Side note: Everyone is queer. Enjoy.

...

"Sometimes people are beautiful.
Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are."

- Markus Zusak, I Am the Messenger.

...

Surrounding an expanse of lush farmland on the outskirts of Darlington scattered a copse of trees, greens and browns and colours of summer reaching out across miles of tumbling hills and grassland, bringing Castle Wood to life. Here, in the early hours on a day in mid-August, mist clung to the leaves and branches, haunting the trees with remnants of the chill of a full moon that had come to pass the night before.

Deep in the wood where the canopies of trees masked the eerie grey of the pre-dawn, a stag crept on, its ears rigid with an anxious alertness, and its hooves mindful of a large brown rat that scampered through the fallen twigs and weeds, squeaking urgently.

A stag and rat travelling dependently through the cluster of forestation would have been considered an odd sight, but it was nothing compared to the fact that they were protecting a human charge; a man in his early twenties, heavily bruised and scarred, unconscious against the dark brown of the stag's fur. He stirred gently, the mutterings of his words muffled by the cold. The icy mist prickled his skin as the three companions trekked through the trees, the rat darting metres ahead, searching desperately among the shrubbery. The stag sniffed the ground experimentally, hunting for a familiar scent.

Eventually they came to a towering oak tree, where a rucksack dangled from a gnarled branch. The rat shrilled victoriously and scurried up the tree, sprinting towards the bag so quickly that it was nothing but a rusty blur against the bark. Then the rat began to twist and writhe in the dim light of the morning, and a person appeared in its place, clinging to the tree fearfully.

"Fuck," whispered Peter Pettigrew.

The stag gave an impatient snort below them and they hastily began to untie the rucksack from the branch with shaking hands, stiff from the cold. It fell with a triumphant thud beside the stag and Peter swung off the branch with practised coordination, dropping to the ground on sturdy legs. They stretched luxuriously, cracking their lower back painfully, and proceeded to rummage through the bag while the stag stamped a hoof testily against the ground.

"Yes, yes, hang on,"

Peter procured a thick blue blanket, tugging it out of the bag as it resisted against other possessions which clinked and shook and rattled inside. They draped the blanket quickly over the half-frozen man on the stag's back and tucked in the sides for assured warmth. Once satisfied, they slung the rucksack across their shoulder and led the way through the woods, humming pleasantly as if to somehow lighten the dreary mood that plagued them and the stag after the pairs' exhaustive efforts during the full moon.

Peter and the stag walked on for another half mile, scouring the woods for a ladle that had been arranged as their safe passage back home the afternoon before. When Peter saw it glinting in the rays of the dawn that filtered through the trees they ran over to it, followed closely by the stag, who had begun to distort on its four long legs, shimmering and transforming into a third man, bespectacled and messy-haired. James Potter shifted the weight of the other man on his back, wheezing slightly with lethargy.

"Why can't we just Apparate?" he huffed, blowing at the stray locks of dark hair that fell into his glasses. "Remus is heavier than he looks."

"He's six foot two, of course he's heavy," Peter responded reasonably from where they knelt on the ground, tapping the ladle with their wand smartly. It glowed blue and they glanced at a watch in their hand before waving the wand once more. "As for Apparating, I'd like to see you try when you're as tired as you are and don't know north from south and can't see the sun."

"North is that way," James said indignantly, throwing his head to the left. "And you seriously need to get your Apparating License, mate. I'm sick of Portkey's."

Peter made a few mocking noises and then beckoned James closer, watching the second hand shudder against the time, which read 5:37AM. "I'll leave without you if you don't button it," they snapped, counting down the seconds carefully. "Ready? Three… Two… One… Now."

James and Peter made a grab for the silver ladle, the former hunching over to keep Remus Lupin on his back. They pelted against gravity, wind and leaves and early-morning smoke blurring around them. Then, in an instant, they came upon a grand manor miles from the wood, embraced by moss and a large, picturesque back garden with a pond and rotunda. Its towering buttresses of dark brick and clay made for an impressive spectacle of equal parts imposing and humble. Vines of ivy snaked around diamond-panelled windows and a family of ducks nested in the crook of one of the chimneys, squawking with fear as James and Peter barrelled down out of the air in a torrent of energy.

