296 Ways to Seduce a Teacher: Ch. 12
Title: 296 Ways to Seduce a Teacher
Author: _demonsblade_
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: R
Genre: AU, romance, drama, angst, fluff, humor
Warning: Slash, mild chanslash (6-year diff.), boy/man snogging, boy/man sexual situations, mild violence, strong language
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: All characters © J.K. Rowling
Summary: AU. Remus has been hired to tutor the Black heir, Sirius. But it seems Sirius has a few things to teach him, as well. Can this possibly the start of a friendship...or something more? And what will happen if the Blacks find out?
Teaser:
Remus was having a nervous breakdown. Literally.
If you haven't read the previous chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11
Remus was having a nervous breakdown. Literally.
He paced back and forth in front of the fire. His hands were jittery and his legs kept twitching at inopportune intervals, making him look like he was doing some sort of comic half-jig. Every now and then he would shoot an anxious look at the clock above the mantle.
It now showed 7:28, late enough in the morning so that the sun had risen to its morning high outside the window. November was fast encroaching upon London, an event to which the prickling early-morning frost and shamelessly bare branches bore witness. The air was cold enough for coats and sweaters, though not nearly enough for scarves and hats.
Remus again glanced at the clock.
7:31.
He resumed pacing on worn path around the hearth rug. How he wished Lily was here!
Lily had been absent for nearly a week on Order business. And because of the precarious nature of the mission, Remus had no way to contact her for anything other than emergencies.
His foot caught on a loose thread in the rug, sending him tumbling into the wall. He threw out his hands and avoided a smashed skull by a mere inch. A kick and a howl of pain later, Remus continued to walk, limping whenever he strained the toe he had hit against the wall.
The world was conspiring against him. That had to be it. Why else would Dumbledore keep insisting that he take the job of being Sirius’s tutor until the boy can safely rejoin Hogwarts? Why else would Lily keep telling him that what he felt towards Sirius wasn’t wrong? Why else would Sirius keep putting him in situations where he lost control?
7:43.
After a moment of hesitancy, he decided that it was time. He grabbed the coat that lay thrown across the sofa and tucked his briefcase neatly under his arm. His stomach growled, protesting against skipping breakfast, but Remus knew that even if he could force any food past the enormous lump in his throat, he would never be able to keep it down. He always became sick when he was this nervous. Ignoring the little voice in his head that told him he only became this nervous before dates, he Disapparated.
A suffocating, choking, gut-wrenching instant later, he was in a wood. Dappled sunlight filtered through the few leaves that clung to the trees. A trail wound underneath him and slithered through the trunks and underbrush toward a small village just barely visible through the quickly dissipating fog of morning.
Steeling his resolve, he set off at a brisk walk toward the hazy steeple that rose above the houses. This month’s full moon had taken a lot out of him. The transformations always seemed so much worse when he was agitated or stressed. Combined with an empty stomach, it was almost enough to make him collapse in exhaustion, but Remus was determined not to betray any sign of weakness.
He hadn’t seen Sirius in several days, not since the boy had gone to live at the Potters. Remus had hoped that that would be the end of that and that he would be able to move on. But it seemed Dumbledore was determined to see him end up in Azkaban for sexual molestation of a minor.
Remus shook his tattered sleeve back and checked his watch.
7:51.
The village gate was no more than a few feet away. All too soon, he was inside the village square proper and the young girl walking her dog was answering his polite inquiry as to the residence of the Potters. And then he was on their doorstep, heart threatening to shatter his ribcage. He could even feel the pulse in his scalp and at the ends of his fingers.
He checked his watch again.
7:58.
Remus nervously licked his lips, and then stopped immediately when he fancied that he could still taste Sirius, feel Sirius’s teeth nipping and pulling at his lip.
No. Don’t think about that, he reminded himself. Just think about what you need to do.
He took a deep breath, adjusted the briefcase, brushed a bit of dust off his robe, and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, revealing a pair of startlingly blue eyes framed by a mass of dark hair. Mrs. Potter had a benevolent face, the kind that fairy godmothers in Muggle children’s stories were supposed to have. She was wearing a large, floral apron over her dress and looked quite hassled.
