(no subject)
RULED BY THE MOON
Chapter 12
Title: Ruled by the Moon
Author: Me, nellie_darlin
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jo's.
Pairing/Characters: Remus/Sirius (unrequited so far!)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Genre: Everything! Tis Lupin's Life!
A/N: Many millions of thanks to lyras for the beta-ing, and her endless patience with my vacillating and sometimes shocking writing habits. Feedback is adored.
A/N 2: The title of this chapter is from Psalms LXXI.
A/N 3: Many apologies for the delay in posting, but I am now in Tasmania, on a four month trip round Australia and New Zealand, which means internet access is patchy. However, this will be finished, worry not... It does mean that I won't be able to reply to all your comments, though, so know that I am very grateful for any feedback you may have.
Summary: Being an account of the life of Remus J Lupin, Esquire, from his first day at Hogwarts to his last on this earth. In many chapters. Also starring Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and the various inhabitants of Hogwarts and the wizarding world.
Teaser: They weren’t there when he woke up, even though it was a Sunday, and he wasn’t surprised.
Chapter 12
““I am become as it were a monster unto many.”
They weren’t there when he woke up, even though it was a Sunday, and he wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t admitted it to himself, but he’d known all along, carried the dread around like a clammy stone since that fateful Boxing Day when he’d found out their plans. Ironically, a gesture made in friendship was to be friendship’s death knell.
By seeing that side of Remus, that most private and reviled side, they’d seen the whole picture. How could they ever look on him again without seeing, superimposed like some ghastly totem, the face of the wolf? He was sentenced to carry that with him like a martyr’s palm; for St Catherine, a wheel; for St Sebastian, a quiverful of arrows; for the most unsaintlike Remus Lupin, a moon.
It had been the most stunning naiveté, he realised. Lulled into a false sense of security by their casual acceptance in their Second Year, he’d expected a similar tolerance now - foolishly, as it turned out. Not only that, but he hadn’t realised the extent of the sacrifice he would be forced to make. He felt stripped bare, raw, his soul laid open to the elements and the mockery of the world. It was like a declaration of love. Like offering one’s diary up to be read, unedited and unpolished. Like baring one’s neck at the scaffold. It was asking to be rejected, to be loathed, to be shunned.
Remus was a werewolf - this they knew, and this they accepted, because they only ever saw Remus as a man. His transformations were sanitised, censored, separate. They couldn’t dream what they hadn’t seen. But now they had seen, and it couldn’t be ignored. The monster was no longer easily compartmentalised, easily separated. The monster was Remus.
~*~
He must have slept for a bit, because when he next opened his eyes, James and Peter were sitting by his bed, looking anxiously down at him. His first reaction was a rush of unbelievable joy; his second a burning shame that he had doubted them. His third was a renewed sense of dread - where was Sirius?
“Hullo,” Peter said, “he’s awake.”
James smiled, and the relief intensified. “How are you, old man?” he said, leaning forward.
“Been better,” Remus croaked.
“I’m sure you have. Here, let’s get you sitting up, then Peter can get you some water.”
With James’s help, and with every muscle screaming, Remus was manoeuvred into a vaguely upright position.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the proffered water gratefully.
“Good boy, drink it all down… Good! Get him some more, Pete, there’s a lad.”
Remus laughed - although it came out as a wheeze. “You - sound like my mum,” he gasped, “or Pomfrey.”
James scowled. “Shut up, you ungrateful little tart.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Although I’d be worried, Remus,” Peter interjected, “if your mother called you a tart.”
“Oh, she does,” Remus wheezed, “all the time.”
“Besides, she is a tart,” James said primly. “Spending the night with three men in a deserted shack, and receiving us in her nightgown. What would her mother say, were she to know?”
“I think we’ve established that she’d call him - sorry, her - a tart, haven’t we, Remus?”
“Seems so.” A pause, then Remus said, as casually as he could manage, “So, where’s Sirius?”
“Still asleep, poor chap,” James replied. “Exhausted. Insisted on following you and Pomfrey here, to keep watch, he said. He wouldn’t let us come, said we’d be too disruptive. Not that we’d all fit under the Cloak, of course. So Pete and I went back to the dorm, and when we woke up Sirius was back in bed.”
