Classes are still cancelled the next day. Some students don't come back from their calls with their parents, and even though the names of the victims haven't been released, everyone knows what that means.
"Moony, I swear to God—get back in bed," Sirius stands at the door, arms crossed over his chest as he stares down a haggard looking Remus.
"I'm just going to get breakfast."
"We'll get you breakfast you loon. You look like shite, get back in bed."
In a turn of events that surprised no one, Remus had actually been rather downplaying how bad he was feeling yesterday and proceeded to spend much of the night, and morning, being sick.
"Moons, he's got a point," James finishes tying his trainers and stands up. "There's no class, no assignments due, give yourself a break for once, yeah?"
Remus shoots him a sharp look. "Et tu, Brute?"
He says it with such conviction that James can't help laughing. "Jesus, you're really out for blood today, huh?"
Remus only grumbles, turning his glare back on Sirius.
"I'm not moving," Sirius leans back against the door, one leg crossing over the other. "Not until you get in that bloody bed, now go on."
It is a face off for the ages, two of the most stubborn people James knows going head to head. Neither of them wavering—he's not even sure they blink.
"Okay, but guys, I'm hungry," Peter says, looking longingly at the door. James's stomach grumbles in agreement.
This does not appear to matter to Sirius or Remus, both of whom maintain their positions like they're the Royal bleeding Guard.
Peter starts inching towards the door. "Maybe I could just sneak by?"
"Not happening Pettigrew," Sirius doesn't take his eyes off of Remus. "No one gets to leave until Moony gets back in bed."
"Trying to turn the room against me?"
Sirius grins, flashing his teeth. "They're already against you my friend."
"Lie down and put us out of our misery Moons," James calls out, which earns him a very rude hand gesture from Remus.
"My goodness," he clutches his chest dramatically. "Hardly appropriate behaviour for a prefect."
Remus crosses his arms over his chest, seemingly doubling down on his position. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you, I'm not an invalid."
"We know," Sirius says. "But you've got a fever and you can't go five minutes without being sick, ergo, bed."
"He does make a compelling argument."
"Shut up James," Remus snaps.
James rolls his eyes, holding his hands up in surrender, leading to several moments of tense silence.
"Moony," Sirius says eventually, ducking his head in a move that James has seen him pull many times, just never with one of them. He stares up through his lashes, all bashful and pouty. Girls fall all over themselves for that look. "For me?" Sirius goes on. "Please?"
Personally, James thinks this is the weakest of his arguments, but apparently Remus disagrees.
He exhales, hands scrubbing at his face before he eventually allows himself to look at Sirius again. "Fine. FINE. I'll stay."
Sirius beams, practically bouncing around him to pull back the covers on his bed.
Remus arches his brow. "Eager much?"
"To get you into bed? Always," Sirius gives him a wink that has Remus blushing something fierce and James turns to Peter to see if he's noticed any of this but Peter is already halfway out the door.
"Jeez Pete, in a rush?" he half-laughs, following after him.
"You know how I am about breakfast," and to be fair, James does know. By the time he gets to the door Peter is already at the bottom of the stairs.
"Wait for Padfoot, would you? Honestly, the Great Hall will still be there in five minutes, Si—" James turns back to the room to see where Sirius's is only to find him perched on Remus's bed. The two of them are whispering, and then James sees Sirius run his knuckle softly along the side of Remus's face.
"Where's Padfoot?" Peter demands as James jogs down the stairs into the common room.
"He said he'll meet us there. C'mon, lets go before your stomach starts eating itself yeah?" he smiles at Peter, mussing his hair as he swings through the portrait and into the corridor beyond.
James feels something warm in his chest as he thinks about the way Remus and Sirius were looking at one another. He's never seen Sirius so soft. Maybe he finally worked it out, the tosser.
"Why are you smiling?" Peter asks, looking a little unnerved.
James shakes his head. "Just thinking about how much bacon I'm gonna shove in my face when we get down there."
Peter makes a longing noise. "Me too."
James's high spirits decrease slightly as they walk into the Great Hall. The weight of everything that happened yesterday is unavoidable. It's in the faces of the students around them and in the empty spaces along the tables.
They pass by Marlene, Mary and Lily. Peter waves, while James refuses to make eye contact. He hasn't quite figured out how he wants to handle that situation yet.
"Are you two back to hating each other, then?" Peter asks as they sit down at the opposite end of the table.
James frowns. "We don't hate each other—we've never hated each other."
Peter shoots him a skeptical look as he loads an extraordinary amount of scrambled eggs onto his plate.
"We haven't!" James says indignantly, suddenly feeling defensive.
"I mean, maybe you never hated her, but..." Peter shrugs, moving on to the sausage.
James crosses his arms over his chest, slouching slightly in his chair. "She didn't hate me, she just...didn't...like me very much." Which he has to admit, sounds weak even to his own ears.
"Mhm," Peter takes a bite out of his toast, "whatever you say mate."
James keeps pouting for another few minutes before his stomach makes a noise that reminds him that Peter isn't the only one who's hungry. He's halfway through his first serving before he speaks again.
"Hey, I forgot to ask yesterday, with everything that happened," James swallows the mouthful he'd been chewing, "but how did it go with your mum?"
"Ugh," Peter moans. "She wanted me to come home—took me ages to convince her I didn't need to."
"What? Why would she want you home?"
"You know how she is," Peter waves around his third piece of toast. "She thinks I'm in danger, she has a bad feeling, being so far away from home isn't safe," Peter clears his throat, adjusting his posture, "You know Peter," he says, in a high-pitched voice that does sound strikingly like his mother. "I was homeschooled until I was seventeen and I can do magic just as well as anyone who went to Hogwarts, ask your father. There's no need for you to be so far away from me, it's not natural, surrounded by strangers. Who knows what kind of families they come from."
Peter rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair and taking another massive bite of his breakfast.
"Did she really say all that?" James asks.
Peter nods, exhaling through his nose. "I love her, I do, but sometimes I think that woman has completely lost the plot."
But something nags at James. "What'd she mean—who knows what kind of families they come from?"
"Huh?" Peter looks up, ketchup staining the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I don't know. Doesn't want me hanging out with people whose parents didn't teach them manners or something. Y'know, trouble makers."
James can't help laughing at that, biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep from being too loud. "She must be thrilled you hang around with us then."
Peter smiles a little shyly. "You she doesn't mind so much, she likes your parents, think that helps. Sirius though?" he lets out a low whistle. "One look at his hair and I heard about it for a week. Said there'd be no long-haired hippies in her house and I better remember that."
"Long-haired hippy," James is in near tears he's holding his laughter back so hard. "You have to tell him she said that, he'll hate it."
Peter snorts, shovelling egg into his mouth, "Yeah, no thank you," words slightly muffled by the food."The last thing I want to do is have to sit there and listen to him go on a tirade about what punk is."
