Blackstar blues

by Potterlover28

Summary:

Before fifth year, Sirius Black attempts suicide, his desperate cry for release from a life that never fit. Only Bellatrix finds him, and the family pretends he simply fell into the lake. They don’t know the truth. Walburga places him under the Imperius Curse, binding him to her will with promises of protection for Regulus. To save his brother, Sirius is forced into silence. He must betray everyone he loves.

At Hogwarts, he has no memory of his actions, only a growing sense of dread. He clings to Remus, kisses him as though it could make the pain stop. But when the full moon arrives, Sirius, under the curse, leads Snape to the Shrieking Shack. He doesn’t know why. doesn’t even remember it. But the damage is done.

The next morning, everything falls apart. James screams. Remus breaks. Sirius is left shattered, drowning in guilt he doesn’t even fully understand, consumed by the consequences of actions he can’t remember but can never undo. His love for Remus, for his friends, is eclipsed by the weight of a betrayal he can't explain, bound by a curse that has stolen more than his memories.

Chapter 1: A boy with no exit

Sirius stood at the edge of the Black Lake, his feet sinking into the wet grass, the chill of the evening air biting at his skin. The water in front of him was dark, quiet, stretching far out under the moonlight, and it mirrored the emptiness inside him. The weight of everything—the expectations, the family, the pressure—felt too much to carry anymore.

He had tried, for years, to be someone he wasn’t. He had fought, struggled, screamed against the role his family had carved for him. But there was no escaping it. No matter how far he ran, no matter how many walls he built, it always came back to the same place. His family. His name. Their judgment.

It was suffocating. And now, standing by the edge of the Black Lake, the silence felt like freedom. The water seemed to call to him, a quiet promise of release. He felt detached from everything—his heart heavy, his mind numb, and yet, somehow, clearer than it had ever been.

He thought of his mother. Her harsh words, her cold eyes—how she had turned against him the moment he stepped outside of the family’s twisted ideals.You’re not worthy, she had said so many times.You’re nothing but a disgrace to the bloodline.

It had started years ago, before he had even fully understood what it meant to be a Black. She had loved him once—held him when he was small, her fingers brushing through his hair as she whispered promises of greatness. But all of that changed when she lost the soft parts of herself and turned him into the enemy.

The truth was, she hadn’t loved him for a long time. And now, after all the years of cruelty, the guilt of disappointing her—of disappointing them all—weighed on him like a stone.

The night was still. The moon hung above him, a pale light casting shadows over his face. He felt like a ghost in his own life, like someone who no longer belonged anywhere.

Sirius stepped into the lake, the cold water creeping up his legs, sending a shiver through him. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t sharp. It just... numbed him. He waded deeper, his breath slow and shaky, the sound of water lapping against his body the only noise.

His thoughts drifted, and in his mind, he saw his childhood again—fragments of laughter, of moments when he had been happy, before everything turned bitter. Before the Black family turned him into a shadow of himself.

He remembered when he was younger, how his mother had smiled at him, the soft warmth of her hand brushing his cheek. How she had once looked at him with pride, as if he were everything she ever wanted. Back then, she had told him he would make her proud—he would be the one to change the world. But those moments had faded, lost in the whirlwind of hate, control, and manipulation that had become his life.

Sirius had fought against that fate. Fought for the right to choose who he was, who he wanted to be. But the battles never ended, and he had lost so much along the way. Regulus - his brother, his family. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt connected to him, to any of them.

The pain was too much. The fight, too long. And in the end, he was exhausted. The lake called to him, its dark waters promising peace, quiet, and release from the suffocating world that had shaped him.

And then, in a quiet, hollow moment, he let go.

He stopped fighting, closed his eyes, and allowed the cold to take him.

---

Sirius’s eyes fluttered open, the harsh light of the hospital room burning his retinas. His head was pounding, his body aching with an intensity he couldn’t ignore. The faint smell of antiseptic and magic lingered in the air, but it was the soft hum of healing spells that filled the silence. He tried to move, but pain shot through his chest, and he gasped, unsure of what was real and what was still a dream.

Everything felt heavy—like he had been underwater for too long. His mind struggled to piece together the events that had led him here, but it was all a blur. The Black Lake. The cold. The silence. It all faded in and out like a dream, until only the present remained.

As his vision cleared, he noticed someone sitting by his bed—someone familiar. Bellatrix.

She was sitting in a chair beside him, her back straight, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face was unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something that Sirius couldn’t quite place. Her eyes were tired, like she hadn’t slept in days. She didn’t look angry or cold, as she usually did. Instead, there was a quiet sadness, a grief he hadn’t expected.

Sirius tried to speak, but his throat was raw, and all that came out was a hoarse rasp. Bellatrix, however, seemed to know exactly what he was trying to do. Without a word, she stood up and leaned closer, her face softening just a little.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice quiet. It wasn’t angry, wasn’t cold. It was something else entirely. Her eyes flickered to the side, away from him, and then back to the bed. “You’ve been unconscious for two days.”

Sirius blinked, struggling to focus, to piece together the fractured memories of what had happened. The lake. The cold. But everything was hazy, and the details slipped away from him.

Bellatrix’s expression shifted slightly, her lips pressed tightly together. She seemed to be holding something back, her usual sharpness replaced by something fragile, something he couldn’t understand.

