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“What do you think you would do? After school and all?” Sirius asked. He slid a copy of Potions for the Modern Age into its place on the shelf and Remus watched as the bookcase enchantment adjusted the spine so it lined up perfectly with the rest.

Remus looked back down at the pile of books on the cart in front of him and shrugged.

“Get a job, I suppose,” he said. He didn’t need to be looking at Sirius to know he was rolling his eyes heavily.

“Revolutionary, Moony,” Sirius sighed. Remus pursed his lips to avoid smiling, passing another book into Sirius’ waiting hand. “Fifth year we’re supposed to start having these meetings with our head of house,” he went on, “to talk about what we want to do in life so they can tell us what classes we need to take and all that. Apparently it matters.”

Remus hummed. “I had assumed,” he said. The next two books were the same in appearance, but Madam Pince had left them a note that whichever one seemed more afraid to be shelved was the one that belonged in the alchemical sciences section. Remus wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to know that. 

“I’ll bet Lily has already had five meetings with Minnie about it,” Sirius noted. “All the girls, honestly. And I’m pretty sure James has his heart set on playing Quidditch professionally.”

“I guess I haven’t thought much about it,” Remus said, shrugging. Not quite a lie. Not quite the truth, either. It seemed like that’s all anything was, though, recently, so he supposed it fit.

“Really?” Sirius asked. His voice held genuine surprise. Remus lifted a shoulder again, picking up the two books in the stack and staring at them side by side in an attempt not to linger on the question. “I guess it’s a big question.”

“You?” Remus asked. When he turned toward the shelf, the book in his left hand trembled a little. He handed that one to Sirius. 

“My family tends to funnel its offspring into politics, so something very far away from that. Something risky would be fun. Potion testing or dragon taming,” Sirius said, grinning as he put the book on the shelf where it belonged. 

Remus took a moment to picture Sirius as a dragon tamer, and then had to make a very distinct effort to picture literally anything else. 

“Feels like both of those are good ways to get blown up,” Remus commented. He checked the list on the book cart. “That’s all for this section,” he added. “Next is history.” 

“Do these ones hate the re-shelving charm, too?” Sirius asked, resting his hand on the front handle of the cart and helping Remus navigate it toward the back of the library. 

Remus frowned, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t really want to risk it,” he said, frowning. Disasters in Alchemy had proven that there was, in fact, a reason that Madam Pince was having the two of them res-helve books by hand and not by magic. Apparently some authors liked things done the old fashioned way. The singed hair on Remus’ left arm served as a strong enough warning. “Maybe you can add librarian to your list of dangerous jobs, though,” he said.

“You could be a librarian,” Sirius noted absentmindedly as they turned a corner. “I feel like it would suit you.”

“Maybe,” Remus said, the words sounding more forced than he intended. Sirius cast a glance back at him, but Remus made himself look busy reading the spines of books on the shelf to his left. 

“Nice and quiet,” Sirius continued. “Lots of reading. Plus you’d need to know where all this stuff was actually located, and you’re good with memory like that, you know?”

Remus hummed noncommittally, picking up the first book in the stack of history books. There was a note from Madam Pince to check the books for writing or notes before putting them back, so he flipped through the pages, overly aware that Sirius was watching him. 

More and more, lately, the usual twinge of anxiety that accompanied moments like these was being traded out for something darker and more sharp, and Remus didn’t know what to think of that. There were words behind his teeth, something along the lines of stop asking me, or I don’t want to talk about it, and it took effort to leash the impulse and keep it at bay. 

It was an innocent suggestion. Idle conversation. There was no way for Remus to say that he’d avoided this exact topic with near obsessive dedication for the past fourteen years without going into far too much detail at best, and at worst, acknowledging to Sirius, and therefore also himself, that there was a very real possibility his life would fall apart after school. Or earlier. Who was to say?

That sharp, dark feeling reared its head, and Remus snapped the book in his hand shut and looked up at the shelf to his left to find the slot it belonged in.

“I guess we don’t really need to worry about it for a bit,” Sirius sighed. He paged through the next book in the stack.

Remus looked over at him, observing the wrinkle that formed between his eyebrows as he turned pages with slim, bony fingers. His nail beds were raw, the skin picked at until it was red and irritated. Something inside him seemed to soften. Remus shelved his book and narrowed his eyes a little, picking up the next. “You’re not usually one to plan ahead,” he said. 

Sirius shrugged, taking a folded piece of parchment covered in scribbled notes out of the book he was holding and opening it to skim over the words. “Yeah,” he murmured simply. He folded the paper again and put it in his pocket. “I guess I’m feeling a bit restless.”

“Restless?”

“Yeah, like…” Sirius paused, lifting his thumb to his mouth and chewing at the side of his nail. Remus watched the muscle that tensed in his jaw when he did it. “It feels like something’s supposed to be happening, you know? Fourth year and all. After Christmas, we’re over the halfway mark. You ever think about that?”

Remus blinked. The thought washed over him like cold water. “I have now,” he managed. 

“Sorry,” Sirius said, breathing something halfway between a laugh and a couch. “It’s just making me think about the future and stuff.” Remus hummed, nodding as though this were the first time he’d thought about the future, too. “Oh, that’s real nice,” Sirius scoffed, holding the open book out for Remus to see. 

On the back page portrait of the author, an unfortunately named Willie Oder, there were copious poorly rendered drawings of the phallic sort. 

“Terrible artistry,” Remus commented. Sirius snorted. 

“What’s the spell Pince gave us to erase this stuff?” 

“Nulla scriptura,” Remus supplied. 

Sirius shook his head and spoke the incantation. “I could think of much more creative vandalism,” he said after the ink had dissolved and scattered into nothing. “Not saying I’ll do it,” he added. “Just that if I did, it would be better.”

“Of course.”

***

It was truly lucky for Remus that they weren’t required to take flying lessons past first year. Sirius recalled that it had been something of a miracle that he’d passed, back then. Remus had far more often than not found himself flying backwards, or on rare occasion upside-down. At the time, Sirius had been fairly sure that the reason Remus passed flying at all was because he always volunteered to stay late cleaning up brooms and balls and various other instruments, and so their professor had taken some pity on him. 

It was unlucky for Remus, however, that James had given Sirius the equivalent of quidditch homework over break– more than likely in an attempt to give him something to occupy his time with– because it meant that Remus was also obliged to trudge out to the pitch with Sirius through a foot of snow and likely contemplate whether or not this was worth being friends with their lot or not. 

As with all the other many occasions Sirius, James, and Peter had given Remus cause to question his allegiances, though, Remus seemed to come to the same conclusion each time: that he was, fortunately or not, a marauder. 

The role currently required of him to attempt to stay upright on a broom and throw various obstacles into Sirius’ path. 

It would have been great fun for James, who took significant pleasure in knocking Sirius on his ass, but Remus was quite a bit less coordinated than usual while in the air, and his usual already left something to be desired. 

“Couldn’t I levitate them over to you?” Remus asked. He was laying in the snow, flat on his back. In the otherwise pristine powder around them, the snow in the general area around his body had been heavily disturbed just a moment earlier when Remus spun out and tumbled across the snow. “Isn’t there a spell to throw things? Something less… airborne?” Remus waved his hand in the air above him. A flurry of snow fell from his sleeve. 

Sirius pursed his lips in an attempt not to laugh, but his silence gave him away. Remus turned his head, snow crunching under his ear as he did, and Sirius ducked his head low into his shoulders and stifled a snort. 

A moment later, a snowball flew about a foot and a half left of Sirius’ chest. He looked behind him, blinking at the spot where it landed on the pitch, and then turned his gaze back to Remus, who was now sitting upright with wet hands. 

There was a long silence between them before Remus finally spoke. 

“That would have been really funny if it hit you,” he muttered, brushing his palms together to shake off melting snow. His fingertips were red from the cold. 

