Overchay with Me, Chapter 6
Set after my Waiting a Long Time Quadrilogy.
Chapter One: Life in My Closet
Chapter Two: Let's Go, Just You and Me
Chapter Three: Pretend You Never Even Knew Me
Chapter Four: Guilt from the Necks You Bite Into
Chapter Five: You Can See the Darkest Side of Me
Chapter Six: Nobody Gives a Damn About Me
-A particularly depressing November-
There were still remnants of the moon in the sky when the sun started to rise. Sirius let out a low whistle as he appreciated the true beauty of the orange and lavender coming together in perfect correlation. The little white bulb appeared angry with the beautiful colors; it chose to stay over in a far corner of the sky, hidden behind some pale blue. It would eventually disappear, as the orange bulb that hid behind the more vibrant of colors would slowly rise out of its current oblivion, but for now the moon was still present, and that was enough.
Sirius allowed himself to look down the hill, over to the Whomping Willow, where surely his friend was being dragged to the castle right now. Dear god, what happened down there last night? Did he really want to know?
Starting to feel nauseous, Sirius decided that his best bet was to go back to his dormitory and get some rest. Wandering around all night, wondering if something horrible, a death, was going to occur because of your actions was not a pleasant way to spend an evening, and it had certainly brought him to exhaustion. He was fairly certain any one of his main limbs could fall off, and he would not notice it (though if it were one of his legs, the trouble with walking might later clue him in).
But he didn’t go to his room, even as he told himself that would be best. He continued walking, back and forth along the grounds until he was certain he’d seen them a hundred times. His final time passing the lake, he briefly envisioned throwing himself in there; at first he’d fight to keep himself under water, and then, once his oxygen was gone, he’d fight to go back to the surface, but oh, it would be too late. He could see him now, floating, lifeless and blue-faced on the water’s surface later on today. Some first year would be horrified, but James would surely comfort them, tell them that he was a villain, and better off dead.
Death had never been so appealing to Sirius in his seventeen years on the earth than in that moment, and as he stared at his reflection in the surface, he felt everything he knew fall down around him. He had never been so much of a fuck-up in his entire life. He’d just made the most horrible decision in the history of horrible decisions.
But the really funny part, at least to Sirius, was, really, he hadn’t a clue why he did what he did.
---
When Remus awoke in the Hospital Wing, he could tell that this time was different. He could feel it in his bones. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. Something had gone horribly wrong in his transformation the night before; he was certain to be greeted by Dumbledore, looking grim.
“I am going to have to ask you to leave now, Mr. Lupin,” he’d say.
And Remus would agree; he’d sit up, get out of bed, go pack his things and leave through Floo or something. He wouldn’t contest; he wouldn’t even ask what happened. Honestly, he didn’t want to know.
But the first sign of difficulty with Remus’s plan came, of course, when he tried to sit up. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even move his arm. Then he tried to move his feet. That didn’t work either.
Remus probably would’ve wallowed in being an invalid a bit longer, if something even more distressing hadn’t crossed his mind. Not a single one of his friends was at his bedside. Not that he was greedy or demanding, not that he insisted that his friends spend their mornings after the full moon waiting for him to awake. He’d never once asked them to. It was just something they did own their own. The fact that none of them were present terrified him to his core.
He shut his eyes and tried to remember, tried to make himself remember anything at all. He didn’t have any visions or anything, he’d never been able to remember something through the wolf’s eyes, but he did recall the feelings. Feelings so strong, he clenched onto his sheets as they coursed through him.
Fear. Anger. Hunger…
What did I do? Remus thought, horrified. What did I do?
He looked to his left.
A bed with the curtains shut around it.
He looked to his right.
Another bed, more curtains pulled.
I hurt those people, he thought. I just know I did. There’re never any other patients in here. If any, one, but never two.
Remus tried to speak then, to call for Madam Pomfrey, to demand what happened, but realized that he couldn’t open his mouth. It wasn’t wired shut, he just felt like his brain couldn’t get through to bully around his muscles anymore. At least he wasn’t brain dead.
But God was he tired.
He refused to let himself sleep, though. He sat in his bed and stared at the ceiling for what must’ve been ages, just dwelling on everything that could’ve went wrong.
