Tremble, Little Lion Man

    "Madam Pomfrey!" Remus calls, stumbling through the doors with Sirius' full weight leaning on him, hardly supporting himself anymore as James runs ahead to the nurse's bedchambers. Remus limps to the closest bed as fast as he can, lowering a shivering and half-conscious Sirius onto it. 

    The change makes Sirius' eyes flicker open, glassy and tired, groaning under his breath, "Moony?" 

    "You're fine, sweetheart," Remus murmurs, tender in his concern, pushing Sirius' hair back and feeling the heat radiating off of him. 

    The rapid approach of two pairs of footsteps makes him glance back to see Pomfrey in a dressing gown with her nurse's apron thrown haphazardly over it, grey hair loose and frizzy, and James behind her looking harried in his rumpled pajamas. 

    "You boys couldn't wait for the first week of term to finish before you started causing mayhem?! The first night and already an injury!" She scolds grumpily, shooing Remus out of the way, an irritated frown on her face that melts into a concerned one when she notices Sirius. Her wand moves quickly, casting diagnostic charms with practiced ease, "What's going on that you have your friends in such a state, Mr. Black?" 

    "Er, nothing really, spell for a prank gone wrong," Sirius says airily, the ghost of a grin on his pale face, doing his best to deflect and minimize what the nurse would surely find in her diagnostics, "I know term has barely started, but we have a reputation to uphold, you know?" 

    Bands of color outline Sirius' body as Pomfrey casts rapid diagnostics, her face growing more grim and taut with each one, eyebrows climbing steadily.

     "Great Godric," She mutters under her breath, surging forward to divest Sirius of his sleep shirt, revealing the restraining bandages Remus had applied earlier. 

    "If you wanted to see me naked you could've just—" Sirius begins to say, fighting the urge to bat away her hands, second guessing his decision to let the boys take him to the hospital wing. 

    "Shut up," James, Remus, and Pomfrey chorus, the room thick with tension.

    "Tough crowd," Sirius mutters, which also goes ignored.

    Pomfrey takes a sharp breath when the bandages fall away, straightening up with determined fire in her eyes, twisting her hair into a bun as she gives out orders, "Potter, grab the vial labeled phoenix tears, a fever reduction potion, and dittany leaves from the supply closet. Lupin, I want a wet flannel and some new bandages." Both boys dash off the moment she finishes speaking, and Pomfrey turns her intense glare on Sirius, "Now, you best have a better story than a spell gone wrong by tomorrow morning, because I will be calling your head of house and the headmaster about this."

    "Please, Poppy, can't you just fix me up and send me on my way like every other time I've gotten injured? You know how reckless we are, things happen when we're planning pranks, no reason to kick up a fuss about it," Sirius tries not to sound like he's begging, nails digging into his palms as her hands ghost around the charred skin.

    "This is the result of dark, dark magic, Mr. Black, no student learns this kind of curse at school. This type of magical wound is seen on battlefields and is treated for weeks at Mungo's. This is not an injury one acquires from accidental magic or recklessness, I am not a fool, so do not treat me as such."

    Sirius' eyes sink shut, "Poppy, if you care about me at all, just let it go. I know it's asking a lot, but please let it go. I'll never ask anything from you again, just—"

    "You're asking me to look away when my student is being hurt," Pomfrey lowers her voice, leaning closer to him, "Do you think your professors are unaware of what goes on outside this school? That we are oblivious to how the war has reached our students? I can presume how you got this wound, but I can much better protect you if you tell me yourself."

    Of course, they'd assume that he needed protection, but they had no idea that it was others that would need to be protected from him. Fellow students, friends, innocent muggles, he was a danger to them all. Dumbledore may help him under the assumption that he's innocent, but Sirius' isn't, he couldn't be, his mother made sure of it. So, Sirius remained silent, turning his face away from her and allowing the tide to take him away and with it, all feeling. He'd never been good at shutting it off before, detaching from everything was not his typical defense, but since his mind had been scrambled and warped, he finds it easier than ever. 

    It was a long night, Pomfrey kicked out James and Remus and made him drink something that kept him mostly sedate so she could deal with his arm in ways that would've had him screaming in pain if he could feel anything. She soaked dittany leaves in a mixture with phoenix tears and wrapped them painstakingly over every inch of burned skin as the wound sizzled in response, cooling rapidly before she covered the entire thing in bandages, spelled to keep the skin as cold as possible to kill the burning curse. She peppered him with questions to no avail, Sirius only stared over her shoulder blankly before accepting the dreamless sleep potion offered. 

