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Since the O.W.L.s were already behind them, the remaining school year would consist mostly of some preparatory theory and the Quidditch finale. Everybody agreed that missing those would not be too detrimental, especially considering Remus’ circumstances. So, after the incident, he had immediately packed his trunk and left for home. It was the only option, really. He was not able to carry all this shame and disappointment under the scrutinizing eyes of his roommates, and most of all, he could not be in the proximity of Sirius Black without feeling his intestines calcifying in his body.
Remus was not usually one to neglect his education, and he had actually been looking forward to the Quidditch finale, or rather, to joining his best friends in the celebrations after they won the cup. For some reason, he was not feeling up to it anymore.
And Sirius would not be playing, anyway.
The decision for Remus to go home early had been made in Dumbledore’s office. At the time, it seemed like the best option, Remus was glad, he was, because he had wanted nothing more than to escape. The meeting was grim, a chain of sharp, rapid accusations, the air filled with malice and irresponsibility. There had been heated arguments on disciplinary measures. None of it was really about Remus, in fact, it was almost laughable how little was said about him, as if the wolf had nothing to do with it, as if he had not almost slaughtered two of the boys in the very room. No, somehow Remus was not the one being punished, and yet it had felt like every particle of his body was being taken apart.
Less than twelve hours before, he had found himself in front of one of his dearest friends, and had not known who he was. Remus hunted him, chased him through the Shack, desired nothing more than to get him. He remembered James' smell, ripe with exertion and adrenaline, and more so the smell of his blood when the wolf (no, Remus) lunged for him and slashed him open. He had licked it from his claws, from the floor, after James was gone. Remus might not be in control of himself during the moon, but he remembered. This he remembered.
When he woke up in the Hospital wing, there was a split second in which he believed that he had killed James. Then he found him, sitting at his bedside and smiling down at him gently, somehow not dead and, in an even more miraculous way, neither completely horrified. Remus’ senses were still heightened from the moon, and that smell lingered on James. Remus vomited all over the bed.
He could not tell exactly what happened after that. He remembered clinging to James, two arms tightly wound around the other boy’s neck, a man drowning. He soaked James' shirt with tears, while he choked out varieties of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I thought you were dead’ and ‘I did not mean to hurt you’. James was hesitantly rubbing his back, seemingly a bit overwhelmed by this unusually free display of emotions. He whispered sweet nothings, said ‘it’s all right, Moons’ and ‘it was not your fault.’
Remus did not yet register what was behind those words, that there has been someone at fault. Physically, he was in considerable pain, his limbs hidden under a concerning amount of bandages. The wolf had been deeply frustrated, Remus could feel that, the tension lingered in his broken body. His mind, however, was occupied with far more pressing matters, even aside from - he had to fight not to vomit again - almost mauling James. He would definitely be expelled. Snape, Snape had been there, Remus remembered, a cold in the pit of his stomach, Snape had seen him.
The dark-haired boy had burst into the Shack with only minutes to spare until the moonset, while Remus was already shuddering on the mattress, undressed, half wondering what was keeping Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail so long. When the door opened, he initially felt relief, thinking it was them. Finally.
But it was Snape. For a second Remus was certain he had fallen asleep, that this could not possibly be real. Just a nightmare, something his anxious mind had concocted up between the sleepless nights and the violent moon. A horror scenario that meant no more than his subconscious processing last week’s incident, when, during prefect rounds, Snape had greeted a lone Remus in the corridors with a mocking ‘awooo’.
When Remus had made it back to the dormitory afterwards, he was practically hyperventilating. It took multiple hours and the combined efforts of James, Peter and Sirius to finally convince him that yes, maybe Snape had his suspicions, but it did not matter, he could talk all he wanted, he was still a slimy git without any real friends, and no one would ever believe him, since he was not able to prove anything.
