so loud
You force bile back down your throat, tasting last night’s firewhiskey on the back of your tongue. Swallowing thickly, you press your fingers into your eyes, trying to ground yourself- your whole body aches.
“I’m sensing there’s something weighing on your mind,” Dumbledore’s rumble is gentler than you expected. You squint up at him from your squatted position on the floor and stand shakily.
“It’s not relevant,” you dismiss, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go again.”
“You’re weak. You need rest.”
“No, I don’t,” you snap. He raises a greying brow at you, face placid and patient. You suck your teeth in annoyance. “I need to practice. Sir.”
“You’ll hurt yourself, even more than you have, by pushing like this. I will not be a utensil for your self-destruction.”
You’re thrown back into the winged armchair in Dumbledore’s office, grimacing with motion sickness and disappointment. You’re alone with the wizard, his all-knowing eyes glinting at you behind half-moon glasses. McGonagall has been busy with other matters concerning the Order; her presence has been scarce at Hogwarts. You wish she were here to buffer the intensity of Dumbledore’s eyes on you.
“Your emotional wellbeing has effects on your… abilities. You know this,” he says, steepling his fingers. “You should not feel pressured to tell me anything you do not wish, but I will leave you with this: whatever is hurting you, if it is within your power, fix it. Find a crutch- you are still close with Mister Lupin, correct?”
You nod.
“I find confiding in a loved one lessens pain better than any elixir or charm. Whatever that pain may be,” he says, eyes sparkling. “You will only continue this cycle of emotional turmoil otherwise. Go rest.”
He dismisses you, sighing as he flattens a roll of parchment on his desk, pouring over words you can’t see. You nod stiffly and leave without another sound.
Guilt and embarrassment burn hot at the base of your gut as you walk back to the common room. He’s right- you couldn’t sleep for more than an hour after running into Sirius and Amelia at the tower, your tower, last night. His idiotic entitlement to bring someone else to your tower made your jaw uncomfortably clench with anger all night. You woke up periodically in the early morning, Sirius’s shocked face lingering behind your eyelids; a sick, sludge-like concoction of frustration, heartbreak, and self-loathing has been simmering in your stomach since. Half of the night is a blur. You resent that only the worst of it is burned into your mind.
What upsets you most is that it wasn’t even truly a betrayal- you’ve been pushing him away for months. Of course he’d go after someone else, he has every right to. Who are you to claim that he hurt you, when you brought this upon yourself? You don’t own that tower. You don't own him. This only makes your gut churn with guilt at your own anger. You feel like a mess. You’ve mastered the art of hiding how you feel, of keeping yourself in control; but with Sirius, everything slips away, your emotions too strong to conceal properly.
You take a deep breath as you hop onto a moving staircase just in time, wobbling before you grip the handrail. You need to get yourself together, you need to get over it, get over him. There are things more important than your little crush- like the Order, like Remus, like your friendship with Sirius. If you can’t have him in the way you yearn for, you’ll settle for anything you can get. Being able to talk and laugh with him, like actualfriends, is better than nothing at all- even with the aching pain of a partially-filled void in your chest.
You’ll find somewhere to store the anger and hurt, for your own sake.
“There you are,” Remus groans, startling you as you step through the portrait hole. He’s sprawled in an armchair by the fire; James, Lily, and Sirius are all nursing various levels of hangovers around him. You force a grin, hoping its shake will be seen as an effect of your pounding headache.
“How are you holding up?” Lily asks from the sofa. You sit down in front of Remus, leaning against his pajama-pant-clad legs.
“Better than this morning. Thanks for the food. You?” you nod at her, and she shrugs.
“You’ve gotten me breakfast plenty of times. And I feel fine.” You had Lily bring you breakfast that you picked at in bed, half-feigning a rough hangover to avoid seeing him for as long as possible.
You raise your eyebrow at James and Sirius, who are both laying down with arms thrown over their eyes. A surge of pleasure at Sirius’s obvious nausea makes your lip curl. “I’m guessing you two aren’t doing so well.”
“Is it that obvious?” James says, his head resting on Lily’s lap, squinty eyes blinking at you blearily behind crooked glasses.
“You look green.”
“Aren’t you, like, a healer? Heal me,” James whines, and you snort.
Lily rolls her eyes, giving James a playful tug on the hair, “You lot turn into babies over a little hangover.”
