and still we sleep

"Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care."

“The Dead Poets Society?”

“Yup.”

“And you just sit around and read poetry out loud?”

“Apparently so.”

“And you agreed to this?”

Remus groaned and threw his arm over to cover his face, harsh music room carpet digging into the back of his robes. “It was an impulsive decision!” he said. “I guess I just wanted to make him feel better?”

Lily frowned. She was perched on the wooden bench, leaning against the piano with her chin resting on her hands. “Was he sad about something?”

Remus paused. The run-in with Regulus had obviously upset Sirius greatly, and although he couldn’t comprehend why Sirius would give a single shit about the boy whose family he’d seemingly cut all ties with anyway, he couldn’t deny Sirius’s instant change in demeanor and unnaturally quick exit following their encounter. Sirius’s conversation with Lily about her sister the other day had certainly informed his suspicions, however, it still felt like an invasion of privacy to detail his theories to Lily, no matter how much he trusted her. Whatever drama was occurring in the Black family was no business of theirs.

“He just seemed upset,” Remus said. “I don’t know why.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Sure,” she said skeptically. “So you agreed to it just to make him feel better?”

Remus shrugged. “I guess.”

Lily seemed amused by this, lowering her brows with a knowing smile.

“What?” asked Remus.

“Nothing,” she said. “Very nice of you to spare Sirius Black’s feelings. I thought you didn’t even like him.”

“I don’t! I- ugh. It’s complicated. I didn’t want him to be upset, and that doesn’t mean I like him, and it certainly doesn’t mean we’re friends!”

“Whatever you say,” Lily said in a light tone that indicated she wasn’t believing a word he said. “Why didn’t you tell Peter about this?”

Remus scoffed. “You know Peter. He’d probably want to join, just to make friends with Sirius and all his popular bullshit.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?” Lily asked. “You need members, right?”

Remus pushed himself up on his elbows so he was in a sitting position, facing Lily head on. “Lils,” he said. “I’m not actually in this club.”

“Sounds to me like you are.”

“Come on, it’s Sirius Black. He's not even really in it. It’s just some stupid idea, and I guarantee you he’ll lose interest by next week.”

Even as Remus said it, he wasn’t sure if he believed it at all. Sirius’s sudden interest in poetry had not faltered once all month, and if anyone was going to revive such a stupid, pointless club, it would be him.

Lily didn’t seem to be buying it either. “Sure,” she said flatly.

“Well, if he does do it, I won’t be there,” said Remus. “He’ll do it with James and his popular friends.”

“Sounds to me like he wants to do it with you.”

“Because I’m the only option. He’ll get over me, trust me,” said Remus. “Besides, it sounds like my worst nightmare. Reading poetry aloud to other people? Merlin, count me out.”

Lily shrugged. “I think it’d be good for you,” she said lightly. “Bring you out of your shell.”

Remus gave her an affronted look. “Merlin, don’t start.”

“Really, Remus,” said Lily. “Wouldn’t you like to have fun sometimes. Like, real fun? Not just reading in your room or whatever?”

Parties in the Gryffindor common room. Taking shots. Jumping around, dancing and singing to whatever stupid song was playing. Exploding into fits of giggles over every little thing, grabbing your significant other and kissing them like nobody was watching.

Remus didn’t need any of it. He was perfectly happy with himself.

“ This is fun for me,” he said. “I don’t need parties or big friend groups to have fun, okay? And I definitely don’t need the Dead Poets Society.”

“Whatever you say,” Lily said, in that same light, disbelieving tone. She took her arms off of the piano and directed her attention to the sheet music, either missing or ignoring the foul look that Remus directed towards her.

He wasn’t like Peter. He didn’t desire popularity. He was perfectly happy being himself, and he didn’t need help from his friends nor Sirius Black nor whatever stupid poetry club he’d committed to.

Professor Keating had already begun the day’s lesson by the time Sirius arrived at their next class. He was discussing the importance of reading poetry aloud, a topic that made Remus slightly nervous, but he was feeling particularly relieved that morning. He had been dreading whatever conversation Sirius was going to start about the Dead Poets Society, and Sirius’s late arrival had at least spared him from that conversation, if only for an hour.

