Tremble, Little Lion Man

    Everything from the train to the Great Hall to dinner is a blur. Voices filter in and out of his ears but he's not quick enough to catch what they're saying, and hands tug him along the castle while he watches with detached disinterest. The hands are careful and scarred, and Sirius is not afraid. He's thinking about his test, his mother's silky voice slithering through his head, and how, strangely, he wants to make her proud. He wonders what it would be like to give in, wonders if it would feel like sinking into a soft bed, molded to his body like he was born to lie there, wonders if he'd feel safe again, if his parents would never hurt him again. 

        Regulus always asked him why he had to make things so hard by resisting, through yelling or tears or gritted teeth (the same conversation hundreds of times while Sirius bled and ached and observed the way the grout stained red beneath him), he asked Sirius why he thought it necessary to resist if it only got him hurt, if it only made their house a warzone, and couldn't he just endure it with him? Together? Couldn't Sirius just do what he was meant to, and when the war was won, they could run off and live in France, and put it all behind them. Sirius wonders why he resists at all when it could be so much easier, he thinks Regulus is right, he thinks that he'd rather feel Mother's hand soft on his cheek than the starbursts of pain he usually receives from the other end of her wand. 

    He thinks it seems so simple, and then someone— a flash of red hair and a pretty gleaming smile, Lily, his brain supplies belatedly, brushes his arm and the pain thrumming at a level he'd begun to forget suddenly seizes his body and Sirius remembers. He must gasp or make some sound, because her smile melts into a frown and her brows wrinkle, she looks at someone off to the side, her downturned mouth moving, but Sirius is gone again; remembering, seeing and hearing, screams and smoke and shapes on the ground writhing in pain. 

    Sirius blinks and he's sitting on a bed in his dorm, Lily is gone and he doesn't recall when she left or how he got there, the scarred hands no longer tugging on his clothes. Sirius misses those hands, not like Regulus' that are milky white and thin, or James' that are calloused and big, or his own hands, with chipped black paint he doesn't remember applying and picked cuticles. 

    "We're not going to strip him while he's practically catatonic, James."

    "We need to figure out where he's injured. Do you have any better ideas?" 

    Remus sighs, thinking for a moment, "He reacted when Lils brushed his arm like the pain brought him back to the present a little, and then he disappeared again. I wonder.."

    "I don't want to cause him any more pain." 

    "No, obviously not, but I have an idea."

    Sirius is following a jumbled string of dark thoughts when those same scarred hands cover his, hesitantly, just resting there, and Sirius instantly feels safer again. He doesn't know why he was feeling afraid before and doesn't remember what exactly he was thinking. It's all mist in his hands; there's nothing solid for him to cling to. The scarred hands take one of his, turning it over till his palm is facing upward, and Sirius watches idly, a soul without a tether to his body. There's a whisper of a spell from somewhere, the only reason he notices the wand is because he's watching their hands so closely, and then, a cold blast of air that makes him suck in a surprised breath; his soul slammed back into his body as sensation returns, the constant, burning pain in his shoulder and down his arm, fire, he was on fire— his head snaps up to find the scarred hands attached to an equally scarred face with freckles and bright amber eyes that flicker over Sirius' face. Remus.

    "There you are. You're okay," A familiar accent, a voice warm and heavy like a thick blanket. With newfound clarity, Sirius looks around the room, finding James close by, leaning against the bedpost and watching him intently, and Peter sitting on the floor, sorting through their emergency supply of first aid and potions. "Do you know where you are?"

    Sirius nods, taking a wobbly breath, being pulled back into his body after floating for so long made his skin feel like an ill-fitting coat. He only remembered the day in stops and starts, brief moments before he was taken away again, it was terrifying. 

    "You're okay," Remus repeated, still knelt in front of him though it was surely bothering his bad knees, "Can you talk to us, please? Tell us where it hurts, darling."

    Sirius opens his mouth, finding it so dry, finding himself nervous to speak, when did he become so cautious?  But they were safe, his friends, they wouldn't tell her, she wasn't here. It shouldn't feel so scary, he knew, but none of that Gryffindor bravery seemed to surround him anymore. No Gryffindor is afraid to speak up, no Gryffindor would do what he did. 

    "My shoulder," He whispers, his voice rough with disuse, tipping his head to the left to indicate which one. 