James smirks. "Good point—ah, speak of the devil," he says as Sirius strolls up.
"Aw, were you talking about me? James, really, you do need to get yourself a new hobby, this obsession is getting a bit sad."
James swats at him as he sits down but Sirius ducks out of the way, pulling two plates towards him.
"Doing one up for Remus?" James asks, trying to sound casual.
Sirius nods. "I won't bother bringing him much, not like he can keep it down, but he's gotta eat something. Toast you reckon?"
James nods, turning back to his own neglected breakfast.
"And porridge," Peter pipes up. "He likes the porridge, especially with raisins and brown sugar."
"Good call Wormy," Sirius says, standing up to reach towards the breakfast foods in question.
There's a noise from above and they all look up to see the owls arriving with the morning post.
"Finally," James mutters, fingers itching to get his hands on a copy of the Daily Prophet, and by the looks on the faces around him, he's not the only one.
"You reckon they'll know anything we don't?" Sirius asks, watching the ceiling along with James.
He shakes his head. "No idea, hope so."
James's owl drops down beside them in a flurry of dark, brown wings. His name is Hoot, which James thought was hilarious when he was eleven, but it doesn't suit him at all. He's a very dignified owl, always holding his head up, keeping his feathers clean.
"Thanks Hoot," James takes the rolled up paper out of his beak before tossing the owl a piece of bacon. He looks down like he's too good for it, but James doesn't miss the way he scoops it up when he flies off.
"Well?" Sirius asks, still somewhat preoccupied filling his two plates. "Anything?"
"Blimey, give me a minute would you?" James unfolds the paper and feels his stomach drop. There, on the front page, is a black and white photo of Diagon Alley. It's the emptiest James has ever seen it, the hanging shop signs the only things moving, and on the road, surrounded by broken glass and rubbish, are several bodies covered with white sheets.
"Jesus, that's grim," Sirius hisses, looking over his shoulder before turning back to the task at hand.
James swallows, throat suddenly tight. "Yeah," he flips the paper open to the article inside.
"Oh shit."
"What?"
"They have the names of the victims," James says, eyeing the single column in front of him. They look so small written out like this. So insignificant. A whole life reduced to a line of text.
"James?" Peter asks from across the table, sounding slightly concerned. "You okay?"
James shakes his head, trying to get himself together. "Yeah—yeah sorry, must still be half asleep."
His eyes run down the names. He has no reason to be nervous, everyone he cares about is here or accounted for, but that doesn't seem to stop his insides from twisting themselves into knots. Most of the names he recognizes only in a distant way—a family he's heard mentioned once or twice. Someone's third cousin on their mother's side.
Until.
"Oh," the noise comes out of James involuntarily. He feels his friends turn to him but doesn't see it, eyes still stuck on the page in front of him.
No, is all he can think.
No.
That isn't fair.
"James?" Sirius prods, food forgotten. James has his full attention now, and he does his best not to crack under it.
He forces himself to turn, to hold Sirius's questioning stare. No one's ever told him how to do this. He doesn't know if there's a right way, but he's almost certain there's a wrong one.
"Sirius," he manages eventually, voice strained. "I'm so sorry."
For a moment the confusion remains, Sirius not able to make sense of what he's just heard. And then he's ripping the newspaper out of James's hands.
"Who—" Peter starts, but James cuts him off with one quick hand motion, watching as his best friend runs down the list of names. Watching him stop. He doesn't know what to say. He should, at this point he should know, but words seem to have abandoned him.
Sirius's hands are shaking when he puts the paper back down, elbows resting on the table as he drops his head. Eventually he laughs and it's wet and sad and James feels his heart squeeze.
"I should have known better than to think—to think that I could—" James hears the sob creeping up Sirius's throat, hears him cut it off before it can escape.
Peter grabs the paper from the other side of the table, eyes scanning down until they inevitably fall on Alphard Black. Third from the bottom. One of the last bodies found.
"It's my fault," Sirius says suddenly, voice all wrapped around itself, twisting and pulling and ripping apart.
"It isn't," James says automatically. "Sirius, this is not your fault."
But Sirius only shakes his head, turning to look at James. "It is—they said the attacks were targeted. He'd never done anything—nothing except try to help me. They killed him for it. Fuck," he leans back in his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes like he can force the tears back.
"You have no idea why they targeted those people, no one does. How would anyone have even found out that he was writing to you?"
Sirius lets out a shaky breath. "I don't know," he drops his hands. "I don't—"
The only warning is his sudden stillness. A second ago he couldn't sit still, grief pulling at his skin, and now, suddenly, stillness.
"Siriu—"
But he's out of his chair, storming toward the doors like he's being chased.
"Where is he going?" Peter asks.
James only shakes his head. "No ide—" and then he sees the back of Regulus's head disappearing into the corridor and he realizes what's about to happen.
"Fuck," it's his turn to jolt out of his seat, jogging down the length of the Great Hall.
"—you did," he hears Sirius say as he bursts into the foyer, turning about himself, looking for the source of the noise. "I know you did."
"You're being irrational," Regulus says, voice flat.
They're only a few paces down the hall, facing one another like they're about to duel. For the first time Regulus isn't the one with his wand out.
"I bet you couldn't wait to tell her," Sirius's voice has teeth.
Regulus sighs. "I told you, I didn't know you were writing to Uncle Alphard, but even if I had, I wouldn't have said anything."
"I don't believe you."
"Well that sounds like your problem not mine."
"You selfish, spineless—"
"Okay," James steps in, grabbing hold of Sirius's arm as he steps towards his brother whose wand, James can now see, has been expelliarmus-ed down the hall, "that's enough, Sirius, lets go."
"It was him," he pulls against James's grip. "I fucking know it was. You always were such a little snitch. Tell me, did she reward you? How much was our Uncle's life worth? A new broom? New robes? What'd you get on your knees for this time Regulus?"
Regulus doesn't react to his brother's words, his expression completely unmoved.
"Is this how its going to be Sirius?" he asks eventually, voice flat, emptied of feeling. It makes James ache. "You're just going to blame me for everything that goes wrong in your life?"
"You're not innocent Reg, you know that right? Just because you don't cast the spells doesn't mean you aren't every bit as guilty as them. You stand there and you watch and you let it happen."
"And what's the alternative?" Regulus asks coldly.
"Regulus—" James warns as the younger boy steps forward, Sirius barely restrained by James's grip. Neither of them are paying much attention to him, of course. They never can see anything but each other when they're together.
"Should I be like you?" the younger boy asks coldly. "Risk everything just so I can watch everyone I love die?"
"Fuck you Reg," Sirius doesn't quite manage it without his voice breaking. James can feel the pain caused by Regulus's words running through him, like they were a physical hit. He stares pleadingly at the boy he loves, willing him to look back, to stop, but his eyes are locked on his brother's.