    Sirius awoke to voices outside of his bed curtains. His head felt clearer, the pain faded enough that every thought was no longer occupied and every heartbeat no longer pulsed in time with the wound. His fever must have broken too, because the edges of his vision weren't blurry anymore, and his feet were more firmly planted in the present.

    "Would you have any idea as to how your brother earned injuries of this caliber, Mr. Black?" 

    "Probably doing something stupid," He hears Regulus snark back, adding a belated and sarcastic, "Sir." 

    "Sirius claimed there was an accident, do you have any knowledge to attribute to this? Is this an accident that might have occurred at home?" Dumbledore's even voice questioned. 

    There was a long pause. 

    "It's more likely something he did with his friends, a prank backfiring. I don't see the need for this line of questioning, Headmaster, you'd know more than I would how much of a headache my brother tends to be."

    "It's our duty as professors to ask these questions, I'm sure you understand. I'm afraid we will have to reach out to your parents for more answers if you cannot give me any more than that." 

    Sirius hears his brother take a sharp breath, can imagine him straightening and donning the Black mask, "Headmaster, if you want to keep your job, I suggest not telling my parents, from the most influential family in Wizarding Britain, that their heir has been severely injured the first night of term, on your watch. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to check on my brother."

    The curtain parts as Regulus steps through, anxiety well hidden except for the reddened chapped look of his lips, from picking at them too much. Sirius only catches a glimpse of Dumbledore before Regulus pointedly snaps the curtain shut behind him and casts a silencing charm. He sighs upon seeing Sirius awake, throwing himself into the chair next to the bed.

    "Good morning?" Sirius says, for lack of something to say.

    Regulus glares at him through his fingers, scrubbing at his face and not looking any more rested than he had the last few days. 

    "Brilliant, just brilliant," He says, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I've spent the entirety of it being questioned by no less than three people, and trying to cover for your shit lies. I hope it's worth it, when they inevitably contact our parents."

    "What else was I supposed to do, Reg? I've been out of my mind with pain, and— and the other stuff. There wasn't any way around it, and what could our parents do anyway? I'm all the way in Scotland now."

    "They could take you out of school," Regulus hisses, sitting up further in his chair, gripping the armrests, "They could take you away and force you to take the Mark sooner. If they remove you from school, it'll make it a whole lot easier for them to focus entirely on your training without the scrutiny of Dumbledore or anyone else." 

    Sirius scrunches his eyes shut, heart racing at the very thought, "Stop. Stop talking. They won't do that." 

    "It'd be so easy for them to, Sirius, so you better come up with a better lie and act like your damn life depends on it, because it does," Regulus snaps, the healthy flush Sirius had finally regained draining away as he processes the words. Regulus softens slightly, "If you get your friends to come up with a better story, and they're convincing enough, the professors might believe you, or be forced to drop the subject entirely if they get nowhere with their questioning." 

    Sirius nods jerkily, "James thinks Dumbledore can protect us from them, but you don't think— with what I did, he wouldn't, would he?" 

    "You'd have to tell him everything. He'd demand it, and after he finds out, there's no guarantee he will protect us," Regulus looks regretful as he says it, regretful and bitter, "Everyone knows our family and what they stand for, I'm not confident he would stick his neck out for us, especially against our parents." 

    "Right," Sirius mutters, shrinking further into the bed. After a few minutes of tense silence, he adds, "So.. you didn't bring me any breakfast?"

    "Do I look like a bloody house elf?" 

    "Touchy."

    "Did you miss the part where I've been accosted by multiple professors all morning because of a choice I told you wasn't wise to make?"

    "Just thought you'd want to help your invalid brother as he's recovering," Sirius teases, partially to combat the sinking feeling in his stomach, and partially to wipe that weathered and worn look off his brother's face. 

    He likes when Regulus is soft, it reminds him of when he was little, but he hardly shows that side of him anymore. Admittedly, he isn't expecting Regulus' reaction to his teasing after several days of little sleep and far too much anxiety.

    "I have been helping you, you ungrateful toad!" He bursts out, so loudly that the wards of the silencing charm shimmer in the air, "Have you missed the last week of our lives? Oh, wait, you have, because you've been so lost in your screwed up head that you wouldn't eat, sleep, shower or function without my help!"

    Sirius winces, "Reg—"

    "I have spent every waking minute terrified and furious and helpless to do much else but coddle you through it, and I have been alone!" Regulus is out of his chair now, silver eyes glinting like the sharp end of a knife, with words to cut, "I told you exactly what would happen if you went to the hospital wing, how much harder it would make everything, but you did it anyway, like you always do!"