Sirius laughed in earnest, shaking his head. He pulled his gloves off, gripping the fingertip of one with his teeth to yank it off before moving on to the other, and then flew down to hover above the snow next to Remus. 

“Here,” he said, holding the gloves out. 

“Your hands will get cold,” Remus countered, frowning as he wiped his fingers on his scarf. 

Sirius shrugged. “Not colder than yours,” he said. “They make it harder to grip the bat, anyway. I’m planning on getting nice leather ones on the next Hogsmeade trip. Go on, they’re already warm,” Sirius urged when Remus hesitated, and finally Remus took the gloves and slid them on. The fingers were a little short for him, but they fit for the most part. Remus brought his hands to his mouth, cupping them and breathing hot air in-between his palms. It fogged in the air in front of him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, breathing back in. 

Sirius felt a little light, then, watching him– face flushed pink from the cold, eyelashes dusting his cheeks, and while the freckles across his nose were paler in the winter, Sirius could still see them dotting up to his forehead and temples. When he opened his eyes again, light from the snow was reflected against brown. 

Sometimes, when Remus looked at him, he felt like he was caught. Not quite like it was a bad thing, not ensnared or caged, but still caught in that same sort of way– something animalistic about it. 

It could be so simple just to say it.

“What?” Remus asked, an awkward smile forming on his face, and Sirius had to quite literally shake himself to get himself to stop staring.

“Sorry,” Sirius said, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “Thinking.” He looked around in the snow, distracting himself by searching for the quaffle that had been dropped when Remus fell.

“Here,” Remus called. Sirius looked up to see the ball coming towards him, and entirely by instinct, bumped it into the air with his forearm. It did a rather graceful arc into the air, and Sirius sat back on his broom so he’d be in the right spot to catch it when it came down. “Show off,” Remus said. 

Sirius shrugged, but did nothing to stop the proud smirk that came across his features.“Much easier to do with a quaffle than with bludgers,” he said. “But I didn’t think you’d want to deal with throwing bludgers as well as staying on your broom.”

“You thought correct,” Remus huffed as he stood up. He picked his broom up from the snow, swiping slush off of the handle with the elbow of his jacket. “I don’t know why I never got the hang of it,” he added pensively, frowning at the broom in his hand. “You and James figured it out right away.”

“You get very tense,” Sirius noted, holding the quaffle under one arm. “Like, white knuckle tense.” Remus said nothing, but continued to frown as he got back on his broom.  “There’s a surprising amount of work that the broomstick does for you, honestly.”

“I don’t think this broomstick has ever done anything except throw me off,” Remus muttered. He kicked off the ground hesitantly, hovering unsteadily in the air. Even from a distance, Sirius could see how he stiffened up almost instantly. 

“Roll your shoulders back,” Sirius prompted. “And unclench your jaw.” 

“I’m not clenching my…” Remus mumbled, but as he said it, it was obvious he realized it wasn’t true. “Alright,” he said, stretching his neck and shoulders as well.

“Let go of the broom a little, too,” Sirius said, and then almost laughed at the wildly confused look Remus gave him. 

“Let go?”

“Just a little!” Sirius repeated. “You’re gripping it a lot from the bottom, with your fingers. You only really need to do that when you’re accelerating. You’ve gotta, like…” he bit the inside of his cheek, trying to find the right way to explain it. “Look,” he said, flying over to hover beside Remus. “I’m really only using the palm of my hand and my thumb.” He demonstrated, wiggling his fingers to show that they were free. 

Remus looked skeptical, staring back down at his own hands for a moment. Before Sirius really had a chance to do anything about it, he released the grip he had on the underside of the broom with all of his fingers, an action which could have worked if his palms were in the right places to hold the broom down still. 

They weren’t, though. Sirius watched as the broom slipped up between Remus’ two hands and then winced as the dense wooden handle cracked against his forehead, sending him once again sprawling on his back in the snow. The broom landed half across his chest. Neither of them were laughing this time, though. Remus’ face contorted into a red, angry scowl, and he pushed himself to his feet quickly, nearly slipping as he did, grabbing the broom off of the ground with one hand and then in the same motion throwing it as far as he could across the pitch. 

It stuck up out of the snow for a moment when it landed, bristles in the air, before slowly falling to the side. 

Remus groaned a choked, frustrated sound and put his face into his hands, doubling over and crouching in the snow. Sirius opened his mouth, very nearly voicing an unhelpful it’s alright or a try again, but he thought better of it at the last moment and pursed his lips to avoid saying something stupid. 

The sharp edge to Remus’ temper that usually only flared when he was feeling sick had been slowly creeping into the everyday inconveniences of life. Sirius, as well as all of their other friends, of course, had long since learned that any comforting words or cheerful optimism would not be well met. Sometime in the last few months, though, the swell of Remus’ frustration was accompanied by a heavy sort of feeling in the air, like it was pressing down around them. Sirius wasn’t sure if that was just him feeling it, though. It was a difficult thing to ask about. In any case, they knew how hard the year was becoming for Remus.

So he stayed silent now, feeling that heavy feeling, watching and waiting for Remus to stop holding his breath like he always did and unfold himself from where he was hunched. 

It took a little longer than Sirius expected, but he supposed he wasn’t in any place to judge. 

When Remus lifted his head, standing slowly, he kept his face turned away from Sirius and rubbed the bend of his wrist against his eyes before turning his attention to the broom that rested a good distance away from them in the snow. Sirius considered flying over and getting it for him, but before he could make a move, Remus reached into his cloak and drew his wand. One quietly muttered accio , and the broom was back in his hand, snatched out of the air as it came floating towards them. 

Remus cleared his throat, sniffling as he brushed snow off of the bristles. Sirius could see his jaw working, and even though he couldn’t see Remus’ face, he could tell the angry flush was leaving his features by the way his neck and ears returned to their usual color. Eventually, Remus turned back to him.

“That was stupid,” Remus said quietly, rubbing the red mark on his forehead where the broom had hit him. Sirius breathed a laugh. “And definitely not what you meant for me to do.”

“Not quite,” Sirius agreed. 

“Show me again,” Remus said, mounting his broom and kicking off of the ground once more. This time, he unclenched his jaw and rolled his shoulders before being told. Determination made a wrinkle form between his eyebrows, and he tilted his head to the side like he always did when he was listening closely, eyes narrowed, focused. 

It could be so simple just to say it.

“Like this,” Sirius said. “Look.”

***

“They never work,” Remus said, surprising himself a little at the force with which he said it. 

Madam Pomfrey drew her head back a bit, frowning at him. He bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing back an apology, but sometimes it felt like this was just one more cycle that never ended. It was these in between visits he felt the worst about– pretending to be sick just so people wouldn’t ask questions. And now, with no people around for the holiday, it was really just to make sure Sirius wouldn’t ask questions. So on top of lying and lying again and lying some more, testing out a new doomed-to-fail potion seemed like adding insult to injury. 

“They never work,” Remus repeated. “They just taste bad and make me sweat or throw up or– or see extra colors.”

“Extra colors…” Pomfrey echoed, thinking on the concept for a moment before returning back to the matter at hand. She drew back her hand which had been outstretched just a moment ago, looking down at the little potion vial in her palm with a hum. He’d gotten his usual instruction to take it a few hours before the moon. Madam Pomfrey had explained what the potion was meant to do while Remus stared down at it in his hand. He remembered a time when he sat on one of these hospital cots, swinging his legs while he waited for an appropriate amount of time to pass to make his episodes realistic. Now, his feet touched the ground easily. “Potionmaking is a delicate process, Remus,” she said. Remus prepared himself for a lecture identical to the other ten he’d received on the topic. “No one ever gets–”

“Gets it right on the first try,” Remus muttered along with her. The same every time. “I know. It’s been four years, though,” he pointed out. 