"You chose this Sirius."
Something primal rips itself out of Sirius's throat as he tries to raise his wand again, tries to get free of James's grip. And honestly, James doesn't blame him.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" comes a snide voice from over James's shoulder.
"Christ," he mutters under his breath, "could we catch a fucking break here?"
Rosier and Crouch saunter towards them, taking their places at Regulus's side. Though, Reg looks like he's no happier to see them than James is.
"You wouldn't be trying to come for our Reggie now would you?" Crouch asks, dark eyed and pointy-faced, sneering down at them as he twirls his wand between his fingers. James already feels the overwhelming desire to punch him in the face.
"Leave it," Regulus says, stepping back, "lets go."
But Rosier and Crouch are sharks, and they can smell the blood in the water.
"Aw, are you upset?" Rosier says in a baby voice. "Did one of your muggle-loving friends get their heads blown off?"
Crouch snickers off to the side and James slowly lets Sirius go, no longer sure he isn't about to whip out his own wand.
"I'd quit while you're ahead Rosier," James growls, but the two Slytherin's only seem to find this more amusing.
"You lot are going to have to get used to this you know, especially if this is the best your side has to offer," he gives them a derisive once over.
"You know," Crouch says, before James can open his mouth again, "I hear some of them begged," there's a nasty glint in his eyes. "Can you imagine? Begging? Fucking pathetic."
"That's what happens when you mix with non-magical folk. Makes you soft," Rosier chuckles. "See, you lot? You lot are going to go one-by-one, and you want to know why?"
"Well I'm sure you're going to tell us," James replies flatly, feeling Sirius buzzing beside him, ready to go off.
Rosier steps up close. Too close, really. His ugly sneer getting right in James's face. "Because you have no fucking claws."
James does punch Rosier in the face then, at the same moment that Sirius sends Crouch flying down the corridor.
"You sure about that Rosy?" James asks as he gets Rosier on the ground before driving his foot into his stomach. "What do you reckon Padfoot?"
"I feel pretty fucking sharp Prongs," he spells Crouch into the air before letting him drop back down again, he lets out a high pitched screeching noise as he crumples to the floor.
"Enough," Regulus snaps, at the same time that Rosier scrambles to his feet and pulls out his wand. James already has his aimed. "Evan, I said enough!" he growls when Rosier's wand doesn't drop.
"Regulus—"
"This is not the time," Regulus bites out, Crouch only just managing to peel himself off the floor.
James can't quite believe that they're going to listen to him, certainly doesn't believe it enough to lower his own wand. But, to his surprise, Rosier steps back.
"This is a mistake," he hisses at Regulus.
"Your opinion has been noted, take Barty back to the common room."
At first Rosier doesn't move, glaring menacingly at James who honestly has no idea what's happening anymore.
"Fine," he spits the word out of his mouth, dragging his eyes up and down James's body one more time before he goes to help Crouch off the wall.
"Well done Reg," Sirius says coldly, and James wonders if they're going to have to do this all over again, but when he looks beside him he sees that Sirius has lowered his wand. "Really putting the Black name to good use I see. Is it bribery? Or have they just met Walburga?"
Regulus stares at him for a beat longer before shaking his head and turning away. Fire and ice they are. Sirius can't keep his feelings in and Regulus can't let his out. Either way they'll destroy themselves if they keep going.
James watches Regulus disappear down the hall, trying to swallow the tempest of emotions currently warring inside him.
"Come on," he says eventually, nudging Sirius lightly. "Lets go, yeah?
But Sirius doesn't respond, instead he turns away and walks very determinedly toward the front doors.
"Sirius?" James calls after him, moving to follow.
"Just—leave me alone James," he snaps over his shoulder. "I just want to be alone."
James pulls up short, watching Sirius storm out of the castle. He knows that he means it. When all is said and done, Sirius really isn't that hard to read. Still. James struggles to fight the urge to start moving again, to follow him anyway. Which isn't fair. If Sirius wants to be alone, he should be allowed to be. It's just that James's wishes that wasn't what he wanted.
"Maybe you should go check on him?" Remus says for the hundredth time.
James is lying on his bed, arm flung over his eyes. "Is he still by the lake?"
He hears the sound of shuffling—Remus has been pacing back and forth in front of the window for what feels like hours. James has given up trying to get him to relax and is counting it as a win that Remus isn't trying to go after Sirius himself.
"No," there's the unmistakable sound of the map unfolding. "He's wandering around the third floor now."
James nods, "He's fine. He'll come get us when he needs us."
"But I won't—" Remus shuts his mouth, frustrated.
"You'll be here when it matters," James stretches, pulling himself up to sitting and seeing that the sun has almost set, "Speaking of which, what time is it?"
"Er—I don't know, I lost track," Remus says guiltily, causing James to arch his brow. "Yes, yes, I know."
"It's eight," Peter supplies helpfully.
"Well thank merlin someone is paying attention," James groans as he gets to his feet. "c'mon Moons, I'll walk you to the infirmary."
Remus scowls. "I don't need you to chaperone me James."
"Yeah, but I'm obsessed with you remember?" he grins as he holds the door open.
Remus looks down at the map again, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
"Remus," James says softly, and eventually the other boy lifts his head, "we're going to take care of him, I promise. But right now, we have to take care of you."
"That isn't fair to him, he needs you guys, you should stay here tonight. Don't worry about me, I've done it alone before."
Peter snorts from behind the Witch Weekly he's currently reading "ironically" on his bed. "Fat chance."
"I'm with Pete," James cuts in before Remus can. "We're going to be there, ALL of us, and then afterwards we'll deal with the rest okay? Now come on."
Reluctantly, Remus does.
The common room is almost empty tonight, no one feels much like socializing at the moment. Everything is just slightly...off. Nothing fits right. Nothing sounds right. As much as James is trying to hide it from Remus, it kills him that Sirius hasn't come back yet. That he's stayed away this long. Maybe he should have gone after him.
"So," he says after a long stretch of silence. Remus looks over at him, their steps loud in the empty corridor. "Lily."
"Ah," Remus almost smiles. "I was wondering when she'd come up."
James nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and not saying anything else for a bit. "Do you think I should apologize?"
Remus arches his brow. "I mean, you did beat the shit out of her best mate."
"Yeah, but in my defence, her best mate is Snape."
Remus actually laughs at that, though it quickly turns into a cough that's bad enough that they have to stop walking.
"Sorry," Remus croaks.
"Don't be. You okay to keep going?"
He pauses, breathing in and out a couple times before nodding his head.
"Listen," Remus carries on eventually, "I'm not going to stand here and pretend that I don't think Snape had it coming or that it wasn't satisfying to watch you deck him."
"I knew we'd corrupt you," James grins, causing Remus to roll his eyes.
"But that doesn't mean that you weren't still acting like a brat."
