High and Dry

Remus and Sirius walked back to their dorm in silence, their footsteps soft against the stone floors. They had spent hours perched on the ledge of the Astronomy Tower, saying little but sharing a heavy, unspoken understanding. By the time the sun began to creep over the horizon, they both looked as tired as they felt.

When they reached their beds, Sirius climbed in without a word. Remus lingered, standing frozen by the edge of Sirius's bed. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. He was scared—scared for Sirius, for what lay ahead, for how much of his friend he might have already lost. Sirius looked up at him briefly, his grey eyes dull with exhaustion and something darker. He gave the smallest shake of his head, as if to say, Don’t. Then, without another sound, he yanked his curtains closed, shutting Remus out.

That night—or rather, that morning—as Remus lay in his own bed, staring at the ceiling and begging for a few hours of sleep, the silence gave way to anger. It started as a simmer but grew until it felt like it might consume him. He was furious—at Sirius for being so bloody stubborn, at the Black family for trying to break him, at the war, which the students had been pointedly ignoring, for creeping closer and closer to them. But most of all, he was angry at himself.

He had seen Sirius’s struggles but had ignored the signs, brushed off the letter, convinced himself there was nothing he could, or should, do. He’d been a bad friend, too caught up in his own insecurities and fears to truly help. Remus clenched his fists, the weight of his guilt and helplessness pressing down on him. He wanted to fix things, to make it right, but he didn’t know how. And for now, all he could do was lie there, drowning in his anger and the growing fear that he might already be too late.

—------------------------------

The train ride home passed in a haze. Sirius had woken up silent. James and Peter had cornered Remus at breakfast, asking in hushed tones if he knew what was wrong, but Remus had only shaken his head. He felt guilty—he did know, or at least he thought he did—but talking about it felt like a betrayal. Sirius wouldn’t want him to say anything, not even to James.

Breakfast was subdued, the only interruptions coming from James and Lily’s occasional bickering. When they arrived at the station, the weight of the term seemed to settle fully onto Remus’s shoulders, his luggage feeling heavier with every step.

The moment they stepped off the train, Remus spotted his mother. Hope Lupin stood near the edge of the platform, clutching her coat tightly around her small frame to regain warmth after the December chill. She beamed when she saw him, her hand lifting in a small wave.

“Rem…” she murmured the moment he reached her, pulling him into a warm hug.

“Hey, Mum,” Remus said softly, breathing in the familiar lavender scent of her scarf.

James, Peter, and Sirius trailed behind him, offering polite greetings. Hope responded with her usual kindness, her smile widening as she exchanged pleasantries with each of them.

“It’s so nice to see you boys,” she said warmly, “but Remus and I really must be going. We’re in a bit of a rush, you see.”

James clapped Remus on the shoulder and grinned. “Don’t let her work you too hard, Moony,” he teased, pulling him into a quick hug before stepping back.

Peter offered a nod and a quiet goodbye, then it was Sirius’s turn.

When Remus turned to him, Sirius was just… staring. His expression was unreadable, but his grey eyes burned with an intensity that made Remus’s breath catch. He arched a brow and tried to say something witty, anything to break the tension.

“Hope you won’t miss me too much, Pads.” 

But Sirius didn’t answer with words. Instead, he gave that smile—the small, rare one that always held more weight than anything he could say.

And Remus couldn’t help himself. Before he even realized what he was doing, he reached out and pulled Sirius into a tight, almost desperate hug. Sirius froze for half a second before clutching at Remus like a drowning man grabbing hold of a life raft.

“It’s going to be alright, Pads,” Remus whispered into his ear, his voice trembling just slightly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Sirius gave a sharp, almost imperceptible nod, his face hidden in Remus’s shoulder.

When Remus finally stepped back, his mother gently took his arm, guiding him away toward the exit. But as they walked, he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder.

Sirius stood motionless, his gaze locked on the far side of the station. There, in the shadows, stood Kreacher, the Black family’s house-elf, waiting with his usual sour scowl.

Remus had told Sirius it would be alright. But as he watched Sirius’s face harden, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for battle, Remus couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that it might not be.

—------------------------------

Remus was relieved that the holidays this year didn’t have a full moon. The lingering aches and pains were manageable. Most of his time was spent curled up in the living room, reading by the fire, the house silent except for the occasional creak of floorboards or the sound of the wind outside. His mother couldn’t get much time off this year—just Christmas Day—so she came home late every evening, weary from long hours at work. Their dinners were quiet affairs, filled with short conversations about school. She didn’t ask about Sirius, as he knew she knew they had been on the outs last summer, and Remus was thankful for that. 