Peter could’ve accidentally changed back, and, being so frightened, couldn’t concentrate enough to morph again. Very likely. Was Peter one of the poor people in his neighboring hospital beds?
Then, seeing Peter in distress, James could’ve, no, he would’ve, come to his aide. James was just that kind of person. But was he dumb enough to change back into a person around the wolf? Maybe, if he thought that was the only way to get to Peter.
But what about Sirius? The thought of doing anything bad to him, the thought of hurting him in any way, shape or form, was the most terrifying of all scenarios for Remus. He needed Sirius. Sirius was the one who made him being a werewolf most bearable. The lonely mornings after, Remus would always remember a warm hug, the type of tight embrace that no one else had ever given Remus, and a kiss on the forehead that always made him feel better. The first few times, he would consent that he could’ve imagined Sirius’s affection on the mornings after, but it happened every time now, and no one could argue that it was a falsehood of his imagination now. It would’ve been terrible irony if the wolf hurt Sirius.
Wait, Remus thought.
He didn’t remember it this morning. Sirius hadn’t been there this morning.
He didn’t even remember Pomfrey coming to get him; he could usually remember fragments of that.
Well, what the hell did that mean?
“Remus, you awake? I hear you shifting.”
It was coming from the bed to Remus’s left. It was James.
“Did I hurt you?” Remus found himself miraculously able to speak, though his voice was hoarse.
“Not too bad,” James said, pulling his curtain back. Remus could barely contain his gasp. James was practically covered in bandages, head to foot, and there was one particularly nasty gash on his forehead that was not covered and which Remus would swear showed part of the muscles beneath his skin. If Pomfrey left that uncovered, Remus wondered, what the hell did she hide?
“James,” Remus said, “you look awful.”
“That’s a nice thing to say,” James said, taking off his glasses and grabbing his wand off the nightstand next to his bed. Swinging his legs over the rails on the side, he muttered an incantation and Remus watched as the cracked spectacles magically mended. “There we go,” James said, putting them back on before blinking three times at Remus, his brown eyes big and shiny once more.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Remus said. He made to sit up, but grimaced and grabbed at his abdomen.
“Don’t hurt yourself!” James said, jumping out of his bed and going to his friend’s side.
“Aren’t you agile?” Remus chuckled, but placed his head on his pillow, truly realizing in just how much pain he was.
“Well, it’s a quidditch ability,” James boasted. “You need to play.”
“Wolves by default are very lithe creatures.” Remus replied using the same line as he usually did, but then paused and frowned. “Who’s in the other bed, James? What happened last night?”
“The guy’s full of questions.” James chuckled, but looked uneasy. “Severus is in the other bed.”
“Oh,” Remus said, confounded as to how Severus Snape fit into this story in any way whatsoever. “Is he…Does what happened have something to do with him?”
“I’d say.” James nodded.
“Well?” Remus asked.
“Well?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?”
“It---It wasn’t all that bad.”
“You were always a horrible liar, James. Tell me what happened.”
“It was just an accident; it’s not your fault at all. And if I ever hear you say it was, I’ll personally beat you up.”
“Did I bite you?”
“Wha---No! Of course you didn’t bite me!”
“Did I bite Severus?”
“No, you didn’t bite Severus!”
“Did I bite Pete---”
“Merlin, Remus, you didn’t bite anyone!”
Remus nodded at James’s agitation and swallowed a lump of saliva that’d been circulating in his mouth. He needed to calm down.
“So Sirius is all right?” he finally asked.
But James did not agree with Remus as instantly as he had before when it came to that question. He looked down at the ground instead and shrugged. Remus closed his eyes.
“I killed him, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t kill Sirius, Remus. He’s perfectly fine.” James’s tone was soft; not loud and energetic as it had been before. When Remus opened his eyes and met his friend’s, they looked huge, and empathetic.
“Where are Peter and Sirius now?”
“Peter’s safe in the dorm. He didn’t even go down there last night. And Sirius---Well, he ran away after it all happened.”
“What happened?”