“Have you had a Pepper-up?” you ask, and James grunts an affirmative. You glance over at Sirius. “Sirius?”
“What?” he says, lifting his arm off of his face to squint over at you. You melt a little at his messy hair and deep, croaky voice, despite your best efforts. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he puts his arm back. “Oh, yeah. Uh-huh.”
“Want a pain relief spell? That’s all I can do for you, really.” You try to use them sparingly, since pain relief spells can be dangerous if they’re cast incorrectly; but after years of doting on Remus, you’ve become skilled at the challenging spellwork.
“Please,” James groans, and you scoff, standing to carefully press the tip of your wand to his forehead. You mutter the incantation, and he sighs.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“Sirius?”
He raises his arm back up, eyes flicking from your expressionless face to your wand. “Uh, sure.” He sits up in the loveseat, and you pace over to him. On instinct, you gingerly hold his cheek to tilt his face up to you- his skin grows hot under yours. He stares at your shoes as you delicately cast the spell, and doesn’t look back up.
“Thanks,” he mumbles.
“You should get hungover more often, Sirius, you’re so quiet. It’s lovely,” Remus teases. You sit back down in front of him, a coquettish smile on your face- in a twisted way, you’re glad that Sirius is ill. His pain seems like penance. Even if he is rather cute while half-awake and bleary-eyed.
“I’m going to try and get some sleep,” Sirius mutters, standing up. His eyes stay fixed away from you as he beelines for the boys’ dormitory. You stare into the fire, listening to his footsteps grow more and more distant.
“He must really be sick, he’s never this quiet,” James notes, rubbing his face. Lily takes off his glasses and polishes them with her sweater sleeve.
“He’s been acting weird all day,” she notes, putting the glasses back on James’s face carefully. You furrow your eyebrows, about to reply when you’re cut off.
“Hey, uhm-” a voice you don’t recognize says from beside you, and you jump, looking up. To your surprise, Amelia Pinch stands next to you, her arms crossed over her chest tightly. “Sorry, but you’re- it’s Y/N, right?”
You furrow your eyebrows. “Yeah.”
“Could I have a word? Do you mind?” her eyes flick over the group, who are all watching the unusual encounter with raised eyebrows. You blink.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.” You stand and follow her out the portrait hole. You send an unsure glance back at Remus, who only shrugs at you. Amelia shuts the painting behind you, affirming that you’re out of earshot and that the corridor is deserted before she speaks.
“I just wanted to apologize,” Amelia exhales, staring down at her hands. “I had no idea that you and Sirius were dating, I’d never-”
“Huh?” you cut her off, confusion twisting your face. She blinks at you with big, doll-like eyes.
“You- you and Sirius are together, right? And you saw us at that tower last night-”
“Who said-” you cut yourself off, something akin to a shocked scoff leaving your lips, “We aren’t together. We’re just friends. Who told you that we…?”
She raises her eyebrows at you. “From how he acted, I just guessed- well, I just thought you were, since he-” she flushes, looking at her hands again. “I just wanted to let you know we didn’t do anything. He wouldn’t even kiss me- he left after you did,” she sighs. “That’s kind of a relief, I thought I was a homewrecker.” She smiles meekly at you, and you return the gesture confusedly.
“No, er- we aren’t dating. Whatever you do with Sirius is your business.”
“Well, he seemed pretty torn up after seeing you, to be honest,” she lets out a dry laugh. “I didn’t even like him that much- I just wanted… you know,” she rambles, running her hand through her hair nervously. “Uh, well, whatever is going on between you two, I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Girls support girls, and all of that,” she laughs awkwardly, and you crack a smile. “See you.”
“Thanks, yeah,” you nod, and she turns on her heel, walking down the corridor. Your eyebrows are frozen in a confused furrow when you step back into the common room.
“The hell was that?” Remus asks, straightening up in his seat.
“Was that Amelia Pinch?” Lily says, and James groans.
“Yeah, it was- what, James?” you question the boy as he rubs his eyes frustratedly. You sit cross-legged on the floor with your back to the fire.
“What did she say?” he replies with a question of his own, sitting up to face you.
“Well, uh, last night, after you lot went to bed, I went to a tower to have a smoke, and Amelia and Sirius showed up together,” you shrug, trying to be casual despite the pit in your stomach.
“What- oh,” Lily says, mouth gaping. James groans again.