“I told Aunt Walburga you slipped,” she said, her voice a little steadier now. She didn’t look at him as she spoke, but her words hit him hard. “No one else needs to know what really happened.”

Sirius stared at her, his mind whirling with questions, with the pain of what he had done. He wanted to ask why, why she would lie, but his mouth felt dry, his chest tight.

Bellatrix continued, her gaze finally meeting his, her eyes darker now, filled with a quiet sorrow he had never seen before. “You’re my cousin, Sirius. My best friend. I couldn’t lose you.”

Her voice cracked at the last words, and Sirius felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. He had never heard her sound like this—not in all their years together. Not in all the bitterness they’d shared. She was always so strong, so untouchable. But now, there was nothing but rawness in her voice, in her eyes.

“I couldn’t... I couldn’t let you go.” She paused, her jaw tightening. “I never thought you’d... do that.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say. The words seemed to escape him, lost in the fog of his own thoughts. He couldn’t tell her how sorry he was, how much he wished he could undo it all. But he couldn’t. The silence between them stretched, heavy and painful.

“I’ll make sure no one else knows,” Bellatrix said finally, her voice quieter, more composed. “But don’t ever do that again, Sirius. Promise me.”

Sirius nodded weakly, unable to speak, the lump in his throat too large to swallow. He didn’t know if he could promise, but he tried. For her. For both of them.

The silence fell between them again, but this time, it wasn’t just empty. It was full of everything they hadn’t said.

 

Sirius sat at the edge of the grand dining table, his fingers loosely draped over the worn wood, feeling the cold seeping into his skin. The walls of the Black Manor pressed in on him, suffocating, heavy with the weight of old expectations. Three days. Three days since he’d been dragged out of the Black Lake, three days since Bellatrix had pulled him from the brink of death, though he felt like he was still teetering on the edge. He had almost done it. Almost gone through with it. Almost given in to the darkness that was consuming him.

But here he was. Alive. Or at least, existing.

The feeling of his own breath in his chest felt alien, forced. He hadn’t asked for this. He hadn’t asked for any of it. The attempt hadn’t solved anything—it had only made things worse. He had thought it might give him peace, but it hadn’t. It had only left him with more questions and a crushing weight in his chest that felt like it would never go away.

He didn’t know why he had come back. After everything, after the way his mother had treated him, after what he’d tried to do, he hadn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms. His mother didn’t care about him. His father barely acknowledged him, and Regulus—well, Regulus was gone. Off in France, too far to help him, too deep in his own world to see the struggle that was threatening to swallow Sirius whole.

But Bellatrix was still here. Bellatrix, his best friend and cousin, the one who had dragged him back from the edge and kept him here in the Manor where he didn’t belong. She hadn’t said much since the attempt. She hadn’t needed to. She knew what was happening inside him. The thoughts were louder than ever now, like a constant hum in the back of his mind.

She didn’t understand. She was too far gone. The Dark Lord was calling to her, and she had already answered. She would soon be marked for life, a symbol of loyalty to a cause that didn’t care for anything but power. And yet, she was the only one who could see him, the only one who could understand. Even if she wasn’t able to reach him, her silent presence was a constant reminder that he was not completely alone, at least not yet.

Tonight, as always, was Black family night. And despite the suffocating atmosphere, Sirius had been dragged into the drawing room with them. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to crawl into himself, disappear into the darkness of his mind. But instead, he sat there, silent, feeling his mother’s eyes burning into the back of his skull as she spoke, as if he didn’t exist. His mind wandered.

What was the point of all this? What was the point of staying alive when everything felt like it was falling apart around him? His mother’s cold voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. She was speaking to the family now, but her words felt like daggers aimed at him.

“You’ll receive the Dark Mark when you turn seventeen, just like Bellatrix,” Walburga Black said sharply, her voice laced with the bitter pride of someone who thought she was doing the right thing. “And there will be no more rebellion. No more hesitation. You’ll be loyal. You’ll be worthy.”

Sirius’s stomach twisted, but the words barely registered. The Dark Mark. Yes, of course. It was expected. It was always going to happen. He had known this, but hearing it again—hearing his mother speak of it as if it were a matter of fact—made him want to curl up and disappear.

But his thoughts were elsewhere, lost in a place far darker than any family night or Black Manor portrait.

The darkness inside him had only grown since the night of the attempt. It was like something had opened in his chest, a hollow, empty space that nothing could fill. The hollowed-out feeling settled into his gut, into his heart, and it gnawed at him, relentlessly. Every day, every hour, it was there, a weight pressing down on his soul.

The thoughts came at him in waves, sometimes quiet and almost manageable, other times crashing into him like an ocean, drowning him in hopelessness. What was the point? He didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong to this family, this house, this life. The only thing that had ever made him feel like he *mattered*—Remus—was a distant thought in his mind. Moony. But he couldn’t see Remus now, couldn’t be with him. And the ache of it, the loneliness, was unbearable.

He had tried to end it. To stop the pain. But Bellatrix had saved him, and now here he was, facing his mother’s cold gaze and the reminder that he would be marked soon. He wasn’t sure which would hurt more—the Dark Mark, or the realization that he could never escape this. Never be free.

