Chapter Text
“What is happening?” Evan whispered to Barty at breakfast, small and afraid like this was the most disconcerting shit he had ever seen in his life, which was dramatic for seven o’clock in the fucking morning. When Barty was unable or refused to answer, Evan asked again, “What is happening?” louder, like perhaps the room at large might be able to answer.
“I believe that Regulus has asked his brother to visit for breakfast,” Pandora piped up over her cooling cereal, her whimsical, bell-like voice breathy and serene as she gazed up at the enchanted ceiling. Evan looked at Pandora like she was certifiably insane, which was hilarious for two reasons. One, Evan was regularly fucking Barty Crouch jr. so he didn’t really have a leg to stand on on the whole 'sanity' thing. Two, almost everyone who ever met his pixy-brained sister had assumed her to be an oblivious idiot, but Evan happened to know that she was almost always right and was smarter than anybody he had ever met in his fourteen years of life.
It was, in addition to the daring glare aimed at Evan over the lip of Regulus’ teacup, the chief reason that Barty seemed to have endeavored to just go with it and Evan had been entirely unable to. Whatever the fuck this was…
“If anything,” Barty had mused into Evan’s ear as they began their ascent up the stone steps to the Great Hall for breakfast, “the ensuing fallout is likely to be hilarious,” Barty’s voice had been raspy and heated, like the chaos of the situation itself had turned him on, which Evan was absolutely positive it had—
“But what is happening?”
Clearly whatever answers Evan had been given all morning, be it Pandora’s obvious supposition or Dorcas’ order that morning to “leave it alone”, was not fucking answering his question to his satisfaction. To be fair, Evan had woken on the wrong side of the bed (proverbial, as it was a twin mattress and did they even have sides?) in his own bloody bed (actually it was Barty’s bed) in his own bloody room (shared space) in his own bloody house (not literally) to see two different Black brothers readying for their days like that was just a thing that they did all the time. Normal, like how Evan sleeps in Barty’s bed every night and they take turns casting the muffliato if they want to fuck or if Reg has a nightmare. Like it was just a thing that happens.
Evan would like to stress that Sirius Black sleeping over with Regulus was not a thing that happens. Had literally never happened.
Sirius had been entering from the bathroom as Evan crawled out of his curtains, a billow of fragrant steam in his wake, and one could’ve assumed it was Regulus if not for the hair he was drying with Barty’s towel and also how his naked torso looked like he had been starved on a regular basis. And since the Express was being readied to take them all away from Hogwarts rather than toward it, there was no reason for Sirius to be so visibly malnourished.
The other reason that Evan knew it was Sirius Black and not Regulus was the very Regulus-shaped person getting dressed across the room. At least Reg looked like he wanted Sirius there even through his scowl, pulling a white shirt out of his packed trunk and all but hurling it at his brother as he muttered beneath his breath that Sirius should not be able to fit into my shirts you overdramatic asshole. On that front, Evan had to concede that Reg had a point…
Barty hadn’t said anything as he fell out of their bed after Evan. Literally. He slid from the mattress to the floor in a puddle like he had no bones in his body, just a limp noodle still mostly asleep. Barty just went about dressing, choosing to ignore his boyfriend’s confusion before he’d had his coffee exactly the same as any other morning. Barty always ignored all life entirely—including his own—before he’d had his coffee. It was a rule in their dorm, actually. Since third year. The only time Barty had broken it, they’d had to scramble to come up with a plausible excuse for why Slughorn was going to have to replace every curtain in Slytherin House—in the boys’ dorms and in the girls’— that wasn’t just admitting that Barty had set them all on fire for no reason at all.
Yeah, Evan had really managed to snare himself an unholy demon of a paramour.
When Caradoc, the only other occupant of their dorm who was actually supposed to be there, didn’t make a fuss at the extra body in their midst, Evan had told himself they had all clearly lost the plot and he needed to get far far away from whatever the fuck this was immediately. He threw his uniform on, shot one final scowl at the brothers patently ignoring him, and all-but fled his own bedroom like he’d been banished.
This had actually startled a laugh out of Barty’s sluggish form, even pre-coffee.
