My parents.”

Remus’s expression softened, his brows drawing together in concern. “Sirius, you’re nothing like them.”

Sirius let out a bitter laugh. “How do you know?”

Remus stopped walking, and Sirius was forced to turn and face him. The gentle conviction in Remus’s eyes made Sirius’s chest tighten. “Because I know you,” Remus said simply. “And I…” He stopped himself, something unspoken lingering in the air between them.

Sirius tilted his head, studying him. “You what?”

Remus hesitated, his gaze flickering briefly to Sirius’s mouth before he looked away, swallowing whatever thought had risen to the surface. “I just know you’d never be like them.”

But Sirius noticed it — the slight hitch in Remus’s breath, the flicker of something in his gaze. The words settled over him, not as a reassurance of the past but as a possibility for the future. If Remus believed in him, maybe — just maybe — there was still a path forward. Maybe he wasn’t doomed to be defined by the shadows of his family.

The thought was terrifying. And hopeful.

He took a deep breath, unwilling to linger on whatever that was. Instead, he forced a grin and nudged Remus’s arm. “Come on, let’s catch up before James starts making a scene without us.”

He took off ahead before Remus could say anything else, ignoring the way his heart pounded in his chest.

Sirius could feel the weight of Remus’s gaze on him even as he picked up his pace, determined to shake off the strange, twisting feeling in his chest. He caught up with James, Peter, Lily, and Dorcas, who were already halfway to the village, their voices carrying through the crisp autumn air.

“Oi, Black, what kept you?” James called, throwing an arm over Sirius’s shoulder. “Getting sentimental with Moony back there?”

Sirius forced a smirk. “What can I say? He’s rather captivating company.”

Peter snorted, a sharp, nasal sound, and James's laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained. But Remus remained silent as he joined them, his expression unreadable, the tension in his shoulders betraying whatever thoughts weighed on his mind. Dorcas and Lily exchanged knowing glances, their eyes flickering with silent understanding, but neither spoke.

Sirius kept his gaze forward, the crisp autumn air biting at his cheeks as he deliberately avoided looking at Remus. The rooftops of Hogsmeade peeked through the thinning trees, their chimneys curling lazy tendrils of smoke into the slate-gray sky. The scent of butterbeer, thick and sweet, mingled with the earthy aroma of fallen leaves, dampened by the morning’s dew.

As they stepped onto the bustling main street, the village came alive around them. Students swarmed through the cobbled lanes, their excited chatter blending into the rhythmic clatter of boots against stone. The sharp snap of a dungbomb from Zonko’s sent a wave of pungent sulfur into the air, making a few passersby wrinkle their noses.

At Honeydukes, the rich scent of melting chocolate drifted through the open door, punctuated by the rustling of paper bags as students eagerly stuffed them with sweets. Inside the Three Broomsticks, candlelight flickered against the frosted windows, and the inviting aroma of spiced cider and warm butterbeer wrapped around them like a comforting embrace.

James rubbed his hands together. “Alright, lads. Where to first? I say we hit Honeydukes before Peter wipes out their entire stock.”

Peter huffed. “I do not—”

James shot him a knowing look, and Peter shrugged. “Alright, maybe a little.”

Sirius stretched his arms behind his head and grinned. “I don’t know about you lot, but I could murder a drink. Something warm.”

Lily chuckled, shaking her head. “I think I’ll join Sirius for a drink first. Anyone else?”

Dorcas nodded. “Same. It’s too chilly to shop just yet.”

Sirius gave a grateful nod. “See? At least some of you have good taste.”

James waved them off. “We’ll meet you there. Try not to get into any duels before we arrive, alright?”

“No promises,” Sirius quipped before heading toward the Three Broomsticks with Remus, Lily, and Dorcas following closely behind.

Inside, the pub was alive with chatter and warmth. Sirius slid into a corner booth, stretching his legs under the table. Remus settled in across from him, folding his hands neatly in front of him, while Lily and Dorcas headed off to grab the drinks.

Sirius exhaled sharply. “Alright, Moony. Spill. I can practically hear you thinking from across the table.”

Remus’s lips twitched. “That loud, am I?”

Sirius arched a brow. “Like a bloody Howler.”

Remus hesitated, fingers tapping against the table. “You said you’re afraid of becoming like your parents.”

Sirius nodded warily.

Remus tilted his head slightly, still avoiding Sirius’s gaze. “But I think… what you’re really afraid of is not knowing who you are outside of them.”

Sirius’s fingers stilled on the tabletop. For a second, he didn’t breathe. He wasn’t used to people digging that deep — James, maybe, but even James didn’t always see past the mask. But Remus… Remus always saw him.

Remus’s fingers kept shifting, like he needed something to hold onto.

Sirius let out a hollow laugh. “I should’ve known you’d get all philosophical on me.”

Remus gave a small smile, but his fingers didn’t stop moving. “I just think you need to stop looking at yourself through their lens.”

Sirius swallowed, the words settling into him in a way that was both uncomfortable and grounding. The truth of it lodged like a stone in his throat. He looked down, fingers tightening into fists. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Lily and Dorcas returned with their drinks, sliding into the booth. Lily gave Sirius a searching look. “Everything alright?”

Sirius forced a smirk. “Yeah, Evans, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Right. Because you deflecting totally doesn’t mean something’s wrong.”

Dorcas chuckled. “Give it time. He’ll sulk until he decides to talk about it.”

Sirius huffed but couldn’t help the amused glint in his eyes. The heaviness in his chest didn’t vanish. But between Remus’s steady gaze and the warmth of butterbeer, it felt… manageable.

As they went about their day in Hogsmeade, the group found themselves weaving in and out of shops, stopping first at Zonko’s to stock up on joke supplies before making their way through Honeydukes and Scrivenshaft’s. Laughter came easily, the crisp autumn air carrying their voices as they relished their time away from the castle.

At one point, Sirius noticed Remus and Lily slipping away, only to return a short while later with bags in their hands. He raised a knowing brow, but neither of them offered an explanation. Sirius smirked — he had a good idea what they were up to. His birthday was coming up, and while he wasn’t one to make a fuss, his friends certainly didn’t share that mindset.

Everything felt light, easy, and for once, Sirius allowed himself to simply enjoy the moment.

But then, something shifted. The lightness cracked — the air turned colder, thinner, laced with tension. A chill ran down Sirius’s spine, sharp and sudden, and his skin prickled with unease. His laughter died on his lips as instinct took over, urging him to stop. Eyes narrowing, he scanned the street, heart beginning to race. Something was wrong.

“Sirius?” James frowned, noticing his sudden change in demeanor.

Something was about to happen.

And then, as if summoned by his unease, they appeared.

A shimmer at the edge of the crowd — then figures emerged from the shadows, black robes billowing like smoke. The bustling village fell into a hush as students backed away, the air thick with dread. Death Eaters. Their presence was unmistakable, spreading out like predators encircling prey.

And at their head, Sirius saw her. Bellatrix Lestrange.

