Chapter Four: Redemption

Sirius was always slow at waking up in the morning. He preferred to slough off the sleep leisurely and gradually, thus he would often initially set the alarm clock for an hour or so ahead of actual rising time. For that sixty minutes that belonged only to him, he would drift in and out of slumber, allowing the scattered pieces of his awareness to aggregate one by one until it was time to get up for class.

On Saturdays, of course, this indolence was a given, and the only alarm clock necessary was his stomach. The morning after the full moon, it was past ten o' clock when he awoke for the first time, and Sirius probably would have gone back to sleep had he not tried to turn over in bed. The jolt of pain that shot through his posterior woke him faster than any alarm clock ever manufactured. Had virtual reality technology been developed at that time, the shaken boy might have compared the feeling to that experienced when the VR headset is suddenly ripped off in the middle of a full-blown interactive fantasy adventure.

Confused and disoriented, Sirius was several moments figuring out why this day was different. Piece by piece, the events of the night before clicked together. He squirmed into a better position, then rested his head back on the pillow. His chest burned with hurt and humiliation as he remembered entering the dorm last night.

James and Peter were talking; he could hear the hum of their voices even through the closed dorm door. The noise abruptly ceased as Sirius pushed open the door and shuffled inside.

The room wasn't lit, but the fireplace gave off a soft, flickering orange glow, and the moonlight was streaming in the window. In the dim, James was only an elongated bump on his bed, and Peter's bed faced Sirius, so that only the curtains could be seen.

Sirius slowly got ready for bed, fighting the urge to whimper as his weals throbbed with each movement. The prospect of walking to the bathroom to wash up was laughable; he'd take cavities over that, thank you very much. All the while, not a peep could be heard from James or Peter, though Sirius could tell by their breathing that neither boy was asleep.

Many possibilities of opening lines occurred to him, but none appealed. Finally, when he was in the worn cotton shirt and shorts that comprised his nightly attire, he tried to make overtures.

"Jamie," he said, "Peter, I'm sorry I dragged us all into trouble."

Silence. There was a rustling from Peter's bed, but only momentarily. Sirius thought angrily that Peter ought to speak even if James didn't. But as if James were the metronome that set the tune, Peter seemed incapable of taking initiative.

Sirius eased himself into bed, sucking in his breath at the inevitable contact with the mattress that usually didn't seem so hard, and he was a long time in finding the least painful position to lay in. "I didn't tell him about . . . about us, that we're Animagi," he said to the dead air. Sirius was incensed at the hot tears on his cheeks. Boys don't cry! he thought furiously. I hardly cried being caned, for Merlin's sake!

He fell silent and listened to the crackling flames, the only sound in the room. Sirius had always liked to fall asleep to the flickering patterns on the ceiling, but tonight he could barely see them through blurred eyes. The tears had overflowed and were trickling down either side of his face onto the pillow, and the damp began to feel cold and clammy against his head. His nose was running, but he refused to give James the satisfaction of hearing him sniff. He didn't fall asleep for a very long time.

Now, rolling over so that he could prop himself up on one elbow, Sirius surveyed the room. The sun was so bright, gleaming on polished mahogany, crimson velvet, and the brass fittings of the boys' trunks. But he was alone; Peter's and James's beds were made, the pillows and spreads smooth. Remus's bed was still empty; he'd be in the infirmary under Madam Pomfrey's care.

Sirius suddenly felt a twinge of panic. What if James and Peter had already been to see Remus? They'd undoubtedly paint an unflattering portrait of Sirius, playing down the misunderstanding nature of his actions the night before and making it sound as if he'd plotted a vicious attack without a care for his mate's welfare. He'd better hurry if he wanted to tell his side of the story.

Sirius leapt out of bed, gritting his teeth as the pain in his backside flared. He dressed quickly and used his wand to make his bed. Why he felt the need to perform this usually neglected duty this morning was a mystery, except that even such a small gesture seemed a point in his favor. Wherever the great celestial tally of good and bad deeds was recorded, Sirius felt his ledger was dreadfully unbalanced. Making his bed was, just now, the only way he could consciously begin to balance the scale again. As fast as he could hobble, he hurried out of the dorm and headed for the infirmary.

In a sense, Sirius was too late. James and Peter had already been to visit Remus about an hour prior to Sirius's waking, popping in on their way to breakfast. Provided the recovering lycanthrope was awake, they always tried to see him the morning after the full moon, although this time they were both dreading the inevitable confrontation.