Evan ran into Dorcas on the stairs and demanded she get that fucking lion out of our house, Cas, I’m begging you. She’d said nothing, crossed her arms and just glared at him until he asked in a more polite fashion. But Dorcas remembered the way Sirius trembled each time he had pitifully asked for the usage of the Prefect’s bathroom in the last many weeks, and had told Barty to leave it alone and go to breakfast.
You know what—fucking fine. Evan was far too sober for this shit, honestly, and Mulciber was useful exclusively for the firewhisky he managed to sneak into the pitchers of pumpkin juice right under the professors’ noses every morning. What the fuck they were all supposed to do when the oaf graduated next year, nobody had wanted to contemplate. Here’s hoping he flunks his NEWT’s.
“Ouch!” Evan hissed, the sharp sting of a boot shooting through his shin drawing him back to the present, “What the fuck, Black?”
“That was Sirius,” Regulus did not look up from his eggs.
“Uh…what the fuck, Other Black?”
“Only because you zapped me with your bloody wand, you monster,” Other Black didn’t bother to look at Evan and his smarting shin either, and fuck them both for that shit, “You know I get twitchy around electricity spells,”
“I’m quite aware,” Regulus cut his breakfast sausage into neat, appropriately sized pieces, “However you seemed quite ready to fall into another spiral regarding your stupid friends—”
Sirius reached for a scone and then hesitated, pulled his hand back, “Former friends,”
“and I have honestly run out of ideas that will keep you away from the Astronomy Tower long enough to get through one single meal,” Regulus tore off a piece of his toast and pushed it toward Sirius.
Sirius ignored it, nudged it surreptitiously with his elbow until it tumbled off the table between him and his brother, “You know Grimmauld has balconies, too, Reg,” fuck, that was dark, even for the table of snakes.
“All warded,” Regulus took a rather aggressive sip of his tea.
“You know I got father’s wards off of my window when I was in second year,” Sirius pointedly did not reach to fill his own cup.
“And I replaced them all when I was in first year. Have every summer since,”
Sirius scoffed, “Why would you—”
Regulus gave up on his breakfast, his fork and knife clattering down onto the porcelain in an undignified heap, so he could glare directly at his brother with angry, burning eyes, “You know exactly why; stop pretending to be stupider than you are, Sirius,”
Sirius seemed quite pleased to have an excuse to ignore his own empty plate and the platter of eggs Pandora was attempting to politely push in his direction, “You’ve called me an idiot to my face more times than I could attempt to count,”
“And I shall do so countless more,” Reg hissed, “You are an idiot. Just a clever one,”
“That doesn’t even make sense,”
“Perhaps it would if you were less of an idiot,”
Sirius opened his mouth in outrage.
“No, shut up,” Regulus snarled, more of his lightning magic leaking, wandless, out from between his fingers as he wrapped them around an unsuspecting croissant on one of the many platters littering the table.
The sound of Sirius’ plate cracking down the middle where Regulus slammed the aforementioned pastry was loud enough to startle gasps from all the way across the Hall with the Gryffindors, heads turning to see what was going on out of morbid curiosity if nothing else. After a moment, most of the Hall simply shrugged and returned to their own breakfasts, eyes really only pausing because it was still so weird to see Sirius slotted between the snakes wearing a green and silver tie. Also when was the last time anybody had even seen Sirius at a meal, let alone one sat surrounded by sworn enemies? And, honestly, had anybody ever seen Regulus Black lose control over himself in such a public setting since…well, ever, actually?
“Eat that,” Regulus left the smooshed, burnt remains of what had once been a likely passable croissant in the ruins of Sirius’ plate, and Sirius hesitated not because of the nausea curling around the guilt in his gut, but mostly because…ew.
Eventually even the table of lions seemed to stop caring and all but three stares returned to their own breakfasts.
Sirius wouldn’t dare look at them so Regulus glared with such a cold, fiery hatred back at them that it was honestly a bit of a shock they all did not suddenly and inexplicably drop dead in their breakfasts.