“Sirius,” Bellatrix’s voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back into the present. He hadn’t realized how far he’d drifted until she said his name again. Her eyes were sharp, but there was something behind them. Something like concern, or perhaps guilt. He didn’t know.

But she didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to.

The meeting continued around him, the adults speaking in hushed tones about alliances and the rise of the Dark Lord, but Sirius couldn’t focus. His thoughts were spinning in chaotic circles. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away, to escape everything, to be with Remus where it was safe. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not when the weight of his family, their expectations, the promise of the Mark, and his own shattered mind felt like they were closing in on him from all sides.

His fingers dug into the wood of the table, trying to steady himself, but nothing helped. He couldn’t breathe.

And deep down, a part of him wondered if he’d ever really been alive to begin with.

Chapter 2: Tears in the dark

He started wearing long sleeves again.

Not that anyone noticed — not really. Walburga barely looked at him, and his father was always away, locked behind the study door or gone for days at a time. But Sirius noticed. He felt the sleeves constantly, how they stuck to his skin when he was sweating from the whisky or from the nightmares. He wore them even when it was hot. Even when it made no sense.

The fabric was scratchy, but it covered the evidence.

At night, he cried himself to sleep. Sometimes it was silent — just tears sliding down his temples into his pillow. Other times it came in choked sobs that he smothered under blankets, terrified someone would hear. But no one ever came.

No one ever came.

He missed his Moony.

God, he missed Remus like missing a limb.

He missed the way Remus would read aloud in the common room, his voice soft and steady. He missed the way Remus knew when something was wrong without even asking. The way he’d put a hand on Sirius’s wrist — gently, grounding — and say, "Tell me what's going on."

No one had said that to him all summer.

Sirius hadn’t even written. He couldn’t. What would he say? Hey, Moony, I tried to die and my mum thinks I tripped into the lake. Hope your summer’s nice.

The letters never made it past his thoughts.

Sometimes, when he was really drunk, he’d talk to the window like Remus was outside it. Like he might fly up to the second floor and knock like in the stories. Sirius would whisper, "Miss you,” over and over, the syllables like prayers or curses.

Once, he carved a moon into the inside of his arm with the tip of his quill.

It healed crooked, ugly.

He didn’t care.

 

Some days Sirius didn’t get out of bed at all.

The sun would rise, casting golden light across the heavy velvet curtains, but he’d keep them closed. He’d bury himself under the sheets and pretend the world didn’t exist — or maybe that he didn’t. Time moved strangely in the manor. It was quiet, but not peaceful. The silence pressed in on him like a second skin, reminding him of everything he had lost.

He didn’t eat much anymore. His ribs had started to show. His hands were always shaking. The alcohol helped — not with the pain, but with the sharpness of it. It dulled the edges, let him float above the ache for a while. But it never lasted.

Nothing lasted.

The only things that stayed were the memories.

He thought of Remus constantly. Sometimes it hurt so badly he felt sick with it.

He remembered lying in bed with him at school, their knees brushing under the covers, Sirius tracing the curve of Remus’s shoulder with one finger. The soft breath of Moony’s laughter when Sirius whispered something stupid in the dark.

He remembered how Remus would tuck his scarf around Sirius’s neck on cold mornings, fingers careful and warm, and the way his voice turned gentle when Sirius was spiraling.

"You’re not bad," Remus had told him once, his hand resting over Sirius’s heart. "You were just born in the wrong house."

That was the night Sirius had cried for the first time in front of him.

Really cried.

He thought of that night often, how Remus hadn’t said anything more — just pulled him close and held him until he stopped shaking.

No one held him anymore.

There were nights now where Sirius would stare at the ceiling for hours, whispering into the dark: “Moony, please come get me. Please. I want to come home.”

But Remus wasn’t there. He didn’t even know.

The summer dragged on like a ghost he couldn’t shake. And Sirius was starting to forget the sound of Remus’s voice. That scared him more than anything.

So he drank more. He dug his nails into his arms when it got too loud in his head. He scratched at old scars and made new ones. And every night, he cried himself to sleep in silence, curled around the memories of the only person who had ever made him feel like he was worth saving.

 

The night before the start of Hogwarts, the Black Manor felt unnervingly silent, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Sirius stood in the drawing room, staring blankly into the fire. His mind was as empty as the walls around him, the space filled only with the echoes of memories that had once been vibrant, now dull and distant. His mother had kept her distance since his return from St. Mungo’s, but he knew that silence wouldn’t last. He could feel the weight of her watchful eyes, knowing it was only a matter of time before she sought him out.

As if on cue, Walburga entered the room, her heels clicking on the marble floor, and the heavy air shifted. She didn’t look at him with the fury she had once used to control him. No, this time, she was calm. Too calm.

"Sirius," she said softly, her voice cold but measured. "We need to talk."

Sirius didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what she wanted from him anymore. What did it matter? He had given up on everything that had once meant something. His friends, his laughter, his dreams of freedom — all of it felt so far out of reach now.

"Do you understand what has happened?" Walburga asked, her voice still soft but laced with an underlying force. She approached him, her presence overwhelming, and Sirius felt the familiar pull of her manipulation, even as it tried to claw at his remaining sense of self.

