One
Remus hears them wake up. For six long years, every single goddamn bloody morning, he hears them wake up.
James is first. Usually in passing as Remus finally puts down his book to force himself to sleep. Peter is second, eager to get to breakfast, waiting on James, who usually comes back from what he calls his ‘pre-practice’ at this time. Sirius is last, always. Peter used to drag him out of bed until one morning he got “accidently” hexed and about a dozen pillows thrown at his head. James usually takes on the task now, ripping the sheets right off him shouting “good morning, sleepy head!” James got really good at dodging pillows.
Usually, Remus would wake Sirius up. Or rather, he’d sit carefully on the side of the bed and watch him breathe, watching how his eyes flickered under his eyelids or how his cheek looked squished against the pillow, until Sirius eventually groaned and turned over and Remus shook him awake. But that was before.
Now Remus doesn’t even go near that bed. Doesn’t even want to look in its general direction.
But unfortunately, it’s fucking muscle memory or some shit by now, so there he is. Sitting up in his bed with the curtains drawn and enchantments cast around him, with growing bags beneath his eyes, staring at where he knows Sirius’ bed is. Where he knows Sirius is sleeping lazily without a care in the fucking world. Where he knows Sirius is breathing easily without a second thought. It infuriates him.
Remus hasn’t been able to sleep. Not a fucking wink.
Ever since he woke up at the hospital and he saw James sitting anxiously beside him with a look he’ll never be able to erase from his memory, instead of where Sirius usually sat, draped over the infirmary bed, half asleep, with books and breakfast Remus wouldn’t be able to stomach anyway, Remus hasn’t been able to sleep. He can’t bring himself to. It’s always there, running in his mind. Trying to remember what happened and simultaneously wishing he could erase the memory completely. No, actually, Remus wishes it didn’t fucking happen in the first place.
But it did.
And now Remus wants to strangle Sirius Black in his oh so peaceful sleep. He wants to shake him and scream at him and ask him what he did to make him do that, to know why he would do that to him. Because he hates Sirius Black with every sore aching bone in his fucking body.
But the worst part is, that a small weak part still exists in the back of Remus’ head that doesn’t want to hate him at all. It’s probably the part that hurts the most.
He hears James open the door and close it carefully behind him when Remus finally gets up. It's early and the last threads of morning sun are starting to stream in before the clouds can come to replace the fog and take it away. Remus sighs and moves the red burgundy curtains aside, pushing to his feet. He steals a look at Sirius’ draped bed and immediately he’s torn with the urge to either crawl back into bed and let the mattress eat him alive or set Sirius’ bed on fire. James is changing with his back turned so instead, he takes it as an opportunity to miss the half-smile and pity questions and bee-lines to the bathroom.
He doesn’t bother knocking, he can hear Peter humming as he brushes his teeth, so he turns the knob and fits himself in. Peter pauses for a moment, toothbrush and foaming paste still in his mouth as he gives him a wary look before slowly resuming. See, that’s what Remus hates most about all this. Everyone looking at him like he’s some wounded animal, that he’s going to fall apart at any second.
Funny, he thinks. When only a week ago, Remus was the most dangerous one in the room, and really, he still is.
Remus ignores Peter until he finally leaves and shuts the door, mumbling something to James as he goes. He turns back on the tap and it takes Remus two minutes to brush his teeth.
Everything’s harder now. Aside from the fact that his hip aches like the devil himself and his arms are sore and he has about five new silvery white scars, one specifically on the right side of his neck peeking out from under his jumper, and the acidic feeling burning up his throat whenever he thinks about it for too long, he’s also just so- well, there’s not even a word for it.
He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror as the tap runs, simply stares daggers at his reflection, and he can’t figure it out. He’s no stranger to guilt and self-loathing, some of the perks of turning into a werewolf every fucking month since he was five years old with a father who won’t even acknowledge it other than in blame or disgust, but this is different. It’s harder. His mind is running circles around itself on a continuous loop, a never ending nightmare, the word monster blaring in red and gold every time he closes his eyes. So many questions boiling over inside him that really, he doesn’t even know if he wants the answers to. It’s almost unbearable, the way his heart is beating so hard it might burst from his chest and start gushing on the floor and the way he wants to simply put it out of its poor pathetic misery by simply ripping it out himself. Remus was betrayed and by the one person he knew with absolute certainty would never ever do that, the one person who he trusted more than he trusted the moon to rise each month and the stars to follow.
The one person who did it all for a game. A fucking prank.