The sharp sound of splintering porcelain had been audible to human ears—even all the way across four tables of bustling students—let alone the heightened senses of a werewolf. Remus had been managing the same way as the rest of the Marauders (decidedly, not well at all) to pretend like everything was fine. Almost nobody who had shared even one evening in the common room with their lot was actually buying the facade. The ones who had watched their friendship form in real time (startlingly fast and incomprehensible to anybody rational, student or professor alike) could do nothing except wonder at the way they broke apart just as quickly in the span of a night.
Those that loved them, hurt for them, tried their best to help however they could, like none of them could stomach sitting there to watch them combust any more than was inevitable in the fallout. Lily helped Peter with his Potions homework every Sunday now that Sirius wasn’t there to tutor him. Marlene had cleared out Sirius quidditch locker before the Finals so that James didn’t have to look at it. Frank and Mary, Head Boy and a Prefect respectively, promised to keep an eye on every hidden passage and secret alcove they passed on their rounds and report back if they managed to figure out where Sirius had been sleeping.
When he thought James couldn’t see, Remus hunted the incomplete Map and never managed to catch the familiar scratch of cursive as it slipped by or the footprints that trailed after it.
When he thought Remus couldn’t hear, James quietly snuck down to the kitchens to ask the elves if Sirius had been stopping by for food at all that week. Remus didn’t have to hear their squeaking replies to know the answer.
Neither Remus nor James were quite willing to ask the other whether they regretted the morning after that last moon as a group. They’d both been scared and mad and shaking, but this was very quickly spiraling out of their control. James had been the one to shove Sirius out of the Hospital Wing before he could even set eyes on Remus where he laid in his bed, more scarred in one night than he had been in the last year. James had broken his knuckles against Sirius’ cheekbone, and was so high-strung and frustrated he wouldn’t let Poppy or even Remus heal it for days after his hand had turned blue and green.
James did a lot that week, but Remus had been the one to ensure Sirius never found his way back into their lives ever again. And he hadn't had to lift a finger to make that happen.
…
Sirius had been in the possession of the Map that night and must have used it to find Remus when he was alone in their shared dorm for the first time all week. Remus tried not to gasp at the bruises beneath Sirius’ eyes or the matching blooming blackness stretched over his broken eye socket and into the limp, sweaty tangles of his hair. Sirius couldn’t stifle his own gasp at the new scar stretching down Remus’ forehead, over his nose, around his still-bruised throat and into the oversized cardigan he was hiding beneath. Remus hoped it hurt Sirius to see it even a half as much as it felt to wake up to, screaming into the shack and unable to figure out why he was alone without the dog and the stag and the rat.
It was his dorm, and Remus had been too good to demand that Sirius leave and never come back.
He had not been too good to stop himself from being just as cruel as Sirius could be; like he was trying to punish him in ways that would linger far longer than it took a broken bone set, even without magic.
“You know, out of everything I’ve been forced to survive...the bite in my shoulder and the scars I can’t conceal and the body designed to ruin my life before I might ever be allowed to live it...if Merlin descended right now and offered to rewind time back to change just one of the many cruelties I’ve been condemned to,” Remus paused around the beginnings of a sob, and tried to figure out if he was lying to just Sirius or to both of them, “I’d suffer another night with Greyback if it meant I might never have to know you existed,”
“M—” tears mingled with the yellowed collar of Sirius’ white undershirt, the button down meant to go overtop long since been shed, and Remus found himself strangely curious if they stung as they crested over the split skin of his upper lip. He didn’t ask. “Moon—”
“Do not call me that,” the wolf flashed golden into the irises usually soft and kind and the color of grass just toasted in the summer sun.
“Remus—”
“Only my friends call me that,” Remus bowled over whatever pathetic begging Sirius was about to devolve into and he had not the energy to tolerate. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut in the knowledge that if he had a weakness other than the wolf, it was Sirius’s quiet yearnings. He didn’t dare open them before he finished this once and for all.