Madam Pomfrey sighed and smiled a little sadly at him. “It’s been far more than four years that potionmakers have been trying their hand at a cure for lycanthropy, love.”

“I’m not waiting for a cure,” Remus said bitterly, looking down at his hands in his lap. “There’ll never be a cure. I just– I wish something helped.”

She did something a bit surprising, then, and didn’t correct him. Not never, she used to say. Just not yet.

“I know,” she said instead. “I’ve wished the same for you for a long time.” 

Something twisted in Remus’ stomach, and when he swallowed, it felt sharp. “It gets exhausting,” he managed. “Slughorn doesn’t even know it’s me he’s testing these things on.” He wasn’t quite sure whether or not that mattered, but Remus had a feeling that the morbid curiosity he often saw in Slughorn’s eyes when he discussed potionmaking would be replaced by something a tad more empathetic if he knew who exactly it was that he was feeding firefly wings and newt spleens to.

“It’s your choice, Remus,” Pomfrey said. 

“Is it?” Remus asked, perhaps a bit too harshly. Everything seemed to come out of him sharp and dark these days. “It doesn’t feel like it.” He dug his thumbnail into the side of his finger as he spoke. Some odd part of him wished he could still swing his legs sitting on these cots. “If I don’t try it, how will I know if it works?”

Pomfrey frowned. “I suppose that’s the choice, then, isn’t it?” she asked. “Try it and know for certain, or refuse it and be left to wonder.” There was something very knowing on her face, then, like she very clearly knew that she wasn’t talking about potions or cures anymore. She had that look that adults got when they weren’t saying what they meant, the one where Remus often thought he knew what they meant, but then second guessed himself every time. This time, though, he didn’t quite care what she meant. His mind had already made the leap on its own.

“It’s not the same,” Remus said, shaking his head. He hadn’t meant to say it. Even so, it was true. It wasn’t the same.

“What’s not the same?” Pomfrey asked. Remus squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m going to take the potion,” he said. “I always take the potion. I need to see if it works, because– because what if it works? And if it doesn’t… what could be worse than this?” He opened his palms in his lap, empty and everything both at once. “I don’t lose anything.”

“Okay,” Pomfrey murmured, her voice sounding very careful. Remus supposed they must have danced around this topic many times in the past year or so. He supposed they must have gotten rather good at it. At not saying things. At not saying things in a similar way to the way Hope Lupin and Lyall Lupin didn’t say things, and in a similar way that Remus had learned not to say things to them, or to anyone. “So you’ll take the potion.”

“But it’s not the same,” Remus insisted. “It’s not– I could lose everything, if–” the sharp feeling in his throat made his words catch.

“Not everything,” Pomfrey said gently. Remus closed his fingers again, balling his hands into fists, and it was all too familiar, this feeling. It never went away. Every full moon, every time he took a potion, every time he came here to the hospital wing and sat around waiting for something terrible to happen, or pretending something terrible happened, it was this– it was everything, all at once, in some impossible, indescribable way where he could never seem to unravel one thread without disturbing another.

“It feels like everything,” Remus said, his voice raspy and dry.

“It always does, when you’re young,” Pomfrey sighed. “It’s all you know. How could there be anything else?”

“Sirius is my soulmate,” Remus said.

When he said it, he felt weightless, a little dizzy. Surreal.

He wasn’t sure he really said it out loud, at first. There were times when thoughts bounced around so loudly in his head that he wondered if everyone could hear them all the time, like they were just all entertaining ignorance for his sake, and then when it came time for the important things to be said, those thoughts were just as loud, too– things got lost easily, sometimes.

“Sirius is my soulmate,” Remus said again, just in case it wasn’t real the first time, and then his cheeks felt wet.

“Oh, Remus, love,” Madam Pomfrey said, and she sounded very much like a mother, but very much not like Remus’ mother, and that meant everything. He felt sick. It wasn’t right. He should have told her first. “I know.”

“It’s not fair,” Remus said.

“I know,” she said again. “It’s not.” 

“What do I do?” Remus asked. He sounded desperate. He was desperate. “How do I know? I think– I think–” The words wouldn’t come out. “But how do I know?”

He felt the little hospital cot dip as Madam Pomfrey sat next to him, a few small inches away. Her magic always felt soft at the edges, tingly, like a limb that had half fallen asleep, blood slowly returning. “You’re not going to like my answer,” she said. 

“Then lie,” Remus choked out, wiping his wrist roughly over his eyes and covering his face. It all boiled back down to this feeling– heavy, dense, sharp. Angry. He didn’t remember being this angry, before. “It was already hard enough. Why does it keep getting worse? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Madam Pomfrey responded, her voice certain and steady. “You didn’t do anything, Remus.” He didn’t know quite how to tell her that that only made it worse. “I can’t tell you what to do. I wish I could. But I think… I think if you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t spend so much time wondering whether or not you did.”

He didn’t know quite how to tell her that that only made it worse, too.

***

To my Moony,

Happy Christmas, love. 

I know it isn’t what any of us wanted. I know you’re lonely, and frustrated, and sad– I know this because you are so very much like me, and right now, I am lonely, and frustrated, and sad. 

There isn’t much time that we get to have you, now, is there? As much as I love that school for what they’ve done for you, I can’t help but feel jealous at how much more they see my son than his own mother. There were few things I looked forward to more than the holidays, just to see you, and now here we are. Is it too little to simply say I miss you? I can’t find the words to say it another way. I think you will understand all that I mean when I say, I miss you.

But, oh, look at me, starting on such a downer. It felt necessary to get it out of the way, don’t you agree? “The elephant in the room.” Here’s my proposal, love: we’ll have another Christmas, sometime in the summer. I’m sure you or your father know some kind of snow spell, or you’ll invent one somehow, just for this. We’ll have presents and gingerbread and a nice tree. They’re evergreen, so at least we know they won’t go out of style before the summer, right? 

This is just a very shoddy trial run. Everyone knows that the real Christmas is in July. Everyone who matters, anyway. (Tell your friends, of course.)

But it wouldn’t be a good trial run if we didn’t send you gifts. I’ve gotten much better at knitting since the summer. I think the cold weather was a good motivator. Your father tells me that when it snows up there, it’s truly stunning, and some day I hope I might see it, but for now, I hope these keep you warm. 

Is it embarrassing to wear a sweater knitted by your mum? I won’t be hurt if the answer is yes. The socks are hopefully more subtle. And I have a feeling your friends won’t tease you for the blanket. They seem like a good bunch. 

There’s another pair of socks and a scarf for Sirius. I thought he might like the navy color. It reminded me of the night sky. Hopefully he’s not allergic to wool or something terribly unfortunate like that. I’ve sent him a card, too. Hopefully that’s not strange. Or at least, hopefully that’s the right kind of strange. If it’s too much, tell me to lay off. You know better than anyone that I can get a bit too sentimental, sometimes. 

I really don’t know how this bird is going to carry it, but your father’s gift to you is also theoretically arriving to you with this letter. Seems like an awful lot to carry. He’s gone and tried to one-up me in sentimentality, it seems. He’s annotated a copy of The Hobbit, written all sorts of stuff in the margins for you and whatnot, won’t even let me look at it. You two better not be gossiping about me in elvish. I’ll feel it. Mothers have a sense for these things, you know.

Oh, Moony. Love, keep your head high. The world is a scary place, and it is only scarier when we are apart, I know. I feel that, too. What more can I say but that we love you. We are safe, and you are safe, and it might not feel very much like it right now, but someday, this will make us appreciate each other even more. 

I miss you.

I love you. 

Mum

***

In his defense, Sirius had intended for Remus to sleep in for much longer than he did considering how late they’d stayed up playing exploding snaps. The plan had been vague, yes, but it had been a plan at least. Sirius would wait up for Remus to fall asleep once they finally turned in for the night, listening to his breathing and trying to guess when he’d actually nodded off (a process which was far harder in practice than it was in theory), and then once he was sure, he’d set about decorating– or rather, redecorating. 