A few days before Christmas, Remus sat at the dining table, aimlessly pushing food around his plate while Hope bustled around the kitchen, muttering complaints about coworkers who hadn’t pulled their weight that day. The familiar rhythm of her voice was comforting, and for a moment, he let himself drift.

The loud bang at the window jolted him from his thoughts. He flinched, his head snapping up, and saw an owl pecking insistently at the glass. Ah, he thought, that would be the Daily Prophet.

Sliding out of his chair, he opened the window, letting in the chill air and the impatient bird. It dropped the paper onto the table before taking off again without so much as a hoot. Remus picked it up and unfolded it, expecting the usual gossip and propaganda.

But then his eyes landed on the headline.

Muggle Family Slain in Leeds: Four Dead.

And the byline:

Werewolves Suspected to Be Involved.

A cold dread settled over him. His breath hitched as he stared at the words, the world around him blurring for a moment. There hadn’t been any new attacks for months, no mention of werewolves in the papers. He’d started to hope, just a little, that things might quiet down. But now—

He inhaled shakily and looked up. His mother was still moving around the kitchen, oblivious to the way his stomach had dropped.

“Mum,” he said, his voice tight.

Hope turned to him with a curious look. “Yes, love?”

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, standing and clutching the paper in his hand.

She tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “What is it?”

Remus hesitated, then took a steadying breath. “I need you to ask Mr. Pritchard—you know, the wizard who lives in town—to come by and set up wards around the cottage.”

Hope waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, Remus, really. We’re fine. No one’s going to bother us all the way out here.”

Remus felt his jaw tighten. “Mum, there’s a war on,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Don’t you see what’s happening? They’re going after Muggle-borns and half-bloods.”

Hope sighed, turning back to the sink. “We’re far from London. Nothing’s going to happen here.”

Frustration bubbled up in Remus’s chest, hot and sharp. He wanted to slam his hand on the table, to make her understand. “Mum,” he said, his voice trembling, “you’re different. They’re recruiting… people like me.” He swallowed hard, forcing himself to say it. “If they find out about me, they might come to you to get to me.”

She turned back to him, her face softening slightly, but there was still a trace of disbelief in her eyes. “What could they possibly want with a boy your age?”

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenched at his sides. I’m not exactly just a boy, he thought bitterly, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he forced himself to breathe, to stay calm. “Just do it. Please.”

There must have been something in his voice, some crack of desperation, because her expression shifted. The weariness in her eyes deepened, and she gave him a small nod.

“Alright, dear,” she said gently. “I’ll stop by and talk to him before work tomorrow.”

Relief washed over him, but it was a hollow sort of relief. He nodded, staring blankly at the table.

“Thanks, Mum,” he murmured.

But even as she returned to her chores, Remus couldn’t shake the lingering dread. The words from the paper echoed in his mind. Werewolves suspected to be involved. And somewhere deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.

—------------------------------

Christmas Eve was upon him, and Remus had just tidied up the small house, preparing for his mother to return from work. The quiet was stifling. He was bored—achingly, endlessly bored. He missed Hogwarts. He missed his friends.

So, in an effort to occupy his mind, Remus read, curled up on the worn sofa with a battered book in his lap. He hoped to finish it before his mother came home. The words filled the stillness:

"To regret one’s own experiences is to arrest one’s own development. To deny one’s own experiences is to put a lie into the lips of one’s own life. It is no less than a denial of the soul. For just as the body absorbs things of all kinds, things common and unclean no less than—"

A sharp bang jolted Remus out of his focus. He frowned, glancing toward the kitchen window. There it was again. An owl—a very persistent one.

Getting up with a sigh, Remus moved to the window, but when he got closer, he realized it wasn’t just any owl. It was James’s owl.

His stomach flipped, though he told himself it was nothing. Surely James was just wishing him a merry Christmas. Opening the window, he let the owl hop inside and watched as it dropped a letter onto the table before fluttering off.

Remus grabbed the envelope, his name scrawled hastily across the front. As his eyes scanned the letter, his heart sank.

Moony,

Padfoot showed up late last night through the Floo. I found him sprawled on the floor, unconscious.

Moony, something bad has happened, and I don’t know what to do. My folks and I were about to Apparate him to St. Mungo’s when he woke up—only to beg us not to take him. He kept saying your name, Remus.

I’m sure you’re spending today with your mum, but something terrible has happened to Sirius. He’s still sleeping now, but I’m worried. Just wanted to let you know.

-Prongs xx

The letter slipped from Remus’s trembling hands and fluttered to the table. His heart was pounding so hard it echoed in his ears. Sirius. Something had happened to Sirius.

