I really, really love this fandom! ^_^
I am overwhelmed with the response I've received within the last twenty-four hours of creating this livejournal. I mean, some of my absolute favorite authors have stopped by to comment here and help me out with navigating LJ, and I can only give my most emphatic thanks to all of you. I love this fandom so much!
In other much more worrying news, I have a plot bunny that won't die, despite all attempts on my part. It is horribly AU (why must all my crazy story ideas careen inevitably down that path?) and involves--*coughs*-- genderswapping. Kind of. Er... yes. So, my sincere apologies if I actually do end up writing this. I do not mean to offend anyone's sensibilities. Really.
Oh, and on a random note, I just turned in a very slashy short story to my very middle-aged, very male creative writing teacher, and he liked it! He wants me to enter it into a competition, so hopefully that goes over well. As my first blatantly homosexual piece of original fiction, I'm inordinately excited. ^_^
I decided to go ahead and post my very first R/S fanfiction ever, just because it is rather plot-heavy and has multiple POVs and I'm proud of that, even if my Sirius characterization needs some tweaking and the summary is shamelessly melodramatic. So far it is four chapters long, and if there is some interest I'll go ahead and finish it.
Title: Two Fathoms Deep (Chapters 1 and 2)
Disclaimer: Not mine, tragically.
Era: MWPP, Second Year
Pairing: Remus/Sirius pre-slash
Length: Chapters 1 and 2 combined are around 5,500 words
Rating: PG
Summary: The Marauders are in their second year at Hogwarts when Sirius, James, and Peter begin to grow suspicious of Remus's odd disappearances. Guarded secrets and scars from past moonlight threaten to overwhelm Remus as he battles his inner demon. The four friends struggle with mystery, deception, and broken barriers as the depth of their friendship is put to the test. Mild S/R.
Thanks: To my original beta on Fiction Alley, Marine Galdeone, whose Harry/Draco fics it was my pleasure to beta. Also, the_dark_twin offered much constructive criticism when the original version was first posted on Fiction Alley, and proved to be a great help.
Author's Note: "Two Fathoms Deep" is the minimum depth for safe river navigation. I think the metaphorical meaning will become apparent as the story progresses... and kudos to anyone who saw the connection to Mark Twain! ^_^
Two Fathoms Deep
Chapter 1
Sirius lay in bed, sucking pensively on a mint, as was his habit whenever he couldn’t sleep. James once teased him that he did it so he’d always be ready for a snog, but in actuality Sirius found that the frosty taste helped him clear his mind whenever he was feeling particuarly agitated or confused. Tonight, after his tense conversation with Remus, he felt an unsettling combination of the two.
Rolling the mint between his teeth and over his tongue, Sirius quietly sat up and pulled back the curtains on his four-poster bed. His bed was adjacent to a window and from where he lay his view was completely unobstructed. In the darkness of Gryffindor tower he gave a feeble half-smile, remembering how he had laid claim on this bed just a little over a year ago. Sirius’ habit of tracing the constellations helped pacify his occasionally muddled thoughts, and found that the tranquil round dormitory currently bathed in an ethereal glow from the full moon was perfectly suited to his inclination.
It wasn’t the first time that Sirius had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach as Remus explained away his odd disappearances. Since he had always felt Remus was extremely trustworthy, definitely the least likely of the marauders to jokingly pull a prank on him when his back was turned, Sirius found the thought of him lying more disturbing than he otherwise might. Even though he and James were best mates, and could practically read each other’s minds, it was Remus who he felt inexplicably drawn to. It might have been his quieter demeanor, or adorably lopsided grin whenever Sirius fondly called him “mate,” but Sirius found him and his aura of mystery incredibly compelling. Except, of course, for times like these when Remus’ mysteriousness simply annoyed him and kept him up at night.
If he was honest with himself, Sirius would admit that every time he saw Remus’ crooked grin he wanted to reach out and hold his delicate hand, for no real reason except that he felt he ought to; and, if someday he acted on that impulse, he thought he would find that Remus’ hand in his would feel rather nice. While Sirius undeniably felt this subtle intimacy with Remus, his shy friend was still more or less a puzzle to him. Usually that only encouraged him to find out what Remus was hiding beneath all those layers of stoic intellect and clever witticisms. Usually Sirius found his mysterious friend all the more likable because he just knew there was much more beneath the surface. Usually Sirius would be furious if he knew that a friend was purposefully deceiving him, especially a friend like Remus who was somehow more than just that-but instead, he merely felt that he was missing something. And this was unusuall for Sirius, who had never before had the peculiar impression that he was blind to what was standing right in front of him.
After quietly crunching the remainder of the nearly-dissolved mint between his teeth, Sirius sighed softly and tried to focus on why he felt so strongly that Remus was lying to him about his odd absences. Usually they accepted Remus’ excuses-visiting his sick relatives, attending a great uncle’s funeral-without hesitation. But as Sirius began to know Remus better, he intrinsically felt that something wasn’t entirely right with his friend. Perplexed, Sirius absently sought out the Dog Star-his namesake-and let his mind wander back to the evening’s revelations.
Before he lost himself entirely to his reverie, he brushed aside a faintly chilling thought. He didn’t know whether it was more comforting or more distressing that his suspicions had been confirmed. He wasn’t the only one to have noticed this anomaly about their friend Remus-his Remus.
For the first time in his life, Sirius felt no urge to gloat or pride himself at having been vindicated. Instead, his chest had a painful hollowness that echoed his equally palpable feeling of being betrayed by Remus’ deception.
*-----*-----*
“Er--”
James looked up from his half-finished transfiguration homework and eyed Remus warily. He was looking pale and nervous, but nonetheless standing resolutely in front of the table in the library where he, Sirius, and Peter had gathered to work on their respective assignments. James immediately understood what his defensive posture meant-- what it always meant when Remus excused himself from studying with his fellow marauders, only to come back right before dinner to hurriedly speak with them all.
“Is it your mum again?” Peter asked, barely glancing up from James’ transfiguration essay, which he was carefully summarizing on his own parchment.
James blinked at Peter; so, it seemed he wasn’t the only one who thought Remus’ excuses predictable, either.
“Well--” Remus’ voice seemed to falter, as it always did before he rushed on to explain that he had to travel home to care for his ailing mother, or attend a distant relative’s funeral. Before now James, Sirius, and Peter had interpreted his hesitation as concern on behalf of his various family members; presently, James couldn’t help thinking that his slightly awkward uncertainty was a sign of something entirely different.
“No, no, it’s alright, you don’t have to explain yourself to us,” Sirius bit out caustically, putting emphasis in all the right places to show that he wouldn’t believe a word of any explanations Remus may have to offer them. “We’re only your best friends, you know, we don’t require any explanations. Just go on, we’ll see you around in a bit, right? As usual?”
Remus looked crestfallen and, if James wasn’t mistaken, vaguely alarmed. Remus was far from thick, and anyone would have been able to detect the strong undercurrents of suspicion and hurt that Sirius’ comments clearly carried. James looked up at Remus somewhat apologetically but said nothing in his defense. Remus gave an almost imperceptible sigh, shook his head as if defeated, and slowly turned around and walked away.
