Nobody
“Moony- Moony, look I’m sorry, okay? I didn't see the kid - hey! Moony-” Sirius is waving an impatient hand in his face now - blurring the lines in front of him to an unintelligible scribble of too tightly printed descriptions on how to brew a sufficient drought of the living death.
Remus is more annoyed with the dark haired boy’s apologies than ever before. He is actually pissed off about them - a feeling again. And while his ignorance begins to hang on a precarious thread - his patience running out on him with the ambition of an Olympic sprinter, he can only marvel at the effect this tiny interaction had on him. The tight grip it appears to have on the spiral of his emotions - how it crystallises them with such ease for him - decipherable and open for him to grasp and utilise -
Just an inelegant stumble, a disruption of his already messed up study experience: Lily had spent the entire time talking through his thought process - twisting her interactions with James, the news on Mary’s hook-up situation with Sirius and the general excitement of the upcoming match between Slytherin and Gryffindor in such a complicated way, that it clashed immensely with Remus’ own research in the field of potions. And it isn’t as if he is completely unaffected by the information she is supplying him, not as if he doesn’t give a toss - not that it doesn’t hurt somewhere to hear about Mary’s and Sirius’ involvement - but it was slightly muted now. Slightly adrift - slightly situated somewhere further away from him - And if someone had told Remus just a month ago, that he would feel this way he would have thrown hands - would have demanded an explaination with a cynical smile on his face before throwing another punch uncaring about the tares in the flesh above his knuckles. He would have gone mental on this person. But there he sat now - in the middle of the Hogwarts library, a day after his return from the summer holidays, a quill in hand an only slightly annoyed about the frequent letter exchange Sirius and Mary allegedly had because its report interfered with his research - His mind caught somewhere between his potions homework and a certain distracting movement in his periphery.
A couple of months ago - no, a month ago - he probably wouldn’t even have cared. He probably would have barely noticed it. he probably would have let his gaze wander and not even registered it before turning back to his homework and tearing his mind apart about Sirius.
A moth ago, Evan Rosier had been no one but a strange kid in an alleyway where he didn't belong. A stray - a nameless, shapeless individual Remus would have never spent a second guess on. Today though - after the previous night - after the train - after the poems - after everything -
Remus didn’t know what to make of the other boy. He didn’t know anything anymore, to be precise. He just noticed him - his presence in every room. It was strange and unnerving at breakfast, twistingly sweet when the blonde turned at the same corridor between potions and charms - terrifyingly demanding of his awareness when the group of younger Slytherins sat down on a table just a few rows from Remus at the library this evening.
Like on a silent command he had swivelled his head when the trio of unmatched characters rounded the entrance to the secluded work space stacked with books and scrolls and everything else. He had barely looked up from his work, trying so hard to find a distraction from Lily’s dedicated report and landed with a heart-sinking finality on the cluster of green and black robes of a certain infamous Slytherin trio. The hadn’t meant to look over to them, hadn’t meant to stare. But following closely after Sirius’ younger brother a blonde mob of hair had stuck out to him - the broadened built followed, the elegant incline of his head, the sharpness of his jaw and a twinkle in those impossibly light eyes - directed at a taller boy next to him, wearing Slytherin green and an unnerving grin on his too wide mouth.
The trio had settled in a cluster of loosely arranged chairs - Black at the head of the table, with an aristocratic upturn of his nose and a methodological expression on his features as he unfolded the neatly stacked bundle of notes on the tale between them - Evan following shortly after, hunched over and silently laughing to himself as a figure settled closely next to him on one of those worn wooden benches.
By then, Lily could have told him about a goblin war erupting in the north of Ireland as they were speaking - Remus was completely occupied by the interactions unfolding in front of his eyes across the room. Sirius and his involvement with Mary, all of the story’s details became irrelevant, as Remus watched the dark haired boy next to Evan extend his right arm, settling it without a response of protest over the blonde boy’s shoulder.
That was when the fire started to kindle in Remus’s insides, burning away his academic dedication. An unfathomable event - something so strange and ungraspable - it didn’t make sense, but he found himself transfixed by the action - by the lack of the blonde’s response. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, as time passed and the dark haired boy shifted even closer to Evan’s side. With every touch and every missed opportunity from Evan’s side to protest, Remus’ insides became a pit fire of lethal acid. It gnawed at him relentlessly as he followed every little shift of that Crouch boy with his eyes in undisturbed focus. Eventually, just when he noticed a crinkle in Evan’s brows at the increasingly intimate contact, Lily caught on with Remus’ distractedness.
