Chapter Text
December 15, 1980
Sirius Black had been damned from the very start of his miserably tragic life.
It didn’t take a genius nor some loony seer to comprehend the bitter truth. Fate had long decided before his magic had even graced this cruel world, that Sirius Black was as good as a walking corpse. The heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, destined to follow in the Dark Lord’s stride and sacrifice his own blood, sweat, and tears for a better, purer future for the Wizarding World. However, progress and violence have always represented two sides of the same coin, the fine line between them seamlessly blending into each other– into war. There can be no war without no casualties, and no one knew this better than Sirius Black. The most talented of wizards and witches had fallen victim to the mocking hand of Fate and a well-timed Unforgivable. Sirius' wand had become an extension of Fate’s design, diligently cutting the strings that vitally upheld others like twisted marionettes bending to a hidden puppeteer’s will.
Perhaps, they were always destined for an untimely end, and he was no more than a mindless executioner, devoid of any choice or say in the matter… perhaps they were damned from the very beginning.
Sirius Black was damned; in fact, he reeked of death. But he never thought he’d make it this far.
It had been less than a month since Sirius had realized that the entirety of the Black family was damned. Barely three weeks since his heartache was plastered across every front page of the Daily Prophet like an anticipated verdict following an undeniable confession of his biggest regret. His biggest mistake.
BLACK HEIR DEAD AT 18.
Regulus Arcturus Black, the youngest son of Orion and Walburga Black and heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, has been declared dead at the age of 18, a statement from the House’s matriarch confirms. The cause of his death is currently unknown, but an anonymous source claims that the late heir allegedly committed suicide through…
He hadn’t been able to read past that point in the article. Not with the way his hands violently shook, and his body trembled, hot tears blurring the words on paper together until all he could see was a mosaic of black and white and his little brother’s vacant grey eyes–
Remus had found him on the floor of their shared flat, collapsed against their chipped kitchen table, frantically shaking and muttering to himself. Apologies, pleas, prayers, and meaningless words jumbled together in a last attempt to exempt himself from the shame and guilt that clenched around his heart. That was the last time Sirius saw his brother, through moving ink smudges that were terribly too alike to his Regulus and terribly soulless in comparison. That was also the last time he saw Remus Lupin for a very long time.
Remus had always been too clever and too selfless for his own good. His amber eyes perpetually twinkled with mischief and curiosity and, above all, genuineness. He wore his heart on his sleeve and his worries plainly on his face amidst his frown marks, crowfeet, and furrowed brow. The world around him was gushing with secrets to uncover and puzzles to solve, an untapped well of potential which he mindlessly and wholly gave himself to. It was surprising to no one when Professor Dumbledore approached Remus following their graduation, cashing in on the alleged generosity and supposed privilege Hogwarts had granted him for the last seven years in return for his boundless mind and martyr heart. Simple enough for a lion heart like yourself, Dumbledore had told Moony. A hundred full moons and painful sunrises in return for a hundred more and some intelligence gathering for the Order.
Although the older wizard had initially only sought the werewolf’s servitude, the rest of the self-proclaimed Marauders naturally chased after their own. Sirius had followed not because of some deep-rooted sense of duty nor some immeasurable debt to Dumbledore, but because he refused to allow Remus, his Moony, to become a martyr for a debt he’d never pay. He refused to allow the old man to string up his friends and have them play the selfless hero, puppets performing on a war-ridden pedestal until the time came for them to be sacrificed in the name of a brighter day ahead. If he needed to, Sirius would spill as much blood as required to settle Remus’ debt to Dumbledore, regardless of morality or sin. Prongs and Wormtail had simply followed the moon-sick fool and his loyal mutt, collateral in every sense of the word.
He really wished they hadn’t.
But long gone were the days of sneaking through the halls of Hogwarts under James’ invisibility cloak and smuggling crates of fire whiskey into the Gryffindor common room. The war had claimed them all as victims from the moment they were sorted into Gryffindor and only now was it reaping its prizes.
