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Sirius started as the back of his head was hit by a spitball. He whipped around in his seat to glare at James and Peter behind him. James looked suspiciously nonchalant, and Peter was fighting a smile while avoiding eye contact with Sirius.

“Oi,” Sirius began, “what’s that for?”

“What’s what?” James asked innocently.

“You know what!” Sirius said, exasperated. Remus, seated besides Sirius, chuckled, but quickly stopped when Sirius shifted his angry gaze to him.

“If you must know, your hair’s looking rather lifeless today. I think I made an improvement.” James said with a grin.

Sirius began spluttering. “I- it- no it does not!”

James just shrugged. Sirius looked away from James and leveled his gaze at Remus.

“Moony,” Sirius said with pleading eyes, “tell me my hair looks pretty, won’t you?”

Now it was Remus’s turn to splutter. Sirius and he had been flirting for months, ever since the start of 5th year, always these harmless little things. They’d never done something so mundane as talk about their feelings.

“Your hair looks beautiful as always, Pads,” Remus said after a brief hesitation, bright red.

Sirius blushed in response, but looked very pleased with himself. He opened his mouth to say something filthy when their Defense Professor breezed through the doors.

Professor Winslow was a tough, no-nonsense witch. She’d been an Auror for many years and retired just last year. She was filling in as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor as a favor to Dumbledore, seeing as last year’s professor had seemingly disappeared without a trace from the Wizarding World.

“Class is beginning,” she said loudly, and Sirius righted himself in his chair reluctantly. He actually did enjoy this class, but he enjoyed Remus calling him beautiful even more.

Of all Sirius’s classes, Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of his favorites. He knew that he enjoyed this subject so passionately because of the way his parents would hate it. Spite fueled him like nothing else, and the Dark Arts might as well have been their family name. But he also liked it because it was fast-paced, exciting, and often offered the opportunity for hands-on practice; duels. And if there were two things Sirius loved dearly, it was rebelling against his parents and showing off in front of his peers.

“Today,” Professor Winslow’s voice rang out, “we will be learning about some particularly dark curses.”

Remus began to diligently take notes next to him. Sirius loved watching Remus write. The way his tongue stuck out between his teeth ever so slightly when he was focused; the way his quill scratched across the parchment in swooping letters. 

Professor Winslow turned her back to them to begin writing on the chalkboard, and he felt another spitball hit the back of his head. Bloody bastard.

“The first curse we’ll be talking about,” Professor Winslow said as she wrote, “is Imperius.”

Sirius felt like he’d been struck by lightning. His posture was suddenly perfectly straight, befitting of an Heir to a Noble and Ancient House. He couldn’t see his own face, but he felt sure the blood had drained from it entirely. Remus was engrossed in his note-taking and didn’t see the way Sirius flinched. Sirius began drumming his fingers on his desk to give himself something to do.

“Who can tell me what the Imperius curse does?” Professor Winslow asked the class. “It was in the reading you all should have completed, of course.”

Imperius was not Walburga’s favorite curse. She had far more creative methods to gain control. She much preferred her victims to bend to her will due to her own sheer perseverance, however; Imperius still had its place.

Lily’s hand shot in the air, and the professor called on her immediately.

“The Imperius curse, or Imperio, allows the caster complete control over their target.”

Like when Sirius was 11 at the Nott Gala and Walburga had locked eyes with him across the room as he was about to throw Fizzing Whizzbees into the punch bowl. She’d cast it on him in the blink of an eye, made him walk across the room to her, then stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth for the remainder of the night.

“5 points to Gryffindor, Miss Evans.”

The classroom was filled with the sound of scratching quills as students wrote this down, but Sirius didn’t need to. He’d learned this lesson a long, long time ago.

“Next,” their professor continued, “we have the Cruciatus curse.”

Now Cruciatus, that was a favorite of the family. One simple spell that could cause all the pain of immeasurable methods of torture? The Blacks practically spoke in knives; excelled at causing agony.  

Sirius could do nothing but blink. Why would those two curses be grouped together? His heartbeat was getting louder in his ears somehow, even though he had barely moved, spare the drumming of his fingers. It wasn’t enough to distract his brain, though. He searched for a way to occupy his thoughts, started to mentally count backwards by 7s. 100, 93, 86, 79…

Remus’s voice brought him back; it always did. “The Cruciatus curse, casted as Crucio, is used to torture. It causes its victim a lot of pain, it’s unbearable.”

