Sirius blinks.
His head is aching, and the cutting sunlight is a foggy haze studded with glittering stars and blurred voids of inky black. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. Something feels wrong — like too many hours have passed. Or days.
The world starts coming into focus.
An arm's reach away is a familiar silhouette. The boyish figure has mussed hair and thick robes that pool around his waist, nearly indistinguishable from the blanket he sits upon. He is not facing Sirius, seemingly distracted by something in the milky-white distance.
Sirius recognizes him nonetheless.
"Remus?" he asks groggily.
The boy whips around to face him, grinning broadly.
"Sirius! You're awake!" he breathes.
A silver prefect badge glints in the light. Sirius shields his eyes.
"Yeah, I s'pose I am."
The space around the two boys continues to grow clearer to Sirius, though the glare still blinds him to his full surroundings. One thing he can see is the other boy's hand on his forearm. Yet strangely, he cannot feel it.
Why can't he feel it?
He flexes his elbow, hoping his arm is simply asleep. Perhaps he laid on it wrong.
"You'll get your feeling back soon," Remus hurries to explain. "That's what Pomfrey says, anyway."
Numbly, Sirius keeps stretching and echoes, "Pomfrey?"
Remus gives a grim nod.
That is when Sirius notices the unfamiliar, parchment-like covers that are pulled up to his chest. He is not surrounded by the warmth of the Gryffindor dormitories, and as his eyes finish adjusting to the harsh light, his suspicions are confirmed. The sterile smell of the hospital wing stings his nose.
"What the hell happened?" he asks. "Why am I here?"
Remus inhales sharply, expression grave and regretful.
"You were poisoned."
"Poisoned?" Sirius repeats in disbelief. "No, that can't be right . . . Who would —"
He stops short, for he suddenly recalls the last thing he remembers doing. Between his finger and his thumb had been a sticky, unlikely confection — one he popped into his mouth seconds before he fell to the ground, only to be veiled in inescapable darkness . . .
"The chocolates. Damn it, Walburga."
"Walburga?" Remus echoes, horrified. "Walburga sent you those?"
Sirius nods bitterly. "Mother of the year, eh?"
"Depends. Are they running that competition in Hell now?"
Sirius doesn't have it in him to laugh. Instead, he fiddles with the papery sheets, though he cannot feel them between his fingers. The sensation — or lack thereof — annoys him, although he knows from experience that they are miserable and itchy and not feeling them is a gift more than it is a curse. Frustrated, he lets his hand fall onto the firm mattress.
"You all right, love?" Remus asks.
Sirius nods again. "M'fine."
Remus sighs, eyeing Sirius's restless hand as he starts to pinch at his own skin.
"You know, Marlene was the one that found you outside the greenhouses."
"Yeah?" Sirius says, wholly disinterested. He plucks a dark arm hair with his fingernails. There is no pain.
"Sprout nearly had her head for picking up those chocolates," Remus continues. "Guess that was lucky for Marlene."
"Bloody right it was lucky," Sirius replies bitterly. "I only ate one of them and I can't even feel my own fucking body."
"You only ate one?"
"Just the one," confirms Sirius.
Remus's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard. He now knows the truth, just as Sirius does — though for Sirius, it is something he fears he has always known. Something that, deep down, he always felt inside.
His mother wants him dead.
The concept is not so dizzying, really. It is like something that has always been there, and now the shell has been peeled back once and for all. Most of his punishments growing up had toed the hellish line between pain and death. His mother's treachery is nothing unusual.
So it is not Walburga Black that makes his head spin with wretched thoughts. They are not her words that loop through his weary mind.
Instead, they are the words of his younger sibling — the last words he heard before he collapsed onto the cobblestone path.
With a painted grin, he had said those three, haunting words.
"Enjoy those, brother."
Remus tries to be patient.
Healing takes time, after all — or so Madam Pomfrey says. Each day when she comes to give Sirius his dose of potions, she explains to both him and Remus, yet again, that everything will return to normal in a week or two. Sirius curses under his breath at her, and while she once would scold him for this, she has since given up. It is hard to blame him for his frustrations. Remus certainly can't, because he is frustrated too.
