PART I JAMES
The next few days are lonely.
In fact, James is fairly certain it's the most lonely he's ever felt in his entire life.
Sirius and Remus don't come back to the dorm but they do start coming to classes again. Sitting alone, away from James and Peter. Remus shoots James apologetic glances whenever they take the desks on the other side of the room. Sirius doesn't look at him at all. Doesn't come to the Great Hall or speak to anyone but Remus, at least not as far as James can tell.
It's all far too reminiscent of last year. The four of them broken up, not speaking, not even looking at one another. James hates it. He thinks about just going down to the shack and forcing Sirius to talk to him. Thinks about it a lot actually. About what he would say, and how they would yell and scream but by the end everything would be okay. He never actually goes of course. Remus asked him to give Sirius time so he does. He just wishes Sirius didn't need so much of it.
James floats between Quidditch practice and class. He talks to Peter—talks to Remus when he's alone—but other than that he mostly keeps his head down. Every night he lies awake in bed and feels the pull to go to Regulus. A few times—pathetic times—he pulls out the map to see if Regulus is there, in their room. To see if he's waiting for James despite everything. But of course he isn't. Regulus has too much self respect for that.
James doesn't know how to fix things. Not with Regulus, not with Sirius. And so the floating continues. James can't help but feel like he's fading a little bit. An empty version of himself, just going through the motions.
"I'm thinking about starting a chess club."
James blinks, coming back to the breakfast table and looking up at Peter while he chews thoughtfully on the bacon sandwich he's just made for himself.
"A chess club?" James asks, trying to make sure he's heard him right.
"Yeah," Peter says, wiping his mouth clean on the back of his hand. "Like, you know, you have Quidditch, maybe I could have chess?"
James refrains from explaining all the ways in which a chess team and a Quidditch team are radically different things.
"Sure, yeah, okay," he says instead. "I didn't realize you were that into chess?"
Peter shrugs. "Well, I'm not exactly. But I feel like I could be y'know? Like I'm never going to be a Quidditch star no matter how hard I try—"
"You don't know that," James says automatically, earning him a skeptical look from Peter.
"Uh, yeah, I think I do. BUT," he says before James can interrupt again. "I could be a chess star if I just put a little more effort into it. It might not be Quidditch but," another shrug. "A trophy is a trophy right?"
He looks at James hopefully and James can't bring himself to say anything even remotely negative. "Sure, definitely. I thinks that's—er—a great idea."
"Really?" Peter asks, looking far too happy about this.
"Er—'course."
"Maybe I'll put up posters yeah? See who's interested. Hold try-outs."
James has no idea what the hell chess tryouts would even look like.
"Hey, would you help?" Pater asks, eyes all big and hopeful. Fucking damnit Peter. "Since you've done it so many times before—tryouts I mean—you could give me some pointers?"
"Er—"
Luckily, James is saved from having to continue this conversation by the arrival of the post. Hoot choosing that moment to land gracefully on the table beside him, only narrowly avoiding stepping in a bowl of porridge. He very insistently starts nudging at James's shoulder with his beak.
"Hey buddy," James gives his dignified head a little pat before untying the letter around his leg. Hoot shuffles forward staring very pointedly at the plate of cold cuts in the middle of the table. James laughs.
"Not exactly subtle are you?" he swears Hoot glares at him. "Alright, alright, no jokes before treats. Got it." James tosses him a piece of ham and with the contented flutter of his wings Hoot catches it and flies off.
"Who's the letter from?" Peter asks, as James slides his hand under the wax seal.
"Mum," he says without looking up. He wrote to her the morning after he talked to Lily in the courtyard. It's about the only useful thing he's managed to do recently.
Dear chicken,
His mother writes.
Glad to hear you're doing well and that Quidditch is back on track - I promise me and your father will make it up for your final match (which, if I'm not mistaken, is shaping up to be against Slytherin again is it not?) we've both just been a bit slammed with work recently.
Anyway - Lily Evans, huh? Goodness, that's a name I haven't heard in a while. I must tell you, Jamie darling, I am rather thrilled to learn that the two of you have become friends. You were always so obsessed with the girl, it seemed a shame you two could never get along.
About your request - of course it is absolutely ridiculous that Muggle-born families don't have access to the Floo. I've talked to some of our friends at the Ministry and Dumbledore as well, I expect she'll hear from him before the week is out. If not, let me know and I'll march up to the school and sort it myself.
I love you very, very much.
Sincerely, her majesty,
Your mum.
James smiles down at the letter, "Brilliant," he murmurs, before folding it up and sliding it into his pocket. He really does love his mum.
He shoves a piece of toast in his mouth before throwing his bag over his shoulder and getting to his feet. "I'll see you in class alright Pete? I gotta go talk to Evans."
Peter looks vaguely surprised but doesn't question him. "Yeah alright. See y'ah."
It's only the two of them at breakfast today, Remus having already come and gone, bringing Sirius his food. James thinks it's starting to wear on Remus a little bit, spending so much time in the shack. But he's not sure that criticizing the location of Sirius's self-imposed exile is going to go over well with either of them at the moment.
"Hey guys," James joins the sixth year girls a little ways down the table from where him and Pete had been sitting. They all look up briefly, Mary giving him a vague nod and Marlene a wave before they go back to whatever it is they were talking about.
"Are you abandoning Peter then?" Lily asks, looking slightly amused as she scoots over to make room for him.
He smiles, shaking his head. "Nah, never. Just wondered if maybe I could talk to you before class?" he nods in the direction of the doors, not missing the significant looks that Marlene and Mary send him across the table.
Lily looks surprised for about a minute before she recovers. "Uh—yeah, yeah sure. Of course." She grabs her stuff and slides out from under the table. "See you lot later yeah?" she tosses over her shoulder.
"You two have fun," Mary says in a sing-song voice. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"
Lily gives her a flat look at the same time that Marlene shakes her head, hissing under her breath; "Merlin Mary, really?"
"What?" Mary says innocently as they walk away.
They're quiet leaving the Great Hall, James shoving his hands awkwardly in his pockets, not quite sure what to say or how to start.
"Here," once they're in the corridor he quickly guides them into the nearest empty classroom, certain he doesn't want to do this in the foyer.
"Is it something serious?" Lily asks when he closes the door behind them. "Is it about the map?"
James feels his chest tighten but quickly shakes it off. "No, no, nothing like that. I just wasn't sure how much you'd told anybody else about—or if you'd want them to know..." for some reason the ends of his sentences seem to be alluding him today. Eventually he sighs, pulling out his mum's letter and handing it to her.