“Oh, you’re here!” she said, waving Remus inside and giving him a warm smile. “I was just trying to bake some cookies so that you two would have something to snack on before lunch. I must have lost track of time.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Potter,” Remus said, returning her smile, “but you needn’t go through so much trouble on my account.”
“No trouble at all.” She closed the door and was halfway in an offer to take Remus’s coat when she seemed to notice her floury hands and sighed. “I suppose you’ll have to take your own coat, Remus.”
Remus couldn’t help but grin at her hospitality. How different this was from his first time teaching Sirius at Grimmauld Place!
The house was not nearly as big or as ornate-or as scary, Remus added mentally-as the Blacks residence, but it was warm and inviting. The walls were painted rich terracotta and were trimmed with white molding. Currently they stood in what appeared to be a small foyer. A staircase wound up out of sight. To the right, through an archway, was a small but comfortable sitting room with a roaring fire and two large, squishy sofas. It was into this sitting room that Mrs. Potter led him.
“My husband, Harold, got called to the Ministry on urgent business,” she said as she gestured Remus into a sofa. “He works in the Department of Magical Transportation, at the Portkey Office. Apparently they had some trouble with some unauthorized Portkeys this morning.” She shook her head distractedly. “He was looking forward to meeting you today, but now you’ll just have to make do with me.”
Remus didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he said nothing.
“So, Remus.” She sat, wiping her hands on her apron, and beamed at him. “What will you have? Tea? Biscuits?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Potter, I just ate and-”
“Now none of this Mrs. Potter nonsense. Call me Helen.”
“Sure, Mrs. P-er-Helen.”
“Good. Now how about some tea?”
“It’s quite all right, M-Helen.”
But his protests were in vain. Helen had already pulled out a wand from her apron pocket. A few seconds later, a tea tray flew in from what Remus perceived to be the direction of the kitchen and landed with a clink on the table in front of them. Another wave of the wand and the tea poured into the cups, one of which offered itself to Remus.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the tea.
They drank in silence until Helen smiled and told him that Sirius had slept a little late and was currently taking a shower.
“He seems a little distracted,” she said, putting her cup down and leaning back. “He’s not his usual cheery self.” The expression on her face was that of deepest concern, like that a mother would show toward a son.
Remus’s stomach knotted up uncomfortably. He nibbled on a biscuit to save himself from answering.
“It’s just not fair how much that boy has had to go through,” she continued, oblivious to Remus’s nervous behavior. “First his parents…I never knew the Blacks personally, but I would never have imagined them to be…well…” She trailed off, looking a little flustered. “Anyway, tell me a little about yourself, Remus. I knew your father from Hogwarts, of course. Several years above Harold and me. I don’t believe I knew your mother, though.”
Glad for the change of topic, he seized upon the opportunity. “My mother is Muggle. Elana Campbell.”
“A-Muggle?” she said, obviously startled. “But I thought, well, the Lupins are-”
“Yes. It raised quite a scandal in my family, actually. It’s part of the reason I don’t have much contact with them anymore.”
“Oh, I see.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, but then blushed and added, “I’m sorry for being so nosy. It must hurt for you to talk of your father.”
“It’s quite all right Mrs.-Helen,” Remus assured. “It’s been long enough that I can talk about him without hurting.” That wasn’t quite true, but Remus didn’t think it polite to say otherwise. Besides, talking of his late father hurt much less than talking of Sirius.
“I remember John at Hogwarts,” said Helen, smiling unfocusedly at some memory or other. “He was good at everything he did. Quidditch Captain, too, if I remember correctly. Quite handsome. Girls used to throw themselves at him all the time.” She gave him a shrewd smile. “I see you’ve inherited much of his good looks.”
Remus felt his cheeks burn, not only at the compliment but also because he knew she was just being polite. He mumbled a noncommittal answer, but was saved further embarrassment by Sirius’s arrival.
“Sirius!” Helen said, turning her gaze toward the archway.
Remus cautiously turned, feeling suddenly sick. Sirius stood in the entrance, looking determinedly at the wall behind Remus’s head.
“Hello, Professor,” he said. Remus’s stomach lurched painfully at the frigidity of his voice.