"You have been through much, my son," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took a step closer. "But you must understand that you cannot be weak. Not now, not ever." Her voice softened again, almost coaxing, as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "You will be marked, Sirius. It is your destiny. You will leave behind those who do not belong in your world."

Sirius swallowed hard, but he didn’t say anything. His thoughts were scattered, but the idea of being torn from everything he cared about — of being marked as one of them — it felt like suffocation. But there was something in her voice, a quiet insistence, a slow certainty that made it difficult to resist.

"You have seen what I had to do," Walburga continued, her gaze intense, her grip tightening on his shoulder. "Just as I did. Just as Bellatrix did. We had to leave behind those who would never understand our duty. Those who are weak. You will see it too, Sirius. It’s the only way to protect yourself... to protect the family."

Her words hung in the air, almost hypnotic in their rhythm. Sirius’s heart pounded in his chest, his hands growing clammy, but he knew what was coming. He had heard this all before. His mother’s subtle manipulations, her soft threats masked as concern, her attempts to bend him to her will. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to block her out, but her voice was there, insistent, unyielding.

"You must leave them behind," she said, her voice barely above a whisper now, her breath warm against his skin. "Your friends. Your... Muggle-loving friends. They are a distraction, a weakness. You cannot be one of them, Sirius. You are meant for something greater."

Sirius felt the weight of her words pressing down on him, and in that moment, his resistance crumbled. What was left for him anyway? What was left but the path his mother had chosen for him, the one that had been laid out since his birth?

Sirius opened his eyes and turned his gaze toward her, his voice barely a whisper as he replied, "Yes, Mother."

Walburga smiled, her face softening as if she had just won some victory. She didn’t see the quiet devastation in his eyes, the way he was already shutting down, already retreating into himself. She didn’t see how far gone he was.

"Good," she said, her voice gentle now, as if everything were perfectly fine. "You will make us proud, Sirius. You will make your family proud. And one day, they will understand. They will see you for what you truly are."

And then, without warning, her expression shifted, and her hand tightened on his shoulder.

"Imperio."

The word was sharp and cold, and Sirius felt the sudden rush of foreign power invade his mind, the world around him distorting. The darkness took hold, not as a choice, but as a force of will, breaking through any resistance he might have had left.

Sirius’s body stiffened, and for a brief, horrible moment, he was nothing but an instrument, a puppet. Her voice echoed in his mind, her words pushing against his will, reminding him of what he must do.

"You will leave them all behind," Walburga whispered through the curse, her voice now smooth, like she was speaking to a child. "You will betray those you love, just as I did. Just as Bellatrix did. There is no room for weakness, Sirius. Only loyalty. Only power."

Sirius’s mind screamed, but his mouth moved without his consent, the words slipping out like a whisper he couldn’t stop.

"Yes, Mother."

The curse lifted. The fog in his mind cleared, but the weight of her words remained, sinking into the pit of his stomach. She had done it. She had broken him, not just with her manipulations, but with the force of magic, the power to make him believe that what she said was true, that this was his path.

Walburga’s voice then took on a new edge, one that chilled him even more than before. She leaned in closer, her face mere inches from his.

"And remember, Sirius," she said, her tone lowering, filled with an icy threat. "If you so much as whisper that you are under the Imperius Curse to anyone — anyone at all — I will make sure your precious Regulus pays the price."

Sirius’s breath caught in his throat. The threat was clear. His brother. His family. She would make sure that Regulus — the one person who still had some shred of innocence in this house — would suffer if he didn’t comply.

Sirius’s heart twisted in agony. His world, already crumbling, now felt like it was being suffocated from the inside. He wanted to scream, wanted to fight back, but he couldn’t. Not when Regulus was in danger.

He nodded, his voice trembling, "Yes, Mother."

With that, Walburga turned on her heel, leaving him alone in the silence of the room, the weight of the curse still lingering on his shoulders. As the door clicked shut behind her, Sirius’s knees buckled, and he collapsed against the nearest chair, his body trembling.

He had no choice now. He had no choice but to betray everyone he loved.

Chapter 3: Stillness before the storm

The train station was loud, chaotic, alive with the buzz of students reuniting and saying their goodbyes to worried parents. Sirius stood by himself, trunk beside him, the sunlight making his long sleeves feel too heavy. It was strange being back, like he had blinked and summer had vanished — and thank God it had. He didn’t want to think about the Black Manor. About his mother’s words. About the curse she had whispered softly, like a lullaby.

Imperio.

She’d smiled when she said it. As if it were a kindness.

Sirius swallowed and forced himself to move, boarding the train with careful steps, head held high. He was Sirius Black — he could pretend. He’d been pretending his whole life.

He found them halfway down the train. James, already shouting something dumb, Peter laughing. And Remus — Merlin, Remus — leaning against the window with that sleepy grin Sirius hadn’t seen in months. His heart squeezed.

They saw him at the same time.

“Sirius!” James grinned, bounding down the corridor like a puppy. He threw his arms around him and clapped him on the back. “You look like hell, mate.”

Sirius laughed, hollow. “Thanks, Jamie. You look like a broomstick exploded on your head.”

James beamed. “So, just like always.”

Peter hugged him next, babbling about chocolate frogs and N.E.W.T. stress, but Sirius barely heard it — because Remus was still standing by the window. Still watching him. And then—

“Moony,” Sirius said.

