How to Break Remus Lupin

Everyone has tells. They’re little signs; tics; things the body does, which express to others that they’re lying, despite valiant efforts at suppressing them. Sirius has gotten pretty good at picking up on these tells— nearly as much as he has at concealing them. It used to be quite obvious when he lied. His ears would go bright pink, and he’d physically feel his body heat up at the confrontation. But, as the Black family heir, and keeper of many secrets he’d wish to remain… well— secret, Sirius learnt how to hide. How to conceal. In all actuality, he couldn’t take full credit for his mastery of the craft— it’d been half his part, and half due to his parents’ intense need for constant secrecy. It wasn’t like Walburga Black, the intimidating, abrasive wife of the current Black head of house, would allow her child to go on blabbing about their family’s most-definitely-illegal hobbies, or equally illegal parenting methods, to his little blood traitor friends. Or, Merlin forbid, Dumbledore himself.

No, that just wouldn’t do. A Black must maintain their secrets, no matter the cost. Sirius was trained to lie; forced to, simply to survive. Spilling wasn’t an option. Telling the truth was never a plausible solution.

The training they’d done to accomplish this wasn’t easy. It was anything but, if he was honest. Like a broken record stuck on loop, his brain would replay the moments over and over— his heart thumping against his chest in the privacy of his drawn bed curtains, and his body jerking itself up at the memory of his shrivelled body shaking on the polished floors, coughing up a lung, and dry heaving floods of tears which simply refused to fall.

He’d find himself wide awake, sweating at the recollection of long periods spent in his father’s study— his mother whispering something into his ear from outside the doors, and his hands shaking from behind his back as he was sent in without so much as a bidding of good luck, leaving him alone with the chiselled, cold face of Orion Black, forced to lie through his teeth about whatever nonsense Walburga had spewed just seconds before. His father knew he was lying every time. That was the point. That was the game. He’d observe Sirius, and determine whether or not his lie had been convincing enough. If it was sufficient for the sly likes of the pureblooded political pool, he passed, getting sent away with a nod of the head and promises of another round tomorrow— his father dismissing him with barely a look, and his mother scoffing as he stepped back out into the dimly lit halls. But, if he “failed”, well… Sirius didn’t fancy remembering those times. Those were the ones which still haunted him to this day. They were the ones which kept him up and pressed dark circles into the skin beneath his eyes.

Sirius very quickly learnt that failure wasn’t an option for a Black. A Black heir, for that matter. Lying was just a crucial part of life.

Well, he knows now that’s not true, but when you’re a young, impressionable child, with an overwhelming urge to gain your unloving parents’ approval, morality and sense seem to blur into oblivion. What’s right and wrong becomes unclear, and the difference between lies and truths is nearly unintelligible. As a child, Sirius just simply didn’t know. He didn’t know much of anything.

He went on thinking that way until he was eleven years old, by then having already spent long hours at galas, formal dinners, and marvellous balls, simply lying about anything and everything. From questions about what he’d done that day, how he’d been, whether or not his tutors were proficient enough, and even his bloody middle name— Sirius lied. He lied for no real reason. Big or small, Sirius didn’t care— it was all just a game to him. He tried to make a joke of it— make those miserable hours slightly more tolerable. In doing so, Sirius did manage to stir a bit of unnecessary havoc. He was fairly certain there were still quite a few older witches out there convinced that Sirius’s name was “Sirius Bartholemew Black”, which, even today, Sirius still finds bloody hilarious.

However, when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, everything changed. His entire family suddenly decided he was Godric incarnate himself (yes, Godric bloody Gryffindor was held to equal standards as the devil in the Black household) and iced him out— avoiding him like he had a pathetic case of dragon pox or some shite. They were terrible. They were terrible people, and Sirius soon realised he didn’t want to be like them anymore. As he sat at his new table sporting colours of red and gold, his cousins staring him down from across the hall with looks of utter disdain twisting their young, immature features, Sirius decided he didn’t want to be a liar. Those snakes, who had no qualms about switching up the second the hat dubbed him a lion, were all bloody liars, and Sirius refused to follow in their footsteps.

He refused to be a Black any longer.

He’s held true to this ever since, choosing rather to be brashly honest than even the slightest bit untruthful. Such a thing had its ups and downs for sure, but that was just semantics. Lying was a Slytherin trait. A Black trait. Sirius was neither of those things anymore, and he made sure to act accordingly. Rather than lie, Sirius would say a bird’s outfit clashed horribly with her hair. Tell someone they were terrible at Quidditch, and stood no chance of making the pros— pointedly ignoring the pained expression of hurt crossing their face. He’d tell ugly people they were ugly, and stupid people they were stupid. He’d express all of his opinions openly, and never pretend to agree with those whose ideas differed from his own. Some people thought this honesty was refreshing, while others thought it rude, but Sirius didn’t do it for them. He did it for himself, and that was all that mattered.

Nonetheless, whether it was all that practice he’d done, or the sheer amount of times he’d lied throughout his childhood, Sirius could safely say he was an incredible liar. A fantastic liar, at that. He had no tells. No signs. Absolutely nothing.

If he so chooses, Sirius could lie, and no one would ever know.

But thankfully, he didn’t have to. He didn’t need to have tells, or signs, or any of that shite— Remus Lupin had plenty enough for the both of them.

Sirius has learnt that Lupin could not, for the literal life of him, tell a bloody lie.

In fact, it was Lupin’s terrible attempts at deceit which first set off red alerts in Sirius’s mind all those years ago— his eyes drifting to and fro as he spoke, and his bottom lip raw from where he wore it down between his teeth. It was those stuttered-out excuses and blatant deflections; the pulling of his collar, and the cracking of his knuckles. It was his half-arsed explanations and defensive replies; the promises of doing one thing as he blatantly went off to do another. These were the things which had intrigued Sirius once, and still somewhat did— even to this day. They were the strange habits of the even stranger boy, which spurred Sirius’s mild (okay, maybe slightly obsessive) fascination. They were the odd curiosities, eventually leading to Sirius’s premature discovery of— as James would call it— Lupin’s “furry little problem”.

And really, it hadn’t been Sirius’s fault in the slightest. It was as if Lupin was just begging to get caught— desperate for someone out there to know. For someone to understand.

Sirius didn’t understand, and he’d never pretend to do so. He didn’t care for pretending. Lupin was interesting despite his absolutely miserable personality, and that, in Sirius’s opinion, was what made him so special. He was a bloody snooze fest— one of the most boring blokes Sirius had ever had the displeasure to meet— and yet, Sirius was fascinated.

Lupin was different.

Lupin was strange. Lupin was obvious. Lupin was a downright hideous liar. Lupin may as well have Veritaserum flowing through his bloody veins.

Lupin, much like Sirius, never told lies. Well, he actually did— quite often, in fact— but they were never any good. Sirius knew this.

That was why, despite all James had said about Lupin being a traitorous, deceiving prat, Sirius knew damn well he was wrong. Lupin was telling the truth— he had been the whole time. Sirius had known it since the second Lupin’s eyes widened comically at the paper just a morning prior— his brows furrowing in a mixture of confusion and shock, and his mouth dropping open slightly in dismay as he stared. He’d known it as Lupin apologised frantically to James, his words falling on deaf ears, and his confusion growing at the boy’s terrible attempt at mock indifference. He’d known it as Lupin tiptoed around James later that night in the dorms, clearly still weary of the bespectacled boy’s apparent lack of anger as he cautiously closed the curtains of his bed, without even so much as a whisper of a creak in response.

Lupin was innocent. He and Evans were simply friends— nothing more. Sirius knew this. He knew it all too well.

He knew it, but for some reason— for the first time since the dreaded sorting hat changed the entire course of his life, and strayed him from the path he’d been destined for since his very birth— Sirius didn’t exactly want to be truthful. For the first time in years, Sirius got the overwhelming urge to lie. For the first time ever, as he listened to James ramble on about his plans for Lupin, and complain about his budding back problems from all that digging he’d done, Sirius decided to lie. Sirius lied to James. Right to his bloody face.

Sirius had never lied to James before that moment. Ever. In his entire time knowing the bloke.

Nonetheless, he found himself instigating the riled-up boy’s hatred. He justified James’s extremely incorrect ideas and helped further devise plans in ruining Lupin’s life as they sat out beside the Black Lake, seeing who could skip their rock the farthest across its glassy surface. He laughed as James mocked the innocent prat’s low, quiet drawl, and added quips of his own when James looked up to him expectantly— never once expecting Sirius to disagree. Why would he? When had Sirius ever?

He even went so far as to add fuel to the bloody fire, talking straight out of his arse as he went on about the things he’d “seen Lupin doing with Evans”, just to run James up the wall even further. He was ruining Lupin’s life— slowly crafting him a devoted enemy from right beneath his crooked nose.

Lupin hadn’t done anything. None of what anyone said was true. Lupin was innocent, and Sirius knew. He really did.

Sirius wasn’t a Black. He wasn’t his family, he wasn’t a Slytherin, and he wasn’t a liar.

…

But, for some reason, he was for Lupin.