He felt rooted to the spot for a moment, his mind racing. Sirius had been so adamant about going back home for Christmas, despite everything. He clenched his fists. Remus felt fear course through him, thick and cold. 

“Sirius, you idiot,” he muttered to himself, pacing the tiny kitchen. He should have done more to convince Sirius not to go. He should have stopped him, told James, done something.

He picked the letter back up, his eyes scanning James’s words again, desperate for something he might have missed. Sirius had begged them not to take him to St. Mungo’s. He had been calling for him.

“Moony?”

Remus jumped, turning to see his mother standing in the doorway, her coat draped over her arm, her face etched with concern. The wind whistled into the room through the open door. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, setting her things down. “You look pale.”

Remus hesitated for a moment, the letter crumpled in his hand. “I… I need to go, Mum.”

Her brow furrowed. “Go? Go where?”

“To James’s,” he said quickly, not giving himself time to second-guess. “Sirius—something’s wrong, and they need me.”

“Remus, it’s Christmas Eve,” she said gently. “Can’t it wait until after Christmas?”

“No,” he said firmly, grabbing his coat and wand. “It can’t. I’m sorry, Mum, but I have to go. I’ll explain later, I promise.”

Without waiting for her response, he hurried to the fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder. He stepped into the hearth, the letter still clutched in his hand.

“Potter Manor,” he said clearly, and in a whirl of green flames, he was gone.

—------------------------------

Remus stumbled out of the fireplace, unsteady and nauseous. He hated magical travel—always had. Growing up around Muggle transportation had spoiled him with its predictability, and the spinning chaos of the Floo Network never failed to make his stomach churn. Bracing himself with deep breaths, he finally steadied, glancing around.

The Potter living room was empty and unnervingly quiet. The festive decorations around the mantle and a faintly glowing Christmas tree did nothing to ease his nerves. He waited for a moment, the stillness pressing heavily on him, when he heard the sound of someone bounding down the stairs.

James appeared at the bottom, pale and breathless, his eyes wild. Without a word, he rushed toward Remus, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug.

Remus, alarmed by the frantic energy, gently pushed James back, gripping his shoulders. “James—what happened? Where’s Sirius?”

James stepped away, running a shaky hand through his messy hair. He looked like he hadn’t slept. “He’s still upstairs,” he began, his voice trembling. “Still sleeping. But, Moony—” James paused, swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “When he came through the Floo last night, he—he looked dead. And like someone had thrown him into it.”

Remus’s heart dropped. “Thrown him?”

James nodded, his hands now trembling. He dragged them over his face, exhaling shakily. “He was sprawled out, unconscious. For a second, I thought—Merlin, Remus—I thought he was dead. It looked like he had been tortured.”

The words sent a chill through Remus. He couldn’t imagine what Sirius had been through, but hearing James—steady, unfaltering James—so shaken made it all the more terrifying. “James,” Remus said softly, trying to ground him, “is he okay now?”

James nodded quickly, but his expression remained haunted. “He’s alive, yeah. He woke up long enough to tell us not to take him to St. Mungo’s. He wouldn’t say much—just your name, over and over, before passing out again.”

James took a long, steadying breath, visibly trying to compose himself. “Remus,” he started, his voice low but insistent, “I knew something was going on with Sirius. He’s been...off for weeks, but I didn’t know it was this bad. I need to know—what’s happening with him?”

Remus hesitated. He didn’t want to betray Sirius’s confidence, but seeing the desperation and anger in James’s face, he realized he didn’t have much of a choice. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he relented. “Alright. But you can’t tell anyone else, James. Not even Peter.”

James nodded impatiently. “Just tell me, Moony.”

Remus glanced away, almost like he couldn’t bear to see James’s reaction, and quietly said, “He told me the day before we left school. His parents said they’d...forcibly give him the Dark Mark. I think they planned to do it over the holidays.” He let the words hang heavy in the air, feeling his chest tighten.

James froze, his face slack with shock as he processed what Remus had just said. But within seconds, the shock morphed into fury. “Bloody hell!” he shouted, his voice sharp and trembling with rage. “Those vile bastards—his own parents!” He swore again, a particularly colorful curse, pacing the room as his hands clenched into fists.

“They can’t get away with this,” James snapped, his voice thick with determination. “They won’t.”

Remus flinched at the intensity of James’s anger, but before he could respond, James shook his head fiercely and said, “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

As James led the way upstairs, he explained, his voice still heated but steadier now. “My folks went out this afternoon to pick up some essentials for him. They knew he’d need clothes, toiletries, whatever else.” James’s steps slowed, and he glanced back at Remus. “They’ve already said it—Sirius is staying here. With us. Permanently. They’re not letting him go back to that house.”

