Grant?
The full moon hung heavy in the sky, casting an eerie, pale glow over the castle grounds. Sirius paced nervously in the shadows near the Whomping Willow, his mind racing. Tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight, Remus was going to need him more than ever, but the looming threat of Madam Pomfrey’s intervention made everything more complicated.
Sirius hated this—hated that they had to sneak around like this, that they had to keep their friendship, their care for Remus, a secret. Madam Pomfrey had been relentless this month, insisting on keeping Remus under strict observation after the full moon. It wasn’t that Sirius didn’t trust Pomfrey—she was an excellent healer—but she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand Remus.
Remus had never wanted to be treated like some fragile thing, constantly watched, constantly guarded. He didn’t need Pomfrey’s pitying looks and quiet whispers. He needed his friends, the ones who had been there for him from the start, the ones who knew the depths of the transformation, who knew how to keep him grounded when the wolf was at its worst.
Sirius’s fists clenched as he thought of Pomfrey’s words from earlier in the day, her well-meaning but condescending insistence that Remus’s friends needed to "stay out of it." As if they hadn’t already been doing everything they could to help him. They’d gotten good at it—good at sneaking out of the castle, good at making sure Remus had someone by his side during the worst of it. But now, tonight, Pomfrey had upped the ante. She was watching the grounds more closely than ever.
Sirius could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he approached the Whomping Willow. There was no time to waste. He needed to get to the Shrieking Shack before Madam Pomfrey showed up.
With a quick glance around, he saw no sign of her. The coast was clear.
Sirius’s fingers trembled slightly as he reached up to press the knot in the trunk of the tree. The familiar mechanism clicked, and the tree’s branches stilled. He was in.
The air inside the Whomping Willow’s hollow was dank and cold, the smell of old wood and damp earth filling his nostrils as he made his way to the hidden entrance of the Shrieking Shack. He knew Remus would be inside by now, preparing for the inevitable. His stomach twisted at the thought. The full moon was never easy on Remus, but this time, with Pomfrey’s constant hovering and the tension between them all, it felt different. Worse.
Sirius arrived at the Shrieking Shack, his heart in his throat, and found the door already slightly ajar. He pushed it open cautiously, slipping inside and immediately looking for Remus. The place was dimly lit, the pale moonlight spilling through a cracked window. He could hear Remus breathing heavily, the sound of his quick, shallow breaths filling the silence.
There, in the corner of the room, was Remus, his back turned to him. He looked smaller than usual, huddled, tense—already battling the transformation. Sirius’s chest tightened at the sight of him, and his mouth went dry.
“Moony?” Sirius called softly, moving closer. “It’s me.”
Remus’s head snapped around, his eyes wide with panic. His lips parted, but no words came out. His expression was strained, his face pale, the color draining from his skin as the change began to take hold. Sirius could already see the first signs of the transformation—the clenched fists, the sharp inhale, the wildness in his eyes. Remus was slipping away, and there was nothing Sirius could do to stop it. Not for long.
“Remus,” Sirius whispered, stepping closer. “I’m not leaving.”
Remus’s mouth trembled as he tried to speak, but the words were lost beneath the animalistic growl that began to tear from his throat. His body lurched forward, and he staggered to his feet, gripping the wall as though it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“You—shouldn’t be here,” Remus’s voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Pomfrey—she—”
“I don’t care about Pomfrey,” Sirius interrupted, moving to his side in an instant, his hands hovering just above Remus’s shoulders. His heart was pounding in his chest, anxiety clawing at him as he watched Remus’s body begin to change, the tension building rapidly.
“Please,” Remus gasped, his voice a ragged plea, his eyes struggling to stay focused on Sirius. “Don’t make it harder. You can’t… You shouldn’t be here…”
“I’m staying,” Sirius said firmly, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not alone, Moony. I’m not leaving you.”
But Remus’s body was already contorting, his back arched in pain as the transformation started in earnest. His hands twisted into claws, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. Sirius’s heart ached for him, for all the pain Remus was going through, and yet there was nothing he could do to stop it. The wolf was coming, and Remus was fighting it, but he wasn’t strong enough tonight.
Sirius clenched his jaw, holding onto the belief that Remus could feel his presence—that somehow, despite everything, Remus knew he was here. But even in the madness of the transformation, he could see Remus’s face tighten in terror, his hands reaching out for the wall as though trying to hold onto something, anything, to keep the beast inside from taking over completely.
