Orbiting

Remus

The shadows of night slowly retreated as dawn's pale fingers crept through the leaded windows of Gryffindor Hall. Remus tossed and turned in his four-poster bed, the sheets tangled around his legs like grasping tendrils. His brow furrowed deeply, eyes darting rapidly beneath closed lids as he was held captive by the cruel machinations of his subconscious.

In the realm of his nightmare, Remus found himself once again a small, frightened child, cowering before the towering figure of his father. Lyall Lupin's face, twisted into a mask of disgust and revulsion as he regarded his son.

The spectral visage of Lyall loomed larger, his voice a thunderous growl that ricocheted through Remus's bones. "Abomination," he spat, the word a dagger that pierced Remus's heart. "You're no son of mine."

Remus shrank back, his small frame trembling as his father's shadow engulfed him. The air grew thick, and oppressive, as if the very atmosphere conspired against him. Lyall's hand, calloused and rough, raised high above his head, a harbinger of the pain to come. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into an eternity as Remus watched, helpless, paralyzed by fear.

The first blow landed with a sickening crack, reverberating through Remus's skull. Stars exploded behind his eyes, a galaxy of agony blooming across his vision. He tasted copper, felt warmth trickle down his chin. His father's ring had split his lip, a physical manifestation of the emotional wounds being inflicted.

“Please, stop! Please! Please! Stop!” Remus screamed, his vocal cords feeling like they were being ripped to shreds.

"Disgusting," Lyall snarled as he hit Remus again and again.

"Remus! Remus!" A voice echoed through the cacophony of his nightmare, distant at first, like a whisper carried on a restless wind. It grew stronger, more insistent, piercing through the veil of terror that enshrouded him. Briefly, Remus thought it was his mother, coming to rescue him from his father's wrath. But no, the timbre was wrong, too deep, too masculine.

The dreamscape began to fracture, reality seeping through the cracks of morning mist. The looming figure of his father wavered, becoming insubstantial, a specter dissolving in the light of day.

"Remus, wake up!” the voice called again. He could feel hands around his shoulders shaking him in time with the words.

Remus' eyes snapped open, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he sat up in bed. He was drenched in sweat, his heart racing with the remnants of fear from his nightmare. It took him a minute to register that he was safe, that he was no longer a helpless child at the mercy of his father's wrath.

James's brow wrinkled as he studied Remus's face. The usual mischievousness was replaced by a somber gravity that seemed out of place on his normally carefree appearance. His wild hair stood on end as if he had rushed from his own bed in haste to Remus's aid.

"Bloody hell," James breathed, his hands trembling slightly as he still gripped Remus's shoulders. "Are you alright?"

Remus blinked, his vision still blurry with the remnants of sleep and unshed tears. The concern in James's eyes was almost too much to bear, a stark reminder of the vulnerability he had just unwittingly displayed. He swallowed hard, his throat sore from screaming, and attempted to compose himself.

"I'm... fine," Remus managed to croak, his voice hoarse. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, as acrid as the lingering fear that clung to him like a second skin. He could still feel the phantom pain of his father's blows, could still hear the words rattling in his mind.

James's grip on his shoulders loosened, but the worry didn't leave his face. "That was more than just a bad dream, mate. You were screaming bloody murder."

Shame washed over Remus like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him in its depths. He averted his gaze, unable to meet James's eyes. The worry woven in his friend's face was a mirror reflecting his own weakness, a testament to the demons he had failed to keep at bay. He ran an unsteady hand through his sweat-dampened hair, buying time as he struggled to find words.

"It's nothing," Remus mumbled, his fingers still trembling. "Just... old memories."

James opened his mouth as if to press further, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he released Remus's shoulders and sat back on the edge of the bed. The early morning light filtering through the dormitory windows accentuated the lines of worry etched in James’ features.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" James said tenderly, "about anything."

Remus nodded, unable to find his voice. The weight of James's words hung heavy in the air between them, a bridge of understanding that Remus was too afraid to cross. He knew that James meant well, that his offer was genuine, but the thought of exposing the depths of his pain, of laying bare the scars that marred not just his body but his soul, made the bile rise in his stomach.

