Chapter 15
“Remus, get up before you’re late for work,” his mum, Hope, yelled outside his bedroom door.
“Fuck,” he breathed. He shoved the picture he had been using as a bookmark for the last several months back in the discarded book on his nightstand, then pulled his pants up over his morning stiffness just in case she tried to come in. “I’m up,” he yelled back.
“I’m leaving soon so you better hurry if you want a ride.”
“No thanks,” he huffed. “I’ll walk.” He was still mad that she had sprung the job on him on his first day back. He had been looking forward to bumming around in the flat all summer. Exams and worrying about Sirius had taken a toll on him, plus he still had to get through two moons on his own. Recovery was going to be a bitch; he already knew it.
They had argued about it all night when he returned home from school, but in the end, Hope had told him it was time to start acting like a man. He couldn’t argue with her there, besides, it would give him the opportunity to buy some records and maybe something nice for Sirius before school started back up again.
Only minutes later, he heard the front door slam and his mum’s car start. He shifted the curtain a bit and watched her pull away from the curb. She was wearing her waitressing uniform and sat unsmiling in the driver’s seat, a cigarette hanging out the open window. It wasn’t until he saw her drive down the street that he decided to venture out into the living room of their flat, clad in only his boxers.
The first thing he did was search the ashtray for any still smokable butts. They had all been smoked down to the filter, so he did the next best thing and went looking for a fresh pack— she always kept a few lying around. He found two unopened packs of Embassy’s in the pantry and took one for himself. She would yell at him later for it, but right now he didn’t care. He preferred rollies but he was out of tobacco, so he chain-smoked two of them anyway and then got ready for work.
Work was washing dishes in the pub down the road. His mum was friends with one of the line cooks and, when he told her that an opening had popped up for the summer months, she volunteered him without even asking. It was grueling work. His back hurt from hunching over the sink for hours on end and his shirt was soaked through by the end of every shift. His boss was crude and ugly, and his coworkers weren’t much better, though his scars did make them leave him alone.
His shift that day had, thankfully, passed quickly. He had been scheduled during the lunch rush and into dinner, so there was a nonstop stream of dirty dishes to clean. It was hours of scraping leftover food off plates, scrubbing lipstick marks from used coffee cups, and soaking greasy skillets in murky dishwater. It was absolutely minging. He got through it all by singing the entirety of Hunky Dory over and over in his head until he was able to clock out.
His boss stopped him by the back door just as he was about to leave. He had chucked off his soiled, wet shirt as soon as he could and threw on a plain white tee and an open plaid shirt to cover his scars in its place. His backpack hung limply from one shoulder. “Lupin,” his boss said in his gruff voice, his rotten breath wafting up into Remus’ face. “I want you to pick up the pace tomorrow, you hear me?”
“Right,” Remus nodded and let the door slam behind him. He rolled his eyes as soon as there was a barrier between them. There should be laws forbidding your boss to talk to you after you’ve already clocked out, Remus thought.
It was a short walk back to the flat, only about fifteen minutes or so, but Remus had an errand to run before he could go home. He had to find some weed. There was no way he would get through the summer without it. He had a guy, but there was no way to know for sure where he would be. Remus was feeling desperate though, and it was worth a shot, even if he had to scour the whole city for him.
Remus went to the park; it was where he had picked up over Christmas and where he would probably have the most luck. It was empty, except for an old wino who had drunk himself to sleep in the yellowing grass. The swings swayed and creaked in the summer breeze and Remus sat down on one of the benches and waited. He was starting to feel sketched out as the sun started to set in the distance and promised himself he wouldn’t wait much longer. If the bloke didn’t come in 10 minutes, then Remus would just have to look somewhere else.
He realized he looked sort of suspicious just sitting there in an empty park, so he took his book out of his backpack. It was a book of poems that Lily had lent him for the summer, good but not exactly for him. There was still enough light to read, but he was distracted by his makeshift bookmark instead. It was a shot of Sirius on the evening before they went home for Christmas last December, taken on Mary’s camera. Remus had stolen the photo before it even finished developing. Sirius was all smiles, in the photo, happy to be going to the Potter home for break. Remus’s favorite part was that he was wearing one of his sweaters. The green one he had gifted him before they left Hogwarts. It looked good on him.
Remus was pining, he knew it, had been for years. It felt good now, though, now that he knew Sirius maybe felt the same way. He could be his, would be his, as long as Remus didn’t mess it all up. That was the only thing holding him back, the fear that his stupid teenage brain would mess everything up and Sirius would be done with him forever.
The guy showed up only minutes before the streetlights came on and Remus tucked the picture back in the book. He took one look at Remus, nodded, then went directly into the playground tunnel. Remus waited about half a minute before following him.
