Charms Notes
WEDNESDAY. NOVEMBER 3, 1971
Peter likes to think he’s a good friend. He goes with James to watch Quidditch practice in the rain, he puts up with Sirius’ moods, and he brings Remus notes when he’s sick. That’s what he’s decided to do from now on, at least. Remus seems like he gets sick quite a bit. It’s his third time in the hospital wing in three months. And he always gets awfully upset when he has to miss class. Peter can tell it stresses him– he only ever picks at his nails in the days after he’s been sick. So Peter has decided that from now on, he’ll bring Remus notes at lunch while he’s in hospital. It’s what a good friend would do.
As he’s standing at the double-doors of the hospital wing, Peter has a rather important revelation: Madam Pomfrey frightens him. It’s not that she isn’t nice. Madam Pomfrey is perfectly polite, but she’s not very fond of James and, by extension, the others. She’s always squinting at Peter like she expects him to be up to something when, really, he hardly ever is! It makes his palms clammy.
But Peter steels himself and pushes open the doors regardless. It’s what a good, brave friend would do. And that’s what Peter is. A good, brave friend.
Remus is awake when Peter reaches his bed. He looks a bit peaky and pale, but he’s awake. He sits up straighter at the sight of his friend.
“Alright?” Remus croaks.
Peter fishes about in his pocket for the folded parchment. “Brought you some notes.”
Remus’ eyes light up. He leans forward. “Charms?”
Peter nods, unfolding the parchment. “What I could understand, at least.” He shrugs. “Herbology, too… but James looked over the Transfiguration notes. He said they looked alright.”
He hands over the notes. Remus accepts them gratefully with bandaged hands. Peter’s eyes widen. Remus doesn’t seem to notice. He shuffles himself to the edge of the bed, and Peter fills the space left behind. Peter chews on his bottom lips as he eyes his friend’s wrapped fingers. Remus glances up from Peter’s scribbly Charms notes and catches his eye.
“What?” Remus asks. He shifts under Peter’s gaze, wrinkling the parchment in his palms.
Peter wets his lips. “Your hands.” He says.
Remus looks down. He startles visibly– as if he’d forgotten the bandages entirely. Then, he wrinkles his nose. “It’s nothing.”
“What happened?”
It doesn’t look like nothing, Peter thinks. It looks quite bad. The bandages are clean, of course, but Madam Pomfrey would never have put them there in the first place if Remus hadn’t needed them.
“I picked at them.” Remus shrugs, looking away from his wounds.
Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. That much? Peter had noticed the habit, obviously. Remus is almost as bad at hiding his nerves as Peter himself. But he’d never thought Remus would make himself bleed.
Remus clears his throat and turns away. He refocuses on the notes. “Any luck with the unlocking charm?”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Peter asks. He hates how small his voice sounds. Remus frowns. He nods, but he doesn’t answer. He won’t answer. Peter shrivels. “Right… a bit, maybe. James is loads better at it.”
Remus chuffs, smiling wryly. “But I didn’t ask about James, did I?”
It’s Peter’s turn to shift uncomfortably. He shrugs mutely. Remus folds the notes and places them at his bedside. He turns to Peter.
“Let’s see it.”
Peter blanches. “Sorry?”
“Try the spell,” Remus says. “Maybe I can help.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Come on.” He cajoles. “It could be useful.” He laughs at the silly label, but Peter doesn't.
That’s what James said. For marauding! He looked so excited when Sirius figured out the spell. The memory sits like a stone in Peter’s stomach. He shakes his head.
“Some other time, maybe.” He says. “I probably shouldn’t do magic in here, anyways.”
Peter attempts to appeal to Remus’ reason. It’s a tactic that’s much more likely to succeed here than with James or Sirius. Remus sighs, leaning back in bed, and the jackrabbit thumping of Peter’s heart slows.
Remus unfolds the notes and begins perusing them once more. Peter finds himself worried about his handwriting. It’s not too messy. It shouldn’t be, at least. He tried his best to make it all legible, but it’s not as though Bernadette had emphasized that in his schooling, unlike some mothers. He squints over Remus’ shoulder, reading along to the best of his abilities. Just in case.
They sit in silence for nearly the rest of the lunch period. Remus shuffling through notes, and Peter reading along until Remus speaks so unexpectedly that Peter jumps.
“When I get out of here,” Remus says casually. “You’ll show me that spell?”
His head lolls to the side in a rather un-Remus fashion. He must be tired. Peter meets his eyes, an excuse already forming on the tip of his tongue, but he stops short. He’s struck by something in Remus’ expression.
“These notes are good, Peter.”
“They’re alright.”
“They’re not half as bad as you made them seem.” Remus smiles. “Thank you.”
Peter nods, and Remus nods off to sleep.