AN: Should have three chapters up in as many days. A review or two would be great.
Chapter 8: He Would Have Laughed
Lily Evans was patrolling the second floor corridor on prefect duty. Remus Lupin, the other sixth year Gryffindor prefect, hadn't been in the Common Room earlier that evening. There had been no sign of any other Marauder either so she'd left alone, resigned to a dull evening in the chilly corridors of Hogwarts.
Not a single wizard, witch or ghost was to be seen in the first hour of her solitary prowl through the eastern wing of the castle. A strange stillness had filled the castle; even the more affable portraits who shared a conversation with patrolling prefects were more subdued than normal, including Slavomir and Ian, who were focused on a rather close chess match, and would only tell Lily that they had been ignored not once, but twice, by a haggard looking Remus, wondering aloud what they had done to deserve such cold treatment. Questions on the cause of Remus' distress and his whereabouts were ignored by the easily distracted pair. Lily completed the first circuit of her patrol, acutely bored, and decided to deviate from her usual route, knowing she'd be chastised if she met any other prefects, but the prospect of human conversation, even if it involved her being reprimanded, had to be better than the cutting silence and still air. If I travelled forward centuries, Lily thought, as she came to another empty corridor, Hogwarts would appear no different, save the rotting furniture and books turned half to dust.
After a while she found herself in a third floor corridor she had no recollections of. Several windows showed Hogwarts' eastern edge. The Forbidden Forest was silhouetted by echoes of the day's light. It was the last minutes of dusk, before night fell completely and in each window was darkness made visible. There were no portraits on the opposite wall. The absence of gentle snores or recycled canvas chatter condensed the silence. Her footsteps were cannonballs on the grey stone underfoot. A single doorway lay at the far end of the blank wall, close to an enchanted stairway that joined the corridor to the second floor. She could tell the door was ajar, although her eyes couldn't pick the boundary between the shadows of the room and the dark wood of the door.
As Lily approached this door her footsteps lightened and slowed. She could hear terse whispers carrying from the room, harsh and goading. Definitely not the typical student caught out after curfew, trying to sneak back to their Common Room from a broom cupboard or the kitchens. Tiptoeing to the doorway, body pressed tight to the cold stone wall, she peered round the grain of the doorframe.
A boy knelt on the floor within touching distance of the far wall, which was adorned with rows of silverware supported by black shelves; they gave the appearance of floating cups and shields in the faint torchlight. Two torches were set at shoulder height on the other two walls. The whole room, save the ceiling, was decked in oak panels and floorboards; with the rows of polished trophies it would not have looked out of place on some grand, antiquated nautical vessel.
Lily's ear brushed a smooth, metallic cool, and she shuffled back to read an appropriately silver plaque that read The Trophy Room. Mouthing the words to herself, she turned her attention back to the boy. He wore tattered trousers and a thin t-shirt – definitely underdressed for the bite of a February night in an unheated castle. Much of his head was lost in the half-light of the room, but a smudge of bronze hair was just visible to Lily's eyes.
Remus' fingers traced the bands of sinew and arterial muscle in his neck, learning every groove and hollow. There was a sensuality to his movements as he delighted in the vulnerability of the human form. He came to kneel in front of the largest piece of silverware in the room, a large cup engraved with the name Tom Riddle, and his accolade: For Special Services To the School. Whispering words of encouragement to himself, to steel his resolve as much as to break the leaden silence in the room, he pulled his t-shirt over his head.
Lily stared in morbid interest as a latticework of scars and bruises became visible, snaking across the contours of his back. Fenrir's bite was most apparent, a scimitar arc of ridged flesh that followed the curve of his left shoulder blade. She could pick a syllable occasionally, but the boy's whispers didn't carry to the door. The reason for his odd behaviour and obvious distress was still not apparent.
A pulse had started behind Remus' eyes. His blood felt impossibly thick and viscous. The detached calm that had possessed him on the way from the Room of Requirement had fled. This, he supposed, was what preceded death, the mind coolly accepting the imminent end while the body was shackled by terror, unable to process such intentional, measured harm. His body was coiled, elbows locked, as he reached for the cup with numb arms, beads of sweat skipping in the torchlight as they rolled down his damaged back. Every nerve supplanted by his elbow was lit up. He fancied he could already smell his useless, charred appendages as head came up, knowing he'd find the cup with blistering touch.
