The decline (and recovery?) of Remus Lupin

He's so cold. 

It's the kind of cold that wraps around your bones, seeps into your veins and settles in your brain. The kind of cold that feels like emptiness, rather than temperature. 

It's been two weeks since Remus started teaching. 14 days. It's all mechanical. Teach a class, have a cigarette, go to the great hall, pretend the quick glances from his colleagues aren't happening, or pretend his colleagues don't exist at all. Mush some food around his plate and get up to leave earlier than is actually appropriate. 

Eat alone, later, in the dark of his room. As always.

Nobody says anything, how would they? Remus's facade isn't one of trickery. He's just unnerving. A mystery everyone is far too afraid to solve. Barely even a mystery at all, really. 

He's the opposite, isn't he? There's a natural sense of curiosity around mystery. This is complacency.

He's really not a mystery at all.

He sits on the grounds again for what must be the 100th time in the past couple weeks, smoking a cigarette.

Nausea bubbles up inside of him. This doesn't even feel enjoyable. He glances at his hand- finger bones jutting out, veins visible as he holds his fag, and winces at the exhilaration in his chest. 

He hasn't lost weight like this in a long time. And he wasn't planning on going further, he wasn’t.

This is more dangerous than it ever has been.

That tight, exhilarating feeling in his chest might actually just be his heart, he considers, as he stands and begins to make his way back inside. He doesn't stop to catch his breath despite desperately needing to. He has a class to teach. 

Remus briskly walks past the students lined up outside his classroom door as he apologises for being late. His heart is fluttering, and his shoulder - the pain is terribly distracting.

And, oddly, reassuring.

Oh, he can just feel the nerves dancing under his skin. Little forest fires setting his nerves aflame. Excitement and trepidation intertwining.

His students collect themselves into the classroom and evidently take note of the bareness of his room. 

“He hasn't even remembered to give us desks…”

"Is he alright up there? Looks like a dementor has had their way with h-"

"WHAT is THAT " a student gasps, noticing a box at the back of the room, a series of loud and rather horrifying thumps knocking it around. 

Remus swallows the lump in his throat.

"Would anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?"

"That's a boggart" a student- Dean, states, a hint of fear in his voice.

"Very good, Mr. Thomas. Now! Can anyone tell me what a boggart looks like?" Remus says, making his way towards the box around the students. 

The student from the train, Hermione Granger, he now knows her as, a girl who seems to be wildly intelligent (and who puts him terribly on edge) looks him in the eyes for a moment and states clearly, "nobody knows. Boggarts are shapeshifters, they take on the shape of whatever particular thing a person fears most. That's what makes them so te-"

"Terrifying, yes- yes, Miss Granger." He looks to the floor for a moment and takes another few steps towards the box.

"Luckily! There is a very simple spell to repel a boggart. let's practise it now." He calls. 

The students reach for their wands, "uh, without wands, please. After me- ‘riddikulus’"

"Riddikulus" they chorus. 

"Very good! Louder, and very clear, listen, ‘riddikulus’"

"Riddikulus!" 

"Okay, so you see the incantation itself is not enough. What really finishes a boggart is laughter. You need to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing. Let me explain- Neville. Can you join me please?"

He bites his tongue. He just needs this to be over, he needs that fire out of him.

This poor boy seems incredibly nervous. Remus thinks, "don't be shy, come on, it's alright." He says gently, "What are you most frightened of?"

Neville mutters something quietly.

"What was that?"

"Professor Snape"

Remus feels a pang in his chest, "ah, severus, yes. I’m sure he frightens us all," he grinds out in a whisper, "you live with your grandmother, yes?"

"Yes but i don't want-"

"No, that's fine, what I want you to do is this," he bends down and whispers into Neville's ear, "imagine Professor Snape in your grandmother's clothes.” before standing upright and grinning. A desperate attempt to conceal the dread welling up in him. 

This is fine. He's not going to need to face the boggart himself. Of course it's fine. 

He stands behind Neville and raises his wand to unlock the boggart's cage, Snape slyly walking out of it. Thank merlin.

Neville deals with it as smoothly as to be expected and the students all clamber together to line up to face the creature, clearly excited. 

Remus feels his legs buckle slightly as he stands, watching the students take their turns. 