"I wrote to my mum," he says as he watches her unfold it.
She looks up at him briefly and then back down at the page, immediately letting out a bubble of laughter. "Chicken?"
James rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he says, though he can feel his cheeks heating up. "Just read the third paragraph."
She raises her brow, eyes skimming the letter. He sees the moment she understands. The moment the words sink it. "Oh," she says softly. "Really?"
She looks up and James offers her a smile. "Told you my mum was brilliant."
"I—" she sounds a little choked, hand coming to the base of her neck. "James this is really, really, really..." she seems to be at a loss for words. "Nice," she finally settles on.
James laughs, he can't help it. "Well, I've been known to be nice from time to time. I think it's Remus's doing really. Some of his good must've rubbed off on me."
She gives him a quizzical look, letter still held tight in her hands, like if she lets it go it won't be real anymore. "I can never tell, when you're being self-deprecating like that, if you really believe it or if you're just trying to be charming."
He arches his brow. "You think I'm charming?"
Lily rolls her eyes. "Rarely."
"That's not a no Evans," he gives her a wink.
Lily tries and fails to look unimpressed with him, her eyes eventually dropping back down to the letter. "Thank you for this," she exhales, pausing for a moment before she hands it back to him. "I know I'm probably just being silly but it—but I really want to see her and I never would have been able to without your help."
James shrugs, trying to ignore the tickling feeling in his stomach. "Of course."
"I mean it," she reaches out and squeezes his arm. She really is too pretty for her own good. Or maybe for his own good. He can't decide which. "Thank you."
They're standing closer than James realized and suddenly he feels his mouth go dry. "It's—"
They aren't doing anything wrong.
Aren't sneaking around.
Aren't breaking any rules.
Aren't...doing whatever else students get up to in empty classrooms.
So James isn't sure why the sound of the door opening is so jarring, why it sends a quick flash of panic through him. Maybe it's intuition. His mother did mention he had a Great Aunt who was a seer. Maybe he knows what's coming without realizing it. Because really it doesn't matter that someone is walking in on them. They're only talking. It's nothing. Not even the Hogwarts' gossips could turn this encounter into news. Except that, of course, it isn't the gossips who are at the door.
It's Reg.
For half a heartbeat he just stands there, staring, his eyes going to the point where Lily's hand still rests on James's arm. James doesn't know why he suddenly feels like he's been caught cheating. Because he hasn't. But the look on Regulus's face... it's only there for a second, barely that, before he's able to wipe his face clean. But that second is enough to make every inch of James ache.
Regulus doesn't say anything, just turns around and lets the door slam behind him on his way out, James watching helplessly.
"Um," Lily says after the poignant silence that follows, letting go of him. "Is everything alright?"
James swallows. "Yeah, of course, I just need to...I need to go," he looks back at her. "You'll tell me, when they let you talk to your mum? Tell me when you find out she's alright?"
Something flickers across her face that James doesn't know what to do with, already half-way to the door.
"You care about my mum?" she asks quietly. That question enough to make James pause.
He looks back at her. "Of course," he says and then, nearly; I care about you. But that seems like too much somehow so he leaves it as is. "See you, yeah?"
"Yeah," he hears her mutter as the door closes behind him and he finds himself in an unhelpfully empty corridor. He looks left to right, running a nervous hand through his hair and wondering if he should go get the map. Where the fuck would Reg go?
He hears voices around the corner, no doubt people slowly making their way out of the Great Hall and towards their first period classes. James starts walking in the opposite direction, deciding that's what Reg would do. That he would want to be alone.
James can't stop his brain from pulling up the image of Regulus's face when he'd first opened the door. Fuck. James really needs to fix this. He knows exactly what Reg will be thinking and he can't even blame him this time because first James asks for a break and then Regulus walks in on him and Lily in an empty classroom. He knows that Lily sets Reg off like no one else. That he feels insecure around her, always has.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He pulls up short when he rounds the next corner and finds Regulus at the back of a dead-end hallway, sitting on the ground with his back pressed to the wall, staring straight ahead. He doesn't look up, not even when James manages to get his legs working again.
"Reg?" he asks, voice quiet as he stops by his side. Standing feels incredibly awkward but he can't help but feel that he doesn't deserve to sit down. Regulus doesn't answer, just keeps staring at the wall across from him, face blank, though his eyes—James thinks his eyes give him away. They look...bruised.
"I was just helping her get into contact with her mum," James says. "I—I don't know how it looked—"
"You must know how it looked," Regulus says coldly. "Since you're here."
Which, of course, is true.
"I'd rather not do this," Regulus says after a moment.
James feels the bottom of his stomach drop, like someone's just thrown him from the astronomy tower. "Rather not do what?" he asks weakly.
Regulus still isn't looking at him. "You want to finish with me you finish with me. I'm not interested in being let down easily or whatever it is that you think that you're doing. Just—just walk away James. Put us both out of our misery."
For a second all James can do is stare at him, an uncomfortable storm of emotions waging in his chest.
"Our misery?" he repeats finally. "Do I make you miserable Reg? Does being with me make you miserable?"
Regulus rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid."
"Right back at you."
Finally, the younger boy looks up.
"I don't want to finish with you," James says stubbornly. "You know that. I told you that."
"Well you'll excuse me if I find it hard to believe when you're out here holding hands with Lily Evans."
James doesn't bother to point out that they weren't actually holding hands. "I want to be with you. I love you. I need space so that I can figure out how to move past this, but I do want to move past this."
Regulus holds James's stare but his expression doesn't shift. "Wanting to, and being able to, are different things."
James growls. "Jesus Christ Regulus, what do you want from me?"
Regulus doesn't answer, just keeps looking up at him with the same passive expression. Almost bored. And James knows that it's an act. He knows. But sometimes it's so hard to remember, especially when he's feeling so raw. So vulnerable.
Eventually he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Sometimes—" he starts and then stops, not at all sure how to get this out. "Sometimes I feel like I'm trying so hard to keep us a float, and all you're doing is looking for ways to sink us," he opens his arms, offering up his palms in surrender. In desperation. "I want to do this Regulus, I don't know how many more times or ways I can say it. But I can't do it on my own." He looks at him pleadingly. "I need to know that we're in this together. That you're not just waiting for us to fail so you can point your finger and go "I told you so."
