Memory
You knew it still hurts underneath my scars
From when they pulled me apart
But what you did was just as dark
Darling, this was just as hard
As when they pulled me apart
Moony
The week leading up to the moon was eventful, if anything. It had started Tuesday when the postman had slipped the mail though the door and Archie had attempted to reduce it all to small pieces; if Sirius hadn’t been so sharp in grabbing him by the tail before it was too late, they wouldn’t have had their weekly dose of traumatising news. Because among the clawed envelopes there laid a letter addressed to none other than Regulus Black himself.
It hadn’t been brought to their doorstep by mistake either, because right under his name laid in perfectly cursive letters their very own address. Nothing was adding up and Sirius had stared at it for ten minutes, clutching it with the hand that had just been covered in pink scrapes from the cat. The sender was someone called Pandora Lovegood. Remus didn’t know anyone with that name, not in the Order nor from school (even though he had to admit Hogwarts felt like so long before that, it wasn’t really surprised he couldn’t connect it to a face).
“Should we open it?” Sirius had whispered.
“Do you want to open it?”
“Well, it’s not like he’s going to read it. Maybe it’s important.” The laugh he had let out was damp, but he wasn’t crying yet. Remus had dropped on the sofa with a groan: for some reason his joints felt stiffer than ever before that full. He had placed a hand on his knee and let him open the letter and read through it. He couldn’t make out much from where he was reading but didn’t even try to crane his neck. When the first tear slipped, Remus tightened his grip. Sirius pushed the letter to his chest and sniffled. And oh, fuck.
Dear Reg,
I know you said I couldn’t write, none of us should, and that they couldn’t know, and it was safer like this. I still don’t understand that, by the way. And why didn’t you come back to school? I thought I could have seen you, at least, if it was so important I didn’t talk to you. Barty and Evan didn’t really like that, Reg, nor did I.
Also, since I’m doing something you didn’t want me to do, I might as well tell you exactly how angry we have been at you in the past months. Namely: care to explain why you were so convinced none of you would join the “cause” and then you went on and joined it yourself? Of course, then Barty had to throw himself into it and Evan doesn’t go around without him so he did as well. That’s so stupid and I hate all of you and I hate that you all just had to stick yourselves into a hole I cannot even peek into.
At least I couldn’t. Now I can, and I don’t like it one bit. I am a little more optimistic, but I still don’t.
Anyway, I didn’t write just to scold you (even if I should, and I have all the right to, thank you very much) but there is a more pressing matter. I couldn’t risk you learning it from someone that isn’t us and it still pains me that I can’t tell you while you are at arm’s reach. It’s been bad, Reg: the war has torn all of us apart, some more than others. I don’t know where you’ve been nor if you have been part of the crossfire that has been plaguing the world recently, because you won’t let me. I know they had pronounced it over yesterday but something bad has happened. You’ll have to forgive me for taking weeks to tell you but I was still hoping you would turn up one day like nothing happened, but you didn’t. Evan hasn’t made it out. I was not made aware of the circumstances nor much more, but he isn’t… here. Barty has been out of it and throwing himself in things he should stay clear of just because he has no idea how to cope and won’t tell me much about it, if anything at all. And I know you’re going to lose your mind reading this. You’re not known because of the excellent way you elaborate things. I’m sorry I waited. I’m still scared.
Please, come to me, yeah? Come to us. Don’t just let yourself simmer in it alone, alright? I know you pushed us away but we shouldn’t be separated to deal with this. Barty needs you and I think you need us as well.
Love,
Pan
When Remus lowered the letter, Sirius was as still as he had ever seen him. He delicately folded the piece of paper and slipped in back into the envelope.
“So. He had friends, at least.”
“Sirius.”
“I mean, it is lifting a bit of anxiety after all, doesn’t it? That I didn’t just leave him alone; that he had his own Marauders, didn’t he? I couldn’t say that I approve of them, but it appears they took good care of him.” He was rambling and not focussing at all in one of the most revealing information in the letter. “But well. One of them died apparently. Maybe it was us.”
“Sirius.”
“And she seems good. Like they genuinely care-”
“Sirius!” He shut his mouth abruptly. Remus regretted shouting at him but sometimes he got into that tunnel vision, and he wouldn’t snap out of it. “Did you read… the other thing?” Sirius nodded and brought his knees up to his chest.
“He didn’t want to go.” There were a couple of sniffles and Remus kept quiet, not wanting to press on. “They forced him and he didn’t want to go.”
The rest of the day was spent lying on the sofa in silence. In retrospect, Remus should have seen that the week wasn’t going to be as relaxing as he had dared to hope.
