Lupin’s wand snapped up before he could ever see the face of the figure.

Weight slammed into him, all limbs and bones, a blur of grey and snarling breath. They hit the floor hard, beams splintered behind his spine, dust kicked up in bursts of smokes.

The other man clawed for the wand, hand closing round nothing. Remus caught a glimpse, matted hair, gaunt face, eyes like something that hadn’t slept in a year.

They wrestled, elbows cracking into ribs, knees into the floor. Remus got an arm free and swung it hard, catching Sirius square in the jaw. Enough to shove him back a pace, but not enough to knock sense into him.

Remus’s head rang with the sound of fists on bone, and for a flicker he remembered James, laughing, shoving him during a snowball fight in the courtyard, shouting that Moony fought like a librarian. That echo snapped against the sight of Sirius now, hair wild, eyes manic. No laughter in him this time, only teeth. The contrast made Remus’s stomach twist with a hatred that felt like grief with its skin torn off. He almost wished Sirius would laugh, so he could hate him cleanly. This silence, this broken man lunging like an animal, was worse. It felt like betrayal remade in flesh.

Sirius lunged again, teeth bared. They slammed against the wall.

“You bastard.”

Remus elbowed him in the gut, spun, grabbed for the scruff of his clothes and forced him down. They hit the floor again, harder this time, and Sirius’ breath punched out in a wheeze.

“Stay! Down!”

But Sirius was clawing back up even as Remus pinned him.

One knee on his chest, he finally yanked his wand from the ground where it fell, aimed it at Sirius’s throat.

The tip pressed into skin. Right over his pulse.

He held it there, breath loud in the quiet, every part of him braced for the smallest excuse. Just one twitch. One lie.

“Say it,” Remus said, low. “Go on.”

Sirius didn’t flinch. Didn’t move at all, really. His chest rose and fell too fast. Dirt streaked his face. Hair like he’d dragged himself out of a grave.

And maybe he had.

“I didn’t,” he said, barely above a whisper.

The wand dug deeper into Sirius’s neck. His jaw clenched tighter.

“Tell me why,” Remus muttered. “Now.”

Sirius listened. He was still catching his breath, still half-waiting for a hex.

Remus leaned in. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Sirius blinked slowly. His voice rasped out like it had clawed its way through stone.

“I didn’t.”

The hand holding the wand started to shake.

The bastard hadn’t even fought back properly. No mad laughter like the papers said. Just those eyes, wide and too bright, like he’d burned the rest of himself hollow.

Remus hated those eyes.

Because he remembered them.

He remembered Sirius grinning behind a stolen Honeydukes wrapper.

Sirius pushing Snape into the lake.

Sirius dragging him and James out of bed at two in the morning just because the moon looked interesting.

Sirius holding a Quidditch banner upside down and refusing to correct it because “symmetry’s a Ministry lie.”

He remembered the way Sirius had laughed with his whole face, loud and stupid and infuriating.

Not this.

Not the ruin lying under him now.

Remus’s jaw clicked. He stared down, wand still shaking, breath still caught somewhere behind his teeth.

“I saw the bodies,” he said.

Sirius gritted his teeth.

Remus leaned closer. “Twelve people, Padfoot. And Peter. You left nothing but a crater. And a finger.”

He pressed harder. Skin whitened under the tip.

“I thought you were dead,” Remus said. “We all did. And then you turned out to be worse.”

Sirius winced with the breath he took.

“I didn’t betray them.”

“SHUT UP!”

The punch cracked across Sirius’s face, raw and unpulled.

Remus didn’t stop. Fist slammed again, cheek, jaw, shoulder, didn’t seem to care where it landed. Another one snapped his head sideways.

“You absolute traitor!” Another blow, knuckles catching hard bone. “You betrayed your best friend! You betrayed Lily! You betrayed Harry!”

Sirius coughed, breath hitching, but didn’t swing back.

“You killed Peter.”

The next punch didn’t even try for the face. Right into the ribs.

“YOU!” Remus hauled him upright by the collar, voice breaking. “You sold yourself to Voldemort!”

Sirius stumbled back, half-sprawled on one elbow, blood at the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t,” he rasped.

Remus grabbed him again.

“You think I give a shit about what you say?!” he shouted, dragging Sirius forward and slamming him back against the wall. Boards cracked behind his spine.

Sirius didn’t answer.

Didn’t dodge.

Didn’t even raise a hand.

He just coughed, spat blood, and looked at him. Not even with an apology. Just tired.

“I didn’t betray them.”

Remus stared at him as if the words had physically burned. His knuckles whitened on the wand. A curse sat on the tip of his tongue, something final, something that would end this once and for all. But the words stuck, lodged behind his teeth. He wanted it to be easy. Betrayal deserved fire, lightning, vengeance. But nothing about Sirius Black had ever been easy. Even ruined, even bleeding on the floor, he carried that damn gravity. The same force that had once dragged Remus into trouble, into friendship, into loyalty he had thought unbreakable. His hand shook, furious at itself for hesitating.

“You expect me to believe that?”

Sirius blinked slow, half-glazed. “No.”

“You laughed. You laughed at their death.”

“I was broken.”