To be fair, Hogwarts did a rather lovely job of adorning itself for the holidays, sprouting all sorts of decorations for practically the entire month of December. Menorahs popped up on windowsills, mkekas and kinaras on tables, garlands and wreaths over doors, and a Christmas tree took up so much space behind the teacher’s table in the great hall that they needed to move their chairs to the side. It was all very festive, sure. But Sirius had a plan.

So after Remus fell asleep, he got to work. 

Sirius had never been one for herbology, more often than not killing any of the plants he’d been assigned to tend to during first year and dropping the subject shortly after. He didn’t really know what he wanted to do with his life, but it certainly wasn’t anything that required a green thumb. He had a feeling, though, that if Hope Lupin had a mind for it, she could put a great many botanists in the Wizarding World out of business without even trying. Sirius had written a fairly simple request to her earlier that year once he got the idea in his head. He knew she had an ever-abundant garden, and he knew that Remus loved it dearly from the way he talked about it, so he had asked what Remus’ favorite plants were that she grew. And had added that a few tips for growing them might be helpful. He wanted to do it without magic. The right way, as she claimed. No cheating. 

What he received in return was roughly four pages, front and back, containing an exhaustive list of what Hope Lupin grew in her garden at various times of year and how much exactly Remus seemed to enjoy them, followed by step-by-step guides for cultivation and, at times, harvesting. 

It was a bit much to handle on his own. Professor Sprout had been wildly helpful. 

In the end, Sirius had wound up with a decent selection of final products; there were two very vine-y, dangly plants, English ivy and honeysuckle, a mint plant that had gotten monstrously larger than Sirius thought it would, and a plant that was perhaps a bit gruesomely named a bleeding heart. Hope Lupin has said that Sirius would understand once it flowered, and she was right, as always.

The growing had been done with as little magical help as possible, though some was required; pots that kept the sprouts and seedlings in the right climate for growing, charms that kept magical pests and ailments away from the leaves and roots. That wasn’t cheating, Sirius thought. And Hope Lupin thought the same when he wrote to her to keep her updated on his progress. A nudge in the right direction, that’s all, she said. 

Carting them back to the dorm was now the difficult part, though. He imagined many times the tragedy of tripping on his way back– losing concentration on a levitating spell, bits of ceramic and terracotta and soil scattering everywhere– so perhaps that’s why his math in the timing was a little off. He moved awfully slowly. Peeves very nearly tried to sabotage the whole operation, but when he saw the ghost coming, Sirius put on his most deadly don’t even try it face, which was evidently enough. 

Except now the sun was rising, and Sirius was still wrapping the last long, twisting vines of 

English ivy up the bedposts of Remus’ bed. He had half of one foot precariously balanced on the edge of the bed frame, the knee of the other leg leaned against the hardwood post, wand in between his teeth, and both hands occupied with the task of convincing two strands of leaves to tangle together in some functional way that would hold them both up– and then Remus sat bolt upright so quickly and with such a sharp inhale that Sirius thought his own heart had stopped at the shock of it. 

He landed on the cold floor with the crack of an elbow and thud of a hip against the stone. For a moment, the wind was knocked out of him, and he laid on the ground staring up at the ceiling. He heard the sound of Remus breathing from the bed, shaky at first and then quickly evening out with obvious effort, and Sirius had the distant thought of wondering what Remus had been dreaming about to wake him in such a start. 

Eventually, very hesitantly, he heard; “Sirius?”

“Did you know,” Sirius said, “that the words made you look are written on the ceiling up there?” 

“What?” Remus asked. 

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the words, having never thought to look up before. But they were up there, clear as day. “Do you think that was James or Peter trying to prank us?” he wondered aloud. 

“Do I… what?” Remus asked again, and then his head appeared at the edge of the bed looking down at Sirius on the floor. His hair was sticking out in all sorts of wild directions, eyes bleary, and there were a few little dots of sweat at his hairline. “What were you doing? Why are you on the floor?”

“Stargazing,” Sirius said, shrugging and putting his hands behind his head. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Remus muttered, rubbing one eye with the heel of his palm. Finally, he noticed the change in decor, his eyes widening a bit when he saw the vines going up his bedposts and the mint and bleeding hearts that sat at either side of the window next to his bed. Sirius propped himself up on one elbow, notably the elbow that he hadn’t smacked on the ground, and watched Remus’ expression. 

“Your mum told me your favorites,” Sirius said when the silence stretched on a little too long. “I wrote to her. Hope that’s not weird. And I didn’t cheat, either. No growing spells.” He stood up, rolling one shoulder back. Falling had not been part of the plan. Alas.

“You grew these?” Remus asked, his voice quiet and awed. 

Sirius nodded, pride swelling in his chest at the tone. “Happy Christmas,” he said as cheerfully as he could while wondering whether or not his gift was well received. Remus, in lieu of replying, threw the tangle of covers off of his legs and leaned over to the mint plant. He plucked a leaf off of it gently and then put it between his palms, rubbing them back and forth in a sort of washing movement. Sirius could smell the scent of mint in the air even from where he stood a good few feet away. Remus brought his hands to his face, breathing in deeply, his eyes closed. It was then that Sirius was sure he’d gotten the gift right. 

Remus opened his eyes when he breathed out, blinking a few times as he lowered his hands, and then with a smile slowly spreading on his face, said; “Happy Christmas, Sirius.”

***

I didn’t make them myself. The enchantments were… 

… 

Well, they’re sort of tricky, you know. But the lady at Flourish and Blotts told me how it all works. If anyone other than us looks at them, they look like textbooks. When you open it yourself, though, it’s blank. And you can write in it. Like this.

Sirius?

Sirius, test it out. Is it working?

woah

Oh it works! Whew. 

It’ll show up in all of them if you write in this bit, and then we’ve got our own pages. So turn to the next few pages until you see my writing again.

I’m over here.

See it?

WOAH

So you could write to just me here, or just James, or just Peter on their pages… I’m not sure how long it lasts before it goes away. I guess we’ll figure it out. But this way, we don’t need to worry about sneaking letters over the summer and…

I mean, I don’t really know where I’m going to be, I guess, or if I’ll be allowed to write letters. So maybe it’s a bit selfish of a gift, but–

it’s perfect. 

it’s BRILLIANT.

Yeah? I wasn’t sure–

YEAH

Moony, you’re brilliant. does any quill and ink work?

Moony, you there?

Moooooooony

Sorry yeah. Any quill should. I tested a few out. And I think when someone’s written something new, the pages look a bit wrinkled on the outside.

BRILLIANT

Again, I didn’t make them–

still! they’re fantastic! we won’t have to worry about passing notes, or owls over the summer, and Peter can finally write to us from wherever his family goes off to in Romania or Peru or whatever, and

…

Sirius?

sorry yeah i’m here

i guess– 

i mean– 

i didn’t realize that you– 

that all this stuff with your dad and protections and whatnot would last into the summer

Oh. Yeah. I dunno. It might. I’m not sure.

sorry.

It’s fine.

no, I mean… it’s gotta be scary–

I don’t want to talk about it, Sirius.

right. sorry.

It’s…

… 

Let’s just go down and see what the Great Hall’s got for breakfast. How far away did you walk, anyway?

clocktower courtyard

What? How’d you get all the way over there so fast??

ran

You’re ridiculous

Are you running back, too?

of co urs e

I thought you hated running. Are you trying to write while you run? Is that why your handwriting’s gone all wonky?

i'd l ike tose e wha t yoursloo ksl ike ru

…

Sirius?

ran into a wall. be there soon. 

stop laughing i can hear it from here

***

When Remus was young, it had taken a while for him and his parents to realize that things were getting worse. 