For the first time Regulus's mask cracks. Flickers of pain and desperation bleeding through. After a few more seconds of silence James crouches down, bringing them eye level.
"I need you to stop treating us like we're doomed," he whispers, feeling the need to be soft now that they're so close. "Because I don't believe that we are. I can't."
A wounded noise escapes Regulus before he immediately closes his eyes, like it's too much. Like he can't bare to feel and see and hear James all at the same time. It's another few seconds before Regulus speaks.
"You wanna know what the really pathetic part is?" he says finally, eyes still shut. "When I saw you with her I wasn't even angry. I just thought "they look so beautiful together," his voice cracks and for a moment James can't breathe it hurts so bad. "I just thought "this is how it's supposed to be," he shakes his head. "I'll never look like that, standing next to you."
"Look like what?" James whispers.
Wrinkles appear at the corners of Regulus's eyes. "Right," he says on his next exhale. "I'll never look right. I'll never belong. No one will ever look at us the way they look at you and her."
And James doesn't know what to say—there are so many things that his brain almost short circuits—by the time he opens his mouth he has no idea what's coming out of it.
"I will," he says simply. "I'll look at us that way." Maybe that sounds stupid, he doesn't know.
Regulus lets out a shaky breath. "Oh," he says weakly.
James knows they're in the hallway. Knows it's Reckless. All of this is reckless. But before he can stop himself he leans over and places a kiss on the top of Regulus's head. Quick and chaste. And when he pulls away Regulus chases him, leaning into his side.
"You will always belong with me Reg," James whispers against his temple. "Always."
Regulus sighs, pressing into him like he can't be close enough. "You really mean that," it's more of a statement than a question, but it's said with enough awe that James feels compelled to answer anyway. Just to make sure Regulus believes it. Make sure he hears it.
"Yeah," he says softly, placing another quick kiss on the side of his head. "I really do."
PART II SIRIUS
He's lying on his back on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, Remus tucked into his side, head resting on his shoulder. Both of them stare up at the window in front of them as the sky turns black and the stars come out to play. There's a draft sneaking through the floorboards but it's alright, Remus always runs hot, a furness nestled under Sirius's arm.
"I'm just saying," he goes on. "I think a Unicorn could take a Centaur in a fight."
Remus tries to make a dismissive noise but it comes out too much like laughter. "And I'm just saying that that is the answer to a question that nobody asked."
"Um, excuse me," he tickles Remus's side making him squirm and giggle which is such a delightful noise that Sirius does it again.
"Oi! Stop that!" Remus swats his hand away but doesn't manage to keep from smiling, Sirius feels rather smug about it.
"Someone did ask the question," Sirius goes on. "And that someone was me."
"I'm not even certain that's true at this point."
"No it is," Sirius says indignantly. "I asked; which two magical creatures you'd most want to watch fight."
"And I refused to answer on the grounds that it's an idiotic and vaguely insulting question."
Sirius rolls his eyes. "Listen, we can talk about which two Hogwarts students we'd like to fight next if it'll make you feel better. Anyway, you were being no fun—"
"I was being a morally conscious human being you mean."
"Like I said, no fun. So I answered: Unicorn and a Centaur. Because I think the Unicorn would kick the Centaur's ass and that would be hilarious."
Remus snorts. "Why would it be hilarious?"
"Because Centaurs are pompous assholes and Unicorns are famously underrated."
"What!" Remus squawks. "In what world are unicorns famously underrated? Unicorns are very rated."
"Pretty sure that isn't a saying Moons, and I don't have time to explain to you everything that's wrong with the cultural interpretation of Unicorns right now."
"Oh you don't do you?" Remus asks teasingly. "And why's that? You got somewhere to be?"
Sirius turns his head to the side only to find that Remus is already staring back at him. Their noses brush. "I've just got other plans for tonight that's all," he says, voice low.
Remus arches his brow. "Do you now?"
"Mhm," Sirius uses his arm to pull Remus in closer—just those last few inches so that their mouths can touch.
Sirius has kissed a respectable number of people. He's always liked kissing. Liked the things that follow kissing too. But being with Remus is something else. The electricity that shoots through Sirius when Remus opens up for him, when he feels his teeth pulling on his lip, or scraping down his neck. Remus kisses like it's the only thing he wants to do.
His hands slide under Sirius's shirt and up his sides, making him shiver. "You cold?" Remus asks against his lips.
"No," Sirius moves, swinging his leg over Remus's hip, straddling him. Remus is flush and disheveled beneath him, just as Sirius likes him. "Definitely not cold," he breathes, before ducking back down, taking Remus's mouth with enough force that Remus moans. Hands running up Sirius's back, through his hair, pulling lightly.
"As much as I'm enjoying this," Remus murmurs after a few minutes. "This floor is fucking killing me."
"Ah," Sirius sits up, eyeing the dirty mattress on the other side of the room. When his gaze comes back Remus's mouth has pulled itself into a firm line.
"No way in hell am I having sex on that thing."
Sirius sighs dramatically, slumping off of Remus and back onto the floor beside him. They lie shoulder to shoulder for a moment, both of them still trying to catch their breath. Remus clears his throat. In Sirius's experience, that's never a good sign.
"We do have two perfectly good beds we could use."
Sirius glares up at the ceiling. "No."
"Not sure you can say no, it's just a fact."
"Don't be a prick."
He feels Remus shuffle beside him, turning on his side to look at Sirius who keeps his eyes stubbornly on the ceiling.
"Sirius," he says softly. "You can't avoid this forever."
"You underestimate me."
Remus reaches out, brushing his fingers gently against Sirius's arm, causing Sirius's eyes to flutter closed. There's a long period of silence, long enough that Sirius has started to drift off to the steady feeling of Remus's touch. And then;
"I can't do this for much longer Sirius," he almost whispers. "I can't...be here. All the time. It's too...hard."
Sirius's eyes open and he turns his head, meeting Remus's stare. "Oh," he says, and then; "Shit, Moons I didn't—fuck."
"It's okay, it is but—I mean we just, none of us can keep going like this Sirius. James is—"
"Don't."
Remus sighs beside him before sitting up, arms draping over his knees. "He misses you."
"I said don't."
"Yeah I know," Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, shoulders tense. "But you've been saying 'don't' for a week now and it's enough. You have to talk to him," and then; "Don't think I don't know you miss him too."
Which is true, of course. James is Sirius's other fucking half. That's why this is so hard. Why he has no idea what to do with all the feelings that bubble up inside of him at the thought of his best friend. It's easier not to think about it. Not to touch those wounds. That's how you survive. A lesson he learned from his mother.