Sirius was becoming a complete bloody liar for the swot, and he didn’t understand why. All he knew at this point was that he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

~~~

James was smart. Really, he was. He made dumb decisions, sure, but that didn’t make him any less of an intelligent bloke. He’s simply just… a bit lazy. Well, maybe he’s not lazy. He can be very not lazy, when he pleases. He’s just… distracted. Constantly.

James is very easily distracted.

Whether it be an oddly shaped cloud drifting through the sky, or the slightest shift in the weather visible from the other side of the paned windows, James was distracted. From the whizz of a spell shooting from a wand, to the ruffle of robes against stone as students hurried to class, James’s train of thought would entirely derail. He could lose focus at the snap of a quill, and whip his head up from his classwork at the faintest whisper of a word. He’d talk to the paintings on the walls when he had places to be, and let his eyes wander the statued forms lining the halls on his way to detentions for an excuse to keep walking. He’d forget what he’d been doing as he dragged his hands over the bark trunks of the trees outside, and racked his brain with the tip of his wand to remember where he’d been meant to be— his feet taking him in the opposite direction of his destination, and his own mind betraying his trust as he ran off to inevitably do something else.

Sirius had jokingly suggested buying him a Remembrall, but James thought the things were bloody stupid. What the hell was the point of a ball which told you you’d forgotten something, but couldn’t inform you of what it was you’d forgotten? It was a downright scam. James hated the stupid things.

James may be distracted, but it wasn’t all his fault. He just had a lot going on— too much for him to do all at once, if he was honest.

It was hard to focus on your schoolwork when there were pranks to be pulled. When there were Slytherins to corner, and new spells to be tried. It’s difficult to focus on the essay you’re writing when your wanker of a best mate is groaning dramatically from across the room, shaking your shoulder as he begs for attention. It’s hard to complete your bloody star charts when you’re gliding through the cool night’s breeze— all of your problems seemingly drifting away as you fly through the air, the wind in your hair, and a broom steady within your grasp.

Also, in his defence, he was surrounded by bad influences. Well, all except for Lupin, he supposes, but James fancied not talking about him right now.

James’s mother had always said, “You are who your friends are,” which, in truth, James thought was bloody stupid. He wasn’t nearly as bad as his friends. If anything, he was a good influence!

Take Sirius, for example. Sirius’s laziness was so deeply rooted, it nearly made James seem like a motivated, hard-working bloke in comparison. Sirius hated doing anything which inconvenienced him, even in the slightest degree. He hated doing homework when he was told, or showing up to dates when he’d been asked (which James thinks is metal, by the way, but never mind that). He hated having any obligations or schedules— really anything which he felt he had to do, or was expected of him. Sirius prefers people have no expectations, simply so he could exceed them. It wasn’t exactly hard to impress people when they thought you’d barely tried at all. It was easy to turn heads with a comment in a controversial argument when people thought you’d be better off staying silent. It was easy to get people to stare your way when you do something so absurdly uncharacteristic for the facade they’d dreamed up of you, leaving them unsure of what really to believe.

Sirius just didn’t like following rules. Any rules. That apparently included social ones as well.

If people thought Sirius was funny, he would randomly decide to be insufferably boring— all of his usual quips and comments ceasing in their presence. If someone paired up with him because they thought he was smart, he’d suddenly act as if his brains had been bloody obliviated straight from his skull, leaving him a brain dead-shell of an idiot, and forcing the other person to begrudgingly do all of the work.

Sirius was whatever you didn’t want him to be— the exact person you’d already decided he wasn’t in your head. He was a walking contradiction. A hypocrite, a dickhead, and a complete bloody arsehole. James said all of this with love, of course— but still.

Sirius lived for surprises, thrived on dropping people’s jaws, and flourished under the shocked raising of one’s brows. That was all the bloke ever really wanted, James thinks— for people to be shocked. For them to imagine he’d be one way, and be incredibly confused when he was entirely another. The git loved confusion, that was for sure, and he’d do just about anything to achieve that. Granted, it didn’t require any real effort, of course.

For example, Sirius had essentially strayed from every pureblood tradition physically possible. He purposely acted without manners or decorum, refused to form any connections with the other pureblooded children (let alone make an effort to be their friend), and tried his absolute hardest to tarnish the Black family name any way he could. He’d eat with his hands in the Great Hall just for the fun of it, curse people out when they pissed him off, and just acted as unmannered and uncouth as he physically could. He was like a classless caveman, but with perfect posture, a posh accent, and top-of-the-line robes. It was quite a sight to behold.

The only thing still tethering the boy to the family he once had was his appearance. Unless he fancied a complete facial reconstruction spell, or an absolute mutant of a Polyjuice potion, there wasn’t much he could do in that respect. The elegant, sharp features forming his face were just copies of many others’ in his long family tree— their blood easily traced back through the familiar looks of hundreds before. His straight-sloped nose decorated the centre of his cousin Narsissia’s face, and his perfectly carved brows framed Bellatrix’s grey eyes in much the same fashion as his own. Numerous holders of Wizengamot seats shared his curly black locks, and rich, pureblooded stockholders wore his sharp, cupid-bowed lips. His sly smile stretched over the slimy faces of his aunts and uncles, and his towering height was used by his own mother and father, swamping the likes of those they wished to intimidate.

While it’s true his features individually were nothing more than mere imitations of those who preceded, it was undeniable that the way they arranged themselves on his face was entirely his own. Unique, in his own right. All of those features, while often out of place or unflattering on others, perfectly dressed his face— blending in perfect harmony to create the boy much of the wizarding world simply knew as “The Handsome Black Heir”. Creative, right? Girls giggled as he passed through the halls, and witches swooned when he shot them a smirk. Valentine’s Day created a bloody stampede of owls knocking down his door— love notes and confessions tied to their bony legs, written in curly handwriting, and heart-dotted I’s. He was hounded for a date when Hogsmeade weekends approached, and his name was quite often the subject of many whispered conversations held in the common room late at night. Merlin forbid the prat decided to wink their direction— that shite nearly set off a bloody nuclear explosion every time it happened.

Rest assured, this wasn’t James expressing his jealousy in any way. James wasn’t jealous of Sirius. Not in the slightest. For all the attention the prat received, James got much the same treatment himself. While he’s sure the whole rebel, bad-boy thing Sirius had going on gave him a few extra stock points, it was obvious James was on a level nearly equal to the Black heir, if not just a step below. Quidditch jerseys with his name and number were worn by swarms of girls at his matches, and shy waves were sent his way as he strolled beneath the afternoon sun. Eyes instantly snapped in his direction as he entered a room, and he’s had many a love potion slipped unsuspectedly into his chalice at the dining hall.

…

Okay, that last one still chuffs James a bit, if he’s honest. Sirius— the git he is— let James trail hopelessly beside some blonde-haired Ravenclaw back in his fourth year for a whole week, taking the entire school by storm as they watched the boy infamously known for his undying infatuation with Lily Evans swoon like a right bastard for the blonde witch. James now knows, after Sirius “gratuitously” reversed the potion, that the girl had slipped a bloody love spell into his drink while he was distracted, perfectly explaining why he got the sudden, overwhelming urge that evening to pursue the girl at once— all thoughts of Evans temporarily subsided.

Only temporarily, though. Evans would always remain his first priority— no potion or spell could ever take that away.

But anyways, that act of mild betrayal aside, James was sure one of the leading factors for his and Sirius’s popularity and status was their surprisingly good marks in class. For many people, it was quite a shock to learn that the two boys constantly found playing pranks or sitting detentions with a variety of staff members somehow managed to get straight O’s on all of their exams— not even so much as picking up a book or quill to study in preparation. This shock— or annoyance, he supposed— stemmed most heavily from Lily Evans. James admits Lily is a brilliant girl— one of the best in their year— but she just couldn’t seem to overtake James or Sirius in a class. She’s convinced they’re cheating— has been since she first compared marks back in first year, her eyes widening and her face heating up with embarrassment as she realised hers were lower. Significantly so. Evans has tried catching them in the act (of cheating, that is), but since there’s no act to catch, she’s come out with nothing to show for it. James knew it ticked her off, but there wasn’t really much he could do, was there? Did she expect him to just pretend to be stupid? Did she want him to purposely fail to allow her a chance to succeed? Who knew.

This all (kinda?) looped back to James’s first claim, which he felt he had sufficiently proved to be true by this point. James was simply just a smart bloke— Sirius as well. Also, though it pains him to admit it, so was Lupin. The Marauders were brilliant. That was a part of their appeal. Their grades were always the highest in their year; their names carved into plaques upon plaques awarded for top marks, displayed in the trophy cases scattered throughout the halls. Pictures of their smiling faces were featured on specialised pages in the school yearbooks which were stored in the library— a whole section dedicated to their numerous achievements and occupations.

They were naturals at everything they tried. They could pick up a new hobby in seconds, and learn spells far above their level in days.

They were all just smart. James was smart— he really, really was. That was why, as he sat with his back lying against the lush, still-summer grass of the Quidditch pitch, he felt incredibly annoyed with himself. It was why, as his eyes flickered over to his black-haired friend, twirling his neat, detailed wand, with carved runes and swirling patterns between his fingers, James was feeling awfully chuffed about it all. Finally, he groaned, hitting his head against the ground a few times in his suffering, and receiving nothing but a short snort from Sirius at the antic.

“I’ve got nothing!” James eventually exclaimed, throwing his hands towards the clouds in annoyance— his fingers covering his view of the goal hoops up above. “I don’t even know what pisses Lupin off! This is hopeless!”

James heard Sirius huff out a laugh, and he could practically sense the boy’s dramatic eye roll.

“Literally everything pisses him off.” James felt Sirius shift as his eyes remained squeezed shut— the red glow of the sun still unfortunately managing to penetrate his eyelids. “You’re just being a pansy.”

James’s eyes snapped open as he gaped offendedly at Sirius, causing the boy to give him another snort in return.

“A pansy?!” James parroted Sirius’s words, his eyebrows furrowing as he spoke, “How am I a pansy?!”

“Because you know exactly how to best get revenge on the git, you’re just too scared to do it. Just think— with just a single anonymous tip to Dorcas, Lupin would be ruined. He’d be expelled, socially exiled, and thrown into bloody Azkaban for being unregistered. It’s perfect!”

“The hell it is!” James exclaimed with a huff, pushing himself into a sitting position as he hunched over, absently beginning to pick at the grass. “Just hush up, prat— I’ve already told you, that’s out of the question. No werewolf bashing allowed.”

Sirius hummed, tilting his head slightly towards the stands, each of them draped in fabric the colour of their respective houses. James and Sirius were, of course, sitting just beneath Gryffindor’s student section. James himself also turned to stare admiringly at the lions embroidered into the drapings— his eyes having to squint slightly to see.

“Didn’t seem out of the question when you first came to me—“

“I was out of my bloody mind that day!” James snapped as he waved Sirius off, using his other hand to rub his eyes from beneath the glass lenses pressing against his cheeks, “I was just being impulsive—“

“Wow. Shocker—“

“Quiet!” James swatted in Sirius’s direction, forcing the boy to dodge out of his way, just barely managing to escape. “I’ve had some time to think.”

Sirius snorted for what felt like the thousandth time that day. “Hm. Must’ve been difficult for you, wasn’t it—?”

“I said hush. Now are you gonna give suggestions, or just twirl your bloody wand around like a little fairy all day?”

Sirius rolled his eyes and lolled his head towards James, giving him a blank stare as he let the wand slip through his fingers onto his lap, the intricate wooden stick instantly being swallowed by his robes, which lay forgotten just beneath his bent legs.

“I’ve given tons of ideas. Not much I can do if you shoot them all down, is there?”

James scoffed. “You’ve given three.”

“Yeah— three absolutely fantastic ideas, I’d say—“

“That’s exactly why no one lets you say much of anything—“

“Oi!”

“Never mind that, you tosser. Just come up with better ones, yeah?”

Sirius groaned and made strangling motions in James’s direction, causing the two boys to begin snickering amongst themselves for a moment.

“Okay, okay,” Sirius said once they calmed down, his eyes drifting back towards the tall stands as they talked, “I’ve got an idea. An actual one, this time.”

“Yeah?” James’s brows raised, a grin spreading over his face. “Well, go on, then.”