“Damn it, Sirius, you prick,” he sighs, glaring at the stairs.
“It’s- she just thought me and Sirius were dating, is all, and wanted to apologize. It was just a misunderstanding. She said they didn’t do anything- not like it matters.”
“I told him he was being an idiot. He should be the one apologizing,” James says, and you sigh, shaking your head.
“No, no one needs to apologize-”
Lily exhales your name, her eyes soft. You grit your teeth.
“We aren’t fucking dating, if you haven’t noticed,” you snap, “so it’s fine.”
Lily’s face drops, and so does your stomach.
“I’m sorry,” you quickly say, rubbing your temple, “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just tired of this, alright? Me and Sirius are friends, that’s all we are, and all we ever will be. He proved that last night,” you swallow thickly.
“You should tell him that,” Remus mutters, and you work your jaw.
“He knows that.”
“Are you sure?” James asks, letting out a humorless laugh.
“Don’t bring it up to him, alright?” you huff.
“You need to talk to him,” Remus says, “I doubt his hangover is that bad. He’s upset.”
You pick at a stray piece of lint on your pants. “He’s probably just pissy that he struck out with Amelia. I probably made it awkward. I don’t have anything to talk to him about, it’s not about me. Sirius can do as he pleases.”
Remus sighs, eyeing you wearily. He looks pale, even in the warm firelight. “You look like shite. You’re losing sleep, aren’t you?” You clench your jaw, and he continues, “He’s your friend, love, even if it’s complicated. Talk to him for your friendship’s sake, at least. You can’t just act like everything is fine- it’s obvious it’s not.”
You stare at your legs, thinking. He’s right. Your friendship with Sirius, the slow, teetering bond you’ve built over the last few months, matters more to you than you’d care to admit. You have to accept the fact that he isn’t genuinely interested in you- if he was, you would have been the one stumbling up the tower stairs behind him, basking in the feeling of his hair between your fingers. You’d rather live in the safety of yearning eyes and what-ifs than risk losing him completely by telling him how you feel; you’d miss his banter. You’d miss the feeling that knocks you breathless when his eyes meet yours. That feeling- you’ve never felt it before, not with anyone else. You can’t lose it.
But more than anything else, you’d be bored without him- and that’s why he flirts with you. He’d be bored, too. That’s all this is. Teasing. Lighthearted. Friendly. He’s upset because you made it awkward between him and Amelia. Obviously.
“I’ll talk to him later-”
“You should do it soon. Before tonight,” James says, glancing over at Moony.
You blank for a moment, before realizing today was the 4th of November- a full moon. Guilt glides through you, cold and uncomfortable as a ghost, your eyes flickering over Remus’s tense face.
“I will. Do you need a pain elixir?”
Remus shakes his head, eyes half-lidded. “No, no. I’ll be fine for a few more hours. Could you charm my head, though? I can’t do it like you do.”
You nod, walking over. You bite your lip as you push the hair back from his worryingly warm forehead, the tip of your wand brushing his temple. He smiles up at you with relief. You press your palm against his skin, feeling his temperature. You frown.
“I’ll see you later. Get some rest. You’re already burning up,” you say the last part to him in a whisper, and he nods briefly, swatting your hand away and rolling his eyes.
“Thanks, mum.”
“Whatever.”
You make your way up the spiral staircase leading to the boys' dormitory, listening to the faint murmur of Gryffindors around you; like every afternoon following a party, the crowd in the common room is sparse, and most bedrooms are quiet if not filled with snores. You’re somewhat remorseful that Pomfrey didn't ask you to assist her today- she’s likely handing Pepper-ups out by the dozens, tutting disdainfully, but at least it would have been a distraction. Your feet make a steady rhythm against the stone stairs that feels far too loud.
You hesitate outside the door, pursing your lips and eyeing the woodgrain. Why are you so nervous? You’re friends. You’re just clearing something up, something that’s silly, really. It’s not like you care, but you brace for impact as you watch your fist raise up to knock. The sound cuts through the air.
“Yeah?” you hear Sirius’s muffled voice call, and you open the door.
He’s by Remus’s bed, propped up in the windowsill. A frigid breeze intertwined with a perfume of nicotine drifts over as you shut the door behind you. Sirius sighs, blowing smoke out of the open window, eyeing you up, ashing his cigarette.