“Hello, Sirius. How have you been?” Remus winced at the question as soon as it was out of his mouth.
Sirius gave him a cold look that contradicted his chilly answer of “Just fine, thank you.”
A strong silence followed his words, a silence with was just starting to become unbearable when Helen stood and announced that she was going to go back to cooking.
“You two can go upstairs to the library. I’ll call you down when lunch is ready,” she said with a tone that suggested they were friends on a play date instead of a teacher and his pupil about to resume lessons.
Remus thanked her for the tea and followed Sirius up the stairs and into the library. The room was much smaller than the study at the Blacks’, but it was cheery and full of morning light. Three shelves of books ran the length of two walls. A table and two chairs were squeezed into whatever space was available in front of the fireplace. Sirius’s textbooks and parchment stood in a neat pile on the desk.
He was starting to heavily regret the biscuit he had eaten. It seemed to have mutated in his stomach.
“So, Siri”-here his voice cracked embarrassingly. He swallowed and tried again. “So, Sirius. Er…shall we get started then?” The false happiness in his voice sounded pathetic even to him.
Sirius shrugged. “Sure.”
Remus put his briefcase on the table and started to unpack, all the while reminding himself to breathe.
“I think you’re ready to start complex nonverbal transfiguration. I trust you’ve already learned how to transfigure a tortoise into a teapot, so learning the nonverbal part of it should be easy enough.” Remus was rambling now and he knew it. The words spilled out of him at a mile per minute, but he found to his horror that he couldn’t curb the verbal diarrhea. “If you manage that, and there’s really no reason why you shouldn’t, we can move on to human transfiguration, though that’s going to be strictly theory, of course. I suppose you’ll be able to practice some of the practical stuff, but we’ll have to be very careful about what we practice and how. The Ministry might-”
“How did you get that scar?”
“-want to know why you’ve been-what?” Remus dropped the parchment he had been unrolling and had to stoop to get it.
“The scar. How did you get it?”
“W-what scar?”
Sirius took a step toward him, hand raised. Remus forced himself not to recoil, not to so much as flinch.
“This scar,” said Sirius, stopping his hand just short of Remus’s cheek. He traced its length in the air, starting from Remus’s temple to his chin. Although Sirius was taking care not to touch him, Remus could still almost feel Sirius’s warm finger against his skin.
Remus shivered, an action which seemed to shake Sirius out of a trance. He pulled his hand back as if it had been burned.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning away.
Again Remus was caught between that dubious region where he desperately wanted to say something and not knowing quite what to say. He settled for taking a deep breath and continuing to arrange his notes.
It was a while before either of them spoke. And when they did, they spoke as if they were strangers. Sentences were formal and stiff. Phrases were carefully thought out. Words were analyzed to the point of exhaustion.
The tension frustrated Remus beyond compare. He considered it a miracle that he even got through the Transfiguration lesson without exploding. In his agitation, Remus never did remember to excuse the scar. Sirius never asked about it again, but more than once Remus caught him observing it intently and thoughtfully. Remus was furious at himself for not noticing the scar earlier; if he had, a simple Concealment Charm would have prevented the situation.
But that wasn’t the only sort of tension that had settled upon them. Sirius had once again retreated into his shell, and nothing Remus said or did could get him out of it. More than anything, it was this that made Remus feel helpless and frustrated and unable to sleep at night.
1212121212121212121212121212121212121212121212121212
“Sirius, we need to talk.”
A pair of gray eyes clouded over almost immediately with an untold emotion. Remus bit his lip and waited.
It was warm in the Potters’ house-too warm, Remus thought. The cold mid-November afternoon peeked through the window in the form of bare trees and parched grass. Remus had spent the better part of the last two weeks trying to ignore the tension and was just plain tired.
“What about?” Sirius asked at length, turning away and continuing to put away the ingredients they had used to brew the Draught of Living Death.
Remus sighed and slowly lowered himself into a chair, gesturing for Sirius to do the same. Sirius meticulously swept the sopophorous beans into a small jar. It was obvious he wasn’t going to move without an answer.
“We need to talk,” Remus started, “about…about”-and here he lost his courage-“about your grades.”