    "Alright mate," James says, giving him a small smile, "Let's have a look, we'll try not to swoon at the sight of your beater's arms, strictly business, I promise." 

    "I make no such promises, your beater's arms are my wet dream," Peter adds casually, a slight quirk to his mouth, not even looking up from where he was squinting at an unlabeled potion bottle, trying to determine what it was. James laughs first, a surprised squawk that breaks the tension and makes Remus join in too.

    Despite himself, Sirius' lips twitch upward, and for a moment, everything doesn't feel so bad, because he has this, because he has them. Remus catches the look on his face and smiles warmly, relief clear in his eyes. For seven years at Hogwarts, out of everything that has changed, the love he has for his friends hasn't, the care they have for each other is as strong as it has always been, despite what has been broken before. For a second, Sirius lets himself believe that what he'd done doesn't change anything, that the voice in his head is inconsequential, he cannot be controlled here, here he is himself. But when he goes home—

     Sirius' smile fades slightly when he touches his shoulder and he shrinks imperceptibly, realizing he doesn't want them to see, to ask questions, or worse, force him to go to the hospital wing.  

    "Come on, Pads, you know how this goes, you've gotta show us. We'll be as quick as possible," James reassures, noticing his hesitation.

    Sirius squirms a little under their scrutiny, wishing he could go back to floating away, untethered and unfeeling. 

 "I don't—" He clears his throat, sitting up straighter, "Reg fixed most of it, really, so I'll just change the bandages myself. Thanks lads, but I don't need your tender touches this time," He stands, ignoring the skeptical looks the boys shot him, reaching for the bandages Peter had set out so he could hide in the bathroom and deal with the damage privately. 

    "Don't bullshit us, Sirius, we're not stupid. Even if we were, Reg said—" 

    "We'll let you go if you can get your robes off without wincing," Remus challenges, standing between Sirius and the bathroom door with his arms crossed.

    "Remus—" James stresses, looking at him disbelievingly.

    But Remus knew Sirius, and if he didn't want to do it the easy way, fine, but he wouldn't back down from a challenge, even one he was likely to lose, and Remus wouldn't make a bet he wasn't certain he'd win. 

     Sirius hesitated a bit longer, calculating the odds of successfully skirting around his boyfriend and locking himself in the bathroom before he began fumbling with the clasp at his throat one-handedly, trying to appear casual about it. He began shrugging off his robes carefully, under each boy's heavy scrutiny, sweat beading on his forehead, bottom lip trapped between his teeth to contain his whine of pain. It was when he jostled his arm  trying to pull at the sleeve that he let out a muffled curse, seeing white momentarily as his arm lit up in pain so hot it felt as if his skin was melting off the bone. His head swam and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to be sick as he folded in half. When he opened his eyes, James' red trainers were in front of him, a calloused hand resting on his back for a moment before towing him upward slowly, other hand on his good shoulder. 

    "Alright, come on, sit back down. You lost your stupid bet, so you're going to let us help and stop being a stubborn git about it," James lectures as he guides Sirius to sit back down on his bed. 

     Sirius huffs, trying to sound annoyed instead of pained, but unsure that he manages it. James deftly unbuttons his shirt for him, nonplussed, wearing the same concerned and exasperated expression he does when Remus is pushing himself too hard too close to the full. It's an expression he wears often, Marlene always jokes that James is going to start balding from the stress of caring for them, especially for his habit of dragging his hands through his wild hair when he's worrying. He slides the shirt off Sirius' shoulders carefully, revealing the mess of bandages wrapped around his chest and arm. Sirius looks away from them, not wanting to see their reactions as James began to unwind the bandages, now yellowed and old from a few days of wear. Sirius hisses when they fall away, cold air stinging the sensitive nerves.

    “Merlin’s balls, Sirius,” James swears loudly, and Peter gags into his fist, Remus entirely silent but watchful.