“Hair of the dog?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at the bottle occupying his other hand.
He cracks a strained smile. His eyes are bloodshot. He tilts his head back to rest against the wall. “Fitting, isn’t it?”
You walk over to him, taking the bottle out of his pliable hand and taking a sip. You push yourself up to sit on the windowsill across from him.
“I thought you were trying to get some sleep,” you say, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. You feel everything at once, so overwhelming you can’t seem to think. Anger and disappointment at his indirect rejection, worry and guilt for the sadness that he exudes, and that specific warm ache in your chest that only his presence brings. Sirius’s eyes stay fixed on the Forbidden Forest.
“I was.”
You swallow and try to clear your head, focussing on the sharp burn of firewhiskey on your tongue. “Are you alright?”
His jaw clenches. “Yeah, fine.”
“I’m sorry I made it awkward with Amelia.”
He raises the cigarette to his lips, stalling a heavy silence between you before saying, “It’s not your fault,” through a stream of smoke. His eyes are blank, unreadable, blending into the haze. “You were there first.”
You search your pockets for your pack, but come up empty. Sirius wordlessly pulls a smoke out for you, and you nod a thanks. He grabs your hand as it moves up to light the cigarette, holding it down in your lap. You raise an eyebrow at him, the filter still sitting between your lips. His face remains emotionless as he lights it for you with his lighter instead. His fingers leave yours slowly, delicately, as you take a drag. He grabs the bottle from you.
“She thought we were dating,” you exhale out the window, feeling a pleasant kind of lightheadedness. He chokes on the whiskey, and you let out a laugh.
“That’s funny,” Sirius says, clearing his throat. You let a weak smile rest on your lips. The window is cold on the exposed skin of your arm. Sirius takes another sip, tilting his head at you, something growing alight in his half-lidded eyes. “Why’d she think that?”
Maybe because you always have your arm around me. Maybe because you hexed someone for me. Maybe because you blew a fucking kiss to me in front of the whole school. “‘Cause you apparently ran off after you saw me. She thought she was a homewrecker,” you raise your eyebrow at him, your fingers tapping on your thigh. His face falls. “Why’d you leave?”
“...I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Sirius dismisses, his words guarded and terse. You feel your gut tense, bracing. His eyes stay fixed on the cigarette burning in his hand. You’re sharply reminded of his arm around Amelia- how you could never be another notch on his bedpost, because you’d never be anything more.
“Yeah,” you say unsteadily, “Yeah, you’re right.”
He shakes his head, an almost-wince twisting his expression. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. There’s something else bothering him, something else simmering in the shadows of his eyes. The anger you’ve been holding tight in your chest melts away.
“You’re my friend, Sirius,” you gently say, tilting your head and furrowing your eyebrows. His eyes flick to yours, something sad and indecipherable behind his gaze. “I know there’s something else bothering you. What’s going on? You can tell me, if you…” you trail off.
Sirius sighs, sucks his teeth, and then gestures to his bed. You confusedly walk over before noticing a torn envelope atop his messy sheets. Sirius Black is written in scrolling, elegant ink on the back of the ripped envelope- a broken House of Black seal pressed into dark wax contrasts the bone white parchment. The edges of the paper are singed- a howler. He must have gotten it this morning. He’s usually able to duck out of the Great Hall before she starts screaming- they come often, so you guess the others hadn’t considered it to be as upsetting as it is. You pick up the letter.
Sirius Black,
As you must be aware of, your attendance of the Malfoy Christmas Gala is mandatory. See fit that your embarrassment to our Noble Name will be minimal in company of the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Grave consequences do come from your idiotic actions, as you have yet to notice; your trollish ignorance astounds me.
You have a scheduled fitting for dress robes at Father Fringe’s Fine Fabrics on the 10th of November at 9:00 sharp. See to it, or else a far less mild howler will be on your hands.
I have been informed by your brother that you’ve taken a liking to the other blood traitor, the nasty Gryffindor girl. Good. Your filth of a future bloodline with her will not taint a pure one.
Madame Walburga Black
“Father Fringe’s?” you say, raising your eyebrow, still skimming at the letter, “You’ll look lovely.”
Sirius scoffs, a smile creeping up his lip. “Maybe he won’t give me so much lace this time.”
“Maybe we can convince him to recreate some of the robes from the Room of Requirement.”