Like when Sirius was 12 and proclaimed he belonged in Gryffindor or when Sirius was 13 and he’d said “muggleborn” instead of “mudblood” or when Sirius was 14 and he’d called his mother a psychotic, sadistic bitch (sadistic was a word he’d learned from Remus). Or when Sirius was 15 and just a few weeks ago she’d cast the charm for no other reason than that she could.

“Yes, indeed,” his professor nodded, “a pain like no other.” She turned back to the board to continue writing. 

16, 9, 2…

“The third and final curse,” Professor Winslow said, oblivious to Sirius’s strife, “is the killing curse.”

Avada Kedavra. He knew that one because--

Sirius slammed down his mental walls, blocking out the thought rather successfully but leaving himself a little dazed in the process. His racing heart, and the anxiety bubbling in his stomach, and the feeling of something crawling across his skin faded away; Sirius himself felt slightly faded away as well. Like he was experiencing his surroundings through a thick sheet of glass.

“Avada Kedavra,” a Ravenclaw piped up, and Sirius felt like her voice was way louder than necessary, “kills the victim. Humans, animals, anything in between…it kills them all.” 

She didn’t mention the green light. The flash. The heavy sound of a body hitting a floor; laughter echoing not too far behind.

“Indeed,” acknowledged Professor Winslow. “The killing curse, Cruciatus, and Imperius. Why do we group them together?”

The hallmarks of a Black family party? the sarcastic part of his brain answered, but even his own thoughts felt distant. 

“They’re the Unforgivables,” a Ravenclaw boy said next.  

Professor Winslow nodded once more, and turned to write on the board.

Maybe it was because he was floating slightly away from his body and had less control of his mouth. Maybe it was because the Blacks had engrained the habit of self-mutilation into him long ago. Maybe it was just because he wanted to know. All Sirius knew was that he was equally as surprised as his friends when his hand shot into the air and Professor Winslow called on him.

“Question, Mr. Black?”

“Yes. What, exactly, does it mean? That they’re Unforgivable?” Even as preoccupied as he was, Sirius knew the question came out of his mouth well-formed, with a tone of polite and genuine curiosity. He’d had the ability beat into him, quite literally.

“Well,” his professor began, doing a decent job at hiding her disbelief that Sirius was participating in a lecture, “using any one of these curses on a fellow human being is highly illegal and punishable to the fullest extent of wizarding law.”

Sirius couldn’t help it, he let out a strangled sort of laugh. He must have heard her wrong. A tirade of thoughts flashed through his head, yet all he could manage to say was, “what?” 

“These are very serious crimes, Mr. Black,” his professor lectured, perhaps mistaking his confusion for something else, “and using any one of them earns the witch or wizard a one-way trip to Azkaban.” 

“Well, not everyone,” he replied, before his brain could stop him.

His Professor regarded him for a moment; he could feel the eyes of the rest of the class on him. “Yes, Mr. Black, everyone.”

Sirius bit his tongue, hard, to prevent himself from saying “what?” again. He forced himself to nod, and appearing satisfied, Professor Winslow resumed writing on the chalkboard. 

His ears were roaring all of a sudden, and Sirius looked around the room to find the source of the noise. Remus was staring at him, the same look in his eyes as when he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. James was watching him with unmasked concern, eyes wide. Peter’s eyes were rapidly flicking between the three of them, not sure where to land, but nervous nonetheless.

Sirius stood up quickly from the table and his chair made a horrible scraping noise that had him fighting another flinch. “I need the bathroom,” he heard himself say, and then he turned around and fled the room without looking back.

His feet carried him towards the dungeons without Sirius consciously processing it. He had to stop in an alcove halfway there because his body was shaking so violently that he feared his skin would unravel, spilling his bones into the corridor and painting the ground with his blood.

He sank to the floor and was thankful for the feeling of the cold stone floor through his robes. 

Using any one of them earns you a one-way trip to Azkaban.

He held his head in his hands, pulling slightly on his hair.

Using any one of these curses on a fellow human being is highly illegal.

Sirius desperately, desperately wanted his breathing to slow down, but he couldn't quite remember how to make that happen.

Punishable to the fullest extent of wizarding law.

“Sirius?”

Sirius whipped his head up. Remus stared down at him.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried to gasp in another breath and failed spectacularly, and Remus’s eyes widened.

“Shit, Pads--” and Remus crouched down to meet him. “What can I do?”

I need-- I need-- I need--

“Regulus,” Sirius gasped out.

Remus hesitated. “You want me to get Regulus? You’re sure?”