He can hear his heart pounding into his skull, he hasn't eaten enough, he's utterly stressed up to his teeth, Sirius is wandering unknown around the grounds of fucking Hogwarts, and his greatest fear is a movement away from being right in his face. 

Why did he agree to come here?

He's not even sure what it is he fears the most. 

No, scratch that. He has an idea. But to admit that to himself or to anyone else (much less a room full of children. Of which being one he has entirely failed) might be even scarier than the fear in the first place. 

Harry stands up to face the creature, and Remus is immediately tense. What's this going to be? Voldemort? He's been through so much and half of it is Remus's fault- what if his boggart is Remus? No. That's absurd. Sirius? Why would it be Sirius? But, merlin, he cannot handle seeing Sirius again-

Stop fucking projecting and focus, his own mind snaps at him.

The boggart makes a noise similar to rushing wind as it transforms into a dementor, and Remus feels that fire ignite in his chest. Of course, Harry immediately freezes and Remus is frozen as he watches the colour drain out of him. 

An agonising second of self evaluation passes and Remus decides to jump in front of Harry and draw the boggart onto him so he can deal with it himself. 

Oh Merlin’s socks, fucking kill me. Is the last coherent thought in his mind before the boggart transforms into Greyback, wait... Dumbledore?

Fucking Dumbledore. 

Not Fenrir Greyback, the man that ruined him as a child and made him this. Not even Sirius. Not the full moon. Not a vaguely nihilism-inducing plate of calorific food. 

Dumbledore. What's so scary about Dumbledore? Is the boggart.. wrong? He tries to shake himself from his shock. 

And then, only a second after forming, not-Dumbledore starts to speak. 

"Oh Lupin, look at you, you know what is going to have to happen now," the boggart lulls, sympathy coating his words. 

Remus inhales sharply as Harry hastily mutters "professor?" from behind him. 

"You know, it could be years..." the boggart whispers, kindly, "It would be so much easier to just accept this, you're unwell. Lupin, I can help you-"

Remus feels the fire boiling in his face. The only thoughts registering in his mind being. What the hell? Over and over again. 

What's funny about this? How does he make this bullshit funny? Dumbledore manipulating him into being a pathetic little puppet, only to be used and cast away? What a tragic thing to fear. Remus isn't even sure he does fear that. He should. But all it does is evoke resignation and anger- 

-

A long time ago, when the order became his life, Remus watched as Dumbledore's façade dropped and that darkness was revealed within his eyes. 

It wasn't a malicious darkness, it wasn't even a darkness like Remus's. Albus stared into his eyes for a moment and there was a sick sense of understanding. Of camaraderie. Because although their darkness wasn't one they shared, the pale coloured gash of a scar remus had noticed concealed beneath a rather bizarre looking sock on dumbledore's ankle was something they shared. Was enough for him to drop the façade, if only for a moment, if only for a single glimpse into the person that lay underneath. He'd looked initially because of the bizarre patterns and colours of the fabric, and Dumbledore must've known it. From then on, he almost always wore grey. 

Until Remus was long gone.

Remus hates Albus dumbledore. And he hates how nobody can see him for what he is. Broken. Fractured, holding onto sanity with a single piece of string wrapped around his mind and a palace made of lies. So good he can't ever be considered bad, and for anyone close enough, so bad that he could never really be considered good. So, completely and utterly, grey. How. Fucking. Dare He.

He isn't afraid of this. and, really, he isn't afraid of Greyback. Or of Sirius, or food, or the moon. He's angry. Angry and hurt and desperate, but he isn't afraid. This can't be what he fears most. 

Remus tunes back into reality to stare at not-dumbledore in front of him. 

And he realises it with a sick sense of certainty. The kind that plummets beyond your tonsils, and settles in your gut.

"-get better-" the boggart starts to continue his damned sympathy tirade and Remus snaps.

"Come on mate, in we go." And he begins violently dragging the creature back into the box.

Kindness. Real care, empathy, concern. Someone that actually, genuinely wants to help. That's what he's desperately afraid of. To be dragged out of the hole he's spent decades digging. The hole he was shoved into with no choice but to dig deeper, for at least it's something to do, if climbing out is impossible. 

At least then he can really pretend this was a choice. Of course he chose this. Carved it in blood and sweat himself. He doesn't deserve to be dragged out. 

