Chapter 3
‘You ok?’
Peter nudged him, his toe meeting Remus’ thigh. They were sitting at either end of his bed, revising for - Remus couldn't actually remember. He looked across at Peter, who was nodding to the textbook that was now lying discarded across Remus’ stomach.
‘Sorry,’ he grunted, shuffling back up the bed and picking the book up. Charms, that was it, they had a test -
‘We don't have to do any more,’ Peter said, closing his own textbook, ‘I reckon I know everything I'm going to know at this point.’
Remus nodded absently, his eyes skimming the page in front of him. He didn't recognise it at all. He wondered how badly he was going to fail the test.
‘Are you ok, though?’ Peter was looking at him carefully, waiting for the denial, an assurance that everything was fine, that he was just spending extended periods of time staring into space for no reason whatsoever.
Remus bit his lip, and very slowly shook his head.
‘Don't think so, no.’
Peter dropped his textbook beside him, shuffling sheets of parchment into a vague pile and climbing round to sit beside Remus, lifting his book off his lap and chucking it towards the end of the bed.
‘I’m really sorry it's all such a mess,’ he said, pulling his needs up and hugging them to his chest. ‘I’m sorry we can't fix -’
‘I just don't know what to do,’ Remus said, suddenly, his voice cracking slightly as the words tumbled from his mouth, ‘I’ve been trying to work out what to do, but I can't - there's nothing -’
‘You don't have to do anything,’ Peter said, ‘Dumbledore has sorted the Snape situation, so -’
‘Not about Snape -’
‘I know, I know,’ Peter paused, ‘That’s what I mean though. If you don't want to do anything you don't have to.’
Remus looked at him, wondering if he was right, the question clear on his face.
‘You didn't do anything wrong,’ Peter said, ‘You don't have to fix anything.’
Remus leant back against the headboard, letting Peter’s words sink in, letting them settle over him like a blanket. He hadn't thought about it like that, not at all.
‘But if I hadn't -’
‘What?’ Peter interrupted him, ‘If you hadn't what? Hadn't been bitten as a small child and endured hundreds of horrific painful transformations ever since then there wouldn't have been a secret to tell? So it's what? Your fault? C’mon Moony, you don't really believe that.’
Remus hesitated again. He knew what Peter was saying, but he still didn't feel -
‘This is on Sirius,’ Peter said, his voice firm, ‘And on Snape. It is not on you.’
Sirius' face flashed across Remus' mind as Peter said his name, making Remus wince. He exhaled heavily through his nose and sank back further into his pillow. The pain in his chest was back, heavy and wet and aching.
‘It hurts,’ he said, his voice a whimper.
‘Yeah,’ Peter rubbed his arm gently, ‘Yeah. I know.’
*
Remus sighed and rolled over. Again. The lack of sleep was really getting old. He reached for his wand and lit it, sticking his head out between his drapes in search of something to read. He spotted his book on the rug at the end of his bed - just out of reach and rolled his eyes. He sighed again and heaved himself out of bed, stopping suddenly as the murmur of voices reached his ears.
The light was on above James’ bed, illuminating his curtains into a glowing box, soft and warm. A charm had been cast - the trademark low hum of muffliato, and two profiles were clearly silhouetted against the red fabric. James, his hair a halo around his head, his glasses squaring the bridge of his noses, and Sirius, straight backed and graceful, sitting across from him. Remus hesitated, frozen at the end of his bed, not wanting to alert them to his intrusion.
As he watched, Sirius bowed his head slightly, his hair falling forwards, a translucent curtain against the light, and James reached out one arm, his hand vanishing again somewhere in front of his friend: clutching at a hand perhaps, a gesture of reassurance, of brotherhood. The murmured whispers continued, unintelligible whispers rising and falling with the cadence of their voices. Remus felt the twist of something, somewhere deep in his stomach and reached out to rub at it as he bent down for his book.