Sirius looked up and Remus tried not to blink as Sirius regarded him for a long time. Eventually the boy set his potions ingredients aside and sprawled into a seat opposite Remus.
“Right,” Remus said nervously. “Er…your grades. They’re slipping. Don’t get me wrong. Your grades are still good, but your homework has been a little-er-sloppy as of late. Not up to the standard I’m used to seeing from you.” Remus paused for an interruption or an excuse-anything, really-but all that he received was Sirius sitting alert and attentive and only mildly interested. Under all his anxiety, Remus perceived a small stirring of something akin to annoyance. After all, it was costing him every ounce of courage he had to approach the subject at all. Cold fingers, white knuckles, dry throat, twitching leg and all.
“Are you having trouble with the material, Sirius?”
“No.”
“Is the workload too much to handle?”
Sirius shot him a slightly hesitant look. “No.”
“Then what’s the problem, Sirius?”
“Nothing.” Sirius didn’t meet his eyes but rather focused determinedly at a spot on the table. “Nothing’s the problem. I just-it’s nothing.”
“You can tell me, Sirius. I-I want to help you.”
Sirius shook his head, his mouth tightening into a line. He was silent for a long time, so long that Remus had begun to think he wouldn’t reply at all. But then he whispered, so quietly that Remus wasn’t sure he had heard right, “I’m sorry.”
For a long moment, Remus just stared. That was the last response he had expected.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius repeated, stronger this time. He looked up, and Remus noticed that his eyes seemed unusually bright and his eyelashes were clumped messily together. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” was all Remus could find the voice to ask.
“For-everything.” Sirius didn’t need to elaborate for Remus to know exactly what he was talking about.
Suddenly Remus’s throat, if dry before, was positively desiccated. Sirius was on the point of breaking. Remus could tell by the stress in his muscles and the way his mouth was thinning further and further until it was as thin a line as McGonagall’s. Sirius’s hand was lying on the table, and Remus wondered if he should hold it. He had almost decided in the affirmative and was half-way between reaching out his hand when the memory of their last night in the flat flashed through his mind and made him snatch it back.
Sirius gave him an odd look, mouth spasing in a half-smile.
Remus cleared his throat and shifted under the scrutiny. He opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say died in his throat at the look on Sirius’s face.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said again. “I never should have-” He broke off, turning away as if he couldn’t bear to meet Remus’s gaze.
Remus knew he had to set it right, to alleviate some of the pain that he had helped to cause. But to do so would mean compromises on his part, compromises that he didn’t know if he was prepared to give.
“I never should have done that. I was-I’m sorry.”
“Sirius,” he said gently. “It’s not…we should never…you shouldn’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”
Sirius shook his head and continued to look away, biting his lip and squinting at the ceiling. More than anything, it was this sign of fragility that caused Remus’s heart to tighten painfully.
“It’s not your fault, Sirius,” he said, forcing the words around the lump that had risen in his throat. “It’s-we…I’m to blame, too.”
A loud silence followed these words.
It was the kind of silence that had a presence in itself, the kind of silence that rang in their ears and ate away at the oxygen, leaving them breathless and aching.
“We-we can still be friends, right?” Sirius murmured.
The sheer pathetic quality of his voice made Remus want to hold him. Instead he forced a pained smile and nodded. Then he realized that Sirius was still looking at the ceiling and couldn’t see him.
“Of course,” he whispered.
Sirius looked down. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and Remus knew. He knew from the look on Sirius’s face that something had changed. Something had shifted in their relationship, moving them from teacher and pupil to something else entirely. What that something was, he didn’t know. But he knew, even as he spoke the words aloud, that they could never, ever be friends.
Not now.
Not after everything that had happened.
Not ever.
Chapter 13
Author's Notes: I'm a little embarrassed by my shamelessness, but I have a request. If anyone who reads (and enjoys) this fic wants to draw fanart for it, I would be honored to post it (or a link to it) with a future chapter. I'm actually thinking of making a website to host my fanfics, so fanart will be helpful for that, as well. Any subject, any scene, any rating (well, let's keep it R and under), any character(s), any level of talent/experience. Anyone up for it?