"He isn't..." he exhales, scrubbing at his face. "He isn't who I thought he was."
Remus reaches over and runs a hand through Sirius's hair. It feels nice. It always feels nice when Remus touches him. "You sure about that?"
"I trusted him," Sirius says weakly. "I needed to trust him. To believe that I could—that it was possible. I needed him to be—"
"Perfect?"
Sirius screws up his face. "No, just...I don't know. Better, I guess. I needed to believe that people could be better. Could care for one another better than..."
Remus gives him a minute before filling the silence. "That's a lot of pressure to put on one person—restoring your faith in humanity."
Sirius sighs, "Maybe," though it never felt like it was something he put on James, it just felt like it was who James was.
"Anyone else," Sirius murmurs eventually, repeating the words that have been running laps around his head since he first found out. "He could have chosen anyone else and I wouldn't have given a fuck. Anyone else. Just not...Reg. Just not...fuck," he squeezes his eyes shut again. He hates this. Hates how out of control it makes him feel.
He hates them both.
He loves them both.
At this particular moment he'd be happy not to feel anything about either of them at all.
"I don't think there's a lot of choice in these things," Remus says finally, fingers still carding through Sirius's hair.
Sirius frowns. "There's always a choice."
"You think?"
"Yes," Sirius says firmly. Some choices hurt and some choices feel good and some choices linger for days and months and years. But there are always choices, and anyone who says otherwise is just too much of a coward to take responsibility for the ones they've made.
"So," Remus clears his throat nervously, hand stilling in Sirius's hair. "So you...chose me then?"
Sirius blinks, trying to follow this new direction in the conversation. He looks over at Remus, confused. "Of course?"
Something flickers across Remus's face that Sirius doesn't understand.
"You thought I didn't?" he asks. "You thought—what?—what did you think?"
Remus looks away briefly, swallowing with some difficulty. "No I—I guess I just assumed that if you felt like you had a choice you...wouldn't...choose me."
Sirius just stares at him for a minute, running over those words several more times, trying to figure out if he's misheard somehow. If they might have some other meaning he isn't aware of.
"Moons—Remus, look at me yeah?" and Remus does, light patches of pink on the tops of his cheeks, like he's embarrassed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but that's the stupidest shit you've ever said, like ever in your entire life."
Remus laughs like he can't help it.
"I mean it," he reaches over and tugs on Remus's arm. "I can't—I chose you. I chose this. I'll always choose this. With you. As long as you'll let me."
Remus ducks his head, eyes looking up through his lashes, driving Sirius mad. "But..."
"But?" Sirius tugs on his arm again, causing Remus to fall forward, bracing himself with one hand on either side of Sirius's head.
Remus searches his face for a moment, worrying his bottom lip.
"But?" Sirius prods again.
Remus lowers his face a little further down, floppy golden hair brushing Sirius's forehead. "But you're not gay," he says weakly, causing Sirius's stomach to clench.
"Oh," he manages eventually.
"Yeah," Remus doesn't move, staying right where he is, inches away.
Sirius swallows, forcing himself not to look away, unsure how to explain all the tangled parts of himself. "I—" he starts then stops, letting out a shaky breath. "My Uncle Alphard was gay," he says finally, which is probably a strange place to start but Remus just nods.
"Okay," he says, brushing his nose against Sirius's. "I didn't know that. Did he tell you?"
Sirius nods his head jerkily, wondering if Remus can feel him shaking. "He wasn't really...my mum didn't burn him off the wall like she did with me but he—they all treated him terribly. His parents pretended they didn't even have a son. I mean we always knew about him growing up, but..."
"Because he was gay?" Remus asks.
Sirius grimaces. "Yeah. I mean, no one ever told me so but...yeah," he swallows with difficulty. "Alphard said—he said his dad threatened him. Said if he ever did anything, you know, publicly. Had any kind of, relationship I guess, that he'd kill him."
"Jesus Christ," Remus hisses.
"Yeah," Sirius says, wishing his voice was a little more stable. "So he never did."
Remus blinks. "He never had a relationship?"
Sirius shakes his head. "At least not one that was...you know..."
"Out?" Remus supplies for him.
"Yeah," his mouth feels dry. "Not that it mattered, they killed him anyway." His voice breaks then and he has to use every ounce of his self control he has to keep the prickling behind his eyes from turning into tears.
"Oh Sirius," Remus kisses his forehead, his nose, his eyelids. They're soft and caring and Sirius lets himself relax into them, lets himself breathe.
"I choose you," Sirius says, as steadily as he can, barely able to get the next words out of his mouth. "But I'm afraid of that...word. Of being. That. Of what it means."
"What does it mean?" Remus asks, brushing the hair off his forehead.
Sirius can't look at him anymore, eyes closing. "That I'm broken." His voice trembles, paper thin and barely holding it together. "That I'm...sick."
He hears the hitch in Remus's breath.
"I'm sorry," Sirius says, even though he isn't sure what he's apologizing for.
"Sirius," Remus murmurs, dropping his face into the crook of Sirius's neck. They sit like that for a while before Remus eventually pulls back, looking sad, his hand going to Sirius's face, cupping his cheek.
"Sirius," he says again. "You aren't broken."
He isn't quite ready for the way those words ripple through him. The way they shake his bones. He tries to stop them, but the tears sneak out anyway, Remus brushing them away with his thumb.
"I know it's stupid," Sirius says thickly. "I don't give a fuck what any of them think anyway, I don't know why this—this matters. It shouldn't make a difference, what they said. What they thought. I don't want to be someone they would like."
Remus just keeps wiping the tears off his face. "They're your family," he says softly. "You're allowed to be hurt by what they've said. It's kind of impossible not to be. No matter how hard we wish it wasn't."
Sirius breathes in, pressing his cheek into Remus's hand. "I really fucking love you, you know?" he says, with as much conviction as he can muster. "I know I'm a mess but I—that's never gonna change okay?"
Remus's lower lip wobbles. "Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah me too."
They kiss again, it's soft and tender and purposeless. Remus holds him and Sirius lets him, lets himself be taken care of. Loved. Worshipped. With gentle hands that don't want anything, but to make him feel good. And arms that keep him safe. If he could make a home out Remus's body he would.