Her eyes gleamed with madness, her smile as sharp as the wand already in her hand.

She stepped forward, her lips curling into a wicked grin. “Well, well,” she drawled, her dark eyes gleaming with malice. “If it isn’t my baby cousin.”

The sound of her voice curled around his spine like smoke. For a second, he was ten again, watching her laugh as she hexed a house-elf for spilling wine. That same madness glittered in her eyes now.

Sirius stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Bellatrix.”

“The Dark Lord’s heir sends her regards,” Bellatrix purred, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “She’s grown quite fond of the idea of her child having a father. In chains, of course. Or in pieces — whichever the Dark Lord prefers.”

The threat was clear, and before Sirius could react, his friends moved instinctively. James, Remus, Lily, and Dorcas all raised their wands at once.

Peter's hand hovered for a beat too long before he drew his wand — late, but not unnoticed.

Dorcas, her voice steady and unwavering, met Bellatrix’s gaze head-on. “You’d have to go through us first.”

Bellatrix laughed, tilting her head as if entertained by the idea. “Oh, how precious,” she cooed mockingly. “Playing the noble protectors, are we?”

Her wand was in her hand before anyone could blink, and the tension in the air thickened. Around them, villagers and students alike scrambled to get away, the fear palpable.

Sirius clenched his fists, heart pounding. He knew Bellatrix — knew the darkness that thrived in her. This wouldn’t be an easy fight.

Then, without thinking, he met her gaze, and something inside him shifted.

You’re nothing like them, Remus had said. And James’s hand on his shoulder now — solid, grounding — reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.

James’s hand brushed his shoulder. Remus stood like a wall beside him. And behind it all, Sirius thought of a child — his child — growing up without fear.

I’ll fight for them. For the life I never had. For the boy I used to be. For the child I might still save.

Gone was the boy who once feared his family’s shadows. Gone was the child who flinched under their expectations.

All that remained was defiance.

She won’t raise my child in that house , Sirius thought, the promise burning behind his ribs. She won’t shape them like she shaped me.

His hand tightened around his wand. Bellatrix’s smirk deepened, sensing the challenge.

A flicker of movement — James raised his wand.

The world held its breath.

Bellatrix’s wand lifted, glowing at the tip.

Sirius locked eyes with Remus across the line of friends, saw the fear — and something deeper — in his gaze.

I won’t run. Not again.

His grip tightened. The magic in the air crackled, just on the edge of snapping.

For one suspended breath, everything was still.

And then—

A flash of green light. A scream. Chaos erupted.

And Sirius dove into it, wand ready, with fire in his veins.

Chapter Text

The flash of green light streaked toward them — but instead of finding its mark, it slammed into the stone wall behind them, sending shards flying like shrapnel. The group barely had time to recover before the alley exploded into chaos. Wands flashed, spells ricocheted, and the air crackled with raw, volatile magic.

Bellatrix Lestrange and the Death Eaters moved with ruthless precision, their attacks relentless and fueled by madness. Her cackle echoed through the Sirius, James, Remus, Dorcas, Lily, and several other students fought back fiercely, their training and instincts barely keeping them on their feet. Aberforth Dumbledore burst out of the Hog’s Head, his wand already raised, fire in his eyes as he joined the fray.

Lily’s spells were fast, clean, and purposeful — stunning hexes and shield charms thrown with a Gryffindor’s resolve and a duelist’s edge. When a Death Eater surged toward Peter, she stepped between them without hesitation, wand flashing. “Protego Maxima!” The shield flared to life just in time, deflecting the blast and sending the Death Eater reeling. She didn’t flinch — she pushed forward.

Peter stood frozen for a heartbeat too long when Bellatrix’s gaze landed on him. His wand trembled. Only when Remus shouted did he jolt into motion, firing a spell that went wide.

Sirius dodged a curse, barely twisting out of the way in time, the heat of it licking his cheek. His fingers sparked, magic clawing to break free — wild and hungry. He sent a stunning spell flying toward a masked figure, then ducked behind a stack of barrels, his chest heaving.

A second later, James deflected a hex meant for Sirius, nodding grimly before returning fire. Peter, pale and jittery, hovered behind James, his wand clutched tightly in his sweaty grip. He fired off a shaky Stunning Spell, which missed its mark, and yelped as a jet of red light narrowly grazed his arm.

Spells shot back and forth like lightning, the street becoming a war zone. Dorcas took down a Death Eater with a well-aimed Stupefy that sent them crashing into a stack of crates, while Remus moved with calculated precision, his magic crisp and deliberate as he covered James’s back. Lily held her ground with practiced grace, her Incarcerous binding a masked attacker mid-strike, her expression set with fire. Peter remained close, ducking every time a spell came too close. His hands trembled as he fumbled through another shield charm.

Then Sirius saw her — Bellatrix, weaving through the chaos like a shadow. Her eyes gleamed with feverish purpose, locked onto him with eerie intent.

A powerful blast struck him in the chest before he even registered she’d fired. He flew backward, his body crashing into the cobblestone with bone-jarring force. His wand spun from his grasp. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, stars bursting behind his eyes. His arm shook as he tried to push himself upright — drained, trembling.

"SIRIUS!" Remus’s anguished cry pierced the noise.

He blinked, vision swimming, and Bellatrix was suddenly there — looming over him, her wand aimed directly at his chest. He scrambled to move, but she moved faster, crouching down beside him. Her free hand grabbed his face roughly, cold fingers digging into his jaw.

"Precious little baby," she cooed with venomous sweetness. "You're lucky she wants you. If it were up to me..." Her eyes narrowed, and her smile twisted into something darker. "I'd carve the blood traitor out of your bones and gift what’s left to the Dark Lord."

Sirius’s heart thundered in his chest. The words were like knives, dragging up years of torment, of twisted family dinners and hushed threats behind closed doors. Her nails dug deeper into his skin.

"You always were the pretty one. The waste. The rebel," Bellatrix whispered, her voice low and poison-sweet. "Still clinging to the idea that someone could save you? That love might make you clean?" She leaned closer, her eyes alight with manic glee. "Alexandria doesn’t love , Sirius. She possesses. Twists. And soon, so will the child. It’ll grow up calling her ‘mother,’ never knowing it was born from control, not care."

She tilted her head, smiling like a secret. "Maybe we’ll name it after you — so it grows up haunted by the ruin it came from."

The implication punched the air from his lungs. Revulsion surged through him, bitter and hot. His limbs felt like lead — but inside, something cracked.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Dorcas’s voice ripped through the haze like a lightning bolt.

And something in Sirius snapped.

Raw, wild magic surged through him, unshackled by reason or wand. His fingertips sparked — then ignited — and with a wordless cry, he thrust his hand upward. A shockwave of power exploded from his core, a blinding pulse that sent Bellatrix flying. She hit the ground hard, skidding across the cobblestones and slamming into a wall with a snarl of pain.

He looked down at his hands, still faintly glowing. His wand hadn’t done that — he had. The magic had come from somewhere deeper, more primal. It scared him. It thrilled him. It left him breathless.

