As Ron and Hermione continued to fight over their pets, Harry found himself spending less and less time with the pair. It was giving him a headache, and both of them expected him to take their side — it just wasn't worth the hassle. Instead, he spent time alone, or with Neville. He was surprised at how close he was becoming to the shy Gryffindor since he'd revealed his secret. He was easy to get along with; much easier, Harry thought guiltily, than Ron and Hermione.
True to his word, Neville had sent an owl to his gran explaining Harry's circumstances. She'd responded with a long letter about what she'd like to do and say to Albus Dumbledore, but also with several rolls of parchment with notes for Harry to study about proper etiquette and behaviour, and a book called Occlumency For Beginners. Thanks to her, Harry was now in the habit of trying to clear his mind and organise his thoughts before bedtime. He wasn't sure if it was helping, but Neville insisted it was the best starting point.
Harry and Neville were in the school library — where for once, Hermione was not — looking at some of the books that wouldn't be too suspicious for him to be seen studying in public. Just in case anyone came across them. Harry should've known there would be plenty of books in the Hogwarts library.
"So technically, none of us are responsible for anything until we come of age," Neville was explaining. He sounded more confident than Harry had ever heard him, except perhaps for when he was talking about Herbology. "We're just heirs — it's not until you're the head of your house that you really have any influence. For most people that wouldn't happen for ages. Usually a Lord or Lady will keep their seat until their heir is married and has kids — just in case they need to change the line of succession, y'know? If they don't like who their heir has married or whoever. But, well, we don't have any other options," he added with a bitter smile. Harry bit his lip. He knew Neville was raised by his gran, but he'd never asked what happened to his parents. He didn't really know how to bring it up.
"Then why do all the books make it sound like such a big deal from birth?"
"The family heirs are the ones responsible for securing good family ties for the future," Neville told him. "Everything relies on the heir. If the head of the household is awful, sure, that's not great. But the future lies on the heir, so if they're not great, that's another generation of bad to deal with. Say one heir offends another heir when they're like, twelve, right? That grudge will carry through the family for the next fifty or sixty years, however long it takes for the next heir to take over. And Merlin help them if the grudge has been passed down. Some families have had grudges going on for centuries."
"Like the Malfoys and the Weasleys," Harry realised. That bad blood was far too deep to have started with Lucius and Arthur. Neville nodded.
"Exactly. And family grudges can make politics really difficult, especially when there's only fifty seats on the Wizengamot at any one time. If you piss off one family, and they tell all their allied families—"
"You end up with a lot of people who vote against you just to spite you," Harry surmised. Neville nodded.
"Exactly. So our behaviour is really, really important."
Harry looked back down at the next paragraph in the book, and as such didn't notice they had company until a throat was cleared. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott stood beside their table; Susan eyed Harry warily for a second before turning to Neville. "Ernie wants to know if you'll help him with his Herbology homework on Friday."
"Of course, yeah. Why didn't he ask me himself?" Neville paused, then sighed. "Don't tell me he's still hiding after the butterbeer incident?" Both girls giggled, and Hannah nodded. "Idiot. It's completely fine, my gran even thought it was funny. Tell him I'll meet him in the usual spot after dinner."
Susan turned as if to leave, but then she glanced down at the book open in front of the two boys. Harry fought the urge to cover it up. "No," she murmured, a slow smile creeping across her face. "Really?" The question was directed at Neville, who grinned, nodding.
"Really. But it's all hush-hush for now. Reasons," he added, as if that was in any way helpful. Harry had officially lost the plot of the conversation.
Susan and Hannah both looked at Harry, studying him like they hadn't seen him before. Eventually, Hannah bowed her head with open palms. "Well met, Heir Potter."
Susan repeated the greeting. Harry spluttered. Neville kicked him in the shin, giving him a pointed look. "I, uh, well met, Heir Bones, Heir Abbott," he returned, bowing his head at each of them. "You two as well?"
He knew Abbott was one of the Sacred 28 lines, but he hadn't seen anything about the Bones family. He really had to read that book on all the pureblood families.
"We were starting to think you'd never take your title," Hannah said, keeping her voice low. "What took you so long?"
"I— It's a long story," Harry said, running his hand through his hair. "How many are there at Hogwarts?"
"Oh, loads," Susan replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Basically all the Slytherins in our year. Ernie MacMillan. Sully Fawley, in the year below. Anthony Goldstein. Cassius Warrington, that tall bloke on the Slytherin quidditch team. Loads more, too."
