Falling // Wolfstar

Twelve

The sun hangs just above the tips of the Forbidden Forest; its rays poke through the branches where leaves are sparse. Autumn is nearly here and it waits as the last bits of the summer heat draw out. The grounds have been kept nicely, Remus observes. But there's a tree missing just beyond the curve of the castle that he liked to keep a snack after the full moon.

Remus walks along the fourth floor, letting his shoes shuffle against the carpet lazily. Everything is exactly the same, yet at the same time, it isn't. The feeling is colder. There's a bitterness to the usual warmth circulating the castle. The welcoming hug and sense of home is no longer. Instead, Remus walks through the corridors of a mirrored version of Hogwarts.

The bandages from the hospital wing are fresh on his head; Madame Pomfrey said he could remove them tonight. It's just one more thing that makes him stand out amongst his peers. Remus makes his way to the Gryffindor Tower and pulls out the note James had given him. It's scribbled on a crumbled napkin with some crumbs left over from a treacle tart.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," he recites to the Fat Lady.

The portrait swings open and he climbs inside. The curtains are still scarlet and the pillows trimmed with gold. A large fire burns in the fireplace, keeping the room a comfortable temperature. Some students pass by and offer a friendly smile at him. He waves back, but can't help but stare a little longer than normal. Everybody has aged considerably since he last remembers. Of course, what is to expect when the last thing he remembers was 2 years ago.

Remus opens the door to his dorm. It's the same, more or less, with the exception of their old roommate, Martin Hamilton. According to Dumbledore, he transferred to Durmstrang at the start of 6th year.

The boys are in their last classes of the day, leaving Remus to himself for the time being. He wanders over to his bed and lifts the lid to his trunk, sorting through some of his things on the surface. Books, sweaters, spare parchment. He gets to his feet and walks over to his nightstand. Different things clutter on top, including a few pictures. Most of the small polaroids are taken at James' lake house. Remus holds it closer to his face, staring at one of James, Peter, himself, and Sirius Black surrounding a campfire. It baffles him.

Sirius Black? Over the course of two years they managed to become a close knit group it appears.

There are a few pictures of just Sirius, some of Peter and Mary Macdonald, a few random photos of other students, which from the color of their ties, are Ravenclaws. Remus sets the photos back down and carries on to inspect the room. Drawings are taped to the wall beside his bed - one of the whomping willow with pink flowers and another of four animals. Remus pulls down the drawing and runs his fingers over the ink of a black dog. Its fur is drawn thick with bright eyes staring back at him.

Suddenly, Remus' head begins to throb heavily, and he falls into a dreamlike state. Everything is hazy with a slight glow. It takes a few seconds to regain his bearings when he realizes that he's in the Shrieking Shack. He lays on the bed - his body sore from exhaustion. In front of him is the black dog, thought it's facing away from him.

He reaches out with a fatigued arm, gently petting the dog's tail. Its ears perk up, whipping around viciously. His hand falls limply against the bed, his eyes drooping heavily.

"I'm tired," James whines, leaning against the doorway. "Can we go to bed now?"

"Yeah, just wanted to see the dog," Peter says walking towards the door. He waves at the dog on his way out, following James down the stairs.

The dog stares intensely at Remus, a softness to the tough exterior. Through heavy eyelids Remus can see the various shades of grey within the dog's eyes. Shiny pools of aluminum, swirling storms of smoke.

Everything begins to dissolve, like ink in water, until Remus is back in the dorm, the drawing still clutched in his hands. He hangs it back on the wall, hastily crossing the room to get some water. Standing in front of the mirror, he stares at himself. A small crack runs through the center that divides his face with a slight fracture. It's the first time he's really gotten a look at himself properly.

The bags under his eyes are less prominent. He figures he must be getting better sleep these days. A few scars from years past are still visible on his cheek and forehead, along with a few new ones on his jawline. Despite the clear signs of growth, his hair has managed to stay the same sandy blonde and his eyes still amber.

Of all of the questions circulating in his head, there is one that hangs above the rest. The one person he desperately wants to talk with is nowhere to be found.

For reasons unknown, Abigail McHealy doesn't attend Hogwarts anymore. There are no signs of her anywhere - no photos, no letters, no anything. He wonders, why would she leave? She loves Hogwarts. It's her home. She loves him.

Remus sits down at the desk and grabs a spare roll of parchment. He dips his quill into the ink, letting a few black drops drip before he begins to write to the only person who will give him answers. It's infuriating being stuck in the past, mentally that is, while at the same time, nobody and their bloody mother will tell him anything.

The door swings open with boisterous conversation following.

"Hey mate!" James says with open arms. "How're you feeling?"

"Pretty well," Remus lies. The boys shuffle in one after another, and Sirius catches his eye immediately. Yet another thing he wonders: at what point did they become friends with Sirius Black. Not that he's opposed to the boy, but they'd never spoken before.

Sirius stands by the mirror, loosening his tie. Remus glances out of the corner of his eye. He'd never really looked at Sirius before. His hair is dark brown, nearly black, looks soft to the touch and falls angelically around his face. He walks with an elegance not many possess. His posture is tall and his strides are long as he crosses to his bed. It's confidence. Something Remus wishes he had. Sirius shrugs off his robes, tossing them over the end of his bed carelessly. The sleeves of his white button down are rolled up to his elbows, displaying the veins running down his forearm all the way to his fingers which have two distinct rings. Sirius looks in his direction causing his face to turn crimson, and he immediately stares back down at his letter.

"What're you writing?" Peter asks curiously.

"Just a letter...to my mum," Remus answers, moving the parchment to hide the greeting. "I'll probably go to the owlery in a bit."

"Do you want some company?" James offers.

"Um, no thanks. I need some time to get used to everything. But I'll see you at dinner?"

"Sure."

Remus gathers his things and hurries out of the dorm and down to the common room to finish writing. The rest of the boys exchange looks - a mixture of confusion and worry.

"Sirius, how are you doing?" Peter asks with a sympathetic frown. "I know it's hard to see him like this, and the fact that he doesn't even remember meeting you..." He silences himself, averting his eyes to the ground bashfully.

Sirius doesn't react in any way other than a simple shrug. "It's fine," he says mundanely. James narrows his eyes suspiciously. "What are you two on about? He'll remember eventually, I know it. For now...we just have to be stable for him."

"It's okay not be okay," James says, putting a cautionary hand on Sirius' shoulder. "You can tell us."

Sirius takes a deep breath before moving away. "I said I'm fine guys. Can we just try and do things normally? There's no need for a pity party."

"If you say so..." Peter mumbles.