Lily stood transfixed as his arms struck out, stretching towards the cup. The internal battle being played out was clear to see in his trembling wrists. The boy's monologue had been replaced with a sharp keening. When his head lifted, arterial ropes standing out against his neck, she recognised his wiry, brown hair, and gasped.
There was a panicked intake of breath behind Remus, on the threshold of the room. He turned, on his feet in an instant, inwardly cursing for not having the presence of mind to cast a disillusionment charm on himself.
Half a pale face peered around the oak trim of the doorway. A green eye, widened in fear, was framed by a shock of orange hair. Lily stepped nervously through the doorway, founded apprehension on her features. Her thin figure was accentuated by her arms, clutched across her waist, drawing herself in for comfort. Remus took a step back in reply, moving perilously close to the wall of silver behind him, intent on keeping a distance of several metres between himself and Lily. There was no soft familiarity between them as they faced each other, Lily with an expression of fearful suspicion, while Remus looked openly hostile, fists clenched as he drew sharp, purposeful breaths into his scarred chest.
His eyes hardened.
"Lily", he stated, his voice too flat and measured for casual conversation.
"What–", Lily breathed, responding immediately. "What are you going to do to yourself?" She spoke reluctantly, no doubt realising that she was close to voicing her suspicions aloud, giving them a tangible, real aspect she couldn't bring herself to consider. Remus' face softened slightly; a shadow of tenderness passed across his face and he looked at Lily with something approaching affection. The moment passed, and his jaw muscles tensed, affecting a picture of grim determination, visibly willing himself to do what he had come to the Trophy Room for.
"You're going to hurt yourself", she continued with awful conviction. Remus did nothing to confirm or deny this, staring listlessly at the space between his feet.
"Maximum pain, maximum effect", he bit out, a bitter lilt to the words.
A slack shock of horror passed through Lily, and she took a half step a step forward, before catching herself and stopping, her arm frozen in a futile effort to reach Remus. A crease formed between her eyebrows as she tried to equate this spitting, antagonistic Remus with the amiable, softly-spoken boy she'd sat next to for years in Charms, and spent long hours wandering the empty corridors of Hogwarts in his company, weeding Hufflepuff fourth years from broom closets, while they shared easy conversation.
"What – why?" she probed gently, despairing at what could possibly cause such a transformation in Remus' character. He gave no indication of hearing her, save a snatched glance at her from his bowed head.
"Lily – just go away", he barked, voice still hoarse from lack of use. His first conversation of the day, he realised. "Lily – please", he said, trying to project scorn, dislike, something to get her to leave and stop making this harder than it already was. But the last syllable caught in his mouth, betraying the mounting doubt he felt.
There was hurt painted on her features, and Remus had thought his self-estimation couldn't worsen any more, but it had, and he felt awful for throwing her good intentions back at her. He wished she'd attack him, call him out for being unreasonable, for what she must take for unprovoked hostility towards her, when she'd simply tried to help him.
"Come on Remus, I thought – we're friends –" she tailed off, sounding uncertain. She took a half step backwards, and for a long moment Remus was sure she was going to leave and forsake him. The emotional core he'd failed to stall inside himself really, really didn't want her to do that.
His resolve was visibly weakening; the dreadful intent that he'd entered the Trophy Room with had left him. He looked exhausted. Lily saw his shoulders, fallen and round, and took a few tentative paces towards him. Seeing no reaction, she quickly closed the distance between them, her hands finding his wrists as she led him to the centre of the room, away from the lethal rows of silverware. He offered no resistance.
A downward tug told him to sit. So Remus sat, cross-legged on the dark wooden floorboards made smooth by innumerable footsteps, as Lily did the same. Still holding his hands, Lily brought them into her lap, worrying her lip as she saw the bruises and burst skin that darkened his knuckles. She met his stare. They remained in silence, facing each other, knees touching, for some time, illuminated by bracketed torches on each wall – giving several shadows to the pair, who looked to be sitting in the middle of a flower comprised of petals, dancing and black.