He climbed back into bed, dropping his book beside him, suddenly no desire to read and even less to be discovered with his wand lit whenever Sirius slipped back into his own bed. He wondered if he would. ‘It’s the only way he'll sleep,’ James had said, weeks ago, when Remus had seen them one morning, curtains parted by James’ exit, the top of Sirius’ head just visible between the sheets, ‘Bad dreams,’ he'd added, by way of explanation. Remus had wondered then if he would ever have anyone to do the same for him. He wondered again now.
*
‘We’re going to lose. There's absolutely no hope.’
James, red faced and damp, flung his broomstick at his bed, immediately regretting it as it rolled off, landing with a thump on the floor. He retrieved it, inspecting the twigs at the end and huffing out a deep sigh.
‘Don’t lie down,’ Peter said, ‘You’ve still got mud in your hair.’
He was right. James’ hair was wet, so clearly an attempt at a shower had been made, but it hadn't been entirely successful.
‘For Merlin's sake,’ he grumbled, ‘I got absolutely covered. Westbrook is useless. Honestly. Spent half the time on the ground trying to show him how to keep hold of the bat. What am I going to do?’ He looked around the room as if hoping an expert Beater might emerge from under a bed. ‘We'd be better off with you, Pete.’
‘Is that a complement?’ Peter asked, pulling a towel from the back of the bathroom door and tossing it at James. ‘Go and wash yourself properly. You're getting mud on the rug. And you'll feel better.’
James huffed again, propping his broomstick delicately on top of his trunk and grabbing the towel. He stopped by the bathroom door -
‘Seriously Pete. Think about playing.’
The door closed and Peter flopped onto the foot of Remus bed, lying back and staring up at the canopy.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said.
‘What?’ Remus asked, wondering if Peter really knew what he'd been thinking.
‘Blaming yourself for Gryffindor losing tomorrow.’
Ah shit.
‘I’m not,’ Remus said quickly.
Peter propped himself up on one elbow and looked over at him, one eyebrow raised.
‘Well,’ Remus added, ‘It is my fault he's off the team.’
Peter let out a hollow laugh and flopped onto his back.
‘You know that's ridiculous right? Deep down? You feel like it's your fault because you're damaged and you think everything is your fault, but really on some level, you know it's not?’
Remus rubbed at his eyes. It was dark outside. Really they should be getting ready for bed. All four of them. He wondered where Sirius was -
‘Re?’
Peter was looking at him again. He knew what he had to say. He had to agree, reassure Peter that he wasn't completely out of his mind -
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘Yeah I know really.’
Peter looked sceptical. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘Don't forget it.’
‘So,’ James said, emerging from the bathroom, clean now and a rather forced smile on his face, ‘You up for it, Pete?’
‘What?’ Peter asked, not sitting up.
‘Playing. Tomorrow. Beater?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Peter snorted.
James’ face fell and he sat down heavily on the bed, his expression strained again. Remus watched as he ran a hand through his now clean hair, and his eyes lingered on Sirius’ empty bed.
‘What am I going to do?’
‘You should talk to him,’ Remus said, suddenly, causing both James and Peter to turn.
‘Who?’
Remus hesitated, ‘You don't have to keep up the silent treatment because of me. It's ok. You should talk to him, check he's alright.’
‘Merlin,’ Peter slapped a hand to his forehead and let out a deep sigh, but James continued to stare.
‘Moony -’
‘I know it's hurting you, and I don't want you to hurt any more because of me. You can stop now.’
James came forward, tossing his damp towel onto the end of his bed and pushing Peter gently to one side so he could sit down.
‘I’m not hurting because of you, Moony. This - not wanting to lose the match that's not - it's not part of the same thing.’
‘I know it's painful for you,’ Remus continued, the self pity overflowing now, ‘Not talking to him. I can see it, when you sit in lessons, when he walks through the common room -’
James hesitated, briefly glancing at Peter, who was still lying across the bed. ‘It is hurting me,’ he admitted, his hand finding Remus' socked foot and giving it a squeeze. ‘But you're not. It's not you.’ He bit his lip, inhaling through his teeth. ‘I’m hurt because I thought he was getting better. I thought he wasn't going to do things like this. I thought I had helped and I was wrong - he chose wrong -’ James’ voice was thick. ‘I’m hurt because I don't understand how he could do it to me either.’