Author: _demonsblade_
Pairing: Sirius/Remus
Rating: R
Genre: AU, romance, drama, angst, fluff, humor
Warning: Slash, mild chanslash (6-year diff.), boy/man snogging, boy/man sexual situations, mild violence, strong language
Spoilers: none
Disclaimer: All characters © J.K. Rowling
Summary: AU. Remus has been hired to tutor the Black heir, Sirius. But it seems Sirius has a few things to teach him, as well. Can this possibly the start of a friendship...or something more? And what will happen if the Blacks find out?
Teaser:
Remus was having a nervous breakdown. Literally.
If you haven't read the previous chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11
Remus was having a nervous breakdown. Literally.
He paced back and forth in front of the fire. His hands were jittery and his legs kept twitching at inopportune intervals, making him look like he was doing some sort of comic half-jig. Every now and then he would shoot an anxious look at the clock above the mantle.
It now showed 7:28, late enough in the morning so that the sun had risen to its morning high outside the window. November was fast encroaching upon London, an event to which the prickling early-morning frost and shamelessly bare branches bore witness. The air was cold enough for coats and sweaters, though not nearly enough for scarves and hats.
Remus again glanced at the clock.
7:31.
He resumed pacing on worn path around the hearth rug. How he wished Lily was here!
Lily had been absent for nearly a week on Order business. And because of the precarious nature of the mission, Remus had no way to contact her for anything other than emergencies.
His foot caught on a loose thread in the rug, sending him tumbling into the wall. He threw out his hands and avoided a smashed skull by a mere inch. A kick and a howl of pain later, Remus continued to walk, limping whenever he strained the toe he had hit against the wall.
The world was conspiring against him. That had to be it. Why else would Dumbledore keep insisting that he take the job of being Sirius’s tutor until the boy can safely rejoin Hogwarts? Why else would Lily keep telling him that what he felt towards Sirius wasn’t wrong? Why else would Sirius keep putting him in situations where he lost control?
7:43.
After a moment of hesitancy, he decided that it was time. He grabbed the coat that lay thrown across the sofa and tucked his briefcase neatly under his arm. His stomach growled, protesting against skipping breakfast, but Remus knew that even if he could force any food past the enormous lump in his throat, he would never be able to keep it down. He always became sick when he was this nervous. Ignoring the little voice in his head that told him he only became this nervous before dates, he Disapparated.
A suffocating, choking, gut-wrenching instant later, he was in a wood. Dappled sunlight filtered through the few leaves that clung to the trees. A trail wound underneath him and slithered through the trunks and underbrush toward a small village just barely visible through the quickly dissipating fog of morning.
Steeling his resolve, he set off at a brisk walk toward the hazy steeple that rose above the houses. This month’s full moon had taken a lot out of him. The transformations always seemed so much worse when he was agitated or stressed. Combined with an empty stomach, it was almost enough to make him collapse in exhaustion, but Remus was determined not to betray any sign of weakness.
He hadn’t seen Sirius in several days, not since the boy had gone to live at the Potters. Remus had hoped that that would be the end of that and that he would be able to move on. But it seemed Dumbledore was determined to see him end up in Azkaban for sexual molestation of a minor.
Remus shook his tattered sleeve back and checked his watch.
7:51.
The village gate was no more than a few feet away. All too soon, he was inside the village square proper and the young girl walking her dog was answering his polite inquiry as to the residence of the Potters. And then he was on their doorstep, heart threatening to shatter his ribcage. He could even feel the pulse in his scalp and at the ends of his fingers.
He checked his watch again.
7:58.
Remus nervously licked his lips, and then stopped immediately when he fancied that he could still taste Sirius, feel Sirius’s teeth nipping and pulling at his lip.
No. Don’t think about that, he reminded himself. Just think about what you need to do.
He took a deep breath, adjusted the briefcase, brushed a bit of dust off his robe, and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, revealing a pair of startlingly blue eyes framed by a mass of dark hair. Mrs. Potter had a benevolent face, the kind that fairy godmothers in Muggle children’s stories were supposed to have. She was wearing a large, floral apron over her dress and looked quite hassled.