“Where are you looking at?” He swirled around in his seat immediately, facing her with schooled neutrality, trying to smooth over his tardiness with an accusingly raised brow - but Lily saw right through him. Her intelligent green eyes trailed once over his face before moving into the direction he was looking at prior. She scrunched up her brows at him in silent questioning. And he didn't have an answer for her, staring back stuck in embarrassment and the possibility of going undetected in his stalking, when she raised her voice in a careful tone, “Do you care about quidditch all of a sudden? I never took you for one of the fans, Remus? Checking out the competition - they got nothing on our team though, don't worry.” Lily grinned with a sudden ecstasy flooding her features.
Just as the hand of that dark haired Slytherin kid dropped down on the blonde’s thigh in the distance, Remus heard himself saying: “Really? What makes you think that way?”
He never cared about quidditch - never watched a single game, went to the minimal amount of flying lessons in his first year, but only because he had to. He detested flying in general, never found the appeal in the whole defying-gravity-thing those lunatics like James and Sirius were always musing about with their eyes glazed over and expressions turned far away as if they were reminiscing in sweet old memories.
There was a hint in Lily’s words now, though - a suggestion of knowledge - just a tiny drop of information he could use, so he inquired further, leaning back into the stacks of books burying themselves into his sore back muscles.
“Marlene is just as good of a seeker as that fifth-year Regulus-kid is. They might call him a prodigy, but he is nothing without his daddy’s money and the fancy equipment its buying him - Crouch is not to be underestimated, but Black and Prevett are just as vicious on the pitch - and collect even less penalties than Crouch Sr.’s son. That one really is a lunatic. And James and Mary - they’re no match for that blonde one - I forgot his name - doesn’t matter - Something with R - Anyways, our beaters and chasers are definitely stronger this year - and the keepers -“
Remus zoned out after that: the blonde kid - Lily rattled down even more names - pulling out strategies and prior scores and every individual accomplishment on the Slytherin team - everyone’s except Evan’s - to compare them elaborately against their own house.
As she talked on, diving into one of her intelligent rants, Remus focussed entirely on the table a few rows to his right. The younger Black was immersed deeply into his studies, while Evan skimmed a book with lazily draped hands and a confused expression lining his pronounced features - and Crouch - Crouch’s hand had wandered again. Into golden strands of hair. His fingers were completely immersed into the tousled side of Evan’s hair and Remus - Remus couldn’t help but stare - leaving Lily forgotten on the seat right opposed him as he stared over her head with an inexplicable amount of rage forming in his insides.
The fingers moved sluggishly, draped so intimate around the blonde’s neck - the caress of a lover. It brought something to a boil in Remus. Something exploded inside him. And he didn’t even know why - Why it sat so wrong with him, that Crouch’s hand -
Melting ice on a silver lake - green hues of a meadow illuminated by the break of dawn - stars exploding in the night sky - hit him with a force. The possessive streak of a crossed interest - an obsession on the brink of its unfolding. He stared along, stared over Lily’s explosive rant, stared over the moving crowd of students leaving their seats - stared right into Evan Rosier’s soul.
The unnoticeable boy didn’t move, met his gaze with steeled intensity - an acknowledgement in the quiet of rustling papers and jaggering quills. The distance between them so large, that Remus understood the boy’s reference of Oceans separating them. It was all washing over him, then. The intensity, his rage, this unforeseeable possessive urge to snap Crouch’s wrist and pulverise every single one of his fingers.
It was gone in a second - The second it took Evan to look down onto the wrist covering his shoulder over the tightened material of his schools robes.
Remus had to look away then - had to collect himself - to ground himself. This feeling - It went way over his head - way out of his reach of comprehension - it didn’t make sense on every level. He felt lost, caught inside of it. He felt the urge to run. He couldn’t though - not with Lily there, not with all these witnesses - not with Evan present -
Evan was gone from his seat when Remus mustered the courage to look at his direction again.
The quiet boy left. Gone without a hint - without a trace. Nothing appeared different about the scenery with him gone - two Slytherins sharing a library desk in midst their study session, unbothered and slightly annoyed with the texts they were reading. Nothing amiss - The place appeared too quiet though. At least to Remus it did. There was something missing in his opinion. Someone. A certain Slytherin. A forgettable blonde chaser on the quidditch team. The one, which accomplishments not even Lily could remember.
And it didn’t sit quite right with Remus then. This forgettable nature of Evan Rosier. It made him feel alienated - far away from his peers. Isolated. Because he missed the boy’s presence - noticed his absence - noticed everything about him now.