“I---I wasn’t there when it all happened.” James picked at cut on his elbow. “But Peter was, and he said Sirius came into the common room looking all pale, and Peter said, ‘What’s wrong?’ and Sirius said, all mummy-like and sitting on the common room couch, ‘I think Snivellus is in trouble.’ Peter then ran and got me and told me what Sirius told him, and then I ran out the Shack, because, let’s face it, I have awful judgment and refused to get a professional involved, as McGonagall just lectured me for over an hour about before you got up.
And that’s what happened.” James finished, nodding.
“I believe you left out the part where you tell me what happened,” Remus groaned, wishing that back in first year he hadn’t refused to take pain killing potions to get himself adapted to the pain because Pomfrey had made it common practice not to distribute any to him, but this time was so much worse.
“Oh. I, um, well, I did, didn’t I?”
“Let’s break it down. Why did you run out to the Shack?”
“Because I knew Severus was going to go down there to see you.”
“What?” Remus’s eyes snapped open. James put his hand over Remus’s and squeezed.
“Sirius told him to go down there, mate. He was trying to kill the bastard, and he was going to make you do it.” James said that last part in a spit, and Remus squeezed James’s hand back.
“I---What the hell? Why would Sirius do that?” Remus clung to James’s hand tighter, a death-grip almost, and he was begging for the answers. Surely there was a logical, albeit not too obvious, reason.
“I dunno,” James said, sounding angrier than Remus had ever heard him. “But he’s not my friend anymore.” He released himself from Remus’s grip then, and went back to his bed. He crawled over the side railing and reached for the curtain.
Remus had never wanted to cry so much in his life. He wasn’t a crying type, by any means, but there really seemed no other option. He…Didn’t Sirius love him? He could hear it over and over in his head, Sirius saying that he loved him. Before bed, in the hallway, written in messy notes exchanged during History of Magic…Didn’t any of that mean anything at all?
“He---Did you get to ask him what he did? Why he did that?” he called to James, who was still wrestling with his curtains.
“Peter said he said that he didn’t know why he did it.”
“Oh.”
“I know why, though.”
“Why?” Remus asked, hoping for an answer that included something about Sirius caring about him, something about all of it not being a sham.
“Because at the end of the day, he’s still a fucking Black.”
James then yanked his curtains shut.
---
Chapter One: Life in My Closet
Chapter Two: Let's Go, Just You and Me
Chapter Three: Pretend You Never Even Knew Me
Chapter Four: Guilt from the Necks You Bite Into
Chapter Five: You Can See the Darkest Side of Me
Chapter Six: Nobody Gives a Damn About Me
-A particularly depressing November-
There were still remnants of the moon in the sky when the sun started to rise. Sirius let out a low whistle as he appreciated the true beauty of the orange and lavender coming together in perfect correlation. The little white bulb appeared angry with the beautiful colors; it chose to stay over in a far corner of the sky, hidden behind some pale blue. It would eventually disappear, as the orange bulb that hid behind the more vibrant of colors would slowly rise out of its current oblivion, but for now the moon was still present, and that was enough.
Sirius allowed himself to look down the hill, over to the Whomping Willow, where surely his friend was being dragged to the castle right now. Dear god, what happened down there last night? Did he really want to know?
Starting to feel nauseous, Sirius decided that his best bet was to go back to his dormitory and get some rest. Wandering around all night, wondering if something horrible, a death, was going to occur because of your actions was not a pleasant way to spend an evening, and it had certainly brought him to exhaustion. He was fairly certain any one of his main limbs could fall off, and he would not notice it (though if it were one of his legs, the trouble with walking might later clue him in).
But he didn’t go to his room, even as he told himself that would be best. He continued walking, back and forth along the grounds until he was certain he’d seen them a hundred times. His final time passing the lake, he briefly envisioned throwing himself in there; at first he’d fight to keep himself under water, and then, once his oxygen was gone, he’d fight to go back to the surface, but oh, it would be too late. He could see him now, floating, lifeless and blue-faced on the water’s surface later on today. Some first year would be horrified, but James would surely comfort them, tell them that he was a villain, and better off dead.
Death had never been so appealing to Sirius in his seventeen years on the earth than in that moment, and as he stared at his reflection in the surface, he felt everything he knew fall down around him. He had never been so much of a fuck-up in his entire life. He’d just made the most horrible decision in the history of horrible decisions.