“We become Animagi.”

…

James couldn’t help the way his mouth twisted into a grimace of confusion, nor the narrowing of his eyes as he attempted to track down whatever train of thought Sirius had taken to come upon this solution. He had nothing.

“That’s just so…” James finally managed to get out, his lips pursing into a thin line as he tried to think of something to say, “Out of nowhere? You make no sense sometimes, y’know that? I genuinely cannot even conceptualise how you came to that conclusion—“

“No no, just listen,” Sirius cut him off, shaking his head, “I’ve been doing some research, yeah?”

“Research on what?” James quirked a brow with a grimace, confused. “Lupin?”

“No, not Lupin, you arse.” Sirius mumbled with a huff, suddenly twisting around to grab his bag off of the pile they’d made when they’d first flopped down— their robes quickly shucked off in an attempt to fight the heat, and their bags thrown thoughtlessly behind their backs as they argued about whether or not they should transfigure a piece of parchment into some type of quilt. In the end, they’d been too lazy, leaving James to itch at his irritated skin as the grass rubbed against his exposed arms. He winced at the sight of his inkwell leaking into the grass, apparently having fallen out of his bag on its trip down. Well, never mind that, James thought to himself. That was a problem for later.

After some shuffling and digging around, along with many annoyed grunts and groans as parchment and notebooks were thrown every which way, Sirius managed to find what he’d been looking for. He grabbed a massive tome out from the depths of his miserably disorganised school bag and threw it aggressively in James’s direction, his eyes not even so much as glancing up to check if James was ready. James’s eyes widened in shock as the thing flew at him full speed, somehow just managing to clutch it to his chest before it could hit the floor. Madame Pince would surely have a damn near aneurism if she found out her precious books had been dropped onto the floor, or, Merlin forbid, the bloody grass. James could just hear her lecture from here. It’d most likely involve lots of un-library-like volumes, and a whole year’s worth of detention shovelling hippogriff dung out in the barns. James absolutely hated shovelling dung.

James eventually refocused his attention on the book in his hands, but only after a very pointed clearing of Sirius’s throat, followed by an impatient groan. The tome was brown and frayed around the edges, the fabric cover on top peeling at the corners, revealing years worth of use (and misuse, James presumes). The title was simple, saying nothing more than “Dark Creatures” in large, black lettering. There were no pictures on the front, only smaller printed words, detailing the authors, references, and other rot of that nature.

“Page two sixteen.” Sirius eventually said, scooting himself closer to James to read over his shoulder. When James fumbled to flip to the correct page in time, Sirius snatched the dusty, old tome from his hands, laying the absurdly large book in his own lap as James watched. Sirius quickly found his page, which had been dog-eared— much to Pince’s, and most likely Lupin’s, probable dismay. Lupin and Sirius rarely ever spoke directly to one another, but on the off chance that they did, it was usually to exchange some type of criticism. It would either be Sirius scowling at the horrible way in which Lupin held his quill, or Lupin complaining about the way Sirius just left his books open page-down, creasing their poor, innocent spines. In the past, such an interaction would annoy James. He’d wanted nothing more than for the two boys to get along, but no matter what he did, they just fought. All the time. Around the bloody clock.

They were complete opposites, with absolutely nothing in common. It was hopeless.

But now, James couldn’t care less about Sirius and Lupin’s non-existent friendship. It wasn’t James’s problem any longer. Nothing involving Lupin was.

James felt himself scowl as he read the heading of the chapter, simply titled “Werewolves”.

“Real creative, weren’t they?” James grumbled pettily, receiving a mere, unimpressed snicker from Sirius in return.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Sirius waved him off, moving his hand to point to a paragraph of text. James, despite himself, leaned forward to read above Sirius’s finger— his already pathetic eyesight working on overtime. When James once again wasn’t fast enough for Sirius’s ridiculous short attention span, the rude git covered the text with his hand, moving the book just a bit farther away from James.

“You’re such a piece of shite. Did y’know that?” James rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well, you’re a blind prat. Not everyone fancies waiting all bloody day for your bitch arse to read two goddamned sentences.”

James gasped, offended. “I’d have been done already if you hadn’t interrupted me!”

Sirius smirked, looking up at James through his dark eyelashes— starkly contrasting the brightness of his eyes. “Well, there’s no use mulling on about the past, is there?”

“Yes, actually— there is—!”

“Let’s just get on with it.” Sirius cleared his throat, silencing James into unwilling compliance. An angry Sirius was a scary Sirius, and James wasn’t in the mood to deal with that at that moment, thank you very much. Best to just keep the prat happy, he supposed.

“‘Werewolves,” Sirius began reading off of the page, “are pack animals by nature, meaning they thrive under the presence of other woodland creatures. Whether that be wolves, bears, birds, or even toads, werewolves seem to be almost subdued when in big groups. Werewolves are generally friendly creatures; that is, until they come into contact with a human. At the slightest scent of human flesh, a werewolf will go feral, earning the dark creature its rightful title as a XXXXX rated beast, and a danger to humanity.’”

“‘Danger to humanity’ my arse,” James rolled his eyes, “Lupin could barely handle potting a bloody mandrake. He’d said he felt bad for the little shite, despite all its screeching and whinging. There’s no way that bloke could eat someone.”

Sirius hummed and gave a small nod. “I suppose Lupin couldn’t, but the wolf certainly could.”

James’s eyebrows furrowed as he pondered that statement before turning back to meet Sirius’s gaze, already finding the boy’s eyes scanning the words upon the old pages.

“Where’d you even find this thing?” James asked, his own eyes drifting to the text as well, though he was barely able to pick up a single word from his distance. “I thought there were hardly any unbiased books on werewolves?”

“There aren’t.” Sirius said simply, still not meeting his eyes, “At least not for public access. I found this in the restricted section. Took your cloak as well— hope that’s okay, mate.”

“Yeah, whatever— what’s mine is yours,” James waved off the weak attempt at dismissal as he tried to stay on topic, “But hold on. You’re telling me, that in all of these years we’ve roomed with Lupin, knowing we’ve been living with a bloody werewolf, you haven’t even bothered to check the restricted section for books on it?!”

“Uhh, no?” Sirius drawled, sounding genuinely confused as to why this was a problem. “Why would I have? Lupin’s weird arse personal issues aren’t my problem, are they?”

“Well— no, but—“ James spluttered, shocked at Sirius’s ridiculousness, “But how have you not cared?”

“Easy.” Sirius shrugged, “I didn’t care about Lupin, so I didn’t care about his stupid werewolf shite either. Make sense?”

James rolled his eyes and mumbled an insincere “I suppose”, but had no further defence. Sirius was a strange bloke, that was for sure. An extremely lazy bloke, at that.

“Anyways, enough about that.” Sirius snapped the book shut, causing James to jump a bit at the sudden sound. “Back to Animagis. So, I read all that, yeah? And after, I was thinking to myself, has a registered Animagus ever tried hanging out with a werewolf?”

James snorted. “Why the bloody hell would they ever do that?”

“Uh, because it’d be cool as hell?” Sirius raised a brow, as if prompting James to share his opinion, “Who wouldn’t? I’ve always wanted to see Lupin in wolf form, but I didn’t exactly fancy getting mauled. If I became an Animagus, though, I’m nearly certain Lupin wouldn’t kill me. The wolf would assume I’m just a random animal, and accept me into his pack! Then, we could run around with werewolves! It’d be so cool!”

“This is a whole lot of speculation going on here.” James replied, his lips pursed.

“Well, there’s only one way to prove speculation, and that’s by giving it a go. So, are you in—?”

“Hold up, hold up.” James waved Sirius down, ignoring the boy as his mouth twisted into an annoyed pout, his eyes drifting away from James’s own. He always did that when he didn’t get his way— it was a Sirius signature. He was like a bloody spoilt toddler. Well, he actually was, James supposed, but never mind that. “I feel as though you’re forgetting many important details—“

“Oh yeah?” Sirius snapped, “Like what?”

“Like, what if we die?!” James exclaimed simply, shaking his head in dismay as he spoke.

“Oh pish,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “We’ll be fine. If you’re really so concerned, we’ll just have Wormy test it out for us first—“

“Wait, we’re dragging Wormy into this as well?!”

“Well, I assumed you’d want to, but if you’d rather leave him out, I’m sure as hell not gonna complain—“

“Wait, just shut up for a second,” James exclaimed, causing Sirius to snap his mouth shut in the most agitated manner physically possible. “I still don’t even know why we’d ever want to become Animagi! That’s extremely advanced magic— like, graduate level! And anyway, how in the bloody hell would becoming animals get us revenge?! What would be the point?”

“The point,” Sirius enunciated slowly, as if James was nothing but an ignorant child, “Is that we could gain Lupin’s trust.”

That made James stop for a second, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“What? How?!”

“Just hear me out here. Lupin spends one night a month getting the absolute shite beaten out of him, coming back the next morning with scars, scrapes, scratches, punctured ribs— all that rot, yeah?”

“Yeah?” James nodded along uncertainly, still having no clue how this was relevant.

“Well, the book said that werewolves were calm when exposed to other animals. Perhaps, if we manage to become Animagi, the wolf will be appeased— maybe even going so far as to leave Lupin alone, for once. Then, Lupin won’t be as fucked up every month, he’ll feel a lot better about himself, he’ll be grateful to us for having done something like that for him, and he’ll feel indebted to us. Then, he’d be like our minion— our obedient slave, who’d agree to do our every bidding.”

James rolled his eyes. “He already essentially is. That bloke has literally no backbone. There’ll be no difference.”

“I assure you, Prongs,” Sirius shot James a smirk, the glint in his eyes almost predatory, “There’ll be a difference. Imagine the things we could do if we had control of a bloody werewolf? Imagine what he could do if we could transform into literal animals at our will?! Oh, the pranks we could pull off then, Jamie! Just think about it! We’d be unstoppable!”

During his excited rant, Sirius had straightened up, his eyes now level with James’s as he grinned— his anticipation for the future palpable. James couldn’t help but share the sentiment with the bloke. Despite the many drawbacks this plan could potentially have, Sirius had him captured. Rapt in attention. Like always, Sirius was incredible at pitching a plan. That bloke could convince a bloody rock to swim; motivate a bird to fly all the way up to space.

James could feel the idea taking root into his brain with every fraction his grin broadened; could feel what little sympathy he had left for Lupin fading into oblivion as Sirius rambled on about the many pranks they could play as Animagi, and the opportunities such a thing would create. James could feel a sudden motivation strike his body as Sirius started pulling an array of other random books out of his bag, slapping titles of “Advanced Transfiguration”, “Human Transfiguration”, and many others along that line right on top of the first tome, explaining to James’s captivated ears all he had learned so far, and the things he’d yet to do.

They lay stomach first onto the ground with their heads leaned towards one another, beginning to hungrily devour what little information the books held. They continued reading as the sun slowly dipped beyond the horizon of the pitch, drowning the vast lawn in darkness until they had nothing but the lumos from their wands and the waning gibbous up above to illuminate the words, their eyes squinting at the nearly unintelligible print as tiredness slowly overtook their bodies.

They yawned as they packed up their stuff, Sirius laughing as James groaned over his empty ink vial, and James returning the favour as Sirius struggled to squeeze all of the books back in his bag, nearly dropping the bloody thing— his head snapping up wide-eyed as he tediously caught it upside down with his knee, causing James to almost collapse with laughter.

They discussed their plans as they made their way back to the common room— James griping on about his lack of food that day, and Sirius calling him a fatarse with a chuckle in return.

And finally, as midnight neared, they sat concealed within the confines of James’s bed curtains— Sirius quietly whispering about what he supposed his Animagus form would be, and James quietly snickering as he shot down bold suggestions of dragons, lions, and hippogriffs. As James watched the overexcited boy rant, not even bothering to check if James was still listening (he was, rest assured) between his words, James realised he had all he needed. Why had he ever bothered with Lupin when he had the bestest mate of all time right in front of him? Why in the bloody hell did he ever give that swot the time of day, when Sirius was right there— always prepared to add entertainment to his days, and listen to his endless rants about Evans late at night?

Sirius was there, and he always would be. James knew this.

James didn’t need to give a bloody damn about Lupin. All he had to focus on was gaining Evans’s love, becoming an Animagus, and absolutely destroying what little of a life Lupin still maintained. He and Sirius hadn’t exactly decided what they were going to do once they gained Lupin’s trust, but that was no matter. They’d figure it out; James was sure of it.

As he drifted off to sleep, the sounds of Pete’s snores lulling his eyes closed, and dreams of lions and dragons with Sirius’s mischievous eyes filling his head, James could only think of one thing:

He was becoming a bloody Animagus.