Peter waved their wand quickly and the descent with James and Remus was navigated gracefully to the garden, disturbing a flock of pigeons and causing the teeming schools of fish in the pond to disappear far beneath the surface of the murky water. The two friends landed clumsily on the grass, James balancing Remus on his back as he stumbled to stay upright, his dark skin flushed with exertion.

A quaint kitchen was barely visible from the garden through a bay window, adorned inside with hanging plants and overgrown herbs and vegetables, bursting to be picked and eaten. A flash of orange flitted from behind and a woman in a blue night dress burst through the rear door of the kitchen, not mindful of the wet grass and dirt against her dainty feet.

"Merlin, I was starting to get worried," said Lily Potter as she approached James and Peter, extending her arms to take Remus from her husband.

James relieved his burden onto her without complaint, arching his back woefully. Lily buckled under Remus' weight, but without a word led the party back inside the manor where it was warm and a fire crackled in the hearth of the kitchen. James and Peter collapsed into chairs at an unvarnished pine dining table while Lily grabbed her wand and levitated Remus to his bedroom on the other side of the ground floor, leaving muddy tracks on the kitchen tiles in her wake.

"That was a rough one," James mumbled into the wood, running shaky fingers through his black hair. "Remus must have really been hurting this month."

Peter nodded wearily, rubbing their eyes harshly. "I'm getting too old for this," they uttered, stifling a yawn.

Footsteps came shuffling back into the kitchen. "Lily," James' voice broke awkwardly against the table. He was unable to muster the effort to lift his head so made childish grabbing motions with his hands in the direction of the door. "Lily!"

"Yes, I'm making coffee," came Lily's curt yet affectionate reply as she returned to the kitchen. She went to the kettle and set it atop the stove to boil. "You two do so much for Remus. It's a wonder you made it back in one piece."

"How is he?" Peter asked.

"Okay, I think. He's still unconscious, so I'll have to wait until he wakes up to patch up his injuries. Merlin, this was so much easier when we had Madam Pomfrey to take care of him," Lily said, shaking her head sadly as she put teaspoons of coffee into three mugs.

"He's our friend," James said fiercely, his forehead still against the table. "It's our privilege to take care of him."

"You know what I mean," retorted she.

James and Peter accepted the cups of coffee from Lily before she went back to Remus' room, taking a book with her. As she rounded the corner to the hallway, the last words she heard from her husband were, "How are we going to get upstairs?"

Lily refused to admit that she was in any way tired. Not when she entered Remus' bedroom and saw her childhood friend stirring among the sheets of his king-size bed, ornately engraved and polished within an inch of its ancient life. Remus lifted his head, blinked blearily in the darkness, and then vomited over the side of the bed. Undigested innards and animal flesh forced its way up his throat, followed by blood and bile. Remus couldn't keep down what the werewolf ate, which was usually a lot. It hungered relentlessly throughout the nights of a full moon.

Lily hastened over to him, waving her wand to clean up the sick almost as soon as it reached the carpet. She set her mug of coffee on the bedside table and crawled into the bed, wiping Remus' mouth with a handkerchief and embracing him devotedly, but gently so as not to do him further injury.

"It's okay," she whispered into his hair. "It's over. You're okay."

Remus said nothing, but shuddered against Lily, his thin body quaking with pain and enervation. For a moment she thought he would faint or collapse, but instead a deep, penetrating cry escaped him, alive and burning with fear and horror. It chilled her in the summer morning, piercing her heart like a blade of ice and sending shivers down her spine. Remus inhaled hoarsely against her shoulder and began to weep, crying out the suffering and the misery of his condition and the loneliness of a constantly breaking body.

Lily didn't utter a word. She held Remus until his cries quietened and his body went limp against her night dress. She let him fall back against the pillows, eyes closed, fingers trembling. She did not open the curtains. She did not drink her coffee. She kissed Remus on the forehead and examined his wounds, selecting a potion to help heal the small ones and another to dress the deep ones. She knew better than to acknowledge Remus' feelings at this time, for he would only shut himself away if forced to reckon with them.

