scars
“i’ve got scars too” sirius whispered through the darkness and shakily lifted his trouser leg to show the werewolf before him. remus stared for a moment at the neat lines, silver and glistening like the blade of a knife. they were symmetrical and orderly, running up and down the boys leg, there was a certain cruelness in their formality. remus’ own scars were jagged and harsh, violently ripping all over his body, vividly tearing across his skin with an unnerving anger to it.
sirius was watching him and his eyes shone, unsure and hesitant but forever patient. however remus knew pain when he saw it no matter how heavily masked it was. the marks on sirius were so different to remus. they hid the fear and anger and pain beneath them, as if they could be unnoticed by the unmoving order of them. but remus’ showed his anger and pain and fear and painted it out for all to see. thrust it into anyone who so much as glanced at the boy- labelling him and bordering him away.
but remus knew pain, and he knew of the anger and fear which all scars shared, the tears and self loathing they were all laced with. so he knew that the marks which clutched onto sirius’ body were nothing more than a mask of the true depth to the elegant streaks of harm.
and so he leant forward and hugged the small boy and when the tears inevitably came, he caught them and wiped them and clutched the boy to him, as only he knew how to.
for there were few people and few things that remus lupin felt he knew for definite in this world and the familiarity of pain and his need for sirius black were a couple of these.
years later, on multiple occasions, he would look back and think with a short bitter laugh at how he had thought one could be the medicine of another. he would kick himself for ever believing in such foolery as love. and think despairingly at how it was actually the cause.