It felt like something breaking loose inside him — not just magic, but rage, memory, blood. Not theirs. His. His own.

Sirius collapsed to one knee, panting. His fingers trembled violently, veins burning with spent energy. The skin along his arm prickled as though still charged with magic. He forced himself to his feet, legs shaky beneath him. His wand was in his hand again — he wasn’t sure how — and his vision tunneled toward Dorcas, James, and Remus still locked in battle.

He ran.

Peter was still behind James, his expression tight with fear. His wand trembled in his hand, knuckles white — but when he saw a Death Eater closing in on Dorcas from the side, something shifted. Gritting his teeth, he fired a hex — shaky, mis-aimed, but it struck the edge of the Death Eater’s cloak, throwing them off balance just enough for Dorcas to finish the job.

Peter gasped, staring at what he’d done — then flinched violently when an explosion from Moody’s duel sent a barrel shattering beside him, showering him with splinters.

A fresh wave of spells erupted around them — but this time, they weren’t from the Death Eaters.

Aurors arrived in force. Alice and Frank Longbottom, along with Gideon and Fabian Prewett, fought their way into the chaos. Alastor Moody’s gravelly voice barked orders as he dueled two Death Eaters at once, his magical eye whirling wildly.

Realizing they were outmatched, the Death Eaters began to retreat. Bellatrix hesitated for only a second, her gaze finding Sirius once more. She grinned, a slow, unsettling thing. "I’ll see you again soon, little cousin."

With a sharp crack, she was gone.

Silence settled over the street, broken only by the sound of their own ragged breathing.

Moody turned toward them, his electric-blue eye zeroing in on Sirius with an odd sort of interest. "Not bad," he muttered, tone gruff but not unkind. "For a bunch of schoolkids."

Fabian jogged over, concern etched into his face. "Everyone in one piece? Sirius?"

Sirius nodded, though his hands still trembled slightly. Before he could say anything, Remus was suddenly at his side, standing so close their fingers barely brushed. The warmth was grounding, and Sirius let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Alice and Frank checked over James and Dorcas, offering quiet reassurances. "You all did well," Alice assured them. "Held your own better than most."

Aberforth grunted from where he stood, surveying the damage to his pub. "Stupid fight to get into," he muttered, before eyeing them all with something like reluctant approval. "But you fought hard. Now, get inside and have a drink before you fall over."

Dorcas stepped up beside Sirius, her expression unreadable for a moment before she offered a small, firm nod. "You did good."

Sirius exhaled, shaky but steady. His fingers still burned with the echo of power, but he wasn’t afraid of it.

He didn’t know what had changed, only that something inside him had snapped — and in breaking, it had made space.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low but firm. “We all did.”

Inside the Hog’s Head, the group collapsed into a worn wooden booth, exhaustion settling into their bones. The scent of old ale and smoke clung to the air, but the warmth of the pub was a welcome contrast to the bitter chill outside. Aberforth Dumbledore wordlessly set down a tray of butterbeers in front of them — a silent gesture of acknowledgment.

Remus sat close to Sirius, his presence steady and grounding. He didn’t speak, but his gaze kept flicking over Sirius — searching, checking for injuries, for signs that he was still in one piece. Before Sirius could reassure him, Alice Longbottom stepped forward, her expression gentle but focused.

“You’ve got a nasty cut,” she said, tilting his chin up to examine it. With a practiced flick of her wand and a murmured spell, a cool sensation swept over his skin, sealing the wound.

“There. That should do it.”

Sirius smirked. "And here I thought scars were supposed to be charming."

Alice rolled her eyes, though amusement tugged at the corner of her lips.

"You're all lucky," Moody cut in, his gruff voice breaking the moment. His magical eye spun briefly to survey the pub before locking onto them again. "Holding your own against Death Eaters is no small feat. But don’t let it go to your heads. Luck won’t always be on your side."

Sirius nodded absentmindedly, but his mind was still racing with the fight — Bellatrix’s words, the raw pulse of magic that had burst from him, the way Peter had clung behind James like a shadow. It all churned in his head, leaving him unsettled.

Before anyone could respond, Aberforth reappeared, his sharp gaze settling on Sirius. "Sirius, isn’t it?" he asked. "Come with me for a moment."

Sirius blinked at the unexpected request. Remus shifted beside him, clearly uneasy. "I’ll come too —"

But Sirius shook his head, brushing Remus off with a small smirk. "Relax, Moony. I doubt he's planning to hex me."

Reluctantly, Remus let him go, though his fingers twitched as if he wanted to grab Sirius’s sleeve and keep him in place.

Aberforth led Sirius into a back room, where the faint bleat of a goat greeted them. The room smelled of hay and firewood, a stark contrast to the pub’s ale and smoke.

As soon as the door shut, Sirius tensed. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the intense way Aberforth was watching him set him on edge.

"You're a smart kid," Aberforth said at last, his voice low.

Sirius arched a brow. “Really? Funny, I don’t remember us being pen pals.”

Aberforth snorted, waving a hand to dismiss the jab. “Doesn’t matter. What does is your uncle Alphard thought the world of you. Said you had more bite than the rest of them combined — that one day you’d tear up the whole bloody script and write your own.”

Sirius’s breath hitched. Uncle Alphard. His favorite relative. The only Black who had ever truly seen him — who’d slipped him galleons to get out, who’d never asked him to be anything but himself. The name alone hit like a bruise to the ribs.

He could almost hear him now — Alphard leaning close during one of their family’s endless, suffocating dinners, pressing a square of Honeydukes chocolate into his palm and whispering, “Don’t let them stamp the fire out of you, boy.”

"You knew my uncle?" Sirius asked, his voice softer than he meant.

Aberforth gave a small nod, something flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah. We weren’t exactly close, but... we understood each other. Outsiders. Stubborn bastards who didn’t know how to keep quiet.” He paused, then added more gently, “He talked about you, now and then. Said you had fire. Said you’d break away. He was proud of you, you know. Especially when you finally did.”

A lump rose in Sirius’s throat. He hadn’t known that. Alphard had never been one for declarations or grand gestures. But knowing he’d spoken of him — believed in him — it stirred something deep. Grief, yes. But also... something steadier. Something like strength.

"I—" Sirius started, but Aberforth didn’t let him finish.

"I’m sorry for your loss," Aberforth said gruffly, "but that’s not why I pulled you aside."

Sirius frowned, his confusion growing. "Then what—?"

"Be careful around my brother." Aberforth’s voice was flat, edged with warning. "Don’t trust him too much."

Sirius stiffened. "Professor Dumbledore? Why?"

Aberforth’s expression darkened. “Because Albus has plans. Always does. Especially when it comes to Voldemort’s bloodline. He’s watching her, Sirius — and if he finds out she’s carrying your child, you don’t want to see what he’ll do.” His eyes bored into Sirius. "Don’t let him use you to get to her. He’s good at turning pawns into martyrs. Just ask my sister.”