His chest heaves as he snaps off the tap and reaches for the door. His stomach grumbles but honestly, he’s lost his appetite for life. Everything makes him feel sick. The door slams lazily behind him.
“Morning, Remus.” James nods at him with a weak smile, “alright?”
He doesn’t smile back. Instead his eyes flick down helplessly to Sirius who is sitting cross legged in his bed, curtains pulled away, and probably in the middle of talking to James. His eyes are darkened too and his hair is a little fussed, his fingers pick at a thread on his jumper sleeves. He looks miserable, Remus thinks. Good. He fucking should.
A heated feeling rises in the back of his throat as the words form.
“I don’t know, James, I almost killed three people including myself last week, why don’t you tell me?” His eyes drift back as he speaks and narrows on Sirius and honestly he hopes it’s as cold as they all seem to react, “But I guess that’s not that surprising for a monster, hmm, maybe just another monday?.”
He hadn’t even asked the question but really, Remus can’t be bothered to care. Sirius opens his mouth slowly like he wants to say something but then immediately snaps it shut, eyes scattering around the room trying and failing to hold Remus’ stare.
Yeah, nevermind. Remus hates Sirius Black.
“Have something to fucking say?” It’s the first words he’s spoken to Sirius in a week. Sirius blinks back and after a few seconds, shakes his head.
Remus looks back to James who looks like he’s holding his breath, before walking past him to slip on his boots and storm out of the dorm, letting the door slam purposefully on his way out. As he walks down the stairs, he hears James scolding Sirius, shutting down his protests, before another softer door slams in the distance and the shower starts to run.
He’s halfway down the stairs when the door opens and he hears footsteps behind him, scrambling down to reach him.
“Remus, wait-”
Sirius’ voice is thick and choked as he stops on the stair directly above Remus, forcing them to be closer than he’d like when he turns around. Remus can’t help the sharp breath he takes in at the proximity, he never could. Sirius searches for words and Remus impatiently huffs before he finds them. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I fucked up, I know-”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Please, Remus, tell me how to make it right! I don’t know how- I-” Sirius flings his hands up and lets them fall against his gray and blue striped pants, having run out without thinking.
“I don’t know what you can do. It’s done, isn’t it?”
“I never meant to hurt you!”
“For fucks sake, what the hell did you think would happen!”
Sirius shakes his head in disbelief, “I wanted to hurt Snape, not you- I’d never hurt you, I just wasn’t thinking, I just-”
Remus cuts him off sharply, “But that's the thing, you did. You hurt me, Sirius.”
“There’s gotta be something, anything, please Moony.”
“No, shut up. Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.” Remus snaps under his breath, because just as much as that name had once made him feel like floating, like magic, it’s now laced with an aftertaste that makes Remus shudder.
Sirius’ eyes widen and his mouth falls shut with a curt nod. They’ve been here before, round and round, and Remus knows he’s not the only one growing tired of it, it doesn’t change anything, but still as he turns and steps off the stair, Sirius restlessly persists. His voice is quiet and desperate, one last plea, one more apology that will never fill the hole shaped in his image, still gaping open. “I’m so sorry, Remus.”
See, Remus wasn’t this angry and bitter to begin with, that came and settled and festered with the following days and the look on Sirius’ face every time he had to look at him, like he was the one who didn’t like the ugly reminder. He was just void and numb with shock and utterly betrayed, because Sirius had cut him open and then just left him a weeping wound, that hurt more than any of his actual scars and here he is again, not for the first time, asking for forgiveness. Forgiveness Remus isn’t even sure he wants to give and knows he can’t bring himself to give either way.
He pauses and lets the words marinate instead of brushing them off, for a moment he tries, he tries to make it fit, tries to shove the apology down and make the syllables mean something, to fill the hole and cover it up, but to no avail. There's just too much blood.
“Yeah,” Remus sighs, “You should be.”
His chest rises and falls fast and his face is warm when he scrubs his hands down it, and the footsteps don’t follow him as he walks away. His heart is in his ears and not for the first time, he tries to force himself to wake up from this neverending nightmare. The same nightmare that’s haunted him since he was eleven years old that had no business in coming true. Of course, he doesn’t wake up. He was never asleep to begin with. It isn’t until he gets down to the common room that he realizes he forgot his wand, laying beside his pillow next to- fuck, next to the book he also forgot to bring. Fucks sake.
He hears Lily call after him from where she’s sitting with Marlene on the couch but he doesn’t have time to process what the words are before he’s wholefully ignoring her and walking out the portrait door. He doesn’t mean to be rude to Lily and he knows she’s worried about him but he just can’t bring it up. How does he talk about this to anyone? How will anyone understand and I mean, really, understand? Especially since the only people who really know about his condition, the one people who would really get it, he just left in a fit sitting in their dorm room.
