Fic: Little We Could Say, for glass_icarus
Title: Little We Could Say
Author: BatmanBoxers
Recipient: glass_icarus
Rating: PG-13
Word Count:3,000
Summary: He thinks he may never escape them long enough for the journey to pass, but the weight of the previous moon still weighs greatly on his marked shoulders and before he knows it, Remus has slipped into unconsciousness.
Author's notes: This was written for the prompt I stood very still, and looked up,/and tried to be empty of words. Many thanks to my lovely wonderful betas sea_shtick & wandersfound who helped me out so much it was unreal. I hope you have a lovely festive period glass_icarus ♥
Remus pauses, the slice of toast halfway to his mouth, and watches the owl on the horizon. He blinks as it begins to descend and soars closer to his house. When it flies in through the kitchen window and deposits the letter in his laundry basket, Remus begins to feel panicked. He offers the bird the rest of his breakfast and bends to retrieve its delivery. The parchment is thick in his hands and he is surprised by its texture. It has been years of neatly ruled, dazzling white paper for Remus, and he finds his fingers running across the sheets speculatively.
His radio spews out odious pop music as he settles back into the rickety kitchen chair and stares at the letter. He’s almost too afraid to open it, too tense to read the neat lines of his address, or acknowledge that he recognises the handwriting. He has been away from the Wizarding world for almost a decade now and the old ways terrify him. But the Sorting Hat didn’t make him a Gryffindor for nothing and he steels himself, before breaking the wax seal and unfolding his letter.
Albus Dumbledore is precise and to the point as his words create sharp, shallow cuts across Remus’s body. He raises his gaze to the window and almost expects the face of a madman to be staring in at him through the floral patterned curtains. He briefly considers denying the old wizard his request; refusing to take up the post he has been offered. He can already tell it will be terribly difficult. To walk those hallowed halls again, to be followed by the ghosts of his friends, it doesn’t bear thinking and Remus is tempted, so tempted to say no, that it curls his fingers into fists in defiance.
But Remus is sadly a sentimental man, and the first thought of Harry Potter sends him to his drawer. His scarred fingers close over a cheap biro and he scribbles a reply on the parchment, handing it back to the owl that has been drinking the tea from his abandoned mug. He watches as it flies off and wonders if he has made a terrible mistake.
***
The train looms in front of him oppressively, its clean, red gleam bearing down on him almost in accusation. Remus feels like he is causing the Hogwarts Express to deteriorate simply by standing beside it in all his shambolic finery. He reaffirms his grip on his shabby suitcase and steps aboard. The little old witch who serves sweets and cakes smiles at him kindly and remarks on how he’s grown. Remus wonders if she would have remembered him without the scars.
After a few pleasantries, Remus makes his way down the train to an abandoned carriage. He pushes the door open quietly and steps inside, thankful that he was mindful enough to turn up early. He shoves the suitcase on the rack above him and sits down. It is a cold September morning and he shivers inside his thin, flimsy, threadbare suit. Already he wants to flee. He should have bought a paper with him, he thinks, something inane and Muggle to draw his mind away from the crackle of energy the train gives off. It makes him feel like he is being observed that this ghost of magic past is watching him through hooded eyes.
He looks out of the window and reflects over his friends. He wonders if Harry will look like his father, all wild and unruly and mischievous. It makes him both terrified and curious. Which of his parents traits will Harry possess, he ponders - will he be brave and beautiful and strong like his mother? Carefree and defiant and recklessly loyal like his father? Remus suddenly hopes he can look at the boy without running for the hills.
The past snaps at his heels painfully. His mind is abuzz with voices, as it so often is when he thinks back to those days. The war had filled him full of beliefs and feelings. He had become dizzy from them, heady and tired and they had characterised him from such a young, tender age. Remus feels weary and, not for the first time, he wishes there were some way to empty his head of these heavy memories. He thinks he may never escape them long enough for the journey to pass but the weight of the previous moon still weighs greatly on his marked shoulders and before he knows it, Remus has slipped into unconsciousness. If he dreams of fields and a wild dog, he says nothing.