“Only my friends get to call me Moony. And I’m quite sure I’ve never known you in my life,”
When Remus had opened his eyes once more it was to an empty room and his pulse thundering in his ears at a deafening decibel. He sat on the closest bed lest he fall to the floor and tried very hard not to sob too hard when he realized that he had sat on Sirius’ blankets, and that they still smelled like him even after a week’s disuse. His broken ribs throbbed around his gasps and he decided that the floor was actually just fine and would have stayed crumpled where he lay there forever if not for the sharp slap of James’ sneakers sprinting up the stairs, panicking because Mary had told Alice who’d told Frank who’d told Marlene who told James that Sirius had been seen in the common room for the first time in a sennight and Peter was desperately trying to smoke himself into a high oblivion out behind the greenhouses and that meant Moony was alone and fuck fuck fuck, run, Potter. Moony cannot handle this alone right now.
James had hefted Moony back onto his gangly, aching legs (through no help from Remus and with a hand that was still fucking broken) and guided him to somewhere even slightly more comfortable than his boyfriend’s—ex-boyfriend’s—unmade bed or the actual floor. James tried his very hardest not to visibly worry even more than he already was when Moony had begged for one of the Dreamless Sleep potions he almost always claimed were not necessary (even though Poppy wouldn’t keep giving them to him every month if they weren’t). In his nearly six years here, James had only ever witnessed Remus swallow the swirling liquid under the express orders of the matron or while he was already unconscious and Sirius poured them into his open mouth to secretly save him from any possible nightmares that might come for Remus’ only moments of true rest in 28 days.
Three doses of the potent sedative was probably more than really necessary to send Moony to his peaceful slumber, but James had been vehemently unwilling to stop handing the glass jars to Remus until he had stopped reaching for them with that hysterical glint in his dilating pupils. James had managed to hold his shit together for long enough to change Moony into his softest pajamas and levitated his lifeless body across the room, not to Moony’s bed, but James’. James tucked Remus in, brushed the tears and sweaty curls away from his ashen face, walked quickly into the bathroom and put up a silencing spell, then puked everything he had eaten in the last two days onto the floor of the shower.
James couldn’t find it in himself to regret filching one of Moony’s remaining potions before crawling into bed beside him and allowing the magic to swirl his consciousness away from the painful reality and into a long, meandering train of non-linear thoughts.
…it was fine, he could have the potion...Pomfrey would wonder why he might need more so soon, but Lily would probably make it if Remus or James asked her to…he could owl into Hogsmeade for any ingredients she might not have in her kit…or possibly Sirius…Sirius had so many herbs in his kit and Sirius was so good at Potions even though he hates them… but Pads loves Moony so much, would do anything for his Moony, even make the potions… and Prongs hadn’t seen Padfoot in days, either, where was he…he’d promised he would never leave him alone ever again…
…
“Eat that,” four tables away, Remus watched as Regulus all but threw a pastry at Sirius hard enough to break magically charmed dishes.
Trying to pretend he wasn’t looking, he watched, secretly begging Sirius to just listen to anybody for once in his bloody life and eat the food. He’d always been thin (stupid Noble and Most Abusive House of Inbreeding), but these days he looked skeletal.
“Ew, no. I’m not eating that now, Reg,” Sirius tried to shove the food right back at his brother, and Remus could see the way that Reg’s fingers twitched toward the wand sitting next to his pumpkin juice.
“Sweet Salazar, Siri—”
When he next spoke, Sirius’ voice had shifted from impertinence and haughty defiance into something shameful and sad and quiet enough that Remus had to resort to reading Sirius’ lips to make it out, “Anyway, I’m not hungry,”
The snap of something literally sparking off of Regulus’ form hurt Remus’ ears and smelled like the sky before a lightning storm, metallic and charged. Three Slytherins yelped as they were caught by the snap of electricity, shooting brief glares at Regulus for the insult for all he didn’t notice. He had been nothing but composed literally two minutes earlier, but now looked like he was running on rage exclusively. Honestly, for the House of Black, he might have been.
“You can swallow it or I can shove it up your arse. Either way, it’s ending up in your stomach,”
Sirius paused, contemplated the threat. Not like he was thinking about eating it or just testing his baby brother, but like he was trying to gage if he had the energy to go toe to toe with him. A flicker of a heartbeat, Sirius allowed his eyes to peek through his hair at the table he should’ve been sat at and they widened when he noticed Remus was already looking back it him. He could taste the swirl of guilt and shame and shock and, honestly, just a tiredness Sirius wore in his bones as it poured out of his gaze.