Remus crossed the space between them without hesitation, without a single moment of awkwardness. He hugged Sirius tight. Tighter than expected. Like he’d been holding his breath.

Sirius melted into it.

“I missed you,” Remus murmured into his shoulder. “Missed you so much.”

Sirius closed his eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
“Missed you too,” he managed. His voice cracked.

The train ride passed in bursts. He laughed in all the right places. He smiled. He drank butterbeer and let James tease him, and he held Remus’s hand under the table when no one was looking. He remembered every small thing — the warmth of their compartment, the comfort of Remus resting his head on his shoulder, the way James made them all laugh until their stomachs hurt.

But something inside him never unclenched.

He felt it like a stone in his chest: You’ll lose them. You’ll lose him.

---

That night, Gryffindor Tower glowed with welcome. The common room had been transformed into a party — someone had snuck in drinks, someone had turned up the music. Everyone was hugging and dancing and celebrating being back.

Sirius got drunk fast.

He needed to. He couldn’t stand the way everything felt too bright, too close. He couldn’t stop thinking about the curse crawling inside his brain, the voice that whispered You’ll betray them. You’ll betray him.

He found Remus near the fire, talking to Marlene. He didn’t hesitate — just walked up and pulled him into a hug, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Remus froze for half a second. Then he melted, wrapping his arms around Sirius’s neck like it was the only place he wanted to be.

“Hi,” he said softly. “Hi, love.”

Sirius nearly broke.

“I just missed you,” he whispered. His voice trembled.

Remus pulled back only enough to see his face. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go up to our dorm, yeah?”

Sirius nodded. He couldn’t speak. His hands were still shaking.

Remus took them both upstairs, past the sleeping portraits and the quiet hush of the stairwell. In their room, it was quiet. Safe. Moonlight spilled across the beds.

“Here,” Remus said, sitting down and tugging Sirius beside him. “You’re okay now. Just us.”

He pulled him close. Sirius clung.

“Missed this,” he whispered.

“I know,” Remus said. He stroked Sirius’s hair, gently. “Me too.”

Sirius wanted to say so much. I’m not okay. I’m cursed. I’m going to hurt you. I love you, I love you, I’m sorry.
But all he could do was cry — quietly, into the boy he loved — as the warmth of the room and Remus’s soft voice tried to hold him together.

 

Sirius woke before Remus.

Sunlight slipped through the cracks in the curtains, cutting soft lines across the bed, across Remus’s face. His lashes fluttered as he slept, lips parted just slightly, one arm still draped across Sirius’s waist. His hand twitched every now and then, like he was dreaming. Sirius stared at him.
He should’ve gotten up already. Should’ve moved. But instead he stayed, watching, heart aching in the quiet way it always did now. The weight in his chest never left, not even when Remus held him like that. Especially not then.

But he smiled anyway, soft and bitter.
Eventually, Remus stirred. Eyes cracking open, blinking at him. “You’re still here,” he murmured.

“Where else would I be?” Sirius said, light, teasing. He leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Morning, sunshine.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “You’re annoying in the morning.”

“You’re lucky I’m pretty.”

They got dressed side by side, shoulders brushing. Sirius cracked a joke about James’s hair, threw a sock at Peter, made Remus laugh twice before they even got down to breakfast. He looked the part — shining, effortless Sirius Black.

He even flirted with a sixth-year Ravenclaw just to keep up the act. She giggled. He winked. Remus shook his head and kicked him under the table.

“Stop being a menace.”

Sirius just grinned. “You love it.”

“I do,” Remus said simply, and Sirius’s stomach turned, because that was the truth. And Sirius was going to break it.

He swallowed it down with a bite of toast.

They had Transfiguration first. Sirius answered two questions without thinking, turned his quill into a bouquet of violets just to make Remus smile. And when McGonagall passed by and gave him a rare nod of approval, Remus leaned in and whispered, “Show off.”

“You like it when I show off.”

Remus bumped his shoulder. Sirius bumped him back. It was easy. Natural. Too natural.

But with every laugh, every glance, every word, Sirius could feel it.

I’m going to lose this.

Every conversation was a goodbye in disguise.

Every smile was a wound.

He didn’t let it show. He kept up the charm, the glittering ease. But he watched Remus’s hands as he turned pages, watched his eyes light up when he talked about the new Defense textbook, watched the way he bit his lip when he was focused. Memorizing again.

And when they sat outside under the tree by the lake at lunch — their usual spot — and Remus leaned his head on his shoulder, Sirius closed his eyes and tilted his head back to the sun.

It was killing him. All of it.

But if this was all he had left, he was going to hold it as tightly as he could.

Chapter 4: Blackstar

The castle was quiet. That strange, sacred kind of quiet Hogwarts only ever held in the small hours of the night. The fire in the Gryffindor common room had burned low, its light soft and gold and flickering. Shadows danced gently across the walls like they didn’t want to wake anyone. Like even they knew not to disturb this night.

Sirius sat on the couch with Remus curled up on top of him. Legs straddling his thighs, arms looped around his neck, his cheek pressed against Sirius’s collarbone. The blanket Remus had brought down from their dorm was wrapped around them both like a shield, heavy and warm. It smelled faintly of cedarwood and dust and the detergent Lily always snuck in when she did laundry for everyone once a month.