    "Regulus, I'm—"

    "You always call me spineless, but I've been trying to keep you alive, and you seem insistent to just—" Regulus makes a strangling motion with his hands, heaving now, cheeks splotchy red. "Every time I close my eyes, you're writhing on the floor and sobbing and I can't do anything about it, or worse, you're— you're—" He can't say the words, but Sirius gets it anyway, dead.

    Regulus looks furious, but his voice is cracking and his chin is beginning to tremble, and that just won't do. Sirius slowly sits up against the pillows, still in pain but not feeling as if his skin is boiling anymore (thank merlin for Poppy Pomfrey, he really owes her some chocolates or something), and leans forward to yank at his brother's wrist until he plops onto the bed, still spluttering.

    "Listen, Reg," Regulus shakes his head petulantly and tries to pull his arm away, but Sirius tightens his grip, moving his hand to press against his chest where his heart beats. "Hey, you feel that? I'm here now, I'm alive. You did good, petite étoile. I'm sorry I've been— I didn't mean to make you take care of me, that's my job, not yours. I couldn't control it, but, I'm sorry you were put in that position and that you did it alone."

    "We take care of each other," Regulus mutters under his breath, so quietly Sirius doesn't catch it.

    "What?"

    Regulus looks up at him, gaze melancholic and still a little sharp, "We take care of each other, not just you taking care of me or vice versa. We protect each other." 

    Sirius' lips twitch up at that, catching a glimpse of his sweet little brother underneath the harsh exterior, the one Regulus pretends doesn't exist anymore, "Yeah, Reg, we do."

    "I'm still mad at you," Regulus says as he slips his hand out of Sirius' hold, though his voice lacks the venom it did minutes before. 

    "That's fair, I can be a troublesome shit sometimes," Regulus gives him a look, and Sirius amends, "Most times, and you look like you've aged ten years the past week. You need some rest, petite étoile, have a kip, you won't have anything to do on the first day anyway." Sirius moves to the side to make more room for him, peeling the blankets back.

    "If you tell anyone about this, I'll gut you," Regulus threatens, but the comment is neutralized by the way he slides in next to his brother, tension unraveling from his shoulders at last. 

    It takes minutes for him to fall asleep, but Sirius stays awake, a maelstrom of guilt assaulting him. It seems unending, he ought to be used to the feeling by now, but there's always more to take on; like stones tied to his ankles, Sirius drowns in the ocean of guilt, looking up at the flicker of sunlight at the surface from miles and miles below, wondering what it must be like to not be suffocated by his constant failings. 

    When Pomfrey comes to check on Sirius an hour later, she pauses at the sight of his sleeping brother, but doesn't mention it, working around him easily as she repeats the same process she did last night to apply new dittany leaves and bandages. 

    "Well, your fever is gone, and it appears the burning curse has been extinguished, but you've still got quite a bit of healing to do and skin to regrow. How do you feel?"

    "Better, thanks, Poppy."

    Pomfrey hums in response, casting new cooling charms that make him shiver, "Headmaster Dumbledore has been waiting for you to wake so that he might speak with you. If you are well enough, you can meet him in my office for some more privacy." 

    She makes it sound like it's his choice, but Sirius knows he cannot avoid it much longer, and he hardly knew what he was going to tell him. His mind is at war, split between James' firm belief that Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard alive could protect them, and Regulus' firm belief that they were on their own, that their tainted blood and family meant Dumbledore wouldn't waste time protecting his potential opposition. He glances down at his brother, tempted to wake him so he wouldn't have to go into the meeting alone, but Regulus was sleeping so peacefully, and Sirius has asked for enough from him already. 

    "Yeah, I can meet him now." 

    "Regulus."

    Regulus ignores the voice, nuzzling more firmly into the pillow. 

    "Reggiee." 

    The voice sings annoyingly, a light pressure on his shoulder now bringing him to the surface of wakefulness. 

    "Piss off, Sirius," Regulus mumbles.

    There's a snort, and then, "So off, mate. Come on, get up, you loafer." 

    Another nudge and Regulus' eyes snap open in annoyance, ready to tell his brother off, before he registers where he is; scratchy blankets and flat pillow, the space next to him empty, and James Potter standing next to the bed, hand on his shoulder. Anxiety snatches the breath from his lungs as he shoots up, surprising James, who stumbles back a step.