How dare anyone try now.

Dumbledore can’t have motivations beyond his own, and the thought of this being the case is certainly enough to send terror jolting down his spine.

 He shuts the boggart away with a bang. 

-

Remus can feel the lightheadedness long before his vision starts to go. His chest is tight and it's difficult to strain his eyes to see, but he elevates his voice to the best of his ability into the general direction of the students.

"Well! your homework is to write me an essay on the dangers of a boggart-" his voice starts to crack. He attempts to swallow, the lack of moisture making itself evident in his mouth,"c- class is over. You are all dismissed."

He falls towards his desk as he closes his eyes for a moment. Fuck, he needs to eat something. He needs to drink something. When was the last time he drank water? This is awful. He ate yesterday, didn't he? He knows he did. Why is this happening? 

How pathetic. 

"Professor?" A voice says from his left, Hermione, "are you quite alright? Do you need me to go get Madame Pomfrey?"

"Ah, no, I'm very well. Just a bit shaken. I shouldn't have let Harry face that boggart. I'm sure he'd appreciate your company right now, Miss Granger"

"Harry's fine," she says, bluntly, "you stepped in before he even registered the panic."

"Miss Granger" he grits out, far too out of it to try and maintain appearances, "I've dismissed your class. Is there something you need?" His eyes are still closed, and his head is turned away from her. He can't bring himself to open them.

"No" she murmurs, reaching into her robe and setting something down onto the table. "Thank you for that lesson, professor Lupin," she calls, as she makes her way out of the door and into the corridor. 

Remus reaches towards a sleek metal bottle of water on his desk still without opening his eyes. Taking several big gulps before he has too much time to think about it. 

His hands on him, desperately running towards the river, mouthfuls of dirty liquid settling in his stomach as he's dragged back through the water and-

He’s going to vomit.

He slams the bottle down, sharply opens his eyes, before rubbing a hand over his scarred face. 

The old wounds are concealed behind his glamour, but he can still feel them. Jagged marks over his skin.

Shifting his eyes slightly, he spots the object Hermione set on his desk. 

A bright green apple. 

Anger and terror immediately ignites in him. 

Fuck. Get rid of it. 

He grabs it without thinking but can't bring himself to move. 

What harm could an apple possibly do? He's losing his mind. He's sick. He's going to collapse any minute now. It's supposed to be comfortable. He's supposed to be comfortable in this. Hogwarts is ruining his routine, Dumbledore wants to ruin his life, he probably planned this- 

He takes a bite. It's difficult. His teeth are weak and sore.

The apple lasts for all of 2 minutes as Remus makes his way through it desperately. Fullness settling in his stomach and the concept of shoving his entire hand down his throat consuming his mind as a result.

Or perhaps it's hunger. Not fullness. It's difficult to tell the difference these days. 

Regardless. He can't think of anything worse than being full right now. 

But he's a self destructive person. Isn't he?

He has two choices.

No fucking way are you vomiting up an apple. Where are your standards? You'll disperse this apple and not the pasta you consumed a week ago? It'll get stuck in your throat and you'll choke. That's a horrible idea. You'll be dehydrated-

Remus violently smashes his fist into his desk and stands abruptly. 

I’m going to the kitchens. He decides.

What? No you're fucking not. 

I’m going to the fucking kitchens. What's the point? I've ruined it all anyway. I need nutrition. I almost passed out in a room of teenagers. 

Stop trying to justify this to yourself. That part of him replies.

Okay. I’ll be brutally honest. I want to eat enough to feed a family of 5, and there is no real justification for that. Happy?

No.

Remus Lupin stumbles out of his classroom, head rushing and barely in tune with the world around him, as he swiftly walks towards the kitchens. 

3 students pass him on the journey. If he were present enough in reality to care, this would've evoked embarrassment in him. Fred and George Weasley, two of the students he passes, hastily try and act natural as he comes into view of them. Clearly up to something and expecting reprimand. 

Remus just doesn't have it in him. 

As he walks past, the twins share a look predominantly rooted in confusion, and slightly mixed with genuine concern. 

He comes to a stop at the painting and pushes down the apprehension bubbling inside of him. 

I don't care.

He walks into the massive hall, smells hit his face and house elves fill up a quarter of the space. It's overwhelming. Or, it would be.