***
Remus feels it before he sees it, the thick, stagnant chill that is filling the train quickly. He has often imagined, tortured himself, with how they would seem, their black hearts sucking the life from you. He finds he is not pleased with this new knowledge. In fact, he feels a pang of something close to pity when he thinks of - but no, he cannot let his mind wander down that road. Throwing his cloak off he stands, gaze sweeping over the panicked children around him. Oh, he thinks, he has his mother’s eyes, before he sends a quick Patronus charm hurtling towards the black, robed figure in the doorway. Remus imagines he meets the creature’s eyes, its soulless, terrible gaze, before the thing is flung back by the large silver dog.
“Here,” he tells the boy, James and Lily’s son, Harry, too afraid to meet his gaze, “Have some chocolate, it’ll help.”
Harry takes the bar from him almost apprehensively, nervously, and Remus can only curse the heavens silently, angry at how fate has played out, before he slips from the carriage. There is noise all around him, noise and fear and the too real scent of panic, and he has to take a moment to gather his thoughts, to suck deep breaths into his lungs.
***
His first classes go better than he would have thought. The children seem to like him; appear to appreciate his style of teaching. He thinks that perhaps he is a breath of fresh air from his predecessors. He just hopes the position’s curse will leave him well alone. He settles into the school, treating everyone pleasantly and amiably. Minerva McGonagall still smiles at him kindly from time to time. And for a while, Remus thinks he has found his place.
However, he is still haunted by something other than the castle ghosts. He’s still filled with an incredible amount of thought, so much so that it fills the brim of his skull and falls on scraps of parchment every so often. He forgets how many times a name has been scribbled out of existence after the first week. His pen seems to have a mind of its own, channelling his subconscious when his thoughts wander. It’s being in the school, he believes, surrounded by all the things he used to know, that has him almost driven mad by the memory of things lost.
Severus Snape makes it difficult for him, wheedling and cutting his way under Remus’s defences, leaving poison everywhere he moves. The lycanthrope isn’t surprised; he had known this kind of treatment to be coming. He had not expected anything more from the sharp eyed man. Often, Remus doesn’t blame him for the bitter residue that slips from his sly tongue. Remus feels it too. He supposes he should be thankful for him, in a way; the wolfsbane potion has become a godsend. And if sometimes Remus misses the way being the wolf would wipe his mind, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
***
When Sirius finds his way into the castle, Remus feels the walls begin to close in on him. He tells himself that his heart’s acceleration is more fear than a strange anticipation. He hates the way a little voice (that sounds a lot like James) calls him a liar. He helps the other professors search the castle, his skin crawling at every flicker in a shadow. He doesn’t know what he wants more, Sirius to be found or - not. He feels Severus’s eyes on his back as he passes some of the more hidden passageways and his gaze follows the werewolf until he rounds a corner.
Breathing deeply, Remus tries to get the thrill of panic surging through his veins under control. He can’t help but see Sirius’s face in the reflection of the trophy glass, or in the darkness of a disused classroom. He has spent most of his life jumping at shadows but this feels different. He can almost feel the fog of Sirius’s breath on the back of his neck. He shudders slowly and turns around, as though he might catch the ghost in the act.
There is no one there.
***
The full moon comes upon the heels of the intrusion, and despite the wolfsbane potion, Remus still feels as though he’s been trampled by a wild herd of Hippogriffs. He does nothing for the whole morning but lay brokenly upon the small bed in the Shrieking Shack. He and Severus had agreed that in the early stages of the potion, he was to stay where the school was protected. The tree was their best form of precaution. Sadly, the wolf had caught the scent of its old friend during the night and it made his canine brain howl with dissatisfaction. It had gone twelve years, twelve whole, hateful years, without its playmate and it had been angry. He wonders briefly what he should tell Severus in his report. Slowly, Remus lifts his head slightly to look at the new scratches in the Shack walls. He finds his head hurts too much to think.