~~~

Remus was… unsettled, to say the least. It all started about a week ago at lunch as James and Sirius came bounding into the Great Hall— booming with laughter, as they always were, and flopping down onto the bench across from Remus and Peter with dramatic grunts of relief, as they always did. Nothing had been different in that sense. James still piled mass amounts of food onto his plate as Sirius served himself sparingly— both of them making loud jabs at each other for their respective preferences, and flinging food in each other’s direction with their forks. Peter still jumped every time James would randomly address him directly, and Sirius would still glower silently every time it happened. James still called out Lily’s name from across the table, and Sirius still snickered when she told him to go bugger himself.
It was all the same. Nothing had been different. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

That was, until Sirius looked over to Remus from his side of the bench— an unreadable look in his eyes, and the beginnings of a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. Everything had been normal up until the point Sirius opened that now fully grinning mouth, his lips forming words which Remus simply couldn’t believe were being directed at him. It couldn’t have been right… could it? Maybe he’d been cursed with some sort of disillusionment spell, making him appear to be someone else. Perhaps Sirius was somehow under the impression he was talking to James, and had just gotten confused. Or maybe, Sirius had finally gotten a concussion from one of those bloody bludgers, and had suddenly forgotten who the hell he was. Who Remus was.

Remus hadn’t a clue, and therefore, he found himself left completely speechless, leaving the boy sitting across from him without so much as a reply, and sent him a look which was most likely a scowl, though Remus wasn’t exactly sure. He was having an extremely hard time controlling his face in that moment. He was too shocked to do much of anything, really.

Remus was eventually broken out of his trance when James and Sirius both burst out into laughter— Peter awkwardly following along, his unsure giggles chiming from where he was hunched protectively over his food.

“Oh, Lupin,” Sirius sighed, whipping a tear from his eyes as his laughter died down, “You’re hilarious. Did you know that?”

Remus reeled back once again, unsure whether or not his ears were playing tricks on him.

“I—“ Remus stuttered out, “Huh?!”

“Did you know you were hilarious?” Sirius’s repeated, his lips still quirked up, leading Remus to believe it was all just some cruel joke— like Sirius and James’s newest form of entertainment, he supposed. Genuinely, what else could he have believed? It was all so strange! When Remus still didn’t answer, James and Sirius laughed again, though this time Peter didn’t join. He appeared to be just as confused as Remus, in that right.

Remus spent the rest of the day thinking back to that interaction, wondering what the hell had happened. Perhaps he’d just imagined it. Maybe it’d all just been an extremely odd dream. Who knew. Remus certainly didn’t. Instead of mulling about it, he decided to pretend as if it hadn’t happened. Remus went about his day as he always did, and did all the things he’d always done.

Nothing was different. Nothing had changed.

Everything was exactly as it always had been— until… it wasn’t. It was all the same, until James and Sirius randomly approached him in the common room, both dressed head to toe in their flying gear, with matching grins plastered across their faces. Until they thrust a set of gear into Remus’s own lap, followed by an old broomstick Sirius had been holding secretively behind his back— the bristles all crooked and frayed, and the handle an absolute, splintered mess.

Nothing had been different until Remus found himself sitting in the Quidditch stands on a random Tuesday afternoon, his brows furrowed as he watched his dorm mates zip around the pitch in a heated race, while the gifted broom lied (certainly not forgotten) beside him, his eyes seemingly burning a bloody hole into the wooden handle from how hard he stared.

Remus finally acknowledged something was wrong when James and Sirius dragged him out of bed the next morning, heckling him to speed up as he got ready for the day, rather than just leaving him to fend for himself as they had for the past five years— both sporting those same, suspicious grins as he stepped out of the bathroom, self-consciously running his hand through his curls as they made their way down to breakfast.