He stays by Sirius's side as long as Pomfrey allows, latched to his hand, kissing his wrists, pulling his toes — but no matter how many hours he spends with the Animagus, the other boy still feels nothing past his chest — not even a tingle. At first, Remus thought he could help.
How naive he had been.
"Feel that?" he would ask.
"No," Sirius would say.
Remus would try something different.
"How about that?"
"No," Sirius would reply, even more bitterly.
Remus, eventually, stopped asking.
Their routine continues on — without the questions, of course — except now, Sirius is angrier — more irate than before. Remus suspects it has to do with the date.
At the surface, this Sunday is not all that special. Remus spends his morning sitting on the edge of the other wizard's cot, and when the clock strikes two, Madam Pomfrey finally steps away from a curtained-off bed. Another patient — Birdie Bunfry — groans, sore from a bad run-in with the giant squid.
It could have been any day in the infirmary — but it isn't.
Having been there for so long already, Remus half-expects Pomfrey to chase him off before the festivities begin. But, she does not. Instead, she shoots him a brief glance and disappears into her office. Despite all that could go wrong, fate has been on his side.
"No 'off with you now'? No 'shoo' or 'go eat some lunch, Mr. Lupin'? Bloody hell, is it my birthday?" he jokes.
" This is how you picture your birthday? Spending all day in the bloody hospital wing?" Sirius jokes back, though there is an undertone of annoyance.
Remus frowns and scratches the back of his head. "Er — I know your sixteenth isn't exactly what I'd planned, but Pomfrey said it's not safe for you to leave yet . . ."
"I'm not bothered," Sirius says quickly, putting on the blue party hat Remus brought for him. It's comically small amidst his matted nest of hair. "But I'm actually curious . . . what did you have planned?"
"Something a bit more grandiose — maybe a trip to St. Mungo's," Remus replies smoothly. With a smirk, he amends, "But in all seriousness, Peter's supposed to bring cake."
"Is James coming?"
The question is casual, but Remus sees through it. He sighs and says, "I invited him."
Sirius nods, and they are then quiet, accompanied only by Birdie Bunfry's miserable sounds.
Peter's arrival is loud.
The double-doors bang noisily when they open and close, breaking up the monotony of the grumbles and gurgles coming from behind Birdie's beige curtains. Peter does not seem to notice. He is fully focused on the task at hand, dragging his feet slowly as he balances a small cake atop a silver platter.
Remus holds in a laugh as he watches his friend cross the room.
Peter's face is flushed, rivers of sweat running down his cheeks. His hair clings to his clammy forehead, and his armpits are surrounded by stains of dark yellow — a rather unfortunate color for a boy so pink.
Perhaps it's a good thing he's in the hospital wing. He looks like he's on the verge of a medical event.
"Sorry I'm late, Remus," he chirps breathlessly. His chubby hands are white from gripping the platter so tightly. "It's cherry — I know you said chocolate, but the elves —"
"Cherry's great, Peter," Remus interrupts, making space on the cramped bedside table — or trying to, rather. It's packed with flowers and postcards and candies, none from James, of course, but still more than the nightstand had room for.
Despite Remus's best efforts, a glass vase falls, shattering onto the floor and earning a shout from Birdie. Poinsettias scatter across the flagstone, and Sirius barks a laugh.
"I think those are the ones from that third-year," he says. "I still have no idea who she was, if I'm honest."
Remus chuckles. Sirius has been quite popular since the incident — or rather more popular than usual. Three bouquets of flowers had come from girls he did not know, earning a snort from Remus, who had to push them out of the way so they could have a morning snog. Of course, their friends had sent things too. Marlene and Dorcas had dropped off postcards from Hogsmeade, and Frank Longbottom had brought chocolates from Honeydukes. Sirius thought the latter to be a joke, but Remus was quite certain Frank was just tone-deaf.
The small tokens were put to shame earlier that evening.
For Sirius's birthday, Remus paid Lily Evans to have a Led Zeppelin record sent to the school. It just so happened it was the same record Sirius had been wanting all year, ever since he heard it in a Muggle shop in London.
He had opened that gift right away.
"I ought to get poisoned more often!" he'd remarked.