Sirius didn’t know how long they’d been like this. Hours, maybe. Maybe years.

He could feel Remus’s heartbeat, soft and steady where their chests touched. He could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing. And he could feel how fragile it all was.

Remus shifted a little and sighed. “Mmm. You’re warm.”

Sirius hummed. “You’re freezing.”

Remus smiled against his skin. “I like it. Makes me clingier.”

“You’re already clingy.”

“Only with you,” he said, and his voice was so small, so content, it made Sirius’s throat close.

He looked down at him. Moony, with his soft brown eyes and sleepy lashes. Moony, with his scarred hands and worn-out jumpers. Moony, who had loved Sirius through every storm, who had waited for him, trusted him, held him. Moony, who he would have to betray.

Sirius blinked hard.

Remus hadn’t noticed yet. He hadn’t noticed that Sirius flinched whenever he touched him. That every smile was just a little too stiff. That Sirius had started breathing like he was running out of time.

Maybe he was. Maybe he was just really good at pretending.

“You okay?” Remus whispered.

Sirius forced a smile. “Yeah.”

Remus lifted his head, sleepy concern creasing his forehead. “You sure?”

“I’m just tired,” Sirius lied. “That’s all.”

Remus tilted his head and studied him. “You’re not just tired. You’ve been off all week.”

Sirius’s breath caught. “It’s just… tomorrow.”

Remus’s expression softened. “Oh. Yeah.”

The full moon. Always hard. Always terrifying. But Sirius had always been there. Always held his hand. Always transformed with him. Always kept him safe.

And now—

Sirius looked at him. At the way Remus’s hair curled slightly over his ear. At the little scar by his lip. At the softness in his eyes. His hands shook.

“I don’t want it to be tomorrow,” he said, almost voiceless.

Remus’s face melted. “Oh, love.”

And then he was kissing him. Gentle. Sweet. Like he wanted to make it all disappear. Sirius kissed him back, desperately, hungrily, hands in his hair, fingertips pressing into his spine like he was anchoring himself.

Remus smiled against his mouth. “You’re being clingy now.”

“I just—” Sirius broke off. He swallowed. “I just missed you.”

Remus wrapped his arms tighter around him. “I’m right here.”

Sirius closed his eyes and nodded. “I know.”

They stayed like that, pressed so close there wasn’t a breath between them. Remus stroked his hair, his back, his arms. He kissed his neck and his cheeks and the little freckle on Sirius’s jaw.

Sirius tried not to cry.

They talked, too. Soft, winding things. Remus told stories from when they were younger, the way he always did when Sirius was sad — the first time they all snuck down to the kitchens, the time James got stuck in the Quidditch locker room and blamed it on a "raging poltergeist," the time Remus accidentally hexed Snape’s eyebrows off and tried to pretend it was a “spontaneous magical shedding incident.”

Sirius laughed. It didn’t reach his eyes. But he laughed.

And when Remus started getting drowsy, mumbling sleepily into his neck, Sirius just held him tighter.

He stared into the fire, his hand tangled in Remus’s curls, the blanket drawn up to their shoulders. His chest ached with every breath.

He was going to lose this.

He was going to lose him.

He’d never see this again — not like this. Not without guilt, not without shame. Not without blood on his hands and betrayal eating him alive.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Remus didn’t respond. He’d already fallen asleep.

But Sirius held him like he was the last thing in the world worth saving.

Because he was.

And the world was about to end.

Chapter 5: Starman, come back

Sirius Black didn’t remember falling asleep. Not really. He remembered firewhiskey, the burn of it down his throat, the bitter way it clung to his teeth. He remembered laughter in the distance, voices warped by walls and magic and time. He remembered staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was already dead. He remembered his hands shaking so badly he couldn’t hold the bottle anymore. He remembered thinking—just for a second—that maybe he didn’t want to wake up again. And then—darkness. Then nothing. Then the blur of dreams and spells and the feeling of being submerged under something thick and heavy, like sleep wasn’t rest but drowning. So when his eyes blinked open, stuck with crusted tears and sweat, and the world was upside down, the floor cold beneath his cheek, Sirius didn’t even flinch. He was still drunk. Still broken. Still...whatever this was. He barely managed to shift onto his elbows before the door slammed open and James’s voice cut through him like a curse.

“Sirius...what the fuck did you do?"

Sirius blinked. The words hit, but they felt far away. Distant. Like someone yelling through water.

“What?” he croaked. His throat burned. His mouth tasted like blood and smoke. His ribs ached.

James was standing over him, hair wild, eyes red with fury, panic, betrayal. “Don’t you dare act like you don’t know.”

Sirius tried to sit up. The room was spinning, his vision fragmented. “Jamie—what are you—?”

“Snape!” James shouted. “The Shack! Remus!”

And just like that, everything came back.

Like a punch. Like a scream. Like being thrown into ice water.

Snape. The tunnel. The shadows. The full moon rising. Remus. Oh, God, Remus. The shack. His bones. His body. His eyes. His—

“I—” Sirius’s mouth opened, but the words got stuck. His lungs clenched. His heart stopped. “No. No, I didn’t— I didn’t mean—”

“You told him,” James said, voice shaking now, horror breaking through the rage. “You fucking told him, Sirius. You told Snape where to find him. You nearly got Remus killed.”