When Evan dropped that herbology book in his lap, Remus was ready to throw hands at any possible intruder of his quiet evening study session. He had gotten agitated with Lily’s sudden departure and Evan’s ominous absence - the absence he had used to collect himself. To ground himself and that strange urge to corner Crouch in one of the hallways once he got the chance to make it look like an unfortunate accident.
His thought process had been unsettling and strange - so out of place and unreasonable that Remus gave in to the urge to flex his fingers underneath the library table. He didn’t know what to make of it - the strangeness and that feeling. It was rooted so deeply in his chest, so burning and destructive that he didn't know what to do with himself.
And then, Remus heard those voices. The voices of his friends. Of Sirius. it was all too much.
He nearly threw a paunch at the intruder right there and then in his agitated state - and deflated once he recognised golden strands of hair, stormy eyes of impossible lightness and an unsure expression of obscured mystery. Evan. Evan at his table. Evan, dropping a book into his lap. Evan - and then Sirius. Two opposites - a lean strong body with black curls and a wicked grin - and Evan - thrown to the side despite his muscled built - taken off guard and defenceless in the distracted glance that rested entirely on Remus instead on his surroundings.
Two opposites: An obvious beauty, asking for attention wherever he went, so adored and feared - and the nameless boy. The nameless boy, who’s accomplishments no one remembered. The nameless boy that captured every single one of Remus’ gazes with ease - who carried the silence in his steps like a loved cloak, who went unnoticed in every crowd - the hidden gem with a rough surface of grey. Obscured, hidden - unseen. The nameless boy of unconventional beauty. The boy with light eyes and dimples - when one is witty enough to pull out a laugh from him.
And those opposites didn't disappear, only intensified, as Sirius took a confident stance, looking down at Remus with a mixture of arrogance and excitement and Evan kept cowering next to the book shelf he had gotten thrown into. And in subtlety lies beauty - in silence lays strength - but nothing of that unraveled. The moment stayed, sank - manifested.
It didn’t sit quite right with Remus then. He couldn’t put his finger on it - wouldn’t do so. He was afraid to do it. So he acted. With a short fuse as always - pushing himself between the crossfire of a lost battle. The sneer on his face came like an instinct, when he directed it at Sirius - his friend - his -
He turned to Evan then, helping him up out of pure need. He burned with every centimetre of fabric he got to hold in those short seconds. That feeling again. It sent a short circuit through his brain - made him stumble over the nickname that held no place at its exposure - the situation in general.
But that smirk - it made it all worth it - sent a shiver of encouragement through his bloodstream and made him burn with that familiar feeling of warmth enveloping him in the coldest winter storm. He didn’t even pay attention to the pang of betrayal spreading over Sirius’ features, didn’t look for James when he settled down in his seat again - feeling light-headed and so alive-
James’ raised eye brow pulls Remus straight into the present now - back to Sirius scowling at him from opposite the table, back to James’ shuffling his abandoned books of previous research. There is pressure in their subtly waiting posture - a short window of time closing right in front of Remus’ eyes. A suggestion, that they had held room long enough, apparently - or as long as they normally were able to. There is a demand in their familiar sets of eyes, their too still limbs, their accusing glances.
Remus knows what he should be doing with their offer, with them seeking him out instead of waiting for his eventual return to their little group - their years of friendship, hardship, constantly choosing each other - but it pressures him into a corner as well. Wild animals don’t appreciate a cornering inquiry - don’t appreciate pressure and accusation. And neither does Remus. He is stubborn that way.
He meets their gazes with that stubbornness now, silent and resilient - waiting them out - twisting the situation until the realisation of the turned intervention dawns on his friends’ faces.
He doesn’t intend the perceived malice. In truth, all he wants at the moment is some time alone to think - some room, an actual choice and the appropriate time to make it at his disposal. Remus just doesn't want to feel pressured anymore. He is tired of it - of their demanding nature, the sheer dominance with which both of them ruled over their friend group - the same dominance Peter had told him on several occasions to endure and welcome - at least they got to be part of it, right? - But Remus wants to make that choice on his own now: Taking into consideration what he knows from experience about the three boys, he had shared a dorm with for over five years. This time he knows what to expect from them - James with his enormous ego and almost patronising interferences when he deemed them necessary; Peter with his deliberate decision making to be a push-over, and the submissive nature of a cowering animal that solidified in his animagus form; Sirius and his careless, reckless idiocy, his vain character and shallow world-view of black and white:
He sees their nuances now, knows how to judge them in a fair but realistic manner - and to say that they all - in one way or another - stand in a very dubious light at the moment, is the understatement of the year. And even though he appreciates their persistence, their deep desire to have him back in their midst, he also feels betrayed. Teeth-rottingly, bone-crushingly, flesh-eatingly betrayed. And even when it was only Sirius who had deliberately decided to stab him in the back and reveal his most dangerous secret just to get back at a school-bully, James and Peter are none the more innocent. They took Sirius’ side, abandoning Remus in his misery. They have no right to corner him now. Neither James, but especially not Sirius.