"They do it on purpose. Our parents, I mean," Hannah explained. "They all try and have kids the same age so that we all meet at school and start early. There's a few outliers — the Weasleys have always been off-cycle, and the Flints duffed up a bit — but for the most part, it's all our lot. Good to have you in the ranks." She grinned, winking briefly. "We'd love to hear that long story of yours, one day."
They made to leave, and Harry reached out for a second. "Wait! Don't— don't tell Dumbledore. Don't let him know." They shared a glance, then looked back at him.
"Dumbledore holds too many seats that aren't rightfully his," Susan said darkly, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Don't worry, Harry. Your secret's safe with us."
Watching the girls walk off, Harry blinked, bewildered. "When you said there were others, I didn't realise there were that many." Neville grinned sheepishly.
"Yeah, well. We're the year for it. Like I was saying, it's our job to secure the family future. They want to make sure we have the best opportunities to start networking. Have you ever noticed how most of the Slytherins leave me alone? Even Malfoy's not as bad with me as he is with the rest of you. Though this year, he only really seems to be after Ron."
Harry had noticed that, too; Malfoy barely said anything to Harry unless Ron started the fight. Instead he'd taken to giving Harry calculated looks across the room, like he couldn't quite figure him out.
"If this whole heir thing keeps the Slytherins off my back, it could be worth it after all," Harry teased, pulling the book a little closer. Neville laughed.
"I don't think even being the Potter heir could fix that completely."
.-.-.-.
When Gorrak had warned Harry to be wary of his magic in the months following the removal of the block, Harry hadn't expected it to be quite so itchy. He constantly felt like he was vibrating out of his skin, his magic building and begging to be used. He was picking things up in class faster than he'd ever done before — faster than Hermione, even, sometimes. He'd have to get a handle on that, or he'd be found out in a second.
For some reason, walking seemed to help. Most nights Harry put on his invisibility cloak and slipped out of the common room, strolling the halls of Hogwarts in the darkness. For once, he wasn't even up to something. It just felt like the walking was soothing him — the castle was soothing him. Deep down, he wondered if it was something to do with being the heir of Slytherin, if the castle recognised him somehow. It sounded stupid, but people always said Hogwarts felt like it was alive.
He'd taken his cloak off as he walked through the courtyard, wanting to feel the wind ruffling his hair. He knew he was being foolish. There was a murderer out looking for him, and here he was walking around by himself at night. But he just couldn't stay still. He'd rather walk for an hour or two than spend the whole night tossing and turning. Besides, with the dementors around, Black wouldn't be getting into Hogwarts.
There was a flash of silver, and Harry swore under his breath as he turned the corner to see familiar blond hair. "What are you doing out after curfew, Potter?"
"I could say the same to you, Malfoy," Harry argued. Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"I don't have a crazed serial killer after me," was his retort.
"Careful, Malfoy, it's starting to sound like you care."
Malfoy flinched, then glared. "Just because I hate you, Potter, doesn't mean I want to see you get murdered."
That made Harry grin, though he couldn't explain why. "I was just out for a walk. Feeling restless."
"Feeling restless, he says," Malfoy said with an exasperated skyward glance. "Just do bloody laps in the common room!"
"Well, what's your excuse then?"
"None of your business," Malfoy said immediately. The two boys stared at each other in the beat of silence that followed, at a stalemate. Suddenly, Harry got an idea. It might've been a stupid one.
"Well met, Heir Malfoy," he said, bowing slowly. Malfoy stared, blinking incredulously.
"The rumours are true, then," he murmured. Ever so slowly, inch by inch, the Malfoy heir sank into a similar bow, though he was hampered slightly by his arm in a sling. "Well met, Heir Potter."
He straightened up. They stared at each other some more, neither sure what the next step was. Harry had gone and thrown off the rhythm of their usual interactions. "It's Heir Black, too," he threw out impulsively, not sure why he was telling Malfoy of all people. The blond's eyes widened a fraction.
"How— oh, of bloody course," he muttered, shaking his head. "Heir Potter-Black. I should've known." At the look on his face, Harry was almost tempted to throw out his other two names, as well. "Well, that'll shake things up a bit. At least it'll take two of Dumbledore's proxy seats away. Though I don't know if it's worse to let you have them." He made a noise of disgust.
"It won't be," Harry assured. He met Malfoy's eye for the briefest of seconds, remembering what Hannah had said. "We don't need any more seats under Dumbledore's control."