Sirius nodded furiously. The only thing Sirius could think with any clarity now was Regulus, Regulus, Regulus.

“Okay, okay, easy Pads, it’s alright,” Remus spoke quickly but softly. “Just stay put, yeah?”

This was no problem, as Sirius was quite sure he’d been cemented to the floor. He was a block of ice; immobile, unfeeling, and cold to the touch.

Sirius barely heard Remus’s footsteps sprinting away down the hallway, he was so consumed in his own thoughts. 

Using any one of them earns you a one-way trip to Azkaban.

So Walburga should be imprisoned for life, which wasn’t exactly surprising. Sirius personally thought she had done far worse than cast Imperius. Crucio he could understand, but it was still unsettling. One single time could earn you a life sentence in Azkaban; Sirius knew, with a violent twist in his gut, that Walburga had earned enough for 50 life sentences years ago.

But then his thoughts stuttered once more on something else his professor had said.

Yes, Mr. Black, everyone.

But what if you were a victim of circumstance? What if your mother had held a wand to your brother’s skull, crucio itching to escape from her lips, and said the only way out of the room unscathed was to kill the blood traitor? Regulus had endured the cruciatus twice, already, he couldn’t have held on much longer. To carry the Black surname meant that you intimately understood insanity; Sirius was not about to tip this scale in Regulus’s mind. It was an impossible choice.

Until it wasn’t.

He’d whispered the curse, hoping the quiet of his voice would weigh less heavily on his conscience. And the body had dropped, hard, but Sirius wouldn’t know what that looked like; could only speak to the sound. Because the second the curse left his lips, his eyes were flying to Regulus. Walburga laughed, lowering her wand from Regulus’s temple, and in the face of Sirius’s first murder he didn’t feel disgust, or grief, or anguish. He felt relieved. 

Sirius was brought back to the present by a hand landing on his knee. Sirius shot backwards out of instinct, spots dancing in his vision from the lack of oxygen. It was Remus who touched him, of course; Regulus knew better.

But Regulus had come.

He looked very pale, paler than his normal. Sirius knew that he and Regulus had agreed to secret meetings after dark only; it was the best way to keep Regulus safe. Yet, here he was in broad daylight, because he’d been asked. Sirius wondered briefly if that’s why Regulus looked paler; he hadn’t seen him in daylight for months.

“Qu'est-ce que c'est?” Regulus asked, tone hard, but Sirius could see the anxiety in his eyes. What is it?

Sirius just shook his head, panting. He didn’t have the oxygen to explain.

Regulus scanned the hallway, then quickly climbed into the alcove with Sirius, obscuring them from everyone’s view but Remus. 

“Je suis là, Sirius,” he said, tone much softer now that he was hidden from potential onlookers, “respire avec moi.” I'm here, Sirius, breathe with me.

Maybe it was because they’d been doing it since childhood, but breathing with Regulus was infinitely easier than doing it alone. He watched Regulus intently, doing his best to match his erratic pants with Regulus’s carefully measured breaths. It took a few minutes, longer than it had in a long time, but he was able to manage it, eventually. 

Breathing under control, Sirius let his head drop into his hands.

Regulus, very uncharacteristically, was the one to break the silence.

“Remus said you were… learning about curses?”

Sirius picked his head up to shoot Remus a look, but he couldn’t muster any real annoyance behind it.

Sirius nodded, forcing himself to speak. “Not just any curses.”

Regulus was clearly aggravated with Sirius beating around the bush; he was always one to be direct. Nevertheless, he was doing his best to be patient. “What curses, then?”

Sirius fought a flinch. “Unforgivable curses, they’re called.”

Regulus tilted his head. “What are those?”

Sirius’s mouth had gone very, very dry. It was one thing to reconcile his own horror with the curses, but to explain it to his brother suddenly felt like too much. He cast his eyes towards Remus.

“Using one gets you a life sentence in Azkaban,” Remus volunteered slowly. “There’s three that we talked about. Imperius--”

And Regulus gasped sharply, so caught off guard that he didn’t have the chance to suppress his reaction. Remus’s jaw remained open at the interruption, the end of his sentence forgotten. 

Regulus’s eyes bounced between Remus and Sirius for a moment. “But… not everyone,” he answered after a moment, fighting to keep his tone even. Remus fixed him with the same incredulous stare.

“It’s worse,” Sirius croaked. “Tell him the others, Moons.”