The silence stretched between them. It was a tribute to their growing friendship that James didn't push, didn't demand answers that Remus wasn't ready to give.

Slowly, the tension began to ebb from Remus's body, his muscles unclenching as the adrenaline of his nightmare faded. The room came into sharper focus, the familiar surroundings of the Gryffindor dormitory grounding him in the present. The gentle rustling of leaves outside the window, the faint scent of old books and tea that permeated the air all served as anchors, tethering him to reality.

James shifted slightly, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. The movement seemed to break the spell of silence that had fallen over them. He cleared his throat "Listen, mate, I won't pretend to understand what you're going through.” he began, his voice earnest, "and I know you're not ready to talk about it—which is okay. But I want you to know that when you are ready, I'm here."

Remus felt a lump forming, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. James's unwavering support and quiet acceptance were a balm to Remus's battered soul.

A small smile tugged at the corners of James’ mouth. It wasn't his usual broad grin, but something softer, more understanding. He reached out and gave Remus's shoulder a gentle squeeze, the gesture speaking volumes where words failed.

"Why don't you get cleaned up?" James suggested. "I'll wait for you in the common room, and we can head down to breakfast together."

As he moved towards the door, Remus felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to say something more. "James," he called out, his voice still rough but steadier now. James turned, eyebrows raised in question. "I... I appreciate it. Really." He deflated a little, knowing that the words were inadequate.

James's smile widened slightly, a glimmer of his usual brightness returning to his face. "Anytime, mate," he replied softly before slipping out of the dormitory, leaving Remus alone with his thoughts.

For a long moment, Remus sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the door through which James had disappeared. He let James’ kindness settle over him like a comforting blanket, at once reassuring and overwhelming. It was a stark contrast to the cold indifference he had grown accustomed to, a reminder that perhaps he wasn't as alone as he had always believed.

Steeling himself, Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as his bare feet made contact with the cold floor. He stood slowly, his muscles aching from tensing them all night. His eyes fell upon the simple wooden cane propped against his bedside table, its gold handle catching the sun's rays through the window. It was a physical manifestation of his father's presence, a constant companion that Remus both relied on and resented.

He reached out, his hand hovering mere centimeters from the smooth wood. With a burst of rage, Remus picked it up and threw it with all the force he could muster. The cane clattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the empty room like a hollow laugh. Remus stared at it, he felt a perverse satisfaction in the act of defiance, but it was quickly replaced by self-loathing. He knew he would need it, knew the pain would come creeping back like an unwelcome guest, but for now, he reveled in this small rebellion.

With a resigned sigh, Remus turned away from the fallen cane and limped toward the bathroom. Each step sent a stabbing sensation through his leg. He approached the mirror above the sink, and the face that stared back was a pallid reflection of his usual self, dark circles underlining his brown eyes—evidence of his restless night. His hair was tangled, and a faint sheen of sweat still clung to his brow.

Remus splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the remnants of his nightmare. With practiced movements, he began his morning routine. He brushed his teeth, tamed his hair, and pulled on fresh clothes, each action a small step towards normalcy. As he reached for his medication, he caught sight of his reflection once more. The boy in the mirror looked composed, put-together, a far cry from the quivering wreck he had been mere minutes ago. It was a mask, he knew that, but it would do for now. Carefully, he extracted three pills from the bottle and swallowed them with a small twist of spite in his gut.

With a deep breath, he turned away from the mirror, his gaze falling once more on the discarded cane. The earlier outburst made him feel a bit childish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much. Slowly, he made his way across the room, each step a careful negotiation between pride and necessity. He bent down, wincing as his muscles protested, and retrieved the cane. Its familiar weight in his hand was both a comfort and a curse. Remus considered it before depositing it on his bed and leaving the room.

Breakfast helped settle Remus's stomach after taking his medication on an empty one, but his four-spread toast felt like ash in his mouth. James sat across him, casting furtive glances his way, but mercifully refrained from asking further questions instead he just chatted idly about one of his classes.

“Sirius and Peter should be here soon. I know you have a later start today. Feel like sticking ‘round before class?” James asked.