    "Where's Sirius? How long have I been out?" He's already searching the space around him, shoving the blankets back and making to stand, mind spinning, did they call his parents while he was sleeping? Was Sirius with them right now? Or did he disappear into his head again? He can't protect himself when he's in his head, and he's still hurt, where—

    "Woah, love, take a minute," James' warm hands settle on his shoulders, a grounding pressure that interrupts his current spiral, replacing it with a new one, he's touching me again, why is he always touching me? "Poppy said that Sirius is with Dumbledore in her office. I don't know how long you've been sleeping, but it's lunch, I came to bring Sirius food and found you instead. Alright?" 

    Regulus nods, though nothing feels alright, hasn't in a long time, but at least they hadn't called his parents. Yet. He makes a move to go around James and make a beeline for the office, but James holds him in place, "Why don't you eat first? I'll grab another tray for Sirius when he comes out." 

    "I can't, I need to go make sure my brother isn't saying anything stupid," Regulus says, unable to hold eye contact with James when he's still touching him. Stupid kind eyes, stupid warm hands, stupid brother's best friend. 

    "I doubt Poppy or Dumbledore would let you in anyway, and besides, you weren't at breakfast, so I know you haven't eaten yet today. Sirius is safe. Eat with me, yeah?" 

    "I— okay," Regulus agrees reluctantly, sinking back down onto the bed as James puts a lunch tray in his lap and settles in the chair across from him. He stares at the tray for a few seconds before setting it aside and standing, "I just need to make sure." 

    He strides across the hospital wing toward the office, ignoring the weight of Pomfrey's gaze, and tries the door knob. It won't even turn, warded against anyone the caster wanted to keep out, and soundproofed too. Regulus grits his teeth in frustration, considering threatening the nurse to let him in, but he doubts that would help at all when it's Dumbledore that's in there with his brother. With his tail between his legs, he returns to the bed, grumpily sitting back down and picking at his food.

    James opens his mouth to say something, but Regulus bites out, "Shut up and eat your sandwich, Potter." 

    When James opens his mouth anyway, mouth quirked into that annoyingly endearing smile of his, Regulus growls, grabbing the orange on his tray and lobbing it at his head so that the other is forced to duck with a yelp quickly followed by a laugh. After a few minutes of silence, Regulus staring at the door and telepathically trying to force it open in between bites, James speaks up, because he, like Sirius, is incapable of being quiet for too long.

    "So, why are you so worried about Sirius saying the wrong thing to Dumbledore? It's not like he'd punish him for getting hurt, however it happened. Dumbledore's a good wizard, you know? He's quite literally the best person to help." 

    Regulus sighs, "You assume he has more power than my parents, and that is your mistake."

    "He is the most powerful wizard alive."

    "Power isn't just magical, it's influence, money, political sway. Dumbledore has some of those things too, but I'd still say my parents, along with the Malfoys hold even more. I'm not concerned about Dumbledore, I'm concerned about what happens when my parents are brought into this."

    "But what if he could protect you both when they are? Isn't he better than nothing? Isn't anything better than your parents?"

    "You're assuming he'd want to protect us at all."

    James pulls a face, "Why wouldn't he?"

    Regulus doesn't answer, glaring at his tray, and they finish the rest of their lunch in thick silence. Pomfrey comes by to insist Regulus go to the rest of his classes since Sirius is otherwise occupied, so the boys leave the hospital wing together, parting ways for their respective classes. 

    "Mr. Black, we cannot help you if we do not know what happened, in as much detail as you are able to spare. Madam Pomfrey was kind enough to share the results of her diagnostic charms with us, and we are quite concerned for you," Dumbledore says, piercing blue eyes pinning Sirius in place as he struggles not to squirm in his seat.

    "And I am telling you that I don't need help," Sirius responds firmly, though he can't seem muster the confidence and conviction his brother had when speaking to Dumbledore earlier. 

    McGonagall, who had been mostly silent up until that point, moves to sit next to him, "Sirius, I know it cannot be overstated how complicated matters with your family can be, but I've been your professor for six years now, and I have always kept a close eye on your condition after holidays, because I've always had my suspicions. Now, nothing can be done without a report being made, and as you've never spoken up, or gone to the hospital wing, nothing else could be done for it, until now." 

    Sirius' eyes fall to his lap, where his hands are knotted together, the tips of his fingers white from lack of blood flow. If Dumbledore makes him uneasy, Minnie is worse, because she's always seen him especially well, and has been one of the very few adults in his life that has cared about him enough to. 