After that little moment, Sirius had decided to just lock the letter in his bedside table and act like it never slipped through the door. Remus would’ve pressed on if it wasn’t for the second huge problem of the week: Moony. The wolf had always been restless before a moon, not letting him sleep and plaguing his joints and his energy levels like he had nothing better to do. It somehow got worse. Remus could barely lift an arm without pain when it came to four days before the moon, and his whole body was so stiff the healer from St. Mungo just had to call off their session after barely five minutes.
The truth is that Poppy had tried to warn Remus that the wolf would probably be distraught. Despite his memories being always fuzzy and never clear, he still remembered how it felt to be separated from his pack for the first moon after years: how the transformation had felt like it was killing him, like he had been afraid he wouldn’t wake back up after. And the violence. The wolf had been so violent during his first moon without them, clawing at himself as well as anything within reach. She had told him that smelling his friends again after barely adapting to being without them would probably trigger some extreme reaction in the wolf.
Sirius had immediately taken the distraction and started fussing around him like a worried mother. He tucked him in and casted cooling spells, even went as far as learning one of Effie’s recipes for chicken soup.
“Why do you think she adds this many spices? What even is turmeric?” Remus just responded with a groan from his place on the sofa. Archie had been keeping his distance mostly because even though Remus liked his present very much, Moony didn’t seem all too keen.
“I have no idea. But my guess is we should trust Effie.”
“You’re probably right. Also, you sound even croakier than this morning.” He muttered and continued stirring the pot in front of him. At least it smelled good, but maybe that was his empty stomach talking. That was something that had never changed: before the worst moons, Remus was barely able to keep anything down. That, together with his sore throat, is what had prompted Sirius to apparate at an ungodly hour of the morning right on the steps of Potter Manor begging Euphemia for her chicken soup while she was still in her slippers. Remus had never had it, but Sirius was adamant that could solve every single type of illness despite not having an ounce of magic. “Here you go, big bad wolf. Drink this up.”
The sofa dipped where he sat down next to him. He reluctantly sipped on the warm liquid and had to admit that somehow it did make him feel better. Maybe it was the turmeric. Sirius watched his every move up close, as if the soup could suddenly attack him. It had been a while since he had Sirius this close, and it still made things bubble up in his stomach. And it wasn’t the moon. Things that were old and forced dormant for so many years Remus wasn’t even sure they were there anymore. He had a small scar on the bridge of his nose that he had gotten falling from a broom in fourth year. It was almost a sense of deja-vu, like he hadn’t been quite aware of those memories before that moment.
Apparently, they were more alive than ever.
Remus hadn’t thought about the prank in what seemed like forever. It wasn’t as important, nor as relevant as the many dreadful things that populated their lives lately.
Strangely, what resurfaced first was warm, and inviting, like a soft sweater in December. It pulled him in as if it was inevitable and indestructible. It smelled like the astronomy tower late at night, and like chocolate frogs and cold tea; it smelled like cigarette smoke and like whispered giggles. It was all soft lips and cold hands under red and gold jumpers. But then a dark shadow wrapped itself around it and quickly drowned it, as fast as it had resurfaced, leaving behind just a bitter taste on his tongue.
Remus looked down at the empty bowl in his lap and Sirius coughed. Some things just couldn’t go back to normal.
As things tended to be, the morning before the full moon he felt better. He felt hungry and full of energy and Sirius could finally take a breather from playing nurse for his poor werewolf friend. He had finally enough energy to take a proper shower and shave the idea of a beard that had grown along his jawline. As the moon grew closer, Remus’ mind kept supplying him with flashes of his moons spent among other werewolves. It was like he could still smell them on himself: the blood and mud and the fresh scent of prey. Being on a pack hunt was like being on drugs: almost as if their blood pumped at the same rate, his wolf would feed on the sense of visceral belonging; it didn’t matter who they were or which side of the war they were on because Moony didn’t care as long as he wasn’t alone or shackled in Moody’s basement. He would never tell them that the moons weren’t that bad. That was also part of the reason why he had been so sceptical about spending the moon together like old times immediately. What if Moony had liked the other wolves so much he wouldn’t accept the animagi back after so long? What if the only reason they all worked so well before was simply because Moony’s only other choice was being alone?
Remus couldn’t help but wish he was as in tune with Moony as the others had been. There was so little communication between the wizard and the wolf that he couldn’t find it in himself to trust Moony.
Of course, neither Sirius nor James were particularly preoccupied with him. They had set it up perfectly: they would apparate together from their apartment straight to the Potters’ lake cottage early in the afternoon, just so they could set up all of the guards to secure the small woodland area. They would eat dinner as the sun was still quite high, just to be sure, and they would wait together for the moon to rise, exactly as they did at Hogwarts. Remus had tried to convince them to just ward a small part of the woods for the wolf and just stay safe inside the house, but they hadn’t even wanted to hear it. So, he had reluctantly kept his mouth shut.