Lily was content to remain mute, trusting Remus to speak when he could. The part of her that knew he had come to the Trophy Room to maim, or possibly even kill himself dreading broaching the subject, wanted to feign ignorance, even if he'd admitted as much. So she waited in the artificial twilight, ignoring the protestations of her numb calves.
Remus was having a harder time staying quiet. Shame and relief pooled with the blood in his legs. Embarrassment began to register; it turned quickly to mortification. He was horrified that Lily had found him in such a vulnerable state, and had had to see his scars.
"These–", he tried, and his voice was rough, "these scars–", his hands made vague gestures, before slowing. Lily gave a small nod, encouraging him to continue. Remus took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling, steadying himself. The knock of blood filled his ears.
"I'm a werewolf", he bit out, his voice level. His gaze never strayed from the ceiling, determined not to look at Lily as she'd get up, excuse herself and leave, as he'd convinced himself she would. The slight pressure on his knees did not lessen. His head came down with dreadful slowness, coming face to face with a frozen Lily, eyes rounded in what he took to be horror.
"There's nothing between you and the door", he pointed out. Lily blinked, and came out of stasis in a moment, reaching for Remus' hands, which trailed uselessly on the ground, and beginning to speak all at once.
"Remus – I – I'm not going anywhere", she settled on, her face set in a determined countenance, even if her rigid posture and shaking hands belied her nerves.
This in turn, brought Remus into animation.
"Don't worry, I won't bite", he quipped, a sardonic grin about to form, before he suddenly broke down, his whole body wracked with sobs. Tears ran in rivulets down his face and neck, pooling in the hollows above his collarbone. Barks of laughter came from his throat, giving an edge of mania to his appearance. Lily responded in an impulsive manner, forgetting her fears and leaning forward to wrap Remus in a hug. His arms snaked round her lithe waist, his chin going over her shoulder, vision blurred by a veil of dampening red hair.
Her fingers wandered over old cuts, tracing faded scars; there was no malice in the act, only comfort and benign curiosity. Realising the intimacy of her actions, a blush rose, high on Lily's cheeks. She stalled her fingers and settled on returning the hug, her hands resting on his shoulder blades.
Remus had become very aware of Lily's chest rising and falling, pressed against his, as she drew deep breaths, trying to calm herself. He released her gently, and the absence of her scented touch was a physical ache.
"I bit James." His voice was hoarse but the words came quickly. "Last night was full moon, and this morning in the Hospital Wing –"
Lily clapped a hand to her mouth, though for his sake or James', he couldn't know.
"Can you remember biting him?" She asked, her manner tentative and nervous again.
"No," Remus bowed his head, eyes vacantly directed towards his lap.
"Do you have any control over the wolf?" She asked again, and there was a hint of fear in her voice this time.
"None", Remus retorted, angry that she would ask, to suggest James had bitten by his own volition.
Lily had the grace to look ashamed. A brief silence ensued.
"I won't think less of you if you leave", Remus said, "most people would." He hated himself for the plea in his voice, begging her to stay, and almost wanted Lily to run then, so he could end his base existence alone, never to see horror or fear directed at him again. There were still no footsteps receding, and he came closer to shouting at her then, insulting her, anything to get her to leave, than he'd ever admit to himself. When he met her gaze, her pretty features painted into a frown, he knew it was his turn to feel embarrassed for calling her friendship into question, but couldn't muster anything other than a vague relief that she'd chosen to stay.
"I'm dead when the Ministry finds out", he said bitterly, "they'll put me down like a common dog". He paused, and all the vitriol left his voice, "that's why I came here tonight".
"Would you have come if there was no Ministry?" Lily blurted out before she could stop herself, the desperate need to convince herself that Remus wouldn't have killed himself overriding any judgement she possessed.
"I – I don't know".
Designs on his own life were abhorrent voiced aloud; ideas that had festered inside him were poisonous on his lips, as if he realised how wrong discussing such a self-contained act with another person was. He voiced his greatest fear anyway, desperate to be vindicated or vilified in equal measure.
"Do you think I'm a coward?"