But the really funny part, at least to Sirius, was, really, he hadn’t a clue why he did what he did.
---
When Remus awoke in the Hospital Wing, he could tell that this time was different. He could feel it in his bones. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. Something had gone horribly wrong in his transformation the night before; he was certain to be greeted by Dumbledore, looking grim.
“I am going to have to ask you to leave now, Mr. Lupin,” he’d say.
And Remus would agree; he’d sit up, get out of bed, go pack his things and leave through Floo or something. He wouldn’t contest; he wouldn’t even ask what happened. Honestly, he didn’t want to know.
But the first sign of difficulty with Remus’s plan came, of course, when he tried to sit up. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even move his arm. Then he tried to move his feet. That didn’t work either.
Remus probably would’ve wallowed in being an invalid a bit longer, if something even more distressing hadn’t crossed his mind. Not a single one of his friends was at his bedside. Not that he was greedy or demanding, not that he insisted that his friends spend their mornings after the full moon waiting for him to awake. He’d never once asked them to. It was just something they did own their own. The fact that none of them were present terrified him to his core.
He shut his eyes and tried to remember, tried to make himself remember anything at all. He didn’t have any visions or anything, he’d never been able to remember something through the wolf’s eyes, but he did recall the feelings. Feelings so strong, he clenched onto his sheets as they coursed through him.
Fear. Anger. Hunger…
What did I do? Remus thought, horrified. What did I do?
He looked to his left.
A bed with the curtains shut around it.
He looked to his right.
Another bed, more curtains pulled.
I hurt those people, he thought. I just know I did. There’re never any other patients in here. If any, one, but never two.
Remus tried to speak then, to call for Madam Pomfrey, to demand what happened, but realized that he couldn’t open his mouth. It wasn’t wired shut, he just felt like his brain couldn’t get through to bully around his muscles anymore. At least he wasn’t brain dead.
But God was he tired.
He refused to let himself sleep, though. He sat in his bed and stared at the ceiling for what must’ve been ages, just dwelling on everything that could’ve went wrong.
Peter could’ve accidentally changed back, and, being so frightened, couldn’t concentrate enough to morph again. Very likely. Was Peter one of the poor people in his neighboring hospital beds?
Then, seeing Peter in distress, James could’ve, no, he would’ve, come to his aide. James was just that kind of person. But was he dumb enough to change back into a person around the wolf? Maybe, if he thought that was the only way to get to Peter.
But what about Sirius? The thought of doing anything bad to him, the thought of hurting him in any way, shape or form, was the most terrifying of all scenarios for Remus. He needed Sirius. Sirius was the one who made him being a werewolf most bearable. The lonely mornings after, Remus would always remember a warm hug, the type of tight embrace that no one else had ever given Remus, and a kiss on the forehead that always made him feel better. The first few times, he would consent that he could’ve imagined Sirius’s affection on the mornings after, but it happened every time now, and no one could argue that it was a falsehood of his imagination now. It would’ve been terrible irony if the wolf hurt Sirius.
Wait, Remus thought.
He didn’t remember it this morning. Sirius hadn’t been there this morning.
He didn’t even remember Pomfrey coming to get him; he could usually remember fragments of that.
Well, what the hell did that mean?
“Remus, you awake? I hear you shifting.”
It was coming from the bed to Remus’s left. It was James.
“Did I hurt you?” Remus found himself miraculously able to speak, though his voice was hoarse.
“Not too bad,” James said, pulling his curtain back. Remus could barely contain his gasp. James was practically covered in bandages, head to foot, and there was one particularly nasty gash on his forehead that was not covered and which Remus would swear showed part of the muscles beneath his skin. If Pomfrey left that uncovered, Remus wondered, what the hell did she hide?
“James,” Remus said, “you look awful.”
“That’s a nice thing to say,” James said, taking off his glasses and grabbing his wand off the nightstand next to his bed. Swinging his legs over the rails on the side, he muttered an incantation and Remus watched as the cracked spectacles magically mended. “There we go,” James said, putting them back on before blinking three times at Remus, his brown eyes big and shiny once more.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Remus said. He made to sit up, but grimaced and grabbed at his abdomen.
