Chapter Text
Sirius hadn’t been expelled.
Somehow, despite nearly getting three students killed and blowing open the biggest secret in Gryffindor Tower to Severus Snape, of all people, Sirius was still a student at Hogwarts.
Part of him wished he’d been expelled.
If he were still a student, he had something to look forward to. Not much of something, but it was still something. If he just survived the holiday, he could go back to school. See Remus and James and Peter again. Co-exist in their dorm (though James and Peter had made it very clear that Sirius was not considered one of their friends in the last few hours before catching the Express back to London).
He could maybe apologize.
Not that Sirius Black ever apologized for much, but he could muster a genuine apology when he knew he’d genuinely fucked up. And he’d realized he’d genuinely fucked up the next morning.
The next fucking morning.
It hadn’t seemed real, at the time. Everything had been moving so slow. He’d felt like he were underwater, or in a dark room, or muffled by shadows. He’d heard the words he’d said, but he hadn’t realized what he was saying. He hadn’t felt the way the skin split over his knuckles where he caught Snape’s teeth with his punch. He barely realized James and Peter had run out of the dorm, or why McGonagall was dragging him to Dumbledore’s office.
No, it was upon waking up the next morning and hearing silence from his roommates that the truth came rushing back with all his senses, and Sirius realized that he’d sent Snape to the Shack.
During a full moon.
And all because Snape hadn’t shut up about how Remus wasn’t really their friend, he was just a weak tagalong who could do nothing better than suck their dicks.
Sirius had just snapped. It was one thing to pick at him, pick at how he shunned the Family traditions and disgraced their heritage. That was fair. That was true. But Remus? Quiet, gentle, brilliant Remus with the soft smile and moonlit eyes? Remus was the best damn wizard in all of Gryffindor Tower. He deserved better than the filth Snape had been spewing.
Sirius didn’t know why he said what he’d said. He honestly couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking, if he’d been thinking at all.
That had been happening a lot, lately. Not-thinking. Sometimes, Sirius would blackout completely: blink and be in a completely different place, or have pages of notes he couldn’t read, or be balls-deep in some girl he didn’t even know the name of. He didn’t understand what was happening. Was he being cursed? Or was it his mind’s desperate attempts to protect itself from the upcoming horror of the holidays?
Snape had been speaking, and Sirius had stopped being in control of his own body. He’d signed something at Dumbledore’s insistence and woken up to realize that he’d nearly killed everyone who actually meant something to him.
Small wonder James’ eyes were full of ice, or Peter turned his back when Sirius was in the room.
He didn’t even try to visit Remus in the Hospital Wing.
Sirius sat with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team on the way home for the holidays, although unbeknownst to them, he was no longer a member. It was part of his punishment: no more Quidditch for the rest of the year. No more free evenings, either. Sirius had detention every single night. He had some essays to write. And he’d lost Gryffindor 100 points.
James’ heroic act of saving Snape’s life (and Remus’, by extension), had earned Gryffindor 100 points, so no one else would know, but it was still the greatest single-event loss of points Sirius had ever caused.
None of it felt like enough. Sirius rubbed his chest and curled up tighter in his bed. They should have talked to Orion if they wanted to give him a punishment that stuck.
Or they should have just expelled him.
There was a knock on his door, and then it swung open. If you didn’t know how to lift it just so, it would creak.
Regulus didn’t know the trick.
Sirius tugged his blankets over his head. He didn’t want to talk to Regulus right now.
“Are you sick?”
“Fuck off, Rabbit.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Reggie.”
“Sirius.” It was almost a growl. Almost. Regulus couldn’t muster the emotion for a growl. Regulus couldn’t muster any emotion. The boy had been an empty shell of a human being ever since he was a baby. He never cried, never laughed, never screamed.
Used to let Sirius call him pet names, though. Rabbit, for R.A.B., for the titchy little scrawny bean of a boy Regulus had been. (Still was.) Reggie, when Sirius was feeling less charitable. Ever since Hogwarts, though, Regulus had been even more insistent that Sirius use his full name. (Sirius had been even more insistent that he not.)
“If you’re not sick, we’re having guests for dinner.”
Sirius groaned and dragged his pillow over his head. “I’ve got the pox.”
“You had the pox eight years ago. Mother says you’re to be properly dressed.”
“Walburga can go boil her fat head.”
“Sirius.” Only Regulus could pack so much derision into his name. “It’s Dorinda Avery and her family.”
“They’re here for you, Rabbit. I’d only ruin your chances.”
“You’re still the elder son, and the most eligible.”
Sirius pushed himself up to glare at Regulus, who was standing just inside his door. “You think there’s a single damn pureblood witch in the world who wants to marry me? Dear little Dory is here for you, Rabbit, and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you might actually make a match.”
Regulus shifted, the discomfort plain on his face. Discomfort was one of his few genuine emotions, and it was a frequent visitor whenever anyone talked about the continuation of the Black Family lineage. Unlike Sirius, who would pursue any witch who let him get close enough (no one ever felt the same as Lucia Nerin), Regulus had a reputation at school for being aloof and standoffish. The only way a witch could get close to the supremely eligible Regulus Black was through study dates, and Sirius knew his little brother was too anal for a study date to ever become anything more than a time set aside for study.
“I’m fourteen,” Regulus finally said. “That’s still too young for a match.”
“Yeah? Tell that to Grandfather Pollux.” Sirius turned away from Regulus and pulled the blankets up tight.
Regulus gave a huff from the doorway. “Oh, why can’t you just grow up?” he demanded. “You’re sixteen, Sirius, not six! You are still the heir to this family, and you have duties and responsibilities to uphold! Stop embarrassing all of us! Stop embarrassing yourself! Just grow up!”
Frustration. That was another one of Regulus’ rare emotions.
“Fuck off and die, Rabbit.”
“Do you think any of us enjoy this? None of us get a moment’s peace when you’re sulking around the house in one of your fits!”
“One of my-!” Sirius rolled to face his brother. “You mean, when our dear sweet mummy is torturing me?”
“Cruciatus is not that bad,” Regulus said. His hands were on his hips. It didn’t suit him.