“Right.” Remus didn’t quite know how to interpret this, although he felt some of his apprehension melt away. He wanted to probe further, but he wasn’t sure he could do so without giving something away. “And you two - aren’t you, I mean, aren’t you tired too?”
“Exhausted,” Peter said cheerfully, “but it was worth it, wasn’t it, James?”
“Definitely. It was a laugh.” Remus looked at James speculatively, looking for the signs that said James was lying, and finding none. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or rather offended.
~*~
Remus found Sirius on his bed, deep in a book on medieval battles; so engrossed, in fact, that he didn’t even look up when Remus entered and crossed over to his own bed. But Remus caught a flicker of Sirius’s eyes, and his stomach swooped. That bad, was it? he wanted to say, and he quickly turned away, busying himself with unpacking his satchel. Finished, he slammed the drawer shut, and only then did Sirius acknowledge his presence.
“I found him, you know,” he heard Sirius say. “Oliver. I found him. I told him that you’d got caught on the wrong end of a hex. I said it was my fault.”
Remus turned then. “Your fault?” he repeated. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Sirius said, and slowly a smile bloomed on his face. “Surprising, eh?” And then he threw aside his book and leapt from the bed, and the next thing Remus knew, he was being exuberantly hugged. “Oh, Moony, Moony -” Sirius murmured, his breath ticklish against Remus’s neck.
“Easy,” Remus laughed, wincing a little.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Sirius released him, but still stood, eyes shining, hand resting casually on Remus’s arm. “Pomfrey said you weren’t so bad this month, I thought -”
“Yeah, I’m not, but I’m still delicate.”
“I bet. Remus, I -” Sirius swallowed. “It was - well, you know.”
“Yeah,” Remus said, and it was odd, because he did know. Sirius grinned, relieved.
“Well,” he said, “let’s just say I’m glad we did it, yeah?”
“Pomfrey couldn’t understand it,” Remus said. “Minimal bruising and lacerations, she said, only damage from the transformation itself. She’s never seen the like.”
“But she’s only a school nurse,” Sirius said, shrugging. “How many werewolves would she have seen?”
“Not many.”
“It’s a good question, though. Do you think there’s ever been another werewolf at Hogwarts?”
“No. I know there hasn’t been. Dumbledore’s the first Headmaster to even contemplate the idea, and even then it had to be a complete secret.”
“That failed, then.” Sirius grinned.
“Well, you weaselled it out of me,” Remus grinned back.
“I didn’t! I worked it out all by myself.” Finally Sirius let his hand drop and half turned away, moving back to his bed. “Speaking of which,” he said over his shoulder, “I think I’ve got somewhere with your idea of battlefield maps. Julienus mentions something - oh, where is it, I had it here a moment ago -”
But Remus didn’t hear him; he was staring at a long, livid scratch that ran from just behind Sirius’s left ear, down the line of his neck and under his shirt collar. “Sirius,” he began.
“- Ah, here we go: ‘And it is said that Thendur, witch-king of Jutland, did cast a spell, that -”
“Sirius -”
“- upon accomplishment, did make a roll of parchment, some five feet-”
“Sirius!” Remus shouted, grabbing Sirius’s arm. Sirius stopped abruptly. “Sirius, what’s that?”
Sirius’s hand flew to his neck, and his eyes darkened. “Nothing,” he said. “The bastard Willow caught me on my way in, that’s all. But honestly, listen to this, it’s really interesting -”
“I didn’t submit, did I?” Remus breathed, blood running cold.
Sirius looked down at the book, refusing to meet Remus’s eyes. “You did,” he muttered. “Eventually. It’s just - well, the wolf has a different definition of play.” And he tried to smile, but it was more of a pained grimace.
Remus sank onto the bed, treacherous legs no longer able to hold his weight. “I knew it was a bad idea,” he whispered, “a terrible idea. How badly?”
Sirius shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
“How badly?” Remus snapped, fear sharpening his words. “How badly, Sirius?”
“Just some scratching, a few bruises. Nothing serious. Honestly. Honestly, Remus.” His eyes found Remus’s, and Remus’s stomach lurched. “Nothing to worry about, I promise.”