“No,” Remus snapped, stalking back over. “You were always like this. Mad for it. Laughing while everything burned.”

He shoved off the floor and paced, wand trembling in his grip. “I should kill you,” he spat, voice cracking at the edges. “I should.”

He dragged a hand down his face, then pressed it to the side of his head like the pressure might stop it all from boiling over. “Tell me your lies, before I drag you back and watch the Dementors finish what Azkaban started.”

Sirius didn’t move. Still slumped against the wall, shoulders sagging like something broken at the hinge. Blood slicked the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t wipe it.

“I switched with Peter,” he said, hoarse. “We, James and I, we changed the Secret-Keeper last minute. Didn’t tell anyone. Not even you.”

Remus’s mouth twisted. “Don’t,” he warned.

Sirius kept going, rasping, as if even speaking of them hurt him “We thought if Voldemort came after them, it’d be too obvious. Too expected. Peter was weak, nobody would think we’d trust him.”

“Don’t.” Remus’s wand came up again, not quite steady. “Don’t you dare try to drag him into this. You killed him. He’s gone.”

Sirius took a step forward. “He’s not. He’s here. At Hogwarts.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Look at me,” Sirius snapped. “Why would I lie? You think I broke into a castle, lived off rats, got chased by Dementors every other night, all to what? Spin a story?”

Remus didn’t move.

“He’s alive, Moony.” Sirius said again, quieter now. “And he’s hiding under your nose. With the Weasley boy.”

He grimaced, blood still clinging to the corner of his mouth. “I thought I deserved to die.”

Remus didn’t answer. Just stood there, chest still rising like he’d been running uphill.

“I killed them,” Sirius went on, quieter now, like he wasn’t talking to Remus at all. “It was supposed to be clever. Last second switch, make me the decoy, let Peter take the secret. No one would suspect Wormtail.”

He gave a short, ugly laugh. “The ultimate prank.”

Sirius dragged a hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face like it was a noose tightening. “It was me, don’t you get it? I picked him. I trusted him. They died because of that. They died because of me.”

He sagged against the wall, knuckles white where he braced himself.

“I thought Azkaban would be the end. Honestly thought, fine. Let it take me. Maybe it was what I deserved.”

His voice turned rough.

“Twelve years, Moony. Twelve years in a box, nothing but cold and screaming, and knowing every day it was my fault.”

Remus still didn’t speak. He looked like he might. Then didn’t.

Sirius’s hand dropped. “Then I saw the paper.”

That got a flicker. A crease between Remus’s brows.

“Last summer. Fudge came to inspect. I saw the Prophet he had tucked under his arm.”

Sirius closed his eyes for a beat.

“Article about the Weasleys. On holiday in Egypt. Smiling like the world hadn’t caught fire.”

He opened his eyes again, gaze sharp now, like something had been lit behind it. “And there, on boy’s shoulder…”

He held up a finger.

“Wormtail. A missing finger.”

“Peter’s alive,” Sirius said again. “He’s been hiding. In plain sight. Sleeping in that boy’s bed.”

“You expect me to believe you spent a decade in Azkaban for a crime Peter committed?”

“No,” Sirius said. “I don’t. But it’s true.”

Remus stared at him, eyes searching, cold, angry, but not all the way closed.

Sirius stepped forward, slow.

“Think about it,” he said. “Think like the boy you used to be.”

Remus didn’t answer. But he didn’t interrupt either.

“I was the loud one. James was the leader. You were the clever one. And Peter…” Sirius shook his head. “He was scared. Always scared. Always hiding behind someone.”

He looked at Remus now, properly. “Except this time, it wasn’t behind James.”

Remus glanced at the ceiling. Then at Sirius. Then at the floor.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, but softer now.

Sirius nodded like he’d expected it. “That’s alright. I’ve got proof.”

Remus’s brow twitched.

“He’s marked, Remus. Right forearm. Check the boy’s rat. A finger’s missing. If he doesn’t have the mark, I’ll turn myself in.”

Remus’s mouth opened, then closed again.

“I know how this sounds,” Sirius added. “If I were you, I’d hex me unconscious and drag me to Dumbledore right now.”

Remus didn’t argue. His grip on the wand trembled, but his mind wandered where it shouldn’t. Harry’s face, the same bloody cheekbones, the same stubborn tilt of the chin James used to throw at teachers. And what if Sirius was lying? What if this was just another trick, and Harry was walking into the same trap James had? The thought almost buckled his knees. He wanted to protect the boy. He wanted to avenge the man. And he couldn’t tell which instinct screamed louder. His wand hand flexed, useless, caught between duty and fury until both tasted like ash on his tongue.

“But look,” Sirius said, quieter now. “Please. Just… look.”

It was the “please” that landed.

Remus hated that word more than all the rest. Please. It didn’t belong in Sirius’s mouth. Sirius was demands and shouts and reckless grins, not this broken scrape of a word. And yet it cracked something open, left him standing there like a fool with his wand hovering uselessly in the air. He didn’t lower it. Couldn’t. Trust was a muscle long rotted. But for the first time in ten years, rage diminished. The stalemate felt worse than violence, an awful silence where friendship used to live, and where something far uglier had taken root. But he stopped pointing it at Sirius’s throat.

Which was something.

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