“Says the little freak.” Regulus’ six seconds of silent Cruciatus from his initiation was already the stuff of Family legend. His little brother’s pain tolerance was astronomically high. Sometimes, Sirius wondered if Regulus wasn’t just a magical experiment that couldn’t actually feel sensations at all..
Probably, if Sirius really tried, he could withstand Cruciatus in freakish silence too. He’d had enough experience with the pain of it to know what to expect, after all. (Walburga had already welcomed him home with the curse for giving her an ‘inappropriate look’.) He didn’t see any reason to bother with silence. Screaming at least felt like it helped, and Sirius had realized that the louder he screamed, the more likely Orion was to kick him over to the Potters.
Not that the Potters would be an option anymore. James had made it very clear that Sirius was not a friend.
Shit. Sirius hadn’t even considered that aspect of the fallout. He couldn’t flee to the Potters. There would be no escape from Grimmauld Place this Christmas, or any Christmas ever again. He had to survive on his own, until he could get back to Hogwarts.
If only Dumbledore had actually expelled him. Then he wouldn’t have any reason to cling to hope and keep going.
Sirius slumped back against his pillows, his gaze drifting around the room. Gryffindor banners and muggle posters decorated the walls, designed to infuriate his mother. His trunk was half unpacked, homework strewn about wherever he’d bothered to drop it. There was nothing he considered truly important in this room. Anything he was scared Walburga might destroy, he left at Hogwarts during the shorter holidays.
He’d learned his lesson from the little stuffed dog he’d had as a child. It had been a black velveteen toy, with chewed-up ears and shiny glass eyes. Sirius had named it Canis and slept with it every night. When he went to Hogwarts, he’d left it at home, sitting on his pillow, determined that he would never let any of his classmates know he was a baby who still had a stuffy he loved.
Canis was gone when he got home that first Christmas. Sirius never knew what had happened to it. He assumed Walburga had destroyed it, like she tried to do to anything else Sirius loved and she considered inappropriate. Thank Godric for Uncle Alphard’s book of sticking charms.
But really, what was the difference between Canis and himself these days? Just a once-beloved toy, now deemed useless and a liability? Maybe Sirius should take a lesson from Walburga and throw himself into the fire. Just get it all over with. Nobody wanted him back at Hogwarts. His family certainly didn’t want him. He didn’t even have any friends left.
“Sirius?” Regulus was standing beside the bed. Sirius blinked. When had he moved? Had he blacked out again? “Maybe you actually are sick…”
Regulus’ thin hand was cool against Sirius’ forehead. Sirius didn’t try to bat him away. He just closed his eyes and imagined there was a note of concern in his brother’s voice, for once.
“I’ll make your excuses, but she won’t be happy.” Regulus withdrew his hand and backed away. “Get some rest. She won’t let you miss the Malfoy party, no matter how sick you actually are.”
She won’t be happy. Was it even possible for Walburga Black to be happy these days? Sirius couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever seen his mother smile.
Regulus closed the door quietly, and Sirius pulled the covers over his head again. One night. He’d bought himself one night of solitude. It was no Potters’ cottage, but it was better than nothing at all.
‘Unhappy’ ended up being the wrong word for Walburga’s fury. After the dinner, Sirius had heard her storming upstairs, but he’d also heard Regulus’ quiet murmur running interference right outside his door. Sirius had huddled beneath his covers and wondered how badly he was going to owe Regulus for sticking his neck out like that come morning.
He had tried to avoid his mother, but with Kreacher literally dragging him out of bed and all but shoving him into the dining room for meals, complete avoidance was impossible. Sirius couldn’t make it through a single day without triggering Walburga’s rage. Whether it was looking at her the wrong way, or not looking at her, or not eating enough, or eating too much, or being late for a meal, or being early… Sirius just couldn’t win. He couldn’t escape.
Even if he could, he had nowhere to go.
On Christmas Eve, there was no pre-party Cruciatus. There was a Full Body Bind that lasted over an hour. Walburga had demanded Sirius get dressed early, then locked him still and circled to make sure his hair and robes were perfect. She replaced a golden lion pin with a silver serpent one and patted him down until she found his wand, which she concealed in her own robes.
Sirius hadn’t even bothered to attempt to sneak in any dungbombs or wet-start fireworks. What was even the point?
Walburga released the Bind just before shoving him through the Floo. There was no time to demand his wand back before he was stumbling out into the den of Slytherins, trying desperately not to lose his balance on numb legs. Thankfully, Regulus came through immediately after, and then Orion and Walburga. Though Sirius was a lone Gryffindor in this snake nest, none of them were so crass as to openly attack him in front of his family.
Regulus pressed up close to Sirius, guiding him toward the refreshments table. He didn’t look happy, but he was, Sirius noticed, paying attention to the shake of Sirius’ hand. He was giving Sirius cover while Sirius recovered from the Bind and worked his circulation back.
“Try not to cause a scene, for once?” Regulus hissed under his breath. “It’s Christmas. For Salazar’s sake, just… stand against the wall and say nothing?”
“Walburga took my wand,” Sirius muttered back. “I’m not so stupid as to start something when I’m defenseless.”
Regulus was unamused. “Somehow, I doubt that will make a difference.”
Regulus stayed by Sirius’ elbow for five minutes before melting into the crowd. Sirius picked up a glass of spiced butterbeer and slunk away. At least right now, dressed in emerald green silk and decorated with silver and snakes, he didn’t immediately look like a Gryffindor.
Uncle Alphard was nowhere to be seen. Sirius tried to hide without hiding near a column, scanning the crowd for his ridiculously tall uncle and his long silver hair. An uneasy tightness clenched in his chest when he skimmed over the heads of the gathered purebloods a third time and still didn’t see Alphard. At well over two meters tall, Alphard couldn’t hide in a crowd.
Sirius did spot his grandfather, Pollux, heading back for the refreshments table. He pulled away from the column and made his way to Pollux’s side. Out of all of his relatives, Alphard openly supported him, but Pollux at least didn’t openly loathe him. Pollux seemed to find all of the blood traitor accusations hurled Sirius’ way a bit of good fun. He never helped Sirius, but at least he didn’t actively lash out against him, either.