Remus smiles at the recent memory. Once Sirius is healed, they will sit in the Shrieking Shack and belt Immigrant Song, Sirius playing air guitar with his wand, his fingers able to feel every phantom strum.
"Oi, cut me a piece of that, will you, mate?" Sirius asks.
Remus shakes off his reverie and notices that Peter is hunched over the cake, seemingly distraught.
"What's wrong?" Remus asks him.
"I forgot the silverware," he whispers, his tone serrated with panic. "And plates. How are we to eat cake if we've got nothing to cut it with? Or eat it with? Or put it on?"
"Calm down, there's no need to fuss," Remus says. He reaches towards one of the two intact bouquets and plucks out a rose and two chrysanthemums. Readying his wand, he notes, "We'll have to eat off the platter."
"Fine with me," Sirius grunts.
"I guess I don't mind," Peter says sheepishly.
"Right, then. Flosadfurcio!"
Each flower transforms into a shining, silver fork — though one is a bit bent. Peter stares in awe as Remus passes him one, then hands the second to Sirius, keeping the bent one for himself.
"We haven't learnt that in class, have we?" Peter asks.
"We did," Sirius drawls, rolling onto his side. "We just don't remember it 'cause it's bloody useless." He smiles as he sinks his fork into the cake. "Except for tonight, of course."
Peter digs into the opposite edge. "Well, I'm glad one of us remembered. Thanks for that, Moony."
"No bother. Some of us pay attention to our coursework," Remus jokes. "You know, you two ought to start doing the same if you want to pass your exams."
"We pay attention to the coursework when it's worth paying attention to," Sirius rebuts, mouth half-full. He chews greedily and points at the dessert with his fork. "Nice bloody job weaseling this out of the elves. It's a damn good cake."
"Glad you like it, Pads . . ." Peter says, flushing. "Happy birthday, by the way."
"Yes, happy birthday," Remus echoes with a smile. He squeezes Sirius's leg, briefly forgetting that the other boy cannot feel it. "Just one more year and you're of age."
"Mad to think about," Peter breathes. "How's it feel?"
"It doesn't feel all bad," Sirius replies, nodding, yet there is something half-hearted about the movement. He drops his fork onto the platter and lays on his back. "Wish I wasn't here, though."
Remus laces Sirius's fingers with his. "I wish that too."
"Me too," quips Peter. "Rotten luck to be poisoned on your birthday."
"Yeah," Sirius mutters. "Rotten luck."
He is running.
The forest surrounds him, enchanted and treacherous, pushing him along a narrow pathway lined with evergreen branches and glowing herbs. This place is a herbologist's paradise, a potioneer's dream.
A Mandrake cries in the distance. He moves with haste.
How far he runs, he does not know, but by the light of the full moon, he sees a cloud of smoke. Someone else is here — someone standing still. He hurries towards it until it swallows him whole, a suffocating blanket of cannabis and tobacco.
"Off to murder someone else?" James asks, flicking the ash from his spliff. It lands by a bush ripe with berries. He's contaminated it.
"No, of course not," Sirius replies. "I'm not a murderer, James, you have to know that."
James shrugs and takes a drag. "Well, you are now, aren't you?"
Sirius frowns and continues along the path, starting at a light jog but quickly gaining speed. He is leaving his friend behind — leaving the accusation behind. How long has he been running? Somehow, he isn't breathless.
"Oi, brother!"
Sirius hears the voice before he sees him. The younger boy is suddenly in the middle of the pathway, a grin spread wide across his lips. His chipped tooth gleams in the starlight, almost like he was there all along.
"Reg?" Sirius asks, agog. "What are you doing here? Go back to the castle!"
"But then, how would I give you these?"
Slyly, Regulus reaches into his robes and pulls out a box, scarlet with gold ribbon — the colors of Gryffindor House. Sirius tilts his head and holds his hands out to accept it. Regulus winks.
"Enjoy those, brother."
He snaps his fingers and disappears into thin air, just as suddenly as he appeared.
The night is strangely silent, now. There's not a cricket to be heard.
Curious, Sirius unties the ribbon.