Sirius was being kind of all over the place between packing whatever he could think that Remus would benefit from after a moon (mostly chocolate and Pepperup potion) and just making sure Archie wouldn’t absolutely destroy the house while they were away.
“It’s just that he’s never stayed alone in the house before.”
“He used to live on the street, I think he’ll be fine.”
“See, you say that about the same cat that eats potato salad, dines on the table and doesn’t want to sleep on the floor.”
“You can always come back in the morning and feed him.” Sirius stopped in his track, one of Remus’ jumpers clasped tight in his hand. It was the red one they used to bring down to the hospital wing the morning after the early moons when they weren’t animagi yet. Somehow it was always warmer than his other ones. Sirius’ grey eyes skimmed around his face for a couple of seconds before he got back to the bag that sat open on Remus’ bed.
“James can come and feed him. I won’t leave.” For some reason, a sharp chill trailed all the way up his spine. It was easier to ignore it when Sirius wasn’t close, when he wasn’t touching him, smiling at him and… saying things. Because he had always been like this, both with James and with Remus: he was touchy and affectionate and snarky, and in his own sort of way never made you doubt that he cared. But it didn’t really help his predicament.
When James stepped through their fireplace, Archie was already circling his ankles. The fascination the cat seemed to have with James was mostly inexplicable, but Remus suspected it had to relate to Prongs not being, well, canine. It could have made sense. Also, despite Sirius’ best efforts, not he nor Remus were really cat people and Archie had probably noticed.
The lake cottage wasn’t much for the kind of rich James’ parents were: besides the location and the amount of land around it they possessed, the structure was small and quaint, furnished like a home and not like a holiday house; it was warm and bright and filled with photos and souvenirs. The sofa was well-loved and there were blankets stuffed in every corner. Sniffing around he was pleasantly surprised to notice that every single room smelled like Effie’s soft flowery perfume, almost like a signature. Remus immediately loved it. He hadn’t exactly visited many pureblood houses, but if Sirius’ infamous “quidditch-poster-scandal” in Grimmauld Place was anything to go by, he would guess the assholes preferred a picture-perfect space.
Sirius and James refused any kind of help he tried to offer and relegated him to the living room where he found himself snooping around. The bookshelves were filled with Monty’s potions books that created an odd mix with the occasional muggle baking book Effie seemed to be collecting. James’ face was plastered everywhere, mostly adorned with the plump cheeks of his childhood. Remus was surprised to actually come across Sirius’ face from time to time: fuller and more relaxed than the tired mask that was left after the war, with his nose sunburnt and the eyes so bright they almost appeared transparent. He ended up taking up one of the books and keeping himself occupied by skimming through the pages. Potions was never his strong suit in school, but there wasn’t much else he could choose from.
Sirius was the first one to come back, dropping next to him on the sofa and immediately lifting his feet into his lap to rub his ankles, as if he could feel Remus’ joints croaking from afar. He looked far away, like he was keeping his hands occupied but his mind wasn’t really in the room. Remus wasn’t the type to fuss over his friends, but he certainly was the type who noticed. And it was difficult not to with Sirius, who tended to push everyone away as soon as big feelings came in the way. Not that they would let him.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Mh?”
“Just now, what are you thinking about?”
“Just… stuff.” Remus was staring right at his profile, at the way he wouldn’t turn to face him and kept staring down at where his hands were now playing with the hem of his trousers. “Just them.”
“You mean…”
“All of them. You know, Marlene, Dorcas, Frank… The fact that we are playing being adults and they won’t.” Remus nodded.
“Were you at the funeral?”
“There wasn’t any, really. It wasn’t safe enough to have us all in the same place.” So he wasn’t the only one. None of them really had the opportunity to say a proper goodbye. That must have been the reason it hurt so much, right? Surely it wasn’t supposed to hurt that bad for so long. Right? “Sometimes I think about Reggie’s funeral. If there was one.” It wasn’t likely the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would let the opportunity of throwing their social status in the face of others just pass by quietly. They probably had felt so big and mighty and untouchable, and had thrown a proper upper-class party.
“Do you think you would ever visit his grave?”
“They won’t let me.”
“But would you want to?” It was a small twitch of the tip of his nose that told him all he ever needed: despite everything, Sirius longed to visit it. Whether it was because he needed to see it to make it real or because he needed something to mourn or any other reason, Remus wasn’t sure. He wasn’t an expert in brothers nor family. But no matter what it would take, if Sirius wanted to Remus would take him.
For years he had tried to stop it, hold his hands from immediately jump in his defence and hold his tongue from lashing out at whoever so much as looked weirdly his way; but when you’re used to do it so much, it becomes second nature. It was scary, how easily Remus would have dropped anything if Sirius had asked.