Remus looked like there was nothing he would rather do less, but nonetheless he did it for Sirius. “Well there’s Imperius, like I said, and Crucio--” 

Regulus’s pale face turned white, but he didn’t utter a sound, so Remus continued.

“--and the killing curse. Avada kedavra.” 

Sirius watched the somersault of emotions cross Regulus’s face. His little brother had always been clever, too clever for his own good, really.

Regulus looked at Sirius, mouth agape, but he seemed genuinely at a loss for what to say. The silence sat with them for a moment, heavy and thick.

Regulus flicked his eyes towards Remus before switching back to French. “Ils ne t'enverront pas à Azkaban, Sirius.” They won't send you to Azkaban, Sirius.

Remus’s eyes widened slightly at Azkaban and Sirius in the same sentence, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Ce n'est pas seulement ça,” Sirius answered. It’s not just that.

“Mais c'est en partie cela,” Regulus replied; he’d always been adept at reading people. But it's partially that.

Sirius sighed for a long moment. “De toute façon, vous ne pouvez pas le savoir avec certitude. Apparemment, je pourrais.” Well anyways, you can't know that for sure. Apparently I could.

Regulus returned his attention back to Remus. “How do they know?”

Remus stumbled over his words for a moment at his rapid inclusion back into the conversation. “How-- who-- what?”

“How would the Ministry know? If you casted one of the spells?”

Remus’s expression filled with trepidation. “Why?”

“Just answer the question, Lupin,” Regulus bit out, exercising none of his thin patience for Sirius’s friends.

“Well…” Remus trailed off in thought, back in familiar territory; he loved to theorize. “There’s no trace on specific spells like they use for underage magic. Unless they took your wand and it was the last spell you had casted, I suppose there’s no way for them to prove it. Witness accounts?”

Regulus turned his attention back to Sirius, looking triumphant. “Voir?” See?

“She could still talk,” Sirius replied. 

Regulus laughed a little and immediately smacked his hand over his mouth. “Merlin, it’s not funny,” he began, then switched back to French. “Mais Sirius, vraiment? Comme si elle allait un jour porter cette accusation contre toi alors que tu pourrais l'enterrer de la même manière.” But Sirius, really? As if she would ever bring that accusation against you when you could bury her in the same.

Sirius still looked unsure, so Regulus continued. “De plus, qu'aurait-elle à gagner à vous envoyer à Azkaban? Vous lui êtes bien plus utile à sa portée.” Besides, what would she stand to gain from getting you sent to Azkaban? You're far more useful to her within her grasp.

And while this wasn’t exactly a comforting thought, the logic was infallible; Regulus’s specialty. Sirius found himself nodding. 

“As for the rest of it…” Regulus trailed off. “I had no idea.”

“Me either, Reg,” Sirius breathed, “me either.”

Silence fell between them, then. The only two people in the world who understood how the other was feeling, with none of the words to explain it. This seemed to be their destiny; bound to share unspeakable experiences, forced to endure them as parallel lines. Always nearby, but never quite connecting.

“In retrospect, it makes sense,” Regulus said under his breath, mostly to himself, “no weapon that powerful should come without a price.”

“Walburga has never met a price she couldn’t pay,” Sirius agreed, not thinking about the implications until he heard Remus’s sharp intake of breath. Sirius avoided looking at him; didn’t want to see his reaction.

A loud burst of chatter came from the hallway then, startling all three of them. A parade of second years passed by the alcove, none of them sparing a glance in their direction. Classes must have ended for the day. 

Regulus looked at Sirius, an apology on his lips, but Sirius interrupted him before he could voice it. “Go, Reg, it’s fine. Thank you for coming.”

Regulus nodded once. ”Bientôt les échecs?” Chess soon?

Sirius smiled slightly despite the weight sitting on his chest and nodded in response. Regulus allowed himself a small smile which quickly faded as he schooled his expression and stepped back into the hall, melting seamlessly into the crowd. Two parallel lines diverged.

Remus shuffled into Regulus’s vacant spot, and they wordlessly watched the other students pass them by.

“Want to talk about it?” Remus offered after a few minutes. Truthfully, Sirius wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to, but he found himself opening his mouth anyways.

“I just…didn’t know they were illegal,” he admitted slowly. Remus hummed in response, but didn’t speak again. Sirius looked up after a moment to find Remus watching him.

“It’s just a couple spells,” Sirius said then, feeling defensive for some reason, “don’t see what the big deal is, really.” He tried to crack a smile, but it felt forced. 

“Pads,” Remus said softly, with a tone that sounded like he was coaxing a wounded animal, “you know they’re more than some simple spells.”

