It was quiet. I remember that. My friends and I had snuck out onto the Quidditch pitch well past curfew, and it was as we were leaving I found out.
"We are going to kick some Gryffindor ass tomorrow!" Cohn was shouting, and Avery and Lestrange gave rowdy yells of agreement. Then, smething shuffled in the shadows. Even in the moonlight, I could see the rest of the Slytherins mimic my wide eyes. Bravely, I lit my wand and the light illuminated a lump, possibly to people. My suspicians were confirmed when murmurs of 'I love you' and 'Baby, don't stop' could be heard.
Lestrange kicked the pair and gave a soft but evil laugh of ''Faggots.'' I froze as the two faces turned up: Remus Lupin and my broher, Sirius Black. They squinted in the wand light, but I ran off before they could idenify me. I surpassed the others, nervous and retching until I was in the boys bathroom, puking up my dinner. My head spun from everything I was thinking. Since when was my brother gay? Since when were my friends so homophobic? And why, why oh why, was my brother kissing the boy I'd loved since I was twelve? I rested my head against the cool porcelin, but it didn't help the questions from flying all over. I was afraid my thoughts were screaming, echoing, that Sirius or someone would walk in and find out everything.
I must have fallen asleep on the washroom floor, because a kick in the back woke me. At first, I thought it was a nightmare, Lestrange kicking me and calling me a fag like he had Sirius and Remus. I turned my head and opened my eyes a fraction. James Potter was prodding me with the toe of his Converse.
"Just leave him," I heard Sirius snide, "Probably good, Slytherin will lose this way." Since they didn't know I was awake, I feigned sleep, hoping to catch some good secrets.
A smaller voice added, "You'd win anyways." What was his name.... Peter? I could almost feel James' superior grin.
Then I heard him ask, "Well, Remus is off, so now we must know... how was it?" I felt my cheeks color at the sound of Remus' name.
"Fantastic. I'm so glad I finally asked him out. I've liked him for so long," Sirius said, in a moment of rare tenderness. He sounded... happy. But I had to wonder: was this Remus Lupin crush genetic? I can't remember the parental units responding well to any of Sirius' friends.
"I'm glad," James and Peter said at once, then they tittered. A toilet flushed and then Sirius asked, "Ready, mates?" They must have nodded, because the door opened and closed a second later.
I was pulling myself up when someone else walked in. Remus. Crap!
Remus looked down at me curiously, my head still pressed against the toilet. He walked over, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"I know we aren't supposed to talk, because you're Sirius' brother and all, but are you okay?" Remus asked kindly. "Do you need anything?" My gawd, I need you, was all I could think, but I didn't say it. I did nod a bit and ask him to help me up. As his arm wrapped around my wasit, electricity shot through me. I didn't feel guilty that he was already Sirius' boyfriend. He was only being kind, right?
With measured steps, he walked me to the hospital wing, his arm still around me. All I could concetrate on was how the moment could never end. As he sat me down, I blurted it out.
"I've had a crush on you since I was twelve!" My hands flew to my mouth as the words slipped out. I could almost see them escape me, twisting and then falling into Remus ears.
Sitting next to me and signaling for Madam Pomfrey, Remus whispered, "You're really cute." It's all he said He waled out to the quidditch pitch and I watched, trying to twist what he said into something more. Had Sirius rubbed off some cool on Remus lately? Don't think about that! I told myself, You friggin masochist! Remus just seemed older and more confident. Comfortable I guess. I kind of thought, why can't I be like him? Why can't I be okay with being ... What, exactly? Fag, queer, fairy, girl, gay? I didn't know. Just that I'd never get over Remus at that rate.
Madam Pomfrey gave me som potion that tasted like ear wax (I only know because I ate it when I was six. I don't know why). The medicine made my stomach hurt less, but it didn't clear my head. The guys teased me for going to Pomfrey over such a little thing, but I figured sacrificing my dignity was worth the time spent with Remus.
The next two weeks gave me a natural high. Remus was suddenly in sight, closer even if not attainable. I looked at him more, and noticed the little things that he did, like scrunch up his face when he read, or scratch his nose in between bites of dinner. It was hard to keep up the whole observation, since the Marauders were never apart, and I didn't want them knowing.