As it turned out, nothing was going to stop Sirius in his mission to incessantly bother Remus. As Professor Keating spoke at the chalkboard about Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Sirius nudged Remus’s shoulder, in much the way he did when Remus said something he deemed funny, but they hadn’t spoken a word to each other yetl. At Remus’s confused look, Sirius nodded down in the direction of his notebook, sitting on the desk in front of them. He’d pushed the notebook a little bit so it was more between the two of them, tilted in Remus’s direction so he could read it. Scrawled in his boyish, messy print, Sirius had written:

Dead Poets Society?

Remus sighed. Of course he wouldn’t let it go.

He glanced up to make sure that Professor Keating wasn’t looking in their direction, and, as subtly as he could, moved his quill hand to hover over Sirius’s notebook and write a response.

What about it?

Sirius smiled at him, pleased that Remus was replying, and scrawled out a response with a tight grip on his quill and quick, aggressive strokes.

did you think of a location or any more members?

Remus was truly beginning to worry about what exactly he’d committed to here.

No.

What about Lily?

Remus gave Sirius a flat look that he hoped conveyed what he didn’t feel like writing: that neither of them wanted to be in a room with James and Lily at the same time.

Understanding dawned on Sirius’s expression, and he nodded minutely before ducking his head back down to write more.

Ok you’re right. but don’t you have any other friends who like poetry?

Remus tried to send Sirius another look that conveyed no, but the other boy seemed not to get the message this time, tiling his head like a confused puppy and nodding towards the paper to indicate that he expected a response.

Remus shook his head in quiet exasperation and moved his quill back to Sirius’s book.

I don’t really

“-Mr. Lupin?”

Remus’s head shot up to the front of the classroom. Professor Keating was looking at him expectantly. He pulled his quill away mid-sentence, covering the notebook with his arm in a rather lame attempt to hide the fact that he’d been writing in another student’s notes.

“Professor?” he stammered. He could already feel his face reddening, a light, anxious feeling in his chest at being thrust into the spotlight.

“Would you care to read the poem for us?”

Remus looked down at his textbook, open in front of him. He hadn’t been paying attention to the lesson at all, had no clue what page they were on or what they were even talking about.

“Er, what page, sir?”

Professor Keating smiled kindly. The gesture more annoyed Remus than comforted him; if he truly wanted to reassure Remus he wouldn’t be putting him on the spot like this. “Ninety-six.”

It took Remus an abnormally long time to find page ninety-six. The pages seemed to stick together more than usual, his fingers shaking too hard to pull them apart, the stress of all eyes on him seeming to warp time so that every second of page-flipping stretched on like hours. When finally found the page, his heart sank at the three stanzas before him. He’d been hoping for a haiku or something. Would that he were that lucky.

“Take it away, Mr. Lupin,” said Professor Keating.

If he wasn’t sweating and shaking so hard, Remus would have rolled his eyes at the professor’s over-dramatic formality.

He cleared his throat awkwardly in an attempt to prevent future voice cracks.

“Laugh-”

The attempt had proved unsuccessful; his voice cracked on the first word. He cleared his throat again and kept his gaze focused on the page, trying desperately to ignore whatever pitying look Sirius was fixing on him.

“Laugh, and the world laughs with you,” he said, then took a breath. One line down.

“Mr. Lupin.”

Merlin help him.

“Yes, professor?”

“A little louder, please? We can barely hear you.”

Remus finally allowed himself a look around the classroom, finding only blank stares focused on him. Had he truly been that quiet? It had felt unnaturally loud to him.

He cleared his throat again and continued.

“Weep, and you weep alone.”

“Louder, please.”

His hands were slick with sweat, his voice and hands shaking. If he raised his voice any more, it’d crack again. He raised it just the tiniest bit.

“For the sad old Earth must borrow its mirth,

But has trouble enough of its own.”