Remus stopped in his tracks, feeling an odd mix of relief and sadness at the same time. “They really said that?” he asked softly.

James turned to face him, his expression hard but resolute. “Yeah, they did. Sirius is part of this family now. My parents wouldn’t let him go back even if he wanted to.”

Remus nodded as they continued up the stairs. When they reached the door to the guest bedroom, he hesitated. His hand hovered near the doorknob, heart pounding in his chest as he braced himself for whatever sight lay behind it. The tension was suffocating, but James gently pushed the door open for him, his voice calm and steady as he called out, “Sirius?”

They stepped inside together, and for a moment, Remus froze.

At first glance, Sirius looked the same as he always did—stretched out carelessly across the bed, half of his body sticking out from under the sheets. For the briefest moment, it felt like everything was normal, like Sirius was just napping after one of his usual antics. But as Remus moved closer, the illusion shattered. Sirius was too pale, his skin almost sickly against the dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Even in the biting December cold, he looked feverish.

Remus approached slowly, his movements tentative as he sat on the edge of the bed. Sirius’s hand was limp and pale against the sheets, and after a moment of hesitation, Remus reached out and gently took it in his own. The silence was deafening. He felt awkward, unsure of what to do or say. He glanced back toward the door, expecting James to still be there, but found the room empty and the door closed behind him.

He turned his attention back to Sirius, taking a shaky breath. He didn’t want to wake him—not like this—but he also couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. Slowly, almost absentmindedly, he reached out with his free hand and brushed a stray strand of hair from Sirius’s face, tucking it behind his ear. Sirius looked so fragile, so unlike himself. Remus’s chest tightened painfully as he whispered the same words he’d said on the train weeks ago, his voice trembling. “It’s going to be all right.”

Sirius’s eyelids fluttered open, and for a split second, Remus froze, yanking his hand back as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. But before he could fully pull away, Sirius’s hand shot out with a sudden, unexpected strength, grabbing his wrist and pulling it back toward him. Their fingers tangled together, and Sirius clung to him like a lifeline. His voice, rough and cracked, barely above a whisper, broke the silence. “Moony.”

The word was so raw, so vulnerable, that it felt like a punch to Remus’s gut. He swallowed hard, his throat tight, as Sirius’s broken gaze met his own. They didn’t say anything more—there wasn’t anything else to say. Sirius gave the slightest tug on their joined hands, and Remus, unable to resist, lay down beside him on the bed, their faces mere inches apart.

Sirius blinked, and Remus saw the tears welling up in his stormy gray eyes. Without thinking, he reached up with his free hand and gently touched Sirius’s cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped. Sirius’s breath hitched, and silent tears began to stream down his face. It was heartbreaking to see him like this, so broken and vulnerable, but all Remus could do was stay.

He tightened his grip on Sirius’s hand and began carding his fingers gently through Sirius’s hair, whispering soft reassurances he wasn’t sure Sirius even heard. Sirius’s breathing eventually evened out, his tear-streaked face relaxing into an uneasy sleep. Remus stayed like that, their hands still intertwined.

—-------------------------

Christmas Eve was suffused with guilt for Remus. He couldn’t stop thinking about his mother, alone in their small house, probably wondering when—or if—he’d return. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave the Potters. Not when Sirius was still upstairs, sleeping fitfully. Not when the air in the house was heavy with worry.

Dinner with the Potters should have been comforting; Mrs. Potter had cooked a gorgeous meal that filled the dining room with the warm, inviting scents of roast and fresh bread. But the meal was silent, each bite accompanied by a tension no one could break. Sirius hadn’t come down, not even to sit at the table. Each time Remus quietly slipped upstairs to check on him, he found Sirius fast asleep, his face pale and drawn, the blankets tangled around his restless body.

When the Potters retired to bed, Remus slipped into the spare room James had offered him. He wrote a quick letter to his mother, apologizing for not being with her and promising he’d explain everything soon, though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. Sleep, unsurprisingly, refused to come. He tossed and turned until the first pale light of Christmas morning crept into the sky.

Unable to bear the stillness, he got up and padded down to the kitchen, careful not to wake anyone. He intended to make himself a cup of tea and sit quietly, but when he entered the dining room, he stopped short. Sirius was already there, seated at the table with a cold, untouched mug of tea clutched tightly in his trembling hands. His face was drawn, his eyes bloodshot and fixed on the wooden grain of the table as though it held all the answers he desperately sought.