“I stopped him,” Sirius whispered, because it was the only truth he had left.

“You shouldn’t have told him in the first place!” James’s hands were in his hair, gripping, pulling. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened? Do you?!”

Sirius stared at the floor. His stomach turned. His skin felt too tight. His mouth wouldn’t work. His head was full of screaming, but his lips were still.

Tell him. Just tell him what happened. Tell him about the curse. Tell him about your mother. Tell him it wasn’t your fault.

But then he saw Regulus. Pale, small, waiting back at the Manor. Waiting like he always did. Waiting with big eyes and secrets and bruises that no one ever talked about. And her voice came back, clear and soft, like velvet dipped in poison.

If you tell anyone, Regulus will suffer. You know what they do to traitors.

He saw Reggie’s face if that happened. Saw what they’d do to him. Saw himself standing over a coffin instead of a bed. Saw another name burned from the tapestry. Another brother lost.

So he said nothing.

“I was drunk,” Sirius whispered, the lie stinging like thorns in his throat. “It was a joke. A sick one. I—I don’t know.”

James stepped back like Sirius had slapped him. “You think this is a fucking joke?”

Sirius looked at him. Really looked. And the guilt nearly tore him apart.

Because James was right. This wasn’t a joke. This was betrayal.

His first thought—when the truth hit him, when the full horror of what he’d done settled like ash in his lungs—was that he was going to kill himself.

Not metaphorically. Not dramatically.

He was going to die.

Because he deserved it.

Because how do you live after this? How do you live after nearly killing the person you love, and then lying to their face about it? How do you walk through the castle halls and pretend you’re not a monster? How do you look your best friend in the eye when all you see reflected is the moment you made them afraid of you?

He didn’t know who he was anymore. All he knew was that he wanted it to stop.

James stormed out. The door slammed so loud it echoed through Sirius’s bones. But he didn’t move. He sat there, hollow, unmoving, his hands trembling in his lap.

And then the door opened again.

Remus.

Bandages. Blood still on his collar. Tired. Fragile. Beautiful.

Sirius’s mouth went dry.

“Remus,” he rasped.

“Don’t,” Remus said. Voice hoarse. Eyes unreadable. “Don’t say anything yet. Just… tell me why.”

Sirius stared at him.

Tell him.

But Regulus—

Tell him.

He’ll be hurt. Killed. Worse.

Tell him.

I can’t.

And he looked at Remus. Looked at the boy who had loved him through everything, who had kissed his mouth like it meant something, who had held him when the nightmares got too real, who had traced the lines of his ribs and whispered, “You’re safe now.”

And Sirius couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t trade Regulus’s life for his own happiness.

So he said nothing.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t know why I did it.”

Remus’s face changed. Shattered.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re fucking lying, Sirius!”

The scream hit Sirius like fire.

“You looked me in the eyes and said I was safe with you!” Remus shouted. “You said you loved me! You said you’d never hurt me!”

“I meant it—”

“No, you didn’t!” Remus’s voice cracked. “You’re just like your mother!”

Silence.

It was worse than any curse.

Sirius blinked. Slowly. Like the world had stopped spinning. Like someone had torn his chest open.

Remus was crying. Angry and beautiful and shaking and ruined. “You act like you’re different, but you’re not. You lie, and you manipulate, and you destroy everything good that touches you.”

Sirius’s lips parted. But he had no defense.

“I loved you,” Remus said. Quiet now. Cold. Final. “And you destroyed it.”

He turned.

He walked out.

And Sirius didn’t move.

Not for a long, long time.

Not even when the silence pressed in around him and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat whispering, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—but it didn’t matter.

Because it was already too late.

Chapter 6: A fallen constellation

Notes:

UGH This chapter is sooo mixed Idk!!
It took me so long to update my exams are KILLING me

The corridors were quiet, dim‑lit and cold, but Sirius’s chest burned like he’d swallowed fire.

He hadn’t meant to overhear.

He’d been walking the long way to the Astronomy Tower—somewhere quiet, somewhere he could scream without being heard—when he caught James’s voice. Low. Panicked. And Remus’s, sharper than Sirius had ever heard it.

“He nearly got Snape killed, James,” Remus was saying. “You’re still trying to defend him?”

There was a pause. Then James
“I’m trying to understand him. That’s not the same.”

“Understand?” Remus’s voice cracked. “I loathe him”

Sirius froze.

His stomach dropped, knees buckling just enough to make the wall his only salvation. His heart thudded like a drum in his ears.

“He’s a coward,” Remus spat. “He lies. He destroyed everything and then ran. You can fuck his brother all you like, but don’t pretend you don’t see what he is.”

James didn’t say anything.

Not a word.

And Sirius backed away like he’d been burned, trembling as he made it down the stairs—drunk, dizzy, heart stuttering in his throat.

---

 

Half an hour later he was slumped inside the quiet blue‑lit nook of the Ravenclaw common room, tears still drying on his cheeks while Emmeline Vance cleaned her tattoo wand.

“Need something that hurts worse than words?” she asked, reading him too easily.

“Here.” He yanked his shirt up at the hip, exposing the pale V‑line.