James scrunches his face. "Lets go back to the part where you liked that I decked him."
"I'm sorry," Remus snorts, "but you know it's true."
"He called her—" but James can't finish it, feeling the anger boil up in him so fast he thinks he's going to choke on it.
"I know," Remus says soberly. "Look, give her some space, then go talk to her. You don't have to apologize for not liking Snape, but it might help if you at least admitted that trying to pants him in front of the whole school was a dick move."
James lets out a melodramatic sigh as they come to a stop in front of the infirmary. "Fine, I'll consider it."
Remus tries to hide his smile. "That's all I ask."
James smiles back. "Well, guess I'll see you on the other side huh?"
"Yeah, guess," Remus turns to go but pauses before he makes it inside. "James?"
"Yeah?"
"If Sirius doesn't want to come tonight—or if he doesn't show up in time—don't give him shit for it, okay?"
"Remus, he's going to be there."
"Right," the other boy allows. "But if he isn't? I'm telling you now that that's okay. He gets to have tonight if he needs it, and I don't want you to make him feel guilty for that."
James huffs. "Yes, okay mum. I won't nag him if he doesn't want to, but I'm telling you, he will."
Remus nods. "Thank you."
"Of course Moons, whatever you want."
Remus arches his brow. "Whatever I want, huh? In that case, I want you to fold all the—"
"Oh no? What's that? I can't hear you? I think we're breaking up," James makes a loud static noise as he starts slowly walking backwards.
Remus rolls his eyes. "That's what I thought. See you James."
"Always a pleasure Remus."
He watches the door close and feels something heavy start to grow in the pit of his stomach. Whatever Remus says, Sirius needs to be there tonight. It's a promise they've made to each other—to Remus—to be there every time. Every moon. It'll feel like a betrayal if Sirius doesn't show up now.
But Sirius knows that. Understands it the same way James does. All that time they spent getting Remus to trust them, to let them in. This was part of it. Being there when it's the hardest. Not looking away from the scary bits. Not like his parents. The full moon isn't optional for Remus. Bad day. Good day. He has to go through it. And so do they—the three of them. It's their job to be there, to prove to him that it isn't optional for them either. To prove to him that he's seen. Completely and utterly. And that all of him is wanted.
Sirius knows that.
An hour later James is feeling less certain.
"Prongs..."
"I know, I know," James is standing by the window, invisibility cloak in one hand, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. "Just give him another five minutes yeah?"
He should have gone after him. He should have known better than to let Sirius stew on his own for this long. He should have dragged him out of that hallway before him and Regulus even got going.
James sighs, passing a hand over his face and tearing his eyes away from the quickly materializing moon, "Okay, I guess he—"
The door swings open and Sirius waltzes in, not angry, not flustered, he might even be...happy? James has neither the energy nor the time to make sense of that.
"Gents," he nods to them.
"Thank merlin," James says, "thought you weren't going to make it. C'mon we gotta—"
"I'd give it a few minutes if I were you," and there's something off about his voice, an empty sort of cheerfulness that makes the hair on the back of James's neck stand on end.
"Give it a few minutes?" he looks at Peter who shakes his head, just as lost, wand at the ready to turn into Wormtail.
"Sirius, we're late," he says slowly, "we have to go—we should have gone twenty minutes ago."
But instead of grasping the urgency of the situation, Sirius drops onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head and looking infuriatingly calm.
"Nah, trust me, we're going to be right on time."
"I—" James really has no idea what's going on, and after floundering about for a few seconds finally manages to speak again; "Listen, if you don't want to come tonight Moony says it's okay, but I really think—"
"I ran into Snape just now, on my way back," Sirius interrupts, completely derailing James's train of thought.
"I—er—okay?"
It feels like it did. That time in the woods. When Moony went haywire.
Wrong, James's brain keeps saying. Somethings is wrong. The way Sirius is talking, lying—in control and out of control all at the same time.
"Brilliant it was, like fate, and I just saw it—saw how we would prove them wrong," he laughs and the noise finds its way between James's ribs and pulls at his lungs.
"Prove them wrong? Prove who wrong?" James shakes his head. "Never mind, tell me later yeah? We have to go."
But Sirius just smiles, it's an expression too sharp to be joyful. "God, it's so fucking funny—so fucking ironic. Don't you see?" he turns his head, looking at James properly for the first time.
"See what Pads?" he asks nervously.
"They said we don't have claws," still with that same smile on his face, "but we have a fucking werewolf."
The world stops. James swears the literal rotation of the earth freezes on those words. Cold dripping down his spine.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
"We—you—did you tell Snape about Remus?" a question he never thought he'd have to ask and somehow Sirius is still smiling.
"Better than that," he says. "I told him how to get past the tree."
James is running. No invisibility cloak. No secret passageways. He runs, feet slamming into the stone floors, chest heaving with the effort. He's never moved so fast in his life. Never felt so scared—so scared that he's not even sure this is real, that he hasn't just fallen into one of his nightmares. Wake up, he thinks, wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Please wake up.
I told him how to get past the tree.
It must have rained at some point because James slips on the grass as he hurtles himself across the lawn, lungs stinging with the cold air. There's always the chance that Snape didn't take the bait—that he saw it for the trap that it is. That he just minded his own fucking business for once in his miserable life. But as the willow comes into view James knows that's not what happened. Knows it from the strange way the branches are holding themselves. Someone's pressed the knot. Recently.
I told him how to get past the tree.
James doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, throwing himself into the passage and towards the shrieking shack, barely breathing. It's late. They were already running late. He has no time. He doesn't know what he's going to do if he gets there and Moony has already transformed. If he gets there and he's—he's—fuck.
He bursts into the shack, breathing heavy, pulse loud in his ears as he takes the steps two at a time.
"Get out! GET OUT!" Remus's voice is stripped bare with fear.
"What the hell are you playing at Lupin? What is this place?"
"Please, please, Snape I'm begging you, leave. Just leave," he sounds close to tears.
James throws open the door to the bedroom with such force that it slams into the wall behind it. Remus has backed himself up as far away from Snape as he can get—he doesn't have his wand, of course, completely defenceless, meanwhile Snape has his drawn and pointed right at him.
"James," Remus says weakly, "James he's here, he's—" Remus doubles over, an agonizing groan ripping out of him.
"What the fuck is going on?" Snape turns on him, pointing his wand in James's direction but he ignores it, walking right passed him and over to Remus's side.
"It's now," he trembles, "James, James, James," his voice skips like a scratched record, like he's losing control of it. "It's happening now—you have to—-he—he can't—"
"Sh, sh, it's okay, it's going to be okay, I promise. I'm going to take care of it," he wraps his arm around him as gently as he can but Remus still flinches as James guides him back to the mattress.
"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Snape demands.
Remus is hyperventilating, dropping his head between his knees the minute he's sitting down again, his whole body shaking.