"Hey, Moony, you're awake!" James said as he and Peter entered the hospital wing. Their friend was wrapped like a mummy in that thin type of blanket found in sick bay, the kind with the waffle weave pattern that's supposed to feel homey but doesn't. James felt another surge of anger for Sirius — that feeling was becoming all too frequent when he thought of his best mate's betrayal. Remus looked so much worse than usual. His face was as white as the sheets, and there were three distinct claw marks on his sunken cheek.

The sick boy smiled painfully. "Prongs, Wormy," he croaked. "Where's Padfoot?"

"Sleeping. It's Saturday," James replied smoothly.

Remus nodded, understanding. His forehead creased suddenly with confusion. "It's funny, but . . . I can usually remember at least pieces of our . . . outings. I can't this time. I've been trying, but . . . I can hardly remember anything. What did we do last night?"

"Well . . . we didn't, actually," James admitted, a sliver of apology evident in his voice.

Remus looked hurt, but he kept his tone light. "What happened? Did Filch catch you?"

James investigated the cheap rolled edge of the aluminum bedside table, his face stony. When his finger began tracing patterns in the condensation on the water glass, Remus turned to Peter. "What's his problem?"

Peter looked nervously at James, whose expression didn't change. "See," Peter began, wetting his lips, "Sirius thought it would be . . . Snape was prattling on, you know how he does, said he'd find out where you were going and all. So Sirius told him about the Willow, and Snape was going to come find you. James had to run down and get him out of the passage."

Remus's eyes flickered from one boy's face to the other. "Well, that's . . . so you got to him in time, then," he addressed James.

"Mm-hmm," James said in a detached voice.

"So what happened then?" Remus pressed.

"Filch caught us coming back in, so we ended up in Dumbledore's office," James volunteered reluctantly. It was on him to tell the story, then. After all, Peter had been in his dorm the whole time. "He made Snape promise not to tell about you."

"He knows?!" Remus yelped, sitting straight up. "You said you caught him in time!" His eyes were wide and panicked.

"In time not to get hurt," James rejoined quietly, pushing on Remus's chest to get him to lie down again. His blood began to boil when he saw how the frail boy trembled. Does Sirius ever think? He's got to be the dumbest smart kid I ever met.

Sirius wasn't to know that James was very relieved not to see his best mate expelled. Still, he was furious at the near miss Sirius had arranged for them. The monthly rambles were one thing; everyone was agreed on those, and they took few chances of getting caught. But Sirius had taken this upon himself without a thought for anyone else. Had James gotten to Snape thirty seconds later . . .

"Why did Sirius tell Snape? Didn't he know I couldn't have helped attacking him?" Remus's voice sounded too young for his fifteen years.

Peter looked to James, but this time he wasn't getting any help from that department. "I don't think he realised how it would end," he said hesitantly. "It seemed like he just wanted Snape to get a scare."

Remus looked back and forth between two of his best friends. James didn't volunteer any information, but he didn't argue with Peter, either. Remus sighed and sank back against the pillows. "He'll tell," he whispered, tears trickling down his sunken cheeks. "Snape'll tell, and I'll have to leave school. I don't want to leave." The last word trailed off into a sob of misery.

James didn't think he could take much more of his friend's obvious agony of mind. "Dumbledore made him promise never to say anything," he said in a soothing voice to the agitated werewolf, reaching out to tousle his hair. "It'll be okay, Remus." But will it? he thought.

James and Peter had long since vacated Remus's bedside when Sirius stepped cautiously inside the infirmary. He saw his mate lying in the furthest bed with his eyes closed, apparently asleep. To make sure, Sirius quietly walked up to the bed and touched Remus' shoulder. "Moony, you awake?" he asked gently.

Remus stirred and opened his eyes. Sirius gave a small, hopeful smile, but when Remus saw who his visitor was, he looked away. Sirius's face fell.

"So I guess James and Peter told you what happened," he began, wringing his hands nervously like he had in Dumbledore's office. "I, erm, I don't suppose it's enough to say that I'm sorry, is it?" he asked.

"Is it true, then?" Remus said in a hoarse voice. "You told Snape where he could find me?"

"Well, I told him about the Willow, yes," Sirius began, hoping he'd get a chance to tell his side. "I figured Snape'd scamper through there and see you as a wolf at the end, then he'd be too scared to wonder anymore. I just wanted him to leave us alone," Sirius pleaded; Remus's face was still hard. "I thought I could get him to bugger off once and for all. I swear, I just thought it would scare him, Moony. You know he's been after us ever since first year —"

"You've been after him since first year, too. You and James," Remus accused, turning his smouldering gaze on his anguished friend. As much as he wanted to look away, Sirius forced himself to meet Remus's eyes. "Always trying to humiliate him, just the way people would humiliate me if . . . if they knew."