Remus finds himself with a basket of pastries, sandwiches, and god knows what else before he can even register it. How did he get here? What is he even doing? What's the time? 

Isn't he supposed to be teaching a class?

He numbly stumbles out of the kitchens with his basket, covered under a blanket, and almost sprints to his chambers. They are blessedly close by. He pushes himself in through the door, pours 4 tall glasses of water, sits at his table, and begins to cry. 

He's about a quarter way through the basket before it becomes too much. His stomach is far too shrivelled to handle this. Like a deformed raisin. 

But he keeps going. 

At a third way through, Remus vanishes the whole lot with his wand. 

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he involuntarily vomits a good portion of whatever it was he just consumed. 

He sits back and closes his eyes. What has he actually just consumed?

Oh merlin. Bread. Such a hassle to bring back up. How much water have I drunk? 

The thought of the water causes absolute, utter disgust to make itself known inside of him, and he simply leans over the toilet once more. He doesn't have time to wet his fingers. chapped, dry skin scrapes the back of his throat.

Of course he could use his wand. But after two decades of not being able to, whether it be his age or unauthorised magic laws, the thought doesn't cross his mind in any meaningful way. He'd rather this now anyway. And he’d rather not pass out from exertion-by-magic, either. 

I'm fucking disgusting. He thinks, half an hour later, stomach cramping terribly- still sat on his bathroom floor. There is another glass of water next to him, half drunk. He leans over the toilet again, not noticing the red pooling in the water below. 

He flushes his toilet for the 6th time, attempts to stand, and is promptly taken by darkness. At least it’s out now.

-

"Lupin... I need you to be still." A voice breaks through the murkiness in Remus's brain. hands forcefully opening his mouth.

"Merlin. He's not well, Severus. I think he's been like this for a long time. And I don’t just mean on the floor." 

"Astute observation minerva. I thought he was doing an impression of a corpse because he's the perfect image of health." Sarcasm drips off the words. 

Remus wants to open his eyes, say something, but it's so hard to think. Cool liquid makes its way down his throat.

"Well, what are we going to do?" Minerva asks, bluntly.

"Well right now we should wait for the potion to take effect before even moving him. How did you find him? Just like this?"

"Yes... he never showed up to teach his 2nd year class. A student came looking for me, and then I him. He was just lying right here. There was a wound on his head that I healed, he lost a fair amount of blood. I don't know how to fix the rest."

"Well I gave him some nutrients, it should stabilise his heart and provide some energy. There might be some internal damage, it's difficult to tell."

A wave of panic washes over Remus as his mind takes a moment to process what he's heard. 

Nutrients?

-

Severus wasn't really expecting Minerva to call him to assist with an unconscious Remus Lupin.

But, he also can't say he was that surprised, either. 

He finishes feeding Lupin the densely nutrient packed potion before turning his attention back to Mcgonagall. 

"Do you think that's what this is then? Not enough food?" 

"Look at him," he gestures angrily, "what do you think?"

"I was only making sure we are on the same page, professor.” She raises an eyebrow. “And this potion will fix that?"

Severus bites his tongue for a moment.

"Fix it? No. It'll help stabilise him."

Remus jerks underneath him. He crouches down and feels for his pulse- it is erratic, but not so weak he cannot feel it at all. That is, if nothing else is, a good sign. 

"Lupin, are you awake? Can you sit up for me?"

Remus slowly pulls his body into the foetal position.

Severus turns to glance at minerva.

"I think you should tell Albus.. And get Pomfrey"

"Right okay, are you quite happy to stay here alone for a moment?"

"Yes"

A noise of protest makes its way out of the wizard on the floor.

"Don't- don't tell him," he heaves.

"She's gone already Lupin."

"Fuck, I-"

"Are you feeling stronger yet?"

Snape watches Remus bring his hands to the ground. His arms shake with weakness, but he pushes himself up and turns to sit with his back slouched against the wall. 

He smacks his head violently behind him with a bang.

"Don't do that you idiot," Severus mutters, grabbing his shoulder to prevent more injury.

"What was in that potion?"

-

Dread wells up in Severus's stomach. 

He can feel the coming storm.

"Things your body needs. You aren't a child. Why are you depriving yourself?" He asks, coldly. 