***
When Sirius goes after Ron Weasley, Remus sits by the fire in his rooms and stares into the flames, confusion and denial growing in his world weary bones. He cannot fathom what Sirius would have wanted with Ron. He had heard the others talking though, saying that Sirius may have been confused, gone after the wrong bed, but something strikes Remus as odd. Something just isn’t quite right and it tugs and pulls at his synapses with insistence, cursing him out for being too slow to get it. Logically, he knows that Sirius could have easily been looking for Harry, but why not then kill Ron? Why not massacre the whole dorm to get what he wanted? Remus can’t figure it out and it drives him half-mad.
During the day the light inside the castle laps at his consciousness, easing away his panic, so that he is almost able to breath. But at night the nooks and crannies become dangerous, they become potent with possibilities. Remus feels as though he is walking a tightrope. He wonders where the push will come from next.
Bent over his copy of Frankenstein, Remus tries to put his finger on the elusive feeling fogging his mind. There is something, he thinks, something right in front of him, too close to see the whole picture. He wonders when his mind will release its hold on this thought but he knows, oh how he knows, that Sirius will not leave so easily.
***
Things become quieter in the next few weeks and Remus can’t help but feel that the world is waiting for something. He hears it in the bent trees, the held breath, the anticipation. It makes him feel wiry and distracted; it makes him feel as though his heart is breaking slowly. There is something being carried on the wind, a change that makes him feel anxious. Remus cannot shake the feeling that he is being haunted.
***
Remus lets his anger settle as he stares down at the worn parchment of the Marauders Map. The inky blots of footprints seem to judge him as they drudge around the castle. He watches the feet of Severus Snape pace around the dungeons with mild interest. He observes that he simply hasn’t the energy to feel resentful anymore. Harry, he finds, is back up in his dormitory. He hopes he hadn’t been too hard on the young boy. Remus understands what it’s like to be trapped somewhere, and being forced to stay in the castle must be hard on him. But still, he knows the map, knows the men behind it so well. It makes his chest tug painfully when he thinks of its creation, and to lose Harry because he was sentimental was not an option. Best to be firm, Remus thinks, best to be cruel. He turns back to mark more essays, head aching from the tumultuous wave his mind has become. He wonders if he’ll ever get a respite.
***
Remus’s whole body hurts. He glances up from the examinations he is trying to grade, the words swimming in front of him. The sun will set soon, he can feel it. He hopes this moon will be much kinder than the last. Severus will have prepared the potion for him and this time round, he will try to sleep the moon away.
The Marauders Map is open in front of him and every so often he sends a cursory glance in its direction. He knows not why he’s following Harry’s progress on the thing, perhaps some sort of concern or foresight or premonition. He doesn’t understand but he needs the map there. He had seen the boy make his way to the caretaker’s hut and although it is scholarly duty to reel him back in, he knows what today is, knows how it will upset Hagrid. He is happy enough to let Harry and his friends bring the man some comfort in his hour of need.
He crosses something out on the essay in front of him and prints a comment in heavy red ink. He’s pleasantly surprised by the way his classes have advanced. Remus wonders briefly if Dumbledore will have him back next year he kind of hopes he will. Despite the castle’s ghostlike charms, he has found a home here, a purpose. His life is no longer hiding away in his grandmother’s little cottage, waiting for something. Now he has people to guide.
Rubbing a hand across his temple, Remus lets out a sigh. He glances at his watch. Not long then, he muses, before turning to tidy up his desk. He will come back to the exams tomorrow and battle through. He’s about to fold the Marauders Map up, slip it in the folds of his suitcase, when something catches his eye. Remus feels his blood go cold.
***
Running through the castle, Remus cannot help but hate himself, despise his wretched stupidity so thoroughly. So stupid, he thinks to himself as he puffs his way down the stairs, so stupid to think - and you loved him, you idiot, and you didn’t even defend him. He races past a flock of Ravenclaws dawdling outside the library. He can feel their curious gazes on his back as he moves, hurriedly making his way down and out of the castle.