It was around that time my friends drifted away too. It started, I think, because of Avery. He was always very observant. We were eating breakfast one day when he asked me,
"Why, for the millionth time today, are you looking at the Gryffindor table?" My eyes shot down from Remus immediatly. I denied it in a feeble lie no one bought.
"You like a Gryffindor chick?" one of the guys asked, and I answered with, "Sure." That got a lot of eye rolls and playful jeers. It was all forgotten until the next day, when I was up in the dorm, looking at pictures of Remus in a photo album pilfered from my brother and Avery walked in.
"What the--? Dude, what is going on?" he wondered, but as I tried to hide it, he snatched it away. The look on his face was one of pure disgust.
Throwing the album back down, he muttered, "You sicken me, you bloody little fag." That was that, and soon enough, I was the loner of my house. I was a pariah. For once in my life, I prayed I could be like my brother.
I fell somewhere during that time. A place that was dangerous, dark ... a place where I found a friend in alchohol. It was my only comfort, for when Remus' smile wasn't enough. I wanted so bad to tell him everything. It was a delusion I had given myself from the day he called me cute. I told myself he cared. That he wanted me. I was heels over head, and all that stirred together was only trouble. No one noticed but Dumbledore, as it so happened.
I was hidden behind the the Quidditch locker rooms, drinking and brooding. I heard someone, got tese, and jumped at the sound of Dumbledore saying, "Regulus! Good evening!" as though he hadn't planned that little ambush. He requested I come to his office. I tucked away my bottle and followed. What else was there to do?
Once alone in his office, Dumbledore poured me tea and asked, "What went wrong?" I wondered how he knew. I was good student and maybe stuff was getting handed in later, but I had a reputation and teachers never mind late work from someone bright. Someone I used to be. So, because Dumbledore seemed so observant, I confided, "My friends hate me. Everyone does." Dumbledore's eyes were sad, as if he understood. I doubted it silently, sucking back my tea and pretending to care.
"Mr Black, I'm a skilled Legillimins, but you hide your feelings well, much like your brother," Dumbledore said, and hearing Sirius name fueled me into rage.
Slamming down my mug, I accused, "It's all Sirius' fault! He's smarter, more handsome. More loved by his friends and more loved by someone we're both in love with." I got fed another phony nod, and suddenly I was more pissy then a PMSing girl.
"You don't understand me!" I shouted, "You pretend to, but you have never had to go through what I have, all this hate from everyoe else, and myself." Dumbledore asked me to sit quietly and listen. Reluctantly, I obliged.
"I know exactly how it is for you." For once, his words seemed genuine. I stayed silent, wishing for him to continue.
With a sigh, he elaborated, "I once fell in love. I'm still in love, actually. But when I met him, I was already in a bad place. Both my parents were gone, and I was out of Hogwarts, companionless but for this boy I loved, and my siblings. Aberforth and Arianna--that is, my brother and sister--hated him so much, but it never stopped either of us. But my sister died, the boy left, and I got hooked on weed. Thanks to a friend, I got off it, but it was more dificult than anything I've ever experienced. I still fight with it." I was shocked. I always just seen Dumbledore as a zen-like hippie. But he had pain, addiction ... and he was gay. I'd never known anyone so intimately. The closeness of our stories scared me a bit, truthfully. I felt the bottle, heavy in my pocket. I wanted it. My dependancy was stronger than anything in that moment. Dumbledore didnt need his mind reading to notice.
"I know it's hard, but you gotta know when to walk away," he said wisely. I stopped only out of fear of the headmaster and chugged down my tea as a distraction.
"You have to take the responsibility. It's easy to blame others. You have to pull it together yourself." I glared down. Blaming Avery for making me a pariah was easy. Blaming Sirius for my lack of love life was even eaiser. Blaming God, Remus, my mother, it was all easy, logical. I liked playing victim.
Then came the words I'd never forget. "Blaming other people, hating them, it's not what you want. You have to walk away, and be stronger to get what you truly want." I looked at him, crashing into realisation. An image of me at age thirty, begging on the London streets for money, drunk and sick, came to me. I could be a total loser. Or, if I walked away, l could become a Death Eater, win Remus over. I had a chance, and a choice.
But l never did it. I never walked away or tried harder. Dumbledore watched as I spiralled further down. He saw when I missed class, or came to breakfast hungover. He was right to stay away. He'd done all he could. I was hopeless. Maybe his wisdom would've been enough for someone stronger.