They fall asleep tangled up together on the floor. Sirius is awake before the sun, his body stiff. It's with great care that he extracts himself from Remus, conjuring a blanket to take his place, wrapping it around Remus, tucking him in. They never sleep on the mattress. It's filthy but Sirius doesn't think that's the reason. It's too close to the full moon for Remus. Too close to Moony.
Sirius watches him for a moment, the peaceful expression on his face, lips slightly parted, hair mussed. He bends down and kisses the top of his head.
"Okay," he whispers, kissing him once more for good measure. "You win."
He leaves the Shack a few minutes later, making his way through the passage and back onto school grounds. The sky is only just beginning to warm by the time he gets there. It must be nearing 7:30 as he walks towards the Quidditch pitch, the distant specs of the Gryffindor team clear in the sky. Watching them makes him miss something he can't quite name. I mean, he misses playing beside them but it's more than that. He misses the way things were back then. The days when him and James would wake when it was still dark out and drag themselves down the hill. Most mornings they barely talked, but they were always together. On the ground, in the air.
Sirius leans against the entrance to the pitch, watching the practice come to an end, players standing around in a circle. There's some laughter, James is speaking but he's too far away for Sirius to hear. He wonders what James's speeches are like, if he tries to mimic Frank or if he's found his own style already. The sky is pink now, glowing bright over the still half-frozen campus.
Eventually the group breaks up, Mary lingering to talk to James. Sirius stays where he is until they start walking towards the change rooms, then he places his fingers in his mouth and whistles. James's head instantly snaps towards him, though it's a few seconds before he recognizes Sirius. It's easy to see the moment that it happens—James's whole body going rigid. Mary is looking too but James tells her to go—or at least Sirius assumes he does, he still can't hear but he watches James say something to her and after a few reluctant moments Mary continues on her way towards the change rooms and James starts walking towards Sirius.
"Hi," James says once he's in earshot, looking almost as nervous as he sounds. There are bags under his eyes, his skin pale, and hair more a mess than normal. Sirius doesn't speak, just nods his heads towards the stands and starts up the stairs. He doesn't need to check behind him. He knows James is following.
When they reach the top the cold wind whips Sirius's hair back from his face, the sunrise bright in front of them. Sirius walks all the way to the railing, looking out over the field, overly sensitive to the sounds of James behind him.
"Is this the part where you kill me then?" James asks finally. "The locations not exactly subtle but I guess you always did love to put on a show."
Sirius has never been very good at controlling his anger. Even now, after he's had days to think. To come to terms with...everything. There's still a part of him that's ready to snap. James is joking about the murder, but it scares Sirius how close to the truth he is. How part of Sirius wants to get his hands on James and squeeze and squeeze and never stop. Wants to break James for making him feel like this. Like he's alone again. Or worse. Like maybe he was alone the whole time.
James sighs. "Sirius?"
"I hate you so much right now," he says before he can stop himself, eyes focused on the horizon. If he doesn't look at James maybe he'll be able to keep it together.
"I know," Sirius isn't sure he's ever heard James sound so small. "I'm sorry."
"Not sorry enough not to fuck my brother though, yeah?" Sirius means it to be harsh. To be mean. But he doesn't quite expect to feel himself flinching away from his own words.
"Sirius—"
"Not sorry enough to tell the truth either."
James lets out a frustrated noise. "I know okay? I know. I fucked up. It's all...fucked up. I get that it probably doesn't matter but I never meant for any of it to happen."
Sirius snorts. "You're right, it doesn't matter."
"I would never hurt you on purpose Sirius."
"What do you mean on purpose?" he demands, rage slowly building up inside of him. "This wasn't an accident—it didn't happen to you, you did it."
"I know—"
"You lied on purpose. You made Remus lie to me on purpose—and God fuck you for that one by the way. As if being betrayed by you wasn't enough you really had to go and twist the knife in didn't you?"
"It wasn't Remus's fault—" James starts, but Sirius swiftly cuts him off.
"Did you hold a wand to his head? Threaten to Avada him if he told me the truth?"
"I just mean—"
"He did it on purpose too," those words still feel like swallowing broken glass. "You asked but he agreed."
There's another stretch of silence, filled by the noise of the wind rattling in the naked trees. Without leaves the forbidden forest looks like it's made out of a thousand bony hands, all reaching towards the sky.
"I really am sorry," James says finally, voice nearly lost in the empty space surrounding them.
"Are you?" Sirius asks coldly. They aren't here because James finally decided to be honest, because he realized that what he was doing was messed up, they're here because of a mistake. A misspoken word. And Sirius has no doubt that if that mistake hadn't been made James would never have told him the truth.
"I'm sorry that I lied," James says finally. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. But—" his voice cuts out and he has to clear his throat. "But I'm not sorry that I love him. That I love Regulus."
Sirius imagines what it would feel like to drive his fist into James's face. The satisfaction of feeling the cartilage in his nose crunch. Of doing it again and again and again. He doesn't do it, of course. But it's a near thing.
"Well, if you love him I guess it's all peaches then."
"That's not what I'm saying."
"No?" Sirius asks coldly. "What the hell are you saying then?"
"I'm saying—" he makes a frustrated noise. "I'm saying—can't I love you both?"
No!
Sirius almost shouts. Almost stamps his foot. Balls up his fists.
No. No. No.
You're mine.
You were supposed to be mine.
"If the past year has shown us anything it's that you can do whatever the fuck you like Potter."
He hears the sound of James collapsing into one of the seats behind him. The sky is getting brighter and Sirius wonders if Remus is awake, if he's already in the Great Hall with Peter. If he'll realize, when James doesn't show up, what Sirius left so early this morning to do.
"I'm trying here Sirius," James says eventually, sounding exhausted.
"You aren't actually," Sirius says bitterly. "We're only here because of Remus."
"I wanted to tell you."
"But you didn't."
There's a beat of silence.
"He didn't want me to."
Sirius laughs coldly. "Of course he didn't. And what Regulus wants Regulus gets, right?" Isn't that how it's always been?
Regulus, the good son.
The better son.
"He was scared Sirius—he's still scared. He doesn't want to do anything to make you angrier at him. He really cares about—"
Sirius turns around for the first time, it's a sharp movement, his entire body vibrating with barely contained anger. "I'm gonna need you to shut up now."
James doesn't argue, mouth closing immediately as his hands come up in surrender.
It's a few seconds before Sirius is sure that when he opens his mouth actual words are going to come out and not just profanities. "I don't have a clue what the hell goes on between the pair of you, I don't really think I could stomach hearing about it. But Regulus is loyal to himself and himself only. I would have thought that you of all people would understand that but I guess not."