The Dark Lord was relentless at best and cruel at worst in his pursuit of a pureblooded victory, but his followers, and supporters, were even crueler. Magic was neither a talent nor an art, according to Lord Voldemort, it was a privilege– sacred in every sense and thus it was utter blasphemy for impure muggle scum to attempt harnessing it. Wizards born from pureblooded families were forged in magic, blessed with the power that curdled in their veins; dark creatures like vampires and trolls were the very children of magic, albeit inferior in their shameful savageness. Hundreds cowered in the face of the Dark Lord’s brutality, but a thousand more willingly kneeled before him, believing themselves sacred, purer, righteously superior. That’s what was so dangerous about him, Sirius reasoned, Voldemort was as magnetic as he was utterly nightmare-inducing. It was truly only a matter of time before someone as desperate and conniving as Fenrir Greyback decided he’d had enough of the Ministry’s bigoted agenda against lycanthrope.
The number of werewolf attacks on muggle families had skyrocketed in the last few months, alongside public and Ministry disdain for lycanthropes. Each attack followed a nauseatingly familiar pattern: the pack would attack a muggle family, a child would be declared missing the following morning, and there would be no survivors among the mauled remains. Horrific, the paper had called it, cruel beyond human capacity. The packs’ assistance to the Death Eaters was, despite the constant bloodshed, undeniably fragile, and Dumbledore did not hesitate to exploit such frailty. Not when he had his very own obedient werewolf on a silver leash, half-starved but well-groomed. Remus hadn’t spent a single full moon with any of them in over six months, disappearing for an entire week before returning with a patchwork of ragged pink scars throughout the entirety of his body. He’d never confirm Sirius’ suspicions of his whereabouts whenever the full moon made its unwelcomed appearance in their lives, but the fresh, irritated bite marks littering his arms spoke for themselves. So did the half-assed lies that hung between them where there once was only warmth, because–
“I’m sorry, Pads,” Remus pleaded, once a month like clockwork, “but I can’t tell you, any of you.”
And so did the stupid arguments that took place every day in the kitchen, the living room, the hall, across rooms and walls and shut doors. He could barely meet Remus’ eyes those days when the silence between them burns under his skin and the secrecy gives way to something more passionate and desperate. One of these days, the chasm that’s been steadily widening between them will swallow them whole, consuming Remus and Sirius and everyone they love wholly– the way no amount of heated bites along his navel or shuddering moans carrying faint apologies could. But if it means spending another night between Remus’ legs, flushed against his honey-tanned, freckled thighs while trailing hot kisses up his legs and chest and neck, Sirius was more than willing to bear the pain of another lie. In fact, the next time he sees Moony, he’ll just have to pin him against the wall of their bedroom, leaving bruising indents on his Moony’s hips while he sucks all those bitter apologies from his flushed lips and let his hand wander down into his pants and into–
“Pads, I would REALLY love some help right now!”
Oh, fuck… right. Gringotts.
Sirius dives behind one of the wide marble pillars decorating the wide corridor of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, narrowly avoiding the bright green flash that whizzes over his head from who he can only assume is another death-eater… unless Jamie has taken to scaring him shitless with Unforgivables. Spells fly all around him as the air buzzes with the familiar hum of magic, defensive spells clashing with hexes and curses. The beautifully patterned floor of the bank’s underground corridors is littered with debris and the lifeless bodies of the goblins who must have been working when the death-eaters apparated within the bank’s intricate system of vaults. When he was younger, Sirius’ joy-of-a-mother would drag him and Regulus to Gringotts with her, her manicured nails digging into the skin of his shoulder as she instructed him to wait with his brother. Back then, before he was a traitor to his own bloodline or a pawn in the war, he hated this place and all the goblins that looked at him and his brother as if they were nothing more than a number on one of their boring checkbooks. Now, Sirius can’t help the pang of guilt that pierces through his heart as he glances at the goblins’ unmoving forms. Just more innocent victims of a never-ending war that wasn’t even theirs to fight.