Sirius’s stomach twisted. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier. He tried to keep his face neutral, but suspicion coiled in his chest like a living thing. "How do you know about Alexandria?"

Aberforth didn’t answer. He just studied Sirius for a long moment before stepping aside, nodding toward the door. "Go back to your friends. And think before you tell anyone anything."

Sirius hesitated. His mind whirled with questions, but the only thing he knew for sure was that he was leaving this conversation with even fewer answers than before.

He turned on his heel and left the room, though the words — Alphard was proud of you — stayed with him, pressing against his ribs like an ache he didn’t know how to shake.

Sirius had just stepped back into the main room of the Hog’s Head when the door swung open behind him — and in walked Professor McGonagall. Her usual stern expression was there, but it was overshadowed by something Sirius had rarely — if ever — seen on her before: genuine worry.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, her sharp eyes scanning each of them in turn. She strode forward briskly, stopping first by James and gripping his shoulders as if checking for injuries. “Are you all alright?”

“We’re fine, Professor,” James assured her, though his grin faltered at the way she searched his face, clearly unconvinced.

McGonagall turned to Remus next, her lips pursing as she took in his disheveled state. Then Dorcas and Lily, both of whom nodded quickly, though Lily’s hands were still clenched at her sides, likely from the adrenaline of the fight.

Peter, unusually quiet, mumbled, “I’m okay, Professor,” but his eyes flicked to Sirius — then darted away.

When McGonagall reached Sirius, her concern deepened.

She laid a hand on his shoulder — firm, grounding. Not scolding, not demanding. Just there.

She didn’t say anything at first, just eyed the faint traces of dried blood on his forehead where Alice had healed the cut earlier.

Sirius blinked, momentarily thrown by how openly worried she looked. It made something twist in his chest — something he didn’t want to name. Something like being seen.

“We’re okay,” he said — not to defend himself, but to ease the worry in her eyes. It startled him, how much he meant it.

McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line before she exhaled sharply. “Reckless,” she said, her voice tight. “You could have been killed — all of you.”

“We held our own,” Dorcas pointed out, but McGonagall gave her a look that could have turned anyone else to stone.

“You were still outmatched,” she countered, her voice gentler now. “You should have never been in such danger in the first place.”

She turned then, acknowledging the Aurors with a nod of gratitude. “Thank you for ensuring their safety.”

Moody gave a gruff “Hmph,” his magical eye still tracking everything in the room, but Alice smiled warmly. “They fought well. More than well.”

“They shouldn’t have had to fight at all,” McGonagall said, straightening. “Now, we’re going back to Hogwarts — immediately.”

Sirius barely had time to process that before Fabian and Gideon clapped him on the back.

“Not bad, mate,” Gideon said. “Bit of a close call, but you handled yourself well.”

Fabian grinned. “Try not to make a habit of this, yeah?”

Lily and Peter stood beside James and Remus, exchanging quiet looks. Peter still seemed rattled, while Lily — though visibly calmer — hadn’t stopped glancing at Sirius since McGonagall arrived.

Sirius caught the way Peter avoided his eyes, his fingers worrying the edge of his butterbeer mug. “You alright, Wormtail?” 

Peter startled. “Fine,” he said quickly. “Just… tired.”

Alice and Frank both gave reassuring smiles before Frank added, “Take care of each other.”

Sirius nodded, exchanging brief but knowing looks with James, Remus, Dorcas, Lily, and Peter.

As they moved toward the door, Aberforth’s gruff voice called after Sirius.

“Remember what I told you.”

Sirius paused, glancing back at him. The older man’s gaze was unreadable, but there was weight behind his words.

Still confused, Sirius simply nodded before following the others out into the cold night.

They walked in silence, boots crunching against the gravel, the adrenaline fading into bone-deep exhaustion. Behind them, the warmth of the Hog’s Head faded like a half-remembered dream. As they stepped onto the road to Hogwarts, Sirius couldn’t shake the sense that nothing would be simple again.

Professor McGonagall wasted no time in ushering them toward the hospital wing, her sharp eyes scanning each of them for injuries. "Madam Pomfrey will check you over to ensure you're all in one piece," she said briskly, though there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern in her tone.

Sirius grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He was still preoccupied with Aberforth’s cryptic words. The others followed, some looking more reluctant than others.

Madam Pomfrey fussed over them, inspecting cuts and bruises, muttering about reckless students and how they never seemed to make her job easy. Alice had already healed Sirius’s forehead, but Pomfrey insisted on applying a bit of salve just in case. Once she was satisfied that no one was on the verge of collapsing, she waved them off with strict instructions to rest.

Finally released, they made their way to their dormitories to clean up before the Halloween feast. The Great Hall was already filled with floating pumpkins, enchanted bats, and thousands of candles suspended in the air. The golden plates were piled high with all sorts of delicious food, and the warm, festive atmosphere was enough to lift everyone’s spirits.

As they took their seats at the Gryffindor table, Remus leaned in close to Sirius and murmured, "So, what did Aberforth want?"

Sirius hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking his head. "I’ll tell you after the feast."

James, overhearing, turned to Sirius with an exaggerated gasp. "You mean you’re actually keeping a secret from us? I’m hurt, Pads. Wounded."

Sirius smirked. "You’ll survive, Potter."

James was about to retort when Professor McGonagall appeared behind them. "Black, I’ve decided that, given the circumstances, you are excused from the remainder of your detentions."

James nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "Wait, what? He gets off scot-free? After all the mischief he’s caused?"

McGonagall gave him a pointed look. "I suggest you don’t push your luck, Potter, or I might reconsider."

James pressed his lips together, clearly struggling not to argue further, while Sirius grinned triumphantly. The others snickered at James’s expense as they turned their attention back to their meals.

The feast was lively, filled with laughter and easy conversation. James and Sirius took turns trying to outdo each other with ridiculous stories, Lily rolled her eyes but still smiled at their antics, and Peter was too busy stuffing his face with treacle tart to contribute much. Dorcas made a running tally of how many times James managed to make Lily sigh in exasperation, while Remus mostly watched, amused and content.

At some point, in the middle of the laughter, Sirius’s gaze drifted toward the staff table. His eyes locked onto Professor Dumbledore, who was watching him with an expression Sirius couldn’t quite place. The old man’s eyes twinkled as always — but the sparkle felt off tonight, like candlelight reflecting off ice. Charming on the surface, cold underneath. Calculating. For the first time, he couldn’t tell whether the man was amused or watching him too closely.

Aberforth’s words rang in his ears: "Don’t trust him too much."

Sirius’s fingers curled slightly against the table. How did Aberforth know so much? Why had he warned him? What did he know about Alexandria?

A sudden nudge from James pulled him back to the present. "Oi, you good?"

Sirius blinked, forcing a grin. "Yeah, fine. Just thinking about how unfair it is that I lost all those detentions."

James snorted. "Right, because you were so eager to serve them."

Remus didn’t laugh. His gaze lingered on Sirius — not amused, but quietly watchful.