There was a particularly nasty cut across his chest, slicing against his ribs and across the soft tissue of his breasts. Remus held Lily's free hand while she dabbed a remedial potion on it, hissing in agony as the flesh grew back layer by layer.

"It's a shame I didn't tear them off," he murmured as the burning sensation lessened.

Lily shot him a stern look. "Don't be ridiculous," she scolded. "You shouldn't accept any injuries you inflict upon yourself."

Remus sighed heavily while Lily bandaged the scar to keep it from getting dirty. "Can't you bind the whole thing?" he asked quietly.

"No," she snapped. "You've broken three ribs; I'm not binding your chest. And you'll be leaving your binder alone for the next couple of days or I'll box your ears."

To her surprise, Remus smiled. "You're awful to me," he said, but without malice.

Lily returned the smile and kissed Remus on the cheek. "I just love you, dear," she clarified. "And I know it's hard, but you'll just have to bear the nakedness for a couple of days, okay?"

Remus nodded slowly and leaned back against the pillows, grimacing from the movement of his ribs. Lily patched him up with a few spells and potions down his throat, making such quick work of his bones that even Madam Pomfrey, the matron at Hogwarts, would have been impressed. Lily went through the drawers of Remus' dresser and handed him a t shirt and a fresh pair of underwear to put on. She plumped his pillows, turned on the fan, found the bucket in his wardrobe to put by the bed and bid him goodnight. Remus would sleep the whole day and some to recover from the transformation. Lily resigned herself back to the kitchen where James and Peter were half asleep at the table.

James made grabbing gestures with his hands again and refused to stop until his wife's night dress was wrapped about his fingers. He buried his face into the fabric and groaned intensely.

"Go to bed, you tosser," Lily badgered. "You've got work tomorrow morning."

James groaned louder. "Where's Prongslet?" he managed after a few moments of noise expulsion.

"Harry is in his crib and so help me James Potter, if you wake him up –"

But James was already out of the kitchen door, stampeding up the steps to the second floor so that he could go to sleep with his son in his arms, his preferred way of recovery after gallivanting with a werewolf each month. Lily sighed deeply and dropped herself into a chair. She cast her gaze to Peter, who was gazing drearily out the bay window with one hand against their cheek and the other curled around the coffee mug.

"Aren't you going to bed?" Lily inquired, watching her friend squint against the rising sun.

Peter shook their head. "I have work at seven. There's no point," they replied in a dull voice.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to go to St. Mungo's when your immune system is weak?" said she sceptically.

Peter shrugged heavily, downed their coffee, and mumbled something about a shower.

Later, at seven, Lily Apparated them to St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and returned to Darlington just as the manor was waking up. In the orange glow of the summer sunshine, among dusty bookshelves, mismatching sofas and peeling wallpaper of the aging house, 29 young custodies of varying age and gender began to shuffle their way into the kitchen. Some opted for lounging about in the main sitting room in their pyjamas and others fought over bathrooms and many still snored soundly in their beds, of which there almost eight in some bedrooms due to space limitations.

When Remus inherited his family home after his parents passing four years previously, he finished his N.E. and opened it to children and teenagers who, like him, were considered to be a gender or sexual minority by the rest of the world. From all over the United Kingdom, struggling teenagers and some even younger children came to Remus seeking food and board after running away from home, or being removed from their family by force. In his manor they flourished, completing their education at Hogwarts and fulfilling their desires and goals under his care and with the help of Lily, James and Peter.

Lily sometimes struggled to comprehend how Remus handled day-to-day life. With 29 charges, finances and a furry little problem to balance, it was a wonder he was as together as he was. She once mused to James about it, and was surprised when he sincerely replied with; "Remus managed me and Pete for seven years on top of school, mental illness, dysphoria and lycanthropy. If he can do that, he can do anything."

Lily was in the kitchen reading when half a dozen youths wandered in like a Mardi Gras parade of colour and chatter, assembling themselves about the kitchen preparing breakfasts and greeting Lily enthusiastically. Bringing up the rear of the group was Elle who, neither masculine nor feminine in appearance, grinned at Lily boyishly by way of a good morning. They pulled up a chair next to her and threw themselves across the table sleepily, covering their mouth to yawn impressively and casting large round eyes up at the other.