James only shakes his head. "He isn't—I'm not sure you know him as well as you think." Clearly seeing the outburst building behind Sirius's closed lips James presses on quickly. "I think there's a lot you've hidden from each other over the years. Being in that house—you've both been hurt, but if you would just talk..." James trails off, looking at Sirius desperately. Hopefully. It almost makes Sirius feel sorry for him.
"You don't think I know him?" Sirius repeats slowly, dangerously.
James rolls his eyes. "Did you hear anything else I said?"
"Yeah, I heard it. We're both fucked up. If only we would spill our guts to one another maybe we could be a big happy family."
"I mean, I liked my wording better but..."
"The problem is," Sirius goes on, voice pulled tight, sun now almost completely risen behind him. "You can't tell Regulus anything. He has about a dozen different faces and you never know which one you're talking to. The only thing you can know for certain is that you can't trust any of them."
"I'm telling you, he's not like that. I promise," James is holding his hands out beseechingly.
Sirius just arches his brow. "Because you know my brother so much better do you? Because he's honest with you?"
He sees the small flicker of doubt in James's eyes.
"I know him," he says instead of answering. "I know the kind of person he is. When it comes down to it, I know that he has it in him to be good."
Sirius nods slowly. "Good," the word is brittle in his mouth, prone to cracking apart. "You've seen my brother's true heart and it is good?"
"Yes," James says adamantly.
The wind whistles through the stands. It sounds like a ghost. Maybe it is.
"And how exactly," Sirius sharpens every word on his tongue before spitting it out, "does the Mark on his arm play into that?"
The stillness that comes over James is violent. Sirius feels it like hands pressing against his chest. Several emotions flash across James's face in a matter of seconds—shock, anger, sadness—but it's fear that sticks in the end. James stares back at Sirius looking absolutely terrified.
"What are you talking about?" he finally whispers.
For the first time Sirius's anger fades a bit. There is something delicate about his best friend all of the sudden.
"So you don't know?"
"Sirius," the name barely makes it out of James's mouth, eyes wide and pleading. This truth is an axe, Sirius realizes, and once it's told something will be irrevocably severed.
"The Mark. Voldemort's Mark. He's taken it."
"No," James says. Scared. So. So. Scared. At first Sirius thinks James is shaking his head but then he realizes that James is just...shaking. "No. There's no way. How do you know? How could you possibly know that when I don't?"
Sirius is familiar with this moment.
Knows what it's like to love Regulus. To trust him.
Knows how it feels when you realize what a mistake you've made.
"I've seen it."
A wounded noise escapes James's throat. "No. No he can't. I would know. You said—you said you had to choose it. You told me you had to accept the Mark."
"Yeah," Sirius nearly winces at the pain in James's voice. "You do."
"But he wouldn't!" James says desperately, voice cracking. "He wouldn't. I know that he's made mistakes. I know that. Terrible mistakes. But he's—he's really not—he's not like that. He's not like them. I promise. I swear. He wouldn't."
"James—"
"I know he hurt you," James rambles on, like this is a problem you can talk yourself out of. "I hate that he did that, but he was just a kid and he didn't know what to do. He's so fucking sorry Sirius—I couldn't be with someone who could hurt you without being sorry about it. You have to know that. You have to know that I couldn't be with someone who would—who was anything like—he's so lovely," James finishes weakly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"I love him. I'm sorry. I know that hurts you. I'm sorry. The last thing I ever wanted to do was lie to you. But I love him. So I can't believe that he would—I just can't believe that. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
He's crying.
Sirius is well acquainted with what James's voice sounds like when he cries. Choked and thin. It's a sound that could call Sirius from a mile away—tell him he was needed. That someone was going to die because, as far as he's concerned, no one makes James Potter cry and gets away with it.
"Fuck James," he mutters under his breath, no longer able to stay away. He takes the seat next to him, wrapping his arm around James's shoulders and pulling him into his side.
"I don't know what to do," James hiccups. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. This is too...fucking much. It's too—no one ever taught me how to handle this shit. I love him so much and I'm so sorry."
"Shh, shh," Sirius exhales, hand rubbing up and down James's arm. "We'll figure it out," he says, because what else is there? "We always do."
There's a moment of silence, broken up by James's sniffling.
"We—us—we will?" he finally asks, face still buried in Sirius's shoulder.
"Yeah, us."
Another pause. And then, in the smallest voice;
"I really fucking missed you Sirius."
Sirius squeezes him tightly. "Well just for the record, I didn't miss you at all."
James gives him a watery laugh and Sirius counts it as a win.
PART III MARY
Mary sits in a window near the back of the school. There are no classrooms here, just storage cupboards and a few offices further down. She watches the corner up ahead, fiddling with the cigarette between her fingers. Its a loophole, being able to smoke at Hogwarts. Since Wizards don't have cigarettes there are no rules against them in the school. She should probably be more careful if she doesn't want that to change but then, she rather likes the idea of forcing the creation of a new school rule. She'd wear it like a badge of honour. Make James and Sirius jealous.
She inhales deeply, letting the smoke sit in her lungs until it starts to sting and then tilting her head back and exhaling. Shockingly, Regulus Black has turned out to be a snake of his word. Giving her his friends' schedules and alerting her whenever they leave the common room. As a result, she's spent the past few days following them around, figuring out where they go and how they get there and who they're with. All in all it's been a very educational, if not dull, few days.
For instance, she's learned that on Wednesdays Barty Crouch Junior takes a detour on his way back from his last period class so he can hook up with Delany Whispers—a fourth year Ravenclaw. Honestly, you'd think a Ravenclaw would have more sense, but Mary supposes they're not exactly a house known for their good taste.
She stubs out her cigarette when she hears footsteps approaching but otherwise stays where she is, wand sliding into her hand. Barty Crouch is a boy of average height and looks. A bit thin and peaky for Mary's taste but she supposes that's to be expected after years of in-breading. He doesn't notice her when he rounds the corner or when he struts past her on his way to get his rocks off. Clearly someone's feeling desperate.
"Hey Crouch?"
Hey Macdonald?
Barty freezes down the hall, turning to find her walking towards him. There is nothing hurried about Mary's steps. They echo confidently in the empty corridor. Crouch looking instantly suspicious.
"What the hell do you want?"
Get lost creep.
"Aw, come on, don't be like that," she tilts her head to the side. A predator assessing her prey. "I came to apologize."