It made sense looking back, as most things did; he wasn’t a child anymore, so of course that came with new difficulties. Strength and speed and a viciousness none of them quite expected. Hope had told Remus (reluctantly, and only when he asked) that on those first few moons after the bite, the wolf would emerge and pace anxiously in circles around the little room in the basement they’d set up for him. A nervous dog, in essence. Remus had tried to picture it; eyes wide, ears pinned back, tail tucked, panting and pacing and whining for hours on end until morning.

But it seemed that once the wolf realized it was alone, once it realized there was no pack and no escaping, four walls and iron bars on the windows and enchantments to keep it in, that nervousness had turned to frustration, and then frustration to rage, and then rage to simple, rabid fury. 

It was one of those things that Remus, Hope, and Lyall didn’t talk about. There wasn’t much to say. It’s getting worse, someone might say, and then the others would nod, and that would be it. It was useless to put it to words. It would do nothing, and solve nothing. It’s getting worse, Remus would think every so often, but he wouldn’t say it. 

And while there were no true comforts Remus could ever find before or during the transformation, the one relief he looked forward to while he was home was the knowing that someone who loved him would hold him when he returned to himself afterwards. Since coming to Hogwarts, it was a rare comfort, so it became all the more cherished over the summer and during the winter holidays. 

He thought he’d be angrier, when the moon came, that he wasn’t home. He’d been angry for days, for weeks, even– frustrated and unnerved and out of place– but he’d expected it to reach its peak when the day of the moon came. Instead, when he woke up and felt that familiar ache, something else rooted itself in his chest. 

There was only so long that he could put it off for. He knew Sirius noticed as soon as they’d woken up that morning, if not the day before. He’d long since stopped making old excuses, and Sirius didn’t question him when he slept in later than usual, or when he said he was skipping breakfast, or when he decided to stay in their room a while longer. All Sirius said was that he’d be just downstairs in the common room if Remus needed anything. 

Or if you just want some company, he’d added. Remus had never taken him up on the offer before, but he offered every time despite that. And this time, the thought lodged itself in Remus’ brain and wouldn’t shake free.

It wasn’t fair that he was alone for this one. He wasn’t supposed to be alone for this one. He was supposed to be with his mum and dad somewhere safe, somewhere where he’d wake up and they’d be right there waiting for him. He only got a few of those a year, and now it had been taken away. And once more, instead of anger, there was just that cold, heavy feeling in his chest. 

All he could think about then, no matter how much he knew it was a bad idea, was how much he didn’t want to be alone.

The sense of longing was only mildly interrupted by a genuine hatred of just how many stairs this bloody school had. 

“Shit,” he muttered as a twinge of pain shot through one knee, throwing off his balance. Luckily, it was only two stairs he skidded down until he landed, sitting on the second to last step with one hand braced against the stone wall beside him. 

He heard Sirius’ voice call from over near the fireplace a very concerned, “Remus?” but elected to ignore it for a moment in favor of pulling himself to his feet. Stars swam in his vision. His skin felt tight when he reached to brace a hand on the back of an armchair, walking as steadily as he could over to the fire. “You alright?” Sirius asked. His voice sounded closer, but Remus had to train his eyes on the ground just to avoid falling over. 

“Yeah,” he replied hoarsely. “I just, um… wanted to–” The back of the chair he’d been holding onto fell away abruptly, evidently shorter than Remus anticipated, and he tipped forward, reaching blindly in front of him.

“Hey, hey,” Sirius said. His voice sounded like it was underwater, but then Remus felt his fingers grip his forearm and the shock jolted through his body like electricity. It pulled him back to the present. “Sorry,” Sirius said. It was clear he was about to pull back, but Remus held onto him. The steady sensation of magic made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Sirius’ sleeves were rolled up, and Remus’ fingers rested just over a vein in his arm. At his elbow, there was a glint of gold. “Sorry,” Sirius said again, more quietly. “I didn’t want you to fall.”

“It’s fine,” Remus mumbled as he got his feet under him. He felt Sirius’ eyes burning a hole through him, and he shook his head. “I just… I–” When Remus looked up, he found Sirius’ eyes, wide and grey, staring back at him. Everything else seemed to vanish. 

“Okay,” Sirius said gently, as if he understood everything that needed to be said just from that moment. “Just– sit?” he asked. Remus nodded, and with a bit of help, he made his way over to the couch. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of the fireplace. He was sweating in an instant, the fever making him cold and hot at the same time, but that heavy feeling was a little less. Absentmindedly, he realized that he was still holding onto Sirius’ arm. 

“It gets lonely down there,” Remus said without moving. “In the infirmary. I’m… I’m gonna go later. I have to. But I just… I want to stay, for now.”

“Okay,” Sirius repeated, and with his eyes closed, Remus could isolate how his magic felt, like there was a fire burning through Sirius’ veins, sharp and sparking, little embers flicking at his skin. And then, for the first time, he wondered what his own magic felt like. If Sirius could feel it, too. He wondered what it felt like to him when they touched.

“Can you stay?” Remus asked. Stay. Stay, stay please. 

“Of course,” Sirius said. Remus felt like something wound tight inside of him was now finally, slowly uncoiling. “Lie down, Moony,” Sirius added quietly, and Remus did. They didn’t let go of each other. In his head, something bitter reminded him, you can’t stay here. Not forever. Not tonight. Remus opened his eyes, blearily finding Sirius’ gaze.

“You have to wake me up,” he said. He hated the way the panic surged through him at the thought of transforming here, where it was supposed to be safe. “Once it’s dark. Madam Pomfrey… I’ll need to go see her. You have to wake me up.” 

“I will,” Sirius nodded. He had a certainty about him, like a soldier standing guard. “I’ll be right here,” he said.

Remus couldn’t remember closing his eyes again. 

When he slept, it was a restless, confusing thing, but through all of his thoughts and dreams, there was a thread of sparking warmth. 

He wished it had been enough, that this small comfort would push out the emptiness he felt, but it didn’t. When Sirius woke him after dark, when he walked him to the infirmary, when he was passed off into Madam Pomfrey’s care– when he had to say it again, for what felt like the thousandth time, No. I don’t want you to stay. I don’t want you to see it. The emptiness came back, then. 

And so did the anger.

In the morning, he just wanted to be held.

***

Mrs. Hope Lupin,

I don’t know that I can really express to you how much your present meant to me. I’m not a very good writer. You’ll have to take my word for it that I’ve never gotten a gift like that before, not once in my life. Never gotten a card like that, either, except maybe the ones Remus writes me over the summer. I see where he gets it from. 

But thank you. Really, really thank you. Remus hasn’t told us much about anything that’s going on with everything, so I don’t know if this letter will even get to you or not, but I really hope it does. I just really need to say thank you, and I don’t know if I’ll get the chance anytime soon. 

And I want to thank you for one other thing, but I think it might be a bit weird. I’m just going to say it anyway. Thank you for loving Remus. And thank you for showing Remus how much you love him. Maybe you think that’s easy for parents to do, but I know for a fact it’s not always.

I know he’s having a hard time. I’m sure you know that. I just want you to know we’re here for him, and we’re making sure he knows we care about him, too. I care about him an awful lot.

Thank you again. For everything. 

Sirius

***

“What sorts of things do you think are written in these books?” Sirius whispered. The dim light that emanated from the tip of Remus’ wand was barely enough to see a few feet in front of them, but neither of them dared cast lumos any brighter. “How restricted are they?”

“What do you mean, how restricted?” Remus asked quietly, frowning as he peeked around the corner of some shelves. He was fairly certain he’d seen ghosts weaving in and out of the books back here, and he didn’t want to get caught back here. When it came to pranks and mischief, Remus had been able to avoid detentions expertly. Apparently, he had a rather innocent face. But if he and Sirius were caught in the restricted section, there wouldn’t be any getting out of it. 

“I mean, how bad can they really be if there’s this many books back here? Are they all evil?” Sirius whispered back. 