Remus bit his lip, dragging his eyes away from Sirius’s, frightened of what he’d see there, frightened of what Sirius would see. “You don’t have to come back,” he muttered.
“Yes I do,” Sirius replied flatly.
“No you don’t. Not if you get hurt.”
“Even if I get hurt.”
“I won’t mind. Honestly. It’s fine, if you’d rather not. I’m not forcing you.”
“I’m going to be there.”
“Maybe I don’t want you there!” Remus said, growing desperate.
“I don’t care,” Sirius replied.
“I care!”
“Tough. I’m going to be there. And James and Peter will be there too. Because you said it yourself, you’ve never been better after a moon.”
“But only at your expense!”
Sirius grabbed Remus’s arm in a vice-like grip, leaning in until his face was an inch from Remus’s, and he hissed, “Don’t you get it? Don’t you fucking get it? I don’t care. I’d do anything to stop you hurting, Remus. Anything. I’d do the fucking transformation myself if I could. Anything, Remus. So can you stop being a fucking martyr and say thank you, just for once?”
He flung Remus’s arm away and got to his feet, every movement vibrating with suppressed emotion. Over to the window he went, as he always did when they argued, picking angrily at the curtains and staring out at the snow. His back was stiff, his shoulders set, his whole body a barrier. Remus watched as he fumbled for a cigarette, his fingers shaking so hard he could barely open the packet.
“I just don’t understand it,” he continued, opening the window with a bang. “I don’t understand it. How can anyone hate themselves so much? Snivellus, I’d understand it, because there’s so much to hate, but you? There’s so much to like. Why do you hate yourself so much?”
Remus closed his eyes wearily. “You’ve seen it, Sirius.”
“The wolf? That’s not you.”
“Sweet,” Remus spat, “but untrue. You hate your family, Sirius, you hate everything to do with them, you feel like they stain you. Now imagine that your family was part of you, indivisible, there. Always fucking there, Sirius. That’s what it feels like.”
Sirius was silent for an age. Then Remus heard the soft pad of footsteps and smelt cigarette smoke. He opened his eyes, saw Sirius standing over him, the cigarette held out. “The wolf’s part of you,” Sirius said quietly, “but it isn’t you. Whatever anyone says.” Remus lifted his leaden arm and took the cigarette, taking a long, appreciative drag before answering.
“I know,” he said, exhaling, “but I don’t know. In my head, I understand what you’re saying. But still, the wolf is always there. And I look at myself, and I see it. And I look at you, and I see what I’m capable of.” In illustration, Remus gently touched the harsh red graze he could see peeking out of Sirius’s collar. Sirius flinched away, and Remus let his hand drop at once, angry pain unfurling inside him. He took another drag of the cigarette.
“You know,” Sirius mused, almost to himself, “I’ve been thinking about the whole werewolf thing. It was after last week. And I thought, there are people who can kill every single day of the year. Without a thought. They can kill a mother and father and a little boy for no other reason than that they weren’t born right. For a crime that their parents committed. Except it’s not even a crime! And then there’s you, who can kill one night every month, and you’re horrified by the idea, and you’re filled with self-loathing. Even though it isn’t really you. The werewolf is just a parasite, using your body. It isn’t Remus. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t remember a thing. And I thought: which one’s the real monster? The one who follows a call against his will, against his very nature, or the one who chooses to kill?”
Remus swallowed. “Maybe both are,” he suggested, “in their own ways.”
Sirius gave an oddly wistful laugh, and turned to face him. “You never give up, do you?” he said - affectionately enough, but with a hint of impatience.
Remus smiled wearily, and took one last drag on the cigarette. He tried to move; Sirius said, “Stay,” and took the butt from him, taking it to the window and chucking it out.
Remus felt his smile widen into a grin. “Am I your dog, Sirius?”