Lily shook her head, nodded once, and the tears that had filled her green eyes spilled down her cheeks. Remus felt a great ugliness inside himself, for exposing her to all the horror and self-loathing he held, for showing her the malice in the world that she could have avoided. He wanted to tell her everything would be alright, to instil a belief in her that there was more goodness than evil in the word, but knew that anything he said would be rendered trite by the awful magnitude of their situation. So he held her instead, and she felt impossibly small and fragile in his arms, hugging him back and weeping without any sign of restraint or embarrassment. He hated himself in that moment, as her hair tickled his chin and he felt her heartbeat on his bare chest, knowing she gave him more comfort than he could ever reciprocate. None of this reasoning could stop his heartbeat quickening, and his neck warming, when Lily angled her head up to meet his stare with dewy eyes.
But God, he was a mess. He'd come the Trophy Room full of spiritual and intellectual despair, prepared to forfeit his life under some pretence of atonement, of penance for his sins. And here he was, half an hour later, acting every minute of his seventeen years, stumped by the sight of a pretty girl in his arms, and the delightful tickle of her eyelashes on his neck.
A familiar sting came to his eyes as Lily looked up at him again with huge, doleful green eyes and smiled. They stayed, nestled against each other, for some time, until only the sting of salt remained. Reality eventually encroached on the pair, and Lily nursed herself out of Remus' embrace. The wholeness he felt when holding her faded, replaced with a disjointed, brittle feeling. She stood, and looked toward the rows of silverware, the newer pieces shining, the older ones specked with tarnish, all of it dancing by the flicker of torchlight.
"So, silver –"
"– yes". Remus finished her question, and knew they'd broached the subject for the last time that night, both of them too emotionally exhausted to last another conversation in a similar vein. He stepped round her and retrieved his t-shirt from the floor. He felt better than he had all day, clothed and with company. A thrill of excitement passed through Remus as Lily took him by the hand and led him out of the room, back towards the Gryffindor Common Room.
Clouds had come during their sojourn in the Trophy Room; it was a starless night. In every window was grainless, uniform darkness. Paired footsteps, and a symphony of snores coming from the portraits they passed meant the silence was not as oppressive as on Lily's patrol earlier. Their shadows lengthened and shortened periodically as they walked down corridors lit with torches, bracketed and set into the walls at regular intervals. Remus began to look forward to the magical staircases connecting these corridors. Once or twice, the swing of a staircase would bring them out to the middle of a stairwell, beyond the reach of torchlight, and there would be moments of standing darkness; a band of warmth around his hand became the only sensation. As they approached a platform and the torches grew brighter, Lily came next to him, a reference point for the closed heat in his palm, her hair brown for a second or two until flame found it and turned it to its likeness. He'd be able to pick her freckles again, dotted across the bridge of her nose and high on her cheeks. Faint disappointment would accompany the receding darkness, although he couldn't say why.
The Fat Lady opened without comment for the two prefects, mistaking their lateness for diligence. Remus and Lily's closeness allowed them to pass through the portrait hole together. They came to stand in the middle of the deserted Common Room, still holding hands. Silence returned. There was a pause before Remus spoke.
"I'm scared", he admitted, looking out into the middle distance through one of the Common Room's tall, narrow windows, well aware the source of his downfall would come from beyond Hogwarts' walls. Lily leant into him, her head fitting perfectly in the space below his chin.
"Dumbledore will protect you", she whispered to his collarbone, "Dumbledore will protect you". It filled him with curious warmth to hear her say the words, repeat them as a mantra, as much for her own sake as for his. She came onto tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth, which slid upwards in response, and untwined her hand from his.
"I'll see you tomorrow", she whispered. She waited on the bottom step leading up to the girl's dormitories, suddenly uncertain.
"I'll be fine", Remus said, and seeing a crease form between her eyebrows, a sign of anxiety, he added, "you don't need to worry". Lily gave a ghost of a smile and left up the stairs.
Part of Remus stood in wonder, unable to believe that a creature like Lily, pure and unfailingly kind, had accepted something as contemptible as himself. But the largest part of his being was numb with fatigue, so he sat on an old sofa facing the fireplace which held only ash, retrieved his wand from a trouser pocket, and with a laboured flick conjured a rough hessian blanket. Sleep came swiftly.