"How's Remus?" they asked, interweaving long fingers through short brown hair, untidy from sleep.

"Fine, I think," Lily answered, setting down her book, disturbed by the flurry of activity in the kitchen. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Miki delving through the garbage bin under the sink. "Few broken ribs and the usual scarring. He's sleeping for now – Miki! Don't plant potato peels in the sink. How many times?!"

Miki peeped fearfully at being caught and reprimanded and they gathered the potato peels quickly, pelting outside to plant them in the garden instead. Lily sighed petulantly and retrieved her wand, waving it at the soil that had made its way into the kitchen sink. She dumped it in one of the many buckets of soil underneath the table at the bay window where Miki's kitchen garden was starting to grow through the cracks in the walls that laced the window panes.

Then she felt someone tugging on her dress and on her left was Tai, an eleven year old boy who was ready to burst into tears at any moment. His dark almond-shaped eyes blinked back a few stray droplets as he trembled with what Lily hoped wasn't fear or anxiety but merely effort it was taking for him not to weep.

"What's the matter, dear?" she asked him, stroking back his soft black hair, which stuck out at odd angles with the fragments of his dreams.

"I-I-I," he stammered. He took in a deep breath before completely breaking down into hysterics. Elle's attention was rapt, eyes narrow as though they already knew why Tai was crying. "I-I-I got m-m-my p-period," he managed between sobs.

Lily gasped, but her reaction time did not compete with Elle's. They all but flew out of their chair and were crouched in front of Tai within seconds, hands against his shoulders and a firm look in their eyes. "Breathe, Tai. It's okay. It doesn't make you any less of a boy. It's just blood. It's got nothing to do with anything. Breathe. Breathe."

A few of the other people in the kitchen were turning their attention to the sobbing boy, but not for much longer. Elle took his hand and swept him from the kitchen without a word, whispering urgent words of comfort.

Lily understood the situation to be very serious, but couldn't help feeling somewhat amused at the realization that Tai, who was so alike to Remus and admired him greatly, had gotten his first period on the night of a full moon.

Overcome with the need to be productive, Lily helped some of the younger kids with their breakfasts and made herself another cup of coffee. She found an empty armchair in the sitting room at the front of the manor and accommodated herself comfortably, obscuring the noises made by the teenagers there with her book.

This was only effective for five minutes, however, because Elle came back downstairs, carrying a swarthy toddler on their hip. Lily's son, Harry, gurgled delightfully at the sudden awakening of the people in the house and tugged at Elle's hair distractedly.

"He started crying and then James started crying and, Lily, I'm so sorry, but you have two really infuriating children," they teased, handing Harry to his mother.

Lily shot Elle a critical yet charmed look and smoothed back her son's hair, dark and messy like his fathers. He made himself comfortable on her lap, exchanging Elle's hair for hers. "Mama," he chirped. "Mama, where 'Oony?"

Harry, who was unable to pronounce Remus' name at his 12 month stage, struggled also to convey Remus' nickname, which James had instigated by way of a compromise, unable to shake the affectionate namesake of their childhood.

"Moony's sleeping," Lily explained gently, bouncing Harry on her lap. "You can't bother him today, all right? He needs rest. Do you want some breakfast?"

Harry gave his mother a severe sort of expression, and then nodded distractedly, watching as two teenagers fought over a dress in the hallway. Elle rolled their eyes and went to resolve the scuffle.

"It's mine!"

"Your dress has pink flowers, mine has red! It's mine. I was wearing it yesterday!"

"The flowers are red. How blind are you?"

...

That night a summer storm buffeted the iron fence of the manor, battering against the windows and hugging the trees with a ferocious anger. It hit late in the evening, a howling wind that shook Remus from his sleep, the last of his dreams disturbed with the howling of a different variety. He rolled over with a pitiful groan and glanced at the time, trying to ignore the dull throbbing in his chest. His bones ached with the burden of his lycanthropy and from the stiffness of a troubled sleep that had gone on too long.