“Grandfather?”
“Please, not here,” Pollux scoffed. “You’re going to make me sound so old around all of these lovely ladies. Adourna! Yes, of course I was talking about you!” Pollux bent over the hand of a witch half his age, giving her a smile that Sirius had used many times himself.
To be fair to Pollux, the wizard looked thirty years younger than he actually was. At sixty-three, the lines in his face were from laughter and smiles. His blue eyes were still bright, black hair unsalted, no belly stretching his robes in the front. He selected a glass of mulled wine from the table and sipped it as he turned to give Sirius an expectant look.
“Is Uncle Alphard around?”
Pollux was Alphard’s father. If anyone knew where Alphard was, surely it would be him.
Unfortunately, Pollux was not a very attentive father. He actually pouted slightly at the mention of his eldest son, very nearly rolling his eyes. “Alphard will not be attending tonight.”
“Is he okay?” Sirius asked quickly. The Curse was eating Alphard alive. Over the summer, his uncle had been leaning heavily on a cane. Was he on his deathbed already?
“He’s not quite bedridden,” Pollux said, taking pity on Sirius’ expression. “Not yet. But a crowded room is no place for someone with such an advanced Curse. You’ll have to go visit him yourself, if you wanted to see him.”
“Will he be at the Hall for Christmas?”
Pollux shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. Alphard has been relishing the excuse to not see any of the rest of us for months now. Course, he always came around for you.”
Sirius nodded. “Thank you, G- Sir.”
Pollux’s smile was part indulgence, part snake, as he shooed Sirius away. “Go off somewhere else, little lion. I won’t be competing against a younger man.”
If there was no Alphard at this party, then there was no one Sirius could stand next to and receive some protection from. He made his way across the ballroom, trying to ignore how many sets of eyes were tracking him. Everybody who was anybody in Slytherin House was invited to this party. Maybe even Snape, if the rumors about who counted him a friend were correct. Not that Snape could afford to match the dress code for a party of this quality.
Nobody was directly following Sirius as he slipped out of the ballroom and into the Manor proper. The music and voices were muffled by the heavy oak doors closing behind him, and Sirius breathed a small sigh of relief. He snuck around the corner and crept up an imposing staircase.
Most of these manors were laid out similarly, especially the ones renovated after the invention of the hallway. Sirius wandered the long corridors, sipping on his butterbeer and eyeing the portraits of generations of Malfoys, all with the same white-blonde hair and slightly-wrinkled noses. “You’d look more attractive if you smiled,” he told one painted witch.
“Well!” she snapped, pressing her hand to her bosom. “I never!”
Sirius shook his head and kept walking.
The portraits were whispering around him. Sirius left his glass on a table and pushed open a door. This was an office, with high bookshelves and an imposing desk. Sirius went to the window and pushed it open, leaning against the frame and taking a deep breath. Outside was bitingly cold, but at least the air was fresher, not perfumed with spices and colognes. He stared up at the waning moon. Was Moony at home? Was he still injured? Was he thinking about Sirius?
Probably, probably, and probably not. Sirius pulled back from the window with a shiver and looked around for a fireplace. He wasn’t the best at wandless magic, having spent years working on focus and control of his magic so he stopped setting things on fire whenever he lost his temper, but fire remained the one magic he could tap without his wand. He took a deep breath and cast out his hand, feeling for a spark of his raw magic and flinging it toward the huge stone fireplace by the door. The logs immediately caught flame, a fire roaring to life. Sirius pulled back his hands and rubbed them together. He hadn’t meant to throw quite that much, but at least it worked.
Even with the window open, the fire quickly warmed the room. Sirius tore his eyes away from the flames to peruse the bookshelves. Did the Malfoys have anything interesting? Anything Sirius hadn’t seen in any of the Blacks’ own libraries? His mind wandered back to Remus.
Maybe anything on the Animagus transformation?
The door clicked open before Sirius had perused more than two of the tall shelves. He whirled around as girlish giggling suddenly cut off. Bellatrix was in the doorway, one of her hands curled around the wrist of Rabastan Lestrange. His mouth was pressed against her neck, his free hand grasping her front, just beneath a breast.
Bellatrix was staring right at Sirius. There was no hiding from his cousin. Sirius closed the book he was holding and tossed it down on the desk, bracing for a fight.
“Sirius.” Bellatrix’s voice was poisonous, her wand materializing from a sleeve. “Fancy running into you here…”
“I could say the same for you, Bella dear,” Sirius said. “Have you switched your fiancé on us? Or do they share you?”
Bellatrix’s eyes narrowed to slits, and a flick of her wand sent a ripple of purple energy toward Sirius. He ducked to the side, anticipating the attack, and shoved a chair at her. Bellatrix gave a wordless scream, and Rabastan released her to instead lunge at Sirius.
Physical fighting was something Sirius was good at. The other Gryffindors sometimes teased him for being an aristocratic ponce, but Sirius wasn’t a first-string Beater for nothing (hadn’t been). He swung a punch at Rabastan’s throat, trying to keep the older man between himself and Bellatrix, to use him as a fleshy shield.
Bellatrix’s scream, unfortunately, had not been just for effect. There were more people coming toward the study. Sirius could hear their feet racing down the polished corridors. Rabastan’s fist connected with Sirius’ cheekbone, and Bellatrix darted in with another curse that yanked Sirius’ legs out from under him. He hit the floor hard enough to wind himself, barely managing to roll away before Rabastan came down on him. Unfortunately, he rolled right into Rodolphus’ kick.
The first to fall was the first to lose, Sirius knew. He struggled and twisted, trying to get away from the fists and feet of the Lestrange brothers, but another round of Gang Up on the Gryffindor had begun.
Rodolphus had just been the first of the second wave of Slytherins. The annual Malfoy Christmas party was one of the few occasions where one of the infamous Gryffindor Marauders could be counted on to be alone and defenseless, and no Slytherin wanting to prove his worth to his peers ever wanted to miss a chance for payback. Sirius tried to fight back, as he always did, but between the curses and the physical blows, the best he ended up doing was curling up to protect his face and chest.
