High and Dry

November passed by in a blur, as if the days had been swallowed by an endless loop of classes and study sessions. It was uneventful, monotonous. Remus had tried to keep his focus on the work in front of him, but it was hard to ignore the growing distance between him and Sirius. They hadn't pranked anyone in weeks, not really. The group felt strangely subdued after the Halloween party, as if everyone could sense that, yet again, Sirius and Remus were on the outs. 

For a while, Remus had convinced himself that everything was fine. The events from last year, the loneliness of the summer, the awkwardness of the start of term, all of it seemed to dissipate in October. Sirius had apologized, and they'd started to find their footing again. But now, in the cold of the looming winter, everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The camaraderie, the connection—it was still there, but it felt like it was fading. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the more he thought about it, the more it became clear: he was afraid of losing Sirius again.

Every time he saw Sirius laugh, every time he caught that familiar glint in his eyes, every time they brushed against each other in the hall, it only made the ache worse. It didn’t help that he couldn’t stop thinking about him—his smile, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way he laughed so loudly it made Remus want to laugh too, even when he didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

When he awoke the morning after the party, he had a headache so fierce it felt like his brain was trying to escape from his skull. Sirius was already gone. Sirius was usually the one most hungover—always waking up with a dramatic groan. Most days the boys had to drag him from his bed. James didn’t know where he was, nor did Peter, and Remus resisted the urge to check the map. He told himself he wouldn’t, but the temptation gnawed at him, and the longer he resisted, the worse it became. Still, he didn’t look.

By the time evening came, when the three boys had trudged into the dormitory after skipping dinner, too nauseous to eat, Sirius still hadn’t returned, and Remus tried not to worry. He knew what was happening. He knew Sirius was angry, that he was giving him space like Remus had asked him to. But it hurt. The silence between them hurt more than he was willing to admit.

When Sirius finally came back to the dorm that night, it was late. Remus heard the door creak open and the soft shuffle of footsteps across the floor. Sirius didn’t even look at him, didn’t even acknowledge him, as he walked straight to his bed and drew the curtains around himself. Remus shared a glance with James, who let out a frustrated sigh before falling back onto his own bed.

And Remus? Remus couldn’t sleep. Again. He lay there, staring at the ceiling. Around 3:00 a.m., Remus wasn’t sure, he heard the soft creak of feet on the floor. Sirius was up. Heading to the Astronomy Tower.

Remus felt a familiar pang in his chest, and for a brief moment, the urge to follow him surged up like a tidal wave. He could just slip out of bed, follow him quietly, apologize. He could say, Sirius. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to ignore me. I was being stupid. I didn’t really mean it. But he didn’t. He stayed still, clenching his fists beneath the covers as he listened to the sound of Sirius’s footsteps fade down the corridor.

He didn’t follow.

But he wanted to. More than anything.

This continued for a few days. The days stretched on, but Remus felt like they were barely moving. Time seemed to move in slow, frustrating increments, and Sirius’s silence hung over everything like a dark cloud. It wasn’t that Sirius was ignoring him entirely—he wasn’t. But the weight of his distance was palpable, like an invisible wall between them that neither of them could seem to break.

It was Wednesday when Sirius finally stopped. The coldness between them seemed to thaw just a little, but there was still something missing. Something that used to be easy last term—Sirius’s warmth, the way he would playfully shove Remus’s shoulder or ruffle his hair when he walked by. The way he would fall into bed beside him in the morning, joking about something, always so full of energy. Now there was nothing. Just silence between the occasional words, the empty space where Sirius’s usual affection had been.

Remus tried not to focus on it, but he couldn’t help it. Every glance, every word from Sirius felt loaded. Every time their eyes met and quickly darted away, Remus felt like he was suffocating. He wanted to reach out, wanted to make it better, but every time he did, it seemed like he only made things worse.

Sirius was respecting Remus’s request for space, though. Remus had told him to stay away, in one of those moments of raw emotion when he couldn’t control the outburst. In the haze of confusion, he’d rashly told Sirius to give him space, thinking that maybe if Sirius backed off, the feelings would fade. He thought it would make it easier. Instead, it only made everything harder.