     When Sirius finds the courage to peek at him, he finds his boyfriend with a clenched jaw, that same spark of anger blazing in his eyes as before on the train. Sirius is tempted to rip away from them, from their prying gazes that pull him apart, from their careful hands trying to fix what has been broken too many times to come together normally again. He was so tired of being something in need of repair; Regulus could stitch him up, and James could glue him together, Remus could sweep up the pieces, but he would never quite be whole, his delicate skin would only tear again, and the glue would eventually lose its strength, and what remains to be pressed together won't ever fit the same. At one point, Sirius will be lost to them, to himself too, he reckons, each time they try to mold him in the shape he used to fill, the end result is lackluster, he always seems to be missing something.

       The burn looks worse than it did a few days ago, a sickly green around the edges that wasn’t there before, raised and puckered, the burn has a glossy sheen to it, highlighting the bubbled texture, yellow and red and still blackened in some places. Sirius was close to gagging himself as he glanced down at it, remembering, remembering smoke so thick it covered the glow of the moon with smog, the dark mark green and writhing in the sky over their heads, an omen and promise of death, golden flames and the smell of charred flesh, cackling and screaming ringing equally loud in his ears. 

      He scrunches his eyes shut but it doesn't help block the memories out; that damning shade of red lightning leaving his wand for the first time, hot breath in his ear, his mother’s voice in his head,  you will make me proud, you will obey, you will submit—

      “Stay with us, Sirius, don’t go anywhere.” 

       A warm hand on his cheek, thumb brushing under his eye, dulcet tones that he accidentally blocks out in his panic. He can't help it, he is helpless to the pull of the memories his mind tries to drown him in, helpless as Mother's voice resurfaces in his consciousness. Static in his ears, voices flickering in and out, pain receding like a wave, all sensation receding as he began to float again, with relief he lets himself go, wishing to blink out of existence entirely. 

      “— looks infected, I don’t know if we can heal this on our own.”

      “— to clean this, sweetheart, it’s going to hurt a little.” 

      A sudden burst of pain like fireworks explodes through his shoulder, making his breath hitch and his body flinch backward, sweat pouring from his face now, cleaning charm making the wound bubble and hiss as it made contact. Agony, it was agony, the same as it was when he’d apparated home, half-conscious and hysterical, unable to take a solid breath beyond the white hot pain. He sobs loudly, instinctively fighting the hands that try to still him, that caused him pain, disoriented and consumed with memory, where was Regulus? Where was Mother? Where was his wand? What—

    "Sirius, stop fighting us," An agitated tone, a strained one.

    "Padfoot, please," Another voice pleading.

    A whine of pain that might've been his own, echoes in his ears.There's a flash of light behind his eyelids, and everything stops, Sirius' body falling forward as he's shoved into unconsciousness. 

    "Moony!" 

    "He was only going to hurt himself worse with his thrashing, and obviously we weren't getting through to him. We need to try to heal him, and we can't do that if he won't be still. Lay him back," Remus orders, helping James shift Sirius' limbs and lower him on the pillows. He feels guilty for stupefying his boyfriend, but he couldn't think of what else to do, Sirius seemed to be fragmented, coherent and present one moment, and the next, in a daze of panic or worse, completely blank and dull. 

    "We should be taking him to the hospital wing," James says, pulling Sirius' shoes off and tossing them on the floor as Remus muttered every healing spell he could think of to clean and patch the skin, but the wound remained stubbornly unchanged, fizzling and hot to the touch. "We should be going to the Wizengamot, we should—" 

    "You know how Sirius feels about going to the hospital wing, especially when it pertains to his family, Prongs," Peter spoke up, handing Remus the potions he picked out and watching him pour them into Sirius' mouth. 

    "I don't care!" James bursts out, surprising both of them, Remus glancing over his shoulder at him. "I cannot keep doing this, he cannot keep doing this, Regulus is—"

    "Godric, James, why can't you see that this is Regulus' fault?" Remus snaps, a general healing potion held in his white knuckled grasp, "Why do you think Sirius is still there? Why do you think he brushes you off every time you offer to come get him from that house? Regulus, whether or not he's a death eater, whether or not he's what you say he is, keeps him stuck there! Sirius would've run away years ago if it wasn't for him." 

    "Regulus is just as trapped as Sirius is! Why would you blame him for something that is so clearly their parents fault? He's a kid, too! You don't know him, Moony, he's scared too!" James shot back, his face burning with heat.

    "You don't know him either, you're just a bleeding heart that sees the good in everyone, but that doesn't mean it's there. In case you forgot, Regulus is a Slytherin and hangs around with gits like Mulciber and Snape, which tells me enough about his character."