The air is cold on his face as he hurtles across the grass, the big, great tree in front of him his destination. He had seen two names on the map, two, and everything had almost clicked into place, every little thing that had seemed off about twelve years ago, every clue that Remus could just not get, every single moment that didn’t add up. Remus had been so foolish, so blind, and now he needed proof - now everything he’d lost was waiting for him, beaten and broken but still there.
Remus is already trying to form half-sentences, trying to create an apology, a plea. He knows he is not to be forgiven but still, he has hope, he has something. He quickly disables the Whomping Willow and slips in beneath her bows, taking the stairs to the Shrieking Shack two at a time.
Bursting through the door, Remus feels the crescendo of his guilt so keenly. He looks over at the children, the frightened, bewildered children. He feels he owes something to them and he desperately checks them over, trying to figure out if either of them are uninjured. Ron’s leg is bleeding profusely and Remus knows, knows, he should help. But his gaze falls on the man on the floor and he feels the life leak out of him. He is staring into the face of a ghost and it aches.
“Where is he, Sirius?” Remus asks, his voice shaking. He still can’t let himself believe, let himself go. Remus grits his teeth and tries to keep a hold of his sanity and his wand. Sirius doesn’t reply, doesn’t speak, just stares up at Remus with a sad, trapped expression. The other man wants to shake him, wants to beg him for an answer. Remus needs him to explain. And then with a tip of his head, Sirius glances at Ron.
“But then-” Remus starts, realization pooling in his skin, “Why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless-”
And suddenly it all makes sense, suddenly everything becomes concrete, becomes true. He remembers the wheedling, the suspicion. He remembers the whispering voice in his ear, telling him Sirius was up to something, he was lying. He remembers the poison seeping into his veins, the suspicions, the glances sent his own way.
“Unless you switched… without telling me?” Remus finds himself asking. He can hear the plea in his voice; can tell the children are watching him in confusion. But Sirius nods and everything stops. Remus is moving before he realizes it, reaching out a hand for the man in front of him. Sirius grasps him back and his palm is rough, weathered. And then suddenly his arms are around Remus’s back, holding him in place, and Remus’s mind empties itself of everything. The pain he has harbored for twelve years leaks from his skin, the waiting is over. He is finally free.
Author: BatmanBoxers
Recipient: glass_icarus
Rating: PG-13
Word Count:3,000
Summary: He thinks he may never escape them long enough for the journey to pass, but the weight of the previous moon still weighs greatly on his marked shoulders and before he knows it, Remus has slipped into unconsciousness.
Author's notes: This was written for the prompt I stood very still, and looked up,/and tried to be empty of words. Many thanks to my lovely wonderful betas sea_shtick & wandersfound who helped me out so much it was unreal. I hope you have a lovely festive period glass_icarus ♥
Remus pauses, the slice of toast halfway to his mouth, and watches the owl on the horizon. He blinks as it begins to descend and soars closer to his house. When it flies in through the kitchen window and deposits the letter in his laundry basket, Remus begins to feel panicked. He offers the bird the rest of his breakfast and bends to retrieve its delivery. The parchment is thick in his hands and he is surprised by its texture. It has been years of neatly ruled, dazzling white paper for Remus, and he finds his fingers running across the sheets speculatively.
His radio spews out odious pop music as he settles back into the rickety kitchen chair and stares at the letter. He’s almost too afraid to open it, too tense to read the neat lines of his address, or acknowledge that he recognises the handwriting. He has been away from the Wizarding world for almost a decade now and the old ways terrify him. But the Sorting Hat didn’t make him a Gryffindor for nothing and he steels himself, before breaking the wax seal and unfolding his letter.
Albus Dumbledore is precise and to the point as his words create sharp, shallow cuts across Remus’s body. He raises his gaze to the window and almost expects the face of a madman to be staring in at him through the floral patterned curtains. He briefly considers denying the old wizard his request; refusing to take up the post he has been offered. He can already tell it will be terribly difficult. To walk those hallowed halls again, to be followed by the ghosts of his friends, it doesn’t bear thinking and Remus is tempted, so tempted to say no, that it curls his fingers into fists in defiance.
