Chapter 5
Remus swung his legs over the edge of the hospital bed, rubbing his temples as Madam Pomfrey fussed over him one last time.
“You’re free to go, dear,” she said, though she didn’t step back immediately. Her hands hovered near his shoulders, as if she wanted to steady him even though he had already stood. “But if anything feels off—anything at all—you come back to me. Understood?”
Remus gave a small smile, though it felt hollow even to him. “Understood.”
She hesitated, then sighed, lowering her voice. “I know how hard this is,” she said gently. “I’ve treated you for years, Remus. I’ve seen you at your worst, and I’ve seen you grow. You may not always believe it, but you are a good boy. And you deserve love.”
Remus swallowed hard, caught off guard by the unexpected kindness. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve her concern, her care. He didn’t deserve any of it. Not after what he had done. Not after what he had let happen.
He nodded, forcing himself to meet her eyes even as the guilt burned in his chest. “Thank you.”
She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “Go on, then. Try to take it easy today.”
Remus turned, glancing once more at Severus. He was still unconscious, still pale, his dark hair stark against the white pillow. But it wasn’t Severus that held Remus frozen in place—it was Iole.
The Kneazle had her head lifted, her sharp golden eyes locked onto his own. There was no sound and yet, Remus felt as though she had just spoken. As though she had judged him and found him unworthy.
His chest tightened. He looked away and left the hospital wing, the weight of the Kneazle’s gaze lingering long after he was gone.
By the time Remus arrived at his first class of the day, he felt like a ghost moving through the castle. He had missed breakfast, but Pomfrey had feed him, so at least he wasn’t starving. It didn’t do much to settle his stomach, though.
The moment he stepped inside the classroom, he barely had time to take his seat before the Marauders were on him.
“Oi, where the hell were you last night?” Sirius demanded, his voice low but urgent as he slid into the seat beside him.
James leaned forward, frowning. “Yeah, you had the map on your patrol. You never came back. We thought maybe you’d come in after we fell asleep, but you weren’t there this morning either. You missed breakfast.”
Peter, eyes wide, nodded quickly. “Did something happen?”
Remus forced a tired smile, running a hand through his hair. “I was feeling off from the full moon. Went to Pomfrey’s.”
The excuse felt flimsy the moment it left his mouth, and the way Sirius and James exchanged glances told him they weren’t buying it.
“You never feel this bad after four days,” Sirius pointed out, scrutinizing him. “What’s going on?”
“Yeah, mate,” James said, his brows furrowing. “You know you can tell us, right?”
Remus bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to keep up the smile. “I’m fine. Really.”
But he wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine since last night, since Severus had collapsed in front of him, since he had seen the scars on his soulmark, since he had touched the ruined edges of something that was supposed to be sacred and felt nothing but pain.
He was exhausted, but more than that, he wanted to be exhausted enough to sleep. To just stop thinking. He wanted to curl up in his bed and pull the blankets over his head, to feel his mother’s hand running through his hair, whispering that everything would be alright. He wanted his father’s steady hand on his shoulder, grounding him. But all of that was gone, and all that was left was the sick, twisting guilt and the knowledge that whatever bond he and Severus might have had was ruined before he even knew it existed.
He swallowed down the lump in his throat and looked at his friends, the people who had always been his safe place, and all he felt was guilt.
“I’m fine,” he repeated, softer. “Really.”
Before they could push further, the door opened, and Professor McGonagall entered. The classroom fell silent, but Remus could still feel the eyes of his friends lingering on him.
He just hoped they would let it go. Because he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
Albus barely heard the soft clink of the teacup as he set it down, his hands unusually unsteady. HHis search for the curse Severus had used on his soulmark had turned up nothing. That alone was enough to trouble him. But more than that, it was the boy himself—fragile, broken, still lying unconscious in the hospital wing—that occupied Albus’s mind.
And now, across from him, sat Silvanus Kettleburn.
The man was rarely still, always shifting in his chair, always moving—gesturing with his one remaining hand, adjusting his posture, tilting his head. But this time, he was unnervingly quiet. Watching. Thinking.
It was a look Albus didn’t like.
“You seemed rather concerned about Severus earlier,” he finally said, keeping his voice light, neutral.
Silvanus exhaled, scratching the sleeve where his missing arm should have been. “Of course I was concerned,” he said plainly. “The lad looked half-dead, Albus. You think I wouldn’t be?”
Albus steepled his fingers, studying him. “You seem to have some kind of rapport with him.”
Silvanus let out something between a huff and a laugh. “Rapport? Not quite. The boy hardly speaks unless he has to.” He tilted his head slightly. “But I think we both know his issues.”
Albus didn’t speak, waiting for him to continue.