Sirius curls into himself as a chunk of the pillar he was hiding behind is blasted by some unintelligible curse, a vibrant red light bursting uncomfortably close to his face. In his defense, it’s somewhat difficult to pinpoint the exact spell over the recognizable cackles of his favorite cousin. Luckily, he’s not granted enough time to guess as the death-eater he quickly identifies as none other than Bellatrix Lestrange casts the same spell at him again. Crucio. Very original.
“Watch the face, Bella! I’m too pretty to die young!” he yelled over his shoulder, using the momentary shock his retort causes to dive behind a thick slab of the collapsed marble roof.
Bellatrix’s laugh resounds behind him as he barely manages to avoid another blurry of hexes and curses, throwing himself on top of a weirdly human-shaped lump on the floor as he does so. An embarrassingly loud yelp escapes the startled lump straddled underneath him, and he glances down while immediately pointing his wand to the possible threat between his legs.
“Not sure Moony would be very happy with our current position, Pads, though I am flattered– of course!”
Sirius bristles at the sight of James Potter’s amused grin, entirely out of place in the middle of the destroyed halls of Gringotts and a sea of death-eaters. “Oh, piss off, Prongs!”, he snaps at James, “Tell fucking Moody that he’s sent us into a literal deathtrap before I sacrifice you to my bloody cousin!”
It was the first time in almost two months that neither Sirius nor James had any patrols or missions for the day. Without a mission to channel his frustration into, Sirius had woken up in a cold, empty bed and spent the entire morning sulking on the ratty couch that he and Remus had bought from an elderly lady down the street. Refusing to mope all day, he had flooed over to James and Lily’s, hoping to spend the day bonding with his lovely godson and definitely not obsessing over the distinct lack of tawny curls and wool sweaters in his life. Sirius hates himself for even sparing a single second of his day to Remus Lupin when he hasn’t even seen him in days or when Remus hadn’t responded to any message sent through his Patronus. The luminous shaggy dog always returned with its tail between its legs, genuine hurt shining in its eyes and no apology in toll.
James wastes no time in conjuring a non-corporeal patronus for Moody, explaining in excruciating detail the extreme direness of their situation. James and Sirius weren’t meant to be on active duty today, but the Order had received an anonymous tip of an alleged death-eater attack on Gringotts, and war waits for no man. So, when James and Sirius waltzed into Gringotts expecting another false lead and fruitless patrol, they weren’t expecting to be confronted with over thirty death eaters guarding the entrance to the bank’s vaults. Whatever they were guarding (or perhaps looking for), it had to be of the utmost importance for the Dark Lord to spare so many of his followers. They couldn’t let them get away. Not this time.
“Jamie, I have somewhat of a terrible idea, but I need you to trust me.” He can already see the clear refusal in James’ face as he opens his mouth to probably scold Sirius into oblivion. “They’re obviously here for a reason, Jamie! We need to sneak into the vaults,” he interrupts James, rolling his eyes at Prongs’ reluctance.
Their conversation is abruptly interrupted by the crackling sound of multiple apparitions piercing through the air consecutively. Hope and sheer relief flood Sirius and James as they glance over their shoulders and down the ruined corridor, anticipating the arrival of Moody, flanked by Aurors and the rest of the Order. Sirius only just manages to hurl himself towards the ground, littered with shattered glass that digs painfully into his palms, avoiding a killing curse by the skin of his teeth. Distantly, he thinks he sees Jamie bolting from their now-exposed hiding spot and into a narrow passageway, multiple death eaters chasing after him in hopes of being eternally commemorated as James Potter’s executioner.
In a last-ditch effort to escape an excruciatingly painful death at the hands of Bella, Sirius lunges towards his wand with blood-slicked hands and allows the familiar feeling of vertigo that comes with apparition to wash over him like an asphyxiating blanket around his neck. His stomach churns and his vision blurs dramatically, the sudden agonizing burning underneath his ribcage suggesting he might’ve splinched himself in the process. A blood-curdling scream escapes his lips when Sirius drops to his knees, the rough stone scraping his knees as blood puddles underneath him.