“Mr. Lupin, you need to-”

“Professor?” the new voice from beside him both startled and relieved Remus.

Only when he looked over at Sirius did he see the other boy’s hand raised high in the air, half out of his seat, wiggling his fingers in the air like a first year trying desperately to impress a professor.

Professor Keating had finally directed his attention from Remus to Sirius. He seemed, for perhaps the first time ever, exasperated with his obvious favorite student, heaving a loud sigh before saying, “Yes, Mr. Black?”

“May I read it instead, professor?”

Remus was torn between defensive anger at Sirius’s assumption that he needed some kind of help, and begrudging relief.

A bit of sympathy, maybe even admiration, had seeped into the professor’s gaze on Sirius. “Although I appreciate your enthusiasm, I’d quite like to hear your classmate read.”

Sirius shook his head vigorously. “Professor, I am absolutely dying to read this poem.”

Remus felt even more awkward now, the obvious center of this conflict. He sat quietly, staring down at the table, both annoyed at Sirius’s efforts to help him and silently praying for their success.

Sirius pressed on, despite the professor’s obvious annoyance. “If I don’t read this poem, I think I’ll die. I mean, I will literally die. You don’t want to be responsible for my death, do you?”

“Mr. Black-”

“We haven’t been on the greatest of terms lately but I imagine my parents would be most displeased to lose the eldest son of the Noble and Most Ancient-”

“ Alright , Mr. Black. You may read it.”

Sirius grinned triumphantly and cleared his own throat, the gesture seeming dramatic and confident coming from him.

Remus did not process a single word of the poem read, nor could he recall any of the rest of the class period. All he was aware of was his breathing, rapid and manic, like he’d just changed back after a full moon, his racing heartbeat, his sweaty palms leaving handprints on the desktop. His body felt completely overheated, trapped beneath layers of heavy robes and slick with stress-induced sweat. He wanted nothing more than to run back to his room

Remarkably, he lasted until the end of class, and the moment Keating dismissed the students, he was the first one out of the classroom, rushing out the door without a single look back toward Sirius.

He walked back to his room, thankfully empty, shed his robes, and flopped down onto the bed. He picked up a collection of T.S. Eliot, which was usually an object of comfort, but he found that reading the poems only reminded him of the embarrassment earlier and placed the poetry book beside him, settling instead on burying his head into his pillow miserably.

There was a hot, unidentifiable feeling that came over him at the thought of Sirius raising his hand like that, reading the poem for him.

Maybe it was anger that he’d taken it upon himself to help Remus when he hadn’t asked for it at all. Likely not, though. He couldn’t imagine being angry with Sirius. Annoyed- yes, every day, almost every time he spoke to him. Angry, though… no. The boy had never once been intentionally antagonizing or upsetting to him, never treated him the way he treated the Slytherins.

No, what he truly felt towards Sirius Black, in that moment, and every moment, was envy.

Remus hated to admit it, because he didn’t particularly like him,- really, he didn’t- but Sirius just had everything. Was everything. Confident, careless, outgoing. Attractive. Richer than anyone in the school- both in friendships, like his stupidly annoying connection with James Potter, and actual, literal money. He could make a friend in five seconds, convince someone to join some stupid society club with just one sad face. He was simply perfect.

Remus wondered, perhaps a bit strangely, if Sirius was as perfect around his friends as he was around Remus. Was the Sirius Black that Remus knew the same Sirius Black that James Potter knew? 

As he ruminated on this thought, distant footsteps were approaching the door, and even before he heard the heavy tone and jingling jewelry, he knew who it was. The footsteps stopped right outside his door, and Remus could just picture Sirius standing there in front of it, hand poised to knock.

Remus wasn’t even going to let him. He lifted his head up from the pillow just enough so his voice wouldn’t be muffled as he shouted, “Bugger off!”

The door creaked open just a bit.

“You okay?”

Remus’s face was back inside the pillow, but he just knew that Sirius was peeking his head through the door, leaning inside the door frame.