Then he showed up in the Shack. Remus felt a deep sense of discomfort thinking back on this encounter later. He had been forced to plea and bargain, he had begged Snape to run, a shaking, desperate, saliva-gathering- and-spilling-out kind of begging. But Snape had remained in position, a blotchy red blush on his cheeks, black eyes gleaming with vindication. Snape, who had probably already figured it out months, if not years ago. Snape, who might have been a scrawny, undesirable loser, but whose brain was definitely as sharp as Sirius’s. If one was capable of uncovering Moony’s secret, then so was the other, and here stood Snape gathering the last piece of missing evidence.
In the same moment, Remus’ spine made an ominous cracking sound, and with the last part of his conscious mind, he attempted to scramble away to create more distance between them. However, this was no time for coordinated escapes. He dropped to his hands and feet, crawled across the floor in nothing but a pair of y-fronts, Snape’s triumphant eyes following him closely.
Remus had not even worried about being discovered anymore. He was past the point of feeling the humiliation of this scene. He was half out of his mind already, wild with fear. He did not want to hurt anyone. He did not even want to hurt Snape. But Snape wouldn’t leave, and that uncontrollable, destructive force was already creeping up on him.
Then James burst through the door. At the same time, the wolf burst through Remus.
So, all in all, it had seemed like a good idea to leave Hogwarts early. Firstly because Hogwarts contained Snape, and Remus did not yet trust him to not spill this secret to everyone he knew, even after Dumbledore’s promises. Mostly, because of Sirius.
Remus was back home, in his parents’ garden, an extensive collection of freshly healed scars forming a red and angry contrast to his pale skin. Although the skin might have healed, the terror lingered. He still felt skittish, unfocused. He had been sleeping poorly. Night after night he woke up drenched and disoriented, from dreams full of creaking floorboards and the taste of rust.
With every passing hour, Remus became more convinced that he had signed for his own downfall. He was gone, and James would not, could not stay angry with Sirius, especially if Remus was not there to remind him of this injustice with his scars and his nightmares and the hurt look in his eyes. James would inevitably forgive Sirius over the next few weeks, and Peter would of course follow James, and then Remus would be left behind.
Perhaps it was for the best. He had never been on par with them anyway, and last month’s events had only proven that.
Thinking back to it, angry tears sprang to Remus’ eyes. For five years, he had placed himself in the hands of that stupid, aristocratic cunt with his dark curls and his iron eyes, he had whirled around in Sirius’ friendship with limitless gratitude and devotion, never quite able to believe his luck.
Wherever Padfoot went, Moony followed, as he was not quite confident enough to refuse anything to someone with a personality so big, so all-encompassing. Sirius was climactic and extravagant and much, and all of that had angled itself into Remus, like a hook in a fish’s beak. Everything Remus had so meticulously stacked away over the years, the shame, the pain, it had not been able to resist that brightness, and thus, like some idiotic moth drawn to a selfish, smothering flame, Remus had bared himself, figuratively, if not literally. He had trusted Sirius, shown him the scars, made him part of those gritting experiences that made up a good five percent of his life.
Showing his friends what happened during the full moons, it still was the most intimate thing Remus had ever done. Sirius had watched him, stripped down to nothing, delirious and disintegrating.
Sirius who sat next to him on the mattress in the Shack to ease the pain. Sirius who told him he was not a monster, who said the scars only made him look cooler. Whose opinion always mattered just a little more than everyone else’s. Sirius, thirteen years old and entrusted with Remus’ biggest secret, raising one incredulous eyebrow, saying: ‘don’t be stupid, why would we want you to switch rooms? We’re best friends, are we?’
Sirius, sixteen years old, carelessly throwing away everything he had been given, so eager to destroy Remus’ life without a second thought.
It felt like being gutted.
Then, there was that thing they still had not talked about. The locking of eyes, the nerves fluttering in Remus’ stomach. How, the day before the moon, Sirius had crawled into Remus’ bed (‘all right, Moony?’), and then closed the space between them. Comfortable, confusing. Sirius’ arms wrapped around Remus’ chest and his lips softly brushing the tender skin behind his earlobe. Remus sometimes wondered if he dreamt it, but also knew that was not true.
