"Bloody hell," Sirius laughed, lightly, "How is it possible for you to get any cooler?!"
"And it's your blood, I can tell."
"There you go again! You're basically a superhero."
" Sirius!"
"Ok, ok," he sat up, running his hands through his hair. "You swiped at me a few times over the moon, I told you that, we did it to each other. And you can't turn me when I'm a dog, we've tested that enough times."
"But you're still bleeding?! It was almost a week ago! You need to go to Madam Pomfrey!"
"Oh yeah, and say my werewolf boyfriend scratched me while I was in dog form as an illegal animagus?!"
"Jesus." Remus groaned, hauling himself up and out of bed, grabbing Sirius by the wrist and pulling him along.
"Where are we going?!"
"I need better light!"
He yanked open the bathroom door and slammed down the lid of the toilet. "Sit." He instructed. Sirius complied, half smiling.
Remus opened the little mirror cabinet above the sink, digging out murtlap essence and disinfectant and gauze and cotton balls. (He had found over years of trial and error that a combination of magical and muggle things worked best. As with almost everything else.) He pulled his wand out of his pyjama bottoms and stood in front of Sirius.
"Ok. Show me."
Sirius dropped his head, no longer enjoying Remus's newfound motivation. He sighed heavily and lifted his shirt, saying,
"It's not that bad..."
It wasn't as bad as Remus had feared, but it still made his stomach clench when he saw. Three dark red stripes, across Sirius's ribs. They were starting to heal, but he knew he could fix it fairly easily. He took a deep breath, met Sirius's eye, and then reached for the disinfectant. Then his wand. Remus was pretty good at healing cuts now, and the scab and the redness were gone in an instant. Now they were white stripes.
"I'm so sorry," he said, mournfully. "It was a magical wound. You'll have a scar there for the rest of your life, now."
Sirius looked down at the mark, then up again.
"That's fine, Remus." He said, quietly.
* * *
So, Remus rejoined the group, at Sirius's goading, and they were all kind enough to pretend he had merely been unwell, and not avoiding them. The news over the past few days had been particularly grim. First the Prophet had published a list of the dead, and their photographs. Then they had published a list of those 'presumed bitten', along with their photographs, which had provoked outcry among some of the more liberal commentators, and ignited a debate on mandatory registration for all werewolves.
Greyback's name had not been mentioned, nor any other werewolf that Remus was aware of. It was as if the horrific crimes simply happened one night, and the assailants had vanished into thin air. No one had heard from Marlene, either, though Danny McKinnon was one of those named in the papers.
He'd been given a full four inches of text, by virtue of his celebrity as beater for the Chudley Cannons. The team's manager was interviewed and quoted saying that while he had not yet been briefed on the details Danny's condition, the Cannons operated a 'zero-tolerance' policy to 'half-breeds and dangerous creatures', and would deal with any allegations of infection accordingly. James vowed that he would never see a Chudley Cannons game again, but Remus mostly felt sorry for Danny.
They tried to put all of this misery behind them, and went down for Sunday lunch (and thank goodness; it was generally Remus's favourite meal of the week, and he'd have been even more blue if he'd missed it), then spent the rest of the evening cosied up in the common room in front of the fire. Remus even acquiesced to a chess game with Peter, who was thrilled.
Seventh Year: Sunday Afternoon
Start from the beginning