“He’s closed off. Hard to approach. But plenty of students pick on him—it’s just that he doesn’t take it.” Silvanus’s tone was even, but there was something sharp beneath it. “He’s not exactly making it easy for himself either, I’ll give you that. He’s got a temper, and he knows spells he shouldn’t.” He sighed. “I’ve given him plenty of detentions myself.”
Albus inclined his head slightly, but before he could say anything, Silvanus leaned forward.
“But I’ll tell you something, Albus. I’ve never seen him attack first.” His voice was lower now, more serious. “And your lions? They’re nasty little buggers.”
Albus blinked.
He knew that James and Sirius coul be troublesome. He had seen it—stepped in, reprimanded, guided, but he also knew they were good boys. No other professor had ever spoken about them so bluntly.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Silvanus continued, crossing his legs. “The boy gets no backup from his own housemates either—not with his family situation.”
Albus frowned. “His family situation?”
Silvanus tilted his head, giving him an incredulous look. “You’ve seen his robes, haven’t you? The books he uses? Some of them are so old, I’d bet they belonged to his grandfather.” He shook his head. “The closer we get to summer, the worse he looks. If a kid like that wants to stay here, where no one has his back, rather than go home, then I think we both know what that means.”
Albus felt something heavy press down on his chest.
“…He never said anything to you? About his father maybe?”
Silvanus scoffed. “I’ve tried talking to him after class plenty of times, but the boy’s got a knack for disappearing before you get the chance.” His eyes flicked up, sharper now. “What about his father? Why are you asking me about him?”
Albus hesitated. He had already given away too much.
Finally, he sighed. “Severus was… not entirely lucid last night. But he spoke of him.”
Silvanus’s expression darkened. “…And?”
Albus’s throat felt tight. “It was not good.”
Silvanus let out a slow, steady breath, rubbing at his temple.
Then, after a long pause—
“What exactly happened last night?”
Albus considered his answer carefully. “Severus was found intoxicated, suffering from blood loss, in a… rather concerning state of mind.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Remus was the one who found him.”
Something flickered across Silvanus’s expression.
Then—
“Are you sure Remus or his friends didn’t have anything to do with it?”
Albus’s brows furrowed. “Remus is a very good boy.”
Silvanus didn’t hesitate. “Remus is. His friends are not always.” His voice was flat, unimpressed. “And whenever Remus looks like a kicked puppy, it’s never good news.”
Albus sighed, rubbing his temple. “No. I am sure. They were not involved.”
Silvanus exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest. He was still watching Albus closely, but whatever he was thinking, he didn’t say.
For a long moment, the office was silent.
Then—
“…What are you going to do about it?” Silvanus asked, voice quieter now.
Albus didn’t answer right away.
Because, truthfully, he didn’t know.
But he had to do something.
“…I don’t know yet,” he admitted.
Albus exhaled slowly, his fingers pressing against the smooth wood of his desk. His mind was still spinning with everything Kettleburn had said, with the things he had not said. There was no denying it now—Severus Snape had been drowning for years, and Albus had been too blind, to see it.
He cleared his throat. “Perhaps… you could approach him,” he said carefully. “Speak with him. You seem to have, if not a close realtionship, then at least a positive one. He might be more willing to speak to you than to me.”
Kettleburn gave him a long look, as if assessing how serious he was. Then he sighed and rubbed at his chin. “I can try,” he said. “But like I said, he’s not exactly eager to talk.”
Albus hesitated. He knew he was asking for a great deal. He could order Severus to his office, demand a conversation, but it wouldn’t mean anything. It wouldn’t get him anywhere.
Which is why, after a moment, he said quietly, “You should know… he was sporting some rather concerning self-inflicted injuries.”
Silvanus stilled.
His entire posture changed in an instant—the easy, slightly disheveled way he had been sitting vanished. He sat up straighter, his expression darkening. “What?”
Albus didn’t answer right away.
He didn’t want to give away too much. Didn’t want to tell Silvanus about the mark.
So he said, carefully, “It was a wound that Madam Pomfrey couldn’t quite identify. A cutting curse of some kind. Not one she recognized.”
Kettleburn’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “And you don’t know what spell it was?”
Albus shook his head. “Not yet.”
Silvanus let out a sharp breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s…” He trailed off, his fingers tapping against his knee. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “I’ll try to talk to him, of course I will.”
Albus nodded, but he could see the way Kettleburn’s brows were furrowed, his thoughts racing.
After a moment, Silvanus added, “Maybe Slughorn can help. The boy’s always scribbling in those books of his. Maybe there’s something in them.”
Albus inclined his head. “I considered that. I’ll speak to Horace.”
Another silence.
Then Kettleburn let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. “I knew he had a rough time of it, but this…” He met Albus’s gaze again, and there was something unspoken there, something heavy. “You’re sure Potter or Black had nothing to do with this?”
Albus sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “No. They weren’t involved.”
Silvanus didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded anyway.
And for a long time, neither of them spoke.