Sirius was horrified. "You're different," he said emphatically. "You're kind, and smart, and funny, and he's nothing but a worthless, greasy —"

Remus's eyes closed. "Just go away," he whispered. "Please."

If Sirius had felt ashamed in Dumbledore's office, it was nothing to what he was feeling now. His chest was freezing cold, as if a block of ice had somehow formed in there. He felt a wave of nausea, and probably came as close to fainting as he ever would. Sirius slowly turned around and walked away from his erstwhile friend, his posture slumped and defeated. He swiped angrily at hot, salty tears . . . the only warmth he had just then.

Outside, the sun was shining so beautifully that it seemed to be mocking him. Remus would never forgive him now. Without his friends, what did he have? Nothing. Sirius found a secluded bench and stared dubiously at it. Could he sit? The worst of the stinging, burning pain had faded into a throbbing soreness that hurt when he moved, but he hadn't tried to sit down yet. Gingerly, Sirius lowered himself onto the bench, hissing as his bottom came into contact with the unyielding wood. He squirmed uncomfortably until he found the least painful position, then rested his elbows on his knees to think.

Sirius was not given to self-analysis. Schoolwork came too easily; he rarely studied, but vied with James and Lily Evans for the top grades. He knew he was good-looking; the gaggles of giggling girls got on his nerves at times, but he was happy enough to dangle the ones that appealed to him, then drop them like hot stones at the first sign that the relationship might evolve into something more. If Sirius and James pooled their detentions and served them in one block of time, it would probably last six months. He didn't quite take away the lesson they were designed to impart; a few detentions were just the price paid for some pretty amusing pranks, handed out by faculty members with too much free time and a poorly-developed sense of humour.

Dumbledore was fair. You should have been expelled.

At no point did Sirius dispute that this punishment had been condign. In a very bizarre twist, in fact, the physical pain he was feeling was a blessing; it helped him focus the other pain, the kind that no magic could heal. Still, Snape was as much to blame; he'd wanted Remus, who'd never given him much trouble, expelled. All four of them, actually.

But does he deserve to die?

Well, no. I didn't mean for that to happen, ever.

Would you feel bad if he died?

Not especially.

Would you feel bad if Remus had been arrested?

Well, of course! He's my friend! I couldn't live with myself if . . .

It's all about you, isn't it?

That's . . . Sirius stopped.

I, I, I, me, me me. I want Snape to leave me alone. I want James to forgive me. I want Remus around because he's my friend, but I don't like Snape, so he's expendable.

Sirius felt a lump in his throat as he realised the truth behind the accusation. He really was rather self-absorbed.

Growing up in the Black household was a mixed blessing as far as self-image. It had been hammered into his head time and again that as a Pureblood, and a member of one of the most prominent Wizarding families, he was a cut above most of his peers. Sirius had always been a bit of an outsider in his family, since he didn't share their views on the sanctity of blood or their fascination with the Dark Arts. Still, some of the feelings of superiority inherent in such an upbringing had unwittingly taken root. Coming to Hogwarts and finding himself one of the most popular boys in school, not to mention the healthy competition with James for best marks . . . well, up until now, he had been too prone to contemn his classmates, feeling he was better than all of them.

Maybe he could work on being . . . kinder.

"Still sitting, I see, Mr. Black."

Sirius jumped at the sudden vocalisation; he hadn't heard anyone approaching. He sat up straight, wincing as his bum renewed its earlier whinging, and looked around to find Dumbledore approaching his bench. He was apprehensive at first, but the headmaster looked at him kindly enough. Sirius managed a small smile. "Barely," he said in a mock-hurt voice, moving over on the bench to make room.

"Do you feel you were punished too harshly, then?" Dumbledore asked as he took advantage of the space Sirius had made for him.

Sirius shook his head. "No, sir." He ducked his head, embarrassed. "It was perfectly fair."

"I'm glad to hear that you agree. Your friends aren't too sympathetic, I take it?" the old man inquired.

Sirius coloured. "I'm sort of getting the third degree," he admitted.

"Well, that's not surprising, on the whole." The headmaster settled comfortably back against the bench. Sirius busied himself twisting a lock of hair. "Something ails you?"

Sirius wondered why Dumbledore was being so persistent. But the aged wizard had an uncanny knack for divining the thoughts of the students under his tutelage. "I guess . . ." he shifted uncomfortably. "I've been thinking about . . . things, my family and all that, you know. If I'd been expelled, they'd have been furious, of course, probably disowned me. But if Snape had been killed and Remus . . ." He swallowed hard. "If Remus were expelled or executed, they'd have been happy. And now, I wonder if, well, ifmaybeI'mnotanybetter," he finished in a rush, turning his face away in shame as he waited on Dumbledore's response.