James watched his friend’s retreat and turned to look out the window, not quite ready to meet the intense gaze he could feel Sirius giving him. The last vestiges of daylight were streaming through the glass and James could see the lake glistening as the brightly glowing orb began its slow descent into the horizon. The scene was similar, and yet so different, from the times before when Remus had come to say goodbye prior to one of his brief sojourns home. In the past they all looked at him sympathetically and wished him, his ailing mother, and his rapidly depleting family well. Recently they had begun to exchange odd looks, but then each would ignore the niggling sensation that something was not quite right and refrained from showing Remus any openly quizzical expressions. And now, after looking at Remus’ guarded eyes and hearing his equally guarded words, James felt sure that Remus had been fooling him, Sirius, and Peter all along.
Turning away from the sunset, James finally turned and locked eyes with Sirius’ heavy stare.
“Remus is lying,” Sirius stated aggressively, as if daring James or Peter to argue with him. “I know he is, and I think he has been all year.” A pause. “Damn it, I just realized, all of last year, too.”
James, at hearing his own thoughts voiced aloud, quickly agreed. “I know he is, Sirius. And after what you just said to him, he knows we know it, too.”
“I couldn’t help it,” said Sirius, his voice now laced with anger and mounting frustration. “I just can’t stand how he can look us all in the eye and--”
“I know, Sirius,” James replied solemnly. “I don’t understand it, either.”
“Yeah,” Peter chimed in, momentarily distracted from copying James’ homework. “The question is, though-what’s he hiding? And why?”
They all sat silently and mulled this over. What could Remus possibly have to hide from them? They had all been best mates since first year and officially, at least officially amongst themselves, marauders since the beginning of this one. They’d pulled some pretty impressive pranks together (albeit Remus had been more reluctant than he, Sirius, or Peter had been) and all had shared secrets among his fellow marauders. What, then, did Remus feel he couldn’t tell them?
Sirius suddenly pushed his parchment to the side and shoved his quill rather forcefully back into his bag. “You know,” he said in a voice of forced calm, “I think it’s time we found out. I’m worried about him-why does he just up and disappear every so often? It doesn’t make sense, and we know the reasons he’s been giving us are codswallop.”
Peter snickered at hearing Sirius so solemn and saying “codswallop” in such a McGonagall-ish tone of voice. A glare from Sirius quickly turned Peter’s snickers into a hacking cough, causing Madam Pince to vigorously shush them from a bookshelf not far from their table.
“Right then,” said James, leaning in nearer towards the center of their table conspiratorially and speaking in a much softer tone of voice, “is it me or does it almost seem like he disappears on schedule?”
“On schedule for what? Missing transfiguration exams?” Peter said, wrinkling his nose and glancing back at his homework gloomily.
“Don’t be thick,” said Sirius, looking exasperatedly at Peter. “Remus doesn’t need to skive off classes; he always has his work done before any of us and could pass the transfiguration exam tomorrow easily.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” mumbled Peter, slightly embarrassed as he undoubtedly thought of his own grim transfiguration marks.
“I think you’re on to something, though,” continued Sirius, looking earnestly at James. “It seems like he always leaves after a certain interval of time.”
“You know,” said Peter thoughtfully, “my mum always goes twice a month to visit her uncle in St. Mungo’s. He got a funny memory charm placed on him before I was born, and ever since he’s been convinced that he’s a famous American Quodpot player. The Healers can’t do anything for him, but keep him comfortable and make sure he doesn’t have a fit or anything when he imagines that a quod’s exploded and his broomstick’s on fire. Do you think he has a relative like that?”
James was tempted to ask Peter what the American sport “Quodpot” was, and if it was anything like Quidditch, but he quickly shook himself of that distraction. He and Sirius contemplated Peter’s speculation for a few moments before Sirius spoke up.
“No, I don’t think that can be it…” he mused quietly.
“I agree,” said James, knowing that he and Sirius were both thinking along the same lines. “He’s told us before that his mum’s ill, or that some other relative of his is either on the brink of death or dead already; he’d have just told us if he regularly visited someone in St. Mungo’s.”
“Actually, it would have been rather clever of him if he had. Much less suspicious,” muttered Sirius, obviously resentful that Remus would lie to them and then have the audacity to do a rather shoddy job of it.
“Hmmm,” hummed Peter noncommittally, picking up his quill and pulling his parchment closer to him while peering back over to James’s.
James exchanged a dark look with Sirius, and both knew that the other was having the exact same thought; Merlin’s beard, they’d find out what their friend was trying so hard to hide from them, or die trying. Not that, of course, the latter was likely…or, James mused to himself, at least not very.
*-----*-----*
Remus inwardly cringed at Sirius’ harsh words, but found that he could say nothing in his own defense. They were the best-and first-friends Remus had ever had, and he had been lying to them all along. As much as he hated to lie to them-especially Sirius-he knew he had to. Finding the accusing silence following Sirius’ words too much to bear, he let out the breath he had been holding and slowly turned around and walked away. He didn’t have time to deal with this right now; soon it would be moonrise.
Making his exit from the library, Remus pushed his dirty-blonde hair out of his face with one of his clammy hands. His heart was racing and his head throbbed. The effects of the full moon were never pleasant for a werewolf; the time leading up to moonrise and the time following the transformation were always draining. Of course, that was nothing compared to the transformation itself. There were no words to describe that kind of pain, nor the pain of facing it alone.
To his horror, Remus found that he was holding back tears as he continued toward the entrance hall; he couldn’t even remember the last time he had cried. Sirius’ words had mocked his own bitter feelings on his lycanthropy. He had long ago ceased asking the question why. It wasn’t a question he could ever answer; there were no explanations, no reasons he could give either himself or his friends.
Scrubbing at his face angrily as he approached the doors to the entrance hall, Remus’ spiraling thoughts were interrupted when he heard tentative footsteps behind him. Thinking it might be one of his friends coming after him to demand answers, Remus whirled around and tried to put an indifferent expression on his face. However, the mask faded and his face instead registered mild shock. It surprised him to discover the footsteps belonged to Severus Snape, a Slytherin second year who seemed to greatly annoy Sirius and James. Remus had never paid him much attention, as none of the snarky comments were ever directed towards him. He found that it was much easier to simply concentrate on his schoolwork rather than risk inviting the scorn of his friends were he to try and stop their verbal sparring. He was new enough to friendship that he always trod softly around matters of conflict. Remus would never willingly endanger his close relationship with Sirius, James, and Peter, even if Gryffindor lost obscene amounts of House Points as a result of futile confrontations with the Slytherin.
Remus waited for Snape to say something; when he didn’t, Remus realized that Snape’s silent stare was probably due to his sickly appearance and shining eyes.
“I’m all right,” said Remus preemptively, realizing that he didn’t have much time until he had to be safely ensconced in the Shrieking Shack.
“I wasn’t going to ask,” said Snape carefully, seemingly apprehensive that James or Sirius would jump out at any moment and banish him to the Forbidden Forest. “But the hospital wing is that way,” Snape indicated with a vague gesture.
“I know. I’m not heading there,” said Remus, turning away from Snape and making for the exit.
“Are you sure you--” Snape’s question was cut-off mid-sentence as a group of Slytherins made their way up from the staircase that led to the dungeons. Snape looked warily at them, and turned back to face Remus with a sneer instead. “I would reconsider that, if I were you,” he continued brusquely, giving Remus one last sweeping gaze before hurrying away.