“Think I’m going to bunk off class today. Probably just gonna head back to the room.” Remus said picking at his remaining food. “Mind if I borrow your vinyl player?”

James leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Are you sure you're alright to be alone? I could skip with you, keep you company."

Remus felt a surge of warmth at James's offer, but he shook his head. "I'll be fine. I just need some time to... decompress." He managed a smile, hoping to assuage his friend's worries.

James nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced but didn’t push the matter. "Alright, mate. The player's all yours. Just... take care of yourself, yeah?"

"I will," Remus promised, the words feeling heavy on his tongue.

As he made his way back to the dormitory, Remus felt the emotions of the morning catching up with him. Saltwater filled his eyes and his breathing was growing heavy. By the time he reached his room, his chest was heaving with suppressed emotion. The moment the door closed behind him, he leaned against it, letting out a shuddering breath. The tears that had threatened to fall during his walk back now flowed freely, hot trails of salt marking his cheeks.

He made his way to James's side of the room, his steps unsteady without his cane. The vinyl player sat on the desk, a stack of records beside it. Remus's fingers shook as he flipped through the albums, finally settling on one that seemed to match his mood.

As the first notes of Pink Moon filled the room, Remus sank onto his bed. He lay there, body curling in on itself, letting the music envelop him like a cocoon. The haunting melody seemed to give voice to the hurt swirling within him, a catharsis of sound that both soothed and amplified his suffering.

Remus clutched at his pillow, knuckles turning white as he pressed his face into its softness. The first scream erupted from his throat, muffled by the pillow but no less powerful. It was a primal sound, filled with years of pent-up anguish and rage. The scream tore through him like a hurricane, shaking his entire body with its force. His lungs burned, desperate for air, but he couldn't stop. He screamed until his throat was raw, until the pillow was damp with tears and saliva. He screamed for the child he had been, cowering before his father's wrath. He screamed for the man he was becoming, forever marked by his past. He screamed until there was nothing left, until his voice gave out and all that remained were hoarse, choked sobs.

—-

Sirius

Not long after Remus disappeared from the table, Sirius strolled up to the table, Peter at his heels.

"James!" Sirius exclaimed, setting his plate on the table. “Dining alone this morning, are we?”

James glanced up at Sirius, his usual jovial demeanor subdued. "Remus was here earlier," he said, pushing his half-eaten breakfast around his plate. "He's gone back to the room. Not feeling well."

Sirius scanned James's face. "Is he alright?" he asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.

James hesitated, weighing his words carefully. He knew Remus valued his privacy, but the haunted look in Remus’ eyes this morning had shaken him. "He had a rough night," James finally said.

Peter, who had been quietly nibbling a sausage, looked up. "That’s too bad," he murmured. "Is he ill?"

“No, I think he is working through something. Needed some rest.” James replied, trying not to give anything away.

"What do you mean?" Sirius pressed, his tone growing more intense.

James gave him a meaningful look. “I don’t think it’s really my place to say.”

The rhythmic tapping of Sirius's fingers on the table filled the momentary awkwardness that had settled. "Right," he said, his voice measured. "And you're sure he's alright on his own?"

James ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, a habit that betrayed his unease. "He said he wanted some time alone. I offered to stay with him, but..." He trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

Sirius nodded, his jaw clenching slightly. He picked up his muffin but didn't eat it, instead tearing it into small pieces. "Maybe I should check on him," he mused, more to himself than to the others.

Peter piped up, "Do you think that's a good idea? If he said he wanted to be alone..."

Sirius shot Peter a look that silenced him mid-sentence. "I'm not going to barge in," he snapped, his tone defensive. "I just... I want to make sure he's okay."

James studied Sirius, watching the way he continued to shred the muffin into increasingly smaller pieces. There was something in Sirius's demeanor that gave James pause.

"Look," James said, "I know you mean well, but Remus... he's dealing with something pretty heavy. I think we need to respect his wishes and give him space."

Sirius's fingers stilled, the remnants of his muffin scattered across his plate like crumbs of discontent. He stared at the mess he'd made thinking about his need to get to Remus.

"Fine," he muttered, reaching for his fork and stabbing at his eggs with unnecessary force. He just needed to bide his time until he could slip away unnoticed.