“Oh, you’re here!” she said, waving Remus inside and giving him a warm smile. “I was just trying to bake some cookies so that you two would have something to snack on before lunch. I must have lost track of time.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Potter,” Remus said, returning her smile, “but you needn’t go through so much trouble on my account.”
“No trouble at all.” She closed the door and was halfway in an offer to take Remus’s coat when she seemed to notice her floury hands and sighed. “I suppose you’ll have to take your own coat, Remus.”
Remus couldn’t help but grin at her hospitality. How different this was from his first time teaching Sirius at Grimmauld Place!
The house was not nearly as big or as ornate-or as scary, Remus added mentally-as the Blacks residence, but it was warm and inviting. The walls were painted rich terracotta and were trimmed with white molding. Currently they stood in what appeared to be a small foyer. A staircase wound up out of sight. To the right, through an archway, was a small but comfortable sitting room with a roaring fire and two large, squishy sofas. It was into this sitting room that Mrs. Potter led him.
“My husband, Harold, got called to the Ministry on urgent business,” she said as she gestured Remus into a sofa. “He works in the Department of Magical Transportation, at the Portkey Office. Apparently they had some trouble with some unauthorized Portkeys this morning.” She shook her head distractedly. “He was looking forward to meeting you today, but now you’ll just have to make do with me.”
Remus didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he said nothing.
“So, Remus.” She sat, wiping her hands on her apron, and beamed at him. “What will you have? Tea? Biscuits?”
“No thank you, Mrs. Potter, I just ate and-”
“Now none of this Mrs. Potter nonsense. Call me Helen.”
“Sure, Mrs. P-er-Helen.”
“Good. Now how about some tea?”
“It’s quite all right, M-Helen.”
But his protests were in vain. Helen had already pulled out a wand from her apron pocket. A few seconds later, a tea tray flew in from what Remus perceived to be the direction of the kitchen and landed with a clink on the table in front of them. Another wave of the wand and the tea poured into the cups, one of which offered itself to Remus.
“Thanks,” he said, accepting the tea.
They drank in silence until Helen smiled and told him that Sirius had slept a little late and was currently taking a shower.
“He seems a little distracted,” she said, putting her cup down and leaning back. “He’s not his usual cheery self.” The expression on her face was that of deepest concern, like that a mother would show toward a son.
Remus’s stomach knotted up uncomfortably. He nibbled on a biscuit to save himself from answering.
“It’s just not fair how much that boy has had to go through,” she continued, oblivious to Remus’s nervous behavior. “First his parents…I never knew the Blacks personally, but I would never have imagined them to be…well…” She trailed off, looking a little flustered. “Anyway, tell me a little about yourself, Remus. I knew your father from Hogwarts, of course. Several years above Harold and me. I don’t believe I knew your mother, though.”
Glad for the change of topic, he seized upon the opportunity. “My mother is Muggle. Elana Campbell.”
“A-Muggle?” she said, obviously startled. “But I thought, well, the Lupins are-”
“Yes. It raised quite a scandal in my family, actually. It’s part of the reason I don’t have much contact with them anymore.”
“Oh, I see.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, but then blushed and added, “I’m sorry for being so nosy. It must hurt for you to talk of your father.”
“It’s quite all right Mrs.-Helen,” Remus assured. “It’s been long enough that I can talk about him without hurting.” That wasn’t quite true, but Remus didn’t think it polite to say otherwise. Besides, talking of his late father hurt much less than talking of Sirius.
“I remember John at Hogwarts,” said Helen, smiling unfocusedly at some memory or other. “He was good at everything he did. Quidditch Captain, too, if I remember correctly. Quite handsome. Girls used to throw themselves at him all the time.” She gave him a shrewd smile. “I see you’ve inherited much of his good looks.”
Remus felt his cheeks burn, not only at the compliment but also because he knew she was just being polite. He mumbled a noncommittal answer, but was saved further embarrassment by Sirius’s arrival.
“Sirius!” Helen said, turning her gaze toward the archway.
Remus cautiously turned, feeling suddenly sick. Sirius stood in the entrance, looking determinedly at the wall behind Remus’s head.
“Hello, Professor,” he said. Remus’s stomach lurched painfully at the frigidity of his voice.
