Remus Lupin woke up to the dreaded sensation of what he liked to call, "werewolf hangover".
It was the terrible pain of whatever the hell had been broken, dislodged, or lacerated combined with a splitting headache and stomach-turning nausea. It slightly reminded him of the time James decided to make a potion using leftover Honeyduke's sweets. By leftover, he meant all the bad Bertie Bott's beans that his heightened smell had detected to be variations of puke, bogies, or toenail clippings.
Long story short, poor James ended up drinking all the foulest flavors nobody else dared to touch. Sirius then proceeded to pour some of this horrifying substance over Snape's dinner and earned himself detention for a week.
Remus opened his heavy eyelids groggily, squinting into the harsh lighting. Rubbing his eyes, the last of his sleep dissolved into a wisp as he saw Sirius in a nearby chair, head tilted back as he snored. He wasn't tall compared to Remus, but his seat looked minuscule when he leaned back, limbs ajar. His right arm had been splinted hastily, and his left hand dangled precariously off the armrest. He looked younger when he slept, his face relaxed and all the years of strain evaporated.
He resembled a Greek god, his jawline visibly defined even in his slumber. Remus moved slowly, ignoring the creaking in his joints. It had been a while since Remus had gotten a good look at Sirius from afar. He wasn't about to disturb the peace now. He let out a sharp intake of breath as he reached for his wand, feeling a sharp pain shooting down from his shoulder to his elbow. Weak, he scolded himself, a burning self-resentment rising in his throat, bloody pathetic.
Sirius awoke with a start, much to his disappointment. He was a light sleeper, most likely a trait he'd adopted from living in the Black Household. He blinked, his eyes immediately reduced to slits thanks to the harsh Hospital Wing lighting. His arm had gone numb, and he kept flexing and unflexing his fingers to get the blood moving. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, grinning tiredly at Remus. "Alright?"
"Exquisite," he replied dryly, working out the knots in his shoulder. He felt guilt flare up as he saw Sirius's bandaged arm, most likely done by James because they couldn't risk Madame Pomfrey finding out. "I'm sorry about your arm."
"Don't be," Sirius remarked, rotating his neck to hear the small pops. Remus always hated when he did it, telling him it freaked him out because of how loud they were to him. He stood up, reaching out to pour Remus a glass of water.
"Need anything? Meds? Pomfrey?" He inquired, handing him the cup. He unraveled the bandage on his arm, balling it up and shoving it into his trouser pocket before continuing knowingly. Did that man not feel any pain? "Chocolate?"
"Obviously," Remus scoffed, bringing the cool glass up to his chapped lips. Maybe it would help with his pounding headache. "Where are the others?"
"Sleeping, probably," Sirius replied, scouring the ground for his wand. It must've fallen out of his pocket. "As you should've been doing."
"Hey!" Remus cried defensively, "It's not my fault you're a snorer! You shouldn't be up this early either! You probably got what, two hours?"
"Three," he interjected, stifling a yawn as he gripped the smooth wood. Truthfully, he was exhausted, but there were other matters to attend to. Sleep was dead last on his list of priorities.
"My point remains," Remus returned, closing his eyes briefly. He definitely needed an Advil, perhaps four. "Come on, then, join me up here. The chairs are absolute rubbish."
That last bit certainly hadn't received the okay from his brain before it slipped out of his lips.
Sirius's eyebrows crinkled comically, his heart racing so quickly he feared he'd faint. The bed looked inviting, but Remus was his main point of interest. His hair was tousled, eyes tired but wiry. What if anyone saw them? "Up there? Like, the-the bed? I mean, sure, but don't you think this could be... misinterpreted?"
Did he really just say that? God, Remus probably thinks he's some homophobic posh boy now, bloody hell.
