It was bad tonight.
He should’ve expected it, really. Final exams meant heightened stress levels across the castle, and among 5th years especially in anticipation of OWLs. He also knew that Remus, the ever- methodical marauder, was taking it particularly hard. Not only was he feeling the pressure of his own high standards for his academic performance, but also the uptick in career-talk that came hand-in-hand with ministry-proctored exams. Hearing it come just as much from their friends in the Great Hall as from their professors in lectures, James could see through his friend’s efforts to play off how much the increasing reminders of his unique career situation as a werewolf were wearing him down.
When James burst into the dorm, wet, windswept, and at the peak of an athlete’s high, it looked like any other evening – Peter laying on his belly with his feet crossed in the air as he poured over his Potions textbook and Sirius tossing and catching a wad of crumpled parchment in time with the music playing softly from Remus’ mum’s old record player.
But if it were any other evening, Remus would be trying to help Peter study potions (paying no mind that he’s no better at Potions than Peter), or asking Sirius Why was Santa fighting in the dance hall anyways? and teasing him about how silly it looked when he didn’t know who Santa was while listening to that newly-released record in first year. Maybe he’d even blow a raspberry when Sirius reminded him that You’re the one who misheard that line anyways; at least I knew what the song said – that’s the most important thing isn't it Moony?
Tonight, Remus wasn’t helping Peter study for Potions, or ribbing Sirius about Santa Claus’ penchant for fistfights. He was sitting on his bed, which was still neatly made from the morning, his arms around tucked-up knees and aimless eyes unmoving as James dropped his quidditch gear at the doorway with a resounding thunk.When Sirius caught his eye and cocked his head towards Remus in a silent ask for help, James pulled himself out of his haze of emotions and strode quickly toward his moonsick friend.
****
James’ voice was hoarse from reading aloud now and his fingertips numb from their rhythmic movements through sandy curls. Motion like those multicolored expanding and contracting balls that muggles play with – Hoberman spheres, Peter once called them. Remus’ head lulled on his chest, only to snap up again with eyes searching and fearful.
He wondered if Remus liked “Peter Pan” because he’d been made to grow up so fast. Here was this boy, young and with wings and forever unaware of his impact – Remus must, on some level, long for that. Remus was much too aware of his impact.
It’s these moments, when James’ voice is dry from reading in silly voices for Peter Pan, Wendy, and the evil Captain Hook and he’s growing restless from sitting so long on the bed, that he understands why Remus feels guilty about asking for anything else.
And yes, of course it’s a sacrifice not to lollygag in the hot shower after quidditch and pass up a night of studying-devolved-into-prank-planning to give your friend a place on your chest to sleep away his sickness and shadow-figures in the periphery.
But what Remus doesn’t understand through his guilt, James muses, is that it’s a sacrifice he’s choosing freely to make – not from guilt but genuine care for his friend.
With warm breath and warmer words, James whispered it all to Remus, then. Nevermind that he wouldn’t remember in the morning, as his lips were finally beginning to part in real rest:
Just because there’s somewhere else I’d rather be right now, Remus, doesn’t mean there’s somewhere else I want to be. I know you’d do the same for me.
Then, with a light squeeze to his hand:
You don’t realize it, but you already do.
****
They stood outside on the grounds, now, the cold wind hitting their faces upturned toward the starless sky. Then when Remus caught sight of the moon – round but not quite full – he giggled a little, burying his face in the crook of James’ neck. And even though it crushed him a bit to see his friend whose wit was his best weapon in a fight laughing and delirious in fear; James gave a gentle huff in return. Remus’ trembling calmed a little at the sound.
They’d normally be asleep by now, even on moon nights. They weren’t all like this. But not long after James had dozed off in Remus’ bed and with Peter Pan still open on the pillow, he’d woken up to a sweaty palm on his cheek and the same giggles, slurred and a little woozy.
He sounded a bit mad like this, and James thought distantly that maybe he was. But what does it mean to be mad? He’d sped up a bit to move past a wizard whispering into his hands outside Zonko’s just last Hogsmeade weekend, maybe because he seemed a bit mad. But maybe that Zonko’s wizard just has a self he likes to be and another self that shows up against his will, like Remus.
I’m gonna walk you to the hospital wing now, Moony, James hummed in Remus’ ear then, guiding them both toward the castle with Remus’ face still buried in the crook of his neck. It was nearing 5 am, so James wanted to reach the hospital wing before any sunrise watching wizards or witches stressing into sleeplessness would be liable to cross their path.
James took a deep breath. Soon, he and Remus will reach the hospital wing, and he’ll leave Remus with Madame P. Then the three healthy Marauders will spend a lazy day in the dorm and run with their fourth at moonrise. After Transfiguration on Monday, James’ll ask McGonagall about how we help wizards who don’t have friends to look after them when they’re mad.
By Tuesday, Remus will be ready to look at the starless sky again.
With his own eyes, this time.