    James scoffs, "He doesn't even like them, they hang around him and he barely tolerates it."

    "How would you know that?" Remus was looking at him strangely now, "Are you friends with him?"

     "No, obviously not, but—" James' mouth opens and closes as he tried to think of what to say, "I just— notice those things, is all. He's not what you think, what everyone thinks." James watches him more than he should, wonders about him, thinks about him too much. Regulus is an enigma, he's infuriating, he's beautiful and he also needs help. James cannot ignore it, cannot ignore Regulus for the life of him.

      Remus watches him for a long moment before he says, "I'll believe it when I see it."

      And that's the end of the conversation, Sirius laid out on the bed before them, each of them focusing on possible healing spells and checking for other hidden wounds with a comfortability that they shouldn't have already, but seven years with Sirius lends them intimate knowledge of this process. 

    Sirius wakes in a cold sweat in the dark, a tight, restricting feeling over his chest and arm, and nausea roiling in his stomach. He wakes up and momentarily forgets where he is, reaching over the sheets for Regulus and finding them empty. He's still in his clothes from earlier, and his head throbs when he lifts it to look around better. He takes a moment, trying to remember exactly how he got here and feeling a familiar stab of panic when he struggles to, despite no longer being under the imperius, Sirius still feels detached and unreal most times, disconnected from the world. 

    He didn't kill the muggle. Bellatrix had wanted him to, had ordered him to, and while under his Mother's curse, her orders were to follow everything Bellatrix and Lucius had told him, and he had, for the most part. At first, there was no fighting it, there was no way to grasp the reins on his mind when they had disappeared from his hands the moment the lull of the curse fell over him, and silence engulfed him. He had blasted the windows and doors of random houses open on their order, chased muggles out of their houses to be terrorized for nothing, for a political statement, a grasp at power. He set buildings ablaze, automobiles and parks, he ran around with other masked wizards, some of which he recognized by voice as students at Hogwarts. But when Bellatrix had grabbed a muggle man by the hair and threw him at Sirius' feet, a muggle man confused and begging for his wife, when she'd ordered him to torture him, something in Sirius recoiled violently at the thought. 

    He'd raised his wand, the curse on his lips, the shape of it unfamiliar, but he knew it, knew what it meant to cast it, what it felt like. He'd raised his wand and the man curved into himself, hands protecting his face, and the only thought Sirius had, amongst the cacophony of orders that repeated in his mind in his Mother's voice, was that he didn't want to do it. A simple thought, a small rebellion, but it was more than he'd been able to conjure up before, and the thought took shape in his mind, grew and grew until he was able to press his lips together to keep the name of the curse from spilling from his lips. He couldn't lower his wand, couldn't speak out defiantly like he normally would have, but he could delay, he could hesitate, he could finally think, I don't want to do this. 

    Bellatrix had screamed at him, ordering him over and over to do it, and each time, Sirius clung to the thought that he didn't want to hurt this innocent man, and he was surfacing slowly, fighting the pull, his wand beginning to tremble as he fought to lower it. Sirius was strong, but his cousin was stronger. She'd ordered him to look at her, and when she saw the slightest semblance of clarity he'd managed to conjure, she'd imperio'd him again, ordered him to cast the curse again, and this time, Sirius did not fight. He couldn't, he only watched blankly as the man writhed and wailed, smoke in his nose, the wet ground reflecting the sickening green of the Mark above them, terror all around him and at his feet. 

    After, Bellatrix had killed him, the man. She was done dealing with Sirius, furious and manic looking, and ended the man's life with the carelessness of swatting a fly. She'd turned on Sirius after, pointing to the crumpled and lifeless form of the muggle man, telling him that no matter what happened, no matter how hard he fought, this would always be the end result. He could not stop the death the Dark Lord would bring upon the world, and then she'd cursed him; purple flames that singed his skin on contact and forced him to his knees, crumpled next to the dead man, forced to writhe in pain as he stared at the man he'd effectively killed, even if not by his wand. The pain had snapped him out of the imperius, and woke up his senses, he'd apparated on instinct, still burning, fear taking hold of his bones, landing him in a heap in his bedroom. 