The look of disappointment that flashed across Remus's face was barely susceptible. Sirius caught it, despite the odds, but managed to play it off as wishful thinking. Sirius was good at noticing the little details, for they were his survival instinct. Swallowing your Château Cheval Blanc, 1947 slowly could mean the roast beef the House Elves prepared had been too well done. Or maybe, paired with locking eyes, it was a silent warning that doubled as a promise of pain, later. Away from the guests.
Remus shrugged, his cheeks flushing wildly as he swallowed. What the hell was he thinking? Why did he say that? Why, oh why, did he say that?
"It doesn't count if you're wearing stockings. You are... aren't you?"
"Yes!" He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't just run around barefoot like a barbarian!"
"Well then great!" Remus replied, rolling his eyes nonchalantly, his chest tightened in an otherworldly panic, clenching and compressing in the cage of his diaphragm. "Join me or not. I really don't care."
Lies.
Sirius hesitated, weighing his options deeply. It was either the risk of getting seen or Remus. Risk or Remus, Risk or Remus, Risk or Remus, Risk or Remus, Risk or Remus?
No, he couldn't risk such a bold move. Not when he had a reputation to keep.
... unless?
"Scooch over."
It was Remus.
It had always been Remus.
********
Brigitte surveyed the two boys, still asleep with their heads subtly inclined towards one another. Sirius donned a fresh plaster, most likely supplied by Madame Pomfrey upon the discovery of a second Marauder in the Hospital Wing.
They had both woken up, their keen senses detecting her arrival. It was nearly noon, and it seemed like neither James nor Peter had any intention of waking up, either. She placed a box of chocolates on Remus's cluttered nightstand, offering him a polite smile. "I hope you're doing better, Remus."
Sirius scowled, immediately reaching out to fix his hair. "I'm sure you do, Alarie."
She cocked her head at him, eyes cold. Once they'd established that their arguments could not have anything to do with species, they'd regressed back into petty insults and stinging jabs. "Remus, I have your homework. Whatever happened to your arm, Black?"
"Calm down, Frenchie," he scoffed, rolling his eyes despite Remus's disapproving looks. He continued anyway, taking the opportunity before he got slugged.
"I'm sure you'd love to send them flowers, a kiss on the cheek, perhaps?" He asked, looking bored as he turned back to her with a patronizing smirk. "What is it called? Ah, that's right, la bise."
His pronunciation was so accurate it shocked Remus. He could read a little French, enough to get him by in his novellas. He could comprehend Welsh but didn't know how to reciprocate his mother's language, passed down throughout the centuries. He often sat down with Hope's old textbooks, forcing out garbled, badly accented phrases.
Then he'd shake his head, frustrated, and form the words with his lips, wondering why he couldn't speak with the eloquence of his mother. He knew exactly how to pronounce, having grown up with Hope's lullabies, her curses, and her arguments. The words were clear in his head, but his vocal cords were unable to create such tones.
Sirius was always doing parodies of wealthy French aristocrats, holding imaginary cigar pipes and laughing with the stereotypical hon hon hon, but it never occurred to him that Sirius had actually been trained to speak the language of love.
Oh Merlin, that definitely wasn't helping the surge of emotion he felt for the self-righteous prat that sat next to him.
"A mere round of applause will have to do," Brigitte replied airily, producing a stack of parchment that made Remus's headache worsen by the tenfold at just a glance. She returned Sirius's smile graciously, her calmness leering, and irksome. "I'm allergic to flowers."
"Remind me to wear a boutonniere when we're forced to interact, then," he mumbled, glancing at the parchment with a look of disgust etched comically across his face, "A bouquet, perhaps? For only the loveliest, most allergic-"
"That's enough, Sirius," Remus mumbled, rubbing his temples aggressively. Where was the bloody Advil? "As much as I love hearing two fifteen-year-old aristocrats argue, I'll have to ask you to refrain, just until the aggravation settles down."
"I'll be sixteen in a few days," Sirius interjected, ignoring Brigitte's derisive snort. Clearly, this had been the biggest takeaway from Remus's big speech. How absolutely Sirius.