“Reg, I…” a sigh.
Regulus clocked the shift in Sirius instantly, and his head quickly swiveled to follow where his forlorn stare lingered. Needed to identify his next victim, probably. For fuck’s sake, he should’ve known. Lupin. Seriously, this fuck again? His fingers actually did brush the wand that time, and Remus was quite sure he was about to be cursed from four tables away, except Sirius tasted his brother’s rage, too, and reached for Regulus’ hand to keep it from flinging a silent curse at the boy he still loved who absolutely hated him.
“Reggie, don’t.”
Regulus looked back at his brother, half noting that at least if Sirius was glaring at him he wasn’t looking back at his old table with a pained longing. They had a brief conversation with their eyes that not even a werewolf had a chance of eavesdropping upon and, whatever they spoke of, Regulus ended that exchange with concern he was trying to cover with annoyance and Sirius ended it with a resignation to whatever fate came next.
“Fine. Not here then,” Reg jerked his head in a nod, finally grabbing his wand only to tuck it into the pocket of his robes and push himself away from the bench. He allowed Sirius to leave the breakfast and broken plate untouched but dragged him to his own two feet so Regulus could begin towing him out of the Great Hall the same way he’d led Sirius into it. They paused in their march when Regulus bent over to whisper something into the ear of Dorcas Meadowes as he passed her by, and Sirius just stood there like a zombie while he did it. Like a house with no lights on.
Seemingly orders given, Dorcas nodded, stood to go talk to Crouch and the Rosier twins, and Remus followed Reg and Sirius all the way to the door with his eyes, a churning in his gut because Sirius might have come to breakfast that morning but he hadn’t actually eaten any of it.
There was already someone in their dorm room when the Marauders trudged back up the tower to grab their packed trunks. It could’ve been Sirius. He was, technically, still entitled to his quarter of the room, even though he hadn’t been brave enough to take it back in any real way for weeks. James knew that Sirius had been coming back when he probably thought nobody would notice. During meals or classes or while they slept. But Padfoot had never been great at remembering to clean his toothpaste off the edges of the sink and didn’t think to cast a drying charm over the shower curtain on his way out the door before dawn. Even though he still didn’t want to see his face, it made James a bit sick to think about how Sirius hadn’t even come back six times in the last five weeks.
It wasn’t Padfoot back to collect his trunk that they found in the dorm now, though.
“Remind me again how the fuck we got roped into this?”
James and Remus paused on the staircase, twin looks of apprehension and annoyance. Pete just looked annoyed.
“You befriended Regulus Black on the Hogwarts Express four years ago. It’s been downhill for you since then,”
“Fucking tosser,”
“Too right,”
Their steps quickened.
“Hurry up—”
They reached the fifth floor of their tower and—
“Um,” James cleared his throat when his voice broke and tried again, “Get out?” he asked like it was request rather than the order he wanted it to be.
Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch jr. were in their dorm room and, looking around, seemed about halfway through packing up Sirius’ abandoned belongings with all the care of a pair of hippogriffs. Barty was tossing hastily corked bottles of ink into the mouth of an open trunk without even looking and Rosier must be in the bathroom unless he had somehow discovered Prongs’ cloak. And wasn’t that a horrifying thought? Both of those nutters were certifiable and destructive enough without the added threat of them also being invisible.
“Oh. You lot,” Barty somehow made his greeting sound like they were actually intruding on him, “Was hoping the pasties would be at least enough to stall Pettigrew a bit longer at the breakfast table,”
Peter flushed and ducked his head, trying to subtly brush the crumbs off the front of his shirt. It was a joke that Prongs might have made too, honestly, but he would’ve said it in that cloyingly affectionate way he always spoke to those that he loves and Wormy would’ve laughed and rubbed his crumby fingers on James shirt in retribution. Barty spat it like a mean, venomous serpent who clocked the runt of the pack as easy pickings.