A sharp heel ground down hard on his hand, and Bellatrix cast out her arms to push the other Slytherins away from him. She gestured, and Rodolphus and Rabastan hauled him to his feet and shoved him up against the wall. Sirius wiped his arm against his cheek, gritting his teeth against the burst of pain. Fuck. Had one of them managed to break something?
“You are such a mess, cousin.” Bellatrix put the tip of her wand against Sirius’ throat, pinning him against the wall with just a touch. Even the Lestrange brothers backed away, watching the Black witch with grins of delight on their face. “I heard you got in a spot of nasty trouble right before the holidays. You almost got yourself expelled. More the pity. At least then, you might have been disgraced enough to be put out of your misery.”
Bellatrix hated him. She always had, ever since they were young. Even before Sirius had been Sorted, she had hated him, though she hadn't been allowed to touch her generation's heir. Her idea of ‘fun’ had always seemed to be torturing Regulus instead. Sirius suspected that Bellatrix was the secret behind Regulus’ quiet initiation. As a child, he had always done everything he could to interrupt the two of them when they were together. He had made a promise, after all. Protecting Regulus had been his duty.
After his Sorting, Bellatrix had been let off her leash about him. At least she’d stopped attacking Regulus when she had Sirius to torment.
“It would have put all of us out of our collective miseries,” Bellatrix was continuing. She reached out, trailing her long nails against Sirius’ cheek. He could feel a bone shift in his face and bit his tongue from making a sound. With this many Slytherins around, all he had left was his dignity.
Fat chance of that surviving, with how fast he’d had to curl up into a ball on the floor.
“One of these days,” Bellatrix whispered, pushing the wand further into Sirius’ throat, “I’m going to kill you…”
It was a threat Bellatrix had made often, but it landed differently tonight. Sirius felt the wand tip when he swallowed, and he felt something inside him shatter. It wasn’t the usual sort of snap, where Sirius’ temper broke and he flung himself at whatever had angered him, trying to deal the maximum damage in the minimum time. This was more like a shell falling away, some last defense over his battered heart.
Why was he even fighting her?
She wanted him dead. His whole family, save for Alphard, wanted him dead, and Alphard would be dead soon enough himself. He had no friends left. He didn’t even have the Quidditch team needing him anymore. What was even the point of staying alive?
His eyes drifted away from her hard glare, looking over her shoulder at the window and the freedom beyond. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up so hard. Everyone he’d ever loved had been at risk because they’d trusted him. Everyone who had been supposed to love him wanted to see him dead.
Why not just appease them all and let Bellatrix finally kill him?
“...do it,” he whispered.
The moon was still quite fat in the dark sky, wreathed by hundreds of stars. Moony. Sirius felt a fresh ache in his chest at the thought of the werewolf, undoubtedly broken and battered by Sirius’ betrayal. James trying to explain to him in the morning why the last moon had been worse than ever before. How it had all been Sirius’ fault. And all because they hadn’t managed to pull off the Animagus transformation in time.
It wasn’t wrong. Sirius knew they hadn’t done it wrong. They’d spent three years on the spell. Sirius had checked and double-checked everything. Their enunciation of the casting every day had been flawless. The dew had been untouched. The moon had been full. The lightning had been electrifying.
They had come so far, all three of them, and all they were missing was that last and final nudge. Sirius knew that was all they were missing. He could feel it in his bones, and in his heart. One final step, and they’d be able to become animals and help Remus.
One final step.
Sirius’ thoughts focused on that, swirling around and around.
One final step.
They almost had it. Remus was almost able to get some relief.
And after all the pain Sirius had given him, didn’t he owe that to Remus? Relief during the full moon?
He was one step away.
Why was he throwing it away?
Why was he throwing Remus’ relief away!?
Sirius’ eyes snapped back to Bellatrix. She was grinning, her lips forming words. “Avada Keda-”
“NO!”
Sirius roared, lashing up suddenly. He grabbed Bellatrix’s wand arm, forcing the tip away just as the green beam shot out, slamming into the wall and scorching the plaster. His other hand was around her throat, and he screamed as she did, spinning around and flinging her into the fireplace.
The flames exploded. Scorching heat blasted out of the hearth, knocking the closest wizards, including Sirius, off their feet. Bellatrix was screaming in pain and panic, clawing at the lashing fire as if it were a living thing. The Lestranges were rushing in, trying to grab her and pull her out. Other Slytherins were panicking, gibbering about defensive curses and protective fireplaces.
Sirius shoved past them all, taking advantage of the moment of distraction to sprint for the window. Someone grabbed him, but he elbowed them in the face, grabbing for the open frame and hauling himself out. He didn’t even pause, hurling his body into the open air. It was only a twenty foot drop or so. Child’s play for a Marauder.
He hoped.
Sirius hit the ground hard, his left ankle buckling with a snap. He bit his lip and pushed himself forward, willing adrenaline and fear to erase the pain. Run. Run. He only had as long as Bellatrix was burning to get away.
The Slytherins were screaming behind him, but Sirius wasn’t looking back. He made it to a copse of trees and kept pushing, screaming at himself to not give up, not look down, just run and run as hard and as fast as he could. His arms were pumping with each jarring stride, pumping and stretching and turning black as he fell forward and kept running, a long, loping spring of a four-legged dog. The world was dimmer in color but brighter in scent, and Sirius just ran.
When he couldn’t run any longer, he walked. When he couldn’t walk, he collapsed. Four legs buckled, his head sagged onto furry paws, and his tail thumped onto the ground. Sirius lay where he’d fallen, panting heavily and staring down his long muzzle.
His muzzle.
His paws.
His tail.
Sirius gave said tail a twitch. It thumped. He turned an ear toward the sound. He could turn his fucking ears. Because they were pointed and standing up off the top of his head.
Because he was a dog!
Sirius lifted his head and looked around. He was out in a field, miles from anywhere he recognized. His legs ached, but everything that had been hurt in the skirmish at the Manor was just a dull throbbing instead of a sharp pain. He twisted, sniffing at his left hind leg. He could smell blood, and when he licked it, he could taste it, the sharp, sweet feeling of a living creature. He flexed his paw and whined, then curled up a little tighter. The wind was harsh across this field, but his coat was now thick black fur, not thin dress robes. He drew all his legs in beneath himself and brought his tail up to tuck his nose into. If the Blacks came looking for him, they wouldn’t recognize their runaway son as a furry black mound in an empty field. Surely, as a dog, he was safe.