And then Brigitte rolls her eyes, muttering something unfriendly in French. Sirius scowls, picking at his plasters having picked up her waspish insult, and Remus smiles.
Nothing, not even a gargantuan headache could ruin these moments of somewhat-normalcy.
That was enough for him.
********
"Okay, okay, so, I think we should go to The Three Broomsticks, Unless, wait," James paused, turning to grin at Lily sheepishly. His tousled hair flew in the wind, his jittery nature exposing itself in the instance of fidgeting with his Gryffindor scarf, wrapping and unwrapping it snuggly around his neck. He tugged at his collar bashfully, "sorry, I should've asked earlier. Where do you wanna go?"
Lily shrugged, perfectly content with watching him decide. He had always been endearing, her festering emotions harboring near the end of the previous year. Throughout the summer, she'd often find herself full of disappointment, guilt, and surprisingly enough, yearning. Yet she'd let herself pretend to loathe him for months, staring at the silhouettes that were painted across the ceiling at night, daring to wonder, if only.
"Anywhere you'd like to go is fine," she eventually found herself replying. She was just as nervous as he was, if not more. What if he doesn't like me anymore? What if I'm not what he expected? He probably has all these fantasies in his head, and they'll all dissolve the second I open my mouth.
They walked to The Three Broomsticks, hair blowing in the wind. Lily found herself often pushing her ginger flyaways out of her face, irritated as they stuck to her lip gloss. This certainly didn't happen in movies.
Regardless, they found themselves having a good time, sticky flyaways forgotten as they reached the warm pub. James talked animatedly about the cat he'd owned as a child, his narrative both hilariously amusing and even slightly sad as he recounted the day Mr. Cat (he'd had a huge dilemma over choosing a name) ran away. He was so generously charming, his laugh infectious.
They were greeted by the warm, butter bear scented air and laughter, tables bustling with sandwiches and friends who'd gone out for a late brunch. Lily could make out siblings from different houses finally reunited, an older brother mussing up his sister's hair ("You asswad! Get back here!"), twins Jonathon and Adelaide Abbott bickering over how to split the check ("You ate both your sandwich and half of mine. That means you should pay for three-fourths of the bill!" "Yeah? Well then do the math, dumbass!").
It was the beautiful familiarity, an extension of home. Students turned their heads as they saw James and Lily walk in, hand in hand. They'd unconsciously intertwined their fingers during their trek, James let out a small, "sorry," and released his grip, flushing an aggressive shade of scarlet.
Lily almost missed the warmth of his hand against hers.
*********
TW: Panic attack & depressive thoughts
Honeydukes smelled so sweet Remus almost had to plug his nose. The very atmosphere in the brightly colored shop was woven with sugar molecules, the boys abuzz on only sugar inhalation. Peter and James had both begged Remus to distract Sirius as they bought him presents. Remus knew Peter would make a beeline towards Zonko's, so he dragged Sirius towards Honeydukes to fill up on his chocolate supply.
Remus scanned the chocolate aisles as Sirius scoured the area for Acid Pops and Sugar Quills. He could feel another headache building up between his eyes, but he refused to let it ruin this otherwise fun day. The sugary scents were stronger than usual and combined with the loud chatter of his classmates, he could tell he was on the verge of a panic attack.
He took a deep breath, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He was going to sit this one out, he was not going to panic, he was not going to cry, he was not going to hyperventilate. He was calm, he was collected, he-
Okay, that wasn't part of the plan.
He squeezed his eyes shut, muttering under his breath. Come on, don't do this now, Lupin. Don't you dare, not in front of everyone. Not now.
But like usual, his body never listened.
Soon he found himself slumped up against the wall, his skin hot and prickly. He gasped, frantically pumping more and more air into his lungs. He was vaguely aware of Sirius's voice, but his words didn't register in his brain. His stupid, useless brain.
