Work Text:
The summer of fifth year was when it started.
Sirius remembered all of it. How he wished he could block it out. There’d been yelling, running, insults and fighting, all of his belongings had been thrown out after him on the door step. And there’d been pain. Lots of pain.
It had been cold and wet and miserable, and he’d sat outside and sobbed. Blood dripped into his eye from a gash on his forehead, blurring his vision. His entire body hurt. Bruised, cut and aching, it had been half an hour before he realised that the shaking was beginning to intensify from the weather. He’d had to haul himself up, staggering across the road, dragging his trunk. A car horn blared angrily as it came around the corner and rushed past, missing him by centimetres and sending his hair and robes wild with the movement. Sirius had fallen back onto the grassy verge, hair sticking to his face with blood and tears and rain, realising he wasn’t going to get anywhere like this. He was in too much pain, and too inefficient to do anything.
A second later, a dog was standing in his place, and the emotional hurt, at least, was gone.
Sirius ran.
It had taken a week. A miserable week, full of people chasing him, kids throwing stones, drinking water from puddles and streams and eating dead animals and rubbish that he found along the way, but eventually he made it to the Cotswolds and collapsed outside the gates of Potter Manor. The world turned dark around him, and Sirius drifted away from reality, welcoming the nothingness that enveloped him.
When Sirius woke, he was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room and he was instantly filled with panic. He struggled to sit up, not able to breathe, gasping for air and suddenly James was at his side, holding his hand through it, and with time Sirius was able to breathe again.
It took the whole summer to physically heal. The bruises shrank and disappeared. The cuts turned into scabs, the scabs turned into scars, the aches disappeared, and James’ parents treated Sirius as their second son, acting as if he’d lived with them the whole time.
Remus and Peter wrote constantly, but Sirius didn’t want a fuss. He wanted to pretend like none of this had ever happened. So on the train back to Hogwarts, he greeted them with wild abandon, grabbing Peter in a headlock and rubbing his knuckles along his scalp with a mischievous grin, and pulling Remus into a hug.
“Are you okay?” Remus murmured as they pulled away. Sirius nodded, but he wasn’t sure that he’d convinced the other boy.
The problem set in the first week back at school. One night in the dorm, when the others were all asleep, Sirius was sat in the little alcove of the window, staring out at the stars. The moon was a thin sliver- there were a couple of weeks to go before they would all spend the night in the shack.
Sirius’ eyes traced the constellations in the sky, picking out the different family members that had been drilled into him ever since he could remember. There was Regulus. There was Sirius, his own star. There was Orion, and there, there was Orion’s... Orion’s belt.
The sound of cracking leather filled Sirius’ head and his skin remembered the feel of a sharp buckle cutting in. A whimper escaped Sirius’ mouth and he flinched, afraid of the punishment he would have received for daring to make a sound. When he realised it wasn’t coming, he cradled his head in his arms and cried. His breathing was all over the place again, and out of frustration he balled his hands into fists.
Awful boy, the voice of his mother echoed in his head. Disgusting. Shameful. Disgrace to the family name. You have ruined me. You were a parasite even before you were born. I should have burned you out of me, never let you take your first breath.
The belt in his mind sliced downwards. Sirius’ hand sliced with it, hitting himself in the arm. And with every crack of the buckle, for every blow his Father rained upon him, Sirius reciprocated, until his right arm was aching and sore and he was panting from exertion, but able to finally catch his breath.
The next morning, Sirius awoke to a fantastic patchwork of blue and purple taking over his arm.
You deserved that, The Walburga Black in his head sneered. You deserve worse than that. You’re lucky it wasn’t another crucio.
And Sirius knew she was right, so he pulled his sleeves down and carried on like nothing had ever happened.
Whenever the bruises began to fade, Sirius would add to them. It wasn’t always his parents that made him do it- sometimes he was angry or scared or panicking or just needed some kind of release. Sometimes he even just wanted to see the bruises and know that he’d accomplished something that his parents would be proud of.
That was how it continued, until early November. Remus had grabbed Sirius’ arm a little too tightly at dinner and Sirius had hissed in pain, wrenching away. Remus had narrowed his eyes, but said nothing until later that night, when James and Peter were asleep.