He was sure he'd actually rendered Malfoy speechless. He wished he had a camera for proof. "You are making things interesting, aren't you, Potter?" Malfoy's voice had softened. Harry's lips quirked in a half-smile. "All the same, it'll do you no good if you're dead. Toddle off to your little lion's den, now, won't you?"
"Only if you slither back to your snake pit," Harry retorted, grinning. That actually earned a soft laugh as Malfoy turned away.
Once he was alone, Harry threw his cloak over his shoulders, heading back in the direction of Gryffindor tower with an odd spring in his step. Of all the things he'd learnt since his birthday, one was proving to be more bewildering than all the rest put together.
Maybe, just maybe, he actually quite liked Draco Malfoy. When he wasn't being a prat.
.-.-.-.
Everyone in third year was practically falling over themselves with excitement at the announcement of the first Hogsmeade weekend. Except, of course, Harry Potter.
"It's fine, really. You go have fun," he insisted for the hundredth time, shooing Ron and Hermione towards the portrait hole. "Tell me all about it when you get back."
"We can always go next time, Harry, really," Hermione started, but Ron tugged on her arm.
"Look, the man said leave, so we'll leave," he said. "We'll bring you back loads of sweets, Harry."
"See you at the feast tonight!" It was Halloween. Harry's favourite day of the year just kept getting better and better.
"You sure you don't want company, Harry?" That was Neville, his scarf already wrapped around his neck. Harry smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Really, Nev, I'm alright. Probably just gonna hang out in the library." He was getting worse than Hermione on that front. Though she didn't seem to be up to her usual standards this year — probably because her schedule had her in about six places at once.
"If you're sure. Happy Samhain, Harry." Neville had been teaching Harry all about the traditional wizarding holidays; Samhain; Yule; Beltane. Through him, Harry knew that some of the students would be lighting a bonfire that evening in the stone circle. He wished he could join them without giving up his secrets to Dumbledore. Maybe next year.
The path to the library was a familiar one, and Harry headed for a little-used back corner of the enormous room. From an offhand comment Hermione had made, Harry learned that the Hogwarts library kept yearbooks of all the previous classes From the dust layering the shelves, it clearly didn't get much foot traffic. There were rows and rows of black leather-bound books, each with a decade of dates on the spine. Harry found the one for graduating classes 1970-1980, easing it from the shelf and carrying it to the nearest table. The section for 1978 was easily found, and Harry gasped at the first page he opened. There, near the bottom of the second page, was a picture of a redheaded teenage witch with luminous green eyes and a bright smile. There was a small amount of text beneath her picture.
Evans, Lily
Gryffindor House
Head Girl
Top of class in Charms, Arithmancy
Harry hurriedly flicked through several pages until he came to the 'P' names. His breath caught in his throat. He could certainly see why so many people said he looked just like his father.
Potter, James
Gryffindor House
Head Boy
Quidditch Captain (Chaser)
Top of class in Transfiguration
Gently, Harry ran his finger over his father's face, eyes burning as he looked at that rakish grin. He was only eighteen, and yet only a few years away from death.
Absently, Harry scanned the rest of the page, remembering what Hannah Abbott had said about all the purebloods trying to have kids that went to school at the same time. He saw a Macmillan — Ernie's dad, maybe? Or an uncle? — And a Nott, and— wait a second.
Snape, Severus
Slytherin House
Top of class in Potions
Sure enough, there was a picture of a surly-looking teenager with a hooked nose and black hair that hung into his eyes. His Potions Master, age eighteen. He knew, of course, that Snape hated his father — he hadn't realised they'd gone to school together.
He flicked back to the beginning, curious to see if he'd recognise any other names. The very first page made his jaw drop.
Black, Sirius
Gryffindor House
Top of class in Astronomy
He could hardly believe the winsome, grinning black-haired teenager in the picture was the same hollow-eyed face staring back at him from the wanted posters. Sirius Black had gone to school with his parents? Had been in the same house, even! Had his father known, even then, that he was evil?
The man looked familiar, wanted posters aside, and it took Harry a minute to realise why. The photo Hagrid had given him years ago, from his parents' wedding. Sirius Black was in it.
Sirius Black had been their best man.
Harry felt sick. He quickly turned the page, not wanting to look into those sparkling grey eyes anymore. He forced himself to look for other familiar names, refusing to dwell on what he'd just discovered. If he thought too hard about it, he'd just work himself up.
Greengrass, Fenella. Lupin, Remus.
Wait.