Sirius huffed, so Remus tried again from a different angle. “What you said…about Walburga…” but Sirius couldn’t bring himself to fill in that blank any more than Remus could. The silence dragged on, and with it, Sirius could feel the words bubbling up inside him. Damn Remus and his ability to know how to get Sirius to talk.

Finally, he spoke. “Yeah, well, it's a torture curse, Re. I think I more than pay the price.”

Sirius felt Remus turn to stare at him but he couldn’t bring himself to raise his eyes to meet him; he was much more interested in picking at his fingernails suddenly. “She’s used it on you?” Remus asked in a small voice, like it pained him to say it.

Sirius could barely bring himself to nod. 

Remus let out a long, angry sigh, but otherwise remained stoic. Sirius could feel the multitude of questions Remus wanted to follow up with, but was ultimately surprised when Remus picked “when?” He’d been expecting what did it feel like, or how many times, or what did you do to deserve that?

“Which time?” Sirius asked bluntly, which in retrospect, wasn’t fair to Remus, really. He was just so tired.

Remus turned to face him, horrorstruck. “What?”

“Most recently? Easter break. But that wasn’t the first time.” It was like a floodgate had opened, and he couldn’t stop the blunt truths from rolling off his tongue.

Sirius watched as Remus closed his eyes and seemingly counted to ten in his head. When he opened them, his face was marginally calmer, although his hands were still held in tight fists at his sides. “I’m going to kill her,” he said finally.

“I just didn’t know it was illegal,” Sirius repeated, “I mean I knew it was bad--” and Remus scoffed in a tone that said bad doesn’t come close to describing it, “but Azkaban?”

“I think Azkaban is too kind for her,” Remus ground out.

“I mean, Imperius isn’t even that bad comparatively--” and oh, has he done it now.

The vein in Remus’s forehead began to twitch. “She’s used multiple, unforgivable curses on you?”

Sirius shrugged, it was easier to approach the issue with nonchalance; he didn’t have it in him to scream and cry and rage over this. “I didn’t know it until now.”

Remus was shaking his head, anger building once more, “well thank Merlin she doesn’t complete the set, guess it would rob her of an heir to just kill you.”

And Remus, damn him, must’ve seen something flash in his eyes at the mention of the killing curse, because all at once his anger bled away and gave way to terror. “Sirius, she hasn’t--”

“Not at me, no,” Sirius replied quickly.

“Then who?” Remus asked, unable to keep the question from spilling out.

Sirius shook his head rapidly. “Don’t-- don’t ask me that, Moons, you can’t ask me that.”

Remus looked like he wanted to argue, so Sirius pressed on “I mean it, Remus. Please.”

And maybe it was the please, or maybe it was the use of his first name, or maybe it was Remus’s inability to deny Sirius of anything he asked for, but Remus let it drop.

“Okay, Pads, I hear you. Okay.”

Sirius slumped at Remus’s words, head falling onto Remus’s shoulder. Remus grabbed his hand and started tracing shapes on his palm.

“But you know it’s more than just ‘bad,’ right? The way she treats you?”

Sirius buried his face in Remus’s sleeve, but Remus’s steady tracing on his palm continued. “Do we have to do this right now?”

“Yes absolutely we do,” Remus responded, not giving an inch, “there’s a reason they’re named Unforgivables, Pads. She’s torturing you; that’s so far beyond even child abuse.”

Sirius silently agreed. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up with the onslaught of curses; he was scared of not only what it might do to him but also what it might drive him to do. But he couldn’t voice this, couldn’t afford to make his fears a reality, so he took the brave route.

“I can take it, Re,” he said quietly.

“You shouldn’t have to, Sirius,” Remus sighed.

“I know,” Sirius conceded, “but I don’t have another choice. I’ll be 17 next year, I just need to come of age then I’ll leave that house and take Regulus with me even if he’s kicking and screaming.”

Remus quirked a smile. “I’d like to see that,” he admitted softly.

“Well you’ll be there, of course,” Sirius responded easily, “you’re my future.” And then sensing the unintended weight of this admission, he had to add a quip. “Really, I couldn’t do it without you; you’ll probably have to hold his legs.”

Remus laughed softly. “You make it sound so simple.”

“I’m hoping it can be,” Sirius replied, equally soft.

And despite how he’d come to be there, Sirius felt himself genuinely smiling in that small alcove with Remus Lupin with the thought that maybe things, someday, could be easy.

He just had to make it there first.