    Sirius takes a sharp breath, sitting up despite the pain, grappling blindly for his wand and trying to firmly plant himself in the present. He wasn't sure if it was the consistent use of the imperius over several days, or the lasting impact of what he'd done— he'd heard that dark magic had hooks that sinks deep into your flesh, that changes your magical essence, taints you. He'd heard that dark magic had consequences, maybe losing his mind was his consequence. Sirius clumsily stands, pulling on his boots one handedly, gritting his teeth through the pain, trying to be quiet as possible. He needed Regulus, needed to see him, to be reassured that he was here, that he wouldn't be taken away for training too, that he wouldn't be pulled into a raid surrounded by his housemates. 

    He leaves the dorm, unaware that Remus' bed was empty, a small ball of light coming through James' curtains, rustling behind them. Lost in his mind, he walks through the door, shivering absently, burning, he was always burning these days. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd unwrapped the tight bandages to find that his skin had been eaten away to reveal only bone, it hurt that bad, that consistently. He grips his wand as he walked through the deserted halls, eyes traveling to every shadow, every inch of stone like his mother would materialize out of thin air with an order he couldn't refuse. What if next time it wasn't muggles, but his friends?

    Sirius was nearly to the dungeons when he hears a familiar drawl that straightens his spine, has him adjusting his grip on his wand.

    "Black, out after curfew already," Snape appears a few feet away from him, prefect badge shining on his robes, "I think I'll take 20 points from Gryffindor, and more if your incorrigible friends make an appearance too."

    "Piss off, Snivellous. As if I give a damn what points you're taking," Sirius thinks Remus would be proud of how he walks past Snape with single minded focus, not taunting or threatening, feeling too tired and sick to engage much. Or, he was.

    "Have a good holiday?" Snape calls after him, mouth twisted in an ugly imitation of a smirk, "Have a nice family reunion under the Dark Lord's Mark?" 

    Sirius stiffens, halting his steps, his voice cool and dangerous, a star on the precipice of exploding. Screams and smoke and a green glow and pain and pain and pain.

    "What did you say?"     

    "You heard me. I have to say, I was surprised to see you there that night, I'd've thought that'd be the last place to find you, but you seemed quite comfortable. Guess being a Gryffindor couldn't take the Black out of you," Snape's smirk stretches into a grin, smug and cruel, rejoicing visibly at the pain and anger that wars on Sirius' face. 

    "You must have mistaken me for someone else, I've no idea what you're blabbing about, honestly," Sirius replies flatly, turning to continue his trek to the dungeons, trying to force the invading images out of his mind again, though they never could be drowned out for long. "I know you're obsessed with me Snivellous but it's getting pitiful now." 

    "I wonder what would happen if somebody let it slip that you've performed an unforgivable. On a mere muggle too, how heinous, that's life in Azkaban surely," Snape taunts, calling at his back, "I bet you enjoyed it too, for all you masquerade as a Gryffindor, for all you pretend to be above us all, your hands are just as filthy as the rest of us snakes."

    Sirius hardly made the conscious decision to curse him before his wand was raised, shooting a spell he hadn't even uttered, he'd just felt it, magic in his veins rushing up eagerly for revenge. It was so easy then, to slash his wand through the air, sending a wave of heat that slashes through Snape's robes as he stumbles back to dodge it, a long cut appearing on his arm. Snape retaliates quickly, and they went back and forth trading wordless curses, Sirius' blood singing, dark magic heavy in the air like it had been that night, the edges of his vision blurring slightly as he danced to the rhythm of the duel, pain taken over by rage. Snape's skin erupts into painful boils and pimples that burst and ooze all over, affecting his aim, and Sirius, seeing his advantage, presses harder, sending cutting curses that Snape did his best to shield, forced on the defense. 

    "Tell me," Snape pants, grimacing, "Do your friends know? I don't expect they'd be all that surprised to learn, I'm sure they haven't forgotten your previous indiscretions. The mutt you lie with certainly wouldn't have."

    "Shut it, you greasy," Sirius advances, flipendo throwing Snape backward, "Spineless," A cutting curse in the same place as before, deepening the wound, "Disgusting," Sirius ducks as Snape, in a panic now, and struggling to get to his feet, throws a reckless spell over his head, "Gormless slug! If you ever speak about Remus that way again, I'll cut out your tongue and make you swallow it."