Shrugging it off, Sirius refocused on the food, the warmth of his friends’ company pushing away the lingering unease.

By the time the feast ended and they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower, Sirius had almost convinced himself to let it go — but Dumbledore’s gaze lingered like a shadow at the back of his mind.

Back in their dormitory, Sirius flopped onto his bed, exhaling sharply as Grim curled up near his pillow, his small frame rising and falling with each breath. The weight of Aberforth’s words still pressed on him, and it was clear to the others that he wasn’t just tired — he was thinking.

The door creaked open again, and Lily and Dorcas slipped inside, their expressions set with determination.

"You’re not getting rid of us that easily," Dorcas announced, plopping onto the foot of Sirius’s bed.

Lily folded her arms, her green eyes sharp. "What exactly did Aberforth say to you?"

James, lounging on his own bed, sat up with interest. "Yeah, we’re still waiting on that explanation."

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Aberforth warned me not to trust Dumbledore too much," he admitted. "And he told me not to tell him certain things. Oh, and apparently, if Dumbledore ever finds out the truth about Alexandria, there’ll be ‘dire consequences.’"

A silence settled over them, the weight of his words thick in the air.

Lily frowned. "Why would he say that? And how does he even know about Alexandria?"

Sirius shook his head. "That’s what I don’t get. I’ve never mentioned her outside of us."

Peter, who had been quiet, shifted nervously. "That’s really weird. Why does he care? What does Alexandria have to do with anything?"

James leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "But why warn you about Dumbledore? What does he think is going to happen?"

Sirius hesitated before adding, "And then he brought up Alphard. Said he was proud of me — that he believed in me, even when I left."

That seemed to catch everyone off guard.

"Alphard?" Remus repeated. "That’s… not something you hear often from your family."

Sirius huffed a small, almost disbelieving laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to hear that — until he did. Alphard had been the only one who’d looked at him and seen something worth saving.

Peter looked even more uneasy now. "This is all really strange." Peter tugged at a loose thread on his sleeve, not meeting Sirius’s eyes. “I just… I don’t like when people say not to trust Dumbledore. Feels wrong.”

James frowned. "Look, I know Dumbledore can be a bit… cryptic, but he’s on our side, isn’t he?"

Sirius shrugged. "I don’t know. I’ve always thought so, but Aberforth sounded pretty serious."

Remus, sitting close to Sirius, exhaled through his nose. "I don’t like any of this," he admitted, voice thoughtful. "But honestly, I’m more concerned about Bellatrix’s behavior tonight."

Sirius looked at him, surprised. "That? That was just a normal family interaction."

Remus gave him a pointed look. "No, it wasn’t."

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. "She was completely unhinged, Sirius. Even for her."

Sirius still wasn’t sure how to feel about it all, but he didn’t argue. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

Lily and Dorcas exchanged glances before standing. "Alright," Lily said, her expression still troubled. "Just… don’t dismiss this, okay?"

"We’ll see you at breakfast," Dorcas added before following Lily out of the room.

Once the girls had gone, the boys started getting ready for bed. Peter was still sitting up, looking anxious. "You’re not actually gonna take Aberforth seriously, right?"

"I don’t know, Pete," Sirius muttered, rubbing his face. "I really don’t."

Peter cast one last uncertain glance toward Sirius before crawling under his covers, but the way his shoulders hunched said he was still listening — or bracing.

Remus lingered a moment before placing a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. "Try to get some sleep, Pads. You’re overthinking this."

Sirius let out a huff of laughter but didn’t argue. As Remus moved to his own bed, Grim stretched, let out a soft chirp, and nestled closer to Sirius’s pillow.

He turned onto his side, Grim shifting to curl up against him. His eyelids drooped, and the dormitory blurred around him. But sleep brought no peace. Only shadows — waiting for him in the dark.

Sirius jolted awake, heart hammering in his chest. His breath came fast, ragged, his skin damp with sweat as the remnants of the nightmare clung to him like smoke. The images were still vivid behind his eyes — Bellatrix’s wild laughter echoing like a curse as her fingers clamped around his arm, dragging him into the dark. No one had been there to stop her. No James. No Remus. Just him, helpless and screaming, his voice swallowed by shadow.

Then Alexandria’s face had appeared — beautiful and cruel. Her cold fingers gripped his chin, nails biting into his skin as she leaned in close. You belong to me now, Sirius, she whispered, her voice silk and venom.

Even now, awake and safe, he could still feel her touch. Still hear her laughter, slithering into the cracks of his mind. It tainted everything — every memory, every breath, every moment someone looked at him like he was whole.

He exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand over his face, fingers trembling. His chest ached with something deeper than fear — something corrosive. Like rot spreading from the inside. What if she’d marked him too deeply for anyone to love? What if the worst parts of her — the control, the cruelty — had taken root in him too? What if he was already too far gone, a thing shaped by darkness pretending to be worthy of light?

His eyes flicked toward the shadows of the room — and only then did he realize he wasn’t the only one awake.

Across the room, Remus was already sitting up in his bed, watching him with quiet concern. The moonlight from the window cast a soft glow over him, illuminating the faint worry lines between his brows.

"You alright?" Remus asked, his voice hushed in the stillness of the dormitory.

Sirius let out a breath, forcing a smirk. "Fine, Moony. Just a bad dream."

Remus didn’t look convinced. He shifted, then, without hesitation, climbed out of his bed and crossed the short distance to Sirius’s. Without waiting for permission, he sat on the edge, watching him closely.

Sirius eyed him warily. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you don’t keep lying to me," Remus said simply.

Sirius huffed, but before he could protest further, Remus spoke again, voice softer this time. "I just… I can’t stop thinking about what happened in Hogsmeade. About Bellatrix. I don’t know what I would have done if she’d managed to take you." His jaw tightened, and he looked down. "I hate that I froze, that I couldn’t do more."

Sirius straightened slightly, catching the slight shake in Remus’s voice. "Hey, don’t," he said, reaching out instinctively, his fingers brushing against Remus’s. "She didn’t take me. I’m still here, alright?"

Remus nodded, but he didn’t look reassured. Instead, he met Sirius’s gaze, eyes dark and searching. "It shook you more than you’re letting on, didn’t it?"

Sirius hesitated, the instinct to deny it strong. But Remus saw right through him — he always did.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius ran a hand through his hair. "She said I’m lucky Alexandria wants me," he admitted, voice quieter now. "But I don’t feel lucky, Moony. Not even close."

Remus stayed silent, listening.

"I keep wondering if she’s ruined me," Sirius continued, staring at the ceiling. "If I’m even worthy of love anymore." The words tasted bitter as they left his mouth.

"That’s ridiculous," Remus said firmly. "Of course you are."

Sirius scoffed. "How do you know?"

Remus didn’t hesitate. He reached out and took Sirius’s hand in his own, squeezing gently. "Because I love you."

Sirius froze. His breath caught in his throat, his mind suddenly blank.

