Fractured Walls

Remus woke with a start, his breath catching in his throat. The hospital wing was silent, save for the occasional rustle of fabric as he shifted under the blankets. He felt groggy, his limbs heavy from the potions Madam Pomfrey had given him before she retired for the night. The calming draught was supposed to keep him asleep until morning, but it hadn’t worked. Moony was restless.

His senses were sharper than they should be. He could smell the faint remnants of antiseptic potions, the waxy scent of old candle smoke, and beneath it all, the metallic tang of blood. It sent a ripple of unease through him, because he knew exactly where it was coming from.

Severus.

Moony growled low in his chest, a deep, sorrowful sound that didn’t reach his lips but throbbed somewhere deep inside him. It was an urging, a pull—his instincts demanding that he move, that he see. Remus clenched his jaw and fisted the sheets in his hands, willing himself to stay put, to ignore it.

But he couldn’t.

Because the bond between them was there. Because Severus was right there, in the bed across from him, still and silent, and Remus had never felt more sick with himself in his life.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, barely feeling the cold of the floor as he pushed himself upright. His body protested the movement—he was still weak, still recovering from the full moon—but the ache was nothing compared to the weight pressing down on his chest.

Slowly, cautiously, he made his way toward Severus’s bed. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do this, wasn’t sure if Severus would hex him into oblivion if he woke up and found him standing there.

But he couldn’t stop himself.

His breath caught when he got close enough to see him properly.

Severus looked… small. Too pale against the white sheets, his sharp features slack in unconsciousness. Madam Pomfrey had done her best, Remus could see that, but the wounds hadn’t vanished completely. Some were still healing, thin layers of ointment glistening dully over them. And then there was the mark.

Remus swallowed hard.

It was there, a cauldron wreathed in delicate flowers, the steam curling into the shape of a wolf—his wolf. And it was ruined. Sliced through with jagged cuts, a shimmering, faintly glowing layer of magic covering it as if to keep the wound from breaking open again. Madam Pomfrey had tried to heal it, but the damage was deep, deeper than skin.

Remus reached out before he could think better of it.

His fingers hovered over the mark, so close but not touching, afraid of causing more harm. He wasn’t sure if it was the pull of the bond or something else entirely, but it felt… wrong to see it like this. It wasn’t just that it was hurt—it was that Severus had done it himself.

He felt his throat tighten, his breath stutter in his chest. He was supposed to be the one protecting Severus, the one who was meant to love him, but instead—

Instead, he had helped drive him to this.

A hot tear slipped down his cheek, and he sucked in a sharp breath, horrified with himself. He wiped at his face quickly, ashamed, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Because this was his fault, wasn’t it? He hadn’t cast the spells, hadn’t wielded the wand, but he had stood by. He had laughed along, had let his friends treat Severus like he was nothing.

Another tear fell, and he finally, finally let his fingertips brush along the uninjured edge of the mark, featherlight, barely there. The touch sent something electric through him, something raw and painful and right.

And now it was ruined.

A choked sound caught in his throat, and he forced himself to pull away. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t—

A sudden, low hiss made him freeze.

His head snapped up, his watery vision clearing just in time to see a massive black Kneazle slinking out from under the hospital bed. Its eyes gleamed in the dim candlelight, sharp and intelligent, and fixed entirely on him.

Remus’s breath stuttered in his chest. He took an instinctive step back as the Kneazle slowly prowled forward, its tail lashing behind it. It looked furious, the sound in its throat low and threatening.

“Easy…” Remus whispered, holding his hands up slightly, as if that would do anything to calm it. The Kneazle did not ease. Instead, it let out another, more vicious hiss, its ears flattening against its head as it crept closer.

Remus didn’t dare move as it reached the edge of the bed, leapt up with effortless grace, and curled itself protectively around Severus’s side. Its body stretched along his ribs, its head resting just next to his uninjured shoulder. It was still watching him, though, golden eyes sharp and accusing.

Remus swallowed.

“I get it,” he murmured hoarsely. “I—” He swallowed again, scrubbing at his face with the sleeve of his hospital robe. “I deserve it.”

The Kneazle’s ears twitched, but it didn’t move from its place. It simply watched.

Remus exhaled shakily and took a slow step back, then another, retreating to his own bed. His heart still thundered in his chest, but the overwhelming feeling clawing at his insides had dulled slightly.

His gaze drifted back to Severus, still unmoving, the Kneazle curled up like a sentry at his side.

And for the first time, Remus knew exactly what he had to do.

He just didn’t know if Severus would ever let him.

Albus had barely slept. The weight of the previous night sat heavy on his chest, pressing against him with every breath. The moment his eyes had closed, he had seen the scars, the wounds both visible and unseen, playing over and over in his mind. Severus, slumped against the bed, his words slurred and raw, the smell of firewhiskey still on his breath. Maybe he should’ve drowned me when I was born.