“I’m here,” Sirius repeated, more desperately this time, his voice cracking as Remus let out a cry of agony.
The sound tore through Sirius like a physical blow, and he wanted nothing more than to pull Remus into his arms, to hold him and make him forget about the pain. But there was no time. The transformation was too far along. There was only the wolf now, only the growling, the violent thrashing of the animal that had taken over.
For a moment, Sirius froze, watching helplessly as the wolf’s eyes locked with his. The raw intensity in those eyes hit him harder than he expected. The wolf didn’t care that Sirius was here. It didn’t understand his concern. It didn’t understand how much it hurt Sirius to see Remus like this—hurting, fighting, and alone.
Sirius wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. He wanted to shout at the moon for putting them in this position, for forcing them to sneak around in the shadows. He wanted to tell Remus that he didn’t have to be alone, that they didn’t have to keep this a secret. But the words were lodged in his throat, caught somewhere between frustration and something much deeper—a fear he couldn’t quite place.
And then, as though hearing Sirius’s silent plea, Remus’s eyes flickered again, the human part of him fighting through the haze of the transformation. There was a brief flash of recognition, a desperate, almost heartbreaking moment where their gazes locked.
“I’m here,” Sirius repeated, his voice a low promise. “Don’t fight it, Moony. I won’t leave you. Not ever.”
The wolf hesitated, its pace slowing, and for a brief moment, Sirius thought he might lose him—that Remus might completely disappear behind the wolf. But then, just as the transformation reached its peak, the wolf seemed to pause, its eyes narrowing, and Sirius felt the shift.
Remus’s human form started to return, slowly, agonizingly. His limbs shrank back to their human shape, and his breathing steadied. The tension left his body in slow, shaky waves, and after what felt like an eternity, Remus collapsed into Sirius’s arms, his eyes fluttering shut.
Sirius’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as he held Remus close, feeling the heat of his body as it trembled from the strain of the transformation. For a long moment, they just sat there in silence, Remus’s head resting against Sirius’s chest, their breaths coming in time with each other’s.
"I’m sorry," Remus whispered weakly, his voice barely audible.
“Shh,” Sirius murmured, his fingers brushing through Remus’s hair as he held him tighter. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not alone.
The hospital wing was quiet, save for the soft rustling of sheets and the occasional shuffle of footsteps. The heavy, cloying scent of antiseptic filled the air, making it hard to ignore the sterile, almost suffocating atmosphere that always followed the aftermath of a full moon. Remus was nestled in one of the beds near the farthest corner of the wing, his body still weak from the transformation. The events of the night were fading, slipping into the haze of post-transformation fog that usually left him exhausted, sore, and with an aching sense of defeat.
Sirius sat in the chair beside Remus’s bed, the one closest to the window, his fingers nervously tapping on the armrest. He had insisted on staying by Remus's side throughout the entire ordeal, knowing that the moments after the change were always the hardest. But even now, with the moon’s influence waning, Sirius felt the weight of what had happened.
James and Peter were at the foot of the bed, trying their best to make themselves scarce while still offering their support. James kept glancing at Remus, his expression filled with an unreadable mixture of concern and protectiveness. Peter, ever the quiet one, fidgeted with his hands, his gaze flitting between the three of them. The trio had always known what Remus needed after a full moon—space, rest, and most of all, reassurance. They didn’t need to say anything, but still, they lingered in the silence, a comforting presence.
Remus’s breathing had steadied, but his eyes were still closed, his face pale and drawn. There was a faint bruise across his cheek, a reminder of the fierce nature of the transformation. His body ached from the strain of it all, the internal battle between man and beast leaving its mark in ways both physical and mental.
“You alright, Moony?” James asked gently, breaking the silence.
Remus stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering before he opened his eyes, squinting in the dim light. It took him a few seconds to process the familiar faces around him, but once he did, his lips curled into a small, tired smile.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice rough, though there was a note of gratitude in it. “It’s just… always worse when I don’t know where I am.”
Sirius exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, his hand running through his hair. “We’re here, Moony. Always,” he said, his voice soft but firm.
Remus looked at him, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual, but he quickly looked away, his eyes dropping to the sheets. “I know,” he replied quietly. “I know.”
The room fell into another lull of silence, each of them dealing with the aftermath in their own way. For Remus, it was a silence filled with shame—a feeling he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried. He hated this part of the cycle, hated how it left him feeling so fragile, so vulnerable. It was a burden he didn’t want to share, even with the people he trusted most.