“Hello, Sirius. How have you been?” Remus winced at the question as soon as it was out of his mouth.
Sirius gave him a cold look that contradicted his chilly answer of “Just fine, thank you.”
A strong silence followed his words, a silence with was just starting to become unbearable when Helen stood and announced that she was going to go back to cooking.
“You two can go upstairs to the library. I’ll call you down when lunch is ready,” she said with a tone that suggested they were friends on a play date instead of a teacher and his pupil about to resume lessons.
Remus thanked her for the tea and followed Sirius up the stairs and into the library. The room was much smaller than the study at the Blacks’, but it was cheery and full of morning light. Three shelves of books ran the length of two walls. A table and two chairs were squeezed into whatever space was available in front of the fireplace. Sirius’s textbooks and parchment stood in a neat pile on the desk.
He was starting to heavily regret the biscuit he had eaten. It seemed to have mutated in his stomach.
“So, Siri”-here his voice cracked embarrassingly. He swallowed and tried again. “So, Sirius. Er…shall we get started then?” The false happiness in his voice sounded pathetic even to him.
Sirius shrugged. “Sure.”
Remus put his briefcase on the table and started to unpack, all the while reminding himself to breathe.
“I think you’re ready to start complex nonverbal transfiguration. I trust you’ve already learned how to transfigure a tortoise into a teapot, so learning the nonverbal part of it should be easy enough.” Remus was rambling now and he knew it. The words spilled out of him at a mile per minute, but he found to his horror that he couldn’t curb the verbal diarrhea. “If you manage that, and there’s really no reason why you shouldn’t, we can move on to human transfiguration, though that’s going to be strictly theory, of course. I suppose you’ll be able to practice some of the practical stuff, but we’ll have to be very careful about what we practice and how. The Ministry might-”
“How did you get that scar?”
“-want to know why you’ve been-what?” Remus dropped the parchment he had been unrolling and had to stoop to get it.
“The scar. How did you get it?”
“W-what scar?”
Sirius took a step toward him, hand raised. Remus forced himself not to recoil, not to so much as flinch.
“This scar,” said Sirius, stopping his hand just short of Remus’s cheek. He traced its length in the air, starting from Remus’s temple to his chin. Although Sirius was taking care not to touch him, Remus could still almost feel Sirius’s warm finger against his skin.
Remus shivered, an action which seemed to shake Sirius out of a trance. He pulled his hand back as if it had been burned.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, turning away.
Again Remus was caught between that dubious region where he desperately wanted to say something and not knowing quite what to say. He settled for taking a deep breath and continuing to arrange his notes.
It was a while before either of them spoke. And when they did, they spoke as if they were strangers. Sentences were formal and stiff. Phrases were carefully thought out. Words were analyzed to the point of exhaustion.
The tension frustrated Remus beyond compare. He considered it a miracle that he even got through the Transfiguration lesson without exploding. In his agitation, Remus never did remember to excuse the scar. Sirius never asked about it again, but more than once Remus caught him observing it intently and thoughtfully. Remus was furious at himself for not noticing the scar earlier; if he had, a simple Concealment Charm would have prevented the situation.
But that wasn’t the only sort of tension that had settled upon them. Sirius had once again retreated into his shell, and nothing Remus said or did could get him out of it. More than anything, it was this that made Remus feel helpless and frustrated and unable to sleep at night.
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“Sirius, we need to talk.”
A pair of gray eyes clouded over almost immediately with an untold emotion. Remus bit his lip and waited.
It was warm in the Potters’ house-too warm, Remus thought. The cold mid-November afternoon peeked through the window in the form of bare trees and parched grass. Remus had spent the better part of the last two weeks trying to ignore the tension and was just plain tired.
“What about?” Sirius asked at length, turning away and continuing to put away the ingredients they had used to brew the Draught of Living Death.
Remus sighed and slowly lowered himself into a chair, gesturing for Sirius to do the same. Sirius meticulously swept the sopophorous beans into a small jar. It was obvious he wasn’t going to move without an answer.
“We need to talk,” Remus started, “about…about”-and here he lost his courage-“about your grades.”