    Snape, wide eyed and clearly sensing danger in his tone, tries to make a run for it, but Sirius casts a leg locking curse, kicking his wand out of his hand, standing over him, adrenaline, revenge, and fire in his veins. He raises his wand to cast another spell, the same torture curse he'd used on that innocent man on his lips, feeling very justified in his use of it for Snape, feeling almost exhilarated at the thought of using it on him, like he'd unlocked a new skill. He'd show Snape what kind of Black he was, he'd make sure he never spoke another word against Remus again.

    "Sirius!" 

    His head snaps up at the sound of Remus' voice, the ringing in his ears lessening a little, his anger faltering as Remus and James come running down the corridor. He looks down at Snape, who huddles on the floor, covered in boils and bleeding, his clothes torn and his wand too far to reach, his arms covering his face, so similar to the muggle man that had cowered under the weight of his wand. So similar that Sirius' vision doubled, one foot in Hogwarts and the other in that burning muggle village, he wants to crucio Snape, and he wasn't under the imperio this time, it is his own intent. It was Sirius, of his own mind, who wanted to torture him. He stumbles away from Snape, though he doesn't lower his wand, instead, he searches the halls, looking for Bellatrix or Lucius, half expecting his Mother to appear out of nowhere with that sinister smile, praising him for acting worthy of the Black name. 

    "Finite," Remus says, unbinding Snape's legs, his eyes flicking between the two of them, "Go, Snape, get out of here. Now." 

    Snape didn't need to be told twice, holding his bleeding arm, he snatches up his wand and runs, face an angry shade of red. 

    Sirius heaves, sweating profusely and nauseous, the bandages on his chest feeling restrictive, the relentless, searing pain registering as adrenaline fades. He would've cursed Snape if his friends hadn't interrupted. He might've killed him, right in the middle of the halls, wandless and defenseless, Sirius would've cursed him. How many times had it been him on the floor, cowering, wandless and defenseless as Mother stood over him, cold and relentless? For all their bullying of Snape, they'd never cursed him when he couldn't defend himself, they'd never pinned him like a butterfly on a cork board and continued; but Sirius is— he's broken, fragmented, he's utterly Black, and it came to him so easily. 

    "Sirius, look at me," James calls, stepping closer with a creased brow, hands outstretched and ready to soothe. "You're okay, yeah? Put down your wand, it's just us here." 

    He steps back, he was dangerous, he was exactly what his Mother had prayed for, and he wasn't even under her curse. Her words heavy on his conscience, You will obey, You will submit, You will be perfect, You will be the heir I've always wanted, You will make me proud. His resistance to his family, his rejection of pureblood traditions and ideologies was what made him who he was, his refusal to allow them to mold him, was what made him strong. He was meant to be brave, he was meant to be a defender, a hero. He'd always wished goodness came as easy to him as it did to James, he'd always wished his first thought was to be helpful and kind, he'd always pretended that it was, he'd always pretended to be a Gryffindor. But Snape had been right, being a Gryffindor couldn't take the Black out of him.

    Sirius was drowning in his head, and the shadows on the cold stone walls twist around him sinisterly, forming the shapes of his family, the glow of the oil lamps mimicking the flames that night. He continues to back away as James continues to advance, mouth moving, but Sirius wasn't listening, he couldn't, he couldn't lower his wand, they weren't safe here. He couldn't see the danger, but he could feel it, could taste it in the air, scented with dark magic, he couldn't lower his wand. 

    Remus studies his boyfriend, tense head to toe, sweat staining the collar of his shirt, face distinctly green, flitting eyes clouded with panic. He didn't know how to deal with this, whatever had happened to Sirius over holiday was entirely other. Something worse than the nightmares or panic attacks, the injuries or scars, or maybe it was an amalgamation of everything, a breaking point of some kind. He knew his boyfriend very well, could anticipate what he was going to say before he says it, knows when he'll give in to reason and when he'll argue to his last breath, knows what expression he's making based only on his tone of voice. But he didn't know Sirius like this, the closest comparison he had was fifth year, that stupid prank, Sirius both wild and scraped out at the same time, shaking violently but with distanced eyes like he wasn't all there. 

