Alright. I've been working on this little baby all weekend. I'm really, really proud of this one, so please, please, please give me a review on your feelings about it. I really would like to know if its crap or not.

Warnings: If you've read the others, you get the idea.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not a thing. It's pathetic how much i do not own.

Series so far (all of which you can find on my profile):

--Living Death

--Memorial

--Mourning Morning

--Changes

--Words I Could Never Say

--The Reason

BTW...there is a poll on my profile on which is the best in this little series of mine. Please take it. I beg it of thee.

As of Yet Unnamed

The mournful cry of the violin that cut deep, straight to my heart had led me to him. He's facing away and, as consequence, does not realize he has acquired an audience. As such he has allowed the music to consume him and take on a life of its own. He's letting himself serve merely as the vehicle for a power greater than himself. He's letting himself be…free.

The candle light that bathes the room in a golden glow glints on his skin and his hair. It's soft aura makes the air take a wondrous, mythical feel. He looks otherworldly just playing as he is.

The violinist rocks with the flow of the music he brings forth, his dark hair escaping from the ribbon at the nape of his neck with each and every movement. The bow flies over the strings faster and faster with every note.

Fear. Sadness. Anger.

The emotions are mourned by the sounds the boy coaxes from the instrument. It's fitting since the violin is the instrument of grief, and the boy can wield it like a master.

In the throws of his music, he turns. The expression on his face is so intense it seems to almost pain him. His eyes are shut so he still does not see me, but his eyelashes flutter quickly as thou he fights to wake from his trace. It looks almost like he's under the imperious curse, but it is impossible to put that spell on one of his family. The Blood of the Blacks is too rooted in dark magic for something as trivial as the imperious curse to hold sway over them. It takes spells so much worse to rob them of their will.

Soon the beautiful music the boy is producing transforms from haunting and lovely to harsh and screeching. It sets my hair on end and make my teeth ache. He moves like he's possessed, and indeed he is—by the angel of music or the spirit of Euterpe, the ancient muse of music.

I can't bring myself to enter the room and ruin this. I haven't seen this much emotion from him in so long—years and years ago when we were both young as he still is. Since he's waken from his unnatural slumber he had been bitter and withdrawn. He hasn't been the Sirius I despised…or the Sirius I loved. It's all the same really. I know most people only see him as a pretty face. They can't see past his looks to see him. He's utterly lovely and pale and perfect just like a doll, and like a doll, his beautiful grey eyes are dead to the world.

No one realizes just how much he's changed. The brat I knew when we were young was always the first to laugh, the first to rage, the first to smile, and first to scream. He was animated, and drew people to him like moths to a flame. He had been aptly named—the brightest star in the sky. I won't pretend that he was perfect—Sirius was far from perfect—but he had been alive. Not like this. Like that star will too one day, his fire has burned out.

The bow flies so fast over the strings that sparks flare. He does not notice, nor does he stop as little wisps of smoke appear from the violin. He only plays faster and faster. I still can only watch.

Suddenly the violin slips from his hands and clatters onto the floor as he falls panting to his knees. Oh Merlin! His knees! That was always where he was most lovely. Looking up at me with his lips parted in that teasing grin and shining eyes! No! I can't think of him like that anymore…he's a student. My student. While others may not abide to the laws of morality, I still have my dignity. I will not force him, unlike some. They may think his affections are freely offered, but he has none to offer. It is an act to gain a small amount of warmth from others he did not have in his youth. I know. I fell to his charms before. He knows no other way to gain love except by offering his flesh.

"It's past curfew," I hear myself say.

His eyes open quickly, and he looks up, but there's no feeling there. The grey eyes that use to change hue with every emotion are flat and unexpressive.

"Professor," he whispers. I can almost hear surprise in his voice, but perhaps I imagine it. "Going to give me a detention?" How I wish I could hear the familiar mocking tone—the tone he would dare people with—instead of this level tone that betrays no thoughts.

