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[The camera clicks on to a low-lit room. It's difficult to see anything, but there's something moving in the darkness--

--a face. A wolf's face turned to the side, its jaws bloody and eye narrowed, teeth stretched into sharp, curved fangs. It stares at the camera for a few seconds, sizing it up, before turning. But the other half of the face isn't a wolf; rather, it's a mangled, gory mess. A young face appears on the screen, meshed horribly with the wolf on the other side-- and it's Remus' face, but one could only tell that if one knew him well, as his face is horribly torn up. Torn skin and exposed muscles make up the majority of his face, while blood pours from scratches on his forehead. His teeth are exposed through a hole in his cheek, but that's barely visible, as dripping yellow fat mixing with crimson blood are constantly slipping down his cheek. It's a horrible sight, made all the worse by Remus' sudden low laugh.

--because it's the mask, of course, and he proves that by removing it after a few seconds.]

Enjoy the show?

[There's a noticeable edge in his voice and smile, something colder and crueler than before.]

I think I quite like this new development. It's certainly far more interesting than simply another Jump, don't you agree? And far less deadly-- which reminds me, there's new people here, aren't there? I do hope that's not your first inkling that things on here aren't quite so lovely as they seem; that would be a rather poor welcome.

[He glances down, considering the mask for a few more seconds, before glancing at the camera again.]

You know, I'm always surprised at how kind everyone is here. Aren't you? How welcoming they are to the supernatural creatures. The vampires and the werewolves, the poor castaway souls that have found sanctuary here-- but you know, I don't know if that's so wise. It works out for me, of course, but don't you ever wonder what might happen if one of us snapped?

[He grins fiercely.]

Think about it. Once a month, all that separates me from a potential meal-- that is to say, you (and please don't say that you could defend yourself from me, because I can promise you, you couldn't, not from me when I'm on the hunt)-- is a simple door and a dog. Just a few inches of steel, and I'm sure soon enough the werewolf will figure out how to get out of that.

As for the vampires-- well. I don't think it would be very hard for a vampire to snap, would it? At least with me, you only have to worry once a month. A terrifying once a month, to be certain, and I could most definitely hurt you if I was so inclined now-- but in the end, I have control over myself twenty-eight days of the month. A vampire, now-- well. He could snap at any moment. His cravings are a constant hunger. Imagine, if you would, starving. Having hunger claw at your stomach, making you dizzy, making you delirious-- and then being presented a delicious meal and being told you weren't allowed to have any. Imagine having to deal with that at every hour, every minute, every second of every day--

Really, it's a wonder the poor things haven't snapped by now, isn't it?

[He slips his hand up, his finger playing carelessly at his dogtooth.]

Of course, being a creature of darkness also has its benefits. Strength, hearing, sight, smell-- they all get better. You become something better than a human, something bigger and cleverer and far more interesting. I have to say, I'm a bit surprised no one has asked for the bite yet.

But then perhaps you're all frightened.

[He shrugs and glances down at the mask again. After a moment he slips it back on and turns so the wolf side is facing the Network.]

I suppose you should be.

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I don't back down, Remus.

[Almost casually, he raises his wand, and his tone shifts a little--deeper, maybe, older, colder--and there's a memory, too, Sirius' hand warm in his father's cool gloved hand, and the dark twists of Knockturn Alley, and the queer high screech after the jolt of blue light from his father's wand--this is how we deal with vermin, Sirius--]

I know how to deal with your kind.

[Your kind, and that's something Remus always (always) knew he'd hear from Sirius. Sirius or James or Peter, and sometimes he'd imagine that they spoke of him like that after he fell asleep; the werewolf going to kill us in our sleep, how could they not? How could they not think less of him, even secretly? He was lesser, he is lesser, and here's proof--

--but he's not, he thinks suddenly and with a snarl, he's not he's not, he's better, faster stronger keener, better than this sneering human with his pathetic stick-- and before he can think Remus leaps forward, shoving Sirius toward the ground, his jaws exposed and headed for his neck--]

[The words taste foul even after they've been said, like the lingering taste of a mouthful of awful Every-Flavour-Beans--but that doesn't mean that there isn't a hissing of agreement in his head, yes, yes yes yes, these were words he was born to say; it's like sitting in his father's wardrobe and trying on his robes, the weight of them good and heavy on his shoulders and his father's scent all around him--yes, well done--

But it's pure instinct that Sirius reacts with. The force of Remus is enough to shove him to the floor, but not enough to win all at once, and he's shit at fistfights really, he's all reaction and no technique, but who needs technique to punch a werewolf? And he does, he punches at Remus, straight at his nose, both to drive him off and shock him--]

[The punch is enough to drive him off and stun him; enough to make him come to his senses for a few precious seconds-- but it hardly lasts, soon he's darting down again, his hands scrabbling to pin Sirius' to the ground, to prevent him from getting his wand-- god, and he can see the point where he'd like to bite, just there, right where his pulse is jumping beneath white skin--]