    "Prongs," Remus says evenly, eyes never leaving his boyfriend, the silver of his flitting eyes and the tremble in his wand, "Go get Regulus. As fast as you can."  

    James inches around Sirius, whose back was in the direction of the dungeons, not wanting to startle him, and then began sprinting down the halls when he was out of his sightline, heart in his throat. The corridors were long and dimly lit, he didn't have the map and had no way of knowing if Filch was around the corner, his only thoughts of Sirius. He was sprinting down the dark corridors so fast that he didn't have time to slow down, slamming directly into the exact person he was trying to find. Regulus releases a punched out noise as James lands harshly on top of him, his hand instinctively covering the back of Regulus' head to prevent it from slamming into the stone. They both breathe heavily into each other's shoulders for a minute, reorienting themselves, staring at each other, equally wild-eyed, before Regulus shoves James off of him, sitting up quickly, ears bright red. 

    "What's happened? Where's Sirius?" Regulus demands without preamble.  

    "How did you know—" 

    Regulus stands, brushing himself off, and offering a hand to help James up, who barely manages to stifle his shock at the gesture. "I was reading in the common room when Snape came running in looking like he'd lost a fight with a hag. As soon as he saw me, he started shouting at me, he's absolutely furious, and I managed to put together that he'd gotten in a fight with Sirius, so I pushed past him and went looking before some tosser tackled me."

    James winces, how does he always manage to be the stupidest version of himself with Regulus? At least he didn't ambush him in the loo this time, Merlin. It was terribly embarrassing.

    "I don't know what happened, exactly, but he's all out of sorts, worse than before. Snape looked terrified, and Sirius was— I don't think I've ever seen him that angry," James explains as they jog back the way James had come, "He was cursing Snape, or about to curse him again when we showed up, Snape wasn't even able to defend himself, but Sirius— he wasn't stopping."

    Regulus' lips press in a thin line, but he doesn't say anything more, only picked up the pace. 

    Remus had managed to get Sirius to be slightly responsive, enough to look in his direction and lower his wand, but he kept it gripped tight and ready still, not allowing Remus within five feet of him. At the sound of pounding footsteps, though, Sirius whips around clumsily, like he was dizzy, and when he sees Regulus, it wasn't his brother he notices first, but his mother's eyes staring back at him, emerging from the dark. Blood roars in his ears immediately, and he feels his magic rise with his blood pressure, with his genuine terror, causing the marble bust of some ancient wizard to explode into a million pieces, sending chunks of debris flying in all directions. Regulus, who was closest to the bust, flinches away and in doing so, stumbles into James on accident, who curls an arm around him, turning them away and covering Regulus with his body to protect him from the blast as marble flies. 

    Sirius had also flinched in response to the explosion, swaying on his feet before landing hard on his bottom, teeth jolting with the fall. He breathes heavily, everything was happening so quickly, he couldn't keep up, he was so afraid, he wants desperately to float away. Mother was here, how did she get here, how did she know? Is she still in his head? Can she read his mind?

    Regulus pushes out of James' arms to get to his brother, crouching a few feet away from where Sirius was hunched against the wall, eyes scrunched shut, mumbling something to himself.

    "Sirius," Regulus calls softly, maneuvering around the chunks of marble on the floor to come closer, "C'est juste moi. elle n'est pas là. Tu es en sécurité avec moi."

    It's just me, she's not here. You're safe with me.

    Remus watches as Sirius wand flies up to defend himself instinctively, and he casts a hasty expelliarmus, not wanting Sirius to injure himself or anyone else in his panic. Sirius whimpers when his wand flies out of his hand, curling further into himself, pleading, "Please don't hurt me, I didn't want— please, I don't want to be—" 

    "Je sais, c'est bon. Personne ne te fera de mal," Regulus' voice was gentler than Remus or James had ever heard it, soft as butterfly wings. I know, it's okay, no one's going to hurt you, Regulus is saying in low, melodic tones of French. James' heart flutters a little, never having heard Regulus speak French. "Tell me where you are, Sirius. Take a look around."

    "I don't—" Sirius shudders, face covered by his knees, shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

    "Tell me where you are," Regulus repeats, firmer this time, inching closer to his brother, "Je te promets que tu es en sécurité."

    I promise you're safe.