Sirius watched him, his brow furrowing as he saw Remus shrink inwardly. The guilt was always there, lurking beneath the surface, no matter how many times they told him that it wasn’t his fault. But Sirius knew how hard it was to believe those words when they seemed like empty reassurances. Remus had always been good at pretending things didn’t bother him, but Sirius could see through it—he always could.
Peter finally broke the silence, his voice hesitant. “Do you… want us to go? We can let you rest.”
Remus shook his head, his fingers twitching slightly as he gripped the blanket. “No, stay. I… don’t want to be alone.”
James nodded, stepping closer to the bed and pulling up a chair. “We’re not going anywhere, mate. We’re staying right here.”
Sirius shifted in his chair, his heart heavy as he watched Remus struggle with something unspoken, something he wasn’t sure Remus was ready to say. There was a quiet tension in the room, an unacknowledged weight that none of them wanted to address. It was the same thing every month, but it never got easier. Not for any of them.
For a moment, Sirius felt his own breath catch in his chest, the sharp pang of knowing that nothing would ever be simple for them—nothing would ever be easy, especially not with Remus. He wasn’t just their friend. He was someone they had sworn to protect, even when the odds were against them. And yet, it often felt like they were failing him.
“Remus…” Sirius started, his voice uncertain, breaking through the quiet with an edge of hesitation. “You know you don’t have to go through this alone. Not ever.”
Remus’s eyes flicked toward him, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he held himself, something that told Sirius there was more going on in Remus’s head than he let on. Remus turned his face slightly to the side, his voice quiet when he finally spoke.
“I’m not alone,” Remus said softly, but his words didn’t carry the conviction they usually did. “You’re all here. But sometimes… I feel like I’m holding you back. Like I’m a burden.”
Sirius’s chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, he stood, moving quickly to Remus’s side. His hand came to rest gently on Remus’s shoulder, squeezing lightly as if to ground both of them in the moment.
“Remus,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading, “You’re not a burden. You’re not. I know it’s hard to see it right now, but we all—” he cut himself off, words catching in his throat. “We’re in this together. Always.”
Remus met his gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes like a wound that had never quite healed. He bit his lip, a flash of self-doubt passing through his features before he spoke again, this time with a hint of deflection.
“Then why does it always feel like I’m the one who drags us down? The one who makes everything so difficult?”
The rawness in Remus’s voice made Sirius’s heart ache, and for a moment, it felt like the air in the room had thickened, pressing down on all of them. The unspoken truth was there, hovering between them, but none of them were willing to say it aloud. Not yet. The fear of losing him, of not being enough, was something none of them could confront just yet.
“You don’t drag us down, Moony,” James interjected, his voice firm but kind. “You’re our friend. Our brother. And no matter what happens, we’ll be right here.”
Remus nodded weakly, though the burden of his emotions still weighed heavily on him. He knew they meant it, but it was hard for him to accept—hard to let go of the guilt that haunted him every month, every transformation. The boy who had once been so sure of his place in their lives now doubted it all.
Sirius, still standing at his side, leaned down slightly, his voice softer this time, just for Remus. “We’ll never leave you, Moony. Not now, not ever.”
Remus didn’t respond right away, but his eyes softened, and Sirius could see the smallest flicker of something that might’ve been hope—hope that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t broken beyond repair.
The hospital wing had settled into its usual hush, the soft ticking of the wall clock the only real sound left in the room. The scent of antiseptic potions and fresh linens hung in the air, a strangely familiar comfort after all these years. The other boys had left a while ago—James had made some half-hearted excuse about finishing an essay, though the way he’d clapped Sirius on the shoulder on his way out was a dead giveaway that he was trying to give them space. Peter had followed soon after, mumbling about needing sleep.
And now it was just the two of them.
Remus had barely moved since they’d gone, propped up against his pillows, fingers restlessly smoothing over the letter in his lap. The parchment was soft at the edges from how much he’d handled it, his thumb tracing the creases as if memorizing them would somehow help him make sense of the words inside.
Across from him, Sirius sat sprawled at the foot of the bed, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He had helped himself to one of the Chocolate Frogs James had left behind, but the half-eaten thing was already forgotten beside him, his attention fixed entirely on Remus.
"You’re brooding, Moony," Sirius observed, voice light but edged with something knowing. "You only get that look when you’re thinking too much."