Remus knew he looked very ill, but as there was nothing he could do about it he quickly put the strange encounter with Snape out of his mind. He pushed open the double oak doors to the entrance hall and broke into a jog, his head and heart pounding laboriously.
Remus’ blood ran hot through his veins, creating a fine sheen of sweat that covered his skin. The muscles in his arms and legs were quivering, pulling taut not from his run but from lunar influence. Remus knew he had no more control over what was happening to his body and mind than the ocean had over its tide. He brushed aside his familiar disconcerting thoughts, instead concentrating on keeping his breathing as even as he could while racing against the setting sun. The Whomping Willow loomed ominously in the distance, growing closer with each hurried footfall.
*-----*-----*
Chapter 2
Peter awoke early the next morning. He got up and began to dress as quietly as he could, cautious not to stir the other boys in Gryffindor Tower. As he finished clasping his robes he glanced over to the bed left of his; on the floor lay a finished crossword puzzle and an empty box of mints.
Peter knew that this must mean Sirius had been up all night, ruminating over their earlier conversation about Remus. Peter felt lucky that he never had any problems getting to sleep; he was one of those people who could sleep anytime and anywhere if he wanted. Sirius and James occasionally teased him about it when he blearily roused after many attempts at waking him for their late-night hijinks-“What did you do, down the Draught of Living Death? Get up, you arse!”-but secretly he was thankful for this ability. He imagined it could be useful one day. Possibly this also helped explain why he had never been able to avoid sleeping all the way through Professor Binn’s classes, no matter how hard he fought to stay awake.
Peter spent a lot of time observing his friends and their idiosyncrasies. That’s how he knew what Sirius’ completed crossword and empty box of Nippy Nackledirk’s Mints meant. Sirius could bottle up what he was feeling so completely that no one would ever guess anything was wrong. He would say snarky things to the Slytherins, plan elaborate pranks during classes, and laugh and joke with his friends as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His sleepless nights were the only indication that there was trouble simmering beneath the surface.
Peter knew that James and Remus handled their problems in slightly different ways. James was rarely perturbed; Peter remembered he snuck off at midnight to the broomsheds and went flying on the rare occasions when something was worrying him. Then again, this could just be because James had a penchant for illegal risk-taking, and have much less to do with any emotional turmoil.
Remus, at least to Peter, was less obvious when something bothered him; his usual cheerful disposition never faltered. Sometimes, though, like yesterday, he looked paler than usual and seemed to thrum with nervous energy. Peter noted that before his absences he would always bury himself in arcane texts; not, of course, that this was particularly unusual for Remus-but Peter thought it was unusual that such an innocuous activity would leave him especially drained and tired. Like Sirius and his sleepless nights, Peter thought that Remus exhausted himself brooding over his troubles.
He didn’t notice nearly as much about the other two Gryffindor second-year boys. The only times they really saw each other outside of classes was in their dormitories, but since the marauders were often busy causing mayhem in other parts of the castle they never interacted much. Peter had never felt like getting to know them better; they were quieter and smaller than James and Sirius, and not nearly as popular or fun. So Peter kept close to the marauders and watched silently.
It was early on a Friday morning so the common room was empty as Peter descended the stairs. Clutching a bag in his right hand, he sat down in a large armchair next to the fireplace and settled down. It was the quiet before daybreak; pale, feeble streaks of color were unfurling across the patch of grey sky that was visible from his perch near the large window in the common room. After gazing at the dawn for a few moments, Peter reached down into his bag and pulled out his sketchpad and his set of Artists’ Illustrious Illustrations pencils.
His set of wizarding artist pencils were Peter’s most prized possession. Illustrious Illustrations pencils weren’t actually all that different from Muggle ones in function. The only distinction was that their colors were charmed never to fade and drawings created with them were resistant to water, fire, and other destructive substances. Once a sketch was completed, Peter performed the Animation charm on it so that the picture would move. It had taken Peter the better part of a month to perfect the charm, and he had ruined a number of drawings in the process. He didn’t like stationary drawings nearly as much as ones that moved, so he tenaciously worked it out on his own. He learned that the trick with the charm is to focus on all the emotions and personality he’d envisioned while creating the drawing, manifesting his vision and bringing it to life.
This was Peter’s secret passion, the one thing neither James nor Sirius nor Remus could ever hope to best him at. James was, by common consent, a Quidditch God. Remus was clever, and sly when he wanted to be, and obviously a future candidate for Head Boy. And Sirius… well, what wasn’t Sirius good at, really? Peter was simultaneously torn between bitterness that his talent was utterly useless at Hogwarts, and secret pride that he had skills his friends didn’t. Even if his skills weren’t as impressive or useful as theirs, it was his, and his alone. He intended to keep it that way.
These familiar feelings of jealousy and resentment fell away as Peter began to draw. Firmly gripping a drawing pencil in his hand and making the first markings on the blank paper in his lap, his dark thoughts temporarily ceased while his mind instead focused on the image developing before him.
Peter had promised his mum that he’d draw pictures of Hogwarts for her. He hadn’t told his friends this, but while his father was a full-fledged wizard, his mum was practically a squib. Since she hadn’t attended Hogwarts she was curious about all sorts of things-what the grounds, rooms in the castle, and his professors looked like. Peter had been more than happy to oblige her and lost himself in sketches of Hogwarts and his friends. He drew a picture of James on the Quidditch pitch with a dreamy look on his face, glasses flashing in the midday sun. He sketched a humorous one of Remus and Sirius sitting together in the library; Remus was reading, while Sirius prodded him occasionally and flashed coquettish grins at a sixth year Hufflepuff girl perusing a nearby bookshelf.
He had just started on a picture of the Whomping Willow, which he thought would be fun to animate, when a group of seventh year early risers trooped down from the girls’ dormitories. Hastily stashing his sketchpad and pencils in his bag, Peter returned to his room to see if James and Sirius were ready to head off to breakfast.
*-----*-----*
Remus lay prostrate on the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack, gasping in shallow, labored breaths. The last of his bones were melding and crunching into place, his joints shifting themselves into his human skeletal structure. Remus always had to avert his eyes as the wolf’s inverted joints in his hind legs shot forward to turn into the protruding form of human kneecaps. While the grinding of bones and joints in itself didn’t hurt, the niggling feeling that it should was what bothered him the most. He found it easier to screw up his face and wait for the movements of bones reshaping themselves and internal organs squishing into place to cease.
While he never witnessed his wolfish snout shorten into a regular human nose, or saw his ears regain their fleshy tones, Remus could always tell when it happened because he found the distinct lack of sensory input disconcerting. His mind always panicked when his human senses replaced those of the wolf’s-it always felt as though someone had turned off the light in a room, rendering him sightless. Human senses simply couldn’t compare to a wolf’s, and being blind to his surroundings sent him reeling.
The last thing Remus remembered from his transformation back to human form was the itch of his fur as it disappeared, leaving only pale flesh behind. Although his body was bleeding and broken, the self-inflicted wounds didn’t bother him as much as the insatiable itch on every inch of skin. It was always like this after transforming back-he was conscious long enough to acknowledge the itchy, creeping discomfort of fur melting like wax into skin before his exhausted mind slipped into oblivion.
Only when Madam Pomfrey woke him later in the infirmary would the real pain set in.
*-----*-----*
“Go away,” Sirius groaned, burrowing under the blankets in an attempt to escape Peter’s enthusiastic shaking.