"You have to get—" but his voice disappears and instead he screams. James wonders if one day that sound will stop feeling like broken glass.
With a shaky breath he turns to Snape, "We have to go. Now."
Snape only glares, attempting to lean around James so he can get a better look at Remus. "Is he mental—have they let a fucking psycho into Hogwarts?"
"Okay, you're going to move or I'm going to—" James reaches into his back pocket for his wand. And keeps reaching.
And reaching.
But there's nothing there.
He forgot his wand.
He. Forgot. His. Wand.
At that moment he hears the unmistakable noise of bones breaking. He doesn't need to turn around. He's seen it before. He knows what's happening.
And if the new expression of horror on Snape's face is anything to go by, he does too.
"Move, you idiot. Now. We're going now."
James steps forward to grab him but Snape jabs the tip of his wand into his chest.
"A werewolf?" he demands. "The freak is a werewolf?"
"MOVE."
Some horrendous noise rips itself from Remus's throat and James sees it happen—sees the wand move from his chest to the boy behind him, sees Snape open his mouth.
"Don't you dare!" He doesn't think, he just launches himself forward, tackling Snape before he can get out whatever spell he's trying to. They crash to the floor, landing hard on his shoulder.
"What's wrong with you!" Snape's voice is high as they roll around, dust getting into James's eyes and mouth—an elbow to the face, a knee to the gut—he still ends up on top. At some point in the scuffle Snape's wand is lost. He doesn't know where it goes.
"Get off of me! Get off! Get off! That thing is a fucking monster—do people know? There's going to be a fucking inquiry. They'll throw you all in Azkaban—GET OFF OF ME!"
"I would shut your mouth unless you want a repeat of yesterday, asshole. Lily's not here to rescue you this time."
"I—" but suddenly Snape goes still, eyes growing to nearly twice their normal size.
James nearly asks what's wrong with him when—
Oh.
Oh no.
The screaming's stopped.
James looks over his shoulder and is met with a pair of glowing, yellow eyes. He tries sometimes, to look for Remus in them. He hasn't found him yet.
He rolls off of Snape just as the wolf launches itself forward, Snape scrambling out after him. They're nearly out of the room when Snape jerks to a stop.
"What the fuck are you doing?" James demands.
"My wand—"
James doesn't wait, grabbing Snape by the front of his shirt and throwing him down the hall towards the stairs.
"I'll buy you a new fucking wand, now move—"
He hears Moony howl behind them, the noise is loud, shaking the shack, scraping along his bones.
They make it to the top of the stairs before James feels a set of sharp claws sink into his back, throwing him into Snape. They all go careening down the stairs. James manages to knock Moony off but can't stop himself from falling the rest of the way to the bottom.
Everything shakes. His hands. His head. He's pretty sure the floor underneath him is shaking. There's blood. His face maybe? Definitely his back. Somehow he manages to push himself back onto his hands and knees.
Snape is lying beside him. Face down.
"Snape," he shakes him, and then sees the blood by his forehead. "Fuck," fear cuts through him like a knife. "Snape? Snape? Severus—fuck."
A growl from above draws his attention and he looks back to see Moony standing at the top of the landing, seeming so much bigger than he ever has before, lips pulled back over his teeth.
James's eyes dart around, looking for something—anything—to fight with. They land on the stair bannister. He hears the noise of claws on wood as he reaches for one of the posts and starts pulling.
"Come on," he hisses, feeling the rotten wood give. Feeling the stairs creak as Moony gets closer. "Come. On." It pulls off and James spins around, wielding it like a bat.
Moony is nearly on him, launching off the last step as James swings. A clean shot. Right at the face. Moony lets out a whine pulling away but not far and James feels his panic rising. What exactly is his plan here? How is he gonna fight a werewolf with a piece of wood? How is he going to fight Moony?
The wolf's hackles are up, back arched as he turns to James again—except—except his eyes are on the post in his hands.
"Oh you have got to be kidding me," James breathes, giving the wood an experimental wave and watching Moony's eyes follow it.
Admittedly, if this doesn't work, James will once again find himself defenceless in front of a werewolf. But hey, what's life without a little risk?
"Okay Moony," he waves the post around a little more. "Okay, okay, you want the stick? Huh? You want the stick big guy?"
Praying with every fibre of his being that this works.
"Go get it then!" he chucks the post up onto the floor above them and by some absolute miracle, Moony follows.
James doesn't hesitate, bending down and grabbing Snape by the arms, dragging him towards the door. He can taste blood in his mouth.
It feels like seconds. Maybe less, before a snarl brings his attention back to the stairs. Moony glares at him for a moment, before spitting the post out from between his teeth.
"Fuck."
James tries to move faster, the door to the passage just behind him, but Moony is moving fast now too.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
He pushes through the door, yellow eyes coming right for him. He lets Snape drop as he scrambles for the handle, slamming the door shut and sliding the metal bolt across the top. There's barely a second before he hears Moony colliding with it on the other side.
He stays with his back pressed against it, breathing so heavy it hurts, sweat covering his skin. Moony growls, pawing at the door, but the lock holds. James tries to exhale, tries to get some kind of control over his heart, his eyes trailing down to the body at his feet.
Snape still hasn't moved.
"I swear to God if you're dead," James murmurs, stumbling beside him, his limbs not quite working properly. He can't tell if it's from the adrenaline or the stairs, but his whole body feels numb. Which is probably a blessing.
He rolls Snape onto his back, pressing his ear to his chest, trying to hear past his own thundering heartbeat.
"Come on you bastard," he hisses.
He feels more than he hears Snape take his next breath, his chest rising and falling under James's ear. He pulls back, looking down at the nasty gash on his forehead that slips up into his black hair, covering half his face with blood.
James brings his hands to his own face, sussing out the damage. Behind him Moony starts howling.
"Alright," he drops his hands, getting Snape's arm over his shoulder and hauling him onto his back. "Merlin you're heavy," he mutters, as he starts to walk.
It's hard, and takes longer than it should. James is pretty sure he's got some nasty bruises along his ribs and shoulder because every time Snape shifts on his back he feels a burning pain down his side. He prays to Godric the wanker doesn't wake up. The last thing he needs is to have to deal with a hysterical Snape making things difficult.
By the time he drags himself out of the whomping willow he's sweating and shaking and only just makes it past the tree branches before dropping Snape onto the grass. Hissing at the sharp pain that shoots through his shoulder.
"Holy shit—"
He looks up and sees Peter and Sirius coming towards him across the lawn. Even in the near pitch black he can tell that Sirius isn't smiling anymore.
"Holy shit, Prongs," Peter repeats.
"How's Remus? What happened?" Sirius asks beside him, sounding nervous.
James ignores him, looking only at Peter. "I need you to go calm him down, he's right by the door so you'll have to transform before you go."