Remus huffed a small laugh, though it felt thin even to his own ears. "Maybe I like thinking."
"Yeah, well, sometimes you think yourself into a hole," Sirius countered, tilting his head. "Come on, what is it?"
Remus let out a slow exhale, eyes dropping back to the letter. He wasn’t sure where to start. Grant wasn’t someone he talked about. Hogwarts and St. Edmund’s—the children’s home he had grown up in—were two entirely different worlds, ones he had spent years trying to keep separate. Hogwarts was a place where he had friends, where he could pretend he was just like everyone else. St. Edmund’s was… well, it was a reminder of what he didn’t have.
And yet, this letter had managed to rip that wall down in one fell swoop.
He hesitated for a long moment before finally handing the crumpled parchment to Sirius.
Sirius took it without question, unfolding it with a slight frown. As his eyes landed on the writing, he made a face.
"What the—?" He squinted. "Is this English?"
Remus let out a breath of something that was almost a laugh. "More or less."
Sirius looked back at the letter like it had personally offended him, tilting it to catch the dim light of the lantern on the bedside table.
"Moony, this is worse than your handwriting," he said, squinting harder.
"That’s saying something," Remus muttered, running a tired hand through his hair.
Sirius cleared his throat and began reading aloud, slow and uncertain.
"Moony, u won’t beleve it. Got adopted. Real house, real bed an all. Crazy, innit? Thought bout u soon as I new. Dunno if this’ll reach u. They say ur at some fancy school, bet ur top of the class, all that. Miss u. Hope ur alright. U alright?"
He glanced up, eyebrows raised. "This your mate from the Muggle home?"
Remus nodded stiffly.
Sirius looked back down and kept going.
"U shud come see me. If u can. Probly can’t. But if u can. Miss u. Always did."
Silence stretched between them. Sirius flipped the parchment over, like he was expecting more. When he found nothing, he turned back to Remus, his expression unreadable.
"That’s it?"
Remus hesitated. Then nodded. "That’s it."
Sirius tilted his head. "Alright, Moony, help me out here. Why does this look like it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?"
Remus ran a hand down his face, frustration curling in his gut. Not at Sirius—he wasn’t doing anything wrong—but at himself. At how bloody difficult this was to explain.
"He never wrote before," Remus said quietly. "Not once in all these years. And now he does, just to tell me he got adopted. Like it’s some casual thing."
Sirius leaned back on his hands, frowning. "I mean… maybe it is? Maybe he just thought you’d want to know."
Remus pressed his lips together. He should have expected Sirius not to get it. "I thought—I don’t know. I thought I mattered more than that."
Sirius’ frown deepened. "You do matter."
"Not enough for him to tell me he was leaving," Remus shot back. The words came out sharper than he intended, but Sirius didn’t flinch.
"You were kids," Sirius reasoned. "Maybe he thought it would be easier not to say anything."
Remus let out a humorless laugh. "You don’t understand."
Sirius was quiet for a moment, then shrugged. "Maybe not. But I know you, and I know that you getting this worked up over some Muggle bloke from years ago means he meant a lot to you."
Remus looked away. His throat felt tight.
"Yeah," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "He did."
Sirius nodded like that was enough of an answer. "So what are you gonna do? Write him back?"
Remus exhaled slowly. He had no idea.
"I don’t know," he admitted again. "I don’t know if I want to."
Sirius studied him for a moment longer, tapping his fingers against the mattress absentmindedly. "Well, whatever you decide, you’re not doing it alone."
Something in Remus’ chest ached at that. He swallowed down whatever emotion threatened to rise, nodding back. "Yeah."
Sirius stretched, yawning as he pulled himself up. "Right. Well, since you’re not dying and you’ve officially met your brooding quota for the day, I’m off to bed before Madam Pomfrey comes back and kicks me out."
Remus huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Go before she catches you."
Sirius grinned and made his way toward the door. But before he slipped out, he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Seriously, Moony. Don’t let this eat you alive."
Remus forced a small smile. "No promises."
Sirius snorted, giving him a lazy salute before disappearing down the corridor.
Remus sat in the quiet for a long time, the letter still clutched in his hands. He traced Grant’s messy handwriting one more time, the words sinking into his chest like stones.
It wasn’t just the fact that Grant had been adopted. It was the fact that he hadn’t.
That after all these years, St. Edmund’s was still technically his home.
And the worst part?
It always would be.