In his bones, he knows Lily wouldn’t hate him. He knows she’d fight to the death to protect him and honestly, he doesn’t doubt that she’d burn the entire school down trying to hunt down Sirius Black. He knows this because he’s the same way with her. But this? This is different. It’s harder.
So he walks alone, with his fists in his pockets, down to the Great Hall.
No one in Gryffindor comes early on Mondays, or even on time for that matter, always rushing in late long after Remus is gone, so he’s essentially alone on the bench, save a few scattered strays studying while they eat, picking at the steaming porridge in front of him with his spoon because he forgot his fucking book.
He can’t stomach food most days, which is common after a full moon, but even more so, he doesn’t feel hungry. Everything makes him want to vomit but Madame Pomfrey is an adamant woman who does not give a damn about Remus not being hungry because apparently he needs food to live. So naturally, she’s keeping tabs on him.
Remus is trying not to think about Sirius. He really, really is, but he’s learning that even when he’s angry at him- beyond angry even- he’s still thinking about him. And when he thinks about him, inevitably he misses him. But then he remembers again and the rage becomes twice as bad. It’s a terrible cycle, he’s stuck in, because he shouldn’t miss him. He should despise him and he does, it’s just that…
A sudden noise catches his attention and he glances over to the hufflepuff table in front of him, out of the sheer interruption and lack of anything else to do, which is a poor mistake really. A third year, Harden Lewis, if he recalls correctly from his perfect rounds, and another boy he doesn’t know the name of but recognizes, because they’re so painfully attached at the hip, sit opposite of eachother. They’re arguing playfully over something and Harden has unnecessarily leaned up on the table and grabbed his friend’s arm four times in the last minute. The other boy snatches his biscuit away and takes a bite before shoving the rest into Harden’s giggling face. They’re both smiling. They’re both so young. He immediately resents them both.
He looks away and stabs his spoon into his porridge again and again and again.
A few other students drift in and out, most of them stay out of each other’s way and the ones that come in groups stay together and study and chatter quietly amongst themselves. An obligatory hush settling in over the still new morning and reluctantly, Remus eats. He watches students smile and whisper and butter their toasts and flip through the pages of their books. He tries to ignore when Harden lets out a playful yelp of faux offense because of something the other boy said.
He’s about to just give up and go back to the dorm in hopes that his roommates had already left, when the doors of the Great Hall swing open. Three boys walk to the far side of the hall, abandoning the main strip and striding all the way beside the wall to get as far opposite to Remus as possible, the slytherin table. Remus glances up and has to make a double take.
Regulus Black and the two other boys in green and silver ties, sloppily done, sit on the bench, two of them chatting across the one.
It’s insane how much Regulus looks like Sirius at first glance. Sure, there are obvious differences in hair and height, posture, the way they carry themselves, and well, okay, everything, but a mirror twisted and inverted in its image to the point of unrecognition still holds the same image. Like two houses built on the same foundation, with the same wood, by the same layout, in the same way, just decorated differently. Just a different inhabitant taking up the same space, just placed in different landscapes.
He knows who Regulus is, how could he not, and probably more than most else knows exactly how he feels about Sirius and the same the other way around. He’s seen him during prefect duty and in the library, probably one of the only other students that could even compare to the amount of time he and Lily spend in there, now that he’s thinking about it. He recognizes them too, the boys on either side of Regulus. Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier. One of which, currently making what seems to be a dirty joke about his fried eggs and the other bending down to lick it. Regulus, who is irritably stuck in the center, takes the plate and tips it down so the eggs slip right off, leaving the other two to roll their eyes and groan. All three of them are fifth years and more than anything, all three of them are a complete complicated nuisance in Sirius' side.
It takes Remus less than a second to realize he’s been staring and even less than that for an idea to take shape.
He lets his spoon fall into his half empty bowl and without really thinking about it, finds his legs walking him to the other end of the hall. His hip screams at him the entire way.
“Isn’t it a bit early to be taking house points, Lupin?” Barty quips as he approaches. The other two turn to look as well.
Remus doesn’t reply. He simply sits down in front of Regulus and serves himself a piece of toast. Evan and Barty exchange glares while he butters it. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing here, really, but he’s bitter and he’s angry and he’s upset. More than upset, painfully and overwhelmingly upset, and rightfully so. So, what better thing to do than to go to the only people who could possibly hate Sirius Black more?