“It’s time for breakfast! Up, up!” Peter chirped happily, jerking the blankets off Sirius entirely. “Mmmm, do you know, I’m in the mood for some pancakes today, what with that awful Transfiguration exam. I wish I was wherever Remus is so I wouldn’t have to take it.”
At hearing Remus’ name Sirius sat up, blinking at the over-bright sunlight flooding the dormitory.
“When don’t you feel like pancakes, Peter?” James snorted, grabbing his toothbrush and comb. “Besides, that Transfiguration exam won’t be too bad. We studied for it yesterday. You’ll be fine.” James finished gathering his toiletries and made to head off for the bathroom.
“Don’t see why you even bother with a comb, Jamesikins,” Sirius teased, trying to take his mind off what had kept him up half the night. “Your hair is a lost cause. Utterly hopeless.”
James threw a pillow at him, but Sirius leapt off his bed and sidestepped it easily. Grinning like a madman, Sirius tackled James and mussed his hair even more. “Aww, don’t worry Jamie, Evans probably thinks you’re cute anyway, haha!”
James made a horrified face and shoved Sirius off him. “Ack! Evans? I hope not! Merlin’s beard, I’ve never met a more annoying girl! Do you see the way she sucks up to McGonagall in class? She’ll be insufferable today!” James stalked off towards the bathroom, leaving Sirius and Peter grinning at his back as he mimicked a high, girlish voice gushing, “Look at me, look at how I turned this thimble into a fluffy kitten, Professor McGonagall, I loooooooove you….”
Sirius, now fully awake, began to dress silently, his brain furiously trying not to think how worried he was about Remus. After a few moments he realized that Peter was staring at him. Sirus paused and quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?”
Peter, flushing slightly at having been caught staring, shrugged and made to turn away, but seemed to think better of it and instead asked, “Sirius, are you feeling… all right?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Sirius replied absently, turning back to search for his Gryffindor tie.
“I noticed you didn’t sleep much last night, that’s all,” Peter said. Sirius froze; Peter couldn’t possibly know what he’d been thinking about, could he? Just as this stomach-turning thought entered Sirius' head, Peter continued, “I know you were thinking about Remus.”
Sirius blanched in horror, breath catching in his throat. Was it that obvious he felt differently about Remus? Feeling lightheaded, as though he'd just choked down too much of Ogden's Firewhisky in one go, Sirius slowly turned to look back at Peter. Peter, seeing Sirius’ stricken look, rushed to say, “I mean, we’re all wondering about what’s going on with him, but you shouldn’t worry… we’ll figure it out.”
Mentally chiding himself for panicking, Sirius exhaled and grinned at Peter, who looked relieved to see Sirius acting normally again. “I know. Now, let’s go and see what’s taking James so long. Probably got distracted, thinking about Evans,” quipped Sirius, giving Peter a cheeky wink. Peter laughed, and Sirius felt the color return to his face. Grabbing his tie, Sirius went off with Peter to find James and drag him down to breakfast.
*-----*-----*
“How are you feeling, dear?”
Remus tried to sit up, but found the pain lacing through his body unbearable, and instead lay gingerly back down on the infirmary bed. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw swirls of dust shimmering in the rays of sunlight that poured through the nearby window. It’s over, he thought, glad that the sun always followed the moon, conquering it time and time again. It’s over.
“Mr. Lupin? Are you feeling all right?”
Remus belatedly realized that Madam Pomfrey was standing over him with a concerned expression on her face and a dark green bottle in her hand.
“All right,” croaked Remus, grimacing at how hoarse his voice was after the full moon.
Madam Pomfrey’s expression softened as she poured some of the green bottle’s contents into a glass and handed it to Remus. “Here, Mr. Lupin, drink all of this.”
Remus glanced dubiously at the foul-smelling liquid, but drank it all in one go anyway. Coughing weakly, he asked, “What’s it for?”
“It seems last night’s transformation was harsher on your body than usual. You sustained a large number of internal injuries.” Looking sympathetically at Remus, she busied herself with fluffing his pillows. “I’ve already healed the worst of them, but this will help stop any residual internal bleeding.”
Remus nodded, wishing she wouldn’t look at him like that. He was weak now, but by dinner he would be well enough to join his classmates. He felt bad enough as it was-he didn’t want her anxiety weighing on his conscience, too.
“I’m afraid you have quite a gash on your back as well, Mr. Lupin. It’s healed, but the cut was too severe to prevent it from scarring. It was so deep it nearly went to your spinal cord, which would have been a much more serious injury, really. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it from leaving a mark.”
“It’s all right,” said Remus, by now accustomed to hearing these accounts of his injuries. Yawning, he closed his eyes, trying to find a position that didn’t further aggravate the throbbing of his muscles.
“I’ll wake you in a few hours, when the pain should be nearly gone,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly, watching Remus’ chest begin to rise and fall in the pattern of sleep.
Eyes welling with tears, Madam Pomfrey turned to find Albus Dumbledore standing a few feet from the infirmary door. Sniffing a little, Madam Pomfrey asked, “Can I help you with anything, Headmaster?”
Dumbledore smiled at her kindly, taking a few steps nearer to where she stood by Remus’ bed. “Mr. Lupin is quite the young man. I find that Hogwarts is just the place for those who possess such strength and bravery."
Madam Pomfrey looked into Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes and nodded briskly, trying to resume her usual no-nonsense demeanor. “Mr. Lupin is indeed the quintessential Gryffindor.”
“That he is, Poppy. I imagine he would make a fine prefect in a few years.”
Remus smiled softly into his pillow, mind swimming hazily in the place between sleep and consciousness.
*-----*-----*
Peter sighed happily as he sank into his seat at the Gryffindor table, ravenous after the stressful exam earlier.
“I’m having roast tonight,” said James, sliding in the seat next to Peter while Sirius placed himself across from them. “I don’t feel like eating chicken after that debacle in Transfiguration. What on earth that Hufflepuff was thinking…”
Peter chuckled, glad that for once he wasn’t the one who messed up in McGonagall’s class.
“You shouldn’t make fun of other students, Potter!” said Lily sharply, who was sitting a few places away from them, apparently waiting for her giggly entourage to join her. “It isn’t very sporting of you, you know.”
James glared at her, then turned around and rolled his eyes at Sirius and Peter, who exchanged amused glances at the usual repartee between the two. “I wasn’t making fun Evans, I was just saying I didn’t feel like eating chicken, not that it’s any of your business.”
Lily snorted and opened her mouth to retort, but just then her friend Eliza plunked down in the seat beside her. Giving James one last disdainful sniff, Lily turned away and began chatting with her friend.
“How can anyone be so interfering?” James said darkly, glaring at the back of Lily’s head. “Honestly.”
Sirius grinned at him, leaning across the table and speaking into his ear, “Cute though, isn’t she? All those long locks of auburn hair and those bright green eyes…”
“Oh, come off it Sirius,” snapped James, turning pink either from embarrassment or rage, Peter couldn’t tell. “Are you telling me you fancy her?”
Grinning even more widely, Sirius said in an awful, saccharine voice, “No, but I think I know someone who does-”
Sirius stopped mid-sentence, eyes fixed on something behind them, his own cheeks beginning to flush. James and Peter both turned around in their seats, wondering what had caused Sirius to halt so abruptly. It took them both a moment to notice that Remus had entered the Great Hall, and was walking slowly towards them.