    "You must understand, Mr. Black, injuries like yours must be reported with or without your consent, otherwise, we'd have incredible difficulty with the Wizengamot if they were to find out an underage wizard was severely harmed, on our watch or elsewhere before coming to school."

    At those words, his head shoots up, "You reported it? You— Do my parents know?" 

    Dumbledore raises a hand to quiet him, "No official report has been made yet, but yes, a report will be made. Now, you have some agency over what is put in it, but the facts, the notes and diagnostics Madam Pomfrey collected, will be in it, and it will lead to questions." 

    Sirius swallows, trying to breathe, lying to his professors is one thing, but the Wizengamot? What if they gave him veritaserum? All manner of things would come out then, there would be no lying, and all it would take is the right questions for it all to spill out, to implicate him and his parents, because his parents were not the only ones who were guilty. He cannot speak, even if he could find the words, what would he say? What could be done? 

    "Although," Dumbledore continues, "I do have a considerable amount of sway with the Wizengamot, and if you'd let me do my own questioning, I can prevent you from being forced to testify against anyone who might have hurt you under the influence of veritaserum. The report would still be made, but you might not have to undergo the stress of testifying in court." 

    "And if testifying puts me in more danger? What then?" Sirius demands, heart in his throat. 

    McGonagall places a hand on his arm, "There are protections in place for victims testifying against their abusers, and if your parents or someone else was implicated, you would not be under their care any longer and would be protected by law against the perpetrators, if they weren't sent to Azkaban already."

    "You assume that the perpetrators care for wizarding law, and you assume because you have evidence, I could win. But you know what's happening out there, professors, you can't expect me to believe that those people, any of them, have any issue with breaking the law and getting away with it." His voice is shaking, and he struggles not to cry or hide or run out of the room entirely. 

    He pictures the trial, being found guilty, his name and face splashed across the front page of The Daily Prophet, of his friends reading about what he'd done, being sent to Azkaban while Voldemort or the Malfoys find some way to keep his family out. Of Remus saying, I should've known after fifth year, or James saying, he always was more hostile than he pretended. 

    Dumbledore nods contemplatively, stippling his hands, "So, it's not only your family we are speaking of, but Death Eaters?" 

    Sirius nods wordlessly, biting his lip. 

    "I am aware," Dumbledore begins carefully, "That there are particular students undergoing a sort of loyalty test. War requires young blood, and I am aware of the particularly violent nature of these recruitment methods. If you were to tell me that the result of your injury is in relation to these methods, then there are still steps we could take to protect you." He stands, rounding the desk, "In fact, if you were to give me your memory of the events in question, you could be a major catalyst in putting away some of the most prominent Death Eaters in the war." 

    Sirius sits on this for a moment, a glimmer of hope peeking through the deep dark of the last week, but he still needed to know. He takes several deep breaths working up to the question, turning over countless ways to phrase it, already hearing Regulus' chastisement to for the love of Merlin, shut up already, and his mother's commands still echoing. But he was himself, he was not under the imperius, he had a choice, and maybe, maybe if it means putting away Death Eaters, if it means he and Regulus would be free of his family.. 

    "And if— if you know the nature of these tests, then what would happen if, hypothetically, a student does something illegal? Does that affect the outcome for the abusers? If the student is not entirely.. innocent?" 

    "Was the student coerced or threatened if they did not perform well?" McGonagall asks, an unspeakable sadness in her expression, though her voice is steady, soothing even. 

    Sirius nods hesitantly, unable to form anymore words. 

    McGonagall leans closer, her hand a calming weight on his arm as she says softly, "Then the student is innocent, Sirius." 

    Sirius leaves the office in a daze, he's technically supposed to go back to bed since he's still healing, but he can't stand the thought of sitting there all day with all his memory and all the potential outcomes assaulting him. He let Dumbledore take the memories in the end, he didn't have much choice anyway, regardless of what he was said it would be reported, and this way he could provide definitive proof that his family are Death Eaters. In fact, his memories would provide such definitive proof that even if the Blacks tried to throw money at the problem, the Wizengamot would still know without a doubt that they were guilty of abuse, and more than that, in deep support of Voldemort, and he doubted even money could protect them from the repercussions. 