Regulus is glaring at him suspiciously with crossed arms over an empty plate, wand visibly clutched underneath his sleeve. “No toast at the Gryffindor table I take it?” He says flatly as Remus takes his first bite.
“You hate your brother, right?”
He already knows the answer but if Regulus was taken aback by the sudden bluntness, he doesn’t show it. “How did you ever guess?”
Remus nods and takes another bite of toast. For a while Regulus just stares at him, reads and analyzes him, still not loosening his grip on his wand. Beside Regulus, Barty is in the making of some sort of weird breakfast bacon-egg-apple-butter sandwich combination while Evan chuckles and leans forward in interest, “Woah woah, wait a second, is this about what happened last week? That thing with Snape? Wait, are you and the wonder boys on the outs?”
It’s not a secret that something happened, especially not when others were put in the way against his will, like Severus Snape, but Dumbledore is good for some things after all, he’s put together. Keeping secrets and mauling and muddling the truth seems to make the top of that short list. “Why, what’d he say?”
“Nothing that made me want to listen.” Evan replies, “Why, what’s there to tell?”
Remus doesn’t respond but inwardly, he lets out a small sigh of relief.
When he looks up again, Regulus hasn’t left his stare, darting back and forth from eye to eye in patient observation. Like a system processing an hidden message, a silent transmission that only they can translate, one that Regulus is decoding easily. It’s easy to recognize something you see in the mirror everyday, Remus figures.
And then there’s a change. He’s got it. Regulus almost invisibly loosens his grip on his wand and sighs, voice sounding inherently bored. “What’d he do now?”
Where does he start? How does he start? Does he start? He and Regulus have never said more than two clipped words to each other in five years, and really, he never even cared to before now. But Regulus is someone who’d get it, right? At least part of it? Isn’t that why he came over here in the first place? “Does it matter?” Remus squints, setting his toast down to his plate.
Regulus’ jaw twitches the same way Sirius’ does when his brother is brought up in this manner, it’s a little unnerving. They stay like that for a bit before Regulus shrugs, “No, not really.”
At that, Barty and Evan relax and fall back into conversation, pestering Regulus and finishing the rest of their breakfast. They pester Remus too, asking him questions that he doesn’t answer. Making wild guesses as to what happened, none of which are even slightly close. More students trickle in now and Remus stays seated, he adjusts his shoulder and his elbow aches. More than that, there's a pit in his stomach and a voice whispering in his ear, betrayal. This is betrayal. It’s Sirius’ voice. How fucking fitting.
The bitter maddening feeling persists and he shuts the voice down, the boiling blood being pumped from a bruised heart coursing through his veins, the beating tempo growing too loud to hear anything else. Too loud to hear the distant apologies, too loud to hear the way his chest aches with yearning. Too loud to hear anything at all, other than the open and closing of doors to the Great Hall. Not loud enough to drown out the other beating heart across the room, the one Remus had once thought beat in time to his own.
He feels it before he sees it, the way Sirius looks at him.
Remus snaps his eyes up and for a singular moment, the beating goes still and Remus wants. Oh, he wants. He wants and wants and fuck it, he wants some more. He wanted before and he wanted now. He wanted Sirius to know that he wanted. He wanted to watch him sleep and steal the peaceful moments before he awoke this morning. He wanted not to feel so angry. He wanted Sirius to never have had to apologize for any of this in the first place. He wanted Sirius not to gut him with the same fucking knife he trusted him with. Look where wanting has led him now.
The moment passes and the sound is so loud, it might burst from his eyes and bleed down from his nose. Every bruised bone, every pang of guilt, every word that came shakily from James’ mouth that following morning stained like spilled ink in his mind, every memory of waking up that day forward and wishing that he hadn’t, every moment that is now tainted with Sirius, is so sure now. Good, bad, ugly, justified, unjustified, wanting, yearning, hatred, it’s all the same really. It all fucking aches and everything is harder.
Sirius holds his gaze, breaking only to dart to Regulus sitting across from him.
There it is. A flash of confusion, then of horror, then of a stinging sharp knife dragged down his back with blood, still stained from when Sirius had first dug it into him. A light visibly dimming if for only a split second from the pure shock of it all. He looks back at Remus and it’s so shattering Remus can hardly stand it but he will. He does. He wants to ask him how it fucking feels.
Isn’t this what he wanted? Sirius wanted a monster, right?
Remus’ jaw tenses as someone starts to pull Sirius away, and everything in him feels like it might collapse and explode.
Well, he just created one.