Remus swallowed. The pain was etched across James' face. Peter had rolled into a sitting position, his knees up against his chest, his eyes moving between them.
‘I thought I could fix him, and now I'm not sure I can,’ James said, ‘And it just hurts, because I love him so much.’
Remus felt his chest ache. His wound was almost healed now, the scab dry and gone, but the scar was still fresh and pink beneath his t-shirt. He rubbed at it.
‘Sorry -’ James looked at his hands, ‘I know I shouldn't -’
‘It's OK,’ Remus said, James' words echoing in his head. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
*
‘It was quite an impressive punch,’ Peter said, climbing onto the bench next to Remus and reaching for the teapot. ‘Think Sirius needed it more than James to be honest though, which is - well - not more fucked up than anything else so…’
He paused, looking across at Remus, who struggled to return his gaze. Sirius had arrived at breakfast and sat down with Mary, a purple bruise on his left cheekbone, waving away her hand as she brought it up to his face.
‘You hit him?’ Remus said, involuntarily as James appeared opposite them, sliding into his own seat, the knuckles on his right hand red and swollen.
‘Sorry,’ James said looking sheepish.
Remus shrugged. He kind of didn't blame him. He sometimes felt like hitting Sirius too. He glanced up the table again: the girls had gone back to their breakfast, Sirius hunched over his toast. His eye looked dreadful but there was something about him that did look - lighter?
‘He does want to talk to you,’ James said, quietly. ‘I said maybe to wait, let you come to him?’
Remus nodded, eyes sliding back to James. The look on his face was hopeful and Remus tried not to feel like he was being asked for something.
‘Have you done the astronomy homework?’ Peter said, in a voice louder than necessary for the time of morning, giving Remus the chance to nod gratefully and duck under the table for a moment, rummaging in his bag.
He took his time, leafing through the sheets of parchment, between the worn cardboard folders and bottles of ink, trying to breathe deeply, through the unbearable tightening in his chest. Trying not to hear the conversation occurring above him. Peter hissing furiously at James. He glanced along the rows of legs, grey school trousers and knee-length stockings, his eyes finding the pair of scuffed black shoes he knew would be there, odd socks just visible, one red, one purple. His fingers found his homework, and he sat up again.
‘Here -’
‘Thanks,’ Peter replied, taking the parchment with his right hand, his left finding Remus' shoulder and squeezing it hard.
*
Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Merlin, it was hot. Two trains and now this bus and his t-shirt was soaked against his back. He drained the last drops of coke from the can balanced on his knee. It was sticky sweet and did nothing to quench his thirst. He wondered if he could get away with a swift Augamenti, but the man opposite had been watching him since he'd got on, trying to engage him in conversation.
The driver shouted the next stop and Remus sighed with relief. James would be at the bus stop to meet him and then they could make a plan. He pulled a dog-eared scrap of parchment out of his pocket and unfolded it, thumb tracing the words, the ink slightly smeared from repeated readings.
I’m keeping my head down, Moony, I promise. I'll be alright. Eight weeks and we'll be back to normal. Don't send more letters, I won't get them, I’ll try to get some out to you. Write to me though please, write. Tell me things. I want to hear it all. Everything you do and see and think and feel. Tell me everything, write it all down and I’ll read it when I get back. Padfoot.
If Sirius had tried to get any letters out, Remus hadn't got them. He had kept up his end of the deal, and written down what he would have sent. The sheets of parchment were folded carefully in his battered rucksack which was slumped on the seat beside him. Safe. Ready.
‘You made it!’ James cheered, as Remus disembarked, almost knocking Remus into the road with the force of his hug. ‘You really need to get your Dad to sort out your Floo. It would be much better -’
‘Yeah,’ Remus muttered, not bothering to reexplain his father’s thought processes. ‘I don't mind the bus-’
‘We do though, been waiting ages!’