Sleeping as a dog in a field was not something SIrius recommended. He jolted awake several times during the night, ears twisting toward the distant sound of hisses and howls, of other creatures making their way around the field in the dark. Thankfully, nothing seemed eager to disturb the large black dog, though one time, Sirius did wake up to find a little dormouse nose to nose with him.
The next time Sirius woke up, the sun was starting to rise, turning the overcast sky a muddy gray. He shivered, the cold having set in through his thick coat, and pushed himself to his feet. Immediately, he groaned, all of his muscles feeling stiff and tight. He took a few stumbling steps and sat down, already panting.
Okay. He needed to take a minute to figure out just what, exactly, he was going to do. That would start with stretching slowly, trying to work out the aches in his overtaxed muscles.
Malfoy Manor was… somewhere near Stonehenge, Sirius knew. West of London. If he had his wand, he could have summoned the Knight Bus and gotten a ride somewhere, but Walburga had taken his wand. He had this dog form, his Animagus shape, and he had some crude fire magic. In a pinch, he supposed he could pawn the silver jewelry he was wearing to some muggles.
But where could he even go?
Hogwarts was too far to the north. Sirius would never make it back to the school in one piece without his wand. Uncle Alphard lived in Birmingham, also too far away. Maybe… Andromeda? She lived on the east coast, probably even further away as a dog could run than Alphard. Sirius had never been to her house in person, though. The last thing he wanted was to bring the Family to her doorstep.
She was probably his best hope of an ally right now. Sirius doubted he would get away with… killing Bellatrix? Almost killing her? That fireplace hadn’t reacted normally when he flung Bellatrix into the flames. Leave it to the Malfoys to have a bloodthirsty fireplace. If it were cursed, if she were dead now...
If Bellatrix was dead, Sirius was dead as soon as the Family caught up to him. And disgraced though she was, Dromeda was Bellatrix’s little sister. She might draw the line at accepting blood traitors when they had her sister’s blood on their hands. Sirius knew he’d never forgive anyone who murdered Regulus, no matter how much of a prat Regulus could be.
James. He might forgive James for murdering Regulus.
We will never turn you away. Not ever. If you are lost, or scared, or hurt, you can always come here.
Effie’s warm voice trickled through Sirius’ mind. How many times had she folded him in her arms over the years, assuring him that he was just as much a part of their lives as James was? James hated him right now, but his parents…?
His parents might be the key. Even if all they did was let him use their Floo to get to Alphard’s or Dromeda’s or Hogwarts… it was a plan. They were in Godric’s Hollow. That was west, and north a bit? If he could find a town with a train station, maybe he could find a map.
Sirius took a deep breath and tried walking again. His legs still ached, but at least he could move. His left hind leg was painful to put any weight on, but he had three other good ones. He could limp along at a fairly decent pace.
Sirius trudged across the country until he couldn’t walk any further, and then he slept until he was too cold to stay still any longer. He drank from rivers and streams and bowls of water people left outside for their pets. He traveled more easily when it was dark and overcast, drawing less attention when the shadows matched his fur. Eating was a bit more of a challenge, but the dog’s mind (he’d started calling the dog Padfoot, like how Remus’ wolf was Moony) mercifully took over. If he spotted a rat or a stoat, he’d pull back and let the dog track and hunt and kill, trying not to think too hard about what he was crunching between his jaws. Every time he found a map, he tried to memorize the pattern of roads and rails and rivers, reorienting himself toward Godric’s Hollow.
It was stupidly early in the morning three days later when he started recognizing trees and paths. Hedges. Houses. That familiar blue door! Padfoot dragged himself up onto the porch, and Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on all the bits of himself that were human. It took a moment, but it was like fitting a key into a lock. As soon as he had it oriented right, everything just slid into place.
Immediately, the cold swallowed him up. Sirius yelped, huddling into a tight ball. It was an icy night, with thick, wet snow falling quite heavily, and a brisk wind was cutting straight through his thin dress robes. He was shivering even before the pain of all of his various injuries reasserted themselves. The bruises and scrapes hadn’t hurt nearly as much as Padfoot. Only the damage to his face and ankle had ached when he’d been a dog, but even then, it had been bearable. Now, the broken bones felt fresh, spiking hot pain through him with every shift he made against the cold.
Sirius slumped to his knees, huddling against the edge of the door. He’d made it. He was at the Potters’. All he had to do now was knock.
All he had to do.
What if James answered? It was probably half past two in the morning. Effie and Monty would be fast asleep. Old people were heavy sleepers, right? If James woke up, if James saw him huddled in his doorway… would James turn him away?
James wasn’t the only Hogwarts student who lived in Godric’s Hollow. Sirius shivered and tried to think of who else would stop by sometimes, joining them on broomsticks or exploring the riverbanks. There were a pair of Hufflepuffs, a Slytherin (no), and… three younger Gryffindors? Sirius didn’t even remember any of their names, much less which houses they lived at. None of them had been as important as James and the Potters.
“Just knock,” Sirius instructed himself. He was shivering hard enough that his shoulder practically did the knocking for him. “Do it!” He was out of options right now. Risk the Potters throwing him out, or freeze right here on their front porch.
Sirius peeled one hand away from his chest, pounding his fist against the door. He flinched and curled up tighter, waiting.
No answer.
With a little sob, Sirius tried again. And again. Wake up, he begged the Potters in his mind. Wake up, please wake up, please…!
The door swung open, and Sirius nearly toppled inside the house. Monty stood above him, in fuzzy slippers and a tartan dressing gown, squinting down at him with his wand held loosely in his right hand.
Not James.
Sirius’ shoulders slumped, and he managed to lift his hand in a tiny wave. “...hi.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly way too dry to speak. “C-can I spend the night?”
“Merlin…” Monty let out a long, deep sigh and backed away from the door. “Come on in. Quick, you’re letting the cold in.”