Aw, come on, don't be like that. Listen, I came to apologize.
There's a new tension to Barty's stance as she stops in front of him, his eyes bouncing nervously around like he's afraid something is going to jump out at him. "What?" he demands harshly, screwing up his face. "What are—what the fuck are you playing at?" he doesn't quite manage to keep the fear out of his voice.
She only smiles. Red lips pulling up to reveal two pearly-white rows of teeth. "Come on Barty, you remember don't you? It happened just like this," she gestures at the space around them. "I was on my way back to my dorm and then there you were. Calling my name. Though you'll have to tell me the rest," she leans towards the terrified looking boy, mock-whispering. "Between you and me, it all goes a bit fuzzy after that."
Barty instantly takes a step back. "Listen, I don't know what you think—"
But she isn't interested in his denial. Or his threats. Or disarming the wand he is pathetically attempting to pull from his bag.
"Imperio."
Instantly his whole body relaxes, face going slack, eyes unfocused, Mary's mind suddenly controlling them both. "I'm going to let you keep that memory," she says, stepping nearer, eyes running over her hostage. "So that when you wake up you'll know it was me who did this to you," she drags the tip of her wand down the side of his face.
"And you'll know why."
PART IV BARTY
It's. Fucking. Cold.
He groans, reaching for his blanket.
Cold. And...prickly?
His hand is groping around for his comforter but something doesn't feel right. His bed is...off. Everything is off. And Christ why the fuck is it so cold? He forces his eyes open, blinking against the light, waiting for the room to come into focus.
Except there is no room.
Barty sits bolt upright, head swimming for a minute as he tries to wake himself up. Because clearly he's still asleep. Clearly this is a nightmare. And yet, regardless of how many times he pinches or slaps himself, nothing changes. He continues to be sitting in the dirt, dark trunks sprouting from the ground around him and stretching far over his head, cutting up the sunlight so that it's hard for him to tell what time of day it is.
Something in the distance howls.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Barty scrambles to his feet, scrapping his hand open on something sharp in the process. "FUCK," he puts extra emphasis on that last one as he goes to wipe the blood off on his trousers.
Except he isn't wearing trousers.
He's stood in the middle of, what he has to assume is the Forbidden—Goddamn—Forest, in nothing but his pants.
His heart is starting to pound against his ribs and he begs himself to remember what the hell happened, hands searching fruitlessly for his wand even though he already knows he doesn't have it. A twig snaps behind him and he jumps, spinning around and stumbling backwards, nearly landing back on his ass in the dirt.
"Merlin," he hisses, staring into the dark shadows between the trees. There's another noise, definitely footsteps. Something is coming.
"H-hello?"
He wracks his brain for every 'Care for Magical Creatures' class he's ever taken. What even lives in the Forbidden Forest? He makes another desperate search for his wand, but he doesn't see it on the ground and it sure as hell isn't in his boxers. A cold wind blows through the trees then, they rattle above him, his teeth starting to chatter.
He tries to orient himself, looking around, figuring out which way to go. But all he sees are trees. Trees and shadows and thousands of places for scary things to hide.
That's when hears something growl.
Barty doesn't bother trying to figure out what made the noise or how far away it is. He takes off sprinting in the opposite direction, praying to Merlin and Salazar and every other great Wizard he can think of that he's heading towards the school and not deeper into the forest.
Trees and shrubbery shred his skin as he blows threw them, heart beating faster than it ever has before. Something flutters its wing over his head. He thinks he feels something scaly brush against his leg.
"Fuck," he whimpers, trying to make himself go faster. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." He keeps waiting to wake up. This has to be a dream. It has to be. I mean, why the hell would he be in the Forbidden Forest half-naked, it doesn't make any—
He's hit with the blurry images of a memory.
Of Mary Macdonald in a hallway.
Of her voice in his ear.
I'm going to let you keep that memory. So that when you wake up you'll know it was me who did this to you. And you'll know why.
He almost cries.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."
Eventually he realizes that nothing is actually chasing him so he lets himself slow down, wandering aimlessly until he finds a tree he can climb. From up above he's able to locate the castle a good forty minute walk to the west of him.
Fucking brilliant.
By the time he manages to get back to school he's cut up and freezing cold and covered in dirt. People stare as he walks through the front foyer in his goddamn boxers. He gets a few gasps, but most people laugh. The assholes. He's going to skin all of them alive the minute he gets his bloody wand back.
Given how absolutely absurd his morning has been he shouldn't be surprised by the mess awaiting him in his dorm room and yet...
"Holy shit, I thought I looked bad," Evan laughs when Barty walks in. Evan is sitting on the end of his bed, shirt off, a pair of track pants on his lower half, Regulus healing some scrapes on his chest. It takes a few seconds of staring at Evan's disheveled appearance before Barty realizes what it means.
"I—you—you were there too?" he asks numbly.
"If by "there" you mean the—fuck me Reg" Evan hisses as Regulus heals a particularly nasty cut on his ribs. Apparently whatever spell he's using stings.
"Sorry," Regulus mutters, though he doesn't sound remotely sorry.
"If by "there" I mean what Evan?" Barty demands impatiently, Evan can never stay on topic, even in moments like this.
"The fucking forest of terrors," Evan grimaces as Regulus moves on to another cut. "Yeah I was there. So were Snape, Mulciber, and Avery."
"What??"
Regulus steps back, sliding his wand into the holster on his arm. "There, that should be most of the bad stuff."
"We're you all together?" Barty demands, ignoring Regulus.
"Nah," Evan groans as he reaches across his bed for his t-shirt, sliding it carefully over his freshly cleaned torso. "Just got back quicker than you," he gives Barty a wink, like this is all some fucking joke.
"It was Macdonald."
"Yeah," Evan groans again when he stands. "We're aware. Not exactly subtle that one, is she?" he sounds almost impressed, which makes Barty want to throttle him.
"So what're we going to do about the bitch?"
"Nothing," Regulus says coldly, bringing Barty's attention back to him. He's shorter than both him and Evan and yet somehow he can do this thing with his eyes where he makes you feel two feet tall.
"Sit down and let me take care of your face," he goes on before Barty can argue. "You can't go to class like that."
Barty has no idea what's wrong with his face, though he's fairly certain he got bitten at some point—either during the night or his mad rush through the forest. The flesh near his eyes is itchy and swollen and, of course, he's cut up too. Superficial cuts, but still. Oh, and there's the mud. Who knew forests were so fucking filthy?