Remus hated him. He did. And yet, he had been waiting for an apology with embarrassing desperation. Because a part of Remus was weak. There was a meek and spineless version of him, who would probably drop to his knees if the Heir of the House of Black would so much as bat his eyelashes. He hated Sirius for that, and he hated himself for it even more.
The night after Snape entered the Shack, McGonagall had appeared next to his bed no more than an hour after dawn. ‘Mister Lupin,’ she had said, mouth a thin line, nostrils flared open, ‘I do apologize for asking this of you in your current condition, but you and mister Potter are required in professor Dumbledore’s office immediately.’
It was only thanks to James Potter and his unfaltering, supporting shoulders, that Remus managed to reach their destination at all. It would all end for him here. He had always been on borrowed time, he knew that, his presence at the school an obvious mistake. This was not so bad, after all, it had lasted longer than he had ever dared to dream.
In the office, there were Dumbledore, professor Slughorn and Snape. And Remus’ parents. When his mother saw him, something undecipherable crossed her face, and she whispered: ‘Christ, Remus,’ and before he knew it, he was in her arms, hysterically murmuring apologies once more. His father laid a hand on his shoulder, and Remus could not supress another bout of sobs. He had almost hurt someone, only because he had been so selfish to go to Hogwarts, when he knew, had always known, that he was a monster. He knew what if was like to yearn for blood, for decay, had known it since he was five, and yet he had tried to fool himself into thinking he was normal. Just a regular wizard with a wand and a uniform and three best friends. It was never meant to be like that. His house of cards came falling apart.
He was someone, or rather something, that hunted his best friend down and swallowed his blood. He had to be separated, contained far from everyone, because he was a menace. These realisations were so consuming, that at first he had not even noticed Sirius in the room, or, perhaps he had, but had simply assumed he was only there because James was, since those two were joined at the hip.
After that, Remus turned to Snape, to give him…something. An apology, if he could ever figure out where to start. Remus braced himself, having often been the target of Snape’s sneers before. He expected disgust and disdain, but when he looked at Snape, there was none of that. Instead, the Slytherin refused to meet his eye altogether. He sat in his chair tensely, ready to bolt. Understanding hit Remus like a flaming bullet.
Later, James would explain to him what happened. Despite Snape coming into the Shack filled with gusto, it had quickly left him when Remus began to transform. James found the boy watching in terror as Remus was being ripped apart, frozen in his spot. And, as the wolf rose, Snape tried to run from it, but tripped over his robe, his wand unsteady in his shaking hands. James only managed to pull him to his feet just in time, the wolf’s jaw snapping shut in thin air were seconds earlier Snape’s legs had been.
Thus, Snape was not sneering anymore. He was terrified, and Remus longed to disappear. He had not yet been able to apologise, when McGonagall began to raise hellfire down on Sirius. The boy with his noble, straight back, a thin line where his mouth should be, all ice and defiance. Piece by piece, Remus found out what had happened. He wanted so badly for Sirius to defend himself, to explain that this was all a mistake. He needed to hear him say it was not true. But Sirius only glared at Snape and said: ‘I never forced him to go in there. That is on him.’
Remus had never been good at anger. It was too rough, too brittle, and somehow it always turned against him, causing him to collapse in on himself. All he managed to do was stare at Sirius, in defeated silence. Ultimately it was James who voiced what was slowly taking shape in Remus’ mind. When McGonagall told Sirius: ‘you are very lucky that the delicacy of this situation prevents us from informing your parents, mister Black,’ James spat: ‘Well that’s too bad. I think they might have finally been proud of you.’
It was only then that Sirius faltered. Retreated deeper into his chair, eyes wide open, glued to James in a way that ironically reminded Remus of a dog being kicked by its usually caring owner.
After Remus left, Sirius began sending him letters, but Remus had yet to open them, too afraid that the contents would lead to more devastation. That there would be more excuses, not apologies. Yes, a part of him may have still been willing to kneel for Sirius, but another part knew not to expose the back of his neck.
The backdoor of their house opened and his mother came out, a plate holding a sandwich stretched out to him. Her warm hand brushed through his hair, and he rubbed his red eyes with his knuckles and hoped she did not notice.