“Get out,” Remus demanded, shouldering his way through where Prongs and Wormtail were still lingering in the doorway. They had left the Great Hall sooner than they normally would have. Pete hadn’t had as many pasties as he put on his plate and Remus was only able to swallow one mouthful of tea at breakfast before Prongs ruined their favorite meal of the day by nudging Remus with widened eyes and jerking his chin at the goings on at the Hall’s ornate doors. Hushed whispers traveled up and down not just the Gryffindor table at seeing Sirius Black being bodily dragged to the Slytherin table trapped between his brother and a herd of green and silver.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Crouch?” if Barty was concerned about the angry, Welsh, (secret) werewolf who’d found him in his den without permission, he didn’t show it. But Barty Crouch jr. didn’t actually seem to have any self-preservation instincts at all, really, so what had they been expecting?
“Playing house elf for the Brothers Black, apparently,”
“And they already have so many of those, honestly,” Evan Rosier’s voice echoed out of the bathroom.
Barty began tugging white shirts out of Sirius’ dresser drawer and tossing them in next, answering the invisible voice, “Yeah, but Orion keeps mounting their heads on the wall and Kreacher hates Sirius and would sooner set this red and gold nightmare on fire or transfigure his broom into his own non-removable butt plug,”
“Well that’s an idea, babe—”
“How did you even get in?”
Evan poked his head out for a smirk, “To Sirius’ arse or to this eyesore of a tower?”
Barty laughed, jerked his chin in the direction of the stairwell, “We used the door, same as you,” like it was obvious and they were idiots.
“Plus McKinnon let the password slip to Dorcas weeks ago and you stupid Gryffindors never bother to change it, apparently,”
“How you lot remain alive is a mystery for the ages,”
“I’d guess dumb luck,” Evan swanned his way out of the bathroom, a satchel with Sirius’ toothbrush and comb in one hand and a floating trail of hair potions following after him. Most of them were James’.
“Get out of our room,” Pete finally plucked up the courage to speak after the pasty comment, and James would remind himself to be proud of him for it later.
“We would love to, truly,” Evan knocked Sirius’ pillow to the floor, checking the crumpled bedclothes for anything hidden. “We actually don’t want to be here at all,”
Remus did his best not to gulp when he spotted one of his jumpers crumpled where the pillow used to be, nor did he ask himself why he allowed Barty to toss it into Sirius' trunk with the rest of his belongings. He only recognized that the idea of some part of Remus going wherever Sirius was headed was oddly comforting, given the circumstances
“So why are you?” Remus growled, more wolf than person.
Barty got to the last drawer, full of snacks from Honeyduke’s and empty Zonko’s boxes.
“Lost a bet,”
“Torture,”
Remus rolled his eyes.
“Why are you taking all of Sirius’ things?” James bit out.
Crouch looked away from the emptied dresser, derision in his glare.
Evan's was altogether frostier.
“Finally, one of you lions asks a useful question,” his voice was low, and posh, and patronizing as he took slow steps toward their still forms. His gaze was pitying. Moony wanted to eat him. “We are here packing up the paltry remains of your friendship because none of you bothered to. We are here because Regulus is held up in the kitchens trying to get Sirius to eat anything at all without immediately puking it right back up. We are here because Dora is up with Madam Pomfrey making up some lie to get a stash of nutrient potions for when he inevitably fails,” glaring directly at Remus, “We are here because you left your abandoned little puppy on the side of the road and we’ve elected to adopt him. And finders really are keepers, aren’t they?”
Wormtail tried to catch Prongs’ eye, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Suddenly nauseous himself, James was beginning to think Evan sounded like Padfoot was gone forever, wasn't ever going to be their friend again, be a Marauder again, and he hadn’t talked to Moony about it but he didn’t want Sirius gone permanently, right? He can’t just be gone. It’s Sirius.
“Is that all, you think?” Evan, now done with his taunting, looked bored once more. He spared a few extra seconds to peruse the room as a whole, not bothering to disguise his obvious displeasure at being surrounded by the garish red everywhere.
Barty swept any remaining papers off of Sirius’ desk and into the open lid of his trunk, kicking it shut with the toe of his Converse. Then, a snap of his fingers later, the trunk fit in his hand and he was shoving it rather obscenely down the front of his jeans.
“Yes, I think we’re quite finished here,”