*-----*-----*
In other much more worrying news, I have a plot bunny that won't die, despite all attempts on my part. It is horribly AU (why must all my crazy story ideas careen inevitably down that path?) and involves--*coughs*-- genderswapping. Kind of. Er... yes. So, my sincere apologies if I actually do end up writing this. I do not mean to offend anyone's sensibilities. Really.
Oh, and on a random note, I just turned in a very slashy short story to my very middle-aged, very male creative writing teacher, and he liked it! He wants me to enter it into a competition, so hopefully that goes over well. As my first blatantly homosexual piece of original fiction, I'm inordinately excited. ^_^
I decided to go ahead and post my very first R/S fanfiction ever, just because it is rather plot-heavy and has multiple POVs and I'm proud of that, even if my Sirius characterization needs some tweaking and the summary is shamelessly melodramatic. So far it is four chapters long, and if there is some interest I'll go ahead and finish it.
Title: Two Fathoms Deep (Chapters 1 and 2)
Disclaimer: Not mine, tragically.
Era: MWPP, Second Year
Pairing: Remus/Sirius pre-slash
Length: Chapters 1 and 2 combined are around 5,500 words
Rating: PG
Summary: The Marauders are in their second year at Hogwarts when Sirius, James, and Peter begin to grow suspicious of Remus's odd disappearances. Guarded secrets and scars from past moonlight threaten to overwhelm Remus as he battles his inner demon. The four friends struggle with mystery, deception, and broken barriers as the depth of their friendship is put to the test. Mild S/R.
Thanks: To my original beta on Fiction Alley, Marine Galdeone, whose Harry/Draco fics it was my pleasure to beta. Also, the_dark_twin offered much constructive criticism when the original version was first posted on Fiction Alley, and proved to be a great help.
Author's Note: "Two Fathoms Deep" is the minimum depth for safe river navigation. I think the metaphorical meaning will become apparent as the story progresses... and kudos to anyone who saw the connection to Mark Twain! ^_^
Two Fathoms Deep
Chapter 1
Sirius lay in bed, sucking pensively on a mint, as was his habit whenever he couldn’t sleep. James once teased him that he did it so he’d always be ready for a snog, but in actuality Sirius found that the frosty taste helped him clear his mind whenever he was feeling particuarly agitated or confused. Tonight, after his tense conversation with Remus, he felt an unsettling combination of the two.
Rolling the mint between his teeth and over his tongue, Sirius quietly sat up and pulled back the curtains on his four-poster bed. His bed was adjacent to a window and from where he lay his view was completely unobstructed. In the darkness of Gryffindor tower he gave a feeble half-smile, remembering how he had laid claim on this bed just a little over a year ago. Sirius’ habit of tracing the constellations helped pacify his occasionally muddled thoughts, and found that the tranquil round dormitory currently bathed in an ethereal glow from the full moon was perfectly suited to his inclination.
It wasn’t the first time that Sirius had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach as Remus explained away his odd disappearances. Since he had always felt Remus was extremely trustworthy, definitely the least likely of the marauders to jokingly pull a prank on him when his back was turned, Sirius found the thought of him lying more disturbing than he otherwise might. Even though he and James were best mates, and could practically read each other’s minds, it was Remus who he felt inexplicably drawn to. It might have been his quieter demeanor, or adorably lopsided grin whenever Sirius fondly called him “mate,” but Sirius found him and his aura of mystery incredibly compelling. Except, of course, for times like these when Remus’ mysteriousness simply annoyed him and kept him up at night.
If he was honest with himself, Sirius would admit that every time he saw Remus’ crooked grin he wanted to reach out and hold his delicate hand, for no real reason except that he felt he ought to; and, if someday he acted on that impulse, he thought he would find that Remus’ hand in his would feel rather nice. While Sirius undeniably felt this subtle intimacy with Remus, his shy friend was still more or less a puzzle to him. Usually that only encouraged him to find out what Remus was hiding beneath all those layers of stoic intellect and clever witticisms. Usually Sirius found his mysterious friend all the more likable because he just knew there was much more beneath the surface. Usually Sirius would be furious if he knew that a friend was purposefully deceiving him, especially a friend like Remus who was somehow more than just that-but instead, he merely felt that he was missing something. And this was unusuall for Sirius, who had never before had the peculiar impression that he was blind to what was standing right in front of him.
After quietly crunching the remainder of the nearly-dissolved mint between his teeth, Sirius sighed softly and tried to focus on why he felt so strongly that Remus was lying to him about his odd absences. Usually they accepted Remus’ excuses-visiting his sick relatives, attending a great uncle’s funeral-without hesitation. But as Sirius began to know Remus better, he intrinsically felt that something wasn’t entirely right with his friend. Perplexed, Sirius absently sought out the Dog Star-his namesake-and let his mind wander back to the evening’s revelations.
Before he lost himself entirely to his reverie, he brushed aside a faintly chilling thought. He didn’t know whether it was more comforting or more distressing that his suspicions had been confirmed. He wasn’t the only one to have noticed this anomaly about their friend Remus-his Remus.
For the first time in his life, Sirius felt no urge to gloat or pride himself at having been vindicated. Instead, his chest had a painful hollowness that echoed his equally palpable feeling of being betrayed by Remus’ deception.
*-----*-----*
“Er--”
James looked up from his half-finished transfiguration homework and eyed Remus warily. He was looking pale and nervous, but nonetheless standing resolutely in front of the table in the library where he, Sirius, and Peter had gathered to work on their respective assignments. James immediately understood what his defensive posture meant-- what it always meant when Remus excused himself from studying with his fellow marauders, only to come back right before dinner to hurriedly speak with them all.
“Is it your mum again?” Peter asked, barely glancing up from James’ transfiguration essay, which he was carefully summarizing on his own parchment.
James blinked at Peter; so, it seemed he wasn’t the only one who thought Remus’ excuses predictable, either.
“Well--” Remus’ voice seemed to falter, as it always did before he rushed on to explain that he had to travel home to care for his ailing mother, or attend a distant relative’s funeral. Before now James, Sirius, and Peter had interpreted his hesitation as concern on behalf of his various family members; presently, James couldn’t help thinking that his slightly awkward uncertainty was a sign of something entirely different.
“No, no, it’s alright, you don’t have to explain yourself to us,” Sirius bit out caustically, putting emphasis in all the right places to show that he wouldn’t believe a word of any explanations Remus may have to offer them. “We’re only your best friends, you know, we don’t require any explanations. Just go on, we’ll see you around in a bit, right? As usual?”
Remus looked crestfallen and, if James wasn’t mistaken, vaguely alarmed. Remus was far from thick, and anyone would have been able to detect the strong undercurrents of suspicion and hurt that Sirius’ comments clearly carried. James looked up at Remus somewhat apologetically but said nothing in his defense. Remus gave an almost imperceptible sigh, shook his head as if defeated, and slowly turned around and walked away.