[His wand; if a wizard is worth anything during a duel, he doesn't lose hold of his wand. Most duels don't end in a scuffle on the floor, of course, but still, you have to keep hold of your wand--and Sirius does, and he can feel what Remus is trying to do, but for God's sake, he's a werewolf, he can be out-thought with ease--and it's with that same ease that Sirius snakes one arm free--

His wand arm, too, and a wordless flick does what it's intended to do--a variation on the stinging hex, just as if he'd thrown sand into Remus' eyes, and he heaves at him with his shoulder, goes to throw him off with a snarl--]

[Remus' own wand is still on the desk, and if he were (cleverer quicker better) thinking clearly, he'd remember that-- but it's hard when all his attention is focused on Sirius, on his throat, on his pulse--

--and then, quite suddenly, on the pain blinding him. With an injured yelp Remus scrambles away, rubbing at his eyes, trying to draw away and shield himself from the next attack. His movements are more animalistic than human now, as he scrabbles away on all fours, pawing at himself like Moony might.]

{But he doesn't intend to let Remus get away so easily as that; when Remus scrambles away, Sirius scrambles up, gaining his feet again. The fuel of adrenaline makes him quick, makes his cleverness all the cleverer, and he flicks his wand--up, sharply, and a twirl to it--]

Incarcerous!

[...of course, the thing about the binding spell is that werewolf strength can outmatch it. But he's not transformed, it will hold for now, and the ropes slither out of the floor itself--]

[He writhes wildly, struggling to free himself as ropes bind his arms to his sides, his legs together, trussing him up so easily-- and he snarls up at Sirius, furious and humiliated all at once, hating himself for getting caught in this trap, hating Sirius for putting him in this-- hating Sirius, hating him so much in that moment, and if Sirius would just come forward he'd teach him--]

[But Sirius does not come forward, not just yet. He grips at his wand--it's held ready even now; there's confidence and then there's foolishness, and he won't be caught in the second.

And he looks at Remus, and a laugh barks out of him.]

Told you.

Let me go--

[He snarls again, writhing wildly, trying and failing to kick Sirius.]

Keep up with that and you're going to hurt yourself.

[He observes it mildly, as he crouches on the floor so he's even with Remus.]

Anyway, I can't let you loose. You've proven you're not able to control yourself. Bad dog, or wolf, or whatever.

Don't you fucking dare patronize me, you arrogant son of a bitch--

[His jaws snap again as he lunges for Sirius-- a useless action, but one that he tries anyway.]

Patronize you. Hardly. I'm only telling the truth.

[He cocks his head at Remus, studying him with cruel impassivity through the narrow eye slits of his mask.]

Other werewolves round here chain themselves up and things, y'know. At least this isn't self-inflicted, makes it a bit less pathetic. Would you bite me, if you could?

They don't-- they bloody don't, Isaac and Derek, they know how to live, they know we oughtn't be chained up like some bloody dog--

[And he answers that second question with a snarl, lunging for Sirius again, trying to bite any part of him-- hand throat stomach leg, anything at all, so long as it hurts--]

[He laughs again, derisively, and pulls away at the last second, teasing Remus.]

So how'd you end up here, then?

Because you're your father's son, apparently.

[He can hear his blood in his ears, whooshing around--that particular sound, the one you only get in heavy silences, and his eyes feel hot, suddenly--yes, that's one answer he gets, rising in his throat, but the power of it is less than the power of the hatred that immediately chokes out everything else--

And he snarls, and he throws his wand out toward Remus again, moving toward him--]

Not his.

[But now Remus begins to laugh, low and smug.]

You are! Look at you, lording about in his face-- you're a Black, through and through, no matter how much you try to deny it--

[The urge to tear off that face is suddenly nearly impossible to ignore--anything to distance himself from his father, he is not his father and he will prove it--and where removing the mask once seemed unthinkable, it's now a nearly all-consuming thought--

No, but he can't, and so instead he snarls; instead, he shoves his wand away and goes for Remus bare-handed, something his father would never do, never--]

[He grunts in pain, twisting as his face is slammed against the metal floor-- and it hurts, yeah, and he can taste blood from where he bit his cheek-- but still Remus smirks, because he hit a nerve and he knows it.]

Is that any way to hold up the Black family name, hm, Sirius?

Shut up--

[He snarls it, as he slams Remus against the floor again--and he can feel his father's hand on his shoulder, a heavy weight, you're a disgrace, and again, he knocks him against the floor, his teeth clenched so hard they ache--]

Or what? You'll kill me? Oh, but that'd be perfect, wouldn't it, the Black heir putting down the vermin!

[He has his fingers twisted in Remus' hair, cruelly, and his cheek is pressed to the floor, and he could do it. Sirius can feel his wand, gripped tight in his hand. He could do it.]

I wouldn't waste the strength on you.

[He breathes too fast, fear giving him away-- but there's a cruel twist to his smile even as he's pushed painfully against the floor.]

Coward.

[That's it, that's one of the words Sirius hates above all others--and even if Remus didn't know that, it's obvious from the way his face tightens, mouth narrowing--

And abruptly, he lets go, shoving Remus away with unnecessary savagery--and he whips his wand up, and the bonds fall from him, dissolving back into the floor.]

Coward?

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