Because now, Remus was trapped in this strange in-between. He was in pain when Sirius was near him, when he touched him, joked with him, because it reminded him of everything he felt, everything he couldn’t have. But he was also in pain when Sirius wasn’t there. When Sirius pulled away, kept his distance, didn’t smile at him in that way that made Remus’s heart race. He realized now that he couldn’t win. No matter what happened, no matter what Sirius did, it was always going to hurt.

He had thought—he’d hoped—that space would give him time to sort out his feelings, to push them down, to pretend like he didn’t care. But now it was clear that pushing Sirius away had only made it worse.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

—-----------------------

The December moon had come and gone, leaving Remus in a familiar state of melancholy. Moony, once again, had been sad, just as he had been for the two previous months. It was almost a comfort, in a twisted way, to see the sadness over anger—because, for all the pain it caused, it was nothing like the fury that used to come with the transformations.

Remus was disturbed by it, though. He shouldn’t be. He should be thankful that Moony was sad instead of angry. After all, he woke up in the mornings bruised and battered but still alive, not drenched in blood, not facing the aftermath of a rage-filled rampage. There were just a few broken bones this time—small, manageable injuries that would heal with time. The fact that he’d made it through another full moon without spiraling out of control was a small mercy.

But it didn’t feel like mercy. It felt like another reminder of how everything seemed to slip through his fingers, how he was never able to fully escape the shadow of what he was. Moony’s sadness mirrored his own—a quiet, lingering ache that wouldn’t go away.

—--------------

“Well, we have to do something before the holidays, don’t we?”

The four boys were sprawled around the fire in the common room, a typical weekend afternoon. Normally, they'd be out near the great lake, but today, the cold had driven them back to the warmth of the fire. Remus had to keep his hands near the flames after just a short walk from the greenhouses. It was the kind of weather that made you want to curl up in front of a fire and forget about the world.

The Marauders hadn't pulled a prank since early October, and Remus could tell James was itching to get something started. But  hadn't had the energy for it, not lately. And, to the Marauders surpise, neither had Sirius. 

“Any bright ideas, lads?” James asked, his eyes scanning the room. His gaze landed on Sirius, who was sitting on the ledge of the couch, legs sprawled across it the edge, staring at the wall. He was quiet today.

Sirius didn’t answer, just kept staring. Remus could tell it was one of those days again, one of those days where Sirius seemed distant, like he was somewhere else entirely.

James prodded him again, “Pads?”

Sirius jumped, clearly startled, as if he hadn’t heard James at all. He blinked, shaking himself out of whatever thought had been preoccupying him.

“I don’t know, Pads,” he muttered, shrugging, his tone lacking its usual fire.

“What? You always want to throw a prank,” James pushed, not giving up. Remus glanced at Sirius, sad. 

Sirius just shrugged again, and James groaned in frustration. "Oh, come on! Pete?"

Peter sighed dramatically. "I don’t know, Jamie. My hands still hurt from pulling weeds. You were lucky you only had to wash windows.”

James huffed, clearly fed up. "Fine, I’ll find other friends," he said, storming off. Peter groaned and followed suit, leaving Sirius and Remus alone in the common room, except for a few scattered first years lingering by the side tables.

The silence that followed felt heavy. Sirius was back to staring at the wall, lost in his thoughts. Remus couldn’t handle it anymore. He shifted closer on the couch, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face, and gently touched Sirius’s shoulder.

“Alright, Pads?” Remus asked quietly.

Sirius blinked and looked at him, taken aback. “Fine, Moons,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual vibrancy.

Remus’s brow furrowed. This wasn’t like Sirius. He was sick of knowing that it was because of him. He was sick of this, of feeling like there was a gap between them. He took a deep breath, suddenly filled with a burst of unexpected bravery. He reached out hesitantly, just enough to touch the corner of Sirius’s mouth with his fingers.

“If you’re fine, why are you frowning?” Remus asked softly.

Sirius gave a half-hearted laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not frowning,” he said, brushing it off.

The banter was there, but it was different. It felt strained. Remus pulled his hand back, looking at Sirius with a mix of concern and frustration. 

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Remus said, his voice quiet but sincere.

Sirius, finally, fully turned his attention to Remus, his expression softening in surprise.