“I doubt they’re evil,” Remus mused. “Probably just dangerous or something.”

“How can a book be dangerous?” Sirius asked, scoffing silently. 

“I’d be careful asking that,” Remus warned. After making sure there were no ghosts lurking around the corners, he waved Sirius on and they ventured deeper. “Have you seen the Care of Magical Creatures textbooks that the seventh years use? They’ve got teeth.”

“Teeth?” Sirius echoed. “Gross.”

Remus hummed in agreement. “But still. There’s plenty of spells and potions and stuff they won’t teach us because they’re not safe, or because they use dark magic or something.”

“That’s a lot of dark magic,” Sirius said, craning his neck up to look at the towering book shelves. “Bet Pince has read every one of these. She knows more than she lets on.”

Remus held back a laugh. “Yeah? You reckon she’s a dark witch?”

“No, of course not. I just reckon she knows as much as one,” Sirius explained. Remus shook his head, smiling. When he glanced around another corner, his heart leapt into his throat, and he leaned back, pressing himself flat to the book case and putting a finger to his lips. Sirius shut his mouth instantly, making himself small as well, and the ghost of Agnes Mexborough passed them by without a glance in their direction. Remus let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Are you friends with the ghosts, too, like you are with the portraits?” Sirius whispered when Agnes was far enough away. 

“Not enough that they wouldn’t turn me in for breaking into the restricted section,” Remus muttered back, turning back toward the row of books he’d been peering down before. “Come on.” Sirius followed after him.

“You seem like you’re on a mission,” Sirius commented. “Studying the dark arts?”

“Yeah,” Remus said sarcastically. “I’m gonna become a dark lord. Change my name to something stupid, build an army.”

“Har har,” Sirius muttered, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, really, what are you looking for?”

Remus glanced at him over his shoulder. “I read about this historian, Filius Bilby, who was famous for making maps.” Sirius’ eyes gleamed at the implication of where this was going. He was perhaps just as invested in Remus’ creation of the Marauder’s Map as Remus was himself. “Apparently, he used to put tracking spells on animals and use their movements to figure out the layouts of all sorts of dangerous places.”

“Why’s he in the restricted section?” Sirius asked. 

“He got in trouble for putting tracking spells on people without them knowing to make maps of their cities and whatnot,” Remus continued. They made their way between another row of shelves.

“Ah,” Sirius breathed.

“Yeah. But… well, listen, I had this idea, but it’s a little unethical–”

“That’s the best kind of idea, Moony,” Sirius interrupted. 

Remus stifled a laugh. “Alright,” he said. “If we can find his books or notes or something, we might be able to use that same spell for our map. We’d be able to see where people are in the school, students and professors and all.” Sirius had a look on his face like Remus had just told him the secret to immortality. After a long moment where Sirius simply stared at him, Remus laughed awkwardly. “What?”

“You’re more devious than me, James, and Peter combined. How is it you’ve never gotten a detention?” Sirius asked, crossing his arms.

Remus shrugged. “I’ve got a very innocent look about me, I guess,” he said.

“I think you’re just very good at hiding things,” Sirius countered. His tone was lighthearted enough, but even so, it sent a twinge of guilt through Remus’ mind. 

“Hiding things,” he scoffed, keeping the tension from his voice as best he could. “Professors only ever know its you that’s done something because you can’t resist signing your name to it.”

“Hey, James does it as well,” Sirius said defensively. “Besides, everyone always says you should make your mark in the world.”

“Somehow, I doubt that’s what they meant,” Remus muttered, shaking his head.

“Me and James only ever sign our pranks when we’re getting back at each other, anyway,” Sirius went on justifying himself. “The Marauders need no signature.” He said it very proudly. Though Remus supposed he had the same odd pride behind the name as well. “I think it’s about time we reminded the school of that, though, don’t you think?”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” Remus mused. He peered out of the row of books they’d walked down, looking both ways before deeming it safe to step out and navigate further into the restricted section. Remus didn’t quite know what he was looking for– the system for organizing books didn’t seem quite logical here, though he guessed that was intentional. It would be poor planning to make dangerous books easy to find. 

“Got any grudges you’re holding?” Sirius asked. “I can think of a few good targets.” 

Remus couldn’t help the first name that came out of his mouth. “Howell,” he said. Sirius hummed darkly in agreement. “Crane and Lavert, too, but… at least the two of them seem like they learned a lesson.” Sirius scoffed at that, perhaps a bit louder than intended from the way he ducked his head afterwards.

“You think they really learned something?” he asked. 

Remus shrugged. “Crane’s dad works in the Ministry,” he said. “I… I didn’t tell my dad much about what happened,” he admitted, “but he knew who was involved, and he said word got around all the departments pretty quick that his kid had gotten suspended.” 

“It does seem like Crane’s put a cork in it this year,” Sirius said thoughtfully. 

“And I don’t know what Lavert’s family is like, but he really only sort of glares at me when he sees me now,” Remus went on. 

“And Howell?” Sirius asked hesitantly. Remus had been reluctant to address this particular topic the whole year. Now, though… if there were ever a time to talk about dangerous things, he supposed the restricted section would be the right place to do it.

“I think he’s got it out for me,” Remus said. He kept his attention on the books just to avoid Sirius’ gaze and realized he was beginning to recognize some of the names from the history books he’d read. He paused their wandering, reading closer. 

“Got it out for you?” Sirius echoed. 

Remus nodded. “He’s mostly harmless, I guess–”

“Mostly?” 

Remus winced a little, pulling a book out halfway to look at the title. “He did hex my shoes once to make them stick on the stairs. I don’t know if he meant for me to fall,” he said, knowing full well it was exactly what Howell intended, “but we both know I’m not very coordinated. Either way, it’s not that stuff that bothers me. I’m sure I’d manage to fall down the stairs all on my own if I was left to it.”

When Remus ventured a glance at Sirius, it was obvious he was holding in whatever surge of emotions he was likely having. It was exactly why Remus hadn’t told him anything about Howell’s behavior that year. He’d only let it fester. The last time that had happened, Sirius had nearly torn someone’s head off. This time, though, Sirius was quiet, waiting for him to continue. Remus sighed, pushing the book back into the shelf and walking slowly down the row, searching for other familiar names. 

“He just doesn’t stop talking about it,” Remus said. “As soon as he came back, he started spreading rumors again, saying–” He realized he really didn’t want to plant the idea any further into Sirius’ head than it already was from the year before. “Ridiculous things, saying I’m a coward, or that I made it attack them. I’ll see claw marks on the walls, or hear howls in the hall, and– and maybe a month ago, I opened my Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, and a whole apparition of a wolf jumped out of it and ran off into the library.” 

Remus honestly would have been convinced he was going crazy if it weren’t for the fact that Howell was so bloody obvious about the fact that it was him. He might as well have signed his name to it, the way he sneered at Remus the next time they saw each other. Enjoying your studies, Looney? He never dared to do anything in the open. Holly had made it clear that she was willing and able to ruin anyone’s day– hell, their whole year– if they said anything out of line to Remus. Even so, ever since the news that Greyback had been spotted had reached him, those phantom howls and claw marks had him sinking into a different kind of paranoia. 

“Moony, I know you told me not to go attacking anyone for you,” Sirius said, strained, “but I’d really like to ring Howell’s neck right now.”

“Yeah, I knew you would,” Remus sighed. Predictably, Sirius practically had steam coming out of his ears. “It’s not worth it, though. I’ve got no proof it was him. You’d just get detention.”

“I really couldn’t care less about getting detention,” Sirius replied.

“I care about you getting detention,” Remus said. “And I care about you getting suspended even more.”

“I wouldn’t get suspended for throwing a good punch,” Sirius muttered. 

“You think you’d stop there?” Remus asked. Sirius’ steps faltered a little at the comment. Remus paused, too, stopping in front of another set of history books. He stared at the titles, but wasn’t quite reading them. “Be honest,” Remus said quietly. “Would it be enough? Would you feel better?” 