He knew something had changed as they returned to his bedside once again later that night, throwing his bed curtains open with a flourish, and pulling the velvet covers off of his body in one simple motion. He knew something was up as James slapped the side of Remus’s face quite aggressively to wake him, causing Remus to splutter as he stood to his feet, rocking back and forth unsteadily as he blinked against the bright light shining from the tips of their wands.

All of that shite from before had been weird, sure. It had been strange, and of course, Remus took notice of it. How could he not? It was all so out of the ordinary. So out of character. But, none of that random nonsense came even close to the shock Remus had as James pulled the invisibility cloak out from within his trunk, turning back around to face him with a smirk as Remus tried quickly lacing up his boots, focusing all of his remaining willpower into ignoring the dark-haired boy behind him, who was currently attempting to drape an old coat over his shoulders. Remus didn’t even try to stop him— he just lifted his arms when asked like a right bastard, openly gaping as Sirius gave him two affirmative pats on the cheek once he was fully dressed.

His suspicion didn’t cease as James and Sirius led him through the deserted halls of Hogwarts beneath the cover of the cloak— their feet slightly sticking out at the bottom due to Remus’s monstrous height, causing the two confusing boys to giggle as they dragged him down to a crouch, shrouding them in invisibility once more.

Remus was just confused. So unbelievably bloody confused.

He was confused as the boys somehow convinced Slughorn to let them work in a group of three, leaving Remus to drag himself over to their crammed bench with a shell-shocked look, unable to really provide much help in the potion they’d been asked to make in his current state.

He was confused as they rearranged spots in the Great Hall, Sirius and James forcing Remus to sit between them, leaving Pete to sit alone on the other side, looking just as lost as Remus felt.

He was confused as they joined him in the common room one evening— Sirius taking purchase in the plush armchair he’d always loved, and James enthusiastically challenging Remus to a match of chess, blabbing on about how he and his father had always loved playing when he was young, and how good he was at the game. Remus couldn’t even deny it— James was an arsehole, but evidently, he wasn’t a liar.

Remus was still just as confused as Sirius made quips from where he sat in his comfy little chair— his gleaming smile only brightening in the glow of the fire, and his usually cold, unnerving demeanour slowly fading into oblivion as he joked with Remus, making jabs at James every time he made a crap move, and cheering for Remus when he did the exact same.

At some point, Remus started feeling bad about his suspicion. Although he couldn’t help it, it still gnawed at him, leaving Remus in an almost constant state of mild discomfort. Nausea. That feeling of something being dreadfully wrong, but you just had no idea what it could be. It was the overwhelming feeling of guilt he felt as he narrowed his eyes in one of the boys’ directions— their faces lighting up with smiles, despite the frowns Remus would shoot their way.

He felt guilty for his suspicion, but he couldn’t make it go away. Even today, as he looked up from his book in the direction of his silver-eyed dorm mate, Remus couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Sirius always made Remus feel nauseous in a way he could never describe. It was a feeling which spread from deep within his stomach, causing him to tense his entire body— his eyebrows in a permanent furrow in his presence, and his mouth curled in an uncontrollable grimace as he glared his way. He really had no clue why it all happened. Remus didn’t understand any of it.

He didn’t feel that way when he looked at James. He didn’t feel nauseous when the bespectacled boy cursed a random snake, or tormented Snape for no good reason. He didn’t feel uneasy as the boy preened like a bloody peacock— managing to infuriate Lily in a way that Remus could never truly understand. James didn’t really make him feel anything but mild annoyance. Just a lingering feeling of guilt for even being around him— for associating with him in any way. He didn’t like the way his name was attached to James— the way he was simply known as “James’s friend”. James was nice, sure, but it was clear they were never friends. James was friendly to those he felt deserving of it— by nature, Remus thinks— but that didn’t make him Remus’s friend. James was no one’s friend but Sirius’s, and he made that extremely clear.

That was why Remus took pity on Peter. He was sure the boy wanted anything but Remus’s pity, but unfortunately, there was nothing Remus could do to stop it. It was just sad. All of it. He watched Peter fake laugh at their jokes— watched him go along with their ploys, agree with their wild claims, and defend their honour even when they weren’t around.

He was always there for them, even when they didn’t know it. Even when they didn’t deserve it. Peter was just loyal. Far too loyal for those arseholes.

Remus really wished he could come up with a better name to call them, but unfortunately, “arseholes” summed it up a bit too well. They really were just arseholes, through and through. To the core.

That was why Remus didn’t understand any of it. It was why he found his gaze drawn to Sirius from where he sat across the table like a bloody magnet— the boy’s nose buried in a book (yes, a book! Sirius was actually doing his bloody schoolwork!) and the feather of his quill soiled from where he’d been chewing on it, his perfect teeth clamped around the slobbery end. It was why he couldn’t look away as he watched Sirius’s eyes quickly glide across the page— biting the inside of his cheek once he freed the quill from his grasp, and squinting one eye in an attempt to focus better on the small words in front of him. Remus didn’t even bother to question why Sirius was sitting with him in the library, rather than his little torture window like usual.

Was it weird? Yeah— but Remus had been seeing lots of weird things in the past week. Such weird things, Sirius studying at his table almost seemed tame. Predictable. Unimpressive.

Sirius must’ve felt the pressure of Remus’s eyes boring into him, for he suddenly looked up from his reading to meet Remus’s gaze, his light eyes narrowing once again as Remus jumped— his cheeks slightly flushing in embarrassment.

“Alright, Lupin?” Sirius asked, one brow quirked in his direction. Remus just nodded awkwardly, hastily picking up the book he’d abandoned in favour of watching Sirius, and pretending to absorb the words written upon the pages. He heard Sirius snicker at the action, but he pointedly ignored him.

Despite himself, after what must’ve been just moments later, Remus found his eyes peering back over the top of his book, focusing instead on the tome held in Sirius’s hand, rather than his own. Remus was unsure as to what the hell Sirius was studying for— the navy blue covering combined with the bloody awful golden print looping across the front ringing no bells in his mind. It must’ve been for a class, right? Sirius didn’t seem like the type of bloke to partake in casual reading, although Remus was aware he hardly knew much about Sirius at all. Much of anything, really.

Maybe it was for a class Sirius took without him. Did he take any classes Remus didn’t?

Remus was knee-deep into his attempt at conjuring up Sirius’s schedule in his mind when he was interrupted by the tell-tale thrashing of James Potter throwing open the library doors— Pince uselessly admonishing the boy as he shot past her desk, mumbling insincere apologies in her direction as he ran. Sirius snorted as James whizzed towards his usual, currently empty, windowsill, but made no move to correct the boy’s mistake. He simply leaned back farther into his seat as he watched James frantically look around from over his shoulder, his eyes slightly narrowing with amusement as James climbed onto the sill, pressing his face into the pane as he apparently began searching for Sirius from there. Remus watched James as well, slightly craning his head to give himself a better view from behind the bookcase.

“Right idiot, he is.” Sirius said with a snicker, his head still twisted in James’s direction. Remus couldn’t help but snort himself, his own head nodding against his will.

“One track mind…” Remus mumbled distractedly— his words trailing off as James jumped away from the window once again, leaping to his feet as he began a hurried search for Sirius through the many aisles of bookcases. Remus earned himself a sharp jerk of Sirius’s head— the boy’s hands still clutching the back of his chair as he looked Remus up and down. His gaze was almost owlish— his eyes wide and searching. Remus felt himself cower under the scrutiny, unsure as to what he’d done wrong.

“What was that?”

Remus wobbled his head left and right like a right idiot, as if Sirius had been talking to someone behind him, or some rot of that nature. It was obvious that his question had been directed at Remus. Most of his questions lately were.

“W—what was what?”

“‘One track mind’?” Sirius repeated with a raise of a brow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh! Uh, well— it’s a muggle phrase.”

Sirius’s head tilted up slightly— his eyes narrowing by only a fraction. “Muggle? You’re not a muggleborn though, are you, Lupin?”

“Well, no, but—“

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I recall you being a half-blood— is that right?”

“Uh, yes?” Remus was unsure as to what Sirius was trying to get out of this conversation, but he was sure whatever it was, Remus was failing to provide it. “But my mum, she’s still a muggle.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” Remus pressed his lips together, awkwardly popping the ‘p’ as he pointedly looked anywhere but the boy in front of him. It wasn’t too hard, he supposed— the library was bloody beautiful. In Remus’s opinion, it was the most gorgeous room in the whole castle— no competition.

The bookshelves and the books upon them were, in their own right, incredibly cool. All of the covers and spines were unique and different— never finding two books the same in the vast expanse of Hogwarts’s library. Every item of furniture was carved out of wood— each adorned with intricate designs, loopy, curled patterns, and neat panelling. The wood used wasn’t always the same, though— it was as if Hogwarts had compiled a massive collection of random pieces, each buzzing with magic, and cool to the touch when your palm was placed upon them. Some of the tables and chairs attached together were made of dark hardwood, contrasting sharply against the lighter, ruddy shade of the bookshelves above them. The windows were framed with an almost birch shade, along with a few panes of stained glass hidden within the confines of small, arched peaks at the tops.

There were paintings hung of famous witches and wizards alike, usually found quietly chatting with students from where they lied alone— their velvet, yellow curtains being snapped shut by Pince if they ever got too rowdy and loud. There were labels above most of the cases, though they were extremely vague, never saying more than they needed to. Herbology books were in the Herbology section, Potions were in the Potions, and anything else you couldn’t find categorised was most likely hidden away in the Restricted section— blocked off from public access by an old, rickety gate, hardly able to fend away a truly dedicated wizard from its depths if they put their mind to it. Remus would know— he’s spent many a day stalking around the dim, dusty aisles of that section, his fingers running across the dust-coated spines, and his feet creaking against the hardwood beneath him.