James watched his friend’s retreat and turned to look out the window, not quite ready to meet the intense gaze he could feel Sirius giving him. The last vestiges of daylight were streaming through the glass and James could see the lake glistening as the brightly glowing orb began its slow descent into the horizon. The scene was similar, and yet so different, from the times before when Remus had come to say goodbye prior to one of his brief sojourns home. In the past they all looked at him sympathetically and wished him, his ailing mother, and his rapidly depleting family well. Recently they had begun to exchange odd looks, but then each would ignore the niggling sensation that something was not quite right and refrained from showing Remus any openly quizzical expressions. And now, after looking at Remus’ guarded eyes and hearing his equally guarded words, James felt sure that Remus had been fooling him, Sirius, and Peter all along.
Turning away from the sunset, James finally turned and locked eyes with Sirius’ heavy stare.
“Remus is lying,” Sirius stated aggressively, as if daring James or Peter to argue with him. “I know he is, and I think he has been all year.” A pause. “Damn it, I just realized, all of last year, too.”
James, at hearing his own thoughts voiced aloud, quickly agreed. “I know he is, Sirius. And after what you just said to him, he knows we know it, too.”
“I couldn’t help it,” said Sirius, his voice now laced with anger and mounting frustration. “I just can’t stand how he can look us all in the eye and--”
“I know, Sirius,” James replied solemnly. “I don’t understand it, either.”
“Yeah,” Peter chimed in, momentarily distracted from copying James’ homework. “The question is, though-what’s he hiding? And why?”
They all sat silently and mulled this over. What could Remus possibly have to hide from them? They had all been best mates since first year and officially, at least officially amongst themselves, marauders since the beginning of this one. They’d pulled some pretty impressive pranks together (albeit Remus had been more reluctant than he, Sirius, or Peter had been) and all had shared secrets among his fellow marauders. What, then, did Remus feel he couldn’t tell them?
Sirius suddenly pushed his parchment to the side and shoved his quill rather forcefully back into his bag. “You know,” he said in a voice of forced calm, “I think it’s time we found out. I’m worried about him-why does he just up and disappear every so often? It doesn’t make sense, and we know the reasons he’s been giving us are codswallop.”
Peter snickered at hearing Sirius so solemn and saying “codswallop” in such a McGonagall-ish tone of voice. A glare from Sirius quickly turned Peter’s snickers into a hacking cough, causing Madam Pince to vigorously shush them from a bookshelf not far from their table.
“Right then,” said James, leaning in nearer towards the center of their table conspiratorially and speaking in a much softer tone of voice, “is it me or does it almost seem like he disappears on schedule?”
“On schedule for what? Missing transfiguration exams?” Peter said, wrinkling his nose and glancing back at his homework gloomily.
“Don’t be thick,” said Sirius, looking exasperatedly at Peter. “Remus doesn’t need to skive off classes; he always has his work done before any of us and could pass the transfiguration exam tomorrow easily.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” mumbled Peter, slightly embarrassed as he undoubtedly thought of his own grim transfiguration marks.
“I think you’re on to something, though,” continued Sirius, looking earnestly at James. “It seems like he always leaves after a certain interval of time.”
“You know,” said Peter thoughtfully, “my mum always goes twice a month to visit her uncle in St. Mungo’s. He got a funny memory charm placed on him before I was born, and ever since he’s been convinced that he’s a famous American Quodpot player. The Healers can’t do anything for him, but keep him comfortable and make sure he doesn’t have a fit or anything when he imagines that a quod’s exploded and his broomstick’s on fire. Do you think he has a relative like that?”
James was tempted to ask Peter what the American sport “Quodpot” was, and if it was anything like Quidditch, but he quickly shook himself of that distraction. He and Sirius contemplated Peter’s speculation for a few moments before Sirius spoke up.
“No, I don’t think that can be it…” he mused quietly.
“I agree,” said James, knowing that he and Sirius were both thinking along the same lines. “He’s told us before that his mum’s ill, or that some other relative of his is either on the brink of death or dead already; he’d have just told us if he regularly visited someone in St. Mungo’s.”
“Actually, it would have been rather clever of him if he had. Much less suspicious,” muttered Sirius, obviously resentful that Remus would lie to them and then have the audacity to do a rather shoddy job of it.
“Hmmm,” hummed Peter noncommittally, picking up his quill and pulling his parchment closer to him while peering back over to James’s.
James exchanged a dark look with Sirius, and both knew that the other was having the exact same thought; Merlin’s beard, they’d find out what their friend was trying so hard to hide from them, or die trying. Not that, of course, the latter was likely…or, James mused to himself, at least not very.
*-----*-----*
Remus inwardly cringed at Sirius’ harsh words, but found that he could say nothing in his own defense. They were the best-and first-friends Remus had ever had, and he had been lying to them all along. As much as he hated to lie to them-especially Sirius-he knew he had to. Finding the accusing silence following Sirius’ words too much to bear, he let out the breath he had been holding and slowly turned around and walked away. He didn’t have time to deal with this right now; soon it would be moonrise.
Making his exit from the library, Remus pushed his dirty-blonde hair out of his face with one of his clammy hands. His heart was racing and his head throbbed. The effects of the full moon were never pleasant for a werewolf; the time leading up to moonrise and the time following the transformation were always draining. Of course, that was nothing compared to the transformation itself. There were no words to describe that kind of pain, nor the pain of facing it alone.
To his horror, Remus found that he was holding back tears as he continued toward the entrance hall; he couldn’t even remember the last time he had cried. Sirius’ words had mocked his own bitter feelings on his lycanthropy. He had long ago ceased asking the question why. It wasn’t a question he could ever answer; there were no explanations, no reasons he could give either himself or his friends.
Scrubbing at his face angrily as he approached the doors to the entrance hall, Remus’ spiraling thoughts were interrupted when he heard tentative footsteps behind him. Thinking it might be one of his friends coming after him to demand answers, Remus whirled around and tried to put an indifferent expression on his face. However, the mask faded and his face instead registered mild shock. It surprised him to discover the footsteps belonged to Severus Snape, a Slytherin second year who seemed to greatly annoy Sirius and James. Remus had never paid him much attention, as none of the snarky comments were ever directed towards him. He found that it was much easier to simply concentrate on his schoolwork rather than risk inviting the scorn of his friends were he to try and stop their verbal sparring. He was new enough to friendship that he always trod softly around matters of conflict. Remus would never willingly endanger his close relationship with Sirius, James, and Peter, even if Gryffindor lost obscene amounts of House Points as a result of futile confrontations with the Slytherin.
Remus waited for Snape to say something; when he didn’t, Remus realized that Snape’s silent stare was probably due to his sickly appearance and shining eyes.
“I’m all right,” said Remus preemptively, realizing that he didn’t have much time until he had to be safely ensconced in the Shrieking Shack.
“I wasn’t going to ask,” said Snape carefully, seemingly apprehensive that James or Sirius would jump out at any moment and banish him to the Forbidden Forest. “But the hospital wing is that way,” Snape indicated with a vague gesture.
“I know. I’m not heading there,” said Remus, turning away from Snape and making for the exit.
“Are you sure you--” Snape’s question was cut-off mid-sentence as a group of Slytherins made their way up from the staircase that led to the dungeons. Snape looked warily at them, and turned back to face Remus with a sneer instead. “I would reconsider that, if I were you,” he continued brusquely, giving Remus one last sweeping gaze before hurrying away.
Remus knew he looked very ill, but as there was nothing he could do about it he quickly put the strange encounter with Snape out of his mind. He pushed open the double oak doors to the entrance hall and broke into a jog, his head and heart pounding laboriously.