“My wolf.” Sirius was looking down at him, smiling a little oddly. Remus felt a shiver run down his spine. He hated it when Sirius looked like that - or looked at him at all, if he was honest - because it sent such a glorious heat through him, pulsing under his skin, yearning outwards as if to warm the world. He wondered if this was love, or lust, or what. And then he decided it didn’t matter. Now was not the time for semantics. Sirius would say that it was never time for semantics, but then Sirius was a philistine. And it felt odd to be thinking about him like this when he was standing only a foot away, his whole attention concentrated on Remus, his hand extended. For a moment Remus thought Sirius might pat him on the head, or maybe stroke his cheek, and his skin prickled in needy anticipation. But Sirius let his hand fall, and said, “I need to go. Quidditch practice.”
“Right,” Remus said, and swallowed again.
“Will you be all right without me?”
Remus smiled, and it felt half-way genuine. He was touched by Sirius’s attentiveness. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I think I’ll have a bath.”
“You do that.” Sirius was gathering his stuff together, picking up jersey and knee pads from where they were heaped in corners and on chairs. “Have a look at that book if you get a moment - I really think we can use it.” His words were muffled - he was down on his hands and knees, scrabbling under his bed. “Not much modification needed, either.” He emerged triumphant with a boot, and threw it into a bag. “See you later, then.”
“Bye.”
~*~
“Remus!”
Remus started awake, and his knee banged against the table. “Damn!” he hissed, and there came a stifled giggle out of the nothingness. “Peter?” he said, looking around a little blearily.
“Here,” came Peter’s disembodied voice, and then his head appeared, floating eerily next to The Complete Xenothantis: Writings from a Journey in Paradise. “I came to see if you were still alive.”
Remus yawned. “Just,” he replied. “What time is it?”
“Half past two.”
“And the day?”
“That bad, eh?”
“Worse. Does this make sense to you?” Remus pulled a parchment towards him. “‘Helenicus records that in the Second Diet of Gutenberg, a motion was passed outlawing the transfer of spirit from one entity to another; this included one object taking the form of another, thus ruling unlawful the entire discipline of Transfiguration.’”
“Good enough. Haven’t you finished that, though? You’ve been in here since supper.”
“Got distracted,” Remus replied, truthfully enough.
“Fair enough. Although we all think you’re working too hard.”
“No choice,” Remus said, packing up his books. “Got to catch up, or I’ll get horribly behind.”
“Even if it’s on a Saturday?”
“Even if it’s on a Saturday. Come on, let’s go.”
They made their stealthy way through the bookshelves and out of the library, and Peter only stood on Remus’s foot once, which was probably a record. He did it a second time a little while later, but considering Remus had stopped suddenly, it wasn’t really his fault.
“Oi!” Peter exclaimed, and Remus hurriedly shushed him. “What is it?” he hissed.
Remus said nothing, just gestured. They were standing at the top of the stairs from the Entrance Hall, and just turning the corner into the corridor that led to the dungeons, was a shape.
“Student out of bed,” Peter said with a certain relish.
“Pete, we’re students out of bed.” Remus craned his neck to see who it was.
“Yeah, but you’re a prefect, and I have an Invisibilty Cloak.”
“Ssh!” It was familiar, certainly, and when the shape passed a wall bracket, Remus saw why; for a second he thought it was Sirius, but then he saw the petulant curve of the lip, the darker eyes, the larger nose, and realised that it was in fact Regulus.
“Well well,” Peter said. “That is interesting. Wonder what he’s up to.”
Remus wondered exactly how much Sirius had told Peter, and decided it was best to be circumspect. “Probably just a kitchen run,” he said dismissively. “Come on, Pete. Bed time.”
“But that’s not the way to the kitchen. From Slytherin you’d use the back stairs past Bertha the Bloated, it’s much quicker and not as exposed.”
Remus tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach, the one that told him Peter was right. “None of our business, eh?” he said.
“Everything’s our business,” Peter whispered, “or it should be.”
“You can be rather unsavoury sometimes, can’t you, Pete?”
“What’s unsavoury about keeping abreast of things? Knowledge is power.”
If he was truthful, Remus was very curious, but he was also exhausted. “We’re not going to find anything out now,” he pointed out, stifling a yawn. “He’s evidently on his way back from whatever it was.”
“‘S’pose,” Peter grumbled. “Ah well. To bed, then.”
“To bed,” Remus echoed with relief, and they continued on their way.