Emmeline worked fast. Four ragged puncture‑marks—like a wolf’s bite—bloomed in dark ink against bone. It throbbed hot and raw, a brand he could press when he wanted to remember how much living hurt.

Sirius hissed through his teeth, pulled the fabric down, and left without a thank‑you—firewhisky still clouding his blood, determination fixed on one goal:

Find Regulus.

 

Pandora and Evan Rosier looked up from a spell‑lit game of cards as he stumbled into the green‑shadowed common room, eyes red‑rimmed, breathing hard.

“I need Regulus,” Sirius rasped.

Pandora rose, gentle but firm. “Bad night to look for him. Barty’s—”

“Don’t care,” he muttered, pushing past.

---

 

Barty Crouch Jr. sat on the floor of a back alcove, legs sprawled, a half‑empty vial of something emerald and illegal rolling between his fingers. His pupils were blown, smile unfocused until he recognised the intruder.

“Well, look who’s crying in my dungeon,” he slurred, voice a lazy purr. “So pretty—even with the tears.”

Sirius wiped his face, anger flaring. “Shut up. I’m here for Regulus.”

“No Reg tonight,” Barty said, lips quirking. “But you found me instead. Lucky.”

Sirius turned to leave—only to find Evan and Pandora blocking the arch.

“You’re not walking back up all those stairs,” Evan said quietly. “You’ll break.”

“Am I being kidnapped?” Sirius snapped.

“No,” Pandora answered, soft but unyielding. “But you’re not leaving.”

Behind him Barty pushed to his feet—unsteady, high, but eerily gentle. He reached out, brushing a thumb beneath Sirius’s swollen eye.

“Why’re you crying, pretty?” he murmured. “What monster sunk its teeth into you?”

Sirius gave a broken laugh, shoved his shirt up just enough to show the inflamed ink. Four dark fangs on pale skin.

“This monster,” he said.

Barty’s breath caught; colour climbed his cheeks. “Beautiful,” he whispered. Then—half‑teasing, half‑dreaming—“I think I’m in love with you.”

Sirius huffed. “You don’t know me.”

Barty’s grin went crooked, pupils starry. “Then let me.” He swayed closer, draping long arms around Sirius’s shoulders, head tucking under his jaw like a sleepy cat. “Stay. Let someone keep you for a night.”

Sirius’s body sagged—exhausted, hurting, strangely soothed by the warmth pressed to his chest. Outside the alcove Evan conjured a blanket; Pandora dimmed the torches. No further demands. No judgment. Just quiet hearts beating in the dark.

Barty nuzzled closer, voice a slurred secret. “Wanna… y’know… later?”

Pandora groaned, Evan laughed, but Barty only tightened his arms and whispered, almost childlike, “Don’t cry anymore, pretty.”

And for the first time that night, Sirius let himself be held—bite‑mark throbbing, eyes stinging, but breathing a little easier in the hush of the serpent’s den.

Chapter 7: Changes

Summary:

Update i guess 🙏🏽

Sirius didn’t bother going back to Gryffindor Tower that night.
Too far. Too cold. And—if he was honest—too much effort when Barty’s dorm bed was right there, messy and smelling faintly of smoke and cinnamon.

They’d stayed curled together far longer than Sirius intended, drifting in and out of sleep. Every time Sirius stirred, Barty’s arms tightened instinctively, pulling him back until his nose was buried in Sirius’s hair. Barty mumbled something about “pretty” and “don’t go” in his sleep.

By mid-afternoon, Sirius found himself straddling Barty’s lap, eyeliner pencil in hand, knees braced on either side of Barty’s thighs. “Hold still,” Sirius said, steadying Barty’s jaw as he traced a perfect line along his lashes.

Barty was trying not to squirm, but with Sirius so close—thighs pressed into his hips, that faint leather-and-smoke scent—he was failing spectacularly. His breath hitched every time Sirius leaned in, and his grin grew wider.

Sirius pulled back to inspect his work. “There. Flawless.”

Barty’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You owe me a kiss,” he said, voice dripping with teasing. “For making me this hard.”

Sirius blinked, cheeks flushing, and tried to shift off. But Barty’s hand caught his hip firmly. “Nope. Kiss me first, pretty.”

Sirius’s breath hitched, panic flickering in his eyes. He shook his head, voice barely above a whisper: “No, no. Not now.”

Barty softened immediately, brushing a thumb along Sirius’s jaw. “Hey… why the sudden freeze?”

Sirius looked down, shoulders tightening. The weight of things unsaid pressed heavy between them.

Barty’s grin faded to gentle concern. “You okay, pretty? You can tell me.”

Sirius swallowed hard, but the words got stuck. Instead, he muttered, “I’m fine. Just… don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Barty teased lightly, voice coaxing.

Sirius groaned, trying to break free, but Barty’s arms held him steady. “Stop it, you prick.”

Barty laughed low, brushing lips over Sirius’s temple before his mouth found Sirius’s again—soft, patient. Sirius froze, then slowly melted into the warmth, the kiss less urgent, more a quiet promise.

When they finally parted, Barty smirked. “See? Not so bad.”

Sirius cracked a small, shaky smile. “Maybe.”

And somewhere deep down, Barty’s persistence had begun to chip away at the sadness — one kiss at a time.