The Boy Who Killed God {Sirius Black | Marauders Era Fanfiction}

Of Bargains and Regrets

JANUARY 3, 1972

Remus looked slightly less green when he helped Madam Pomfrey change Sirius's bandages the next morning.

It was funny, really. Sirius had seen Remus nearly torn to ribbons himself, but Remus seemed incredibly squeamish around Sirius's injuries; so much so, in fact, that Sirius would have teased him relentlessly for it, had he not been gritting his teeth and cursing his way through the various Aguamenti's and levitation spells, at Madam Pomfrey's careful instruction.

Merlin, he thought, when Remus finally let out a relieved sigh and Madam Pomfrey finally retreated to her office. Malfoy really did a number on me.

Really, it wasn't the equal-and-opposite sort of retribution that was generally expected of these sort of pure-blood grudge matches. Sirius had aimed his curse at Malfoy's face. It had been severe enough to scar, yes, but the scar was no longer than the palm of Sirius's hand. And he'd struck Malfoy on the side of his face, eyebrow to chin, an area that could easily be covered by Malfoy's stupid white-blonde hair.

Malfoy had...

Well, Malfoy had nearly carved Sirius in two, hadn't he? There was an X etched into Sirius's chest, from collarbone to hip.

No one could reasonably say that that had been a proportional response.

No one had decried this grave injustice and breach of pureblood traditions, either.

Sirius hadn't been lying, when he'd told Remus he remembered almost nothing after Christmas day. He knew he must have woken up at some point, because when his father had barged into his room yesterday morning—furious at what he'd deigned to perceive as laziness on the part of his eldest son and heir—Sirius had reached for the inkwells Alphard had given him.

He'd downed the very last of the nutrition potion, holding the vial over his mouth for as long as he could possibly manage without passing out, in order to get every last drop.

At half past eight, a house-elf popped in, bearing two steaming trays of food. Sirius's mouth watered on sight, and, with a little strategic manoeuvring so as to avoid re-opening his scars, Sirius managed to sit up. Remus muttered a, "Thanks, Speckles," as the house-elf set the trays on the pillow-wall between them, then disapparated.

They ate in relative silence. Sirius studiously sipped on his piping hot broth—this time containing small bits of beef—as Remus devoured his bacon and eggs. As he finished his soup, and sparing a glance to make sure Madam Pomfrey wasn't watching, Sirius snatched the last piece of bacon from Remus's fingers and more or less swallowed it whole.

Remus glared at him, but then sighed. He stood, slid out of bed, and placed the empty trays on the cabinet, before stretching his arms over his head. His neck and shoulders popped, and Sirius tried not to cringe at the sound.

"How are you feeling?" Remus asked, through a mostly-stifled yawn, and really, Remus looked terrible. His curly hair stuck out in every direction imaginable. His eyes were red-rimmed and opened way too wide in an apparent attempt to fight off exhaustion. His uniform was rumpled and untucked, but that wasn't all surprising given he'd slept in it. The scar across the bridge of his nose was a darker shade of pink, starkly contrasted against Remus's pale skin and freckles, almost as if—

As if...

Sirius counted the scars. Then, he counted them again.

No. No.

There was no way those were new.

Remus had stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays. He couldn't possibly—