Dumbledore exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He had spent the early morning searching through tomes on dark magic, trying to find a curse that left these types of wounds resistant to professional magical healing. He had found nothing. Nothing that fit, nothing that explained why Madam Pomfrey could not fully mend the scars on Severus’s soulmark.

Which left him with two possibilities—either Severus had found and used something truly obscure, or he had done something else entirely. Something deliberate. Something that could affect the bond itself. Was he trying to sever it? To weaken it? Or did he simply want to erase the image, to rid himself of a reminder he could not bear to see?

Before he could continue his research, he needed to check on the boys.

When he arrived at the hospital wing, the morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting long, pale beams across the stone floor. Poppy was already tending to Remus, sitting beside his bed, speaking to him in a soft, measured tone. She held a tray of food in her lap, occasionally coaxing him to take another bite.

“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked gently.

Remus, pale and hollow-eyed, hesitated before answering. “I’m fine.”

Poppy gave him a pointed look. “You are not fine, and we both know it.”

A weak, almost guilty smile flickered across the boy’s face before fading just as quickly. He looked exhausted, emotionally wrung dry, and Albus noted the way he kept glancing towards the bed across the room. Towards Severus.

Albus followed his gaze and felt something stir in his chest.

Severus was still unconscious, his breaths slow and steady, his body unmoving. But what caught Albus’s attention wasn’t the boy himself—it was the creature lying beside him.

A Kneazle.

Large, and sleek the beast was curled up protectively at Severus’s side, its dark, glossy coat rippling over well-defined muscles. Its sharp golden eyes flickered to them, its tail twitching in warning. It did not relax. Did not move. Simply watched, wary and waiting, as if daring them to come closer.

Albus had not known Severus had a pet. And a Kneazle, no less. They were intelligent creatures, independent and, at times, aggressive. They had an uncanny ability to detect untrustworthy people, and yet… they bonded fiercely with those they deemed worthy. Protective, loyal, dangerous.

And this one is guarding Severus like a sentry.

Poppy must have noticed his focus, because she sighed, shaking her head. “I found her here this morning,” she explained. “She won’t leave his side. Not for food, not for water. Just stays there, watching anyone who comes too close.”

Albus hummed thoughtfully.

Poppy arched a brow. “I tried a few spells to move her, gentle ones, of course, but nothing worked. Magical creatures aren’t my expertise. The damage they can cause? Certainly. But handling them? That’s another matter. I’ve sent for Kettleburn, perhaps he’ll know what to do.”

Albus barely heard her. He was still watching the Kneazle, the way it flicked its tail, the slow, deliberate way its eyes moved between him and Remus. This creature wasn’t merely protective. It was assessing them. Judging them. And Albus did not like the conclusions it seemed to be drawing.

“She is quite… aggressive?” he murmured, half a question.

“To everyone but Severus,” Poppy confirmed.

Albus nodded slowly. It made sense. If a Kneazle had chosen Severus, truly chosen him, then it meant something. They did not bond easily. They did not attach to those unworthy of their trust. And yet, this one had, despite everything, despite everyone.

And what did that say about how the world had treated this boy, that a magical beast had taken up the role of his guardian where others had failed?

Albus exhaled, his gaze drifting back to Poppy. “Is Severus better?”

She adjusted the blanket covering him, tucking it a little closer. “Still unconscious. Between the alcohol, the blood loss, and the potions, his body all but shut down to recover. He’ll likely sleep through the day.”

A knot of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding unwound slightly in Albus’s chest. At least for now, at least for today, he was not suffering. And for that he was glad. 

Another child lost due to his own blindness was not something he could bear. And Severus's pale and still form reminded him of his own sister that fateful day.

Not again.

The Kneazle’s tail flicked sharply, breaking him from his thoughts.

Albus sighed. There was much to do.

Remus’s head was killing him. A sharp, persistent ache throbbed behind his eyes, the kind of pain that left his vision slightly blurred at the edges. He clenched his jaw and tried to ignore it, but it was difficult when Moony refused to recede. It had been four days since the full moon—this wasn’t normal. His body should have begun its slow return to equilibrium, yet Moony remained, a low, insistent presence pressing against his thoughts. The wolf was restless and agitated.

He forced himself to take another bite of food, even though he could barely taste it. Madam Pomfrey had all but shoved the plate into his hands, insisting he eat something. He had complied if only to keep her from fussing over him more than she already was. Across the room, Severus remained unconscious, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. And beside him, curled protectively along his side, was the enormous black Kneazle.

She was still watching him, her golden eyes sharp, tail flicking every so often in a silent warning. The way she lay against Severus’s side, protective, unwavering—it made Remus feel sick with himself.

You should have been the one protecting him.

The thought was bitter, laced with guilt, but before he could dwell on it further, the doors to the hospital wing swung open.

“Good morning, all!”