“How do you even know this is my room?” he said.

“There’s this plate on the door, you see, that says your name. I think it’s called a nameplate.”

“Shut up. Go away.”

“Y’know, I wanted to talk with you about something,” Sirius said. His tone had a forced lightness to it that pissed Remus off.

“Well, I don’t want to talk with you,” Remus spat.

“Queen and David Bowie.”

This actually caught Remus’s attention, so random and off-topic in its absurdity that he had to lift his head and meet Sirius’s silver gaze, where he was, predictably, peeking his head through the crack he’d created in the door.

“What?”

“Queen and David Bowie. I think it would be the greatest collaboration in the history of music.” Sirius was gaining confidence, pushing the door open a little bit more and leaning on the frame casually. Still not inside the room, but barely outside.

“What?” Remus repeated.

“Come on, you know it would be amazing. Tell me you wouldn’t listen to that song.”

“It would never happen,” Remus shook his head, still bewildered by the random topic of conversation.

“I dreamed that it would,” said Sirius. “It happened, and I listened to it, and it was amazing. I can’t remember how it went. But it was incredible.”

“Well, that’s great for you.”

“When they release it, we’ll listen to it together,” said Sirius.

“They will never release it, because it’ll never happen,” said Remus.

“Have some faith, Remus. How’s this, when it releases- because it will- you listen to it with me.”

“It will never happen.”

“Then might as well agree to the deal, huh?”

Remus narrowed his eyes. Sirius looked incredibly proud of himself, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, smirking.

“Fine,” Remus sighed. He shook his head, chagrined, wondering how the hell he’d entertained Sirius’s stupid topic of conversation when he’d practically been running away from the boy all of ten minutes ago.

After a long moment of silence, Sirius spoke again. “You don’t like reading poems aloud, huh?”

“Merlin, you’re a genius. Where’d you get that idea?”

Sirius ignored him. “Well, what about the Dead Poets Society?”

Remus sighed. He’d never turned without a full moon before, however, if heard that phrase one more time he was beginning to think he might. “What about it?”

“How are we going to do it if you don’t even want to read aloud?”

Now seemed as good a time as any to let Sirius down. Remus shrugged. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

There was a brief, stunned silence in which Remus avoided looking at Sirius’s face, fearful of whatever betrayed look he may find on it.

After letting the silence hang over them for a few moments, Sirius finally said, “You’re a liar.”

The accusation was enough to shock Remus into looking up at Sirius. “What?”

“You’re a liar. You do want to do it. You love poetry.”

“No, I don’t,” Remus said, then cringed. He sounded like a petulant child.

“If you didn’t love poetry, you wouldn't have given me that Whitman book,” Sirius reasoned. He gestured to the T.S. Eliot collection sitting beside Remus’s pillow. “I bet that’s more poetry you’re reading right now.”

Remus didn’t answer.

“Come on, Remus. Does nothing Professor Keating says mean shit to you?”

Remus frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re supposed to be in the club! Being in the club means getting stirred up about things! You look about as stirred up as a cesspool.”

“There’s not even a club yet!”

“Everything in it’s time, Remus, everything in it’s time.”

Remus sighed. “Alright, so, what, you want me out or something? ‘Cause that’s fine with me.”

“No, I want you in! All the way in! I want you as into this as me. And that means actually doing stuff with me, not just saying you’re in.”

“What about all your other friends, huh? Just have them do the club with you!”

“I don’t want them, I want you!”

There was a brief, testy silence. Remus sat up, finally, to face Sirius properly. He had completely entered the room now, not just lingering in the door frame, and was standing right in front of Remus’s bed, staring him down with eyes like storm clouds.

“Listen, Sirius,” Remus said, trying to puff himself up to match Sirius’s energy. “I appreciate this concern, but I’m not like you, alright? You say things and people listen, I… I’m not like that.”

Sirius leaned in closer, his expression turning more earnest than argumentative. “Don’t you think that you could be?”

Remus, like Sirius? Merlin, give him a break.