Remus had started picking up from him a couple of summers ago. He was a friend, or relative perhaps, of one of the boys that had lived in his building, who had since moved away since Remus started Hogwarts. Remus didn’t know the guy’s name or how old he was (he had tried to ask once, early on, but the guy just laughed at him, told him it was confidential), though he doubted he was much older than Remus himself. He had a backpack on, similar to Remus’, so he was probably still in school at least. They might have even been the same age. He was blonde-haired and blue-eyed and looked like the type to play either rugby or football. How he got started dealing weed, Remus had no idea, but he wasn’t complaining.
“What you got for me?” the guy asked, crouched close to the woodchip flooring of the playground. They had developed a sort of barter system over the years since Remus rarely had any money to his name.
Remus pulled a bottle out of his backpack and the guy eyed it suspiciously. Remus had gone off on his own during exams week, snuck off into the one-eyed witch’s tunnel, and knocked off a couple of bottles of fire whiskey from the cellar of the Three Broomsticks. He had transfigured the label into something more muggle-looking before they left school so as not to draw attention to it.
He made Remus take the first sip to make sure it was safe. Remus didn’t think he looked like the type of bloke to poison someone, but then again, they didn’t know each other and only saw each other for a few minutes every couple of months. Remus took a bigger swig than he should have, but after the day he had, he needed it. It would be a while before he would be able to get high, anyway. He would have to wait until his mum went to work.
“That burns,” the guy said, wincing after trying it himself.
“That’s because it’s strong.”
“It sure is. Alright, here you go.” He tossed a baggy at his feet. It would be enough to last through the July and August moons if he was careful, but now that he had some money coming in, he didn’t feel like being careful.
“Got any baccy?” Remus asked.
“Not on me. I can get some, though.”
“Papers too?”
“Sure. Where’d you get this shite by the way?” he asked, taking another swig before stowing it away in his backpack.
A moment of panic. He couldn’t say he got it at the liquor store because he might go looking for it. “It’s imported,” Remus lied.
“Makes sense,” the blond shrugged, not questioning him, and backed out of the tunnel. “You know where to find me,” he called over his shoulder. Do I? Remus thought.
Remus decided to take the long way home, going several blocks out of his way just to walk by the record store in town. He didn’t go in, there was no point if he didn’t have any money. He looked through the window, beyond the plastered flyers and graffiti scratched into the pane, and made a mental list of what he wanted to get for Sirius, to add to their collection back at school. His heart fluttered as he thought of it as their collection.
And it was their collection, for the most part. James and Peter contributed some, but it was all wizarding bands. It just didn’t feel the same to him, it wasn’t rock and roll.
Some of their collection had been bought with Remus’ saved-up pocket change or with a loan from Sirius if there was a recent release they were dying to hear, but they really had Sirius’ cousin, Andy, to thank for their extensive collection. And in a way, she was partially responsible for their music taste as well. She always sent Sirius a couple of albums around his birthday ever since first year, putting them on to music Remus had never even heard of. In one of her letters to him, she mentioned that he soul mate Ted worked one summer at a muggle record store after they finished school. Remus hoped that could be him someday.
They had yet to get their hands on Young Americans; Remus knew Sirius would be disappointed if he didn’t bring it back with him. And they had nearly overplayed LZ III and IV in the dorm, especially during that uninterrupted week they spent together during Easter hols, so he made a mental note to look for Physical Graffiti, too, to spice things up a little. Maybe even House of the Holy, if he could find it.
What he really hoped to find, though, was Queen’s Sheer Heart Attack. He had heard Killer Queen on the car radio on the drive home from the train station and had to hide his cheesing grin behind his hand before his mum saw. It reminded him too much of Sirius. He could just picture him singing and dancing to it in the common room, drunk after a quidditch victory or a successful prank. He had to have it; he would order it if he had to. He would pay a premium for it even.
Remus had his nose pressed into the glass, his eyes roaming over the endless stacks of LPs, Eps, and singles when the door swung open. “Get lost if yur not gonna buy anything, kid!”
Remus flinched as he was brought out of his thoughts. The tetchy owner stood in the doorway, pointing his bratwurst finger at a sign on the door: NO LOITERING circled with a red slash through it.
“S-sorry,” Remus stuttered. “I—” I haven’t gotten paid yet, is what he wanted to say, but the man slammed the door before he could get it out.
Remus huffed, feeling his temper rise. He lit a cigarette to stop himself from getting worked up and going in there to tell the man off for being rude. He couldn’t get banned from the shop before he could get the album. There wasn’t any other place in town he could get it from. He continued to walk, instead, looking into store windows as he passed them and wasting time to avoid going home.