Harry did a double-take, staring down at the boy with dark blond hair and honey eyes, a bashful grin tugging at his lips, a faint scar across the bridge of his nose.
Lupin, Remus
Gryffindor House
Gryffindor Prefect
Top of class in Ancient Runes, Defence Against the Dark Arts
Professor Lupin seemed far too old to have gone to school with his parents. He was already going grey! Desperate, Harry kept going, wondering who else he'd recognise in there. Who next, Cornelius Fudge?!
When he reached the 1979 graduating class, Harry slammed the book shut, the sound echoing in the empty library. He vaguely heard Madam Pince shushing him from her desk, but ignored it, his heart still pounding.
Before he could really think about it, Harry was stuffing the book back on its shelf and running from the library, ignoring Pince's reprimand. The hallways were practically empty as he ran, only slowing down when he reached Lupin's office. The door was open, and the man looked up, surprise in his eyes. "Harry? Is everything alright?"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Lupin stiffened. "I, uh, Harry, why don't you come in, shut the door behind you." Harry did so, staring at his professor with a look of betrayal.
"Why didn't you tell me you knew them?" The hurt was clear in Harry's tone. Lupin blinked at him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"My parents. You went to school with them, I saw it in the yearbook. You were all in Gryffindor together. You, and them — and Sirius Black."
Lupin's face drained of what little colour it had, and he put a hand against the desk for support. "Harry," he breathed, looking a little like he'd been shot. "Harry, I thought you knew."
"How could I have known? No one told me! No one ever tells me anything about them!"
"I'm sorry, I assumed someone must've— if they ever told you about your parents at school, well— I thought you just didn't want to know." Lupin truly looked apologetic, and Harry let out a long breath, his temper beginning to cool.
"I've been trying to figure it out since the train," he said softly. "Why you seem so familiar. I knew you, didn't I? Before?"
"Yes," Lupin confirmed, heartbreak clear on his face. "Your parents… your father was one of the best friends I ever had. Your mother, too. I miss them every day — today more than most. I'm sure you know what I mean."
Harry knew all too well. Every Halloween, he woke up with a swirling hole in his gut that he didn't know how to soothe. The aching, gaping chasm where his parents had been. "Tell me about them. Please," he begged, voice cracking. Lupin stared at him for a long moment.
"Sit down," he said eventually. "I'll make some tea."
Harry did as bid, sitting in the chair opposite the desk. Instead of sitting behind the desk, Lupin chose the chair next to Harry, setting the tea tray down on the small table between them. "So what do you want to know, Harry?"
"Everything," Harry said instantly. "Aunt Petunia never says a word; I didn't even know about magic 'til I got my Hogwarts letter." He scowled for a minute, adding under his breath, "she didn't even tell me my name 'til I was five."
Lupin's eyebrows rose a fraction. "Petunia? Lily's sister?"
"Yeah, she won't ever talk about Mum," Harry replied, shaking his head. "What were they like? The yearbook said they were Head Boy and Girl. And Mum was really good at Charms?"
"Beat me to the top spot every year running," Lupin confirmed with a quiet chuckle. "Lily… I've never met a kinder person than Lily Evans, in all my life. Always willing to go out of her way to help people. The only time I ever saw her truly angry was when your father was involved."
Harry looked at him, puzzled, and Lupin laughed. "Oh, it was far from love at first sight, Harry. For the first six years of school, Lily thought James was an arrogant tosspot, and honestly she wasn't entirely wrong. James, of course, thought the sun rose and set with Lily Evans and had done since the very second he set eyes on her at the sorting. But she didn't give him the time of day until seventh year."
"What changed?" Harry asked, teacup clutched tightly in his hands.
"James grew up. Stopped trying so hard to impress her. Stopped hexing Slytherins for fun." From the look on Lupin's face, Harry had a good idea of which particular Slytherin he would hex. "Drove Sirius mad at first — all his fun being spoilt because James was trying to woo a girl." Lupin didn't seem to realise what he'd said at first, but when he did the anguish that crossed his face made Harry wince.
"They were friends, then."
"The best of friends," Lupin said softly. "Practically brothers. The four of us were inseparable, but those two… it went beyond friendship."
"You three, and my mum?" Harry asked, confused. Lupin shook his head.
"Myself, James, Sirius, and a boy named Peter Pettigrew." Lupin paused for a long moment, staring off into the distance, lost in a memory. Harry cleared his throat quietly, jolting him back to reality. "That was half a lifetime ago, of course. None of us had any idea that Sirius… sometimes, I still can't believe it myself."