I should. I really should, but I can't. I know what happens when he's given detention. Lupin has been requesting of late to watch over Sirius's detentions, and the old fool of course has allowed him to. After all, Lupin and he are old friends. The bruises left on Sirius's skin and the bite marks on his neck are plain for everyone's eyes, and the limp takes days to disappear. Lupin…how dare he. Has he not tormented Sirius enough? There are some who do not deserve second chances.

"Go back to Gryffindor Tower," I answer softly, trying not to show compassion for the boy who tried to kill me.

As graceful as a dancer he rises and plucks the violin from the cold stone floor, and fluid as liquid he walks from the room, not once glancing back. This compliancy was never before part of his demeanor.

I feel once more as the confused seventeen-year-old did when his lover left him for his ex-lover—and the knowledge of where that ex-lover would be. Oh how cruel Sirius had been! I had forgotten that while Sirius had been a Gryffindor, he had not abandoned all the teachings of the Blacks. He would have been a good Slytherin.

I still can only watch him leave.

Three days pass before I see him again—I don't even see him at meals or lessons. No one sees him. Minerva is especially worried. She always had a soft-spot for Sirius, even when he did cause her head to ache. He was brilliant. He is brilliant. I remember the things he could do when we were in school. Where I struggled in Transfiguration, Minerva had to give him NEWT level work during our forth year to keep him occupied. I and Lily were the best in potions, but he was not far behind. I had been so jealous of him the first time I saw him. He was an heir to a family almost as old as reckoning, and no doubt destined for power. I think I wanted to be him—and if not be, at least have him—from the moment I saw him. Then he was sorted into Gryffindor, and the next morning Potter (a blood traitor, but still higher on the social scale than me because I was only a half-blood) warned me to stay away from Sirius so I "didn't taint him."

And people though they were only like brothers!

Not even the Golden Trio—Dumbledore's favorites—will admit to knowing where he is. They claim he's "disappeared." I hate Weasley, and Granger is nothing more than a know-it-all, but Lily had taught Harry not to lie about such things. Besides, I would know if they were lying. They do not know.

But Lupin does.

Why Dumbledore even allowed the werewolf back here is something I shall never understand. He has no place here. He doesn't belong.

Fortunately, I know where Lupin is.

Ironically the painting that protects the entrance to Lupin's dwelling is of a great wolf. It blinks at my almost lazily and sits, waiting. It can wait all night if is must without so much as a hair moving until it receives the proper password.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," I hiss. How predictable. Sirius had once told me the phrase would reveal things about his little group of friends I never even imagined. Now I will find the truth.

The wolf jerks its head quickly and the painting opens without so much as a sound, but I can hear muffled voices reach my ears.

"Aren't you pleased?" the distorted voice of Sirius mocks. Ah! So this is where Lupin kept him locked up. "I am exactly as you've molded me. No more, and no less."

"Why must you continually behave like a child?" Lupin asks almost imploringly.

"A child? A child! I am as much a child as you are innocent!" The anger is plain, but he does not scream. He should, but he does not.

"Sit down, Sirius," Lupin growls.

Silently I creep through the little hall towards the room their voice issue from. The door is slightly open just a tiny crack, and through it I can see Sirius as he sinks down onto the bed in roughly the center of the room. He is dressed, for which I am thankful, but he is so pale and gaunt. He looks ill.

"Good boy," Lupin comments, from where I cannot see. His voice is soft, and his tone like one would use when talking to a dog. After a few seconds pause he speaks again. "You know I love you, Sirius. I always have. Why must you continue to infuriate me?"

"Now you love me?" Sirius asks, but it sounds almost like an observation. "Before you hated me. I disgust you," he continues. "I believe I am the most pathetic individual you ever met."

"I was angry when I said those things."

"Angry. After all, I suppose we all do foolish things when we're angry, don't we?"