Hope was already there when he got back to the flat later that night. She sat on the couch in front of the telly, the blue light from the game show she was watching reflected onto her tired face. “Dinner’s on the table, hun,” she called out.
He grunted a hardly intelligible thanks but bypassed the hot meal on the stove. He instead took a box of cold chips from the fridge and took it to his room to eat alone.
Sunday was Remus’ day off, but he didn’t get to sleep in. His mum woke him up bright and early and told him to start getting ready for Sunday mass. He didn’t argue, they had been doing too much of that lately.
He wore the base of his school uniform, his white button up and trousers that he wore under his robes. He didn’t have any nicer clothes so it would have to do. He was putting on his shoes (also the ones he used for school) when he heard a tapping on his window. He looked up to see the Potter family owl perched on his windowsill. “Hey girl,” Remus greeted the bird as he opened the window to let her in. He tried to pet her behind where he thought her ears would be, but she turned her head all the way around and pecked him. “Bloody owl,” Remus murmured, sticking his bleeding finger into his mouth and grabbing the rolled parchment on her foot.
Hiya Moony,
How’s the summer treating you? I hope your not to busy with work. How is that by the way? I told Mum I wanted to get a job and she just laughed at me, but maybe I’ll try again next year. Dad said I could go with him to the lab but that just sounds like Sluggy’s class to me. Why anyone would want to make potions for a living beats me.
It’s been boring around here, but Wormy said he would stop by one of these days. You should come over whenever you have a day off. Mum said she can pick you up since I know you arent connected to the flue. Just let me know okay?
-Prongs
P.S. I’ve talked to Padfoot every night on the mirrors. He seems okay from what I can tell. He wanted me to tell you not to worry about him and he also said to give you a big smooch when I see ya! Hahahah! He didn’t really say that, but you wish!
Remus chuckled as he read the letter. James was such an idiot sometimes, he thought.
“Remus,” his mum called him through the door. “Are you almost ready?”
“Almost,” he answered. He would have to write back to James before the owl left or he wouldn’t have a way to respond. He stalked out into the living room and took one of his mum’s pens from her work apron.
“Hurry up, Remus,” she said to him when she saw that he still didn’t have his shoes on.
“Just a minute,” he said. “Do we have any paper?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. She stood by the door, her hat and purse already in hand. She wore a modest dress that she found at a charity shop years before and her Sunday Best shoes that she tapped impatiently against the linoleum flooring as she waited for her son. “Never mind that, let’s get a move on.”
Remus grabbed a napkin from the table. Prongs, he wrote.
I don’t have a lot of time to write at the moment but how about next Tuesday?
Tell Sirius hi for me, please.
He paused before adding the next part, not sure if he wanted to relay the next part through James who would likely clown on him for it.
And tell him I miss him.
Peter too, he added for good measure.
-R
He folded the napkin tightly and tied it to the owl with the same twine James had used for his letter. “Alright, on you go,” he shooed the owl and closed the window behind it. He hoped, belatedly, that it wouldn’t start to rain and ruin the napkin before it got to James.
He turned to leave but stopped. Lily’s book of poems was facedown on his bed where he had left it the night before. He pulled the photo of Sirius out from between the pages and tucked it into his pocket. He could find his place in the book later, and if he was going to sit through an hour of being told he was going to hell, then he deserved at least a small comfort.
The ride to the church house was quiet except for the clunking of the car’s engine and the tape Hope had put on when they had first got in the car. It was mellow piano tunes, and Remus didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t Bowie.
They hadn’t had a lot of time to talk since he had been home from school; they had both been busy with work and were both exhausted when they came home at night. He wanted to tell her things about his life. He felt like she hardly knew him nowadays, and something huge had happened to him that year. He had found his soulmate, and he had no idea what to do with that information. He was still in school, so what did that mean for the rest of his life? He knew school romances hardly made it past graduation, but was it different because they were soulmates? He just needed an adult to talk to.
“Mum,” he said after contemplating whether he should ask her or just keep his thoughts to himself. She was always so touchy when it came to magic, Remus didn’t like mentioning it around her.
She turned the volume down. “Yes?”
“Do you believe in soul mates?”
His mom thought about it for a moment, her eyes never leaving the road. It was a muggy day, hot and overcast, and Remus’ shirt stuck to him as he waited for his mum to answer. “I think God has a plan for everyone,” she said finally.
“Well, I have one. A soul mate, that is.”
“That’s nice, sweetie,” she said, still not looking at him. He could tell by her voice that she was just humoring him. “I didn’t know you were dating anyone. What’s her name?”
“I’m not dating anyone,” he corrected. She looked away from the road for a split second to give him a confused look. It would be easier just to show her, he thought, and started to lift his shirt that he had never bothered to tuck in.