“No! And that’s not the point, the point is that there’s nothing you can do about it, so you can just butt out. I can take care of myself just fine.”

Remus had been looking after himself for five years now, he’d been quiet for five years, he had a few good friends and a relatively good life and now all of a sudden along came Sirius Black, thinking he was going to save Remus’s life with some poetry club he’d just come up with a day ago. It was laughable.

Sirius studied Remus, biting his lip and tilting his head in that confused, doglike way of his. He set his jaw, eyes hardened in determination.

“No,” he said.

Remus blanched.

“What do you mean, no?”

Sirius shrugged innocently, lips quirking upwards.

“No.”

His gaze travelled down to the book by Remus’s side, and before Remus could react, he snatched it and pulled it close to his chest to inspect the cover. “I knew you had more poetry books!” He shouted victoriously.

“Sirius!”

Remus lunged forward to grab the book, but Sirius hopped back towards Peter’s bed, out of his reach.

“Come on, be serious.”

Sirius took a few more steps back, eyes still on Remus, and bumped into Peter’s bed. Glancing behind him in surprise, he paused before seemingly making up his mind and hopping up onto the mattress. Doc Martens fully on Peter’s comforter. Merlin, that was disgusting.

“I’m always Sirius!” he sang triumphantly. “Come and get it!”

Remus was far too mature for these stupid antics. But Sirius was grinning like an idiot, and he didn’t want to let him win…

“Screw it,” he said, leapt up, and bounded over to Peter’s bed in two strides.

Sirius let out a surprised cackle at Remus’s sudden approach and jumped down off the bed to sprint back over to Remus’s. Remus followed in another leap, lunging for Sirius’s ankles, and soon, in a display of idiocy befitting James Potter, Remus was chasing Sirius about the room in a circle, leaping onto beds and dressers, messing up comforters and scattering books and knickknacks onto the carpet. Sirius’s cackles were bouncing around the room. Finally, Remus was able to grab hold of one of Sirius’s ankles and the other boy collapsed to the carpet with a yelp, dropping the book in front of him. Having leapt off of the bed in order to get to him, Remus went down as well and lunged over his body to reach for the book as Sirius giggled hysterically beneath him, reaching blindly over his head for the book with Remus’s body blocking his view.

It was at that moment that Peter Pettigrew decided to enter the room.

At the sound of the door’s opening, Remus pushed himself as far away from Sirius’s body as possible and sat up to meet his friend’s bewildered gaze as he took in the state of his room, and the other boy giggling on the floor in front of him.

“Er,” said Peter.

Sirius sat up as well, still grinning, his hair completely askew so it looked like a lion’s mane around his head. “Hi, there,” he said.

“Er, hello,” said Peter.

“Sirius Black,” said Sirius, pushing himself up to his feet unsteadily and offering a hand to Peter. “I was just using your room briefly.”

“Peter, Peter Pettigrew,” Peter stammered, blushing furiously. Remus shook his head with a scoff. Of course the boy was nervous to be in the presence of the ever-popular Sirius Black.

“Sorry about the mess, Peter. You may want to wash your comforter.”

“R-right.”

Sirius brushed his robes off dramatically, then, when his eyes landed on the book laid forgotten on the floor, bent down and picked it up.

“I suppose I better give this back,” he said, chagrined, and turned to hold the book out to Remus. “I know you have more of them, though.”

Remus took the book from Sirius’s hand and shrugged, allowing himself a small, teasing smirk.

“You better bring them to our meetings,” Sirius said.

We don’t even have a spot to meet yet, Remus wanted to say, but didn’t, if only not to break Sirius’s mood and start him on another tangent about Remus “doing things.”

Peter, who was still standing in the doorway, twiddling his fingers, cut in hesitantly. “Er- what meetings?”

Seemingly having forgotten about Peter’s presence in the minute he hadn’t been speaking, Sirius started at the sound of his voice, before his eyes lit up with an idea, and Remus wanted to groan. Sirius turned back to face Peter.

“Say, Peter, do you like poetry?”