“Oh, I’d look dashing in that periwinkle number.”
You laugh, almost forgetting about the bottom of the letter. You run your finger over the ink, leaning against the bedpost. “Why would Regulus tell her that we’re friends?”
Sirius sighs. “I don’t know. To annoy me, maybe. Or to get on her good side. He’s always been a suck-up.” He takes a harsh hit of his cigarette, burning it to the filter, billowing smoke out the window. He promptly flicks the butt into his ashtray and lights another.
Suddenly, you remember how odd Regulus was acting at the library; his trembling hands, his stifled speech, the sweat on his pale brow. You debate if you should mention it- but Regulus could be up to something with how out of character he acted around you, in addition to mentioning you to his mother.
“He was acting strange the other day,” you say, and Sirius’s head whips to you.
“You talk to him?”
“No, not really,” you shrug, “he just asks me questions about classes sometimes. We’re civil.”
Sirius scoffs. “Civil.”
“Yes, civil. I know its a foreign concept to you-”
“Yeah, yeah- what did he say?”
“Well, he didn’t say anything, but it seemed like he wanted to,” you furrow your eyebrows, “and he looked nervous. More than normal, at least.”
“Hm. Strange. I need to talk to him, anyway. I’ll meet with him soon, or something.”
You sit in silence for a moment.
“I dunno if I’ve ever been called nasty before,” you exhale, reading over the text again, pushing off of the bedpost and slowly pacing back over to him, “it’s pretty gentle for her. Maybe she’s coming ‘round to liking me,” you say sardonically. He chuckles around the cig. You lean against the window next to him.
“She’s right pleased my future bloodline with you won’t dirty the pureblood race any further.”
You choke on your spit. Sirius laughs- a full, barking laugh.
“Everyone thinks we’re dating,” you grumble, your stomach tight and uncomfortable. You grab the bottle out of his hand. “Amelia, now your bloody family.” The whiskey leaves a lovely burn in its wake as it slides down your throat.
“I’m sure I’ll hear of it plenty at Christmas,” Sirius drolls, his eyes gliding over the expansive line of your neck.
“Oh, it won’t be all bad. You get to hear Wilhelmina Redgrass’s beautiful voice to your heart’s content.”
Sirius winces through a smile. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to join me as a buffer?”
You blink in shock. “How tempting,” you drawl.
His grimace melts into the smirk you know well. He shrugs, “I had to ask. Your loss- I was planning on making a scene. I’ve got some fireworks burning a hole in my pocket. It would’ve been very entertaining.”
“Ooh, I’ve been perfecting a sleeping draught recipe- you could slip it into the punch.”
Sirius huffs out a laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”
“I would go if it wouldn’t cause a stir with my parents,” you sigh. You realize how true your words are as they come out of your mouth- you’d go to a gala you’ve dreaded for your entire life to please him. It makes you sick how foolish you are, even after he jilted you (but did he jilt you? The frustration in your gut and the logic in your head and the heat in your chest are all too loud to make sense of). You take a deep drag and try to ignore his steely eyes on your cheek. Cigarette haze in the afternoon light is a rare sight for you- it’s usually highlighted in moonlight. Your gaze lingers as the smoke dissipates in the bitter air outside.
“You don’t have to lie,” Sirius murmurs.
When you look back to him, his eyes are even more disarming than you feared- you stub out your cigarette without finishing it.
“I’m not lying.” He parts his lips to speak, but you cut him off, “Get some rest before tonight, you look awful.”
You leave before he can reply- before you do something you’ll regret.
---
You hate that stupid clock.
It sits above the door in the hospital wing office, its glass face flashing like a mirror in the moonlight. You’re debating on charming it mute, its rhythmic tick, tick, tick drilling into the space between your eyes. You threw open the windows earlier, feeling feverish and anxious, hoping that the chill would ground you. It isn’t working. It’s three in the morning, and the moon is shining brighter than you’ve seen in a while. You’re worried sick.
Remus was even wearier than his last cycle when he showed up for his pain elixir a few hours ago. James and Sirius tagged along behind him, eyeing him covertly, ready to jump to catch him if he fell. Remus just shrugged at you when you expressed your concern.
“It’ll be fine. I’ve had worse, you know I have. Got anything stronger, though?”