By the following morning, he’d forgotten all about it.
next
Prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six
seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve
Chapter 12
Title: Ruled by the Moon
Author: Me, nellie_darlin
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jo's.
Pairing/Characters: Remus/Sirius (unrequited so far!)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Genre: Everything! Tis Lupin's Life!
A/N: Many millions of thanks to lyras for the beta-ing, and her endless patience with my vacillating and sometimes shocking writing habits. Feedback is adored.
A/N 2: The title of this chapter is from Psalms LXXI.
A/N 3: Many apologies for the delay in posting, but I am now in Tasmania, on a four month trip round Australia and New Zealand, which means internet access is patchy. However, this will be finished, worry not... It does mean that I won't be able to reply to all your comments, though, so know that I am very grateful for any feedback you may have.
Summary: Being an account of the life of Remus J Lupin, Esquire, from his first day at Hogwarts to his last on this earth. In many chapters. Also starring Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and the various inhabitants of Hogwarts and the wizarding world.
Teaser: They weren’t there when he woke up, even though it was a Sunday, and he wasn’t surprised.
Chapter 12
““I am become as it were a monster unto many.”
They weren’t there when he woke up, even though it was a Sunday, and he wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t admitted it to himself, but he’d known all along, carried the dread around like a clammy stone since that fateful Boxing Day when he’d found out their plans. Ironically, a gesture made in friendship was to be friendship’s death knell.
By seeing that side of Remus, that most private and reviled side, they’d seen the whole picture. How could they ever look on him again without seeing, superimposed like some ghastly totem, the face of the wolf? He was sentenced to carry that with him like a martyr’s palm; for St Catherine, a wheel; for St Sebastian, a quiverful of arrows; for the most unsaintlike Remus Lupin, a moon.
It had been the most stunning naiveté, he realised. Lulled into a false sense of security by their casual acceptance in their Second Year, he’d expected a similar tolerance now - foolishly, as it turned out. Not only that, but he hadn’t realised the extent of the sacrifice he would be forced to make. He felt stripped bare, raw, his soul laid open to the elements and the mockery of the world. It was like a declaration of love. Like offering one’s diary up to be read, unedited and unpolished. Like baring one’s neck at the scaffold. It was asking to be rejected, to be loathed, to be shunned.
Remus was a werewolf - this they knew, and this they accepted, because they only ever saw Remus as a man. His transformations were sanitised, censored, separate. They couldn’t dream what they hadn’t seen. But now they had seen, and it couldn’t be ignored. The monster was no longer easily compartmentalised, easily separated. The monster was Remus.
~*~
He must have slept for a bit, because when he next opened his eyes, James and Peter were sitting by his bed, looking anxiously down at him. His first reaction was a rush of unbelievable joy; his second a burning shame that he had doubted them. His third was a renewed sense of dread - where was Sirius?
“Hullo,” Peter said, “he’s awake.”
James smiled, and the relief intensified. “How are you, old man?” he said, leaning forward.
“Been better,” Remus croaked.
“I’m sure you have. Here, let’s get you sitting up, then Peter can get you some water.”
With James’s help, and with every muscle screaming, Remus was manoeuvred into a vaguely upright position.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the proffered water gratefully.
“Good boy, drink it all down… Good! Get him some more, Pete, there’s a lad.”
Remus laughed - although it came out as a wheeze. “You - sound like my mum,” he gasped, “or Pomfrey.”
James scowled. “Shut up, you ungrateful little tart.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Although I’d be worried, Remus,” Peter interjected, “if your mother called you a tart.”
“Oh, she does,” Remus wheezed, “all the time.”
“Besides, she is a tart,” James said primly. “Spending the night with three men in a deserted shack, and receiving us in her nightgown. What would her mother say, were she to know?”
“I think we’ve established that she’d call him - sorry, her - a tart, haven’t we, Remus?”
“Seems so.” A pause, then Remus said, as casually as he could manage, “So, where’s Sirius?”
“Still asleep, poor chap,” James replied. “Exhausted. Insisted on following you and Pomfrey here, to keep watch, he said. He wouldn’t let us come, said we’d be too disruptive. Not that we’d all fit under the Cloak, of course. So Pete and I went back to the dorm, and when we woke up Sirius was back in bed.”