Harry tried to imagine what it would feel like if Ron or Hermione were to suddenly turn out to be Voldemort supporters. The thought made him nauseous. "What happened?" he asked hesitantly. How could it all go wrong?
Your parents went into hiding," Lupin said eventually, not looking Harry in the eye. "Under a very complicated secrecy charm — the Fidelius charm. The charm allows a location or person to be entirely hidden, except from the one person who knows the secret — and anyone they should tell. They chose Sirius to be their Secret Keeper. Trusted him the most out of any of us. Within the week…" He trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut. Harry could fill in the rest. "Peter was furious when he found out. Went after Sirius. But he was never as good with spells as the rest of us, not quite as brave… He was one of the people Sirius killed when he blew up the street. All that was left of him was a finger."
Harry thought his heart had stopped beating. Silence hung thick in the room after Lupin's declaration, both of them caught up in horror and grief. "I'm sorry, Harry," Lupin said abruptly. His shoulders hunched as he sunk in on himself, as if he could hide from his own memories. "That's more information than you ever needed. I should've at least broken it to you gently."
"No, I'm glad you told me. I— I needed to know," Harry insisted. Sirius Black, the reason his parents were dead. "He was my godfather, wasn't he?"
"I— yes. How did you know?"
The words flashed through his mind. Named Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He had his answer, now. He opened his mouth, unsure what he would say, but the door suddenly swung open.
Snape stood in the doorway, holding a smoking goblet. "Lupin. Potter," he greeted. Lupin jumped to his feet, almost knocking over his teacup.
"Ah, Severus. I was just showing Harry my grindylow." He gestured to a tank in the corner of the classroom that Harry hadn't noticed before that second. Snape's expression remained flat.
"Fascinating," he deadpanned. "Make sure to drink that directly, Lupin. I have an entire cauldronful in my personal lab."
"Yes, I'll be with you to take more when I need it. Thank you, Severus." He took the goblet from the dark-haired man, who gave Lupin one last unreadable look, then swept from the classroom, shutting the door behind him. Lupin looked at the goblet, then grimaced, knocking it all back in one. "Ugh. Pity he can't make it taste any better."
"Professor, what?"
"Oh, not to worry, Harry. I have an ongoing medical issue, Severus — ah, Professor Snape — was kind enough to brew the only potion that helps. I'll be right as rain. I'm very lucky to be working with him, you know; not many Potions Masters are up to the task, it's a rather tricky brew."
Harry's mind flashed back to the yearbook. "He was top of your class."
Lupin's mouth made a funny half-smirk. "Indeed he was. Though Lily almost beat him to it. I thought he'd have a heart attack when he found out how close it had been."
"You were friends?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised. Lupin almost dropped the goblet.
"Friends? Oh, I don't know if I'd say that. We were… things are complicated, Harry, when you're Gryffindors and Slytherins. Even when you're no longer students."
Unbidden, Harry's mind flashed to blond hair and silver eyes. Heat rose in his cheeks. He understood that kind of complicated.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but perhaps we can pick this conversation up another time? I'm afraid it's taken rather a lot out of me." Lupin set down the goblet, and Harry stood. The professor placed a tentative hand on Harry's shoulder. "I am always happy to talk to you about your parents. I'm sorry I didn't sooner, but I thought someone already had. I… well, I assumed you'd chosen to have nothing to do with me." He gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. "Since that's not the case… you used to call me Uncle Remus once, Harry. I'm not asking you to do so again, but… perhaps we could be friends?"
Harry studied the man; the first person in his life who had offered to tell him about his parents, who had really known them. A man who, under different circumstances, Harry would have grown up calling Uncle Remus, loving like family. "I'd like that," he said eventually, offering a hesitant smile.
Lupin beamed.
.-.-.-.
Harry was back in the Gryffindor common room by the time Ron and Hermione returned from Hogsmeade, pockets bulging with all kinds of treats. "Oh, y'know, quiet," he said when Hermione asked him how his day had gone. "Been doing homework."
He could've told them about his visit to Professor Lupin, but he stayed quiet. To do that would have meant explaining the yearbook, and Sirius Black, and why he was looking at the yearbook to begin with… it was better just to not. He was keeping too many secrets from them already; what was one more?
"Anyway, enough about me. What's Hogsmeade like? Where did you go?" As Ron emptied his pockets into Harry's lap, showering him with sweets, the pair gushed about the wonders of the wizarding village. Harry kept up his fake smile the entire time, unwrapping a chocolate frog for distraction. They sounded like they'd had the time of their lives.