Sirius used the doorframe to drag himself to his feet. He yipped when he put his weight on his human left foot for the first time in three days and the ankle nearly gave out again. Only Monty’s quick grab for his arm kept him upright.
“Whoa there, what’s going on?” Monty closed the door behind Sirius, his face twisting in concern. “You okay?”
“...bum ankle,” Sirius admitted, eyeing Monty warily. How much had James told his parents about that last night at Hogwarts? Not everything, because James wouldn’t be so stupid as to out Remus as a werewolf, but did Monty know that he’d nearly gotten his son killed? “...sorry about the hour,” he mumbled. “Left from the Manor this time, not London…”
“Long walk,” Monty agreed. “Let’s get you sitting. Arm up here; I’m stronger than I look.”
Leaning against Monty’s side, his arm around the older man’s shoulders, Sirius was able to limp into the sitting room and sink into the familiar squishy couch. Monty cast a quick ignition spell at the fireplace to get some heat going and wrapped a blanket around Sirius’ shoulders.
Already, it was more than Sirius had been hoping for.
“You sit there, warm up, get some circulation going.” Monty’s eyes were fixed on Sirius’ face, the painful left side that Sirius knew had to at least be brightly colored with a bruise. “I’ll get the kettle on.”
Sirius nodded, exhausted and wrung out, aching more than just physically. He leaned toward the fire, pulling the blanket tighter around his sides.
Bellatrix was screaming, panicked and afraid, as the flames sunk into her skin and tried to rip her apart…
He jolted, jerking back with a low moan. He was dead. He was so dead.
Monty returned a couple minutes later, pressing a mug of cocoa (topped with marshmallows) into Sirius’ hand. The heat burned against his fingers, which were starting to warm up from the fire. Monty gave a little grunt as he sat on the couch next to Sirius, his knees cracking. “Right. Gimme your leg.”
Sirius blinked at him for a moment before realizing that Monty wanted to see his ankle. He turned on the couch, offering his left leg. Just above the fancy leather shoe, his ankle was clearly swollen. Sirius hissed in pain as Monty carefully took his shoe and sock off, prodding gently at the joint.
“...you walked here,” Monty asked slowly, “from Malfoy Manor? With your ankle broken?”
“I…” Sirius took a hasty slurp of his cocoa to buy himself some time for an answer. The chocolate burst across his tongue, warmth sliding down into his belly. It was the best thing he’d tasted in three days, almost completely distracting him from Monty’s question. “...I hitchhiked some?”
Monty squinted at Sirius again. Sirius couldn’t meet the older wizard’s eyes.
“Sirius,” he said, his voice soft and understanding, “are you in some sort of trouble?”
Sirius couldn’t help the short bark of laughter that question triggered. “They’re gonna kill me, this time,” he told Monty. “I think… I may have… I hurt Bellatrix. Real bad. I don’t know if she’s… still alive. The Family-”
Monty shook his head, one hand on Sirius’ calf, above the broken bone. “The Family can wait until morning,” he said firmly. “We’ll get this fixed up tonight.”
“You can mend bones?” Sirius asked.
“Useful thing to know, when you’re into experimental magic…” Monty gave Sirius a wink, waving his wand over Sirius’ ankle and tapping once. Relief immediately flooded through Sirius’ leg, and he nearly groaned just from the sudden absence of pain. “Now lean in here, let me see that face of yours. Anything else broken?”
“No, sir,” Sirius said, closing his eyes as Monty gave a small push to his broken cheek, then flourished his wand and tapped again. “You are a miracle worker,” Sirius declared.
“Just don’t tell Effie.” Monty gave Sirius a pat on the shoulder. “How’s the cocoa?”
“Almost done.” Sirius took another long pull, licking a melting marshmallow off his lip. “Thank you. I, um, I can call Andromeda in the morning. Get out of your hair…”
“You can talk to us in the morning,” Monty said, scratching his graying curls and wrinkling his nose. “You didn’t get me out of bed at this stupid hour not to explain yourself. We’ll talk about it at breakfast.”
Sirius nodded, staring into his mug. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just… okay. James is probably gonna kill me for thinking it was okay to come here still, but… I didn’t know where else to go.”
“We’ll talk about it at breakfast,” Monty repeated, covering a yawn as he patted Sirius on the shoulder. “Right now, it’s bloody freezing, and I want to go back to sleep. And I should think you do, too.”
Sirius nodded, swallowing the last of the cocoa around the lump in his throat. He got to his feet, relieved to no longer be limping, and followed Monty upstairs to the familiar guest room. James’ bedroom door was shut, and Sirius glanced guiltily at it as he passed, but he didn’t say a word.
Monty folded down the sheet and dug some summer robes out of the closet to hand over to Sirius. They were a bit too lightweight for the weather, but as long as Sirius was staying inside, they’d be fine.
They were also a deep, rich red, and not this hideous green that stabbed Sirius’ soul every time he looked down at himself.
Before Monty could leave the room, Sirius impulsively reached out for the old wizard, pressing close to hug him. “Thank you,” he repeated, hiding in Monty’s broad chest, feeling every inch a child again, and not the nearly-adult wizard he was supposed to be.
“I’m not a monster,” Monty murmured, hugging Sirius back and patting his shoulder. “Nor’s James. It’ll be all right, Sirius. Just wait and see.”
You don’t know what I did… Sirius nodded and released Monty, waiting until Monty was gone before dragging his sleeves across his face. He locked the bedroom door and drew the curtains shut before stripping off the emerald green dress robes.
The Family crest was emblazoned across Sirius’ heart in thin, white scars. It had been several months since he’d last had to cut the marks into his skin, and they were starting to fade away. Sirius pressed his hand against the mark and took a deep breath.
You will always be a Black, Orion’s cool voice reminded him. There was no escaping the Family.
But maybe, tonight, Sirius could pretend.
He pulled on the borrowed robes and climbed into the guest bed. The room was cold, but the bed was soft. Sirius tucked his arms around the pillow and closed his eyes, shivering himself to sleep.