Remus’ blood ran hot through his veins, creating a fine sheen of sweat that covered his skin. The muscles in his arms and legs were quivering, pulling taut not from his run but from lunar influence. Remus knew he had no more control over what was happening to his body and mind than the ocean had over its tide. He brushed aside his familiar disconcerting thoughts, instead concentrating on keeping his breathing as even as he could while racing against the setting sun. The Whomping Willow loomed ominously in the distance, growing closer with each hurried footfall.
*-----*-----*
Chapter 2
Peter awoke early the next morning. He got up and began to dress as quietly as he could, cautious not to stir the other boys in Gryffindor Tower. As he finished clasping his robes he glanced over to the bed left of his; on the floor lay a finished crossword puzzle and an empty box of mints.
Peter knew that this must mean Sirius had been up all night, ruminating over their earlier conversation about Remus. Peter felt lucky that he never had any problems getting to sleep; he was one of those people who could sleep anytime and anywhere if he wanted. Sirius and James occasionally teased him about it when he blearily roused after many attempts at waking him for their late-night hijinks-“What did you do, down the Draught of Living Death? Get up, you arse!”-but secretly he was thankful for this ability. He imagined it could be useful one day. Possibly this also helped explain why he had never been able to avoid sleeping all the way through Professor Binn’s classes, no matter how hard he fought to stay awake.
Peter spent a lot of time observing his friends and their idiosyncrasies. That’s how he knew what Sirius’ completed crossword and empty box of Nippy Nackledirk’s Mints meant. Sirius could bottle up what he was feeling so completely that no one would ever guess anything was wrong. He would say snarky things to the Slytherins, plan elaborate pranks during classes, and laugh and joke with his friends as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His sleepless nights were the only indication that there was trouble simmering beneath the surface.
Peter knew that James and Remus handled their problems in slightly different ways. James was rarely perturbed; Peter remembered he snuck off at midnight to the broomsheds and went flying on the rare occasions when something was worrying him. Then again, this could just be because James had a penchant for illegal risk-taking, and have much less to do with any emotional turmoil.
Remus, at least to Peter, was less obvious when something bothered him; his usual cheerful disposition never faltered. Sometimes, though, like yesterday, he looked paler than usual and seemed to thrum with nervous energy. Peter noted that before his absences he would always bury himself in arcane texts; not, of course, that this was particularly unusual for Remus-but Peter thought it was unusual that such an innocuous activity would leave him especially drained and tired. Like Sirius and his sleepless nights, Peter thought that Remus exhausted himself brooding over his troubles.
He didn’t notice nearly as much about the other two Gryffindor second-year boys. The only times they really saw each other outside of classes was in their dormitories, but since the marauders were often busy causing mayhem in other parts of the castle they never interacted much. Peter had never felt like getting to know them better; they were quieter and smaller than James and Sirius, and not nearly as popular or fun. So Peter kept close to the marauders and watched silently.
It was early on a Friday morning so the common room was empty as Peter descended the stairs. Clutching a bag in his right hand, he sat down in a large armchair next to the fireplace and settled down. It was the quiet before daybreak; pale, feeble streaks of color were unfurling across the patch of grey sky that was visible from his perch near the large window in the common room. After gazing at the dawn for a few moments, Peter reached down into his bag and pulled out his sketchpad and his set of Artists’ Illustrious Illustrations pencils.
His set of wizarding artist pencils were Peter’s most prized possession. Illustrious Illustrations pencils weren’t actually all that different from Muggle ones in function. The only distinction was that their colors were charmed never to fade and drawings created with them were resistant to water, fire, and other destructive substances. Once a sketch was completed, Peter performed the Animation charm on it so that the picture would move. It had taken Peter the better part of a month to perfect the charm, and he had ruined a number of drawings in the process. He didn’t like stationary drawings nearly as much as ones that moved, so he tenaciously worked it out on his own. He learned that the trick with the charm is to focus on all the emotions and personality he’d envisioned while creating the drawing, manifesting his vision and bringing it to life.
This was Peter’s secret passion, the one thing neither James nor Sirius nor Remus could ever hope to best him at. James was, by common consent, a Quidditch God. Remus was clever, and sly when he wanted to be, and obviously a future candidate for Head Boy. And Sirius… well, what wasn’t Sirius good at, really? Peter was simultaneously torn between bitterness that his talent was utterly useless at Hogwarts, and secret pride that he had skills his friends didn’t. Even if his skills weren’t as impressive or useful as theirs, it was his, and his alone. He intended to keep it that way.
These familiar feelings of jealousy and resentment fell away as Peter began to draw. Firmly gripping a drawing pencil in his hand and making the first markings on the blank paper in his lap, his dark thoughts temporarily ceased while his mind instead focused on the image developing before him.
Peter had promised his mum that he’d draw pictures of Hogwarts for her. He hadn’t told his friends this, but while his father was a full-fledged wizard, his mum was practically a squib. Since she hadn’t attended Hogwarts she was curious about all sorts of things-what the grounds, rooms in the castle, and his professors looked like. Peter had been more than happy to oblige her and lost himself in sketches of Hogwarts and his friends. He drew a picture of James on the Quidditch pitch with a dreamy look on his face, glasses flashing in the midday sun. He sketched a humorous one of Remus and Sirius sitting together in the library; Remus was reading, while Sirius prodded him occasionally and flashed coquettish grins at a sixth year Hufflepuff girl perusing a nearby bookshelf.
He had just started on a picture of the Whomping Willow, which he thought would be fun to animate, when a group of seventh year early risers trooped down from the girls’ dormitories. Hastily stashing his sketchpad and pencils in his bag, Peter returned to his room to see if James and Sirius were ready to head off to breakfast.
*-----*-----*
Remus lay prostrate on the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack, gasping in shallow, labored breaths. The last of his bones were melding and crunching into place, his joints shifting themselves into his human skeletal structure. Remus always had to avert his eyes as the wolf’s inverted joints in his hind legs shot forward to turn into the protruding form of human kneecaps. While the grinding of bones and joints in itself didn’t hurt, the niggling feeling that it should was what bothered him the most. He found it easier to screw up his face and wait for the movements of bones reshaping themselves and internal organs squishing into place to cease.
While he never witnessed his wolfish snout shorten into a regular human nose, or saw his ears regain their fleshy tones, Remus could always tell when it happened because he found the distinct lack of sensory input disconcerting. His mind always panicked when his human senses replaced those of the wolf’s-it always felt as though someone had turned off the light in a room, rendering him sightless. Human senses simply couldn’t compare to a wolf’s, and being blind to his surroundings sent him reeling.
The last thing Remus remembered from his transformation back to human form was the itch of his fur as it disappeared, leaving only pale flesh behind. Although his body was bleeding and broken, the self-inflicted wounds didn’t bother him as much as the insatiable itch on every inch of skin. It was always like this after transforming back-he was conscious long enough to acknowledge the itchy, creeping discomfort of fur melting like wax into skin before his exhausted mind slipped into oblivion.
Only when Madam Pomfrey woke him later in the infirmary would the real pain set in.
*-----*-----*
“Go away,” Sirius groaned, burrowing under the blankets in an attempt to escape Peter’s enthusiastic shaking.