While all of the book-related items in the library were still a right sight to behold, they didn’t stand a chance of comparison when put against the golden, painted tiles of the ceiling above— each one dressed with its own unique painting from where it rested upon the pointed ceiling, the wood beams just below it framing the arch, and giving stability in its beauty. Remus had found himself many times abandoning his studies in favour of simply admiring the ceilings— each session providing him with a new feature he hadn’t noticed before. A new curiosity involving the mysterious place which he’d called home for the past five years.

Remus hadn’t realised his eyes had once again been drawn upwards until he heard the clearing of Sirius’s throat, bringing Remus out of his thoughts, and leaving him to scramble at the sight of Sirius’s expectant expression— his fingers tapping impatiently against the table’s surface, and his lips twitching with unsaid words. He’d obviously asked him something, but Remus hadn’t a clue what it could’ve been. What had they been talking about, again?

“The muggle saying, Lupin.” Sirius repeated with unconcealed annoyance, letting out a sigh as Remus jumped slightly at his words. “I asked what the muggle saying meant.”

“Oh! Oh yeah— of course! Obviously.” Sirius snorted as Remus rambled. “Uh, it means, like…” He struggled to find a way to explain the term without blatantly offending James, but unfortunately, his attempts were futile. There just simply wasn’t one. “It means you can only really think of one thing at a time. Or just one thing at all, I suppose. I only said it about James because he— y’know— only thinks about you. And maybe Lily, I guess. Oh— and Quidditch—“

Remus was cut off by a sudden bark of laughter— so loud, he was sure Pince would’ve been hunting them down as he spoke, had she not currently been on a wild chase for James, who was still helplessly shouting Sirius’s name through the room.

Sirius continued laughing, leaning against his book for support (which pained Remus to his very core) and banging his palm against the table as he rocked back and forth— gasping for air.

“Uh, are you—?”

“Merlin, Lupin— I can’t with you! I just can’t!” Sirius beamed at Remus, leaving him slightly stunned. Unable to speak. “Oh, I’m definitely calling him that. It’s perfect— you’re so bloody right.”

Remus couldn’t believe his ears. He hadn’t been able to for a bit now. He could only stare gaping at Sirius, causing the boy’s laughing fit to reignite.

“Okay, but seriously,” Remus eventually said, wincing slightly at Sirius’s snort due to his choice of words, and continuing once the boy motioned for him to do so. “What are you doing here?“

Sirius attempted to leave his face blank, but seemed to fail miserably— a brow quirking up, and the corners of his lips following suit.

“Is it a crime to want to sit with a mate, Lupin?”

Remus started at that, shocked at the prospect of Sirius considering him a “mate”. Were they mates? Was that what this had all been? Had Sirius just been trying to innocently befriend Remus this whole bloody time?!

“I— well,” Remus stuttered out, his thoughts scattering as he spoke, “No, I suppose it’s not. You’ve just never done so before.”

Sirius snorted, both eyebrows raising as he did so. “Merlin forbid a bloke tries something new—“

Remus narrowed his eyes, and Sirius smirked.

“And anyways, I needed your help with something.”

Remus’s mouth drooped into a confused frown as Sirius snapped his book shut, sliding it across the table towards Remus. He caught it with the tips of his scarred fingers before it could slip off the edge, finally able to read the cover.

“Advanced Transfiguration: Humans and Animals”.

Remus’s mouth opened and closed a few times until his lips eventually pursed, looking up to shake his head at Sirius.

“Sorry, mate,” Remus stated plainly, “I’m shit at transfiguration.”

“Oh pish,” Sirius scoffed, rolling his eyes, “You’ve had straight O’s since first year.”

“Yeah, but so have you—“

“Have you ever heard of Animagi, Lupin?” Sirius asked suddenly, his eyes never straying from Remus’s, even as James shouted his name through the quiet library, quickly initiating yet another argument between him and the grumpy librarian.

“Uh, I suppose.” Remus shrugged lamely, “Why do you ask?”

“—JAMES POTTER, YOU GET BACK HERE—“

“—PADSSS! WHERE ARE YOUUU—?!”

“I’ve just been curious about them.” Sirius laced his fingers together under his chin, his eyes narrowing. “I mean, you’ve seen McGonagall transform into a cat, yeah? Isn’t it cool?”

“Uh, I guess,” Remus shrugged once again, “But I’ve transformed into an animal every full moon for the last ten years. Sorry to say, the idea of being an Animagus isn’t too appealing to me. I’ve never bothered to do any research on it— never cared enough, really.”

“Hm.” Sirius leaned back and began nodding slowly. “Fair that—“

“PADFOOT!” James’s shoes skidded to a stop in front of Remus and Sirius’s table, his breath short as he slammed his palms onto the wooden surface. Remus gasped as an inkwell was knocked over, a black blotch pooling over his forgotten essay. Remus cursed under his breath as Sirius let out a loud laugh, tipping back tediously in his chair as he watched Remus fumble with the parchment.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, mate!” James exclaimed, his eyes wide as he tried helping Remus, immediately snatching the book Sirius had been reading and throwing it into the boy’s chest. Sirius grunted as the tome hit him, but he didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Remus frowned as he peeled the ink-soaked paper off of the table, waving it over the edge between two fingers with a grimace as he watched the black drops drip to the floor.

“Aw, bugger! Right shit luck, that is!” James exclaimed, staring blankly at the puddle of ink building on the floor with absolutely zero remorse for his actions.

Yeah, right shit luck his arse. Curse James Potter and his lack of bloody sensibility.

Despite himself, Remus waved off James’s half-arsed apology, shoving the rest of his un-ruined homework back into the main pocket of his messenger bag with a huff.

“Anyways, guys— guess what?!” James grinned, all of his previous excitement and energy returning. Sirius and Remus both turned their heads to look at him, Sirius raising a brow, beckoning James to continue.

“Wormy’s found the kitchens!”

Sirius grimaced, his expression one of complete disbelief.

“The kitchens?” Sirius repeated, “Peter’s actually found the kitchens?”

“Yeah!” James exclaimed happily, grabbing at Sirius’s arm. “C’mon, you lump— let’s go check them out!”

Sirius let himself get dragged to his feet by James, mumbling petty comments of, “Of course Peter’s fat arse managed to sniff them out,” and “I’ll bet he eats all the food before we even get there,” under his breath. James just rolled his eyes, socking Sirius in the stomach, and ignoring the boy as he loudly protested in return. The two of them waited— quite shockingly— as Remus got to his feet, quickly throwing his bag over his shoulder once he realised they expected him to follow.

He was still getting used to that. It was a right oddity to have those two wait for much of anything— let alone Remus himself. Yet, here they were— James and Sirius engaged in conversation as they waited, occasionally hitting each other for no real reason.

Remus really didn’t understand that part, and he wasn’t sure he ever would. Why the bloody hell were they always attacking each other?!

He didn’t have time to ponder the situation as James and Sirius began bounding towards the doors, leaving Remus lagging behind as he sent a nod of silent apology towards Madame Pince on his way out— the librarian still red-faced and slightly sweaty from the chase. James held the door open for Remus with barely concealed impatience and irritation, waving him on with his hand as he grumbled about how slow Remus walked. Remus was then met by a snickering Sirius as he stepped out into the nearly deserted hall, the sound of his laughter bouncing around the high ceilings from seemingly every direction. James led the three of them down a flight of stairs just a few paces away without so much as a look to check they were still following, bringing them directly towards the location of the Hufflepuff common room beneath the Great Hall.

Sirius shot Remus a confused look over his shoulder as James waltzed past a neat stack of wooden barrels beside the common room entrance, arranged into large, looming triangular piles. Remus couldn’t help but return the look, giving Sirius a shrug of his own as they wound down the increasingly narrowing corridor off to the side.

“Do you think Peter’s just having us on?” Sirius asked as he squinted towards the nearing wall, bringing the three boys to an abrupt dead end a few metres down. James shook his head firmly, his sights set on a random painting of a fruit bowl, looking extremely out of place against the barren, stone walls.

Remus… had no bloody clue why that was there. For some reason, he tried to justify its existence in his head, attempting to make the thing seem normal, but no matter how he looked at it, it was just strange. Why the hell was there a painting of a fruit bowl?!

The rest of the cornered-in hall was devoid of any decoration— the space filled by nothing but decaying barrels and slowly rotting food. Remus grimaced as he kicked away a rotten apple, the thing having apparently rolled towards him after falling out of the barrels.

Sirius ignored Remus and snorted at the picture up ahead, his head cocking to the side as he observed.

“Bloody ugly, that is.”

James nodded instantly in agreement, a smirk crossing his own face.

“Who’d you think painted it?”

“An untalented prat, that’s for sure.”

Remus was resisting the urge to roll his eyes, growing annoyed as they shared little quips amongst themselves, acting as if they were snooty art enthusiasts simply browsing a local museum. If anyone were to judge the quality of a suspicious painting in a creepy hallway, it would be those two.

“Soo,” Remus interrupted with a cough, causing Sirius and James’s heads to snap his way. “Is there a reason we’re here?”