He heaved himself out of bed, but not before vomiting once more in the bucket on the floor, his stomach twisting unpleasantly against the aftermath of his transformation. He waved his wand lazily to clean it up and resigned himself to a much-needed shower, the dirt and grime and blood from the previous night still gracing his body like a festering disease. He longed to be rid of it.

Remus shuffled to the neighbouring bathroom, his body weak even after such an extensive rest. He heard the bickering of teenagers in the sitting room, drowned slightly by a gramophone playing Queen and Harry wailing in the kitchen. The constant presence of noise; it echoed through the house like a weary ghost, even in the dim of the night time. Remus wondered sometimes what it was like to be surrounded by silence. How peaceful he imagined it would be.

In the bathroom window Remus glimpsed the waning moon outside through thick wisps of grey cloud. The wind shook at the shutters, crying out in earnest as though beseeching entrance. Its ragged breath was thick with rain, beating against the house like an unearthly monster. The storm tumbled across Darlington, carrying something in its wake.

A few miles away, a train pulled up at Darlington Station, wheezing against the barrelling storm. A call sounded through the platforms, requesting the passengers take their leave of the train. The storm would delay the travel time to Newcastle by at least an hour and it was recommended they seek lodging in Darlington until the following day when the storm had passed.

Only a few passengers remained the train, some sleeping or too hard of hearing to be aware of announcement through the thunder and rain. A hundred or so people got off, grumbling and swearing as they ran for cover, clutching briefcases and umbrellas, evidence of another late night working overtime in the city.

Among the men in suits and women in heavily priced fur coats, a teenager wearing a long, frayed brown skirt and leather jacket wandered aimlessly, a rucksack on his back containing what few possessions he now owned. He drew the attention of many people with his haphazard appearance, his long black hair in desperate need of a wash and his clunky boots in disrepair. He ignored the stares of strangers, keeping dark, hooded eyes fixed to the tarmac of the platform. One eye was masked with a fresh, blotchy bruise and he held his left arm in an awkward position, indicating its injured state.

However, grievances aside, he carefully and quietly approached the ticket inspector, a dark, hulking man with a thin moustache. At the last second, the youth concealed himself behind a plump woman wearing a thick coat. She handed the inspector her ticket and when accepted through the barrier, the teenager went through with her, ducking out of sight before she had time to realize what had happened.

He sprinted down the side of the train station, stumbling in his heavy boots, his heart thumping in a way that made his chest hurt. He laboured down the side of the building and onto the street, at which point he felt more lost than he ever had in the last 3 hours of travel.

Sirius Black had run away from home. His arm was almost certainly broken and he had more bruises marring his body than just his eye, but he was free and he was never going back. Through the pouring rain and rolling thunder, he trekked on, trying not to notice that he was shivering and that his arm twinged in pain with every small movement. His hair clung to his face, which looked sickly and pale, as though he were soon to come down with a fever. But Sirius paid no mind to his complications, for there could be nothing worse than living with oppressive, abusive bigots, and there was very little that could dampen his determination to keep moving further and further away from them.

His plan had been to travel as far as Newcastle, where his Uncle lived in solitude from the rest of the Black family. But Sirius wasn't about to wait another hour on the train with only a small chance of actually getting there before midnight.

However, he was beginning to regret leaving the warmth and safety of the train. Sirius had never been to Darlington before. It was bigger than he imagined it to be. Houses loomed against the streets, identical in appearance and never ending in their darkness. Not a single light could be seen through any window. Shutters and curtains were closed tight against the fury of the storm.

He walked on, limping slightly from the cold in his feet. He really didn't know where he ought to go, but he couldn't get back on the train without a ticket, and he had no way of paying for one. Perhaps a generous pub owner would give him a room for the night. He could manage a little longer without food, but Sirius was sure that he would not make it through the night without warmth. Darlington was closer to the sea. It was colder here, despite the summer season flourishing in its full majesty.

Sirius swore under his breath. He could feel himself starting to panic, bile rising to his throat like venom, his heart skittering against his ribcage anxiously. He kept walking, turning down streets chosen at random, searching for a light or for a swinging sign of a pub or hostel.