The morning sun pouring through the curtains was what woke Sirius up. He dragged the blankets over his head and hugged a pillow against his chest as recollections of the previous night flooded back in.
He was in Godric’s Hollow. In a bed which was almost as much his own as the one back at Grimmauld Place was. Or was it? Monty certainly accepted him last night, and if Monty did, Effie certainly would. But would either of them allow Sirius to stay if James refused?
That was the problem with borrowing someone else's parents. At some point, you had to give them back.
Sirius wiped at his face and forced himself to push the blankets back. He stared up at the ceiling, then sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
The full-length mirror tucked into the corner gave him a glimpse of his face, and Sirius winced. A deep purple bruise filled the left side, his eye slightly swollen from Rabastan’s fist. His hair was windswept and bedheaded, with a few dead leaves stuck in it. Sirius felt the sleeves of his borrowed, wrinkled robe before remembering that Walburga had taken his wand. There would be no hiding behind magic today.
Sirius picked the leaves out of his hair and tried to finger-comb it back into some semblance of normalcy. He wasn’t about to change back into the green silk robes on the floor, so the wrinkled ones would have to do. At least they were clean. He prodded his cheek, but aside from a bit of tenderness like an old bruise, it didn’t hurt. Thanks to Monty’s magic last night, it only looked hideous.
There was only so much Sirius could do to stall. The Potters knew he was here. At some point, he’d have to go downstairs and face them. Face James.
Years of practice sneaking around Grimmauld Place, trying to avoid Kreacher, served him well now. Sirius ghosted his way down the stairs and toward the kitchen, where he could hear the familiar sounds of Effie making breakfast for her boys.
At the foot of the stairs, Sirius hesitated. Through the glass door of the dining room, he could see James and Monty talking. Sirius couldn’t quite make out what James was saying, but his voice was low and heated. Even though James’ back was to the stairs, Sirius could recognize the hostility in his body language.
Yep. Still in deep shit. He shouldn’t stay here. James wouldn’t want him to stay. As long as Bellatrix wasn’t dead, Andromeda would probably put him up. At least until Nymphadora started cursing as filthily as he did.
Sirius curled around the banister and went to the back of the cottage, slipping into the kitchen. Effie was just turning away from the hob when Sirius entered, giving a jump of surprise, her hand flying to her chest.
"Godric, Sirius, you scared the living daylights out of me!" She set aside the pan she was using, opening her arms to offer him a hug. "How're you feeling this morning?" No judgment. No rejection. Sirius pressed his lips together in the face of her kindness and tried to give a noncommittal shrug.
Effie was offering a hug, and while he'd normally fly into her arms for the comfort, it didn't feel right to accept a hug from his best friend's mum when said best friend hated his guts right now but oh, Sirius had started moving anyway, without even realizing it, and he was pressed against her chest, clutching at her back as if he could hide away from the world if he just held on tight enough.
"Sorry," he whispered into her shoulder. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm..."
"Shh." She stroked his shoulder, holding him tight. Nothing had changed about this. Sirius still felt the way Effie gripped him close, as if she were daring the Blacks to try to rip him away from her. Protective. Warm. Caring.
"Shh, it's okay. It's okay. I've got you."
Sirius wasn't going to cry. He wasn't, because Walburga won when he broke to the point of tears, and he definitely didn't want James accusing him of crocodile tears to earn sympathy points with his own mum. He bit his lip until he was sure he could look at Effie without tears, though he wiped his hand across his eyes anyway, just in case.
None of his usual flippancy seemed appropriate right now. Effie’s hug had stripped away what little bravado Sirius had managed to pull back, and he was just lost and alone all over again. He took a shaky breath and glanced back at the dining room. "I, uh, royally fucked up with James before the hols," he told her, opting for honesty. He cleared his throat and fiddled with a button on the borrowed robes. "I can call Andromeda today and get out of your hair. Probably."
"Seriously?"
That wasn't Effie. That was James, sounding horrified and a little angry, from the doorway. "You shut the fuck up, Black. You think you've got to leave? Over that?" He sounded as though the thought hadn't even occurred to him that Sirius needed to leave.
"James!" Effie scolded, letting go of Sirius. Sirius spun around as Effie released him, gaping at James.
"What? He's being stupid!"
The thought that James might not throw Sirius out had never even crossed Sirius’ mind. That wasn’t how love worked in his world. People loved you until they didn’t love you anymore, and one major fuck up was all it took for love to evaporate. Unconditional love was as much of a fairy tale as the Deathly Hallows. People who really loved you might give you a second chance, like how Uncle Alphard forgave him for being Sorted into Gryffindor, but if your fuck up was big enough, then there were no do-overs.
Sirius had honestly never even considered that unconditional love was real.
“I… You don’t want me to leave!?”
James stared at him for a moment, angry and disbelieving and undeniably hurt. Then he surged across the room. Sirius locked up immediately, but James just grabbed Sirius and hauled him into a furiously tight embrace.
"You look like shit, mate. You're not going anywhere."
Hugs. More hugs. There were always endless hugs at the Potter cottage, and Sirius was not going to cry. He collapsed instead, sagging into James’ shoulder and clutching him tight. A huge weight was all of a sudden just gone, and he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in a month
"I'm sorry." With breathing came words, and with words came the apology that Sirius so rarely gave. He couldn’t say anything but sorry, not with James holding him up. “I’m a fucking idiot…”
“The worst,” James agreed, but his hand came up to stroke Sirius’ hair. If Sirius had a tail right now, he realized, it would be wagging.
He was a dog Animagus.
Every dog needed a master. Sirius had a very strong suspicion that he knew who his was.
James eventually let go of Sirius so they could eat. Sirius answered the Potters’ questions about what had happened, though he tried to downplay the severity as much as he could. Malfoy Manor party, gang up on the Gryffindor, nothing out of the ordinary until Sirius threw Bellatrix into the fireplace and it attempted to eat her. He didn’t tell them how Bellatrix genuinely tried Avada Kedavra on him, or how he had very nearly let her. Effie and Monty looked horrified enough without adding that to their minds.
Sirius insisted that he looked more beat up than he actually was, prodding his purple cheek in demonstration. Effie had been reluctant to let him go without a trip to Mungo’s, but Sirius insisted he had nothing worse than a few spectacular bruises left. Healing magic was pants at fixing bruises and swelling.