But Remus is sadly a sentimental man, and the first thought of Harry Potter sends him to his drawer. His scarred fingers close over a cheap biro and he scribbles a reply on the parchment, handing it back to the owl that has been drinking the tea from his abandoned mug. He watches as it flies off and wonders if he has made a terrible mistake.
***
The train looms in front of him oppressively, its clean, red gleam bearing down on him almost in accusation. Remus feels like he is causing the Hogwarts Express to deteriorate simply by standing beside it in all his shambolic finery. He reaffirms his grip on his shabby suitcase and steps aboard. The little old witch who serves sweets and cakes smiles at him kindly and remarks on how he’s grown. Remus wonders if she would have remembered him without the scars.
After a few pleasantries, Remus makes his way down the train to an abandoned carriage. He pushes the door open quietly and steps inside, thankful that he was mindful enough to turn up early. He shoves the suitcase on the rack above him and sits down. It is a cold September morning and he shivers inside his thin, flimsy, threadbare suit. Already he wants to flee. He should have bought a paper with him, he thinks, something inane and Muggle to draw his mind away from the crackle of energy the train gives off. It makes him feel like he is being observed that this ghost of magic past is watching him through hooded eyes.
He looks out of the window and reflects over his friends. He wonders if Harry will look like his father, all wild and unruly and mischievous. It makes him both terrified and curious. Which of his parents traits will Harry possess, he ponders - will he be brave and beautiful and strong like his mother? Carefree and defiant and recklessly loyal like his father? Remus suddenly hopes he can look at the boy without running for the hills.
The past snaps at his heels painfully. His mind is abuzz with voices, as it so often is when he thinks back to those days. The war had filled him full of beliefs and feelings. He had become dizzy from them, heady and tired and they had characterised him from such a young, tender age. Remus feels weary and, not for the first time, he wishes there were some way to empty his head of these heavy memories. He thinks he may never escape them long enough for the journey to pass but the weight of the previous moon still weighs greatly on his marked shoulders and before he knows it, Remus has slipped into unconsciousness. If he dreams of fields and a wild dog, he says nothing.
***
Remus feels it before he sees it, the thick, stagnant chill that is filling the train quickly. He has often imagined, tortured himself, with how they would seem, their black hearts sucking the life from you. He finds he is not pleased with this new knowledge. In fact, he feels a pang of something close to pity when he thinks of - but no, he cannot let his mind wander down that road. Throwing his cloak off he stands, gaze sweeping over the panicked children around him. Oh, he thinks, he has his mother’s eyes, before he sends a quick Patronus charm hurtling towards the black, robed figure in the doorway. Remus imagines he meets the creature’s eyes, its soulless, terrible gaze, before the thing is flung back by the large silver dog.
“Here,” he tells the boy, James and Lily’s son, Harry, too afraid to meet his gaze, “Have some chocolate, it’ll help.”
Harry takes the bar from him almost apprehensively, nervously, and Remus can only curse the heavens silently, angry at how fate has played out, before he slips from the carriage. There is noise all around him, noise and fear and the too real scent of panic, and he has to take a moment to gather his thoughts, to suck deep breaths into his lungs.
***
His first classes go better than he would have thought. The children seem to like him; appear to appreciate his style of teaching. He thinks that perhaps he is a breath of fresh air from his predecessors. He just hopes the position’s curse will leave him well alone. He settles into the school, treating everyone pleasantly and amiably. Minerva McGonagall still smiles at him kindly from time to time. And for a while, Remus thinks he has found his place.
However, he is still haunted by something other than the castle ghosts. He’s still filled with an incredible amount of thought, so much so that it fills the brim of his skull and falls on scraps of parchment every so often. He forgets how many times a name has been scribbled out of existence after the first week. His pen seems to have a mind of its own, channelling his subconscious when his thoughts wander. It’s being in the school, he believes, surrounded by all the things he used to know, that has him almost driven mad by the memory of things lost.