    He's never had memories extracted before, but if he'd known extraction meant reliving each event again, he might have hesitated before agreeing. Maybe that was why Dumbledore didn't tell him. He feels restless and foggy, somewhere between anxious and dissociative, he needs to do something, but he is limited by his injury still. Too injured to run through the forest as Padfoot, or take a fly on his broom, and he isn't keen on running into anyone who would question him on missing class, so he decides to go outside, in the middle of Scottish winter, because he isn't particularly known for thinking things through. It's colder than expected, blustery winds and flurries of snow that are quite pretty, winter is his favorite time at Hogwarts, the prettiest time, as long as you were inside for the most part. 

    The cold helps ground him though, the robes he'd thrown on over the hospital pajamas dampen where they brush his feet in the snow, the bottom of his pants too. But he would rather be cold and wet than foggy, so he mills around for awhile, trying not to think too much about any of it and failing miserably. Dumbledore said he would review the memories and deliberate with a trusted member on the Wizengamot before officially submitting the report to be sure they gave him the best chance possible. He mentioned getting some of Regulus' memories, but Sirius had said, good luck with that. 

    Regulus is another thing, he is sure to be furious with Sirius for telling the truth and providing evidence to support it. It goes against everything he believes to tell on their family, especially to somebody he doesn't trust to help in any way, and Regulus absolutely does not trust Dumbledore. But Sirius trusts McGonagall, and he doesn't think she would lie to him about this. He fought for his life not to cry when she'd called him innocent, he felt so much hope then, even if she didn't know what he'd done, there's more hope than there had been, and it's enough. 

    He's sitting on a ledge in the courtyard when Remus comes to him, his feet kicking snow and his warming charm was wearing off, but he didn't bother putting it back up, the cold felt nice after the days he spent with burning heat. 

    "You'll catch your death out here, Pads."

    Sirius smiles at his approach, he's using his cane today, probably because Remus had to basically drag him to the hospital wing the night before, but he doesn't mention it or apologize, knowing if he did, Remus would only bite his head off about it. 

    "Taking over mothering me because Prongs isn't here?"

    Remus snorts, cane tapping every step on his way over to sit next to his boyfriend, "Yeah, I'm not your mother. Does your mother fuc—"

    "Remus!" Sirius chokes, his face turning a brilliant shade of red as he laughs loudly, "You're absolutely filthy." 

    "You're so much worse, don't pretend," Remus tucks his hand in Sirius' elbow, shivering a little, "Anyway, I think my filthy mouth is your favorite part of me," He whispers like a secret, so pleased with himself. 

    Sirius shivers, and not because of the cold, "The minute I am healed enough, Remus John Lupin—"

    "You'll do what exactly?" He challenges with a cocksure grin.

    Sirius flushes, "Things. I'll do things. Lots of them."

    Remus laughs, and the sound does more for Sirius than a warming charm ever has, "How sexy of you. You'd think you'd have stopped blushing like a school girl every time sex is brought up, by now." 

    "I don't blush like a schoolgirl!" He says, indignant, "I blush like a— a man! Or, I don't blush at all!" 

    "Oh, sure, love, whatever you say." 

    They sit in companionable silence for a little, Remus can't stay long, he only has a free period, but Sirius is glad he's here to chase away the thoughts that are hounding him. 

    "Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" Remus asks softly, hip to hip with Sirius, nudging his ankle with his shoe. 

    Sirius takes a big breath, lets it out slowly, "Probably. But—" I did something terrible, even if it wasn't my choice, I don't want you to think of me differently. He jolts with a sudden realization, two seconds after he thinks it, that if anyone knows about doing something they hadn't wanted to and having no control over it, Remus would. How many times had he and James tried to reassure Remus that it wasn't his fault when Moony had accidentally injured them, or killed an animal on the full? How many times have they told Remus that they love him the same? 

    The realization steals his breath, along with Minnie telling him he's innocent, he hadn't truly believed it until right this moment. Sirius is so utterly relieved, his next exhale is a mixture of a laugh and a sob, and suddenly he's crying so hard he can't see straight. But it's good, it's everything; and that massive, crushing weight lifts even more, the hope he'd been carefully nurturing begins to soar and take flight, because it might have been his wand, but it wasn't his fault, and they would still love him. Remus would still love him.

    "Oh," Remus says, alarmed, tucking Sirius' face into his neck, holding him carefully, "I didn't mean to make you upset, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Don't cry, I'm sorry, it's alright."

    Sirius shakes his head, unable to speak, thinking about that poem Remus has bookmarked in one of his muggle books, hope is the thing with feathers. He would tell them, and they would love him, and his memories will secure a safe future for him and his brother, maybe even a happy one. 

    “Hope” is the thing with feathers -

    That perches in the soul -