siccapillus
“I’m going to the game, you should come. It’ll be fun,” Remus says, running a hand along a row of ancient-looking books. He pulls his hand back and grimaces at the dust, wiping it on his pants.
“I told Pomfrey I’d help with restocking since she’s sick. Half of the castle is asking for pepper-ups,” you reply, and you can tell Remus’s eyes are rolling, even with his back to you.
“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to go. C’mon, we’re against Slytherin,” he turns on his heel, giving you a begging look. Your mouth twists and you avoid his eyes.
“Maybe. But I really shouldn’t, you know, I just…” Don’t want to see him. Don’t want him to see me.
“Hm,” Remus hums, tilting his head side to side thoughtfully. “Fine, I guess. But Lily will be there. And Marlene. And Mary.”
“I’ve been bitchy all week to them, I should apologize before I try to be all buddy-buddy…” you trail off, lifting one of the cracked crystal balls out of the pile to inspect. Sirius’s hands surrounding the reflective glass flashes behind your eyelids. You blink it away, squinting at the crystal, trying to make out anything. It doesn’t work; you only see the distorted lines of your fingers. “Plus, it’s raining. I’m good here.”
“Whatever you think, mate. They’ll forgive you, you know? I’m sure once you’re able to tell them it’ll be easier.”
You set the ball down with a clink. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell them, Rem. This- war, or whatever we’re calling it- it isn’t just going to disappear.”
There’s a beat of stillness as the seriousness of the situation spills back over you both. You’ve gone over everything at least three times now, but Remus’s face still falls at the word war.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“You could get hurt.”
You shrug. “I probably will.”
“If you…” Remus starts, eyes darting up to the ceiling, “Mate, I’d rather die than not be there with you.”
“Remus!” you snap, eyebrows furrowing; you step forward and grab his arm. “Don’t say that!”
His eyes flick down to yours, his expression raw, “I need to join whatever this is- I need to help. I need to be by you when you do this-” your face twists in disbelief, mouth opening to interject- before you can butt in, he blurts, “I can’t just sit here! I’ll find a way into the Christmas thing, you know I will-!”
“I can’t let you do that, you’re- this is why I didn’t want you to know-” you cut yourself off, guilt creeping up your throat. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.
“You’d follow me, if I were the one joining. Be real.”
“No, Remus.”
“You would.”
“I would, but-”
“It doesn’t matter what you say,” he states firmly, putting his hand over yours, “I’ll go to Dumbledore myself- hell, I’ll sneak into that party if it kills me. I can’t-” his voice cracks. He clears his throat. “I can’t let you go alone. You know why.”
You do. You know if the roles were reversed, you’d walk to the Malfoy Manor from Hogwarts if that’s what it took. You’d already be in Dumbledore’s office. Just as he said- you’d rather die than let him go into this alone.
“Don’t try to hide- you’re not saving me any grief by keeping me in the dark. And from what it sounds like, you lot need all the help you can get.” He gives you a smile out of the corner of his mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek, mind whirling.
“I’ll bring it up to Dumbledore tonight, okay?”
“Promise?” Remus sticks out his pinkie, raising his eyebrow. You grin and roll your eyes.
“Yeah, I promise,” you lock your finger with his, and his smile spreads across his face. You let go, nudging him out of the way so you can inspect a particularly dusty tome. “I just don’t know what to tell the others. I can’t let them know-” you spin to stare directly into Remus’s eyes, your tone suddenly grave. “Rem, you can’t tell Sirius. Or any of them, but especially Sirius. You know he’d do something stupid the first chance he gets.”
Remus raises his eyebrows and his hands in defense. “I know. I won’t.”
You glance away, shoulders relaxing. “Sorry, just…”
“I get it. But he’s not a total idiot.”
You scoff. “That’s debatable.”
“Well, then, we’ll just have to make a convincing enough lie, right?” Remus leans on the shelf, giving you a conniving smile. You return it, a beat of childlike giddiness you haven’t felt in weeks warming you.
“Maybe my grandmother, who I was so dearly close to, was murdered viciously. I’ve been tangled up in the mystery ever since.”
“Boring. You had a secret lover you met at your internship that broke your poor, bleeding heart,” Remus sighs dreamily, crossing his arms and dropping his head back against the wood. He snaps up, “No! Better- they were your patient and they died in your arms.”
“Mmm- that makes me look bad at my job. Plus, I’m not the mushy type, I doubt they’ll buy it.” You click your tongue, thinking. “What if my parents told me I have a secret, evil Death Eater twin that goes to Beauxbatons?” you shoot back, raising your eyebrows. Remus looks at the ceiling in focussed thought. “And she’s hotter than me,” you tack on.
He raises his eyebrows for a second in consideration, before furrowing them again. “Not juicy enough- maybe Snape is your twin.”
You wrinkle your nose and gag. “Too far.”
He snorts, pushing off of the bookcase and dusting off his robes. “I should go. The game starts in, like, ten minutes. I’ll see you later, right?”