"Hey, I'll be right back. Forgot my jumper," he muttered when they all got up to leave for the feast, darting for the dormitory stairs. Up in his room, he leant against his bedpost and took a deep breath. They didn't mean to rub it in. It wasn't their fault he couldn't go. He should be happy they were on good terms; it was an improvement from having them yell at each other about Crookshanks.
"Harry." He jumped, but it was only Neville, a knowing look on his face. "Alright?"
"Yeah, just needed a minute." He grabbed his jumper off his bed just to have an excuse, and so missed Neville reaching into his robe pocket.
"Here, got you something." Neville held out a hand. In his palm was a silver dish, with what looked like a miniature bonfire stacked inside, waiting to be lit. "Figured, since you couldn't join us tonight…"
Harry took the little fire, glancing up at Neville with perhaps the most genuine grin he'd had all day. "Thanks, Nev. This is really great."
Neville blushed, ducking his head. "You're welcome. Now come on, I'm starving."
.-.-.
Harry laid awake on the floor of the Great Hall for a long time, surrounded by snoring people in identical purple sleeping bags. He couldn't wrap his head around it.
Sirius Black had broken into the school.
The same Sirius Black who had been his father's best friend in school, and was now trying to kill Harry. Who was the reason his parents were dead.
The very same Sirius Black who Snape clearly thought Lupin was helping get into the castle. Harry didn't believe that for a second — no one could fake the grief he'd seen in Lupin's eyes earlier that day. He was still heartbroken by his friend's betrayal.
He remembered the other night, how even Malfoy had been worried about Harry wandering around after curfew. He'd been so sure Black wouldn't be able to reach him then, so confident in his safety. This… this changed things.
.-.-.
Remus crossed the corridor, guilt gnawing his gut, when all of a sudden there was a hand on his shoulder and his back was slammed against the stone wall. "Swear to me," Severus hissed, his near-black eyes narrowed venomously and his wand digging into Remus' throat. "Swear to me you aren't helping him."
Remus went wide-eyed in horror. "Severus, I would never! I'd never do anything to hurt Harry. I swear it."
Severus lowered his wand and loosened his grip, but not by much. "Forgive me if I don't trust you entirely, Lupin," he said sharply. "I know what the two of you were like."
"I know what you thought we were like, and you've always been wrong," Remus corrected, remembering countless arguments and pointed remarks about the true nature of his relationship with Sirius Black. Back then, he'd found it amusing— sweet, even. Now… the words felt bitter on his tongue. "I would never help that traitor get in here and hurt my cub."
Severus met his gaze steadily, holding it so long Remus began to feel a little lightheaded. Eventually, he nodded, stepping back. Part of Remus wanted to follow. "It's late," he said eventually. "And Dumbledore has called off the search. I suggest you go to bed, Lupin."
Remus bit back the first three responses that tried to leap from his mouth. "You can trust me, Severus," he said eventually. Severus scowled.
"We've both been wrong about that before."
Severus turned on his heel, robes flaring out behind him as he stalked away, leaving Remus alone in the corridor. Remus let out a long, steadying breath. "You fool," he murmured quietly, unsure who he was talking to — himself, Severus, or Sirius Black. He should go to Dumbledore. He should walk up to the headmaster's office and tell him about Sirius' animagus form, about the secret passages he could be using to get in and out of the school. If he were a better man, he'd have told him weeks ago.
But he wasn't a better man. He was a guilty, desperate, lonely man who still couldn't believe after twelve years that one of his packmates could do something so awful against another. That Sirius — happy, playful, ridiculous Sirius — could be out for the blood of the child he'd loved so dearly. He'd doted on Harry, insisting the boy was basically his since he was never going to have kids of his own. He was the perfect godfather.
Until he'd betrayed them all to Voldemort, of course.
Remus felt like his heart was being torn to pieces, his wolf howling angrily in the back of his head, demanding justice, demanding some other explanation. That just made his rage increase — if not for the wolf, Lily and James might have trusted him to begin with, might have used him as the Secret Keeper instead of Sirius. But no, despite everything, they still doubted his ability to fight against his darker side. Thought that because of the wolf, because of Severus—
No. He couldn't go down that road. Not tonight.
For now, all he needed was sleep. And perhaps some of the whiskey he kept in his cupboard. Whatever nightmares he was to face when his eyes closed, he didn't fancy facing them sober.