Sirius hadn't spoken to any of them in weeks.
It was astounding. Every morning, Sirius would wake up content, ready to yell at James good naturedly or thwack Peter across the head with a pillow. It would take a few moments for him to focus; to remember he'd lost that privilege.
So he would roll over in bed and sigh, listening to the sound of his roommates getting up. When the door closed for the last time, Sirius would drag his body out of bed and go through the motions himself. In the days after the fateful evening, he would turn everything that had happened over and over in his head – every word he'd said to Snape, the feeling of triumph once they'd been said, and the terrible crash when he'd told James what he'd done. He could remember his friend's face clearly – initially grinning uncertainly, waiting for Sirius to explain the joke, and the tightening of his jaw, the darkening of his eyes, when he realised Sirius was not joking. In that moment, Sirius had thought he was going to be punched, but James had turned on his heel and sprinted in the other direction without a word. As he watched his friends retreating back, Sirius' elated mood had dropped to subzero and he felt sick. All he could do was stand helplessly in the corridor, waiting to hear that it was OK, that no one was hurt, that his mistake could somehow be fixed.
Since then the same expression ghosted over James' face every time he made eye contact with Sirius, and Sirius' reaction was always the same – his stomach twisting horribly, his chest aching with guilt. He expected, three weeks later, that this would fade, that he would feel would be only a shadow of his initial response. Instead, the feeling worsened, sharpened by the constant pinpricks of shame.
In some ways, Peter was worse. Sirius was used to his small friend's face lighting up when he saw him, a joke or anecdote ready on his lips. Now, for a split second, Peter's face would still light up. It seemed he would also forget of the way Sirius had betrayed them all. But it only lasted a moment; after that, he would turn away immediately, his face reddening as he realised he'd forgotten, again.
But, by far, the worst was Remus.
It had been four months earlier, Sirius thought, when the pair of them had been ridiculously drunk - the Christmas holidays of sixth year. Both James and Peter had gone home, so they were alone in the dormitory for a fortnight. It was decided, on Christmas Eve, that the only way to really celebrate Christmas was to get smashed. On Christmas morning, they woke up in bed together. Sirius couldn't remember what had happened that night, but whatever it was, he didn't regret it for a moment.
It wasn't long before Sirius found that he was completely, irreversibly, madly in love with Remus Lupin – the sort that didn't vanish after three weeks of not speaking. The problem with Remus' reaction to Sirius was that one would never guess he was cross with him. One would never guess he had ever known Sirius at all.
If ever they made eye contact, Remus would look away without an expression, no feeling hidden behind his eyes at all. It killed Sirius. Every time Remus would look at him as if he was a stranger, his heart would squeeze painfully, breaking yet again. Sometimes, he'd catch himself being angry with Remus. He would discover fury at being tossed aside without a second thought, and while he wiped away the tears that fell without any prompting nowadays, would convince himself Remus had never felt the same way about him, no matter what he said. He would stop thinking like that as soon as he realised it, of course. When he realised that he – that he had the nerve to be angry, a torrent of self hate would grip him. The Black blood ran strong, he would think. Without any of his friends to remind him to be good, to remind him that he was good, he found himself dissolving into the bastard his family wanted him to become.
Now, he sat at the back of Transfiguration, alone, bent over his textbook and writing furiously. At least I'm working, for once, he thought, and snorted. What was left of the Marauders were sitting three rows in front of him, James leaning back on his chair, recounting a tale to the other two. Peter had abandoned his work and was listening to James intently. To anyone else, Remus may have looked totally uninterested, continuing to write as if James was not even there. But Sirius knew differently. He noticed the occasional pause in his writing as he stopped to listen to James, noticed the slight quirk of his lips when Peter interjected with a joke, and noticed his eyes rolling when James fell about laughing.
It was odd to watch Remus from afar. Whenever Sirius saw him huddled up in an armchair, ignoring his friends in favour of a book, or noticed the dim light shining behind his bed curtains late at night, Sirius couldn't help but smile fondly. In a way, that bittersweet feeling was the worst of all.