“Right.” Remus didn’t quite know how to interpret this, although he felt some of his apprehension melt away. He wanted to probe further, but he wasn’t sure he could do so without giving something away. “And you two - aren’t you, I mean, aren’t you tired too?”
“Exhausted,” Peter said cheerfully, “but it was worth it, wasn’t it, James?”
“Definitely. It was a laugh.” Remus looked at James speculatively, looking for the signs that said James was lying, and finding none. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or rather offended.
~*~
Remus found Sirius on his bed, deep in a book on medieval battles; so engrossed, in fact, that he didn’t even look up when Remus entered and crossed over to his own bed. But Remus caught a flicker of Sirius’s eyes, and his stomach swooped. That bad, was it? he wanted to say, and he quickly turned away, busying himself with unpacking his satchel. Finished, he slammed the drawer shut, and only then did Sirius acknowledge his presence.
“I found him, you know,” he heard Sirius say. “Oliver. I found him. I told him that you’d got caught on the wrong end of a hex. I said it was my fault.”
Remus turned then. “Your fault?” he repeated. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Sirius said, and slowly a smile bloomed on his face. “Surprising, eh?” And then he threw aside his book and leapt from the bed, and the next thing Remus knew, he was being exuberantly hugged. “Oh, Moony, Moony -” Sirius murmured, his breath ticklish against Remus’s neck.
“Easy,” Remus laughed, wincing a little.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Sirius released him, but still stood, eyes shining, hand resting casually on Remus’s arm. “Pomfrey said you weren’t so bad this month, I thought -”
“Yeah, I’m not, but I’m still delicate.”
“I bet. Remus, I -” Sirius swallowed. “It was - well, you know.”
“Yeah,” Remus said, and it was odd, because he did know. Sirius grinned, relieved.
“Well,” he said, “let’s just say I’m glad we did it, yeah?”
“Pomfrey couldn’t understand it,” Remus said. “Minimal bruising and lacerations, she said, only damage from the transformation itself. She’s never seen the like.”
“But she’s only a school nurse,” Sirius said, shrugging. “How many werewolves would she have seen?”
“Not many.”
“It’s a good question, though. Do you think there’s ever been another werewolf at Hogwarts?”
“No. I know there hasn’t been. Dumbledore’s the first Headmaster to even contemplate the idea, and even then it had to be a complete secret.”
“That failed, then.” Sirius grinned.
“Well, you weaselled it out of me,” Remus grinned back.
“I didn’t! I worked it out all by myself.” Finally Sirius let his hand drop and half turned away, moving back to his bed. “Speaking of which,” he said over his shoulder, “I think I’ve got somewhere with your idea of battlefield maps. Julienus mentions something - oh, where is it, I had it here a moment ago -”
But Remus didn’t hear him; he was staring at a long, livid scratch that ran from just behind Sirius’s left ear, down the line of his neck and under his shirt collar. “Sirius,” he began.
“- Ah, here we go: ‘And it is said that Thendur, witch-king of Jutland, did cast a spell, that -”
“Sirius -”
“- upon accomplishment, did make a roll of parchment, some five feet-”
“Sirius!” Remus shouted, grabbing Sirius’s arm. Sirius stopped abruptly. “Sirius, what’s that?”
Sirius’s hand flew to his neck, and his eyes darkened. “Nothing,” he said. “The bastard Willow caught me on my way in, that’s all. But honestly, listen to this, it’s really interesting -”
“I didn’t submit, did I?” Remus breathed, blood running cold.
Sirius looked down at the book, refusing to meet Remus’s eyes. “You did,” he muttered. “Eventually. It’s just - well, the wolf has a different definition of play.” And he tried to smile, but it was more of a pained grimace.
Remus sank onto the bed, treacherous legs no longer able to hold his weight. “I knew it was a bad idea,” he whispered, “a terrible idea. How badly?”
Sirius shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”
“How badly?” Remus snapped, fear sharpening his words. “How badly, Sirius?”
“Just some scratching, a few bruises. Nothing serious. Honestly. Honestly, Remus.” His eyes found Remus’s, and Remus’s stomach lurched. “Nothing to worry about, I promise.”
