The Fall

Putting clothes on in a cramped bathroom stall is harder than it should be, Sirius thinks as he wrestles with his clothes in the men's locker room. He bangs his elbow on the stall's wall trying to pull a sports bra over his shoulders; a string of curses fly out of his mouth. It certainly doesn't help that he's still sore from the Animagus trials. Growing and un-growing new bones is hard on the body, who would have thought!

They learned just yesterday what animals they form; a stag, a dog, and- poor bastard- a rat. Considering it was their first time, the transformation was intense. Supposedly, it gets easier the more they do it, so they've agreed to do it more frequently so they're accustomed when the full moon rolls around.

Because it's the marauders and their luck is known to be shit, the electrical storm that's required for their first transform simply had to happen last night, before their first quidditch practice, and Sirius is tempted to simply not go. Especially considering he has to wear this bloody sports bra that won't go on.

“I don’t understand why he can’t just change out here with the rest of us,” One of his teammates comments, prompting an eye roll from Sirius even if he can’t see it.

“Drop it, Williams.” James warns.

Finally, Sirius manages to wriggle the sports bra on, and… he frowns. It doesn’t feel right– his chest doesn’t feel flat enough. He knows, realistically, it probably won’t be noticeable under the quidditch cloaks, but still, he doesn’t feel comfortable. He eyes the bag holding his bandages for a beat. It’s just practice. And their first one, no less. It will probably be fine, so long as he doesn’t get in the habit of doing this.

Right?

He doesn’t need much more convincing. He strips off the sports bra he just struggled to put on and pulls the bandages around his chest. He makes sure to do them looser this time than usual, but still, the difference between the bra and the bandage is noticeable enough for him to smile.

He nods to himself and hurries with the rest of his uniform, then awkwardly bundles his clothes in his arms and rushes out of the bathroom stall. He’s not surprised to see the entire team left already, but he doesn’t expect to see James still waiting for him.

“I’ll be out in a sec,” Sirius says, shoving his clothes in his locker.

“Sirius,” James starts. Sirius knows that tone. Sirius has dubbed it as his ‘concerned parent’ tone. Self explanatory.

Sirius looks at James rather reluctantly. “Yeah?” He asks, forcing his locker closed before his clothes can fall out.

“Can I ask why you change in the stall?” James asks, somewhat hesitantly.

Sirius falters, then shrugs. “Just don’t like changing in front of a bunch of blokes.” He says, subconsciously folding his arms over his chest.

James frowns. “Okay,” he relents slowly. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Sirius’ stomach fills with rocks. His mind swirls with panic– what does he know?

“Okay, mum,” Sirius jokes in an attempt to rid the lump of anxiety in his gut. “Appreciated.” He pats James’ chest as he walks by, but James grabs his wrist before he makes it far.

“I’m serious.” James says.

“No, I’m Sirius.” Sirius quips. He watches James try to bite back a smile. Sirius rolls his eyes, “Are you trying to hint at something?” He questions impatiently.

A pause. James caves with a sigh; dropping Sirius’ wrist. “No.” He says. “Suppose not.” He leaves the locker room.

Sirius lingers only to get his bearings in order– James doesn’t know. He can’t know. The only way he’d know is if someone outed him, and Sirius knows for a fact his mother wouldn’t approve of Sirius being outed to a Potter– they’re too powerful. Remus? Sure. Peter? definitely. But not James. One whisper from Euphemia and the entire wizarding world knows, right? Walburga can’t risk that. Regardless, he's done so well at hiding the fact he wasn't born a boy- he knows he has.

So it can’t be that. But James knows something.

Sirius shakes his head– whatever. He can’t be bothered to untangle his mess of secrets right now, there’s too many and frankly, James is probably hinting at something that isn’t true. He isn’t the most observant.

He inhales a deep breath and grabs his broom, heading out into the cold morning air.

Sirius stumbles into the locker room with his breath frozen in his chest and bolts to an empty stall; slamming the door closed behind him to tear off his quidditch uniform.

His hands tremble so much it's a struggle- he fumbles with the fabric with his breath still caught in his lungs. When he finally gets it off he claws at the bandages and finally, finally, inhales a breath that sends sharp pains crackling up his torso. He slides down the bathroom door, cringing when the pain repeats itself every breath he takes. He’s unable to take a proper lungful of air yet; each breath comes sharp and laboured and causes bursts of stars to blur his vision.

So, he thinks, maybe he should have dealt with the sports bra.

Beads of sweat drip down his forehead; he slumps against the stall door that’s cool against his sweaty back, trying desperately to swallow down his nausea. He knocks the back of his head against it with a groan– what an idiot. What would have happened if he’d have passed out while playing? The nausea returns tenfold at the thought.

A hesitant knock sounds at his stall door, “Sirius?” Remus' timid voice calls.

Sirius’ shoulders tense. “Yeah?” He stutters, voice hoarse.

“All right?”

“Mmm…” Sirius breathes, rubbing his hand over his ribs. “Not used to… flying, anymore, I suppose.” He lies.

“Hm,” Remus hums, disbelieving. “Are you sure?”