But I let myself go. I drank, I wallowed, I cried. I quit Quidditch, skived off from lessons. I was sick and needed a savior. Some nights I even prayed. My parents had not brought me up in a a Godly home, definatly not, but there was a small church in the villiage where I grew up, and passing it always made me feel some kind of spiritual tuggng, like God was trying to bring me I prayed, because what else was there to do? Maybe it worked. Maybe Remus was God's way of saving me some how. Maybe it was chance, or fate. I like to think that's just the way love was supposed to go.
I was drunk in a bad way, and it was a Quidditch Saturday. Hufflepuff versus Slytherin. Sirius and James stood at the back, uninterested, talking above the cheers. Peter, word had it, was crushing on the pretty Hufflepuff seeker, so his eyes were on the pitch. Remus had assumed his typical position, reading and keeping quiet. I was towards the back too, sneaking sips of whiskey and watching Remus. It didn't ignite me the way it used to. l still loved him, but it burned hot and painful, not soft and warming anymore. I got so pissed thinking about it, and, propelled by the whiskey, I walked up to Sirius and punched him square in the nose. He didn't look angry, just afraid. My brother, the rebel, the demon set on making my life hell, was scared of what I had become.
"Get off my you drunk idiot." It didn't even make me mad. Everyone knew I was a drunk, they just didn't care. I hit my brother again anyways. Wordlessly, he stepped back, so James could step in. Of course, no one wise fights a drunk. We kicked, punched and bit, rolling over the stands, knocking people out of the way. I was never a good fighter, but the alchohol though for me, tearing into James, leaving bruises, smearing blood. The students egged us on, and the teachers fought to crowd, trying to get to us. Madam Hooch even halted the game. But before anyone dared step in, Remus ripped me away from James and dragged me off. Sirius restrained James as the other kids crowded them. I hardly noticed, because I was focusing on Remus' teary and set eyes.
"What?" I snarled as he sat me down in the locker room.
"Seeing you like this hurts me," he confided. I watched for signs of lying, but he showed none.
I barked, "Why are you so hurt?" My fists were so tight, they were surpassing white.
Wiping his eyes, Remus answered, "I think you're a good person Reg, despite what everyone is saying. Sirius is afraid of you and I think everyone else is too."
"What a comfort," I muttered, "Too bad I'm afraid too."
Remus reached out a hand to my arm, the one whose sleeve was hiding the whiskey. He slipped it out, and I didn't protest once.
"I'm not with Sirius anymore. l'd like to be with you, but not if you keep hurting yourself. I need it to end, for us both. I know beneath it you're beautiful." And Remus' words did something Dumbledore's didn't. They promised love, one of the few things I still desired beneath the pain and chemical need.
I let Remus take the bottle that day. I went sober for two days, dug up some vodka on the third, drank for another three, then went sober for a week because Remus found out. This went on for a month, the sick, sober/drunk cycle. We both struggled. He took away my drinks, even when I would beg and scream. The little strength he had was usually enough for us both.
Then, sometime in May, Dumbledore called me to his office, where he and Remus were waiting.
I sat down grumpily.
"How goes it?" he asked nonchalantly, and I imediatly shouted, "Remus is taking it from me, the only thing that helps me!" Remus looked timid, but Dumbledore answered, "He loves you. He's protecting you." I didn't agree, but I shut up anyway.
"I thought you stopped," mumbled Remus.
Ashamed, I confessed, "Kind of I did. Cold turkey isn't working for me, though." Dumbledore never stepped in once. I guess it was time for us to deal on our own.
"Reg, I'm doing this to make you hap--"
"I'm not bloody happy, okay? I'm absolutely sick. I need something more. Something to fill the hole being sober left," I retaliated.
Remus sat silently for a moment, then quietly said, "I just--I want to fill that hole. But how can I, when it'll drag me down too?"
"You self centred prat! Who's happiness are you looking for?" I sneered.
He mumbled, "Yours," and turned away, but I know he felt my vicious gaze in the side of his head.
"Then help me! Talk to me, hold me, do the things I need. I only ever needed alchohol because I had nothing else." And that was our turning point. Remus seemed to finally get it, and he reached over, giving me a long hug. I deflated in his arms. For a moment, it all just flew away. But when we let go, I remembered how much I wanted to be drunk. I stood up and, instead, for once, reached for him instead of the bottle. Baby steps.