    Sirius raises his head slowly, gripping his knees, glancing around furtively, tensely. His eyes flick over Remus and James' faces, the marble chunks at his feet, and finally Regulus, who he recoils from instinctively, before he shuffles closer to the light, illuminating his face so Sirius could see him clearer. Sirius relaxes when he realizes his mother isn't there, it's only his brother, her mirror image.

    "H-Hogwarts, must be," Sirius mutters, slumping against the wall at his back when Regulus nods in confirmation, face twisted in pain. "It's all s-so confusing, Reg, I can't keep up. What's happening to me?" He says tearfully, appearing so young in front of his little brother, so innocent and afraid.

    Regulus lays a careful hand on his arm, feeling a visceral hatred for their parents at that moment, for breaking his big brother. His only brother. "Let's get you up and back into bed, alright? You just need some rest and you'll be fine, Sirius." 

    Regulus uses the soothing tone Sirius always used with him when they were younger, trying to inject some surety into it, posturing because his brother desperately needed it, needed him. Like always, Regulus was stuck, unable to help his brother enough to get him out, only able to tell him pretty, soothing lies, urge him to bed and hope he's better in the morning. It made Regulus hate himself too, he couldn't really blame Remus for shouting at him earlier, Regulus defends himself because he must, but when it's just him, watching his brother sleep fitfully, he shouts at himself too, resents everything he is down to the marrow of him. 

    Remus comes forward to help hoist Sirius up, approaching slowly, an arm wrapping around his waist, while Regulus pulls Sirius' good arm around his shoulders. Sirius sags into their support, head dropping onto his boyfriend's shoulder, exhausted. Remus hisses when Sirius' hot and clammy skin came into contact with his neck, raising a hand to feel his flushed cheek first, then his forehead, tucking sweaty hair behind his ear.

    "You're burning hot," Remus commented with a frown.

    "I know," Sirius mumbled, a slight quirk to his lips.

    Remus huffed, "I mean, you have a fever, you're far too warm," He glances over Sirius' head to meet Regulus' eyes, "He needs the hospital wing, his wound looked infected before, and now he's feverish. It'll only get worse if we can't get him the proper care."

    Regulus chews on the inside of his cheek, "What if I steal some potions from the hospital wing? Doesn't Ja— Potter have that invisibility cloak?"

    "No," Remus says firmly, "He needs proper care, he's been cursed by Merlin knows what, we cannot just give him random potions and hope for the best. We are beyond that point, now." 

    James quickly repairs the bust with a wordless spell, vanishing any sign of the carnage of the night, and joins them on Remus' other side.

    "I agree with Remus, we tried everything we could think of, but it only made it worse. He needs real help, Reg, damn the consequences."

    "Easy for you to say when you don't know the consequences and you don't have to deal with them either," Regulus snapped harshly. 

    "Reg," Sirius whispers from his place tucked in Remus' shoulder, "I think I want to go. I know it's not smart considering—" What I've done, the questions they'll ask, "But i-it really hurts, and I just— I need it to stop. I can't handle it anymore."

    The words come out choked, tearful, and world weary. Sirius never admits to being in pain, never admits to be unable to handle it, but he couldn't help but be terrified. Remus' hand tightens on his hip, and he turns his head to press a quick kiss to Sirius' hot temple in consolation, uncaring if Regulus saw or commented. 

    Regulus sighs, "I know, but I don't think you're thinking about this clearly. I can grab pain potions, and some other stuff, and we'll figure it out like we always do. It's safer that way." Please, just listen to me this once. Please, just bounce back like you always do. You're my big brother, you have to, he thinks.

    "We're taking him, Reg. You can go back to your dorm, or help us get him there. But he's going either way," James says resolutely, taking over holding Sirius' weight when Regulus stops walking, hesitance clear on every inch of his face. "You asked us to take care of him, and this is what he needs."

    Regulus chews nervously on the inside of his cheek, noting the resignation in the weary edges of his brother's broken form. He met James' eyes, internally asking, pleading again, for him to take care of his brother, for him to do something. Regulus is powerless, as always, and he hates himself more than ever for not being the one to protect his brother. James gives him a reassuring smile, and then they shuffle past him, Sirius dangling between them, leaving Regulus to stand for a long time in the middle of the hallway, watching them go and drowning in self hatred.