“Why are you apologizing, Moony?” he asked, clearly caught off guard.

Remus hesitated, his thoughts tangled. “I told you I needed space from you. That was wrong. I didn’t. I was just…” He trailed off, unable to fully put into words what had been eating at him. Instead, he settled for a half-truth. “I was just overwhelmed that night.”

Sirius’s frown deepened, confusion flashing in his eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for, Remus. It’s me who should be apologizing. I was a fool for thinking I would be forgiven so quickly.”

The words hit Remus harder than he expected, the weight of them making his chest tighten. He could feel the ache in his heart. 

“Oh, Pads,” Remus whispered, his voice trembling slightly. He swallowed, blinking quickly to stop the tears from threatening to fall. “I think I forgave you the second it happened.”

The truth was simple and raw. Remus had forgiven Sirius long before he’d even said the words, even before they’d had the chance to talk it through. Because despite everything, he’d never stopped caring.

He knows now he is stupid he thought he could ever stop caring for Sirius Black.

—-----------

Remus was beyond frustrated. He had searched his trunk for the hundredth time, but the red jumper he loved so much was nowhere to be found. The last time he'd seen it was back at the beginning of November, but now it felt like a lifetime ago. And he had to find it. He loved that jumper. He sighed in frustration, turning over more clothes, scattering them across the floor in his haste. Remus was stressed. The holidays were coming up, and while he loved his mum, the thought of spending weeks in the quiet, isolated cottage with her staring at him awkwardly, hesitant in her movements, as if Remus would break at any movement, was almost worse than facing the Slytherins.

He just wanted to stay here at Hogwarts with his friends. But of course, that wasn't an option.

As he fumbled through the mess he'd created, he heard the door creak open. James and Sirius walked in.

"Remus, why are you already packing?" James asked, raising an eyebrow.

Remus shrugged, trying to seem casual, though his agitation was clear. "I like to make sure everything’s in order," he muttered, not looking up from his trunk.

James nodded, walking over to his bed. "Fair enough. Better to start early, I guess."

Sirius, on the other hand, didn’t bother to even glance at Remus. He walked straight to his own bed and dropped down onto it, shutting his curtains with a heavy hand.

Remus frowned, noticing the shift in Sirius’s mood. He exchanged a glance with James. "What’s up with him?"

Before James could respond, Sirius's voice came from behind the closed curtains. "I heard that."

Remus stormed over to Sirius’s bed, grabbed the curtains, and yanked them open.

Sirius was sitting there, stiff as a board, his back pressed against the headboard. He looked at Remus, his eyes wide with something that could have been frustration or unease.

"Seriously, Pads?" Remus snapped. He meant to come off jokingly. "Don’t be lazy. We’ve got to pack, and I need help finding my red jumper."

Sirius’s face darkened. He snapped back, his voice sharp. "I don’t want to pack."

"Well, you don’t get to just sit there," Remus shot back. "We’ve all got things to do."

"Shut up, Remus," Sirius snapped, his voice laced with fury. "Your incessant mothering is pathetic. I'm sick of it.”

Remus flinched.

James, who had been quietly watching the exchange, suddenly chimed in. "What the hell, Pads?" he asked, his voice surprised and angered.

Sirius didn’t respond. He just glared at Remus, a mixture of defensiveness and something else that Remus couldn’t quite place. The silence stretched on between them, thick and uncomfortable.

“Just leave me the hell alone, will you?” Sirius growled, slamming the curtains shut with a force that rattled the frame.

Remus stared at the closed curtains for a moment, a cold feeling settling in his chest. He glanced at James, who met his eyes briefly before shaking his head, a silent plea to let it go.

Remus stood there, frozen, his thoughts tumbling over each other. The sting of Sirius's words cut deeper than he'd expected.

—-------------------------

For the millionth time that term, Remus found himself staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He’d always had trouble the night before leaving for school, but tonight it felt worse. Sirius had been on edge all day, snapping at anyone who dared to get too close. Remus had thought it best to give him space, not wanting to push him when he had no idea what was really going on in Sirius's head. Besides, Remus was hardly equipped to deal with whatever turmoil Sirius was going through.