He was sickly pale and strands of his hair were stuck to his forehead with sweat. When he walked out, his legs trembled underneath him. It took everything in you to let him leave. Sirius turned to catch your eye in the doorway, giving you a determined look and a small smile. It’ll be fine. You tried to return the gesture, but your lips wouldn’t cooperate.
The door to the hospital wing slams open, and the sound of rapid footsteps towards you jolts you to stand. You swipe up the emergency kit and run out of the office, catching Sirius in the middle. You meet his hollow, frantic eyes- he’s ghostly pale in the moonlight. There’s a dark red scratch from the right side of his jaw down to the base of his throat.
“How bad is it?” you ask unsteadily. He shakes his head at you, chest heaving, mouth slightly agape, speechless. You curse and grab his jarringly slippery hand, running to the exit- you let out a choked sound when you pull your fingers back stained crimson.
“Where is he?” you ask, not stopping your stride, picking up into a run. You’re already out of the hospital wing, Sirius close behind.
“The Shack. We can’t move him.”
“Did he do it to himself?”
“Yeah.”
You can’t find your voice, so you nod and hope Sirius can see. It’s unsettlingly quiet on the run over, your labored breathing and footsteps too simple for your frantic brain- you feel like you’re watching your own body from a distance, your hands and legs and breath as out of your control as a stranger’s. You hear Remus’s cries far too early, much too far away from the Shack for his voice to carry. His screams smother you in the tunnel, the sound louder with every pounding step. You cast a shockingly bright lumos, your magic buzzing from your fingers without effort or restraint, energy boiling over the surface of your skin. Your limbs are numb and move of their own accord on the rungs of the ladder. You hear James’s trembling tenor desperately shushing Remus as you stumble to stand in the Shack, his voice shaky and breathy over Remus’s unrestrained yell.
You throw open the door, James spitting out an unintelligible string of words from where he sits with his hands on Remus’s stomach. You let out a choked sob, throwing yourself at his side. James backs away, eyes wide.
There’s so much blood, too much blood spilling from his partially-transformed body. You weren’t sure what you were expecting- you’ve never seen injuries this severe before. Maybe you thought something so savage would appear monumental, magical, otherworldly; but blood is blood, and gore is gore, and it makes the sight even more chilling to note the simplicity of your best friend’s insides.
You can’t remember many details after that. Just your burning hands slipping through crimson, clumsy prayers and exclamations and assurances spilling from your lips; anything to stop his inhuman cries, stop his reality-shattering pain. There’s a terrifying moment where you beg he doesn’t stop screaming, just so you know that he’s still breathing.
Something hot and bright seems to seep out of your fingers as you mutter incantations between your swears, and Remus slowly begins to quiet, his chest heaving. You watch with bated breath as the laceration, previously inches deep and spanning his entire stomach, starts to shrink. Blood slows, then stops. Remus’s voice is reduced to whimpers.
You breathe shakily, your hands grabbing the sides of his face tenderly, eyes flickering between his closed ones, over his features, scanning for any other injuries. Sticky blood clots his hair to his forehead, and you sob, pushing it back. It only smears more red across his face.
“-you gotta talk to me, please, Rem, you’re gonna be okay, you’re alright, just talk to me-”
“You’re so- loud,” he forces, his voice no more than a creaking, strained whisper. The very corners of his mouth twitch up before he lets out a grunt. You let out a watery laugh, shoulders falling.
“He’s- he’s stable, I think. One of you needs to go get Dumbledore-” you turn to face the boys, but cut yourself off. The great wizard silently stands in the doorway, looking grave. His figure in midnight robes vaguely reminds you of the grim reaper- long and dark, with his pale, aged face a sharp contrast. Sirius and James stare at you with wide eyes, heaving chests, and red hands. The room is silent, spare your heavy breaths.
Blind fury bubbles up in you. “You,” you hiss at Dumbledore. He eyes you emotionlessly. “Were you just going to fucking stand there? You know how- you know I-” you huff as you stumble over your words, your head spinning. You take shaky, uneven breaths. “The greatest wizard of our fucking lifetime, sitting on his arse while someone almost dies in front of him- and where the hell were you two?” you spit at the boys. “This entire plan was for you to protect him, and fucking look at him- look at what you fucking did-” you cut yourself off with a sob, biting your lip sharply and turning back to Remus. You taste iron. Your shoulders shake in the hauntingly silent room. An owl hoots in the distance, gentle and forlorn.