Sirius looked up and Remus tried not to blink as Sirius regarded him for a long time. Eventually the boy set his potions ingredients aside and sprawled into a seat opposite Remus.
“Right,” Remus said nervously. “Er…your grades. They’re slipping. Don’t get me wrong. Your grades are still good, but your homework has been a little-er-sloppy as of late. Not up to the standard I’m used to seeing from you.” Remus paused for an interruption or an excuse-anything, really-but all that he received was Sirius sitting alert and attentive and only mildly interested. Under all his anxiety, Remus perceived a small stirring of something akin to annoyance. After all, it was costing him every ounce of courage he had to approach the subject at all. Cold fingers, white knuckles, dry throat, twitching leg and all.
“Are you having trouble with the material, Sirius?”
“No.”
“Is the workload too much to handle?”
Sirius shot him a slightly hesitant look. “No.”
“Then what’s the problem, Sirius?”
“Nothing.” Sirius didn’t meet his eyes but rather focused determinedly at a spot on the table. “Nothing’s the problem. I just-it’s nothing.”
“You can tell me, Sirius. I-I want to help you.”
Sirius shook his head, his mouth tightening into a line. He was silent for a long time, so long that Remus had begun to think he wouldn’t reply at all. But then he whispered, so quietly that Remus wasn’t sure he had heard right, “I’m sorry.”
For a long moment, Remus just stared. That was the last response he had expected.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius repeated, stronger this time. He looked up, and Remus noticed that his eyes seemed unusually bright and his eyelashes were clumped messily together. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” was all Remus could find the voice to ask.
“For-everything.” Sirius didn’t need to elaborate for Remus to know exactly what he was talking about.
Suddenly Remus’s throat, if dry before, was positively desiccated. Sirius was on the point of breaking. Remus could tell by the stress in his muscles and the way his mouth was thinning further and further until it was as thin a line as McGonagall’s. Sirius’s hand was lying on the table, and Remus wondered if he should hold it. He had almost decided in the affirmative and was half-way between reaching out his hand when the memory of their last night in the flat flashed through his mind and made him snatch it back.
Sirius gave him an odd look, mouth spasing in a half-smile.
Remus cleared his throat and shifted under the scrutiny. He opened his mouth, but whatever he had been about to say died in his throat at the look on Sirius’s face.
“I’m sorry,” Sirius said again. “I never should have-” He broke off, turning away as if he couldn’t bear to meet Remus’s gaze.
Remus knew he had to set it right, to alleviate some of the pain that he had helped to cause. But to do so would mean compromises on his part, compromises that he didn’t know if he was prepared to give.
“I never should have done that. I was-I’m sorry.”
“Sirius,” he said gently. “It’s not…we should never…you shouldn’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”
Sirius shook his head and continued to look away, biting his lip and squinting at the ceiling. More than anything, it was this sign of fragility that caused Remus’s heart to tighten painfully.
“It’s not your fault, Sirius,” he said, forcing the words around the lump that had risen in his throat. “It’s-we…I’m to blame, too.”
A loud silence followed these words.
It was the kind of silence that had a presence in itself, the kind of silence that rang in their ears and ate away at the oxygen, leaving them breathless and aching.
“We-we can still be friends, right?” Sirius murmured.
The sheer pathetic quality of his voice made Remus want to hold him. Instead he forced a pained smile and nodded. Then he realized that Sirius was still looking at the ceiling and couldn’t see him.
“Of course,” he whispered.
Sirius looked down. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and Remus knew. He knew from the look on Sirius’s face that something had changed. Something had shifted in their relationship, moving them from teacher and pupil to something else entirely. What that something was, he didn’t know. But he knew, even as he spoke the words aloud, that they could never, ever be friends.
Not now.
Not after everything that had happened.
Not ever.
Chapter 13
Author's Notes: I'm a little embarrassed by my shamelessness, but I have a request. If anyone who reads (and enjoys) this fic wants to draw fanart for it, I would be honored to post it (or a link to it) with a future chapter. I'm actually thinking of making a website to host my fanfics, so fanart will be helpful for that, as well. Any subject, any scene, any rating (well, let's keep it R and under), any character(s), any level of talent/experience. Anyone up for it?