“What else would it be?” Sirius questions.

A pause. “Are you going to go back?” Remus asks. “Practice isn’t even half done.”

Sirius looks at his mess of bandages on the floor. He flicks his wand to clean them up, neatly folding them over each other. He isn’t stupid enough to try that again. He’ll have to layer sports bras next practice– or something.

“I don’t think so.” He sighs. “Not feeling too good.”

“Okay,” Remus replies easily. “We can hangout, if you’d like.”

Sirius hums. He eyes the bandages, knowing it’s a bad idea to wear them again after all that. His breathing hasn’t evened out yet. “Do you have a jumper I can borrow?” He asks, Accioing his bag from his locker.

He hears Remus Accio as well, then catches a mustard coloured jumper that’s thrown over the stall door. Sirius’ hands still wobble as he changes his clothes; occasional shudders ripple up his spine from the exertion. It's nothing he's not familiar with, but it doesn't make it easier.

He layers two sports bras on top of each other before pulling on Remus’ jumper, silently grateful that Remus' jumper is baggy enough to hide his chest. (He'd be lying if he said he didn't also enjoy the smell of chocolate and pine stitched into the fabric.)

Sirius opens the stall door with his gym bag hanging limply in his hand. He still feels weak from the strain he just put himself through, and knows he did a shit job at hiding that fact when Remus’ eyes crinkle with concern.

“All right?” Remus asks.

Sirius waves him off as he brushes past him. “Tired.” He half-lies, shoving his bag in his locker. He stands with his back to Remus a moment, subtly flattening his hand down his chest. It’s not perfect– he’s certainly not comfortable with it– but his ribs hurt too much to even try to put bandages on.

Sirius crosses his arms over his chest and turns. “Where to?” He blinks up at Remus.

Sirius still isn’t used to the scar carved across Remus’ face, and he’s had to force himself to stop staring more than once, knowing Remus will take it the wrong way. He isn’t staring because he finds it ‘ugly,’ as Remus accused him of before. He’s not entirely sure why, but he finds it charming– it suits Remus.

“Library?” Remus suggests.

Sirius hums, leading them out of the locker room. “Are you excited for next full moon?” He asks, bumping his shoulder into Remus’.

Remus groans. He jams his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose as if fending off a headache. “Don’t remind me.”

“Remus. Remus,” Sirius jumps ahead of Remus and turns so he’s walking backwards, in front of him and still with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’ll be fun.”

Remus stares at him blankly. “It will be dangerous.” He corrects, again.

“Danger is fun.”

“Not when it’s me being the dangerous one.” Remus drawls.

Sirius waves him off. “How many times are we going to argue about this?”

“I’d hardly call this arguing.” Remus says flatly. “I’m talking to a brick wall.”

“And you call me dramatic.” Sirius rolls his eyes and turns; pushing open the creaky doors to the library, which stands vacant.

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being reasonable.” Remus huffs, frustrated. “You lot are acting like this will be easy– hey–” Remus grabs Sirius’ shoulder, forcing him to turn– “You’re all acting like this is no big deal but– Sirius, it is. We don’t know how the Wolf will react to animagus. I could hurt– kill– you.”

“You repeat the same thing every time as if we don’t know the risks, Rey.” Sirius says, gentle. He cups his hand over the hand still on his shoulder. “We had this exact conversation a week ago.”

“I’m not worth all this trouble, Sirius.” Remus frowns, and Sirius hates how deep those words run– how Remus honestly believes he isn’t worth their care.

“You are.” Sirius argues, absolute.

“I’m not.” Remus repeats firmly. “I’m not saying this for– for pity. I’m saying this because me being accompanied during the Full won’t be worth any of you getting hurt. Hell– I may not even remember it.”

Sirius shrugs. “The Wolf deserves some friends. He’s probably lonely.” He raises his hand to pat Remus’ cheek, then promptly turns and heads further down the library. “We can have this discussion every single day for the rest of our lives and I will never change my mind.”

He hears Remus scoff from behind. “Your life may be short lived if you go through with this.”

Sirius glares at Remus over his shoulder. “Ever the optimist, are we?”

Remus’ stare is blank. “It’s honesty.”

“Hardly.” Sirius looks forward again. “What are you here for, anyway?” He asks, changing the subject.

Remus moves so they’re walking side-by-side. His long fingers trail along the spines of books, Sirius would be lying if he said he didn’t admire them a little. “I have some scar research I want to get done.” He stops, pulling out a book about magic cosmetics.

Of course. Sirius should have guessed. Remus has been pouring over book after book since the scars appeared– desperate for a remedy, an illusion– something.

Sirius tsks, following Remus to a table. “How many times do I have to tell you?” He asks, taking the seat across from Remus. “You don’t need to hide them.”

Remus is already focused on a book. “I disagree.”

“Seems to be a defining trait.” Sirius quips lightly.

Remus doesn’t respond, too busy with the book, and Sirius can’t say he minds too much. This is one of his favourite versions of Remus; when he’s captured by a book. Sirius would prefer if it were a different book, maybe one of the muggle ones he likes so much, but alas.