The centre of the town couldn't be far from the station, but Sirius was well and truly lost now. He found himself in a street that ended in a park, which was murky and forbidding in the rain. Swallowing a fresh wave of nausea, he looked around him, but was unable to see clearly. Next to the park there was an enormous structure, casting a shadow over him even in the dead of the night. It took a few moments for Sirius' eyes to adjust, and it was then he realize he was standing before a grand manor, larger than even his own family home, and perhaps friendlier in appearance had he come upon it during the day.

A light switched on in the front window and Sirius saw shadows dancing inside.

He ran over to the gate, pushing it open on its creaking hinges with his good arm, not daring to think about the consequences of knocking on a stranger's door. He pelted down the gravel path, unable to find his footing in the rain. He tripped up the stone steps and fell forward against the entrance. He landed on his arm, hearing it crunch under the weight of the rest of his body. Screaming out in agony, Sirius' vision blurred slightly. He felt his heart would cease just from the pain of it. His arm was definitely broken now.

He heard voices inside the manor and footsteps running to the door and he was blinded by a yellow light as it swung open. An absurdly tall man stood there, looking down at Sirius, distraught and fearful.

Sirius tried to say something, anything, but his voice caught in his throat. He reached out instead and took hold of the man's trousers, another cry escaping him.

"James! James, come help me!" the man shouted into the house. The reply came in heavy footfalls by another man who took one look at Sirius behind rounded glasses and immediately crouched down, taking him under the arms and pulling him to his feet.

Sirius yelped at the searing pain in his arm, but did not resist the aid. The two men supported him on either side and took him into the house where he was embraced by glowing balminess. He was dragged over to a floral-printed sofa, one of many that cluttered a sitting room where the light had been switched on.

"Get Peter," said the first man to the second, holding Sirius down against the fabric. Sirius was suddenly aware that he was shaking. His sight began to fade and he could feel his heart rate slowing. He fought to stay conscious.

"What's going on?" shouted a voice some distance away, female this time. Sirius wondered absently how many people lived in this house.

"Someone's hurt," said the second man as he sprinted from the sitting room, the sound of his feet ascending to the second floor. "Pete. Get down here!"

Within seconds, Sirius was surrounded by people assisting him. He could feel his consciousness settling and he became aware of other things; the smell of baking, strawberry shampoo, and musky cologne. Suddenly embarrassed, Sirius attempted to sit up, but yelled as he jostled his arm.

"Their arm is broken," said a voice he didn't recognize. A third person approached him, holding a stick in their hand. A stick? No, a wand.

"You're wizards," Sirius mumbled.

A stinging sensation shot up his left arm then and he inhaled sharply at the sudden intensity of it. Then he fell back against the armrest, gazing around in awe.

"Are you okay?" said the first man. He had beautifully feminine face; sharp features and old, honey-brown eyes. Eyes that saw Sirius, and sent shudders through his chest.

Sirius said nothing, only stared open-mouthed at the man, who appeared younger the longer Sirius stared, making him wonder exactly his age. He seemed of a very simple manner, wearing a white cotton t-shirt and pyjama pants that bore small polka dots of yellow and pink and blue. The man gazed back at Sirius, thick eyebrows furrowed with concern and curiosity. It took the former a while to withdraw their eyes to see the other people surrounding him.

There was a woman, curvaceous and pretty, auburn hair like wet autumn and freckles like sprinkled cinnamon across her face. She smiled at Sirius, her green eyes glittering amiably. Next to her was a person whom Sirius' gender he could not identify. Soft, dirty blonde hair fell about a friendly face, slightly mousy in appearance. They were pale, short-statured and stocky; a body built to withstand anything except perhaps sunlight. Their arms were red, evidence of too much time out in the sun in spite of their gentle complexion.

The last person was a man, impressive in build and stature with farcically messy hair and glasses. He wore an almost offensively red t-shirt, the symbol of a lion with its teeth on full display splashed across the front. Sirius blinked a few times, looking at the jersey. Red, and a lion? Those marked the house of Gryffindor. These people were most certainly wizards.

"What's your name?"

Sirius' attention was caught once more by the beautiful man with sandy brown hair. He swallowed and finally managed, "Sirius Black."