Peter has only barely opened his mouth to respond when Sirius steps forward.
"I'll go—I'll—"
"The hell you will," with everything left in him James shoves Sirius back. "You stay the fuck away from him."
Sirius blinks, eyes big and swimming in moonlight. He looks lost. And for once in his life James doesn't care.
"Peter. Go."
"By myself?" Peter squeaks.
James gives him a look that is apparently enough of an answer because he doesn't bother arguing again, transforming into a rat and running towards the tree with his wand in his mouth.
The quiet is heavy, Sirius and James just staring at one another, James still breathing hard. He doesn't know what he looks like—he imagines not good.
"James," Sirius says weakly—pleadingly. And it makes James angry.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he snaps. "How could you do that? How could—how could you be so fucking selfish?" he watches Sirius flinch, curling in on himself.
"I don't know," he whispers.
"You don't know?" he's not sure he's ever heard himself sound so cold. "Well that's brilliant Sirius, really. Just thought it'd be funny eh? A good laugh? Another one of your spontaneous pranks?"
Sirius isn't looking at him anymore, eyes on the ground. "Does he—did he see?" he asks eventually, nodding to Snape.
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
Sirius grimaces but doesn't move his gaze from Snape's motionless form. Like he's trying to convince himself it's really there.
"We could wipe his memory."
"Wipe his memory," James repeats slowly, feeling cracked open. "You know how to do that do you?"
"I could figure it out," he looks up at James, hopeful. "I know I could."
James lets out an empty laugh, the noise bouncing around them in the dark. "And then what? It'll be like it never happened? You going to wipe Remus's memory too? Mine? Pete's?"
Sirius's eyes go wide, his mouth opening helplessly without any sound coming out. Suddenly James is exhausted. He doesn't want to deal with this. Doesn't know how.
"It's illegal," he says finally, bending down to pick Snape up again. "I'm not going to Azkaban just so you don't have to deal with what a shitty person you are," he brushes past him and towards the castle.
"Where you taking him?" Sirius asks, jogging up beside him.
"Infirmary."
"James he'll talk, you know he will, and then Remus—"
"YES. I KNOW."
James has to stop again, struggling to keep himself contained, to keep himself from falling out of the holes torn in his skin. Sirius is looking at him with shocked eyes. James has never yelled at him like that before. He's not sure that he's ever yelled at anyone like that.
"I'm going to talk to Dumbledore," his voice trembles with the effort to remain steady. "He went through all the trouble of letting Remus in, he's not going to let Snape ruin that," he starts walking again. He can feel Snape's blood soaking into his shoulder.
"Okay—yeah, you might be right. I'll come with you."
"No."
"James—"
"I'm sorry, maybe I wasn't clear earlier. When I said stay the fuck away from him, I also meant stay the fuck away from me."
"James please, please I—I just wasn't thinking. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"You just weren't thinking?" James demands. "You're unbelievable—you know it's going to break his heart right?" he stops again, turning to face Sirius fully. "I mean, it would have if it was any of us but that it was you—you," James's voice breaks and he grits his teeth in frustration. "It's going to destroy him when he finds out."
For a minute Sirius just stands there, looking small. And then; "I don't know why it matters that it was me," he says thinly.
James drops his head, letting out a long exhale. "Yeah," he says dryly, looking up again, "sure you don't." He turns around and keeps walking. He hears his name one more time but doesn't stop.
Poppy Pomfrey stands in front of him in a housecoat and slippers, hair braided down her back. Her wand currently providing the only light in the room.
"James Potter you better have a good reason for waking me up at—" she pauses, squinting, "is that blood?" with one flick of her wand all the lamps in her office light and she steps forward, bringing her hands to his face, inspecting the damage.
"Is it bad? I haven't seen it yet?"
"James what happened?" apparently, in her shock, last names have gone out the window.
"It's a long story, listen," he steps gently out of her grasp. "I'm fine, it's—it's Snape you need to look at."
She blinks. "Snape? Severus Snape?"
James nods, leading her back out into the infirmary where he left Snape on one of the empty beds.
"Merlin," she hisses under her breath, moving quickly to his side. "James what on earth happened to you?" her eyes are on the body in front of her, wand running up and down, casting so quickly James can't keep track.
He sighs, sitting on the chair next to the bed and wiping at his bleeding nose. "He got in."
"Got in?" she asks distractedly, muttering something over Snape's head. He watches her wearily, hoping it looks worse than it is. That it'll be an easy fix. Remus will never forgive himself otherwise.
"Yeah," James croaks. "Yeah, he got into the shack."
Her hands still. Her whole body stills really, eyes flicking up to meet his for the first time. "The shack?" she repeats.
James nods.
"He—Remus did this?"
"Not on purpose, but, yeah."
He sees the fear in her eyes as they bounce back and forth between him and Snape, reassessing their injuries.
"He didn't bite us."
"You're sure?"
James nods. "This was the stairs mostly," he motions to himself.
"And Remus?" he knows that she cares for him. Maybe almost as much as James does.
"He's still there, locked in. He'll be okay—or, well—he's not hurt too bad anyway, I don't think. We didn't have our wands." James feels his stomach squirm but he pushes all thoughts of how very not okay Remus is going to be out of his head. There are still hours until sunrise and if he thinks about it too much he'll lose it.
"You didn't have your wands," she repeats slowly, face paling, she just stares at him for a moment before eventually shaking her head. "I have to get the Headmaster and your Heads of House," she looks at him and then quickly waves her wand, James feels the tingling sensation of her diagnostic charms.
"You should be okay to wait, nothing severe," she starts moving away when James calls her back.
"He'll be alright?" he asks, gesturing to Snape.
She pauses a moment, and then nods. "A concussion, that's all. He'll have to take a potion in the morning for the next week and then he should be good as new."
James exhales, feeling his whole body relax.
Okay.
Well.
At least there's that.
"You did good James," she says, voice softening. A minute later he hears the infirmary door closing behind her.
James passes a hand over his face and winces as he brushes against the cuts on his cheek and forehead. He gives Snape a lingering look, hair now stuck to his face as the blood dries, robes covered in dust and dirt. He hates him. He's not sure if he's right to in this moment but he does. It's easier than hating Sirius.
Eventually he gets up, moving to a chair across the room so he doesn't have to look at him anymore. He leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He hopes that Peter actually went into the shack and isn't just waiting outside the door. He hopes that him being there helps get Moony to relax. He hurts himself when he gets worked up—especially when he's trapped. He very determinedly doesn't think about Sirius. Or where he is. Or what he's going to say when he sees him next.
The numbness of before is wearing off, and everything aches and twinges. And he's tired. So fucking tired. He has to figure out what he's going to tell Remus—how he's going to stop him from reverting back to first year. To a boy who smiles politely but doesn't say much. Doesn't trust anyone enough to give any part of himself away.