Severus Snape makes it difficult for him, wheedling and cutting his way under Remus’s defences, leaving poison everywhere he moves. The lycanthrope isn’t surprised; he had known this kind of treatment to be coming. He had not expected anything more from the sharp eyed man. Often, Remus doesn’t blame him for the bitter residue that slips from his sly tongue. Remus feels it too. He supposes he should be thankful for him, in a way; the wolfsbane potion has become a godsend. And if sometimes Remus misses the way being the wolf would wipe his mind, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
***
When Sirius finds his way into the castle, Remus feels the walls begin to close in on him. He tells himself that his heart’s acceleration is more fear than a strange anticipation. He hates the way a little voice (that sounds a lot like James) calls him a liar. He helps the other professors search the castle, his skin crawling at every flicker in a shadow. He doesn’t know what he wants more, Sirius to be found or - not. He feels Severus’s eyes on his back as he passes some of the more hidden passageways and his gaze follows the werewolf until he rounds a corner.
Breathing deeply, Remus tries to get the thrill of panic surging through his veins under control. He can’t help but see Sirius’s face in the reflection of the trophy glass, or in the darkness of a disused classroom. He has spent most of his life jumping at shadows but this feels different. He can almost feel the fog of Sirius’s breath on the back of his neck. He shudders slowly and turns around, as though he might catch the ghost in the act.
There is no one there.
***
The full moon comes upon the heels of the intrusion, and despite the wolfsbane potion, Remus still feels as though he’s been trampled by a wild herd of Hippogriffs. He does nothing for the whole morning but lay brokenly upon the small bed in the Shrieking Shack. He and Severus had agreed that in the early stages of the potion, he was to stay where the school was protected. The tree was their best form of precaution. Sadly, the wolf had caught the scent of its old friend during the night and it made his canine brain howl with dissatisfaction. It had gone twelve years, twelve whole, hateful years, without its playmate and it had been angry. He wonders briefly what he should tell Severus in his report. Slowly, Remus lifts his head slightly to look at the new scratches in the Shack walls. He finds his head hurts too much to think.
***
When Sirius goes after Ron Weasley, Remus sits by the fire in his rooms and stares into the flames, confusion and denial growing in his world weary bones. He cannot fathom what Sirius would have wanted with Ron. He had heard the others talking though, saying that Sirius may have been confused, gone after the wrong bed, but something strikes Remus as odd. Something just isn’t quite right and it tugs and pulls at his synapses with insistence, cursing him out for being too slow to get it. Logically, he knows that Sirius could have easily been looking for Harry, but why not then kill Ron? Why not massacre the whole dorm to get what he wanted? Remus can’t figure it out and it drives him half-mad.
During the day the light inside the castle laps at his consciousness, easing away his panic, so that he is almost able to breath. But at night the nooks and crannies become dangerous, they become potent with possibilities. Remus feels as though he is walking a tightrope. He wonders where the push will come from next.
Bent over his copy of Frankenstein, Remus tries to put his finger on the elusive feeling fogging his mind. There is something, he thinks, something right in front of him, too close to see the whole picture. He wonders when his mind will release its hold on this thought but he knows, oh how he knows, that Sirius will not leave so easily.
***
Things become quieter in the next few weeks and Remus can’t help but feel that the world is waiting for something. He hears it in the bent trees, the held breath, the anticipation. It makes him feel wiry and distracted; it makes him feel as though his heart is breaking slowly. There is something being carried on the wind, a change that makes him feel anxious. Remus cannot shake the feeling that he is being haunted.
***
Remus lets his anger settle as he stares down at the worn parchment of the Marauders Map. The inky blots of footprints seem to judge him as they drudge around the castle. He watches the feet of Severus Snape pace around the dungeons with mild interest. He observes that he simply hasn’t the energy to feel resentful anymore. Harry, he finds, is back up in his dormitory. He hopes he hadn’t been too hard on the young boy. Remus understands what it’s like to be trapped somewhere, and being forced to stay in the castle must be hard on him. But still, he knows the map, knows the men behind it so well. It makes his chest tug painfully when he thinks of its creation, and to lose Harry because he was sentimental was not an option. Best to be firm, Remus thinks, best to be cruel. He turns back to mark more essays, head aching from the tumultuous wave his mind has become. He wonders if he’ll ever get a respite.