Their audacity is the most agitating part of this whole complicated situation. Their unreasonable confidence - this out of touch stupidity to seek him out on their second day back at school - the general idea that they have any business to do so, any right.
James is crossing his arms at Remus now, retreating back into his seat with a defensive expression lining his features, causing Remus to follow the other boy’s movements with his eyes instead of staring them both down. A mistake, because Sirius must be interpreting his action now, as he leans forward in his chair, once the burning acid of Remus’ gaze is directed at something else.
“By Merlin, Moony - What do you want me to say? I am sorry. I told you at least a hundred times! What can I do - what more can I say to make it up to you?” His hand gestures are frantic, his face a mixture of despair and anger.
“Listen, Remus, we just wanted to - I don't know - interact with you? You have been ignoring us for the last days and we just wanted to make sure that -“ James tries, sitting up straighter in his seat, while placing both of his hands on his legs, pushing the fabric of his trousers up and down in a nervous motion.
The silence, that settles between them, is made of acid and ice. Remus stays solid in his defiance, as he eyes his friends with the intensity of a predator ready to pounce. His gaze is a promise of violence, that doesn’t seem to hold any particular meaning when presented to two determined Gryffindors.
“Just say something - anything, Moony. Please.” Sirius almost shouts at him, dropping his anger to make way for the utter desperation fighting its way up in his tone. Remus feels nothing but cold betrayal when he looks at his friend now, when his gaze drifts over the other boy’s long hair and expertly drawn eyeliner, to his pathetically twisted mouth.
Once, Remus’ every dream had started and ended with those lips. They still do. But now they are filled with grimaces and ugly laughter and the bitter feeling of futile dreams shattered. Now, that cupids bow mouth, the ashen pink colour of its surface and the canine teeth behind the other boy’s laugh remind him of nothing more than the night he had opened the door of the shrieking shack with a displaced grin, just as Remus’ tail bone snapped in half and sent a lightning bolt of exploding pain down his spine. Now his beauty appears shallow - a mask of intelligent design - made to fool every living being to adore him and inflict the soul-crushing want to lay the world to his feet. It’s a calculated method to deceive the viewer, a tactic and nothing more. And how did that happen? How did he got so easily fooled? What exactly is that beauty worth if it takes you nothing to unravel it - get to know every last detail of its depth? What is its value, when it doesn’t inspire you to ask more questions than there are answers to in this world?
“You’re in no position to ask anything of me, Sirius.” Remus eventually states. The dripping rage in his words is a clear sign of dismissal - his tone a warning - but just as James starts to lean towards his friend with an alarmed expression, Sirius thrashes forward again, resting his entire torso on the desk between them.
”Moony, please - I can’t express how sorry I am for what I did - Remus, please - Please, I beg you - I thought - I thought we - I thought that you have already forgiven me!” His voice is a desperate squeal, a pathetic sob in the quiet of the closing library.
Annoyance flares up in Remus then. He had - forgiven Sirius, that is. He already had done that. But a simple apology won’t be able to fix what has been so severely broken. The other boy should know that - should relate to that - it is a blatant insult, that it takes him this long to realise that. It confirms the inferiority that Remus had thought about over the span of the entire holidays. His inferiority. His lesser meaning - his less substantial position in their friend-group. How is it, that Sirius and James could do whatever they wanted - handing out half-hearted apologies afterwards - but when Remus or Peter did something they had to redeem themselves somehow? How did that double standard even got established?
“I did. Months ago. That doesn’t mean, that I have forgotten though.” Remus only feels weariness crawling up his spine, when Sirius’ expression doesn’t change over the distance of the desk between them.
Not even James, with his immense emotional intelligence seems to accept the defiance in his tone. And that is a bitter pill to swallow for Remus. Not even the most caring in their group can understand his point now, blinded by immense loyalty - deaf to reason. A mere boy, instead of the natural leading force that Remus usually sees in him.
