Bewitched | wolfstar au

Seventy-seven

Feeling a lot lighter after his conversation with Sirius, Remus falls asleep with much welcomed ease. It's been a while since he last fell asleep so quickly. But of course it's just too good to be true, because the door to his room—the guest room—is thrown open rather rudely, making Remus jerk awake only a little over an hour after falling asleep. 

Once his vision clears a little, in the dim light of the corridor falling into the room in soft beams, Remus can see someone standing at the door.

"James?" he frowns, sitting up. 

"Oh," comes the reply, "Wrong room, sorry." James turns to leave. Remus frowns to himself. Before he can think anything, he finds himself calling out. "Hey," he stops James, "Wait."

James waits. 

"Why don't you come in?" Remus reaches over to the light switch and turns it on. James walks over, closing the door behind him. Remus crosses his legs to make space before pulling James over to sit. "Sit down, and tell me what's wrong."

Remus is sure that James is worried about Sirius—they all are right now—and he remembers that James hardly spoke about it. With Remus, at least. However, he is definitely not expecting the broken sob that pushes out of James. 

"Oh God," Remus whispers, all traces of sleep abandoning him as he moves to hug James. He suddenly remembers their interrupted conversation at St. Mungo's. "James..."

"I'm such a horrible person, Re," James cries. Remus carefully removes his glasses for him, an arm around him all the while. "Why am I so horrible?"

"James Potter," Remus shakes his head, "You are anything but horrible," he sighs as he twists himself to reach the nightstand so that he can put the glasses away. 

James palms at his eyes, trying to stop crying. Remus wishes he wouldn't do that. "You can cry," he says softly, "It's okay."

James nods, but wipes his eyes a final time anyway, forcing deep, shaky breaths in. Remus watches him quietly. He doesn't know what to do or what to say. "I'm going to go downstairs," he says eventually, "And make us some tea. We can talk over tea, right?"

James stays quiet. Remus gives his shoulder a small squeeze. "Right, James?"

"Right," James says in a muted voice. Remus gives him another squeeze. He's tired and his back is starting to hurt, but he drags himself into the kitchen anyway. When he returns, James has stolen his pillow and is hugging it to his chest. Remus places the mugs next to James' glasses and sits down, squeezing  in between him and the headboard. 

It's almost déjà vu, because comforting crying and/or sad boys has been a surprisingly frequent occurrence for Remus. Everyone, it seems, is going through something. As if Sirius' accident—Remus knows it wasn't an accident, but he still calls it that anyway—somehow triggered a massive snowball reaction, bringing out the sadness in everyone. 

"So," Remus hands James his glasses, "Do you want to talk about it?"

James shrugs. "I don't know if you'd want to hear it,"

"What does that mean?" Remus frowns. Clearly, this is something bigger than what happened with Sirius.

"It means that I'm horrible," James sniffles, clutching the pillow tighter, "And I don't want to tell you why I'm horrible."

Remus bites his lip. God, what is he supposed to say? How is it so easy for James to comfort him every time he's upset? "You're not horrible," he says.

"I know you think that," James mumbles, "Which is exactly why I don't want to tell you and change your mind,"

"How about you just tell me, " Remus suggests, "and leave the judgement to me?"