"That – no way – you can't be," said the man in the red jersey. Sirius watched his face contort in surprise. "Of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? You've got to be pulling my leg."

"Wait, 'Black' as in… Bellatrix and Narcissa Black?" uttered the redhead, eyebrows raised high in amazement.

All four of them turned to look at Sirius, who cowered slightly, cringing. He nodded slowly and braved himself to sit up.

"I've never heard of a Sirius Black. Who are your mother and father?" asked the dark-haired man curiously.

"Honestly James, don't harass them!" said the woman. "The poor thing is drenched and injured; you can interrogate them later!"

The man, James, shrugged in response and said he'd put the kettle on. The pretty woman sat down on the sofa next to Sirius, not bothered by its damp condition. "I'm Lily," she explained. "That was James, my husband. And this is Peter, and Remus."

"Hello," Sirius murmured.

"Are you all right?" Peter interjected. "Do you need us to call someone?"

Sirius shook his head. He was astounded by the kindness of these people. They were strangers, and he might have come here with every opportunity to pilfer their home, and yet they accepted him with tender words and nice magic. Good magic, that was gentle.

"Look, I'm sorry, but we need to know… your parents?" Remus cut in from behind the sofa.

"O-Orion and Walburga," responded Sirius fearfully. He wondered if he would be cursed for being a Black in this household too.

"I've never known them to have another child," Lily admitted. "I thought it was just one. Regulus, wasn't it?"

"I'm his older br – sibling," Sirius articulated shakily. "I didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Why not?" she wondered, looking him up and down.

"Are you a squib?" blurted Peter.

Sirius flinched at the word, wrapping his arms about himself. It was not said with malicious intent, but it burned his flesh like hot iron, branding him the same way it did when his mother and father spat it at him.

"It doesn't matter," Remus snapped. "Do you need a place to stay, Sirius?"

Sirius' name against Remus' lips sent a jolt through his heart and it took him a moment to submit to a nod. Remus smiled for the first time, wide and becoming, illuminating his soft features. He waved his hand, motioning for Sirius to follow.

Sirius thanked Peter and Lily and he trailed Remus to a hallway behind an impressive staircase that led to the two upper floors. He was taken to a large master bedroom at the end of the manor where the storm seemed to quieten upon the closing of the door. Sirius tried to keep his body from trembling, but to no avail. He watched as Remus hurried about the room, pulling out a pair of pajamas and other clean clothes from drawers and cupboards. In the light of the bedroom, Sirius noticed how thin Remus was. Sporadic scars decorated his arms and he was a peaky sort of pale. Sirius wondered if he was ill.

"I only have masculine clothing, I'm afraid," Remus said, handing the pile to Sirius and breaking his train of thought. "There's a bathroom just down the hall if you would like to wash and you're free to stay in this room for as long as you like. I figured you'd prefer somewhere quiet."

"Is this your room?"

Remus nodded. Sirius was about to protest, but was interrupted. "It's fine. I won't be sleeping much tonight, so you are welcome to it. And don't mind the noise in the morning; a lot of people live here."

"What is this place?" Sirius requested.

"It's a safe house. I take care of children and teenagers who have been kicked out of home or have run away because of homophobia and the like," Remus illustrated, smiling lightly and gesticulating airily. "I'll leave you. I'll be around the house if you need me. And let me know when you're rested and I'll take a look at your eye."

He departed without another word and Sirius was suddenly submerged in an ethereal silence, echoes of the conversation reverberating against the old wallpaper. It smelled comfortable in the bedroom, faint hints of basil and rosemary trickled in from an open window. The storm raged on outside, and for a quick second it dissipated and the hush entered Sirius with a gust of loneliness and he started to cry, deep aching sobs, broken in the realization of what he had done.

...

A/N: I hope you all liked the prologue! Don't forget to leave a review letting me know what you think. For those of you interested in where the main five fit in the LBGTQ+ community -

Remus: transboy, pansexual/romantic

Sirius: Bigender, panromantic, demi-pansexual

Lily: under construction. Polysexual or Pansexual. Cis

James: Polysexual, Heteromantic. Cis

Peter: Agender, Asexual/romantic.