"Potter?"
James blinks his eyes open, not remembering hearing anyone come in. The world is blurry for a minute, but slowly, a looming McGonagall comes into view, mouth pursed, tartan housecoat wrapped tightly around herself.
"Are you alright?" she asks, somehow managing to sound both concerned and brisk at the same time.
"Uh—sure," he pulls himself up straighter, wincing at the tightness of his muscles. The infirmary is fully lit now, the curtains drawn around Snape's bed. He must have fallen asleep.
Behind McGonagall are Dumbledore and Slughorn, both staring at James expectantly, while Pomfrey flits in and out in the background, moving between her office and Snape's beside.
"Er—" James doesn't like where this is going at all.
"How, precisely," McGonagall presses on, clearly not in the mood for smalltalk, "did you and Snape find yourselves in the shrieking shack?"
James blinks up at her.
Oh.
Right.
Questions.
"The whomping willow," because he figures the more literal his answers are, the safer he'll be.
She arches her eyebrow. "And how did you know that the tree was an entrance? "
Remus, Remus told them. But James isn't about to tell her that, so instead he shrugs. "Can't remember."
He thinks he hears Dumbledore chuckle in the background, but he can't be sure.
"Really," McGonagall says slowly, "you can't remember?"
This is a time tested method of the marauders. When in doubt, amnesia is always an excellent defence. "Nope."
"I see," she exhales mightily. "And why, may I ask, were you trying to get into the shrieking shack at all?"
He meets her eyes, gaze steady. "I went to stop Snape."
"To stop Snape? Stop him from what?"
Really? he thinks, is she really going to make me say it?
"Professor," he says meaningfully, "he's one of my best mates, we've shared a room for five years. You don't think I've noticed that he always gets sick around the full moon?"
She looks more surprised by this revelation than he expected her to. Pomfrey, of course, now standing still in the background, does not appear the least bit shocked.
"For how long have you known about Lupin's...condition."
In for a penny, in for a pound; "Second year." Not that he wasn't bloody suspicious in first year, but if they were going by the first time they got Remus to admit to it, that was second year, just before Christmas.
"Is it sunrise yet?" James asks suddenly, even though he knows the interrogation isn't over. He's not sure how long he's been asleep. He looks around McGonagall trying to see the window.
"Not yet," Pomfrey offers. "Another hour still, than I'll go get him."
James nods, turning his attention to Dumbledore. "You have to protect him."
"Potter—" McGonagall starts, but as much as he likes her, and he does, he's not interested in manners or rules. Not right now.
He looks Dumbledore dead in the eye. "Snape is going to spread this around to who ever will listen, you have to stop him. You have to make sure that doesn't happen."
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkle in the candlelight. "I've protected him so far have I not?" he says after a brief pause.
"I don't know," James says, because he doesn't. As far as he can tell, Remus has protected himself. "But I need your word that you'll protect him now."
He can feel Dumbledore's attention like a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging in, squeezing, looking for something. But James doesn't back down, doesn't blink.
"You have it. Of course. Snape will be made well aware of the importance of Lupin's privacy, and of what the consequences will be if he violates it."
"Now, now Dumbledore," Slughorn pipes up. "Lets not forget, Severus is the victim in all this."
Dumbledore looks over at him, passively. "I daresay that there have been several victims tonight. Due largely to Snape's curiosity."
James nearly laughs at the look of outrage on Slughorn's face.
"But how did he know about the shack?" McGonagall asks, bringing all eyes back to James.
He doesn't know why he lies, stupid really, when Snape will no doubt rat Sirius out the moment he's conscious. And honestly, serves Sirius right, he's not interested in protecting him. Not this time. But for some reason he just can't make himself...
"Sorry, I don't know."
McGonagall stares him down, as if expecting him to crack under the pressure of her disapproval. In fairness, he's sure it's worked for her in the past. But James doesn't even fidget.
"You can return to your room now Potter," she says, eventually, "try to get some sleep."
But James shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Remus will be in good hands James," Dumbledore says calmly. "You have nothing to worry about." He smiles, but James doesn't smile back.
"With all due respect Sir," he leans forward, clasping his hands between his knees, "one of my best friends just had to live through his worst nightmare. If you think there's anyway I'm going to let him wake up alone you don't know me very well."
He feels the other three adults staring at him, a new tension falling over the room. James isn't stupid, he knows who Dumbledore is—knows he's much more than the headmaster of a school. He's heard the things his parents have said. The way they look up to Dumbledore. And he does too, honestly, has the chocolate frog card and everything.
But he'll fight him if he needs too.
Eventually Dumbledore smiles again. "Quite right," he says, "Minerva, Horace," he nods in the direction of Madame Pomfrey's office, "a word."
McGonagall does not look at all pleased about the way things have gone, but with one last look at James she allows herself to be herded away. Leaving him and Pomfrey alone again.
"Here," she says, stepping closer, "lets do something about that face shall we?"
He nods, not paying much attention to the waves of magic that wash over him. Some of it hurts, but he registers it in a distant way, not really feeling it properly. Eyes staying, the whole time, on the brightening sky outside the window.
"Do you know what they're talking about in there?" James asks after a while, nodding his head in the direction of her office.
Pomfrey makes a "tisking" noise. "No doubt trying to figure out how to keep the Ministry out of this."
James snaps his head out of her hands. "The Ministry? Why would the Ministry get involved?"
She huffs, clearly unhappy to have her work interrupted. "Well, they like to keep a rather tight rein on...y'know..."
"Werewolves?"
She frowns.
"You can say it you know," James pushes. "I don't think it makes him feel better when people act like it's a dirty word. It's just—just a part of him that's all. Not bad or good. Just there."
He's worried, for a moment, that she's going to argue with him. He doesn't have much patience for people having a go at Remus on a good day. He certainly doesn't have the ability to handle it well right now.
"He's lucky to have you," she says eventually.
James lets that sit with him for a moment before he shrugs. "Actually, I think we're the ones lucky to have him."
She smiles softly at him, and together they watch the sun come up.
When Pomfrey comes back from the shack an hour later it's with an unconscious Remus floating beside her and James is up and at his side immediately.
"This isn't right," he says anxiously, keeping his voice down so that the others won't hear, "he should be awake."
Pomfrey sends him a side-long look as she folds back the covers of the nearest bed and lowers Remus into it.
"It used to happen a lot before."
"Before?"
She nods, tucking Remus in. "When he was younger it would take him quite a bit longer to wake up. Right up until the latter half of his second year I would say," she sends him a meaningful look across the bed. But James still doesn't understand.
"Why though?" he whispers, taking the chair beside Remus's bed.
She exhales, running her wand over him and fixing the smaller nicks and bruises before brushing the hair back from his forehead. "There's not much work that's been done on lycanthropy, but, from what I can tell, it helps if you want to wake up. Want to come back to yourself."