James and Sirius stared at Remus for a moment— their facial expressions both showing signs of shock, but in entirely different fashions. Where Sirius’s was one of amusement, nearly impressed, James’s was cold, seemingly offended by the question. Remus had to stop himself from gaping at the absurdity of it. Their respective reactions were entirely different from what Remus had seen in the past— their minds having seemingly been swapped in the past couple of weeks. Maybe that was it. Maybe the two did some weird, Freaky Friday shite from that muggle movie, and we’re currently living in each other’s bodies. As weird as it’d be, it would certainly explain some things.

Really, it was the only thing that would explain it. It would explain how Sirius, who’d been nothing but rude, abrasive, and vulgar throughout Remus’s entire school career, suddenly started acting… almost cordial. And also, how James, who’d literally been nothing but friendly and perhaps a bit dismissive, was suddenly downright avoidant— running away from Remus like he had the bloody plague, and treating him as such as well. Remus had never seen James direct a look so disdainful in his direction, but recently, that was just how it was. He’d smile and laugh a bit stiffly when Remus would speak, and he’d act nice enough, he supposed, but other than that, James was cold.

Neither of them seemed right. Everything was off. Everything was all wrong.

Sirius eventually found the words to respond, but he wasn’t exactly any help.

“The fuck if I know,” he shrugged, turning to look at James, and shaking his shoulder when he didn’t meet his gaze. “You heard the lad— what the hell are we doing here?”

James spent a few more moments glaring at Remus before schooling his expression back to neutral— his eyes blinking rapidly from behind his glasses as if he’d just woken up from some sort of trance.

“Oh, uh— yeah.” James shook his head a bit, collecting himself. “Pete said this is where the kitchens are.”

The three of them stood in momentary silence, all eyeing the painting, before Sirius burst out laughing, the sound echoing down the hall.

One thing Remus has learnt about Sirius recently is that he’s always laughing. It didn’t matter if anything was particularly funny— he just laughed. He snickered for the hell of it, snorted for no damn reason, and giggled inexplicably at random, spontaneous intervals. It was really weird.

“All in favour of hanging the sneaky prat’s underwear off of the tower bannister, say ‘I’—“

“Shut up, idiot.” James grumbled, his eyes uselessly scanning the same area they had been for around ten minutes now. “I know it’s here somewhere. Pete wouldn’t lie to me.”

“‘Pete wouldn’t lie to me—‘“ Sirius mocked in a high-pitched voice, earning himself a hard glare from James, and a stomp on the toe. Sirius yelped and grabbed at the offended article, but his mouth remained snapped shut— his jabs ceasing for a single, blissful moment.

Remus ignored the two as he approached the painting for the first time, stepping around a still hopping Sirius to get a better look. Either Pete really was taking the piss, or there was just something they were missing. Remus’s eyes narrowed scrutinisingly as he took it all in, observing every piece of fruit occupying the small, blue bowl critically. There were a few things which stood out to him immediately. First, the painting really was quite shitty. Remus couldn’t even deny it. The strokes were extremely visible and shaky, and the shading was downright awful. There was no depth, no dimension, no nothing. It was downright hideous, if he was honest. This wouldn’t have been a very interesting factor, if not for the very distinct look most paintings in the wizarding world took on. Compared to others he’d seen in the hallways— or even his own home, for that matter— this one seemed like a cheap imitation— just an amateur painting, done by an even more amateur artist.

“Do you think it’s a muggle painting?” Remus asked the group, causing the loud sounds of their snappy conversation to immediately die down at his words. Sirius appeared at Remus’s side, holding his chin in his fingers.

“Well, now that you mention it— yeah!”

“Holy shit— Lupin!” James clapped Remus on the back, but only fleetingly, immediately dropping his hand back to his side, “You’re right! I’m not sure why that matters at all, but you’re right!”

Sirius snickered at the mildly passive-aggressive comment, but said nothing more.

“Well, I just thought it was strange, I suppose. Almost every painting at Hogwarts is a wizarding painting, which, y’know, move. This one’s dead still.”

Sirius snorted. “And dead ugly, as well—“

James threw a hand in Sirius’s face, successfully silencing the boy with annoyed splutters.

“Righttt,” James drawled, looking both unimpressed and extremely confused, his hand still covering Sirius’s mouth, “And this is important because…?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Remus shrugged, “I just thought it was odd.”

James’s lips pressed into a thin line as he nodded, his eyes flicking over to Sirius as the boy impulsively began pretending to lick the fruits upon the painting, his tongue getting dangerously close to the old canvas.

“You won’t.” James said with a smirk, prompting Sirius to get even closer, rolling his eyes back dramatically and rocking his head at the portrait of the pear in a strange imitation of a sexual act, making Remus gag as James laughed.

“Ew, please don’t.” Remus grimaced, staring at the little pear Sirius was nearly assaulting with his tongue.

“This painter bloke must’ve loved pears.” James said with a snort, his head leaning closer to the painting to stare at the small fruit. This very random comment had Sirius pulling his tongue— very thankfully— back into his mouth, scoffing at the ridiculousness of the statement with a judgemental narrowing of his eyes.

“What the bloody hell are you on about?”

“Look at it,” James pointed to the pear defensively, “It looks so realistic!”

“And what the hell does that matter?”

“How should I know?! Why’d you care when Lupin commented on the painting’s quality, but not me?!”

“Because Lupin’s a swot!” Sirius wildly gestured in Remus’s direction, “What if he’s, like, really interested in artwork, or some shite?”

Remus once again tuned out James and Sirius’s seemingly endless stream of stupidity, looking to the pear James had commented on before. It really was realistic— appearing as though an entirely different artist had just painted over the old piece, slapping a random arse pear right smack dab in the middle of the scene. Remus wasn’t exactly sure what possessed him, but for some reason, he reached out to rub his finger across the centre of the pear— the paint in that section, which was for some reason chipping and discoloured, drawing his attention like a moth to a flame.

As soon as his finger connected with the belly of the pear, the fruit laughed. Yes, the painted-on picture of a bloody pear giggled at him, causing Remus to jump back in shock as James and Sirius turned to stare.

Sirius cocked a brow, a look of amusement crossing his face.

“Did you just giggle—?”

“The pear laughed at me!” Remus exclaimed, pointing at the offending fruit. “I swear to Merlin, it laughed!”

“I think Lupin’s gone mental—“

“Are you sure it was the pear? Not just, y’know, Peeves or some shite?” Sirius asked, his tone genuinely curious.

“Or the voices in your head, perhaps—?”

“Yes, I swear! It was the pear! Go on, touch its stomach— you’ll see!”

James snorted out a laugh, but Sirius simply shrugged, walking back up to the painting, and rubbing the little pear’s stomach with a blank look on his face. Just as before— much to Remus’s relief— the fruit began to giggle obnoxiously, the loud sound absolutely piercing. James and Sirius’s eyes both widened in shock as the shrill giggles assaulted their ears, making all three boys cringe in unison.

“Merlin, that’s horrid!” James covered his ears at the sound dramatically, shaking his head, “Leave the pear alone, Sirius!”

But Sirius didn’t leave it alone. For some odd reason, he continued rubbing the pear’s stomach, his eyebrows furrowing with focus as he did so. Just as Remus was about to interfere, also asking Sirius to leave the bloody pear be, the painting swung inwards, leaving Sirius with his finger still hovering in the air in front of a massive passageway, his eyes opened wide.

The three boys were instantly met with a wave of fantastic smells, leaving them to stand for a moment, dumbstruck, as they deeply inhaled through their noses— the pear’s laughter slowly dying down.

“Holy shite, you did it, Pads!” James smiled, offering an extended hand for Sirius to high-five. The boys filed into the passageway without further question, James at the head with Remus bringing up the rear. James hopped off of the slight platform they’d been walking on onto the stone floors of the kitchens— the large room warm, and bloody lovely smelling.

The kitchens were nothing like Remus had ever imagined. All of the furniture was miniature sized, allowing the little elves, who were diligently cooking the food, to reach the supplies— their eyes alight with determination, and their wrinkled skin beading with sweat from the heat. The room was so full of random items and food, Remus wasn’t even sure where to look. There was a massive brick oven right in the centre, with various pots and pans filled of sizzling food cooking on the ledge. Ladles and spatulas hung from every wall, and knives were thrown about every surface— the entire room looking a chaotic mix of neat and disastrous.

There were fish, meat, and vegetables hanging from the ceiling by hooks, forcing the tiny elves to climb on wooden ladders to pull them down. Large cabinets were filled to the brim with breads, flour, sugar, and every other baking ingredient imaginable, surely being used to make the delicious deserts which occupied the dining tables every evening. Elves had their hands full with pots and utensils, all of them politely greeting the boys as they passed by. A few weaved through their legs as they ran through the space, and one even knocked right into Sirius, instantly giving a dramatically sincere apology to the snarky boy as he sneered. Eventually, one elf decided to actually stop right in front of them, its wide eyes looking up to the three tall teenagers in wonder.

“Oh, hello, young masters!” The elf greeted warmly, its voice high and squeaky. “I’s is Plimsly— at your service! What can I’s assist you’ses with?”

“We’re just here to look around,” James said distractedly, his eyes still wandering about the room, “We’ll only be here for a bit.”

“Would you’s likes me to fix your some food? Plimsly would be honoured to makes you’s something’s!”

“Nah, you can go away now— we’re fine—OW!“ Sirius attempted to dismiss Plimsly quite rudely, causing James to jab him sharply in the side. Despite the disruption, the little elf walked away calmly, bidding them farewell as it returned to its work.

“Don’t be a prat— it was just being nice!”

“It’s a bloody elf, you git! What— shall I treat it like the bloody Queen? Bow down to it as it speaks to me—?”