Remus approached him carefully, as though Sirius were a wounded animal poised to bolt. He slipped into the chair to Sirius’s right, saying nothing. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. After a few minutes, Remus reached out tentatively and gave Sirius’s hand a reassuring pat before rising to make tea. When he returned, he swapped out Sirius’s cold mug for a fresh one, earning nothing more than a small twitch of acknowledgment.

It wasn’t long before the sound of soft footsteps creaking down the stairs broke the silence. James appeared in the doorway, his hair even messier than usual, his face lined with worry. He joined them at the table, sitting across from Sirius.

“How are you feeling, Pads?” James asked, his voice gentle but insistent. Sirius didn’t look at him. He sighed, a ragged sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest.

James’s tone shifted, firmer now. “You need to tell us what happened. Sirius, we need to know.”

For a moment, Remus thought Sirius would shut down, retreat into that cold, unreachable place he’d been stuck in since he arrived. But then Sirius swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly, and began to speak. His voice was low and hoarse, shaking with the effort to keep steady.

“In the summer, they told me,” he started, his words clipped. “They told me that at Christmas, I’d have to... take the Dark Mark. They said it was my duty as the Black heir.” His jaw clenched, and his hands gripped the mug so tightly it seemed the ceramic might crack.

“I wanted to run the second they said it. I didn’t want it—I didn’t want any of it. But I was scared,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I was scared that if I didn’t do it, they’d give the Mark to Regulus instead. So I went back. And for a while... there was nothing. No mention of it. I thought maybe they’d changed their minds.”

He laughed bitterly, a hollow, humorless sound. “But then... the day before Christmas Eve, I came downstairs, and they were there. My family. And some Death Eaters I didn’t recognize. They told me... that that night was the night.”

His voice wavered, but he pushed on. “I tried to run. I bolted for the door, but my mother—she stunned me. They held me down,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. “She tried to reason with me. Said I had to be calm, that I had to take it willingly when the Dark Lord arrived. I told her to go to hell.”

Sirius’s hand shook, and his knuckles turned white against the mug. “She wasn’t having it. So she... she used the Cruciatus on me. She thought she could... torture me into submission. That if she broke me enough, I’d just give in.”

The room felt colder, heavier. James’s hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles pale, his face a mask of fury. Remus couldn’t breathe.

“They kept going,” Sirius continued, his voice barely audible now. “Again and again. I don’t even know how long it was. I think... I think when I was about to pass out, someone threw me into my room. I don’t know what they were planning to do next. I don’t... I don’t remember much after that. Just that when I woke up... I was here. In your living room.”

Sirius’s voice broke completely, and he slumped forward, his head in his hands. For a moment, no one spoke. Then James stood abruptly, pacing the room, his fury barely contained. He muttered a string of curses under his breath, his anger directed at Sirius’s family, at the world, at anything and everything that could have let this happen.

Remus reached out again, his hand resting gently on Sirius’s arm. His voice was soft, steady, even as his own heart broke. “You’re safe now, Sirius. You’re not going back there. Ever.”

Sirius stared at Remus, his eyes searching, as though he were looking for some answer Remus didn’t have. Remus knew there was more—so much more that Sirius wasn’t saying, things he couldn’t bring himself to voice. But in that moment, nothing needed to be said. The silence was enough.

Sirius swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He looked lost, broken in a way that Remus couldn’t ignore. “All I can think about now,” Sirius murmured, his voice hollow, “is Regulus.”

Remus’s heart clenched at the mention of the name. He knew how much Sirius had always struggled with the idea of his brother, torn between love and hatred, loyalty and the constant fear of what Regulus might become.

Sirius’s voice cracked as he continued, his words a quiet confession. “What’s going to happen to him? Is he going to... is he going to get caught up in all of this too? I don’t even know what to hope for him. I don’t know what’s worse—him being forced into it or... or him making the choice.”

Remus didn’t know how to answer that. He wanted to say something, anything, to reassure Sirius that things would get better, that there was hope for Regulus, but he didn’t have the words. All he could do was sit beside him, offering what little comfort he could.

Without thinking, he gently moved his thumb in soothing circles on Sirius’s arm. It was a small gesture, but it was all he had to give in that moment. The touch was quiet, almost tentative, but it seemed to bring some kind of peace to Sirius, even if only for a moment.

“I don’t have the answers, Pads,” Remus whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But whatever happens, you’re not alone. We’ll figure this out together.”

Sirius leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, as if the weight of it all was finally starting to sink in. And in that silence, with nothing but the soft rhythm of Remus’s thumb on his arm, Sirius allowed himself to rest for a brief moment—something that felt like the first peace he’d known in a long time.