“Ah, fuck,” Sirius groans, gritting his teeth, as he glances down and notices the obvious chunk of flesh missing from his side as blood gushes from the wound. Barely conscious and sluggishly bleeding out, he manages to mumble his way through conjuring a patronus for James. “Prongs– fuck. Jamie, I need– I need your help. Please.”
He watches in morbid fascination as the glowing mutt he’s become so attached to flickers indecisively, Sirius’ magic struggling to perform the complex spell. God, he’s going to die here.
“Well, if it isn’t my little baby cousin!”
A terribly frigid chill runs down Sirius’ spine, his heartbeat pounding in his chest the moment he hears the mocking lilt in Bella’s voice. He’s already so impossibly cold, the stone jabbing into his stomach like freezing stalactites. He mindlessly wonders if this is how Reggie felt, so terribly alone in that suffocating house with only the Dark Mark’s hissing and slithering to keep him company. God, Reggie.
That train of thought is cruelly wrenched from his grief-stricken mind as the agonizing feeling of flames licking up his body and blood boiling in his veins envelops him. Every last bit of oxygen is forcibly stolen from his crying lungs as his vocal cords strain and contort to his screams. Whatever comfort Sirius had unknowingly found in the spreading chill that crept up on him and welcomed him past the veil was shattered in an instant as his nerve endings were cauterized over and over again. No matter how many times he was subjected to the Cruciatus curse, Sirius was simply unable to rationalize the excruciating pain that flooded every nook and cranny of his body as the curse assaulted his senses. He could hardly hear his own blood-curdling shrieks over the blood rushed in his ears and Bella’s giggles echoed in the stone hall.
“Come now, Siri… we’re only just getting started!” she giggled, “We have so much to catch up on– a little family bonding time between just you and me! CRUCIO!”
As the agonizing pain assaulted him again and again, his vision slowly blurring with swirling black spots, Sirius could only think of Remus Lupin. His auburn eyes and his crooked smile and his inherent goodness, and his secrecy and lies and heartbreak.
Sirius Black knew he was damned, but he couldn’t help but think maybe Remus Lupin had been his personal Eden all along, all beauty and temptation like a sour apple in a Garden, the source of his damnation. If so, he’d do anything for another taste of eternal damnation.
Cold hands suddenly held Sirius’ face flush against a warm chest, the steady pulsing of a heart hammering under a bony ribcage. A whine escaped his lips as he greedily basked in the other person’s comforting heat, his entire body screaming in horrible pain. It was so, so cold. The blood underneath him soaked Sirius’ back, a violent shudder causing him to groan as he blearily opened his eyes. Glazed over, grey eyes sluggishly met similarly silver ones, so familiar in their gaze that a small flicker of warmth lit up in Sirius’ caving chest. Any person could look at those piercing eyes and find nothing but frigid, apathetic coldness simmering amidst the silver. Sirius, however, knew the truth. While his own eyes were grey like an electrifying storm bordering on the raging might of a hurricane, these eyes weren’t cold nor apathetic. They were so deeply calculating, stubborn, an unmovable iceberg. Gunmetal blue eyes. Regulus’ eyes.
“Reg–”
“I’ve got you now, Siri. Everything will be fine.”
And, weirdly enough, as the world went dark and he felt his limp body be cautiously hauled across the floor, Sirius trusted him wholeheartedly.
He was so going to murder Sirius once they got out of this godforsaken bank.
James swiftly conjured a protection charm as another one of the death eaters that had seemingly apparated out of nowhere mercilessly threw curse after curse at him. Concern gnawed at the back of his mind as he remembered the terribly inconvenient state of Sirius when they were unexpectedly ambushed from behind. His pupils were dilated as he frantically tried to catch his breath while simultaneously casting hexes from his wand and protection spells windlessly, elegant tendrils of magic dancing across his fingertips effortlessly. But even with Sirius’ innate talent for wandless magic, the image of blood-soaked hands struggling on the decimated floor of Gringotts will forever be engraved in his head.