There's footsteps and now Lupin's back blocks my view of Sirius. His scarred hands brush aside fine strands of black hair from Sirius' face and cup one of his cheeks. Sirius makes no move to stop him. Like a rag doll, he is completely compliant.

"You are so beautiful. How could anyone have ever hurt you?"

"It never stopped you before," the boy answers, but still makes no moves of protest.

"And I'm sorry for that. You've changed so much. What happened to you?" Lupin asks, running a hand through the long hair.

"I believe we disgusted this as well. I died."

"You were only asleep," Lupin whispers, nuzzling Sirius' hair now with his nose. Merlin, he's acting like an animal…fitting. In two nights it is the full moon. In two nights Lupin's appearance will reflect the animal he truly is.

"No. I died," Sirius corrects softly, almost at a whisper as well. The broken butterfly wings that were his soul—so fragile—curled helplessly around him, wilted. Dead, dead, dead.

Almost carefully Lupin guides Sirius backward onto the bed and nuzzles his neck. My teeth gnash. How dare he! I can't see what he does from this angle, but I know he's marking the swanlike column of Sirius' neck. He pulls back and just gazes at Sirius. Then he leans in again and presses his lips against Sirius'. Me hands curl into fists at my sides and my teeth grit harder. I remember what kissing those lips was like. Sirius' lips are like angel whispers, soft as rose petals and yielding. To kiss them is to know a taste of all the secrets of the universe. It is to see perfection in true form. Kissing Sirius is as blissful as little death. When you kiss him, part of your soul breaks because you know there is nothing else as truly wonderful that you will ever find. Mab has tormented me for years with the memories of his kiss.

Lupin does not deserve to kiss Sirius.

"Just let me leave," Sirius murmurs as Lupin pulls back, but he still makes no motion nor does he struggle.

"No. You came to me."

"I wanted to say goodbye."

"I'm not going to sit by and let you kill yourself again!" Lupin snarls. He pushed away from the bed and disappears from my narrow line of sight.

"I never asked for this!" Sirius shouts, sitting up quickly, and finally there is emotion! Something in him had finally snapped. "I didn't want to come back to this wretched world, but you and James couldn't let me go, could you? I was happy! I was for once at peace and you had to tear me away from that and into a world of nightmares! I remember! I remember every second and see it every time I close my eyes and feel it every time you touch my skin!"

There's a spark there in his now storm grey eyes I haven't seen in a very long time. There's that spark of life Sirius had always possessed that I have missed.

"I was trying to save you!" Lupin answers desperate.

"The path to Hell is paved in good intentions!" Sirius remarks in a snarl reminiscent of his animagus form's growl. "Face it, you didn't want to save me! For months you never even looked at me! Not once! You didn't care about me!"

"Sirius, I loved you!" Lupin shouts back. " I never stopped! I love you so much it hurt to even think about you and him. I couldn't look at you because all I could see was him touching you. I hated it! Then you took that damned potion and life ended. There was no reason any more. Beauty was gone from the world without you!"

I can see Sirius waiver. His jaw tenses, but his eyes shine with un-spilt pain.

"You are the one who pushed me away. You pushed me away into his arms! You have no right to keep me here. Just let me go."

"I have every right," Lupin booms. " The first time I claimed you, you became mine! You are the one who betrayed me and went to him!"

He speaks of Sirius as a possession! He wonders why Sirius came to me!

"He loved me," Sirius growls. "And you made me choose between you and him. You and James both! You knew I couldn't live without you, and you made me pick. He loved me, and you destroyed me! I gave you my heart, and you broke it—you smashed it into a thousand pieces and crushed all the shards beneath your boot!"

"What you call love is something twisted!"

Sirius now stood seething. "And what about you? One moment you coo how much you adore me, and the next you scream how much I disgust you! You kiss me, and then you hit me! You only hurt! If that is what love is, then I am done! I told Lily as much when she was the one to come for me! She knew the antidote; after all, she, Severus, and I were the ones to create it! But I asked her to let me die. She loved me more than you ever could. Adieu!"