James isn't sure which part of that hurts more. The fact that eleven year old Remus didn't want to wake up. Or the fact that fifteen year old Remus doesn't want to wake up. Without thinking he reaches out and takes Remus's hand.
"Is he—" James swallows. "I had to hit him, to get away, is he—"
"He's alright, few bruised ribs, nothing he hasn't had before," which James knows is meant to be comforting but isn't at all.
"Right," he squeezes Remus's hand a little more tightly.
"Just give him time James," she says as she goes to leave, closing the curtains around them. James is glad that none of the others come in. Glad that when Remus wakes up he won't be surrounded by a bunch of unwelcome faces.
It's strange thinking about it now, that Christmas in second year. James and Sirius had been certain for months but Peter still wasn't convinced.
"What if we're wrong?" he'd worried. "What if he gets offended?"
But all they'd cared about was being right—being clever enough, observant enough, to spot it. They tease Remus about being a swot but the truth is, it was James and Sirius who were obsessed with being the brightest, the most talented, top of the class. Who wanted to be seen. They hadn't once considered what it would mean for Remus, for people to know. Or how unfair it was, not to let him tell them himself.
The day before they were due to leave on Christmas break the four of them had been in their room packing. It had been Sirius's idea. Because of course it had.
"Oi, Remus," he'd called out, "wanna throw me the cufflinks on my dresser?"
Sirius had been sitting on his bed, mountains of clothes piled around him.
"I think that might be the poshest thing anyone's ever asked me," Remus laughed, missing the meaningful look exchanged between James and Sirius, Peter standing nervously by the window.
Almost as soon as he touched the cufflinks he recoiled. "Ow—what—" he clutched his hand to his chest, face going ashen as he looked at them more closely.
Silver.
They were silver.
James and Sirius thought they were so clever.
It made him feel a bit sick to think about it now. How triumphant they had felt. Look at us, they had thought, we figured it out!
"Something you want to tell us Remus?" Sirius had said grinning, while Remus stared between the three of them in horror.
"It was just static—they shocked me," he'd stuttered.
"C'mon, we're not that dim," James was off his bed at that point, leaning against the dresser next to Remus.
"We're right aren't we?" Sirius leaned forward. "Gone every full moon, can't touch silver, and the scars—"
"They aren't that noticeable," it had come out of him like a reflex, something Remus had no doubt spent his childhood being reassured of. An age old insecurity he was trying to talk himself out of. Not that James or Sirius picked up on it at the time.
"They're wicked is what they are," Sirius said.
For some reason, that hadn't made Remus feel any better.
"Please," he'd begged. "Please."
And suddenly James has a horrible sense of de ja vu, having just heard that exact same plea echoing through the halls of the shrieking shack.
They had been young, only twelve, they couldn't understand—couldn't even begin to comprehend all that Remus had been through. All that he had to be afraid of. It had seemed fun to them—like a super power. A party trick. But they aren't those kids anymore. They know better now—they've seen enough to know better. So how did this happen? How did they end up here?
"James?"
James opens his eyes, not realizing he had closed them in the first place, finding Remus wide-eyed and awake.
"James," this time his name is a desperate sound. "Fuck—what happened? Snape—Snape was there—he—"
"Hey, hey," James says gently, squeezing his hand. "It's okay, everything is okay." Which isn't really true, but he's not sure what else to say.
"He was there," Remus says again, his voice a wrecked thing and he looks at James like he wants him to tell him he's wrong. That he made it up. That none of it happened. And James wishes he could. More than anything.
"Yeah," he says pointlessly. "Yeah Moons, he was there."
Please. Please.
"He saw—he knows?"
James can hear voices on the other side of the curtains and silently begs the universe to just give them a little more time before the adults come in with their questions and accusations.
"He knows."
Remus's chest hitches and for a second James thinks he's stopped breathing all together, but then he starts jerkily nodding his head. "Okay," he says, sounding anything but, "okay, okay. So—so I'm going to have to—I'm going to have to leave," he isn't looking at James anymore. "That's okay, I can take my OWLs at home, by post, and then—and then—I don't know I'll—I'll get a job I guess—a Muggle job, where no one will know me and—and that's okay. I can do that. I can—"
"Moons—Remus," James yanks on his hand, pulling him back. "You're not being expelled."
"He'll tell everyone James," he uses his free hand to try and wipe away the tears now sneaking from his eyes, "and once he does they won't let Dumbledore keep me here. It's—but that's okay. I never should have been here in the first place really. This was all a bit of a gift anyway."
"Hey—no, stop that, none of that is happening okay? Remus—Remus look at me?"
And he does, with eyes that say he's spent his life cutting away pieces of himself. Trying to carve out the person he thinks the world wants.
"I've talked to Dumbledore, he's going to make sure Snape keeps his mouth shut, you're not going anywhere, okay?"
Remus seems to swallow with difficulty. "Dumbledore said that?"
James nods, "he's probably going to come through those curtains any minute and explain it to you himself," James squeezes his hand again. "You're not going anywhere okay? I promise."
It takes a minute for that to sink in, for Remus to accept it, even a little bit, and James watches as he sits back against his Pillows.
"Snape's okay?" he asks in a small voice.
"Completely fine I'm sorry to report."
Remus doesn't acknowledge the joke. "I didn't—I didn't hurt him—I didn't hurt you?"
"Pushed us down the stairs but, other than that? Nah, you're puppy really."
Remus lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Fuck James," he finally pulls his hand free, bringing it up to his face. "How did this happen? How did he know?"
And oh how James has been dreading this question.
For some reason he can't get Sirius's face out of his head. The way he'd looked in second year when he'd thought of the cufflinks. And then somehow that smile turns into the one he'd had in the dorm room. All teeth. All pain. That's always been the problem with Sirius Black. He's all light or all dark with no in between.
"James?" Remus's hands have fallen back into his lap, "You know don't you?"
He wants to lie. He desperately wants to lie.
"Yeah," it's rough and frayed. He clears his throat. "Yeah I know. It—Sirius." He has to force it out, because otherwise he doesn't think he'll ever be able to say it.
"What?" he can already hear the horror in Remus's voice.
"Sirius told him—how to get past the tree."
Please. Please.
Remus just stares at him, like maybe if he's still enough the words won't find him. And then he won't have to deal with it.
"But why—" his voice cracks and James can see him fighting tooth and nail to keep it together, "why would he do that?"
His voice is barely there, breathless, chest starting to heave again—short, jerky, inhales.
"Just breathe Remus okay? I need you to breathe?" but he doesn't think Remus is listening to him.
"Why would he do that?"
Please. Please.
James shakes his head, feeling helplessly cracked. "I don't know. I'm sorry Remus, I'm so sorry."
And James knows then, that he will never be able to hate Sirius Black.
Because he doesn't.
But oh how he wants to.