Every single muscle in James’ body was screaming in agony from the constant barrage of curses heading his way. His mind was running on autopilot, clumsily weaving between spells thanks to some primal survival instinct that interminably whispered in his head, Lily and Harry and Sirius and Remus and Peter and… All the adrenaline rushing through his veins seemed to abruptly drain out of his system by the time James managed to stupefy the last of the death-eaters who followed him into the cramped office at the end of a narrow hall. His knees shook under his weight as he turned his back to the small doorway from which he’d been hiding behind and slowly slumped against the nearest wall of the office. There was nothing but pure exhaustion clinging to his thoughts, like a soft static buzzing in his head, as James closed his eyes and allowed himself a single second to rest.
The sound of a choked gasp followed by a sickeningly loud thump against the stone floor startled James out of his tired daze. Frozen in place with his wand still precariously pointed at James, an unmoving lump of fabric lay surprisingly close to his feet, especially considering that he hadn’t been there before. His entire body feels so heavy and sore as he manages to lazily lift his head and catch sight of black and leather and bleach blonde waves.
“Holy fuck, you look like shit, James– wait, where are your glasses?”
“Marls?”
James watches the Marlene-shaped blur crouch in front of him and gently cup his cheeks as she quickly inspects his injuries, her nails softly scratching soothing circles below his jaw, before grabbing the wiry, circular glasses discarded on the floor. Immediately, her caramel eyes and black eyeliner come into focus, and never has James Potters been happier to see Marlene McKinnon.
“Merlin, you have no idea how ecstatic I am to see you. I could practically kiss you–”
“Sorry, love, but I’m loyal to a certain brilliant Slytherin,” Marlene giggles softly as she quietly casts healing charms over his injuries, “not to mention, you’re not exactly my type, Jamie.” James jokingly narrows his eyes at the sarcasm, glaring at Marlene while stifling a laugh of his own.
Her eyes absentmindedly scan the cramped office before panic suddenly flares across Marlene’s face as she notices the absence of James’ patrol partner. “Is Sirius not with you?”
James freezes. He grinds his jaw and breathes in long, steadying breaths– chasing away the overwhelming panic that clenches around his lungs– while he pulls himself off the floor, leaning heavily against Marlene’s shorter form. Ignoring her protests, James drags them both down the narrow hall and into the stone corridor where he and Sirius had last seen each other. There was no sign of Sirius nor any death-eaters among the rubble or behind the chiseled pillars that supported what remained of the roof, light streaming through the cracked stone. For a moment, James could do nothing but helplessly search for a glimpse of his friend while Marlene stood next to him in tense silence, clearly sensing the situation’s urgency. Until he saw the trail of spilled blood that trailed into the stairwell at the end of the empty corridor, almost as if someone had been dragged across the room as they bled. Oh god, Sirius.
James isn’t sure how long it took him and Marlene to climb down the stairwell. He doesn’t even register when a horrified gasp escapes Marlene’s mouth and her unsteady grip on his shoulder tightens. Because waiting for them at the bottom of the bloodied stairs was a splattered puddle of blood, staining the stone underneath crimson, chunks of flesh scattered among the carnage. James takes a few shaky steps forward until he accidentally steps on a small object and raises his foot to reveal a bloodied golden ring. Marlene is silent behind him, her quivering breaths slowly becoming choked sobs. He gingerly bends down to pick up the carmine ring, gold and ruby-red reminiscent of better, simpler times. There’s a small moon engraved on the inside of the golden bang, hidden away from prying eyes. A moon. It’s Sirius’ fucking ring.
His mind is a complete mess as a whirlwind of thoughts assaults his mind. “No,” he breathes because it can’t be real– this can’t be real. Marlene mumbles the Patronus charm under her breath, desperately attempting to seek help from the Order, but there’s no happy memory to cling onto. There’s only blood on the wall and on the floor and on James’ hands, and so much red, red red, red–
And in the middle of the seeping pool of blood is a confirmation of James’ worst nightmare.
Sirius’ wand lies on the ground, blood staining the willow wood.
His entire world crumbles right before him.