‘We?’ Remus looked around, the country lane was deserted, just scrubby bushes and yellowed grass, and the dilapidated wooden bus stop -
‘Surprise!’ Sirius said, as he emerged from behind it, grinning, striding forwards, arms wide -
Remus shoved him away, surprising himself as much as Sirius, whose face dropped, arms coming up in defence.
‘What the fuck?’ Remus could feel his heart beating hard in his chest as he looked between them. Weeks, weeks of nothing, of not knowing, of worrying - of imagining - writing to James - ‘You’re here?’ he glanced at James, who was looking back, ears red, eyes nervous, ‘Where the fuck have you been?’
‘I-’ Sirius stuttered, ‘Sorry -’
He looked so wounded, Remus faltered, both of them frozen for a moment, eyes on each other, at a loss, and then Remus gave in, reaching for Sirius, pulling him close, one hand across his back, the other behind his head.
‘I was so worried.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Remus closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of Sirius' arms across his back, crossed at the wrists, squeezing him. He could feel the thump of his heart through his damp t-shirt and the sweat on the nape of his neck. He could smell him, the saltiness of his hot skin.
‘We’d better make a move,’ James said, gently, as if afraid to startle them, ‘Mum’ll have lunch ready.’
Much later, as the sun was setting behind the trees at the end of the long garden, James came and sat beside Remus on the picnic rug on which Effie had served supper. They watched in silence for a few minutes as Monty bowled cricket balls for Sirius to hit with his beater’s bat, listening to the thwack of the wood on leather and then the whizz of the wall being summoned back.
‘How bad was it?’ Remus said, eventually, turning to James, whose face was golden in the glow of the last light, the rims of his glasses shining against his dark hair.
‘It was pretty bad -’ James looked back at him, ‘He’s not really - I think he'll probably tell you, eventually. But yeah, it was bad.’
Remus exhaled through his nose and lent forward, resting his arms across his knees, eyes back on the silhouetted figures at the bottom of the garden. ‘And he's not going back?’
‘No. Dad went to see them, and Dumbledore. He's not going back.’
‘OK, good.’
Remus felt his heart unclench a little. His lungs inflate more easily. ‘You could have told me you know.’
‘I know. I'm sorry. It was only last week and it's been - it's been intense. And he was so excited to see you. I think he wanted it to be fun, not like everything else has been -’
‘Mm,’ Remus settled his chin on his arms. ‘Do you think he'll be alright?’
‘Yeah,’ James replied, characteristically hopeful, ‘Yeah we’ll sort him out. Mum’s on a mission to fatten him up, he's gone all skinny and he seems - he seems a bit better. A little bit.’
‘Right boys, that's me done for the evening I think,’ Fleamont called, rubbing his shoulder as he approached. ‘One of you’ll have to go down and take over, Sirius isn't coming off that broom anytime soon!’
‘I’ll go,’ Remus said, unfolding his limbs and nodding at James, ‘You need to owl Pete, so we don't have a repeat of this morning when he gets here tomorrow.’
Much much later, once the garden outside the window properly dark, Remus was lying pyjamaed in a spare room, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He'd thrown the ball for at least an hour after Fleamont had gone to bed, watching Sirius swoop after it, his hair flying behind him, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he smacked it away as hard as he could. Over and over again. He thought about what James had said: “pretty bad” in the James Potter dictionary of euphemisms meant - well -
He was interrupted by a soft tap at the door and the turn of the handle. He shuffled up onto his elbows as Sirius appeared in the doorway, his face tense, his bare toes curled against the wooden floor.</p>
‘You ok?’ Remus whispered.
‘Can I come in?’
Remus shuffled over, pulling back the thin summer blanket. Sirius shut the door behind him and climbed in, turning on his side to face Remus.
‘Are you angry with me?’
‘No. A bit. I was scared for you.’
‘I’m OK.’
‘Are you?’
‘No.’
Remus rolled onto his side too, one arm under his head, the other finding Sirius' hand between them.
‘You want to sleep here?’
‘Yes please.’
‘OK.’ Remus pulled the blanket back across them. ‘Good.’