Sirius was sat in the alcove again, watching owls flying over the forest against the night sky. Remus slipped out of bed, going to sit by him. They sat in silence for a while, Sirius not turning, keeping his eyes fixed determinedly on the swooping silhouettes.
“Are you alright?” Remus asked, softly.
“Fine.” Sirius replied, short, dismissive.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then why did you ask?” Sirius snapped.
“Sirius.”
Sirius turned, finally looking at Remus, and then down at his hands in his lap, tugging his sleeves further down.
“What was that at dinner?” Remus asked, gently.
“What was what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sirius. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Come on.” Remus turned his hand over, palm up, and held it out. “Give me your arm.”
Sirius bit his lip, but did as he was told. Remus carefully rolled back the sleeve of his pyjama top, and regarded the constellation of bruises before him silently, before looking up at Sirius again, eyes sad and full of worry. “Padfoot. How did this happen?”
Sirius could feel the lump sticking in his throat, making his voice crack. “I think you know.”
“I’d hoped I was wrong.” Remus whispered.
“I’m sorry, Moony.”
“How bad is it?” Remus asked. “How many more?”
“I don’t know.” Sirius confessed. “Too many. I can’t stop. I’ve tried. But I can’t. They’re everywhere. Just like my parents are everywhere. It’s all in my head.”
“Oh, Sirius.” Remus rolled the sleeve back down and moved forwards, enveloping the other boy in a hug. At the touch, Sirius began to cry. At first, tears just welled up and trickled down his cheeks, but then heavy sobs wracked his body and he was shaking, soaking through Remus’ pyjamas.
That night, they slept curled up together in Remus’ bed, Sirius feeling safe and properly cared for for the first time in too long.
Slip-ups came less often, now. Progress was slow to start with, but with Remus’ help, Sirius had been improving over the course of sixth year and had survived the summer at James’. It was now autumn again, and Sirius was just over 6 months clean. It had taken hard work and dedication, but he’d got there.
Then one night, Remus awoke to silence.
That was wrong. Sirius should be asleep next to him, their arms wrapped around each other, but instead the bed was cold.
Sitting up, Remus drew back the curtains and slipped out of bed, toes curling on the cold floor. Sirius was silhouetted against the window, as he had so often used to be, back when things were worse.
“Did you...” Remus began to ask, tailing off, uncertain if he wanted to know.
“What? No.” Sirius turned, and Remus was unsurprised to see tear tracks down his cheeks, glinting in what little natural light there was. “I’ve come two-hundred-and-twenty-one days too far to do that. I was just thinking too much.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Remus asked, climbing into the alcove next to Sirius, and letting the shorter boy lean his head on his shoulder, reaching up to stroke his hair.
“It’s never going to stop.” Sirius muttered, closing his eyes and relaxing into the soothing touch. “It’s still difficult now. It’s never going to be not difficult. I messed up once, and now I’m fucked up for life.”
“I’m here.” Remus reassured him. “I always will be. If you can survive now on sheer willpower to not break your clean streak, you can do it again.”
“What if you’re not always here though?” Sirius bit his tongue, to stop himself from crying, before continuing. “One day, you won’t be, and I’ll have to cope by myself. You’re the strength in this. I can’t do it alone.”
“I’m not the one not doing it, am I?” Remus pointed out, shifting Sirius to pull him into his arms and back into the bed. As short as Sirius was, this was easier than expected, and the warmth made Sirius feel instantly better, and exhausted from crying, he became sleepy very quickly.
“I can do it?” He asked, softly, eyelids fluttering.
“You can do it.” Remus reassured him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Sirius’ ear. “I believe in you, Padfoot.”
“Thank you... Moony?”
“Hm?”
“I think I’m in love with you.” Sirius muttered drowsily as he drifted off.
“I should hope so.” Remus whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Sirius’ forehead, with a wry smile. “You’ve been sleeping in my bed long enough.”
And with a quiet chuckle and the words of reassurance in his ears replacing the hateful ones from his parents, Sirius drifted off to sleep.