Shame and Sorrow
Sirius sat in the bed, eyes wide as saucers as he heard Remus gagging into the bowl. Holy shit. Had he misjudged? Did Remus care? I mean the man was throwing up his guts at the mere mention of not giving a shit, so it would be a valid assumption. Sirius gasped for air as tears began to run down his face. Breaking all the rules now, huh? Her voice screamed back at him in his head, warring with his own that was shaming him for this in the first place. The world blurred in and out as retching continued to ring in his ears, the stinging smell of the hospital burning his nose. It was all too much. His body couldn’t handle the stress, not so soon after returning to consciousness. Sirius passed out with tears drying on his cheeks and guilt rising in his throat.
The next time he woke Remus wasn’t next to him. It caused the heir to jolt, ignoring the shooting pain that traveled from his head to his toes as he frantically seeked out a mess of blonde hair. He was outside. He stood like a statue outside the room’s door. It made sense, he was a guard, but for a second Sirius could’ve sworn he was so much more.
The next week passed in a blur of barely there conversations and hazy memories. After a few days of observation and a lengthy talk about sending him to an inpatient mental facility, to which both his mother and Remus declined profusely, he was sent home under the notion he would be monitored every second of every day. Remus’ face held no emotion in it during the car ride home even as Sirius stared down the man, tracing every line and scar on his weathered yet young face. Sirius was confined to the couch as his wounds healed, not allowed anywhere near the kitchen. In the time they’d been gone another crony of Maman’s had essentially baby-proofed the flat. The knives were locked away, corners had silicone placed over them, the wall was fixed but not painted, and all drugs were locked in a safe in Remus’ room. When Sirius was more himself and not still coming off the hospital medications, Remus called Evan and Barty over. They didn’t talk in front of him and Sirius felt strangely like a child again, remembering hushed conversations his parents held in shadowed corners. It made him anxious beyond belief, but he wouldn’t dare tell them. No. They wouldn’t know he was fragile. If they wanted an heir, they would get one. It was at the expense of Sirius’ own morals, sure, but after three more days of hidden conversations he was done. So he walked his posh ass in there and demanded what he deserved.
The door swung open, lock picked so clean none of them noticed.
“What the fuck have you three been talking about?”