‘Another letter came.’
‘I don’t care,’ Remus replied, not fooling anyone.
‘Look, pet,’ Hope paused as if she was not sure where to begin, then sighed. ‘What he did was wrong, it really was. I am incredibly angry with him, and I understand why it broke your heart.’
‘It didn’t break my-’
He stopped speaking when he caught her eye, swallowed. His mum put her hand on his knee.
‘I just want to say,’ she continued, ‘that people who are treated with cruelty sometimes become cruel themselves, even when they don't really mean to. Being raised with hate, it does damage. Some people don't know how to protect themselves without turning to violence.’
‘Stop it, please, stop,' Remus did not have the space to consider how Sirius had become who he was, not right now. He just needed to be blind with rage, needed a one-dimensional villain to project it on. Anger was the only thing keeping him together, and he was not ready to explore all the things that laid under. 'His family is no excuse…’
Hope shot him a sad, faint smile.
‘No, you're right, it's not. But it's an explanation.’
Remus shrugged, filled with a sudden desire to smack his mother’s hand away.
True, every now and again Sirius disclosed something so horrible about his family that it made Remus overflow with appreciation for his own parents, made him want to thank them for – despite all his obvious flaws, and the trouble he caused them – being kind and, always, unconditionally loving. He used to share the things Sirius told him with his mother, only snippets really, at least at that point in his life where he still believed that most things could be solved by telling a trusted adult.
He remembered, in the beginning of first year, that Sirius had sometimes told them about his childhood in passing, evidently not aware that what happened behind his front door did not usually happen in other houses. It was not even that he was confiding in them, or wallowing, he would just dish something up in a tone one might use to talk about the weather, underlining the terror with an apologetic grin, as if to say but that's just how they are, no big deal.
Sirius’ stories would often send James into frenzied outrage. And although Remus was never the type for such outward indignation, he could not help but to silently agree with that cocktail of concern and righteousness. Of course, this was before Sirius rejected his family altogether - or, although none of the marauders would ever say it, that they rejected him. Back then, these arguments could still summon something vicious inside of Sirius. He would lash out like a cornered animal, all venom and claws and sharp teeth.
Looking back at it, perhaps Remus should have seen this coming. If one wrong word could lead to explosions, was it not to be expected that one day, the timebomb that was Sirius Black would blow up right in his face? Because, if Remus was really honest with himself, had he not always thought that Sirius was a bit too reckless, just a tad too uncontrolled? Of course, of course Remus knew, he knew that Sirius took things too far. It was only by the grace of James Potter and his slightly better adapted set of morals that Sirius did not continuously cross the line between pranking (and, admittedly, the occasional bullying) and something more sinister. Remus knew that, because how often had he not been secretly thankful that Sirius was on his side. That slightly manic current in his friend would have been terrifying in an enemy. Yes, Remus was able to paint the complete picture of Sirius Black with all its ugliness, he had just been stupid enough to believe that his friend’s darker tendencies would not be turned against him.
Because Sirius was never like that to Remus. He would release his unbridled fury on Peter sometimes, and, very rarely, even on James, but never on Remus. Sirius was gentle with Remus, soft and shimmering like the dawn breaking, caring about him, protecting him, never going further than teasing him. And Remus wanted to make him laugh, to make him notice. Sirius had seen him and seemed to understand the things Remus could not say.
And thus, Remus had lowered his defences.
‘You think I should forgive him?’ he asked his mum.
‘No. I think whether you want to forgive him or not is solely your decision.’ They sat beside each other in silence for a while, Remus chewing on the sandwich with more vigour than necessary.
‘I just want to tell you that you can decide to forgive someone, even if they don't deserve it. Because sometimes, forgiving someone is the kindest thing to do to yourself.’
Remus pondered on that for a while. His mother squeezed his knee once more and got back up.
‘Remus,’ she added, looking down at him like she was reading his mind, ‘it's fine if you want to punish Sirius for what he did to you. But do me a favour, and make sure you are not punishing yourself.’