Adieu…The English and Americans use that word to mean goodbye, but it means more than that. The French word adieu means "to God." It means we shall not met again in this life. Sirius would know best of all what it means; after all, French is his first language. My heart breaks of course when he mentions that potion…but once he had done what he did and almost killed me, I thought he deserved it. I always was a cold bastard.

Sirius walks with measured steps towards the door, but Lupin blocks his way, reaching for his arm.

My skin breaks out in gooseflesh, my hair stands again on end, and my chest tightens. Dark magic is being used. Sirius, though he won't admit it, knows even more dark magic than I do. His family taught him the dark arts from the moment he first showed even the slightest magical ability. In fact, without dark magic, Sirius wouldn't even be. The Blacks have a long history of incest and insanity. Magic just barely keeps them hinged. Without dark magic his mother would have thrown him into a fire to cleanse him, the old way of insuring purity. Without dark magi, Sirius never would have been born—his father couldn't bare to even so much as touch his wife, let alone sire a son with her. Mrs. Black has more harpy than anything. A dark spell had brought Sirius into being.

Lupin yelps and jerks away, his hand contorted violently. It looks like his fingers have all been smashed. He clutches his ruined hand to his chest, his eyes shining with anger.

"Adieu," Sirius says again, continuing on his way.

Before he reaches the door, I push open the portal and take a step forward. Sirius blinks in surprise. Lupin's jaw tightens and he glowers at me.

"Why, hello, Remus. You really should think about changing that password. I believe you were leaving?" I sneer, finally addressing Sirius.

"Yeah, I was," he snaps back. I never thought I would have missed his lip so much, but I did. "I'll leave you to your business."

With that he brushes past me and continues down the hall at a brisk pace, not once looking back.

Once the slam of the portrait echoes, Lupin snarls, "Come to gloat?"

"Nothing I can say can come close to matching what he has already said," I answer. "Spirited," I add for no other reason than to get under his skin.

He glares harder, colder. "You're a bastard."

"Jealous that in the end I'm the one with the sweet boy's love?"

"He's not some bloody doll!"

"That's funny coming from your mouth," I answer. "You've been hoarding him like a dog does a bone. You haven't let him fly, have you? To learn what he's missed? To breath? Is it any wonder he's rebelled?"

"Shut up," he snaps.

"It's surprising it took him this long really. Then again, he did have you holding him back. It's good to know he's available again. Maybe I'll take to offering him some comfort again in his time of need."

Lupin growls low and steady at me. "Get out. Leave him alone. Don't come near him again." He pulls his wand from its place in his sleeve with his good hand and raises it level with my heart. When we were young, Lupin had been the clam one. He was the one who would reel Potter and Sirius in when they were too cruel…before Sirius came to me that is, and I never knew why he did. All I knew was something had changed. A few months later Sirius almost destroyed all of us, and Lupin never so much as raised a finger to stop Potter…and after Sirius took that potion Lupin took over tormenting me. It seems now we are back to our childhood grudges.

"Should he come to me, I will not push him away, or force him. Unlike you, I am humane," I remark to put the final nail in the casket. Lupin, after all, has dug his own grave.

Echoing the dramatic exit of the boy we both love in our own twisted ways, I love the werewolf to his own agony, a sick pleasure twisting in my gut.

Breakfast the next morning is a welcome time. Lupin slinks in with his hand cradled to his chest. Not even Madam Pomfrey could undo the damage devious Sirius Black did to the big bad wolf. Dumbledore gives his pet a compassionate glance, and those calculating blue eyes sweep out to Gryffindor table to where Sirius is sitting with the troublesome Weasly twins. The bark-like laugh the boy gives can be heard echoing around the room, and those silvery eyes gleam.

Sirius Black is back.

But for how long will this last?