Remus bit his lip, dragging his eyes away from Sirius’s, frightened of what he’d see there, frightened of what Sirius would see. “You don’t have to come back,” he muttered.
“Yes I do,” Sirius replied flatly.
“No you don’t. Not if you get hurt.”
“Even if I get hurt.”
“I won’t mind. Honestly. It’s fine, if you’d rather not. I’m not forcing you.”
“I’m going to be there.”
“Maybe I don’t want you there!” Remus said, growing desperate.
“I don’t care,” Sirius replied.
“I care!”
“Tough. I’m going to be there. And James and Peter will be there too. Because you said it yourself, you’ve never been better after a moon.”
“But only at your expense!”
Sirius grabbed Remus’s arm in a vice-like grip, leaning in until his face was an inch from Remus’s, and he hissed, “Don’t you get it? Don’t you fucking get it? I don’t care. I’d do anything to stop you hurting, Remus. Anything. I’d do the fucking transformation myself if I could. Anything, Remus. So can you stop being a fucking martyr and say thank you, just for once?”
He flung Remus’s arm away and got to his feet, every movement vibrating with suppressed emotion. Over to the window he went, as he always did when they argued, picking angrily at the curtains and staring out at the snow. His back was stiff, his shoulders set, his whole body a barrier. Remus watched as he fumbled for a cigarette, his fingers shaking so hard he could barely open the packet.
“I just don’t understand it,” he continued, opening the window with a bang. “I don’t understand it. How can anyone hate themselves so much? Snivellus, I’d understand it, because there’s so much to hate, but you? There’s so much to like. Why do you hate yourself so much?”
Remus closed his eyes wearily. “You’ve seen it, Sirius.”
“The wolf? That’s not you.”
“Sweet,” Remus spat, “but untrue. You hate your family, Sirius, you hate everything to do with them, you feel like they stain you. Now imagine that your family was part of you, indivisible, there. Always fucking there, Sirius. That’s what it feels like.”
Sirius was silent for an age. Then Remus heard the soft pad of footsteps and smelt cigarette smoke. He opened his eyes, saw Sirius standing over him, the cigarette held out. “The wolf’s part of you,” Sirius said quietly, “but it isn’t you. Whatever anyone says.” Remus lifted his leaden arm and took the cigarette, taking a long, appreciative drag before answering.
“I know,” he said, exhaling, “but I don’t know. In my head, I understand what you’re saying. But still, the wolf is always there. And I look at myself, and I see it. And I look at you, and I see what I’m capable of.” In illustration, Remus gently touched the harsh red graze he could see peeking out of Sirius’s collar. Sirius flinched away, and Remus let his hand drop at once, angry pain unfurling inside him. He took another drag of the cigarette.
“You know,” Sirius mused, almost to himself, “I’ve been thinking about the whole werewolf thing. It was after last week. And I thought, there are people who can kill every single day of the year. Without a thought. They can kill a mother and father and a little boy for no other reason than that they weren’t born right. For a crime that their parents committed. Except it’s not even a crime! And then there’s you, who can kill one night every month, and you’re horrified by the idea, and you’re filled with self-loathing. Even though it isn’t really you. The werewolf is just a parasite, using your body. It isn’t Remus. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t remember a thing. And I thought: which one’s the real monster? The one who follows a call against his will, against his very nature, or the one who chooses to kill?”
Remus swallowed. “Maybe both are,” he suggested, “in their own ways.”
Sirius gave an oddly wistful laugh, and turned to face him. “You never give up, do you?” he said - affectionately enough, but with a hint of impatience.
Remus smiled wearily, and took one last drag on the cigarette. He tried to move; Sirius said, “Stay,” and took the butt from him, taking it to the window and chucking it out.
Remus felt his smile widen into a grin. “Am I your dog, Sirius?”
“My wolf.” Sirius was looking down at him, smiling a little oddly. Remus felt a shiver run down his spine. He hated it when Sirius looked like that - or looked at him at all, if he was honest - because it sent such a glorious heat through him, pulsing under his skin, yearning outwards as if to warm the world. He wondered if this was love, or lust, or what. And then he decided it didn’t matter. Now was not the time for semantics. Sirius would say that it was never time for semantics, but then Sirius was a philistine. And it felt odd to be thinking about him like this when he was standing only a foot away, his whole attention concentrated on Remus, his hand extended. For a moment Remus thought Sirius might pat him on the head, or maybe stroke his cheek, and his skin prickled in needy anticipation. But Sirius let his hand fall, and said, “I need to go. Quidditch practice.”