“Yeah, ‘course.”
Remus gives you one last smile before disappearing into the isles of the Room of Requirement.
---
You desperately need to reorganize the storage closet. You grimace as you strain to reach the back of a top shelf, looking for the stoolcaps- you could’ve sworn you shoved some back here a few months ago-
You faintly hear the hospital wing door open, followed by rushing footsteps and frantic, tumbling words. Your stomach drops. You scramble down from the shelves, running out to the main hall. You nearly freeze at the sight; Sirius is holding Regulus’s limp body, both of them still in their quidditch uniforms. They’re soaking wet, and Sirius’s eyes are wide and panicked. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and an entourage of what looks like Regulus’s teammates are close behind. The students are all clad in green and seem unbothered.
“He passed out midair-” Sirius starts with a shaking voice.
“Put him on a bed, the rest of you go outside,” you cut him off, moving to Regulus as Sirius carefully lowers him onto the sheets. Your hands cradle Sirius’s in the effort to situate Regulus’s limp body. The group of students continues to murmur, and you snap, “I said outside.”
The group begrudgingly walks off, leaving you with the two professors and Sirius. Your eyes meet Dumbledore’s unreadable ones. You hold them for a second, a silent acknowledgement- you begin to assess Regulus’s injuries, murmuring spells as your wand hovers over his body.
“Dumbledore slowed him down before he hit the ground, but it looked bad, he hit his head, and I think-”
“He’ll be fine,” you say, tucking your wand into your back pocket and inspecting his head, “he practically shattered his arm, but his insides are intact and his head isn’t jostled beyond fixing.” You move down his body, spelling his gear off, “He’ll have a rough concussion and some pretty intense bruising, but-” you cut yourself off, eyes fixated down at Regulus. His soaked sleeve has ridden up to reveal the edge of a dark stain on his forearm. Your heart drops. You sneakily push the sleeve back down, clearing your throat. “He’s going to be fine.”
You avoid Dumbledore’s eyes, looking up at Sirius. He didn’t seem to notice your stutter, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares holes into the wall. He nods absentmindedly before flicking his lingering eyes to Regulus’s face. He turns and walks away without a word. After he takes a few steps, you break out of the trance the water droplets sliding down his neck put you in.
“Sirius!” you call as you go after him, your voice sounding hollow. Bloodshot eyes look over his shoulder before he turns around fully. He stays silent, giving you an expectant look. He’s pale, his cheeks are ruddy, and his dark hair clings to his brow with moisture. It makes you ache.
“Siccapillus,” you mutter, sweeping your wand in a broad motion over him. His jersey stops dripping rainwater onto the floor. “Castle’s drafty. You’ll get a cold.” I’m sorry.
You turn and walk away before he can reply, busying yourself with prepping Regulus for treatment. When you glance back up a moment later, he’s gone.
Dumbledore and McGonagall have been uncharacteristically quiet, gravely standing beside you as you work. An elixir for pain, a tincture for memory, Skele-Gro for his arm- you let yourself get carried away in the procedure, the familiar routine of checking and fixing and checking again guiding your hands. You grimace at his arm, trying to get a better look. It’s bent at an awkward angle, his elbow protruding painfully, bone straining against skin.
You cut the sleeve off of his shirt carefully. When you remove the cloth, McGonagall audibly gasps.
The Dark Mark- the symbol shining above every attack on the front page of the Prophet- is crudely carved into his skin with black ink.
Regulus wouldn’t do this. He’s not his mother’s son, nor his father’s; while he may be compliant, he wouldn’t join something like this. He’s just a kid- how old is he, fifteen? When you look down at his face, the only thing you see is how gaunt he looks in comparison to the Regulus from your memory. He was always mild-mannered and shy, but he was still a child once- he had chubby cheeks and bright eyes and a sweet tooth.
You swallow thickly, glancing up at the professors. They meet your eyes with shaken expressions.
“Where is Madame Pomfrey?” Dumbledore asks in an uncharacteristically unsteady tone.
“She’s sick. I told her I’d handle the wing for the weekend.”
The headmaster nods, running a hand over his mustache. You move to grab wrappings, carefully concealing the tattoo with unsteady fingers.
“Has he had a sleeping draught?” McGonagall questions, and you nod.
“He won’t hear.”
Dumbledore flicks his hand, and the familiar buzz of a silencing charm surrounds you. “Best to be cautious.”
There’s a beat of silence before you cut it short.
“He’s been trying to kill me, hasn’t he?”
“I-” McGonagall starts, before cutting herself off with a shake of her head. “My dear, I believe so.”
“It is most likely,” Dumbledore sighs, adjusting his spectacles.
“We need Madame Pomfrey down here. We cannot let you be alone with him-”
“I can talk to him.” You prop yourself up on the bed, feeling weak. If they notice, they don’t mention it. “Try to get some information. I could act like I have no idea that he’s been trying to...”