But as the hours ticked by and Remus lay there, mind racing, he heard it—the familiar rustle of sheets, the soft creak of a bedpost. Sirius was getting up. Remus didn’t need to see him to know where he was going. The Astronomy Tower.

But something tugged at Remus's chest, a mixture of concern and frustration that he couldn’t ignore. Without another thought, he slipped out of bed, grabbed his wand, pulled on his coat, and followed him. 

He kept a safe distance, not wanting to alert Sirius to his presence. He followed him through the castle’s darkened halls, up the stairs, and—eventually—into the Astronomy Tower.

Remus hesitated at the base of the tower, the cold stone beneath his feet making his thoughts feel heavier. He didn't know what he was expecting. He crept up the spiral staircase, his breath quiet but quick, the only sound being the pounding of his heart in his ears. When he reached the top, he stopped in his tracks.

There was Sirius.

Sirius was sitting on the stone ledge of the Astronomy Tower, legs dangling over the edge, his back to Remus. The faint glow of the moon illuminated him in soft silver, but there was something about the posture—something that made Remus feel cold, as though he had just stepped into a scene he wasn’t meant to witness.

Sirius wasn’t looking up at the stars as he usually did. He wasn’t lost in some fanciful daydream. No, his head was hung low, his shoulders slumped as though he was weighed down by the same thing that Remus felt pressing on his chest.

The sight was unsettling, but Remus couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He stepped forward carefully, the stone cool beneath his feet. As he approached, Sirius shifted slightly, but didn’t look back, too lost in whatever thoughts were consuming him.

And then Remus realized—he didn’t know what to say. What could he say? 

Instead, he found himself standing a few feet behind Sirius, watching him silently, unsure of what to do next.

The moment stretched on for a few seconds—long enough for the silence to settle between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Sirius spoke first, his voice low and distant. “I didn’t think you’d follow me.”

Remus took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Didn’t think I would either,” he muttered.

Sirius slowly turned his head, just enough for their eyes to meet. There was a flicker of something in his gaze—an emotion Remus couldn’t quite place, but one that made his stomach twist.

It wasn’t anger, but it wasn’t relief either. It was something darker.

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he just stared at Sirius, feeling like the distance between them had grown even further in these few silent moments than it ever had during the summer.

Sirius stared back at the ground, his legs dangling loosely off the edge of the tower. There was a tension in his posture—his shoulders tight, his jaw clenched—and he looked, well…broken. Remus had seen his friend angry, reckless, even vulnerable, but this felt different. It was a kind of quiet devastation.

Remus hesitated for a moment before moving closer, drawn to him like a magnet. He sat down next to Sirius, a bit too close to be casual, but it felt right. Sirius didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He just kept staring out into the night, the darkness of the castle surrounding them both.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Remus said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced at Sirius, watching the way his friend’s face was partially lit by the moon, his expression unreadable. It made his throat feel tight.

Sirius didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let out a slow breath, almost like he was trying to gather the strength to say something. After a long pause, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

“Want one?” he asked, his voice raspy.

Remus raised an eyebrow but didn’t hesitate. He could use something to distract himself, if only for a moment. “Yeah, sure.”

Sirius pulled one out for him, his fingers brushing against Remus’s briefly as he handed it over. It wasn’t lost on Remus that the touch lingered, just a fraction longer than necessary. Their eyes met for a heartbeat before Sirius quickly looked away, his gaze trained on the cigarette in his hand.

Without a word, Sirius produced a Muggle lighter—small, metal, and battered from obvious use. He flicked it open and ignited the flame, cupping it carefully to shield it from the wind. His face was just inches from Remus’s, the flame casting a soft glow between them. It felt oddly intimate, like something they’d never shared before.

Remus held his breath for a moment, just watching him, feeling the warmth from the flame and from Sirius so close. The weight of their unspoken words seemed to hang in the air like the smoke that curled up from the lit cigarette.

"Why do you use a Muggle lighter?" Remus asked, breaking the silence.

Sirius glanced at him then, a small, almost amused glint in his eye. "It’s cooler, no?"

Remus snorted, unable to help himself. “I guess you would think that.”