“Don’t hurt yourself!” James said, jumping out of his bed and going to his friend’s side.
“Aren’t you agile?” Remus chuckled, but placed his head on his pillow, truly realizing in just how much pain he was.
“Well, it’s a quidditch ability,” James boasted. “You need to play.”
“Wolves by default are very lithe creatures.” Remus replied using the same line as he usually did, but then paused and frowned. “Who’s in the other bed, James? What happened last night?”
“The guy’s full of questions.” James chuckled, but looked uneasy. “Severus is in the other bed.”
“Oh,” Remus said, confounded as to how Severus Snape fit into this story in any way whatsoever. “Is he…Does what happened have something to do with him?”
“I’d say.” James nodded.
“Well?” Remus asked.
“Well?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?”
“It---It wasn’t all that bad.”
“You were always a horrible liar, James. Tell me what happened.”
“It was just an accident; it’s not your fault at all. And if I ever hear you say it was, I’ll personally beat you up.”
“Did I bite you?”
“Wha---No! Of course you didn’t bite me!”
“Did I bite Severus?”
“No, you didn’t bite Severus!”
“Did I bite Pete---”
“Merlin, Remus, you didn’t bite anyone!”
Remus nodded at James’s agitation and swallowed a lump of saliva that’d been circulating in his mouth. He needed to calm down.
“So Sirius is all right?” he finally asked.
But James did not agree with Remus as instantly as he had before when it came to that question. He looked down at the ground instead and shrugged. Remus closed his eyes.
“I killed him, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t kill Sirius, Remus. He’s perfectly fine.” James’s tone was soft; not loud and energetic as it had been before. When Remus opened his eyes and met his friend’s, they looked huge, and empathetic.
“Where are Peter and Sirius now?”
“Peter’s safe in the dorm. He didn’t even go down there last night. And Sirius---Well, he ran away after it all happened.”
“What happened?”
“I---I wasn’t there when it all happened.” James picked at cut on his elbow. “But Peter was, and he said Sirius came into the common room looking all pale, and Peter said, ‘What’s wrong?’ and Sirius said, all mummy-like and sitting on the common room couch, ‘I think Snivellus is in trouble.’ Peter then ran and got me and told me what Sirius told him, and then I ran out the Shack, because, let’s face it, I have awful judgment and refused to get a professional involved, as McGonagall just lectured me for over an hour about before you got up.
And that’s what happened.” James finished, nodding.
“I believe you left out the part where you tell me what happened,” Remus groaned, wishing that back in first year he hadn’t refused to take pain killing potions to get himself adapted to the pain because Pomfrey had made it common practice not to distribute any to him, but this time was so much worse.
“Oh. I, um, well, I did, didn’t I?”
“Let’s break it down. Why did you run out to the Shack?”
“Because I knew Severus was going to go down there to see you.”
“What?” Remus’s eyes snapped open. James put his hand over Remus’s and squeezed.
“Sirius told him to go down there, mate. He was trying to kill the bastard, and he was going to make you do it.” James said that last part in a spit, and Remus squeezed James’s hand back.
“I---What the hell? Why would Sirius do that?” Remus clung to James’s hand tighter, a death-grip almost, and he was begging for the answers. Surely there was a logical, albeit not too obvious, reason.
“I dunno,” James said, sounding angrier than Remus had ever heard him. “But he’s not my friend anymore.” He released himself from Remus’s grip then, and went back to his bed. He crawled over the side railing and reached for the curtain.
Remus had never wanted to cry so much in his life. He wasn’t a crying type, by any means, but there really seemed no other option. He…Didn’t Sirius love him? He could hear it over and over in his head, Sirius saying that he loved him. Before bed, in the hallway, written in messy notes exchanged during History of Magic…Didn’t any of that mean anything at all?
“He---Did you get to ask him what he did? Why he did that?” he called to James, who was still wrestling with his curtains.
“Peter said he said that he didn’t know why he did it.”
“Oh.”
“I know why, though.”
“Why?” Remus asked, hoping for an answer that included something about Sirius caring about him, something about all of it not being a sham.
“Because at the end of the day, he’s still a fucking Black.”
James then yanked his curtains shut.
---