It is James again, who pulls him out of his thoughts, whose passiveness drives him to action. Without listening to Sirius’ arguments, Remus starts to collect his essay papers, pressing the herbology book under his arm tightly into his side. The book has a grounding effect, holds a reassurance he is desperately in need for at the present moment.
before he gets to slide pout of his seat though, a hand pushes him back. Remus has been too distracted by the thought of the book - that book Evan dropped - Evan - the possibility of a note resting within the frail pages - that he has not payed any attention to his two annoyingly persistent friends and Sirius’ inclination towards eccentricity. He finds himself facing the consequences of his thoughtlessness now, as Sirius pins him down in his seat with a shaking arm and a too rough touch on his aching shoulder.
Remus can only stare up at him with an incredulous arch of his eye brow, as the other boy pushes forwards with intent, “Moony! I said I am sorry! I am even sorry for pushing that nobody earlier - but see I care about you! I care so much - Moony, please - I - I can’t bear you hating me, Moony, please tell me how I can make it up to you - I’d do anything - I need you, Moony - This summer has been terrible - there is so much you don’t know-”
Remus shoves the hand from his shoulder in an instant, with an aggressive push and catapults out of his seat while Sirius recovers from the sudden violent dismissal. Towering over the shorter boy, Remus’ posture radiates dangerous displeasure - the angle of his head is too much, but he can’t help it, as the other boy stands frozen and way too close to him. They share a breath but it is nothing like that night when Sirius had kissed him for his birthday. It is brutal and dominant - possessively defensive without any reasoning to it. because the comment that rubbed Remus the worst of wrong ways had not been the one about himself. It was that word - Nobody. That nobody that Sirius had shoved carelessly into the shelves. The action he so graciously would also be inclined to apologise for.
It drives Remus feral - feral in a way he is not familiar with, despite the fact that he transforms into a ginormous beast with every fill of the moon. Feral. So feral, that it takes him the greatest effort not to punch Sirius here and now. It’s unreasonable in its intensity - so out of line and yet so natural, with the way it comes to him. It happens on instinct - an ancient one. It’s overwhelming and confusing, doesn’t make any more sense than the need to consume food on a regular schedule to stay well nutritioned. It’s not what Remus wants to focus on at the moment - what he is scared of to focus on anytime soon. At the moment he only wants to stare Sirius down, wants to challenge him in his natural confidence, wants to shake him up in his audacity - wants to make him self-reflect.
Because he has no right - no right at all, to call Evan that.
“Shut your mouth. Don’t you dare - you know nothing, Sirius. Nothing at all.” With that he drags his bag from his abandoned seat and struggles to head down the path between the tables towards the exit. Everything in him itches to scream the whole truth at the other boy. Everything in him demands that he turns back and throws a punch at his inconsiderate dorm-mate. For his foolishness - for his assumptions - for everything he did. But the weight at his side pulls him forward. Pulls him straight to the exit and into the corridor. It drags him along, carries him with the promise of a tiny bit of insight - a trace of an answer to the question he doesn’t yet allow himself to ask.
And it is the stupidest thing ever, that it is that same book, that makes him climb the winding steps to his dorm room instead of turning around and sneaking off to the leaky cauldron to charm Rosmerta into pouring him a couple of shots of whiskey. It is stupid and glorious and inexplicably random, that when he shuts the curtains around his bed and charms them to an unbreakable seal, he skims through the pages of that old book and finds the note. The smile that pulls on his tired mouth then, comes as a startling surprise. It leaves him breathless and confused, but he unfolds the scroll in his hands nonetheless, as it rolls up between his shaking fingers.
he discards the turmoil of emotions rising up in his chest - pushed the thoughts of Sirius to the side, as he takes in the artistic scribble of Evan’s handwriting unraveling before him. He marvels at it for a minute - unable to read the words right away. He is too transfixed by the hectic lines laying before him. They’re art in themselves. A string of black ink - blotted and smeared - frantically written - holding so much intend in their outline alone - so much care -
Remus doesn’t hear the two missing members of his shared dorm, when they make their way back to their room. He doesn‘t hear Sirius slipping into James‘ bed - doesn‘t hear the conversation enveloping him, while the other boys forget to put a silencing charm around them. He doesn‘t hear Peter turn in his bed to listen to them intently. He doesn’t hear anything despite his own breathing as he works through the complicatedly simple wording of Evan‘s message.
And he doesn’t see the lumus charm illuminating the bed next to his own, when he closes his eyes and dreams of silver and subtle blue - morning due covered roses in the shade of an old birch tree - the soft sunlight of an autumn day appearing between the filigrane net of a spider‘s nest. The impossible blue-green-grey of the first day after the full moon breaking though the forbidden forest and the narrow window of the shrieking shack - the promise of a new day - the steady confirmation of a horrible night survived.