Grumbling Barty sits down on the bed in front of Reg, letting him inspect his face. "Evan, Snape, Mulciber, Avery, me, but not you?"
"Not me," Regulus confirms in a bored tone.
"Why the hell is that?"
"He wasn't there," Evan is leaning against the bedpost next to them.
"What do you mean he wasn't there?" Barty demands. "He's the one who wiped her bloody memories."
When neither of them respond he shakes his head.
"Hold still," Regulus murmurs.
"We can't just let her get away with this?" he blusters on. "She left us naked in the fucking woods. She took my wand!" which, now that he thinks about it...
As though he can read Barty's mind Regulus says; "On your bed. Along with your clothes. She even folded them."
For some reason that makes Barty angrier. "That Mudblood is gonna fucking regret this."
Reg only rolls his eyes. "This is getting repetitive now. Try to come up with some new material Barty." Barty opens his mouth to snap back but Regulus doesn't give him the chance. "I'm gonna cast a cleaning charm first, get some of this mud off you, see what we're really working with, okay?"
Barty glares petulantly back at him. "Fine."
"So gracious," Regulus says flatly before waving his wand and causing a cold wave to wash over Barty. It's not as good as old fashioned soap and water but it still feels nice, having the dirt lifted from his skin. Makes him feel more like himself.
"What's that on your face?" Evan tilts his head, looking down at Barty in confusion. That wouldn't be so worrying—since Evan is often confused—except that Regulus is looking at him with the same expression.
"What?" he demands, eyes bouncing between the pair of them. "What the fuck is on my face?"
"It looks like—" and then Evan starts to laugh. "Oh my god, priceless."
"WHAT!" Thoroughly at his wit's end he pushes past his friends and into the bathroom, hands grabbing either side of the sink as he stares into the mirror. He looks a mess—his face cut up, hair tangled, but none of that is what Evan is talking about.
"What the fuck," he mutters, turning on the tap and aggressively scrubbing at the bright red lipstick mark on his cheek. "That psychopath. I swear to Merlin I am gonna end her." When water doesn't do anything on its own Barty reaches for the soap, lathering his face up before rinsing. But when he dries his face off afterwards the mark is still there, pristine as before. Not even smudged.
Barty squints at it in the mirror before starting the whole process over again. Scrubbing and rinsing, scrubbing and rinsing, scrubbing and rinsing. By the fourth or fifth time the skin of his cheek is red and angry but the lips are still there, taunting him. For some reason the sight of them causes a panic to flutter in Barty's chest. What if she did something to him? What if they're permanent? What if he never gets them off?
"What the fuck," he repeats, ready to take his nails to it before Regulus appears behind him, grabbing hold of his wrist.
"Wait," he says, lifting his wand and casting a quick diagnostic charm that Barty barely recognizes. Reg frowns for a minute before dropping his wand. "It's magic."
"No shit," Barty snaps. "But how the hell do I get it off!"
Regulus only shakes his head. "I don't know—but your nails aren't going to do it so don't go fucking up your face anymore than you already have. You'll just have to...wait for it to fade."
Before Barty can fully grasp the absolutely absurdity of that, Evan appears behind him in the bathroom mirror, taking one look at Barty's red marked face and bursting out laughing again.
"Not helping Evan," Regulus says, sounding weary, but Evan isn't cowed.
"Dude," he says, when he finally regains some manner of control over himself. "She's fucking branded you."
Because he's standing in front of the mirror Barty has the privilege of watching his own eyes widen in horror. Evan might be an idiot but he is also, infuriatingly, right. That is exactly what she's done.
He turns to Reg. "Get it off."
Regulus looks back at him with the same bored expression he almost always wears. "I told you, I can't. You'll just have to wait for it to fade." With that he heads back into the main room, getting his books for class.
"I can't wait for it to fade," Barty snarls, following after Regulus with a delighted Evan on his heels.
"Well then, by all means," Regulus slides the strap of his book bag across his chest. "Carve it off your face," his grey eyes run Barty up and down. "You never know, a scar might give you some character."
"Fuck you Regulus."
But Reg doesn't respond, walking out the door without a backwards glance.
"Prick," Barty hisses, running a hand through his hair and wincing as the salt of his sweat stings some of the cuts on his hands.
"You reckon she got frisky with you before she dumped you in the forest?" Evan asks, leaning in to inspect the mark on Barty's cheek again.
Barty growls shoving him off, which, predictably, only makes Evan laugh.
"Don't be disgusting."
"I don't know," Evan shrugs, grabbing his own bag. "Macdonald's pretty hot."
"She's a filthy Mudblood and a fucking psychotic bitch on top of that, what the hell is wrong with you?" Barty can hear the slightly hysterical edge creeping into his voice but he's too far gone to care at this point.
Besides, Evan only blinks back at him. "Still hot." And then, at Barty's growl of frustration, he claps him on the shoulder. "C'mon dude, we gotta go. It's not that bad. Just play it off as a good night."
Barty isn't even going to touch that.
"What am I supposed to do about these," he gestures to the mess of cuts on his torso. "The forest turned me into a bloody pincushion."
Evan grimaces. "Oooh, sorry mate, healing spells really aren't my thing. That's all Reg," after a moment of silence in which Barty seriously considers murdering Evan, the other boy gives his shoulder another squeeze. "Well, see you in class?"
"You're a shit friend Evan."
The other boy only laughs. "Takes one to know one. Plus, if I'm late again Sprout will give me detention which is pretty high on my list of things I don't want."
"Absolute shit."
Evan only waves at him over his shoulder, whistling as he walks out the door. You would never know that only a few hours ago he'd been cursed and then dumped in a deadly forest half-naked.
Barty tries and fails to fix his own wounds, eventually giving up on healing spells and on going to class. He finds himself, still nearly naked, standing back in front of the bathroom mirror, unable to take his eyes off of the garish lipstick on his cheek.
She put her mouth on him.
The very thought sends a wave of nausea radiating through his whole body. The worst part is, she wanted this. Planned this. Wanted him to be embarrassed. Made a fool of. The faces of the students he'd passed on his way back to the dorm this morning fill his mind. The snickering and staring. And there will surely be more once people see his cheek.
Barty is not a fucking joke.
He is not an embarrassment.
And he most certainly isn't some Mudblood slut's play thing.
His fingers curl around the sink, eyes wild with rage.
He'll show her.
Show all of them.
His father.
Show them the kind of beast he can be.