The minutes crawled by, each tick of the clock on the wall feeling like an eternity. Sirius's leg bounced restlessly under the table, his fingers returning to drumming an erratic rhythm. He caught James watching him, but Sirius ignored it, focusing instead on the intricate patterns of his half-empty plate.

Finally, he pushed himself up from the table with the excuse of class and set off in the direction of the dorm. He sprinted across the grounds. His heart raced, not from exertion, but from the thought of James' words that lingered in his mind. He paused at the door, his hand resting on the cool metal of the handle as the sound of music drifted from the room.

Gently he pushed the door open, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. The room was dim, curtains drawn against the morning light. It took a second for Sirius's vision to adjust, but when it did, he saw Remus curled up on his bed, back to the door.

Sirius stood there, suddenly unsure. The vulnerability in Remus's posture, the way his shoulders shook as he cried. But then, wordlessly, he saw Remus extend one hand out. Without thinking he crossed the room and interlaced his fingers with Remus's, feeling the slight tremor that ran through the other boy's body. Keeping a firm hold on the hand in his, Sirius eased himself onto the bed, carefully curling against Remus’ back, making sure not to jostle his leg.

The vinyl player spun softly in the corner, its melancholic melody weaving through the air. Remus didn't turn to face Sirius, but his grip on his hand tightened. They lay there in silence, the rise and fall of their breaths slowly synchronizing. He felt the tension in Remus’ muscles begin to unwind like a tightly coiled spring finally allowed to relax.

Sirius had the thought that this might be the most pure version of Remus anyone had ever seen. It broke his heart, yet he also felt they were kindred spirits in some twisted way. At this moment, he understood precisely what James meant when he said they were alike. He often struggled to hide his emotions, but they usually manifested as sarcastic remarks. He never allowed anyone, not even James, to witness the side of himself that was on display right in front of him.

"What if," Remus started, voice barely audible. "my father was right."

Sirius’ thumb traced soothing circles on Remus’ skin. "Right about what," he murmured.

"That I'm..." Remus's voice cracked, thick with emotion. "That I'm disgusting, unnatural…depraved."

Sirius felt as though he'd been struck. The words hung in the air between them, heavy and poisonous. His mind was transported back to Grimmauld Place, his mother's shrill voice howling through the halls, hurling those same vicious words at him. The pain in Remus's voice was achingly familiar.

"No," Sirius whispered fiercely, shaking his head. "No, Remus. You're not... you're none of those things." He swallowed hard, fighting against the lump in his throat. "Your father... he's wrong. So fucking wrong. I know what it’s like when the people who are supposed to love you feed you hate. It’s like they rip out everything and only leave a shell. All those things he said to you come from a place of fear. They fear it because they can’t understand it. They only understand control. You are enough. You have always been enough." He pressed a tender kiss to the nape of Remus’ neck.

"He did this to me." The words sounded like a small child confessing. "He... he's the reason I need the cane. The reason I'm..." Remus's voice trailed off, choked with emotion.

Sirius felt a surge of anger, white-hot and all-consuming. He wanted to find Remus's father, to make him pay for the pain he'd inflicted. But he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the trembling form beside him.

"You're not broken, Remus," Sirius murmured, his voice low and fierce. "You're strong. He tightened his arms around Remus as if he could shield him from the world's cruelty. "What happened to you... it wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve it."

Remus didn’t say anything, but Sirius felt the slight shake of his shoulders and heard the muffled sobs that Remus tried to stifle. He could feel his own eyes burning with unshed tears. He wished he could take away Remus's pain, and absorb it into himself, but he knew he couldn't.

As Remus’ cries gradually subsided, Sirius felt him shift, turning his head just enough to see Remus’ face. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, a kaleidoscope of suffering.

"I'm glad you found me." The familiar words fell from Remus’ mouth, fragile like spun glass.

Sirius felt his heart constrict. He brought their intertwined hands to his lips and placed a small kiss on Remus’ skin. "I'll always find you," he murmured.

The intimacy of the moment was not lost on him, and he found himself marveling at how natural it felt to hold Remus like this.