Remus flinched at the sheer volume of the voice that filled the room, his head throbbing in protest. Professor Kettleburn entered with his usual boisterous energy, his wooden leg tapping against the floor as he strode in. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he glanced at Dumbledore and Pomfrey, and then his gaze landed on Poppy.

“And a very good morning to you, my dear Poppy,” Kettleburn said with a grin, tipping an imaginary hat. “You’re looking positively radiant today.”

Madam Pomfrey scoffed, crossing her arms, but the slight flush that colored her cheeks did not go unnoticed by Remus. “Silvanus, we have a problem.”

Remus, caught somewhere between exhausted and bemused, blinked. What the hell? That was… oddly cute. He never would have guessed Pomfrey could blush like that.

Albus, ever composed, cleared his throat before stepping forward. “Indeed, Silvanus. The Kneazle in question appears to be rather attached to Severus. We were hoping you could help remove her.”

Kettleburn turned his attention toward the bed, and the moment his eyes landed on the massive feline, his grin widened. “Ah, Iole sneaking in again, is she?” He let out a booming laugh and shook his head. “Not surprised in the slightest.”

Kettleburn grinned as he stroked Iole’s sleek coat. Remus thought about it for a moment—he had never met a creature that disliked him. He wasn’t even sure how Kettleburn had managed to lose an eye, a leg, and an arm. Surely no beast would intentionally hurt him? It was an odd realization, one that lingered in the back of his mind.

“You know her?”

“Oh, of course!” Kettleburn said while Iole was purring. “She was the runt of the litter, poor thing. Got bullied something awful by her siblings.” He turned to Remus with a knowing grin. “Your year helped care for them, remember, lad?”

Remus stiffened slightly. He did remember. Third year. They had taken care of a litter of orphan Kneazles for a class project. Everyone had gravitated toward the more playful ones, but Severus…

Severus had chosen the smallest one. The weakest. The one the others ignored or mocked.

Remus had never forgotten that, though he had forced himself to pretend he had. His friends had laughed about it. “Of course Snivellus picked the reject.” And Remus had done nothing. Had said nothing. But at the time, he had thought it was—endearing. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He had noticed these things about Severus, but he had buried them deep, where no one—where he—could see them.

“She took to Severus early on, he spoiled her rotten when she was little,” Kettleburn continued, scratching under Iole’s chin as she let out a pleased rumble. “Always following him, curling up in his lap when she could.” He let out a fond sigh. “I’d wager he’s been sneaking her in ever since.”

Poppy, still flushed but now looking unimpressed, huffed. “And you didn’t do anything about it?”

Kettleburn spread his hands in a grand gesture of innocence. “Would have if I’d known, of course.”

Remus was certain he was lying. And from the unimpressed expressions on both Albus and Poppy’s faces, they clearly didn’t believe him either.

Kettleburn sighed and straightened. “Now then, is Severus all right? What happened? Why is he here?” His face was uncharacteristically serious, brows furrowing. “Brilliant lad. Good with beasts—not all, but he’s got a touch for many.”

Remus glanced at Severus, still pale, still motionless, and his chest tightened. Of course they trust him. He understands being hurt.

His thoughts were interrupted by Dumbledore, “He is recovering.”

Kettleburn nodded, concern flickering in his eyes. “Good. He’s always been resilient.”

Remus found himself thinking that Kettleburn was likely the only professor who had ever given Sirius and James a hard time. If not for his firm no-bullying stance and his soft spot for Severus, Remus was sure he would have been one of Sirius’s favorite professors. But…

Kettleburn sighed and straightened. “Now then, I suppose we should take the lady here.” He reached down to scoop Iole up, but the moment his hands touched her, she let out a sharp hiss, ears flattening as she bared her teeth.

He pulled back, laughing. “Well, aren't you feisty?”

The Headmaster studied the Kneazle thoughtfully, while Kettleburn went for his wand carefully. “Is she dangerous to leave here?”

Kettleburn hummed. “Not if no one means Severus harm. If someone does—” He paused, and his gaze flickered to Remus for just a moment, eyes sharp, unreadable. Remus felt his stomach drop. “Then I suspect they’ll have a bit of a problem.”

Remus looked down at his hands, his pulse hammering in his ears. He didn’t dare look up, but he felt Kettleburn’s eyes on him.

Poppy sighed but didn’t argue, though Remus could tell she wasn’t particularly thrilled by the idea. He suspected she was a little afraid of Iole, which was fair—she was big, and she had already proven she wasn’t afraid to make her feelings known.

Albus turned to Kettleburn. “Silvanus, might I have a word in my office?”

Kettleburn clapped a hand on Dumbledore’s shoulder. “Of course, my dear fellow.” Then he turned to Poppy with a wink. “Don’t miss me too much, love.”

Poppy rolled her eyes, flustered but trying to pretend she wasn’t. She busied herself checking on Severus, careful not to disturb Iole, who flicked her tail in warning but did not otherwise react.

Remus sat still, his mind swirling, his chest tight and Moony scalling his walls from the inside.