Sirius made no attempt to touch him, which he was thankful for. If someone did so much as breathed on him, he would've gone absolutely berserk.
His whole face felt bad-numb, painfully tingly and cold and hot and feverish and dying and frantic. He was going to die. Worse yet, he was going to live and have to face all the people who saw him freak out.
He definitely needed a cigarette.
Once he'd calmed down some, Sirius ushered them out, shielding Remus from the stares. He walked briskly, hastily throwing down a handful of galleons, yelling, "Keep the change!" To a flustered cashier.
If Remus had been calmer, he would've marveled over how naturally the boy had thrown down the money. Five galleons certainly wasn't a small amount.
Remus collapsed on a nearby bench, sucking in the cool, crisp air hungrily. He let out a bitter chuckle, tears threatening to overflow.
"Alright?" Sirius asked quietly, after a few moments of sitting in silence. "You want water? Cig? Wait, no, let's not. Are you ill? Do you need me to get Madame Pomfrey? I can run. Wanna go back? I'll come with you."
"No," Remus said, harsher than he intended. He struggled to his feet, feeling the wind like knives against his cheek. He still felt sweaty, and his hands shook as he fumbled on the clasps of his jacket. If he didn't put it on now, he was going to regret it later. "Let's just keep going."
Sirius insisted on walking as Padfoot when they left the sweetshop, much to Remus's disapproval. It would be an incredibly stupid way to get caught, he warned, but as usual, Sirius didn't listen. He didn't fight it though, for he was too exhausted to intervene.
Besides, Sirius covered up his limp, and there was something about the dog that brought him peace. Sirius could always tell when he was bothered, whether by the hitch in his throat or some other reason unknown to man, and the dog would place its paws on his knee, almost as a way of grounding him.
McGonagall seemed to share her disagreements with the dog, too, sniffing in distaste as the shaggy black canine bounded up to her. Remus had to yank the dog away by the collar, as Sirius seemed to be enjoying his peeved Professor's shoe.
Eventually, Remus sighed heavily, tired of wrangling the mutt as he was dragged through the deserted streets. It was lunchtime, and everyone else was probably packed in diners or pugs.
He stopped walking, burying his face in his hands. If chest rose and fell rapidly, exhaustion taking over his senses as he stumbled, unsteady.
In an instant, Sirius was back to his human form, grinning, his hair a mess, and his robes stained with dirt. His hand was placed carefully on the lower crevice of Remus's back, having seen him trip. "You wanna find a nice place to get some lunch? You look dead on your feet."
It had been a while since Remus had seen him this happy. Cheeks pink, he huffed with exhilaration, which immediately morphed into a look of concern, then nonchalance as he swept the Honeydukes bags out of Remus's grasp.
For one perfect moment, Remus felt time freeze as his eyes caught Sirius's brilliant grey ones. Their proximity had closed, their bodies filling the gap as they stood in the street, time suspended, one moment stretched out into forever.
He could understand why his female classmates swooned, now. His hair was perfectly tousled, nose sharp and his lips full, all coalescing into the finest work of art Remus had ever seen. His face was romanesque, a brilliant cathedral of grace. Elegance exuded from his rich features, but his eyes remained kind, burdened by all the hurt he'd endured, yet they remained kind. They were magnificent eyes, the type girls would talk about during sleepovers, dreamy and clear. They were gorgeously crystalline, captivating in such a harsh, cruel world.
He wondered how he looked, scars crisscrossing his face, nose red and runny, hair matted with sweat. Even if he had a chance, even if Sirius happened to return his catastrophically crescendoing attractions, he refused to let Sirius subject himself to that pain.
It took every ounce of his self-control to tear his eyes away, widen the gap that had dissolved between them, letting time commence again.
"Lunch sounds great! Where do you want to go?"
He couldn't do it for himself, not anymore. But he could do it for Sirius.