“Right,” Remus said, and swallowed again.
“Will you be all right without me?”
Remus smiled, and it felt half-way genuine. He was touched by Sirius’s attentiveness. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I think I’ll have a bath.”
“You do that.” Sirius was gathering his stuff together, picking up jersey and knee pads from where they were heaped in corners and on chairs. “Have a look at that book if you get a moment - I really think we can use it.” His words were muffled - he was down on his hands and knees, scrabbling under his bed. “Not much modification needed, either.” He emerged triumphant with a boot, and threw it into a bag. “See you later, then.”
“Bye.”
~*~
“Remus!”
Remus started awake, and his knee banged against the table. “Damn!” he hissed, and there came a stifled giggle out of the nothingness. “Peter?” he said, looking around a little blearily.
“Here,” came Peter’s disembodied voice, and then his head appeared, floating eerily next to The Complete Xenothantis: Writings from a Journey in Paradise. “I came to see if you were still alive.”
Remus yawned. “Just,” he replied. “What time is it?”
“Half past two.”
“And the day?”
“That bad, eh?”
“Worse. Does this make sense to you?” Remus pulled a parchment towards him. “‘Helenicus records that in the Second Diet of Gutenberg, a motion was passed outlawing the transfer of spirit from one entity to another; this included one object taking the form of another, thus ruling unlawful the entire discipline of Transfiguration.’”
“Good enough. Haven’t you finished that, though? You’ve been in here since supper.”
“Got distracted,” Remus replied, truthfully enough.
“Fair enough. Although we all think you’re working too hard.”
“No choice,” Remus said, packing up his books. “Got to catch up, or I’ll get horribly behind.”
“Even if it’s on a Saturday?”
“Even if it’s on a Saturday. Come on, let’s go.”
They made their stealthy way through the bookshelves and out of the library, and Peter only stood on Remus’s foot once, which was probably a record. He did it a second time a little while later, but considering Remus had stopped suddenly, it wasn’t really his fault.
“Oi!” Peter exclaimed, and Remus hurriedly shushed him. “What is it?” he hissed.
Remus said nothing, just gestured. They were standing at the top of the stairs from the Entrance Hall, and just turning the corner into the corridor that led to the dungeons, was a shape.
“Student out of bed,” Peter said with a certain relish.
“Pete, we’re students out of bed.” Remus craned his neck to see who it was.
“Yeah, but you’re a prefect, and I have an Invisibilty Cloak.”
“Ssh!” It was familiar, certainly, and when the shape passed a wall bracket, Remus saw why; for a second he thought it was Sirius, but then he saw the petulant curve of the lip, the darker eyes, the larger nose, and realised that it was in fact Regulus.
“Well well,” Peter said. “That is interesting. Wonder what he’s up to.”
Remus wondered exactly how much Sirius had told Peter, and decided it was best to be circumspect. “Probably just a kitchen run,” he said dismissively. “Come on, Pete. Bed time.”
“But that’s not the way to the kitchen. From Slytherin you’d use the back stairs past Bertha the Bloated, it’s much quicker and not as exposed.”
Remus tried to ignore the uneasy feeling in his stomach, the one that told him Peter was right. “None of our business, eh?” he said.
“Everything’s our business,” Peter whispered, “or it should be.”
“You can be rather unsavoury sometimes, can’t you, Pete?”
“What’s unsavoury about keeping abreast of things? Knowledge is power.”
If he was truthful, Remus was very curious, but he was also exhausted. “We’re not going to find anything out now,” he pointed out, stifling a yawn. “He’s evidently on his way back from whatever it was.”
“‘S’pose,” Peter grumbled. “Ah well. To bed, then.”
“To bed,” Remus echoed with relief, and they continued on their way.
By the following morning, he’d forgotten all about it.
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Prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six
seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve