Chapter 3
They appararted on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow— the Potters’ house was under many charms and protective spells, one of which prevented apparition directly into their home. Remus and James walked briskly down the street, James glancing every way to make sure they were safe. Remus didn’t care so much– if a Death Eater killed him now he would have no complaints. He might even thank them.
“Welcome on in,” James said, as he unlocked the door.
“I can’t stay too long,” Remus tugged at his sleeves, already wanting to leave.
They stepped in, and Lily turned to face them. “James, I– oh! Remus!” She walked over to them, a pep in her step, smiling from ear to ear. She wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him close. “I’ve missed you, you twat,” she whispered. She pulled back, analyzing his appearance with a critical eye. Her eyes lingered on his hands, which were bandaged and bloody. His nails were caked with dirt, knuckles painfully swollen. “Remus, are you alright? You don’t look–”
“Your husband said the same thing,” he said quickly. He really didn’t want an appointment with Dr. Lily. She seemed to always want to fix him up, to mother him; it was an infuriating characteristic she shared with Madam Pomfrey. He loved her all the same for it, though. He shifted from foot to foot, smiling uneasily. “You lot always seem to think I’m falling apart.”
“Well, in our defense, you usually are.”
“Hey, Lils, is Prongs back–” The world seemed to stop. Sirius and Remus locked eyes, and for a moment, his breath was stolen from his lungs. Sirius was as beautiful as ever, wearing a leather jacket, hair falling loose around his shoulders. He was radiant, stunning, and absolutely detestable. Remus had never hated someone as much as he hated anyone in that moment, not even Greyback himself. He was overwhelmed by the anger, the hatred, the rage. But in an instant that moment passed. “Oh. He’s here.”
James’s smile was never so forced. “I invited him.”
“Why?” That one question was as hurtful as if Sirius had shoved him to the floor and repeatedly kicked him in the skull. At least then there would have been beauty in the splattering of blood and brains against the cool beige of the Potters’ carpet.
“Because he’s our friend, Sirius.” Even Remus, who had often struggled to read social cues, could hear the lie in James’s voice. He knew he wasn’t wanted, so he turned, ready to just leave. But Lily grabbed his arm, and he winced.
“Remus, are you hurt? What happened to your arm?” She asked, taking a step forward.
“Nothing, Lily, I just wasn’t expecting you to touch me.” He hated to give them another reason to be suspicious. He didn’t miss the look James and Sirius shared. Everything he did added to their suspicion of him– there was nothing he could do that would ever make him innocent in their eyes.
“Bullshit,” Sirius said. “She asked you a question, Lupin. What happened to your arm?”
“The hell do you care, Sirius?”
Sirius just crossed his arms. He looked anywhere but at Remus’s face. “You hiding something? Got something on your arm you don’t want us to see?”
“Bloody hell, Sirius. I don’t have the dark mark.”
“Prove it then.” He challenged.
Remus paused. On one hand, he didn’t want them to see what was under his sleeves. But not for the reason they thought.
“Come off it, Sirius, he doesn’t have the dark mark!” Lily exclaimed, shooting Sirius as glare. She turned her gaze back to Remus, voice softening. “Rem, if you’re hurt, I can help you.” She, ever so gently, took his hand in hers, fingers grazing the bruised and bloody knuckles.
Sirius scowled at the gesture. “If he doesn’t want to show us, then I think it’s fairly bloody obvious what that means. Come on, Lupin. Ashamed of your new tattoo?”
Goddamnit. Sirius always knew how to get under his skin. Would it be worth it? He would have to deal with Lily’s fretting, and somehow, undoubtedly, James and Sirius would spin it to make him look more suspicious. He sighed, and pulled up his sweater sleeve just enough on both sides to prove he didn’t have a dark mark.
On his wrists were gashes. Gashes and gashes, all of varying states of healing. Some were shallow, only scratching the surface, enough to draw blood but barely leave a scar. Others reached deep into the skin, bloody and raised. He liked to do them straight; the purpose behind them contrasted with the random scars that marred his body due to the wolf.
He didn’t look up as Lily gasped, waiting for the inevitable shitshow.