When Remus is focused on a book it’s like he forgets the world exists beyond what he’s reading. He slouches over with his thumb between his teeth, amber eyes skimming the page as his other hand follows the words as he reads. When he reads books that aren’t about scars, Sirius likes guessing what type of scene he’s reading based off what his expression is doing; sometimes his lip will quirk up during a happy scene, sometimes furious blush will paint his cheeks during romantic ones, sometimes he’ll actually cringe during embarrassing ones.

Now, however, his brows are furrowed as he reads intently; absorbing every drop of information the book has to offer. With Remus distracted, Sirius allows himself to openly trace his scars with his eyes. He starts at Remus’ hands, where scars twist around the back of his hands and skinnier ones litter his fingers. Then he follows the ones peeking out from the collar of his jumper. Finally, he follows the ones on his face; the few nicks around his jaw and lips, and the newest ones stretching across his face.

“I like them,” Sirius admits without meaning to.

Remus’ eyes snap to his immediately, caught off guard. “What?”

“I like them.” Sirius repeats. “The scars.”

Remus rolls his eyes and drops them back to the book. “Okay.” He says sarcastically.

“Really,” Sirius continues, entirely honest. “I like them.”

“Well, I don’t.” Remus’ lip curls into a scowl. His eyes are still on the book, but he isn’t reading so much as pretending to be reading. “They’re a shitty reminder that I don’t have control.”

Sirius leans over the table and reaches out to hook his finger under Remus’ chin, tilting it up to look at Sirius. He strokes his thumb along the rough scar under Remus’ left eye. Remus stares at him with big, amber eyes; his pale lashes glint with sunlight from the window behind.

“They’re pretty.” Sirius says, soft and honest. He doesn’t know what compelled him to do this– to reach out and admit that, but the crimson blooming across Remus’ cheeks and warming Sirius’ thumb is worth it.

“You have a demented version of pretty,” Remus mutters.

“I disagree.”

“Seems to be a defining trait,” Remus quotes, earning a smile from Sirius.

“I mean it, Moony,” Sirius continues quietly. “They’re pretty, and a symbol of all your strength, not your lack of control.”

The sound of footsteps snapping on the hardwood floors cuts off anything Remus is about to reply with. Sirius falls back and drops his hand just as James collapses into the seat next to him; shattering whatever moment he and Remus were having with Peter following close behind.

“Pad-foot.” James spaces out accusingly.

“Pr-o-ngs.” Sirius mimics, forcing his eyes away from Remus. His fingers still tingle where they touched Remus’ face.

“Worm-tail,” Peter adds from his seat next to Remus, earning a snort from Sirius.

Sirius can still feel Remus’ stare burning into the side of his face.

“Care to explain why you suddenly disappeared half way through practice, Padfoot dearest?” James continues, popping a candy in his mouth.

“I’d prefer to talk about where you got that candy from, actually.” Sirius tries.

“Uh-uh,” James tuts, “only children who haven’t abandoned their quidditch captain earn these delicious, butterscotch candies that melt in your mouth.” He gives one to Remus and Peter.

“I got… attacked.” Sirius lies, monotone.

“Oh, did you now?” James muses, unconvinced, “please, fill me in on the thrilling details. I’m intrigued.”

Sirius releases a long sigh. Rather dramatically, he spins a tall tale; “Okay, but this is a traumatic experience for me, so I’d appreciate your full, unwavering support.” He stares at James, who rolls his wrist in a silent prompt for Sirius to continue. “T’was an invisible witch. I was just minding my own business, watching our future teammates play, when suddenly BOOM– she knocked me right off my broom and dragged me to the men’s locker room. I’m like– ‘please, O’ powerful witch, take anything you want, but spare my fellow teammates!’

“She then demanded I change and immediately accompany Remus to the library, lest she turn the entire quidditch team into frogs. Frogs, James! We can’t kick Slytherin ass with a bunch of frogs for teammates– that would be humiliating. I had no choice– I had to accompany Remus. And thus, I did. And now look– you’re not a frog, so I suppose it worked. You’re wel-come.”

“Frogs.” James repeats, disbelieving.

“Frogs.” Sirius confirms with a nod.

“Sounds to me you ditched our quidditch team in favour of reading–” James picks up the book Remus is reading– “Cosmetology Charms and Spells for Witches and Wizards.” He shifts an unimpressed stare to Sirius.

“My story is better.” Sirius replies. “Can I have a candy now?”

James sighs, “Only if you promise not to leave next time. We need to start choosing who’s on the team and who’s not.” When Sirius nods, James relents and drops a candy into his awaiting palm.

Sirius grins and pops it into his mouth, letting the buttery candy melt on his tongue. He glances at Remus again, who immediately drops his eyes to the table when Sirius catches his stare. Sirius blinks, confused at the warmth seeping into his chest.

He shoves it away– this sounds like a problem for future Sirius.

Sirius turns to Peter, “Pete,” He says, “tell me how the rest of practice went.”

“First of all,” Peter begins, “Williams is a fucking dick,”