***
Remus’s whole body hurts. He glances up from the examinations he is trying to grade, the words swimming in front of him. The sun will set soon, he can feel it. He hopes this moon will be much kinder than the last. Severus will have prepared the potion for him and this time round, he will try to sleep the moon away.
The Marauders Map is open in front of him and every so often he sends a cursory glance in its direction. He knows not why he’s following Harry’s progress on the thing, perhaps some sort of concern or foresight or premonition. He doesn’t understand but he needs the map there. He had seen the boy make his way to the caretaker’s hut and although it is scholarly duty to reel him back in, he knows what today is, knows how it will upset Hagrid. He is happy enough to let Harry and his friends bring the man some comfort in his hour of need.
He crosses something out on the essay in front of him and prints a comment in heavy red ink. He’s pleasantly surprised by the way his classes have advanced. Remus wonders briefly if Dumbledore will have him back next year he kind of hopes he will. Despite the castle’s ghostlike charms, he has found a home here, a purpose. His life is no longer hiding away in his grandmother’s little cottage, waiting for something. Now he has people to guide.
Rubbing a hand across his temple, Remus lets out a sigh. He glances at his watch. Not long then, he muses, before turning to tidy up his desk. He will come back to the exams tomorrow and battle through. He’s about to fold the Marauders Map up, slip it in the folds of his suitcase, when something catches his eye. Remus feels his blood go cold.
***
Running through the castle, Remus cannot help but hate himself, despise his wretched stupidity so thoroughly. So stupid, he thinks to himself as he puffs his way down the stairs, so stupid to think - and you loved him, you idiot, and you didn’t even defend him. He races past a flock of Ravenclaws dawdling outside the library. He can feel their curious gazes on his back as he moves, hurriedly making his way down and out of the castle.
The air is cold on his face as he hurtles across the grass, the big, great tree in front of him his destination. He had seen two names on the map, two, and everything had almost clicked into place, every little thing that had seemed off about twelve years ago, every clue that Remus could just not get, every single moment that didn’t add up. Remus had been so foolish, so blind, and now he needed proof - now everything he’d lost was waiting for him, beaten and broken but still there.
Remus is already trying to form half-sentences, trying to create an apology, a plea. He knows he is not to be forgiven but still, he has hope, he has something. He quickly disables the Whomping Willow and slips in beneath her bows, taking the stairs to the Shrieking Shack two at a time.
Bursting through the door, Remus feels the crescendo of his guilt so keenly. He looks over at the children, the frightened, bewildered children. He feels he owes something to them and he desperately checks them over, trying to figure out if either of them are uninjured. Ron’s leg is bleeding profusely and Remus knows, knows, he should help. But his gaze falls on the man on the floor and he feels the life leak out of him. He is staring into the face of a ghost and it aches.
“Where is he, Sirius?” Remus asks, his voice shaking. He still can’t let himself believe, let himself go. Remus grits his teeth and tries to keep a hold of his sanity and his wand. Sirius doesn’t reply, doesn’t speak, just stares up at Remus with a sad, trapped expression. The other man wants to shake him, wants to beg him for an answer. Remus needs him to explain. And then with a tip of his head, Sirius glances at Ron.
“But then-” Remus starts, realization pooling in his skin, “Why hasn’t he shown himself before now? Unless-”
And suddenly it all makes sense, suddenly everything becomes concrete, becomes true. He remembers the wheedling, the suspicion. He remembers the whispering voice in his ear, telling him Sirius was up to something, he was lying. He remembers the poison seeping into his veins, the suspicions, the glances sent his own way.
“Unless you switched… without telling me?” Remus finds himself asking. He can hear the plea in his voice; can tell the children are watching him in confusion. But Sirius nods and everything stops. Remus is moving before he realizes it, reaching out a hand for the man in front of him. Sirius grasps him back and his palm is rough, weathered. And then suddenly his arms are around Remus’s back, holding him in place, and Remus’s mind empties itself of everything. The pain he has harbored for twelve years leaks from his skin, the waiting is over. He is finally free.