“It’s time for breakfast! Up, up!” Peter chirped happily, jerking the blankets off Sirius entirely. “Mmmm, do you know, I’m in the mood for some pancakes today, what with that awful Transfiguration exam. I wish I was wherever Remus is so I wouldn’t have to take it.”
At hearing Remus’ name Sirius sat up, blinking at the over-bright sunlight flooding the dormitory.
“When don’t you feel like pancakes, Peter?” James snorted, grabbing his toothbrush and comb. “Besides, that Transfiguration exam won’t be too bad. We studied for it yesterday. You’ll be fine.” James finished gathering his toiletries and made to head off for the bathroom.
“Don’t see why you even bother with a comb, Jamesikins,” Sirius teased, trying to take his mind off what had kept him up half the night. “Your hair is a lost cause. Utterly hopeless.”
James threw a pillow at him, but Sirius leapt off his bed and sidestepped it easily. Grinning like a madman, Sirius tackled James and mussed his hair even more. “Aww, don’t worry Jamie, Evans probably thinks you’re cute anyway, haha!”
James made a horrified face and shoved Sirius off him. “Ack! Evans? I hope not! Merlin’s beard, I’ve never met a more annoying girl! Do you see the way she sucks up to McGonagall in class? She’ll be insufferable today!” James stalked off towards the bathroom, leaving Sirius and Peter grinning at his back as he mimicked a high, girlish voice gushing, “Look at me, look at how I turned this thimble into a fluffy kitten, Professor McGonagall, I loooooooove you….”
Sirius, now fully awake, began to dress silently, his brain furiously trying not to think how worried he was about Remus. After a few moments he realized that Peter was staring at him. Sirus paused and quirked an eyebrow. “What’s the matter?”
Peter, flushing slightly at having been caught staring, shrugged and made to turn away, but seemed to think better of it and instead asked, “Sirius, are you feeling… all right?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Sirius replied absently, turning back to search for his Gryffindor tie.
“I noticed you didn’t sleep much last night, that’s all,” Peter said. Sirius froze; Peter couldn’t possibly know what he’d been thinking about, could he? Just as this stomach-turning thought entered Sirius' head, Peter continued, “I know you were thinking about Remus.”
Sirius blanched in horror, breath catching in his throat. Was it that obvious he felt differently about Remus? Feeling lightheaded, as though he'd just choked down too much of Ogden's Firewhisky in one go, Sirius slowly turned to look back at Peter. Peter, seeing Sirius’ stricken look, rushed to say, “I mean, we’re all wondering about what’s going on with him, but you shouldn’t worry… we’ll figure it out.”
Mentally chiding himself for panicking, Sirius exhaled and grinned at Peter, who looked relieved to see Sirius acting normally again. “I know. Now, let’s go and see what’s taking James so long. Probably got distracted, thinking about Evans,” quipped Sirius, giving Peter a cheeky wink. Peter laughed, and Sirius felt the color return to his face. Grabbing his tie, Sirius went off with Peter to find James and drag him down to breakfast.
*-----*-----*
“How are you feeling, dear?”
Remus tried to sit up, but found the pain lacing through his body unbearable, and instead lay gingerly back down on the infirmary bed. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw swirls of dust shimmering in the rays of sunlight that poured through the nearby window. It’s over, he thought, glad that the sun always followed the moon, conquering it time and time again. It’s over.
“Mr. Lupin? Are you feeling all right?”
Remus belatedly realized that Madam Pomfrey was standing over him with a concerned expression on her face and a dark green bottle in her hand.
“All right,” croaked Remus, grimacing at how hoarse his voice was after the full moon.
Madam Pomfrey’s expression softened as she poured some of the green bottle’s contents into a glass and handed it to Remus. “Here, Mr. Lupin, drink all of this.”
Remus glanced dubiously at the foul-smelling liquid, but drank it all in one go anyway. Coughing weakly, he asked, “What’s it for?”
“It seems last night’s transformation was harsher on your body than usual. You sustained a large number of internal injuries.” Looking sympathetically at Remus, she busied herself with fluffing his pillows. “I’ve already healed the worst of them, but this will help stop any residual internal bleeding.”
Remus nodded, wishing she wouldn’t look at him like that. He was weak now, but by dinner he would be well enough to join his classmates. He felt bad enough as it was-he didn’t want her anxiety weighing on his conscience, too.
“I’m afraid you have quite a gash on your back as well, Mr. Lupin. It’s healed, but the cut was too severe to prevent it from scarring. It was so deep it nearly went to your spinal cord, which would have been a much more serious injury, really. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it from leaving a mark.”
“It’s all right,” said Remus, by now accustomed to hearing these accounts of his injuries. Yawning, he closed his eyes, trying to find a position that didn’t further aggravate the throbbing of his muscles.
“I’ll wake you in a few hours, when the pain should be nearly gone,” said Madam Pomfrey soothingly, watching Remus’ chest begin to rise and fall in the pattern of sleep.
Eyes welling with tears, Madam Pomfrey turned to find Albus Dumbledore standing a few feet from the infirmary door. Sniffing a little, Madam Pomfrey asked, “Can I help you with anything, Headmaster?”
Dumbledore smiled at her kindly, taking a few steps nearer to where she stood by Remus’ bed. “Mr. Lupin is quite the young man. I find that Hogwarts is just the place for those who possess such strength and bravery."
Madam Pomfrey looked into Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes and nodded briskly, trying to resume her usual no-nonsense demeanor. “Mr. Lupin is indeed the quintessential Gryffindor.”
“That he is, Poppy. I imagine he would make a fine prefect in a few years.”
Remus smiled softly into his pillow, mind swimming hazily in the place between sleep and consciousness.
*-----*-----*
Peter sighed happily as he sank into his seat at the Gryffindor table, ravenous after the stressful exam earlier.
“I’m having roast tonight,” said James, sliding in the seat next to Peter while Sirius placed himself across from them. “I don’t feel like eating chicken after that debacle in Transfiguration. What on earth that Hufflepuff was thinking…”
Peter chuckled, glad that for once he wasn’t the one who messed up in McGonagall’s class.
“You shouldn’t make fun of other students, Potter!” said Lily sharply, who was sitting a few places away from them, apparently waiting for her giggly entourage to join her. “It isn’t very sporting of you, you know.”
James glared at her, then turned around and rolled his eyes at Sirius and Peter, who exchanged amused glances at the usual repartee between the two. “I wasn’t making fun Evans, I was just saying I didn’t feel like eating chicken, not that it’s any of your business.”
Lily snorted and opened her mouth to retort, but just then her friend Eliza plunked down in the seat beside her. Giving James one last disdainful sniff, Lily turned away and began chatting with her friend.
“How can anyone be so interfering?” James said darkly, glaring at the back of Lily’s head. “Honestly.”
Sirius grinned at him, leaning across the table and speaking into his ear, “Cute though, isn’t she? All those long locks of auburn hair and those bright green eyes…”
“Oh, come off it Sirius,” snapped James, turning pink either from embarrassment or rage, Peter couldn’t tell. “Are you telling me you fancy her?”
Grinning even more widely, Sirius said in an awful, saccharine voice, “No, but I think I know someone who does-”
Sirius stopped mid-sentence, eyes fixed on something behind them, his own cheeks beginning to flush. James and Peter both turned around in their seats, wondering what had caused Sirius to halt so abruptly. It took them both a moment to notice that Remus had entered the Great Hall, and was walking slowly towards them.
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