“Absolutely not,” McGonagall snaps with wide eyes, “don’t be a fool, child. We’re putting you in enough danger as is.”
“But he’ll know that we saw,” you state, eyes fixed on his dark eyelashes against his cheeks.
“He’ll know that you saw,” the headmaster says, raising a bushy brow at you. You give him a confused glance. “Tell Regulus you haven’t told anyone about his Mark, that you were the only soul to see. Try to sympathize with him. It’s most likely not his choice to commit such heinous acts.”
“We cannot-” McGonagall says before tapering off, lips pursed. “Your safety is my priority.”
“Thank you, really, but my safety isn’t an option anymore,” you assure her, heart tight. Her concern almost makes your eyes tear up, but you swallow them down. She dips her head. “It makes the most sense for me to do it. Pomfrey shouldn’t get involved, I’m the only other person who works here, and he’s going to need surveillance for his arm and that concussion. She’d look under the bandages. This is what all of that training is for, right?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore says, stroking his beard thoughtfully, “You’re right. Come straight to my office if you learn anything useful. I will assign a member of The Order to stand guard out of sight. Please, child… stay vigilant.”
McGonagall's lips are almost comically pursed with frustration.
“I want to do this, Professor McGonagall,” you murmur, “I’m of age.”
She sighs, glaring down at Regulus’s wrapped arm. “You’re my student. I take care of my students.” She glances up at you with a bittersweet expression. “Do not act like a fool.”
You crack a grin. “I’ll try.” Your face drops in realization- you said you’d tell Dumbledore that you let the plan slip to Remus. Now or never, you suppose. Before you can stop yourself, you say, “Don’t call any of the Order- well, maybe you should, but- Remus can help.”
Dumbledore’s eyes sparkle as McGonagall's flick to the ceiling in exasperation.
“Did you tell Mister Lupin about the Order?”
You nod, swallowing thickly.
“I assumed you would sooner.”
“He’ll find a way to butt in if you don’t let him in, sir,” you say, working your jaw. “He’s stubborn.”
“Why is it always you and those boys?” McGonagall mutters to herself, shaking her head. There’s a moment of contemplation as Dumbledore and McGonagall seem to have a silent argument through eye contact. Finally, McGonagall sighs. “Very well. Mister Lupin will stay out of sight nearby- I’m assuming Mister Potter still has his cloak?”
You blink.
“I’m not daft, dear.”
“Uhm- yes, ma’am, he does. Remus can steal it for a night.”
“We will discuss his involvement later, but as for now, he and another member of the Order will ensure your safety. From now on, keep Mister Lupin beside you at all times- I expect that will not be much of a change. However, there are power in numbers,” the headmaster says with a tiny smile.
“We will continue preparations for the Christmas social. I expect many sleepless nights in our future. Come straight to the headmaster’s office if you feel any inclination of danger,” McGonagall sternly states. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The professors bid you adieu, assuring you that Remus will be informed of the situation immediately. When they’re out of sight, you collapse into the seat next to Regulus’s bed, your eyes focussed on his arm.
All you can think about is his trembling hands and awkward words in the library, how you haven’t seen him in the halls, how sick he looks- how didn’t you notice? He’s the perfect victim. Young, intelligent, malleable.
He was at the pitch during quidditch tryouts, you remember now. A few Slytherins were sneakily lingering on the opposite stands. Did he see that bludger hit you, or did he look away? Did he see Sirius carry you to the hospital wing?
He must have been following you, spying on you from afar. That’s the only explanation for the poison in your danish at Puddifoot’s. He knew he might kill his brother. He knew he might kill Sirius- what did his parents do to him? What are they doing to him?
Sirius- Godric, Sirius. What will he do when he eventually figures it out? You can’t keep him in the dark for much longer. You bury your face in your hands, sliding your fingers into your hair and gripping tight. The sting is grounding.
Footsteps echo through the empty hall. You snap up, seeing Remus suddenly appear in front of you as he whips the invisibility cloak off. You stare at each other with mutually overwhelmed eyes. He flicks his gaze over to Regulus.
“He’s unconscious. I gave him a heavy sedative. He won’t be up for a few hours at least.”
Remus nods. “I got a note from Minnie saying you needed my help, and to bring the cloak. James and Sirius didn’t notice- James is with Lily, and Sirius is hiding in his bed.”
“Good,” you sigh, and rub your brow. “Okay, don’t freak out.” He raises an eyebrow at you, but stays silent as you unwrap Regulus’s forearm to reveal the Mark.
“I’m freaking out,” Remus exhales. His adam's apple bobs as he gives you a wild look.
“I know.”
“Is he the one that’s been-”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Holy fuck.”
“I know.”
Remus scrubs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in awkward places. “Right. Yeah, fine, I’ll just be over here, digesting that.” He gestures to a chair across from you, swinging the cloak on and slipping out of sight.
“Good,” you sigh at the open air. “Don’t fall asleep.”
Remus scoffs. “Trust me, I won’t.”