“Would you?” Sirius shot back. Remus could hear the defensiveness in his words. 

“No,” Remus said. “I wouldn’t. And if I thought I would, I would have done something about it already.” Sirius paused at that, and Remus thought that really, all it took to disarm the many shields of anger that Sirius wore sometimes was a little honesty. It was a shame he could never quite give Sirius all of the truth he deserved just to feel safe.

“Would you really?” Sirius asked.

“I think so,” Remus said. He pulled a book out from the shelf, flipping it open to the index and skimming the content. “I guess I can’t say for sure. But I suppose I’ve given myself a reputation as someone who starts fights.”

“One incident doesn’t give you a reputation,” Sirius noted. “No matter how glorious that first punch was.”

“Glorious,” Remus repeated, breathing a laugh. “It was a bit of a spectacle, wasn’t it?”

“A bit,” Sirius agreed. 

“Here,” Remus said. “Look in here for anything on Filius Bilby's maps. The index says he’s mentioned on page 146.” Sirius took the book from Remus’ outstretched hand, flipping it open. Remus pulled another title from the shelf. 

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing, though,” Sirius said, turning a few pages. “A reputation like that. Not when they’re the right fights.”

“You said that last year, too,” Remus murmured. “I think maybe I see the logic, now, though.” As much as he hated the attention he got from the Slytherin upperclassmen, there was certainly something different about the way he was being treated this year. Maybe some of that was because he wasn’t quite so young anymore, and maybe some was because of his marks (now that good marks actually made him a good wizard and not exclusively a suck-up and a nerd).  

But there was something to be said about the way the first and second years looked at him at times with something like admiration, the way the muggleborn ones looked relieved when Remus came around a corner and whichever bigoted classmate of theirs throwing comments at them would scamper away. People knew his name. No one had ever really known his name, before. No one had told a story about him where he wasn’t the one being shoved into a broom closet or getting his head stuck in a toilet.

Now, he’d fought a werewolf and won. 

No one knew how much he wished that was true.

“We’ve changed you, Moony,” Sirius said, smirking. “Made you into a delinquent.” 

“Taking all the credit, are we?” Remus asked, shaking his head. 

“Starting fights, committing crimes,” Sirius tutted. Remus stifled a laugh. “I can’t help but feel responsible. We’re making you into such a good liar, though, it’s great fun.” Remus rolled his eyes, trading his book out for another.

“Subtlety is key,” he said. “It’s not really lying if no one ever thinks to ask you for the truth.” 

“That so?” Sirius said curiously, his voice taking on a breathy sort of sound. Remus glanced in his direction and found that Sirius was watching him, abandoning his focus on the book. Remus took it back from him, flipping through the remaining pages to make sure there wasn’t anything important there before slotting it back into the shelf. “Tell us a lie, then,” Sirius said. 

Remus blinked. “What?”

“Tell a lie,” Sirius repeated. There was something just slightly unsure in his tone. “And I’ll ask you for the truth.” 

Remus looked at him in earnest, then, and he felt something shift. Something vital. It made his mouth dry. This had become a different conversation altogether, and not by his choice.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” Remus said. Sirius stared at him. His mouth was open just slightly, like he was second guessing what he was about to say.

“Is that the truth?” Sirius asked quietly, uncertainly, like he didn’t know the answer. 

Of course, Remus wanted to say, but for some reason it got stuck in his throat. 

Behind Sirius, he saw a hint of movement, and his focus was jerked away. A ghost was floating aimlessly past the row of books they were in. Remus froze. Sirius turned sharply and looked, and as he did, the ghost slowed to a stop. It was almost all the way past the row, but not quite, and Remus realized that he and Sirius had maybe a second’s grace to get out of sight. 

He didn’t think, just reached for Sirius’ hand and yanked him so quickly out of the aisle that he nearly pulled him off his feet. 

“Hello?” the ghost of Agnes Mexborough called as they turned left immediately at the end of the row. Remus’ heart leapt into his throat. He didn’t look back, just led them both hurriedly past four more rows of books, and then right into another aisle. “Who’s there?” Agnes asked, her voice muffled by the shelves. Halfway down the row, there was an opening, a small alcove on their left, books on every side, a tiny space between two shelves. A dead end, but out of sight. Remus pulled them both into it. 

His heart was hammering hard enough that he wondered if Agnes would hear it. He pressed his back against the edge of the shelf behind him, guiding Sirius by the hand so he stood directly in front of him, out of sight as well. For a moment, they caught each other’s eye– Sirius’ expression mirrored the same panic that Remus was sure his own face displayed, and between them was a very clear understanding of what needed to be done; don’t make a sound.

Remus held his breath, turning his head until he could see the aisle out of the corner of his eye, and they waited. 

“Hello?” Agnes called again. “You better not be a rat,” she said, her voice breathy and nervous. “I quite hate rats. Do rats eat books? Hello?” Remus’ eyes widened as he watched her float past the entrance to the alcove. He kept as still as he could. Sirius was motionless in front of him.

And then she floated on. 

“Oh dear,” Agnes sighed, drifting away. “Awfully spooky in here. Awfully spooky indeed.”  

Remus held his breath as long as he could, long after he figured Agnes had moved on, until finally he let it go as quietly as he could. He swallowed hard, relief slowly reaching him as he realized they hadn’t been caught. 

When he turned back to Sirius, a few things struck him all at once. 

The first was that it was very obvious when they were so close together like this that Remus was much taller than Sirius. He had to tuck his chin to look down at him. 

The second was that they were still holding hands. That Sirius’ hand was cold and a little clammy, his fingers thin. And even despite that coldness, the warm spark of magic was there.

The third was that his chest felt tight.

There was a moment of silence between them, still as statues.

“I’ll tell you one,” Sirius finally breathed. Remus swallowed. There was hardly a few inches of distance between them. “A lie.” 

This is dangerous, Remus thought. 

“I don’t want you to lie to me, either,” Remus said. His voice was hardly anything more than a whisper, low in his chest. 

“Okay,” Sirius murmured. “The truth, then,” he said. From the corner of his eye, Remus could see Sirius raising his hand slowly– like he was expecting Remus to spook like an animal– but Remus found he really couldn’t tear his eyes away from Sirius’ gaze. He felt cold fingers rest at the side of his neck, inching up, a thumb at his jaw, pulse hammering. 

This is dangerous, Remus thought again. Very dangerous.

Please don’t say what you’re about to say.

“Sirius–” 

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

The air left Remus’ lungs. No. Don’t say that. Don’t say that.

“And I–” Sirius swallowed. His eyes were wide and anxious. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while. I didn’t want it to be a secret. It wasn’t supposed to be– but then everything happened over the summer, and I didn’t– I wasn’t–” He was almost breathless, trying to explain, and his gaze flitted around Remus’ face, searching for something. Searching for an answer. “I didn’t know how to say it, then, and I didn’t really feel like myself. But I think maybe… maybe there’s a chance you feel the same. And maybe it’s worth saying it, just… just…”

Remus opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say. In his head, there was static, a jumble of thoughts that couldn’t be put to words, a feeling of loss. As the silence between them stretched, Sirius’ brows knitted together. The fingers at Remus’ cheek tensed. 

“You can tell me I’m wrong,” Sirius said softly. Remus felt like something inside of him was about to snap. “Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll stop, and we’ll just be– we’ll just be the same as before. I swear,” Sirius went on insistently, like he was afraid Remus wouldn’t believe him. 

And he was right, a little. Remus didn’t believe him. Because no matter what, now, things would change. No matter what he did right now, no matter what he told Sirius or didn’t tell Sirius, he’d be stuck. He’d be digging a deeper hole, and he’d have nowhere to go but down. 