Remus’s eyes widened, panic flashing across his face like a bolt of lightning. “I — sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” The words tumbled out fast, like he was already bracing for rejection. He started to move back toward his bed, hesitation in his every movement, but before he could go, Sirius grabbed his hand and pulled him back.

"Don’t," Sirius said, voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t go."

Remus stilled, eyes searching his. He looked ready to insist that Sirius needed space, but Sirius clung to his hand, grounding himself in the warmth.

"I don’t — I don’t know how to respond to that right now," Sirius admitted, his grip tightening slightly. "I’m a mess. But I don’t want you to leave."

Remus’s expression softened, but there was still a quiet understanding in his gaze. "I wasn’t planning on leaving," he murmured, but after a pause, he slowly started to pull back. "But I’ll give you space. I don’t want to push you."

Sirius let out a shaky breath, nodding. He appreciated that about Remus — how he never demanded, never tried to force anything. He was just there, steady and unwavering. And yet, as Remus moved to stand, Sirius found himself blurting out, "Are you… willing to wait for me to figure this out?"

Remus let out a small, breathy laugh. "I’ve waited for years, Padfoot. What’s a bit more?"

Sirius blinked, startled. "Years?" He let out a disbelieving laugh. "I really am oblivious, aren’t I?"

Remus smiled at that, warmth flickering in his eyes. His hands twitched slightly, as if he wanted to reach out again, but he didn’t.

Sirius hesitated, the words still echoing in his head. His throat felt tight. He didn’t know what he was doing — only that he didn’t want the moment to slip away. Before he could second-guess himself, he leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to Remus’s cheek.

Remus stilled at the touch, then, slowly, he reached up, resting his fingers against the spot where Sirius’s lips had been.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Don’t let it get to your head."

Remus grinned. "Too late for that."

Sirius huffed a laugh, shoving him lightly. "Go back to bed, Moony. I’ll be fine now."

Remus gave him a long look before nodding. He squeezed Sirius’s hand one last time before getting up and heading back to his own bed.

As the dormitory settled into silence once more, Sirius lay back against his pillow, staring at the ceiling. Grim stirred beside him, the little kitten pressing close to his side, as if sensing the turmoil in his thoughts. Sirius ran his fingers through the soft fur, grounding himself in the warmth of the small creature.

His heart was still racing — but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

And for the first time in ages, it wasn’t the darkness that lingered — it was the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t broken beyond repair.

Remus climbed into his bed, his heart still hammering in his chest. He stared at the canopy above him, fingers ghosting over his cheek where Sirius had kissed him. It was brief, fleeting, but it was enough to send his thoughts spiraling.

He thought back to the first time he realized he loved Sirius. They had been twelve years old, just kids, and he was still figuring out what love meant. But he had known, even then, that Sirius was different. That the way he made Remus laugh, the way he always stood by his side, meant something more than just friendship.

He had been too scared to tell him. Too convinced that he was unworthy of having Sirius in his life like that. Because he was a werewolf. Because he had scars. Because he was dangerous. And because monsters didn’t get to have love.

Because monsters didn’t get to have things like love.

But Sirius had never seen him that way. He had only ever looked at Remus with warmth, with trust, with something that almost resembled love.

Remus exhaled, clenching his fists. He would never hurt Sirius. He would protect him, always. He loved him more than anything.

And if Sirius ever decided he wanted him back — truly wanted him — Remus would be there, waiting.

Even if it hurt. Even if it meant holding pieces of himself together in silence.

Chapter Text

November 3rd arrived with James enthusiastically shaking Sirius awake, his voice loud and cheerful as he sang, "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!"

Sirius groaned, burying his face into his pillow, but he couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. "You are way too excited about this, Prongs."

James grinned. "Of course I am! It’s my best mate’s birthday! Now, get up, because you’ve got presents to unwrap."

That got Sirius moving. He carefully shifted Grim, who had curled up beside him, ensuring the tiny cat remained undisturbed before swinging his legs out of bed. James, Remus, and Peter were waiting, each holding a wrapped package.

James thrust his forward first. "This one's from my parents."

Sirius unwrapped it carefully, revealing a sleek, magical watch. His breath caught in his throat. "A magical watch…"

James nodded, his eyes bright. "It’s a 17th birthday tradition. Now you’ve got your own."

Before Sirius could respond, James pulled a folded envelope from his pocket and handed it over. "And this. Mum made me promise you’d read it straight away."

Curiosity flickering, Sirius opened the envelope. Inside was a card enchanted with soft, swirling golden script. He traced the words with his eyes, swallowing hard.

Dear Sirius,
Happy 17th, dear boy. This day is not just a celebration of your birth but of your courage and heart. You are as much a part of our family as James, and there is nothing you could do to change that. We are so proud of the young man you are becoming. Our home is your home, always. Never forget that.
With all our love, Euphemia and Fleamont Potter.

Sirius stared at the words, unprepared for the way they cracked something open inside him — not pity, not obligation, but love, simple and unconditional.

He blinked rapidly, the letters blurring for a moment. His chest tightened — not with fear, but with something fiercer. Warmer. He could still feel Alexandria’s cold fingers, hear her venomous claim that he belonged to her. But this… this was louder. Stronger. Proof that maybe he could belong somewhere else.

He cleared his throat, hoping the others wouldn’t notice the shimmer in his eyes. "Tell them thank you. Really. For everything."

James beamed, nudging him playfully. "Of course."

Remus handed over his gift — a finely bound book of advanced defensive spells, its margins filled with his own careful notes. "Figured you might find it useful," Remus said with a soft smile.

Sirius flipped through the pages, pausing as he caught the familiar slant of Remus’s handwriting in the margins. The parchment smelled faintly of ink and old wood, grounding him in something quiet and safe.

"This is brilliant, Moony. Thanks."

Remus’s eyes lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary. “I thought… well, if you’re going to be protecting everyone, you might as well have the best tools.”

Sirius looked up, something catching in his chest. There was more to the words than just practicality. There always was with Remus.

Peter’s gift was next — a collection of pranks from Zonko’s and an assortment of Honeydukes sweets. "For when you need to cause some mischief and keep your energy up while doing it," Peter added with a grin.

Sirius laughed. "You, Wormtail, are a genius."

Peter flushed with pride. “Just figured you could use more days that feel like this one.”

Finally, James handed over his personal gift —  a custom leather jacket charmed to be both weather-resistant and slightly protective. "Figured you needed something stylish," he said with a smirk.

Sirius ran his hands over the smooth leather, a grin spreading across his face. "You absolute legend."

"I don’t deserve you lot," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Remus smiled softly, watching him with warm eyes. "You do, though."

Since Remus’s confession, there had been a subtle shift between them. He lingered closer, and Sirius had found himself allowing it, drawn to the quiet comfort that Remus offered. Now, as Remus stood beside him, their shoulders brushing, Sirius felt the warmth of something he was just beginning to recognize — not just friendship, but love, steady and sure.

James clapped his hands together, grinning wide. "Right! Let’s get down to the Great Hall. I told the house-elves to go a bit mad with breakfast."

As they gathered up the gifts, Sirius’s gaze lingered on the card from the Potters, carefully tucking it into the inner pocket of his new jacket — close to his heart, where it could drown out the ghost of Alexandria’s grip and the echo of her claim.

For the first time in a long while, Sirius let himself believe it might be possible to truly belong. With the Potters’ words tucked close to his heart, the warmth of his friends around him, and Remus standing quietly at his side, he wasn’t just surviving anymore. He was starting to live — and maybe, just maybe, to love.

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning clamor as Sirius and his friends settled into their seats at the Gryffindor table, trays of steaming breakfast spread before them. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a crisp, golden dawn, casting a warm glow over the long tables. The group seemed determined to make the morning special, piling gifts in front of Sirius with easy grins.

Lily and Dorcas joined in with a flourish. Lily slid a luxurious, deep-blue scarf across the table, its fabric shimmering faintly. “Enchanted to stay warm, even in the coldest weather,” she said with a small smile. “Thought it’d suit you.”

Sirius ran his fingers over it, feeling the subtle hum of magic. “Cheers, Evans. Might actually keep me from freezing my arse off this winter.”

Dorcas, grinning, handed over a compact, dragonhide-bound notebook charmed to be waterproof and fireproof. “For all your brooding thoughts and dramatic poetry,” she teased, nudging him. “Or, you know, hexes and secret plans.”

Sirius laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound that echoed through the hall. “You lot are spoiling me. I’m practically beaming here.”

He was — overwhelmed by how much they cared, the warmth of it settling into his chest like a shield.

James smirked at Remus, who hovered a little too close to Sirius, their elbows brushing as he reached for the toast. “Oi, Moony’s practically his shadow today,” James whispered to Lily, loud enough for Sirius to catch. Lily stifled a chuckle, her eyes flickering with amusement as she glanced between them.

Remus shot James a dry look but didn’t pull away, his fingers lingering near Sirius’s sleeve. 

“Someone’s got to keep him out of trouble,” he muttered, though the faintest flush crept up his neck.

Sirius grinned, leaning into the banter. “What’s this, Moony? Planning to fuss over me all day?”

Remus arched a brow, his tone light but steady. “Someone has to. You’re a menace when left unsupervised.”

“Oh, I’m wounded,” Sirius quipped, clutching his chest dramatically. “You think I can’t handle myself?”

“I know you can’t,” Remus shot back, a small, rare smile tugging at his lips. “Remember third year? You nearly set the common room on fire trying to charm that cake.”

Sirius laughed, the memory sparking in his eyes. “And you still ate it, you prat.”

“Only because I felt sorry for you,” Remus said, his voice softening, their gazes locking for a beat longer than necessary.

The moment stretched, warm and unguarded, until Peter accidentally upended a jar of jam, splattering it across his robes. The table erupted in laughter as Sirius casually waved his wand, cleaning it up in an instant with a flick of magic.

Peter stammered, red-faced, “Uh — thanks, Sirius.”

“Of course, Pete. Can’t have you covered in jam all day,” Sirius said with a wink, settling back into their usual rhythm. The banter flowed easily — James ribbing Peter, Dorcas tallying Lily’s exasperated sighs — laughter filling the Great Hall like a steady hum.

But then, the morning owl post arrived.

A sleek, unfamiliar owl swooped down, dropping a small package directly in front of Sirius. The chatter at the table faltered, the mood shifting instantly. The parcel landed with a soft thud, its brown wrapping unadorned but heavy with intent. Sirius froze, his fingers hovering over it, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.

It wasn’t the first time something wrapped in brown parchment had made his stomach drop.

Not since Grimmauld. Not since her.

“Sirius?” Remus’s voice was quiet, laced with concern as he watched him.

Sirius didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as he cautiously tore open the package. Inside was a letter, its handwriting sharp and achingly familiar.

Happy Birthday, my love. We’ll see each other again soon. Our daughter will need her father once she’s here.

- Alex

Sirius’s breath hitched. He could feel her fingers again, cold and possessive, curled around his wrist like they had in the dream. Her voice, that awful softness, hissed in his ear. Ours. It was always ours with her — never his. Never free.

Beneath the letter lay an embroidered baby blanket, soft and delicate. Stitched in delicate silver thread, in unmistakably graceful cursive, were three words:

Aria Star Black.

His heart stuttered at the name. Aria. Too familiar. Too deliberate.

It wasn’t just a name. It was a claim.

Sirius traced the letters with trembling fingers, his heart pounding. A memory surfaced, unbidden and sharp, dragging him back to a night long buried.

He and Alexandria had been kids — maybe ten — sprawled out under the stars in the tangled Black family garden, the air thick with summer rot and possibility. They’d been talking about impossible futures, ones free of their families’ chains. 

She’d giggled, nudging him with her shoulder, her dark eyes glinting in the moonlight. “If we ever had a daughter,” she’d mused, “I’d want to name her Aria. You know — because my name starts with A and ends in ‘ria.’ And Star, because… well, that’s what Andromeda always calls you, isn’t it? Her little Star?”

Sirius had laughed then, rolling his eyes at her whimsy, but there’d been warmth in his chest, a fleeting sense of safety in her presence. He’d never imagined that moment would resurface like this — etched into a reality he wasn’t ready for, twisted by her control.

She had meant it as a dream. But now she was using it as a weapon.

Remus, already tense, took the letter from his hands, scanning it with worry creasing his brow. James and Peter leaned in, their faces mirroring his concern, while Dorcas’s sharp gaze flickered between the blanket and Sirius.

“Sirius —” Remus began, voice quiet but urgent, reaching for his arm.

But Sirius wasn’t listening. His gaze shifted to the teachers’ table, where Dumbledore watched him keenly, his blue eyes twinkling — not kindly, Sirius realized, but like someone who already knew too much.

The same glint Aberforth had warned him about. The unease in Sirius’s chest grew unbearable, a tangle of memory and dread tightening around his ribs.

Remus’s hand shifted subtly beneath the table, brushing Sirius’s knee. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze followed Sirius’s — landing on Dumbledore. “He’s always watching,” he murmured. “You alright?”

“I need to go,” he muttered abruptly, pushing up from the bench. He clutched the blanket and bolted from the Great Hall, leaving the scarf and notebook behind.

Remus was already on his feet, weaving through the students Sirius had shoved past. “Sirius — wait —”

But Sirius didn’t hear him. He was already out the door, the name still echoing in his chest like a curse.

By the lake, Sirius stood at the water’s edge, the baby blanket clenched in his fists, knuckles white. The embroidered name brushed his wrist like a curse. He couldn’t look at it anymore — couldn’t let go either. He didn't hear the footsteps approaching until Remus quietly stepped up beside him.

Sirius turned, his stormy eyes meeting Remus's. "I'm going to have a daughter, Remus," he said, his voice shaking. "What am I supposed to do?"