The bell rang, cutting through Sirius' thoughts. He shoved his things into his bag and left the room in a hurry, staring at the floor and pushing past other students. Transfiguration had been the last lesson of that day, and Sirius had a plan for the evening. He had decided to spend the long, lonely hours of his Thursday afternoon listening to Muggle music too loudly and making slow progress with a Potions essay, perhaps pausing occasionally to delve into his stash of chocolate frogs.
He threw himself onto his bed, turning the record player on with a flick of his wand, and lay quietly on his stomach, staring at the wall. For a while, he thought about nothing, and felt peaceful. Marc Bolan's rough voice washed over him in a haze of nonsensical lyrics and scratchy guitar solos, and his eyes were beginning to feel suddenly heavy.
The music was switched off, and Sirius gave a start. He sat up and looked around, trying to gather his bearings. In the corner of the room, Remus was throwing things into his bag. Sirius felt a stab right below his heart. His old boyfriend glanced at him with casual disdain, as if Sirius was only a loud second year disturbing him in the library, and turned back to his books with a faint sneer.
"Alright, Remus?" Sirius didn't know what brought him to start a conversation, but he continued to talk anyway. "How've you been?"
Remus looked around at Sirius, as if not quite able to believe that he was actually trying to start a conversation. This time, his distaste was far more pronounced. Sirius, the mess of loneliness and sadness and anger that he was, felt the tension break within him like a dam, everything he'd been feeling whooshing out at once.
"You been having a nice time without me?" he asked a little louder, sitting up straighter in his bed.
Remus' grip around his book tightened. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sirius," he said quietly, with a guarded expression.
"Oh, so you do remember my name? I'm not suddenly a stranger because of one mistake?" Remus, who had started to gather his things again, looked up sharply. A vague voice in the back of Sirius' head told him to shut up, but Sirius ignored it. He climbed out of his bed and stalked towards the other teenager. "Jesus, Remus, how long is this going to last? Why can't you just punch me and get it over with?" He realised his arms were flailing in his passion, but he couldn't do anything about it. "Why do you have to behave as if you don't even know me?" He was now standing nose to nose with Remus, his voice cracking under the strain of his anguish. He fell silent, breathing heavily as he refused to break eye contact.
Remus was the first to look away, and he pushed past Sirius, making for the door. Sirius exploded. "YOU DON'T GET TO WALK AWAY, REMUS. Fuck, you've got to talk to me sometime! If you feel anything at all, you've got to talk sometime. Or do you not feel? Is this all an act, or are you honestly just a machine who feels absolutely fucking nothing? Did you ever feel anything? For me?" Sirius slowed, his face red from shouting. "Did you ever love me?"
Remus had been watching him from the doorway, waiting for him to finish. Sirius could still see nothing in his expression, nothing behind his eyes – until he broke.
Remus flung his books to one side and stormed towards him, grabbing hold of the scruff of Sirius' shirt. "What do you think, Sirius?" he shouted, close to screaming. He walked Sirius backwards, shoving him against a wall. "What do you think? You think I never loved you? You think I haven't been tormenting myself with it for weeks? Tormenting myself with the fact that I love a boy who could have made me a murderer without a second thought? What do you think, Sirius?" His face was so close to Sirius, he could feel Remus' uneven breathing on his nose. Remus let go of Sirius, allowing him to slide to the floor. Without any warning, tears were streaming down the werewolf's face as he also collapsed on the floor.
Remus leaned against the bed and sobbed uncontrollably, holding his knees to his chest, nearly howling in anguish. Sirius could only watch him, stricken, as this stoic boy crashed and burned in front of his very eyes. As he soaked his robes with his tears, Sirius panicked, and crawled towards him. Wrapping his arms around Remus, he pulled him into a hug, holding him as the boy's body was wracked with cries. "Why'd you do it, Sirius? You're the only good thing that's ever happened to me. Why'd you do it?"
"Shh, Moony," Sirius soothed, whispering into his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." This only made Remus cry harder, but he didn't pull away from Sirius' warm arms. "It's OK. We're going to be OK."
Sirius didn't know how long he held Remus, and he didn't know how long it was before Remus stopped crying. All he knew was that several hours later, he woke up with an armful of sleeping werewolf, and for the first time that evening, he cried, too.