Sirius wakes up in a cold sweat, his blankets tangled around him like a trap. He untangles himself and throws the Gryffindor red bedding off himself, still reeling from his nightmare about the monstrous Walburga Black.
He gets out of bed quickly and grabs a cigarette even faster, not noticing the sharp eyes of a certain werewolf following him to the window.
Sirius almost trips on a stray tee-shirt, cursing under his breath when he has to catch himself on the stone wall.
The window is stubborn as Sirius tries to open it, sticking on its hinges even though it gets used every day. Sirius curses again as it squeaks.
He eventually makes it out onto the ledge, sitting heavily, shoulders hunched. He takes his cigarette and lights it with the tip of his wand, hands shaking with leftover adrenaline and anxiety.
Sirius takes a deep drag from the cigarette, holding it in for a second before exhaling.
“Fuck,” Sirius mumbles weakly.
He thinks he’s alone for only a few more moments before Remus clears his throat, stepping onto the barely-a-balcony balcony. There’s only just enough room for him to sit down, their shoulders touching.
“Nightmare?” Remus asks, already knowing the answer. He’d heard everything, of course.
Sirius nods, smoking his cigarette in heavy silence.
Remus doesn’t want to break it, but Sirius has a terrible habit of keeping shit to himself.
“Talk,” the taller teen whispers, “you’ll feel better.”
Sirius finishes off his cigarette, vanishing it magically. “It was…my mother,” he whispers harshly, emotion choking his voice. It’s a long time before he speaks again.
“She didn’t look like herself,” Sirius finally admits, “looked like a monster. She is one.”
“What did she do?” Remus’ voice is soft. It gives Sirius the strength to say the rest.
“She was trying to drown me or something…and Reggie. She got Reggie first because,” Sirius hesitates, “b-because I went to James. ‘Cuz I left h-him there. My baby brother.”
“Sirius,” Remus starts, but he doesn’t get far.
“No!” Sirius says harshly. “I shouldn’t have left him!”
“Maybe not,” Remus soothes, “but you know he’s fine. You always say that your mother wouldn’t hurt him.”
Sirius pulls at his messy black hair and sighs shakily. “You’re probably right.”
“Let’s hope I am,” Remus sighs, gently grabbing Sirius’ hand away from his head, “and let’s go back to bed, it’s cold out here.”
Sirius looks at Remus, amber eyes meeting distraught grey ones.
“Yeah.”
...
And if James Potter and Peter Pettigrew see the two of them cuddled up together in the morning, no one teases them about it.
And if Sirius checks on his little brother incessantly for the next few days, bordering on stalking, no one says a word.
And if Sirius and Remus make a habit of sleeping in the same bed, no one mentions it.
Because some things are better left unsaid.