The headmaster was several moments in his rejoinder, but his voice, when it came, was warm. "You and your friends certainly have a talent for mischief, I'll allow, especially you and James," he began, "and once or twice I've wondered if it didn't go a little beyond innocent adolescent pranking. But on the whole, Sirius, I think that you have a great deal of kindness and loyalty and, of course, bravery, as befits a Gryffindor. Once you've graduated and . . . left your current home, I imagine you'll calm down a bit and start showing your better side more often."

The old man smiled encouragingly at Sirius, whose heart warmed to hear those words. "One day, you'll be a credit to your House," he finished, and Sirius smiled as he remembered that Dumbledore had been a Gryffindor, also. Seeing that Dumbledore rose up to leave, Sirius got to his feet painfully and shook the wrinkled hand that was offered to him. "Don't despair; your friends will come around, after they've let you hang long enough," the headmaster assured him with a rather mischievous glint in his eye. "You can't be let off the hook too easily."

"No, sir," Sirius agreed, watching him leave. He suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest, and the sunshine was no longer a mockery.

The next morning, Sunday, Sirius caught James staring at his mangled backside in the shower. He flushed with shame, but James didn't look smug or satisfied or anything. There was even some sympathy in his eyes. His best mate hadn't realized just how . . . serious . . . a punishment caning really was. Sirius hurried to dress, though, and dawdled on his way down to breakfast.

In the Great Hall, his friends still took no notice of him. Sirius felt hot all over at his pushiness, but he sat down with them anyway. There wasn't any alternative. Peter gave him an apologetic glance, but Remus and James acted as if his chair was vacant. He could have been wearing James's Invisibility Cloak for all they acknowledged his presence. He focused on keeping his breathing even as he loaded up his plate with toast, eggs, fruit, and bacon. After skipping all three meals the day before, he was absolutely ravenous.

James was observing Remus as he filled his teacup with about half a bowl of sugar. Something about transforming every month made Remus act like a diabetic on a free-for-all for about three days after the full moon. "You need all that sugar like a werewolf needs a silver bullet," James said, shaking his head. Remus sniggered, which made all three of his friends smile back; usually, he was too sick to find anything funny right after his time of the month.

"Still here, Black?"

Sirius rolled his eyes, not turning. Only one person spoke with that irritating purr.

Snape sauntered up to the Gryffindor table, invoking a few curious stares and more than a few disgusted ones. He leaned up against the bench next to Sirius, who edged away from him as if he were afraid of catching something. "Dumbledore's favourites always manage to talk their way out of trouble, don't they?" he asked angrily. "I wonder, just what will you do out in the real world when you don't have the Hogwarts headmaster to protect you?"

"Why don't you get stuffed?" Sirius mumbled, pushing his food around his plate, no longer hungry.

"Tell me this, did you even get lines for almost getting me killed?" Snape hissed, grabbing Sirius's wrist so he couldn't distract himself that way anymore. Sirius's head flew up, and his eyes met that furious dark gaze as he struggled to pull away. "Or did the old man give you a Special Award for Services to the School?"

"He got the cane," James spoke up, and Snape turned toward him, surprise etched on his face. His hand loosened enough that Sirius was able to extract his wrist from the Slytherin's vice-like grip. Sirius glared at James, furious that his friend would humiliate him this way. But James wasn't finished.

"And if you ask me," he continued, half standing up in his seat so as to lean closer, "you're hardly worth it. All you've wanted since our first year was to get us all expelled. You think you know better than Dumbledore how to run this school. It's only because he's so forgiving that you're even still here, you and your Dark Arts. If you're not his 'favourite,' you have no one to blame but your whinging, nagging, prejudiced self. So just bugger off." James sat down and pointedly ignored Snape from that point forward.

Snape looked rather taken aback, but not for long; he soon recovered his ire and glared at his archenemy. When James refused to engage any further, however, he turned to Remus. "Just remember that I know what you are . . ." He leaned in closer and spoke in an exaggerated stage whisper. "Moony. You and your friends had better just watch your step, because if you think there's never been a time when I'd have taken expulsion over watching you torture me and get away with it, you've got another think coming." With that, he turned and stalked out of the Great Hall.

Remus was staring down at his plate, his cheeks flushed. James glared after Snape as he billowed away — even in those days, he billowed — then slowly turned back to his food, stabbing angrily at a sausage. Finally, he looked up and spoke to Remus.

"Next time, just bite him."

The End