Remus fumbled for anything to say. He stared at Sirius, lost. So entirely, completely lost. 

And oh, this hurt. This hurt more than anything, Remus thought. This hurt more than the moon and more than touch and more than knowing, because he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this to Sirius, couldn’t do this to himself, couldn’t do anything, couldn’t give anything of himself in this moment, even though he wanted to give everything. 

He pictured a lifetime within this moment, where Sirius was holding his cheek, holding his hand, staring up at him and just wanting to know the truth. He pictured a world where he was different. He pictured a world where he wasn’t afraid. Where Sirius wouldn’t be afraid of him. He painted it in his head, a past and a present and a future where he could have this– where he could be more, and do more, and feel more– but he didn’t know what it looked like. It was all shapes and ideas, nothing distinct, nothing definite, and bitterly, Remus knew that it was because he could never have it. He could never have it, and his mind understood that. Maybe it was protecting him from imagining what was out of reach. 

He could never have it.

Why did you have to say it?

He came to the terrible realization that if he let this moment last too long, Sirius might try to kiss him. 

Remus brought his hand up to where Sirius’ fingers were resting at his cheek, forced down the feeling of acid rising in his throat, and pulled Sirius’ hand away.

Sirius moved easily. He dropped his fingers from Remus’ face, and Remus felt cold almost instantly. Sirius just stared at him. Remus found himself wishing that his own eyes would betray him for once; that his expression would be sad and desperate and agonized so that Sirius would understand that this hurt. That this wasn’t what he wanted to do, but that this was what he had to do, so that Sirius would ask why, so that Remus had an excuse to tell him. He only had to ask. Is that the truth? And Remus would break. He knew he would break. He only had to ask, and Remus would tell him. 

Sirius just stared at him, searching.

Remus didn’t have the words. Just like always. He shook his head and watched Sirius’ heart darken in his eyes. 

“Okay,” Sirius said. He took a step back, as far back as he could go in the small space around them, and it felt like an infinity. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus said, because he was. 

“No, don’t– don’t be sorry. It’s okay,” Sirius insisted. Is that true? Remus’ mind mocked. He knew it wasn’t. “I just, you know… I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t ask. If I didn’t try. That’s all.”

Maybe that was the difference between them, Remus thought. That Sirius would regret asking, and Remus would regret answering. 

“I… I don’t…” Remus tried, but he couldn’t say what he wanted to say, and he couldn’t say what he needed to say, so his mind sort of fizzled out like a firework underwater.

“It’s okay, Remus. And now I know, and I can– it won’t change anything, okay? I promise. I’m not expecting anything from you.” Despite the reassurance, Remus could hear the tremor in Sirius’ voice.

You’re expecting the truth, Remus thought. You’re expecting me to tell you the truth, and I’m not. 

“Hey, we're friends. Alright?” Sirius added, and Remus wondered what exactly he looked like just now to make Sirius so insistent on that. Maybe it was because he wasn’t saying anything. “Nothings going to change that. Not ever.”

Not ever, not ever, not ever. Remus wanted to scream.

“Okay,” he said, because there was nothing left to say. 

What happened now? What was supposed to happen now? Sirius would make the distinct effort to get over Remus, and Remus would be stuck knowing everything he knew and not being able to tell anyone. 

The thought occurred to him that now, perhaps, Remus should start making the distinct effort to get over Sirius as well. That maybe he should have been making that effort already, and that maybe this would hurt less if he had.

It was easier, before. It was easier when it was one sided. Remus realized that for a moment, it was possible. It had been in his hands, and he’d let it flit away from him. Not let it. Forced it away from him. And selfishly, Remus wished this had never happened. That he’d never gotten on the train four years ago. That he’d never have to feel this. All the fights and the conversations and the warnings and the boggart and Sirius… and Sirius… he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do any of this.

But here he was. Time still passed between them. It would still be morning in a few hours. Everyone would still come back after break was over. Classes would still start up again. And Remus and Sirius would still sleep in the same room, and they would still walk the same hallways, and they would still talk. They had to talk. Remus didn’t know what he would do if at the end of all this, he still lost everyone.

“Is that the book we need?” Sirius asked. The question startled Remus out of his thoughts. It was rushed. It was all rushed. The awkwardness of it all was etched into Sirius’ face, an embarrassment that cut deep. For him, it was as simple as shame; a teenager with a crush, unreciprocated. He didn’t know what Remus was taking from him.

“What?” Remus managed, and looked down. He was still holding the book he’d taken from the shelf before Agnes had come around the corner. He realized, too, that at some point, Sirius had let go of his hand. “I, um… I don’t know. I didn’t…” Forcing the words out was difficult. “I didn’t get the chance to…”

Sirius leaned past Remus and glanced both ways down the row of books. It made the whole encounter seem so much more secret. Like something they wouldn’t talk about after this. 

“I think that ghost is gone,” Sirius said. Remus nodded even though Sirius wasn’t looking at him. “Do you think there’s others?”

Remus opened his mouth to answer, but then Sirius looked at him and the words stalled in his head for a moment. He looked down at the book in his hands. “Maybe,” he mumbled, and then frowned a little. “I was sort of… expecting to, um– to run into Filch,” he said. His voice was sharp in his throat. He swallowed. “Or Pince.”

“That’d certainly get us a detention,” Sirius said in what was so clearly an attempt at lightheartedness. Remus felt sick. 

“Maybe we should–” Remus tried and failed to finish the thought. There was an overwhelming need to run pounding in his chest with every beat of his heart, like a kid afraid of the dark. Everything was too close. He pictured the bookshelves all collapsing, burying him here, and felt his hands get clammy.

Sirius waited, likely trying to give Remus a chance to find his thoughts, but the time only stretched on between them. Eventually, he shifted a little awkwardly and exited the alcove they’d tucked themselves into, looking down the shelves. 

“We could come back,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It’ll be dawn soon, anyway. Don’t want to get caught back here, right?” 

Remus nodded jerkily. He thinks you’re angry, something in his head told him. He thinks you hate him for this. He thinks he’s ruined something, but it’s you. You’ve the reason it’s all gone wrong.

They left the restricted section in silence. Remus slotted the book back into its space without ever opening it, and Sirius didn’t point out that fact, though they both seemed to understand they weren’t going to find any success here tonight even if they continued looking. Not anything that felt like success, anyway. On the way back through the halls, the paintings grumbled about being woken up, and one or two nodded at them as they passed. 

When they got back to the common room, the fire in the hearth was nothing but softly glowing embers. There was a chill coming through the cracks in the stone walls, lamps burning low, and outside the first few rays of morning sunlight were peeking through the windows. Remus had one foot on the stairs up to their room when Sirius spoke. 

”I’m–“ he said, and cut himself off immediately. Remus turned to look at him, but he had his head turned away a bit, eyes cast down. “I’m gonna go down to the quidditch pitch,” he said, very obviously not what he had initially intended to say. “James’ll kill me if I don’t practice, you know,” he added. Remus nodded. “Alright. I’ll see you later, yeah?” Remus nodded again. Sirius turned with his head kept down and crawled back out through the portrait hole.

Remus stood there for a long time, one foot stuck on the first step back up to their room, frozen in place now that he was alone. His head was blank, a thrum of tension running through him aimlessly. He didn’t know how long exactly he stood there for, but the sun was coming through the window properly when he finally made himself move– and even then, it was only because of the anxious fear that made him wonder what Sirius would think if he came back and found Remus in the exact same spot he left him.

So he laid in his bed, flat on his back on top of the covers, and tried to imagine all the ways he and Sirius had to interact now, and all the ways he needed to behave, and all the things he’d have to say to sound normal and act normal and be… anything other than what he was. The enormity of the task overwhelmed him, intricate as the tiny carvings in the stone on the ceiling he stared at while he thought. 

It was very much later that Remus realized Sirius might tell James about this. The thought made acid rise in his throat.