“No, just be bloody normal—!“

Remus walked away as they argued over the interaction, wandering over to where Plimsly had ran off to. James and Sirius could speak for their bloody selves— Remus was just a week from the full moon, and his stomach felt like an endless black hole of starvation. He was getting himself a snack, thank you very much. What purpose is there in finding the bloody kitchens if you refuse the food?

Plimsly smiled as soon as she caught sight of him, stepping immediately off of the stool she’d been standing on to run to his side.

“Yes, young master? Do’s you’s needs me?”

“Yes, I do, Plimsly! Would you mind making me a—“

“A steak? Extra rare?”

“I— oh!” Remus reeled back, his words stolen from his lips. He always liked extra rare steaks as the full moon neared— probably an effect of the Wolf, if he had to guess. Why this random house elf knew such a thing, Remus hadn’t a clue. “Well, yeah, actually! Could you do that for me?”

Plimsly nodded enthusiastically, sending Remus a smile as she set off back to her stool, shouting commands at a few elves nearby. Another elf, which noticed Remus just awkwardly standing by, brought him a stool of his own, ushering him to sit as Remus thanked him gratefully. A third elf scurried over moments later with a table held above its head, throwing the wooden piece down in front of where Remus sat with a grunt, and running off before he could think of a single thing to say.

James and Sirius walked over with matching smug expressions as two more elves began setting Remus’s makeshift table— Sirius barking out a laugh as one tucked a napkin into the hem of his button-down shirt.

“Making yourself comfortable, aren’t you, Lupin?” James asked with a smirk, his eyes moving between Remus and the elf placing the silverware as he spoke.

Remus just shrugged with an awkward grimace, finding himself unable to explain the extremely odd situation he found himself in.

Sirius leaned down and snapped at an elf holding a plate of beans, halting the creature in its path.

“Get us two more stools—“ Sirius demanded to the scared looking elf, only adding on an insincere “Please.” when James nudged him in the shoulder.

The same treatment Remus had been given was done to James and Sirius— the two boys shoved down into log stools of their own, and napkins tucked into their own shirts as they snickered.

“What’d you order?” Sirius asked curiously as the last elf left their table, leaving the boys all on their own in the centre of the kitchen.

“Steak.” Remus shrugged, his brow furrowing as Sirius let out a laugh.

“Ah— that checks. Six more days, yeah?”

Remus’s head reeled back slightly, his eyes widening. “How—?”

“Do you have the bloody moon cycles memorised?” James asked, an incredulous look on his face. Sirius beamed back a smile, his black curls bouncing at his shoulders as he nodded.

“Oh course.” Sirius replied, as if it was blatantly obvious. As if everyone on Earth knew the exact phase the moon was on at any given moment. “Don’t you?”

“Uh, no?!”

“I don’t even have them memorised myself, if I’m honest. Poppy’s always having to remind me.” Remus mumbled, initiating another snicker from Sirius as he pulled the napkin out of his collar, and threw it down beside the silverware. James stared at the forks and knives a bit scrutinisingly for a second before picking one up, thrusting it in Remus’s direction. Remus couldn’t help but flinch away as a fork was jabbed dangerously close to his chest, his mouth gaping open at the lazy murder attempt.

“What the hell?!” He finally managed to struggle out, his brows furrowed, and his jaw dropped. James just shrugged, this time gently motioning for Remus to put his hand out, and watching in wonder as he dropped the small piece of silver into his outstretched palm. Sirius hummed along as well, apparently somehow understanding the meaning of James’s violent actions.

“I thought werewolves were, like, allergic to silver?” James mused, still staring at the fork in Remus’s hand. Remus followed his gaze, cocking his own head to the side as he processed the question.

“Oh yeah,” He said softly, letting his fingers wrap around the small handle as he brought the item closer to his face. “I suppose I am. Or, I usually am, at least.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re the worst bloody werewolf I’ve ever met. How’ve you never noticed this?”

“I— I dunno!” Remus tried to think of a better defence, but was coming up with nothing. “I just haven’t!”

“He doesn’t even know his own cycles, either.” James shook his head in mock disappointment, causing Remus to splutter uselessly.

“Neither do you—!”

“Yeah,” Sirius swooped in for his mate’s defence, “But it’s not his problem, is it—?”

“Oi— Plimsly!” James called out, cutting Remus off quite rudely, “What’re the silverware made of?”

Plimsly’s large ears twitched at attention, its thin lip scrunching in thought.

“I’s believes it’s stainless steel, sirs. Dumbledores hads its changed froms silver around… a few years ago, I’s supposes.”

The three boys all hummed in unison— the answer making complete sense.

“Thank you, Plimsly!” James smiled, “That’s all!”

Plimsly bowed and went back to the bowl it’d been mixing— allowing James and Sirius to both send smug looks in Remus’s direction. Remus refused to grant them with a reaction, simply rolling his eyes and averting his gaze in favour of watching a few strips of bacon sizzle from within a pan a few metres away. Remus could feel his mouth watering at the sight. It looked so bloody good.

Unfortunately, the nearly comfortable silence was interrupted by Sirius— his face lit with a smirk before the words even made it out.

“Did you lot know my family keeps the heads of houseelves—“

“Pads, I swear to Merlin,” James took a deep inhale, ignoring Sirius as he began snickering goofily to himself. “If you mention that one more bloody time when we’re around elves, your head’ll be next. Mark my words.”

Sirius started snickering, as he always did, and very surprisingly, Remus found himself doing the same. In fact, as the two posh boys watched him eat his nearly-raw steak, each of them making their fair share of dirty jokes and absurd implications, Remus found himself snickering quite a few times.

He snorted as Sirius made stupid comments while the elves cleaned, and he snickered as James nearly forgot his bag, forcing him to sprint back through the portrait hole to go and retrieve it. He full on wheezed with laughter as James tripped on his way back out, sprawling himself across the stone tiles, and causing his glasses to skid across the floor as Sirius and Remus used the walls to hold themselves up— tears welling at their eyes, and their lungs gasping for air, and he realised he laughed a bit more after that as they made their way back to the common room, all high in spirits, and riding the lasting thrill of an adventure well done.

Remus was still suspicious. He didn’t know what their plan was, and he didn’t know why they were acting the way they were. Remus just didn’t get it. He really didn’t get it at all. But, instead of obsessing over his problems as he usually did, he decided to let it go. For the first time in probably his entire life, Remus just let it go. Were they just messing with him? Probably. Did Remus care? He most likely would— but for some reason, he chose to ignore it all.

For the first time in his life, Remus allowed himself a bit of happiness. Even if that meant conspiring with the biggest bullies in the bloody school, at least he had something. At least someone would talk to
him. At least he had mates.

That was why, even as his suspicion waned on, he felt his resolve wavering. Let those two idiots have an evil plan— Remus didn’t care. He did, but at the same time, he really, really didn’t.

Not even a bit. Not even at all.

~~~

Peter knew the plan. James and Sirius had informed him of it just a couple weeks ago— both of them wide-eyed and breathless as they talked over one another, gushing on about Animagi, werewolves, and other rot along those lines.

Peter nodded enthusiastically as they asked him to become Animagi with them, knowing damn well neither would take no for an answer if he’d refused, anyway.

He nodded along with just as much excitement still as they explained their plan, which, according to them, was separated into three parts.

Part one was gaining Remus’s trust.

They’d let Remus into their group— acting as if the world revolved around him, and the sun shined out of his bloody arse— until he began to think they really cared. They’d include him, they’d laugh at his jokes, and they’d listen when he spoke, etc, etc. They were leading him into a false sense of security— making him feel as though he’d actually found himself some real friends, before ripping the rug out from beneath his feet.

It was straight manipulation.

The next stage of the plan happened simultaneously to the first, but Remus would remain completely unaware.

James and Sirius would learn how to become Animagi. They didn’t care how they did it, or how long it took— they were determined. They would collect all of the ingredients, make the potions in secret, and, when the time came, they’d transform.

Then, after they already became Animagi, and there was nothing Remus could do to stop them, they’d inform him of their solution to his “furry little problem”, explaining about packs, and all of that nonsense Sirius had gone on about earlier. Once Remus realised their plan had worked, and he was no longer getting brutally mauled by the beast within him every month, he’d obviously feel quite indebted to the boys.

That was where stage three came in.

James and Sirius, the impulsive idiots they were, hadn’t actually created part three, so for now, it was technically just an empty goal they’d end up chasing hopelessly all year— doing all of this stuff for Remus, with no real clue what the reward would be.

Peter thought it was all stupid. Peter thought it might’ve been their dumbest plan yet— but did he say anything?

No, no he didn’t.

He didn’t say anything as James slid over on his bench in potions beside their cauldron, somehow managing to cajole Slughorn into letting them work in a group of three. He said nothing as he watched them wander the halls shoulder to shoulder, heads leaned in as they listened to whatever awful joke Sirius had been inevitably making, while Peter stayed behind.

He said nothing as he watched the soft smile overtake Remus’s face at lunch that afternoon— that being the first time Peter had really ever seen such a sight on the gloomy boy’s face.

Part one was working. James and Sirius were doing exactly as they said they would, and it was working exactly as they said it would work.

Remus was being manipulated, and Peter stayed silent. He was creating relationships built on lies and deceit, and Peter didn’t care to warn him otherwise.

This wasn’t his problem— Peter was merely a pawn. This was James and Sirius’s world, and everyone else was just living in it.

Peter, however, wasn’t just living.

He was learning to survive.