Remus saw the fear in his eyes, the way his body trembled as if barely holding himself together. Without hesitation, he pulled Sirius into his arms, holding him tightly. "It's going to be okay, Sirius."

Sirius let himself be held for a moment before pulling back, shaking his head. "No, it's not. Alexandria thinks she owns me, Remus. She'll feel the same way about our baby."

“Sirius let himself be held for a moment before pulling back, his voice raw. “No, it’s not. Alexandria thinks she owns me, Remus. And she’ll think the same about the baby.”

Remus’s voice was steady, quiet but sure. “She might try. But she doesn’t get to write the ending — not this time.” He took Sirius’s hands in his, holding them tight. “She doesn’t own you. And she’ll never own your child. We’ll make sure of that.”

Sirius swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around Remus’s. "And then what?"

Remus's eyes softened, his voice steady. "Then we’ll figure it out together."

Sirius exhaled shakily, his hands slipping from Remus’s as he turned back to the lake. “What if I’m not enough?” he asked, voice quiet and frayed. “What if I mess this up? What if all she gets from me is everything I’m trying to escape?”

"That’s not going to happen," Remus said firmly, stepping closer. "You are going to love that little girl with everything you have. And she is going to love you right back, because you’ll be the best father she could ever have."

Sirius let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You have too much faith in me, Moons."

"I have just enough," Remus countered. "You think I don’t know you? You’d do anything for the people you love. You'd die for them." His voice softened. "But more importantly, you’ll live for them."

Sirius closed his eyes for a long moment before turning to look at him. "I don’t deserve you," he whispered.

Remus huffed, unimpressed. "Tough luck, because you're stuck with me."

Sirius hesitated for only a second before throwing himself into Remus’s arms, burying his face against his shoulder.

Remus was momentarily surprised but quickly wrapped his arms around him again, holding on just as tightly.

He whispered into Sirius's ear, his voice gentle but firm. "I love you. It's going to be alright."

Sirius breathed in slow, the words settling in his chest like warmth — fragile, but real. He tightened his grip on Remus, grounding himself in the warmth of the only person who had ever made him feel truly safe.

The wind stirred the lake behind them, but in Remus’s arms, Sirius didn’t feel cold.

Remus had waited until Sirius had calmed down and relaxed in his arms before they headed back to the castle. By the time they reached their first class of the day — Defense Against the Dark Arts — Sirius seemed more himself, though Remus still kept a watchful eye on him.

There was a flicker of something guarded behind Sirius’s grin — like the mask was back in place, but hadn’t fully settled.

James and Peter were already settling into their seats as they arrived, while Dorcas and Lily sat nearby, exchanging a few quiet words. The rest of the students chattered amongst themselves, but all fell silent when Professor Galbraith, an older witch with sharp eyes and a commanding presence, strode to the front of the classroom, tapping her wand against her palm.

“Today,” she began, “we’ll be working on the Banishing Charm — traditionally taught in Charms, yes, but highly useful in self-defense. It can push back an attacker, throwing them off balance and giving you an opening to defend yourself or flee. Particularly helpful when facing opponents larger or stronger than you.”

Sirius smirked. “Sounds like something I could use against James when he’s being insufferable.”

James scoffed. “As if you could ever best me, Black.”

Professor Galbraith shot them both a look that made them sit up straighter. “You will practice in pairs. Wands at the ready.”

The students got to their feet, shifting into pairs. James and Peter teamed up, while Sirius found himself facing off against Remus. The werewolf rolled his eyes but smiled fondly. “Go easy on me, Padfoot.”

“No promises,” Sirius said with a grin.

Professor Galbraith demonstrated the spell with a flick of her wand, sending a practice dummy stumbling back several feet. “The incantation is Depulso. The key is control — too little force, and your opponent won’t be moved. Too much, and you might send them crashing into the wall.” Her gaze swept over them. “Now, begin.”

The classroom filled with the sound of muttered incantations and the occasional frustrated groan as students struggled to get the spell just right. Sirius, however, picked it up almost instantly. With a confident flick of his wand, he sent Remus skidding back a few feet — not forcefully enough to hurt him, but enough to make the spell effective.

Remus let out an impressed laugh as he steadied himself. “Show-off.”

“You love it,” Sirius said with a wink.

Remus didn’t argue. He only shook his head, grinning, before attempting the spell himself. His first try barely nudged Sirius, who remained firmly in place with an amused expression. But after some careful adjustments and encouragement from Sirius, Remus finally managed to push him back with enough force to count as a success.

“Excellent work, Mr. Black,” Professor Galbraith noted as she passed by, nodding approvingly at Sirius’s precise wand movements. “You have a natural talent for this.”

Magic had always come easily to Sirius. It obeyed when nothing else did — not his family, not his fears, not the mess Alexandria had left behind. This, at least, he could control.

Sirius flashed her a winning smile. “I do try, Professor.”

James, not to be outdone, redoubled his efforts, finally getting the spell right and sending Peter sprawling backward with a loud yelp. “Ha! Got it!”

Lily, paired with Dorcas, had a steady grasp of the spell but was careful not to use excessive force. Dorcas, on the other hand, misfired and sent a textbook flying from a nearby desk when she accidentally aimed in the wrong direction.

“Oi, Dorcas!” James called out with a grin. “Save the chaos for the common room.”

“Was aiming for the Death Eater in my imagination,” she replied dryly.

“Hope they weren’t hiding behind a Charms essay,” Sirius quipped.

As the lesson continued, Remus found himself watching Sirius more than he probably should. He beamed with pride every time Sirius executed the spell effortlessly, his confidence unwavering. 

There was something about the way Sirius moved — fluid, effortless, as if magic itself bent to his will. It was captivating — the same boy who had stood by the lake, shaken and unsure, now casting spells like he was born for it. And it reminded Remus — sharply, quietly — how much he cared. How long he’d been in love.

By the end of the class, nearly everyone had made progress, though some were better than others. Professor Galbraith clapped her hands together. “Well done, all of you. Continue practicing, as this spell may prove vital in a real duel.”

As the students gathered their things, Remus nudged Sirius. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Sirius grinned, slinging an arm around Remus’s shoulders. “It’s not my fault I’m naturally gifted.”

Remus let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Come on,” he said, bumping shoulders. “Let’s go rescue Peter from whatever James is calling spellwork today.”

Together, they followed their friends out of the classroom, ready to face the rest of the day.

The rest of the day passed as normal, classes rolling by with the usual mixture of excitement and boredom. By the time evening fell, the Gryffindor common room was filled with the soft murmur of students working on their assignments, the glow of the fire casting long shadows over the stone walls.

Sirius sat on the couch, a half-finished essay forgotten on the table in front of him. Grim was curled against his thigh, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Before he could drift too far into his thoughts, the portrait hole swung open, and Dorcas strode in, a triumphant grin on her face. In her hands was a slightly lopsided but beautifully decorated chocolate cake, adorned with flickering candles that spelled out "Happy Birthday, Sirius" in messy, glowing script.