Finally, the boys were released with pockets full of shortbread. Sirius tugged on James’ sleeve as they headed upstairs. “I need to show you something.”
“Oh?” James led the way into his room and flopped across his bed. Sirius closed and locked the door, then drew the curtains. James sat up, munching on shortbread as he watched Sirius moving around his room.
Sirius turned to face James and took a deep breath. Dog. Big and black, four paws and a tail. He felt his body click into place and shift.
The shortbread fell out of James’ mouth.
The bespectacled boy looked from where Sirius used to be to where Padfoot currently was. Back and forth. “...Holy shit,” he breathed, and then laughed, bouncing to his knees and clapping his hands. “Holy shit, you bloody did it!?”
Padfoot leapt onto the bed and changed back into Sirius. “I bloody did it! It’s how I got away from the Manor, how I got here… I needed to go fast, and everything clicked into place, and all of a sudden, I was a dog. I’m a dog, James! And do you know what this means?”
“It means you’re a sodding maniac?” James’ grin was growing and growing, stretching across his entire face. His hazel eyes were sparkling with excitement. Sirius could already see him cataloguing all the possibilities. “Merlin, Sirius, you could’ve led with that!”
“In front of your mum?” Sirius reached for a piece of shortbread and popped it in his mouth. Unlike James, he swallowed before he spoke. “No, you idiot, it means you did it! You and Pete! We all did everything exactly the same, so if it worked for me-”
“-it’ll work for all of us!” James let out a whoop, punching his fist upward. “We’re bloody brilliant, we are!”
“We just need to figure out how to unlock your animals,” Sirius said, “and then we can all do it, and we can help Remus…” His smile crashed off his face as reality fell back around him. “...just in time for Remus to never want anything to do with me.”
James looked at his hands and sighed, running his thumbs over his knuckles. He reached out to drag Sirius up the bed to curl against his side, tucked against the pillows. Sirius didn’t complain about being manhandled. He rested his head on James’ shoulder, letting James’ arms fold around him, his fingers working their way back into Sirius’ hair. Petting Sirius had always been a quick way to calm him down. James and Remus were the best at it, but Effie came very close.
“He’s worried about you,” James finally said, his voice a low murmur Sirius almost felt more than he heard. “I mean, he’s pissed off. Of course he’s pissed off. I’m still pissed off. But he’s nicer than me, and he’s your friend, and he’s worried about you.” James’ next sigh made Sirius’ head move with his chest. “It’s his call if he still wants you around. But honestly, I think he will, once he knows about this. It won’t be the same with just three.”
“He’s worried about me?” Sirius scoffed, feeling his eyes prickling again. “Maybe Snape was right after all. He’s far too much of a softy. I nearly got him killed! I nearly got you killed! You should both be furious that I managed to thwart Bellatrix, not glad I made it here in one piece with a new party trick!”
The outburst left Sirius deflated, and he hid his face against James’ shoulder, fingers twisting in James’ shirt. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to get any of you hurt,” he whispered. “Did… I mean, obviously, he pulled through, but… how bad was it?”
"Pretty bad." James didn’t mince words. There was an undercurrent of anger beneath his description that Sirius absolutely understood. If anyone else had hurt Remus, Sirius would have been out for blood. He didn’t know what to do when he was the one who’d done the hurting. “Moony spent an hour or something smashing directly up against the wards once we were gone. Broke a bunch of bones. More bruise than face. And he won't call me 'cause he can't look me in the eye." James nudged at Sirius, made him lift his head to look James in the eye. Yep. Still anger there. James pressed his lips together and shook his head. “You weren't trying to get us hurt. I know that. You were trying to get Snivelly hurt, though. And you can't just... not think about shit like that."
More bruise than face. Sirius huddled back against James, imagining his tail tucked tightly between his legs. He reached up, stroking his fingers against his own purple cheek, pressing until he could feel it twinge. Sirius really was the worst sort of friend. Remus deserved so much better.
"I wasn't," he said softly, the words feeling weak even as he spoke them. "Not... it wasn't like a joke or something. I was just... so fucking angry. That he thought Remus was weak, or just our toy, or... or not the fucking amazing friend he is. Just because we get protective once a month? What does that even matter to him!? I just... wanted him to know. To stop being so... Snivvy. And if he got a scare, good. He deserved to know that Remus isn't the meek pushover he thought. Only..." Only everything went wrong. Because Sirius hadn't thought.
"I know." James' voice was very quiet, and rather grim. He’d stopped petting Sirius, his hands clenching into fists. When James looked at them, he forced them open. "Sirius. I know. You lost your shit. But Godric, couldn't you just punch him in the mouth like a normal person?"
Sirius shrugged. "I did. Wanted to make him stop lying. But he kept talking, and I wanted to shut him up for good, not just one time."
"You could've killed him," James said quietly. "You're bloody lucky you didn't. 'Cause that's... that's not you. That's not us. And it sure as hell isn't Remus."
"I know," Sirius whispered, shaking his head. "I don't know... what I was thinking. I don't know if I was thinking. I wasn't thinking. I just... wanted him to stop." He squeezed his eyes shut, dipping his head to hide again. "...I wanted everything to stop,” he confessed softly.
This past week and a half had been the closest Sirius had ever come to truly breaking. Maybe he had broken, for just a moment. Almost long enough to cost him everything.
James was quiet for a long time. Sirius could hear his heart beating beneath his ear, could count every breath James took. Finally, James hugged Sirius tighter, locking him in place, arms sheltering him from the world. "You're an idiot," he said, without much rancour, "and if you ever do something like that again, I'm seriously going to break your nose. But you're still a Marauder." Sirius felt James press a kiss against his hair. Like his mother, James showered affection on those he genuinely loved. "And you're still my brother. And we're going to sort this out. Promise."
Sirius’ next breath was harsh, the second one even raspier, and the third one was wet with years of built up tears. In this house, in this room, in this bed, in James Potter’s arms, Sirius knew one thing to be absolutely true.
He was safe.
He could finally cry.