Deceptively cold. As though it'll numb out the raging fire beneath his skin. It's screaming- get ready, get ready, something is about to go wrong!

And of course he knows. Remus hasn't changed in decades. Everyone knew then, and really, everyone who knew of him then, well, they know now. 

If they cared to look. 

But people are egotistical, so consumed with themselves. Why wouldn't they be? 

You are always the main character of your own story. Whether you are the tragic side character hiding behind an awful smile, or the broken hero spinning themselves an image of bravado. How could you ever see through the eyes of anyone else? And so, how could you ever really care ?

Did he ever really care to look? Truly?

If he really thinks about it, maybe there's just an absolute integral willingness to ignore things like this. Maybe human nature is egotistical for a reason. It's woven into your dna. If all you ever saw were people just as broken as you, if you always felt the way they did...

If you don't learn to be blind, the sight will always, always ruin you.

It's just whether you're aware of how blind you are. Denial is a powerful thing. 

You really think you're the only broken one?

He's seen people like Remus before. Taken the carving knife to himself. Drenched himself in hopelessness and dark nights and the red hot water from the shower as it mixes with red room-temperature blood. 

He has watched students as they stared out into the dark of the lake and grabbed students at the very edge of the astronomy tower. Children sit in the great hall, not a morsel of food touched. Some binge themselves into oblivion, on alcohol, muggle substances, wizarding ones, food. 

Some allow themselves to rot, they shut down and wander as a shell of themselves.

What is there to do?

Is there anyone who is not broken in some way? 

He's gotten far too complacent in this kind of thing. 

Merlin, he has gotten far, far too complacent.

He stares at Remus Lupin for what is really half a second but feels like much, much longer. Sees him joking and laughing with his friends in 5th year, a book under his arm. An arm too thin. Those friends are dead. And this is what's left of them?

-

He's drawn out of his thoughts by a pained, shallow breath.

"What was in it, Severus." 

"You want the damned list of ingredients?" He feigns ignorance.

"I want the number... I'll take the list too, though." Lupin laments. 

The anxiety dancing in his chest comes to a halt. 

He is not equipped to deal with the sickness that has clearly infested itself in the man before him. That infested itself so desperately long ago. 

Severus feels the beginnings of a headache in the space between his brows, Merlin even knows what Remus Lupin has been doing to himself for the past decade. 

If the smell of bile in the air and the bones jutting out of his clothes are any indication, it hasn't been great.

What does this kind of obsession do to a person?

"I'm not giving you the number lupin. You don't need it." He decides. 

And appropriately braces for the storm. 

—

"I'm not giving you the number"

"You don't need it"

Remus blinks. 

He's ruined everything. 

He thinks you're disgusting. finding you here, so weighed down by all the food you consumed. 

He can feel it in his body already. Sticking itself to his organs. Fuck them. Fuck Hogwarts. And fuck self respect. He's already lost it all to this stupid fucking bathroom and a basket of pastries anyway. His stomach is in so much pain, what's a little more?

"I'd like some water" 

Snape locks eye contact with him for a moment.

"This right here?" He asks, gesturing to a tall glass on the floor.

"Can you get some fresh from the tap? Please."

"From the kitchen?"

"Yes-"

"No."

The universe really won't bestow me with even a shred of dignity anymore. 

Remus Lupin sharply moves towards the toilet before shoving his hand violently down his throat.

And Severus Snape immediately pulls him back. Ready for it. 

"For fucks sake. Leave me alone," he breathes, becoming frantic.

"I can't do that"

"Yes you fucking can! Why can't you pretend!"

"You're going to kill yourself. You understand that Lupin?"

"You don’t know what you’re talking about. Nor do you care. What right do you have to stop me from this?" His head is spinning. There are hands on him. Greyback's hands. Flesh on flesh. Who last held him like this? Sirius? Or those fuckers at St Mungo's?

The dam breaks. 

-

"Please just let me go." He hoarsely whispers, at some point, sobs wrecking his body. There is bile on the floor, on him, when did that happen? His knuckles are sore. Severus has his shoulders gripped from the back. Body pressed into his, tighter even than before. He can't move his arms.

His chest, his stomach, it's in so much pain.

He lets it consume him. Mind drifting back into the hazy darkness of it all.