“Remus,” Hope cried, swerving slightly when she saw what he was doing in the rearview mirror. “I don’t want to see that awful bite.”
“That’s not—”
She didn’t let him finish. “That is enough, Remus. Put your shirt down this instant.”
Remus dropped his hand when he saw she was close to tears. She didn’t like being reminded of his lycanthropy. They never mentioned it, or at least they never used the word. It was all ‘your problem’ or ‘that time of the month.’ It made him sound like a bloody broad sometimes. The worst part was that his mum could hardly look at him the day after, and even when she did, she couldn’t hide the disappointment in her eyes.
Remus dropped it. He knew he wasn’t going to reach her. The car was silent after that, neither of them bothering to turn the music back up.
His mother greeted her friends when they arrived at the church house, putting on a happy face like their words in the car had never happened. Remus entered through the massive doors and sat down, arms crossed over his chest in the back row of pews where he could be alone, away from his mum who had been swept up in a whirlwind of gossiping church ladies who were congregating on the front lawn. He looked around at the altar and the reredos behind it, all of the arches and stained glass. It all made him feel homesick for Hogwarts.
The pews eventually filled in around him and soon the priest approached the altar, bowed, and began to speak. Remus went through the motions, not thinking too much about them. He crossed himself when others did, said amen after each prayer, and consumed the blood and body when offered. He let his thoughts, and his hands, wander as the father droned on and on, fiddling with the edges of the photograph in his pocket and thinking about how if Sirius was there with him, he would want to pull a prank on all the unsuspecting churchgoers. It would be a damn good prank, too.
Remus slipped out the doors before anyone else and waited for his mum by the car, leaning up against the passenger door. It didn’t take long for his mum to come out or for them to go right back to their silent treatment routine. On the ride home, Remus laid his head against the window and let the outside world blur around him.
…
Sirius hissed as Regulus dabbed a damp cloth on the wound on his leg—a deep gash a few inches above his knee. The diffindo charm had torn through his trousers and blood clung to the frayed threads of the fabric.
“Hold still,” Regulus scolded. “Why were you down there anyways?”
“I thought they had gone out for the night,” Sirius shrugged. “I heard the flue.” He had gotten too bold. Almost every night for the past two weeks, his parents disappeared into the early hours of the morning. He wasn’t sure where they were going or what they were doing. Nothing good, most likely, but it gave him the opportunity to escape his cell of a bedroom for a little and raid the kitchens for leftovers.
It happened every night around 11 o’clock. He would listen for the tell-tale crackle of the fireplace, then he would wait until he no longer heard Kreature prattling around downstairs. It usually didn’t take long for the elf to lock himself in his cupboard for the night, and then he had full range of Grimmauld Place until his parents came back. He never pushed it, though, he ate quickly and returned to his room. He was too afraid of Kreature or one of the ancestral portraits waking up. They would surely tell his mother.
“Mother stayed behind tonight,” Regulus informed him.
“No shit.”
“Don’t you have any self-preservation instincts?”
Sirius just shrugged. He had never been one for self-preservation, that was for sure. “I guess not,” he murmured to himself.
“This is going to hurt,” Regulus warned, opening an amber jar of some kind of salve. It looked like something Pomfrey would use on Remus after the full moons but smelled much, much worse. Sirius pulled away, instinctually, as Regulus began to smear it on his cut. It felt like the flames of hell were searing him from the inside out.
“It’ll seal the wound, just hold still.”
Sirius reached out blindly for his brother; he needed something to squeeze if he was going to sit still through the torture that was the mystery salve. Where did he even get this stuff, anyway? Regulus’ hands were full, and Sirius was careful not to knock the jar out of his grasp, so his hands landed somewhere further up his arm.
Regulus winced, flinching away from the touch.
Sirius understood immediately. “She got you too?”
“She wasn’t aiming for me,” he said, as if it mattered. “I got in the way.”
“I’m sorry.”
Regulus shook his head. Don’t be.
“’S all my fault,” Sirius said through clenched teeth.
Regulus ignored him and put the cap back on the jar of salve as he finished applying it to his leg. They watched as the wound bubbled and oozed until it finally sealed itself before their eyes. The only indication that he had been hurt was his torn pants which were now sporting a rust red stain. “I have to go,” Regulus said finally. “I shouldn’t even be in here.”
“Right,” Sirius said, Regulus hurried towards the door.
“I’ll tell Kreature to mend your trousers,” Regulus said without turning around.
Sirius didn’t care about his trousers, though. “You’ll be okay?” he asked instead.
“I’ll be fine,” Regulus said before he left the room.
“Thank you,” he mumbled. He wasn’t sure if Regulus heard.