Sirius smirked, the corners of his lips pulling up slightly, though it was a fleeting expression. He leaned back slightly, taking a drag from his own cigarette, and then exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift into the night air.

The quiet settled again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… familiar. The kind of silence that came after years of shared moments, of not needing to fill every second with words. But then, as the silence stretched on, Remus found himself breaking it again, his curiosity gnawing at him.

“Why can’t you sleep, Sirius?” Remus asked, his voice quiet but steady.

There was a long pause. 

Remus knew he wouldn’t answer. 

"You haven't been sleeping, Pads," Remus said, his voice low, but firm. "I know. We all noticed."

Sirius stiffened, and Remus could feel the tension radiating off him. There was something in the way he held himself, like he was trying to shut the world out. Remus took a breath, steadying himself before he spoke again, repeating the words Sirius had said to him months ago.

“If something’s wrong, you don’t have to push me away. You know you can talk to me, right?

Remus thought, for a moment, that Sirius wasn’t going to answer again, that he would just let the statement slip into the ether like so many others. But then, very slowly, Sirius shifted on the ledge, turning his body slightly toward Remus. His eyes were dark, haunted.

“They… they want me to take the Dark Mark,” he said, his voice low and tight. The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Remus’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse racing as the weight of what Sirius was saying sank in.

For a moment, Remus couldn’t speak. He just stared at Sirius, trying to process the words. Remus’ stomach dropped, his blood boiling in an instant. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His mind raced, and for a second, he felt dizzy, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions. He shifted closer to Sirius, their sides now touching.

"What? Is that what that letter was about?" Remus sputtered.

Sirius glanced over at him, his expression unreadable, but there was a hardness in his eyes.

"More or less," Sirius replied flatly, his voice cold. "They told me in the summer. That this Christmas, they would do it." He paused, as if the weight of the words were heavy on him. "Repeated it in the letter, as if I would forget something like that."

Remus was trying to wrap his head around what Sirius was saying. The air between them felt charged, like the calm before a storm. 

“You can’t go back tomorrow, Sirius. You can’t. Go to James’s. Go to Peter’s. Hell, come to mine,” Remus urged, his voice pleading, desperate.

Sirius clenched his jaw tightly, refusing to meet Remus’s eyes. He stared at the floor as if the very act of looking up would break him. “I can’t,” he whispered, the weight of the words cracking his voice, his usual defiance gone. It was a soft admission, and it made Remus’s heart ache.

“Sirius…” Remus started, his voice soft, but Sirius cut him off before he could say more.

“I’ll figure something out,” Sirius muttered quickly, his tone sharp now, as if he were trying to force the conversation to end.

“But…” Remus’s words faltered. He wanted to argue, to find a way to make Sirius stay away, to make him understand that there were always other options. But Sirius wasn’t listening, and the distance between them felt like a canyon Remus couldn’t cross.

Sirius turned away from him, his shoulders tense, and Remus could hear the pain in his voice even if Sirius was trying to hide it. He didn’t know what to say anymore. He couldn’t make Sirius see reason, and the more he pushed, the more Sirius would pull away.

"Please," Remus whispered, more to himself than to Sirius, feeling the words stick in his throat. "You don’t have to go through this alone. You don’t have to…you.can’t follow them.”

Sirius let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Yeah, easy for you to say, Moons. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what they’ll do if I don’t… if I don’t follow through.”

Remus wanted to reach out, to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. He had seen the fear in Sirius’s eyes, the fear that he had been hiding for so long. The fear that Remus knew too well. The fear of being trapped, of being forced into something you couldn’t escape.

“I don’t want to be like them,” Sirius muttered, almost to himself. “I don’t want to be like any of them.”

Remus’s heart ached for him, but he knew that words couldn’t fix this. Not right now. He just leaned a little closer, sitting in the shared silence between them. He didn’t know how to fix what was broken, but he knew he would try. He always had.

“Then you won’t be,” Remus said quietly, finally finding the words. “You’ll never be like them, Sirius. You’re not your family. You’re not… them.”

Sirius looked at him then, his gaze searching, like he was trying to figure out if Remus really believed that. Sirius just nodded, once, and took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling between them.

Remus sat beside him, silent for now, knowing that sometimes, there were no easy answers.