Inside the box are a dozen tiny phials — intricate, crystal phials, bedded in crushed velvet, free of labels or sealing wax. They are filled to the brim with azure liquid and swirling blue smoke. Frowning, he pulls one out, removes the cork, and sniffs it.
He then drains it whole.
It tastes of chocolate.
He opens another and raises it to his lips. He drinks it down, and reaches for a third, but the world is spinning now, the trail just a blur. He's collapsing to his knees, and he blinks slowly, lethargically —
In the distance, he hears a howl.
"Awoo!"
He wakes with a start.
Sirius pokes at his mushrooms.
Remus smuggled in a full breakfast that morning, hoping to make up for the lackluster celebration from the night before. Yet, as he stands over Sirius's bed, it's apparent to him that the other boy is still upset. He winces as the fork squeals against the porcelain, mangling the egg in its path.
"Couldn't even come on my birthday. Fucking wanker."
"I take it he didn't turn up after curfew then," Remus replies, intently watching Sirius eat — or rather play with — his food.
"No, why would he? It was only his best mate's sixteenth."
Sirius prods at the egg again, and the yolk oozes into a sunny, yellow puddle. Frowning, he cuts into the tomato that borders it.
"At least Peter showed," Remus consoles.
He sits on the edge of the itchy cot, sinking into the shallow mattress. Sirius doesn't look at him, but scoots over, anyway. Remus accepts the subtle apology.
I'm angry, but not at you.
Naturally, Sirius doesn't speak the words, not that he needs to. Instead, he waves around the impaled tomato and scoffs, "Of course he showed! It's Peter. Could tell him to kiss the giant squid and he'd end up just like Birdie over there."
"Watch it, Black!" Birdie shouts from behind her curtains.
Sirius smirks and pops the tomato into his mouth at last. The grin fades quickly, and is replaced with a scowl.
"Point is: He's a wanker, like I said."
Remus sighs. There is no escaping the topic of James Potter, no matter how much he wants to.
"That may be true, but I dunno what you expected, love. That's just how he is, especially considering . . . well, considering what you told him."
"He's supposed to be my mate no matter what I tell him," Sirius mumbles. "That was the pact. Mates no matter what."
"Mates fight, Pads. Give him some space."
Sirius grunts dejectedly and sets his plate on the nightstand. The half-eaten breakfast joins the rest of his undesirables: the dying flowers, the cheap box of chocolates, the postcards only Remus had read.
The Led Zeppelin album, on other hand, is tucked safely beneath the cot. Sirius had been worried "Birdie might get up to something" while he was sleeping.
Remus wrings his hands. Unsure what else to say, he asks, "D'you want to go for a walk?"
"A walk," Sirius repeats.
"Pomfrey said you need to stretch your legs."
"I can barely feel the bloody things. What's the point in stretching them?"
"Feeling them at all is a good sign, isn't it?"
"Better than that alternative, I suppose," Sirius replies grimly.
Remus rakes his fingers through his hair. "Look, if it'll cheer you up, I'll have a talk with Prongs —"
"I don't want him here," Sirius interrupts.
"But a moment ago —"
"Even if I did want him to visit — which I don't — this isn't like the time I knocked him off his broom in second year," Sirius hisses. "He won't accept an apology, and I wouldn't give him one anyway. I stand by what I did. Even if he tells the whole world, I'll still stand by it, before the Wizengamot and all."
Remus understands. Wholly and fully, he understands. Had the roles been reversed, he wouldn't be sorry either. He would murder, maim, or worse for Sirius, for his heart beats for him in a way nobody else can comprehend. Their feelings are otherworldly, celestial, like something from a Greek tragedy or a Shakespearean play.
They said they would do anything, and they meant it.
He rests a hand on Sirius's knee.
"So you don't apologize, and we move on," he says. "If James wants to join us, that's up to him, but the world doesn't revolve around the git, no matter how much he thinks it does."
Tension releases from Sirius's shoulders and he lets out a belly-laugh that warms Remus from the inside out. "He really is a self-important bastard, isn't he?"
"The biggest."
The air feels lighter between them. Sirius falls back onto his pillow and finds Remus's hand, lacing it with his. Perhaps he can feel their intertwined fingers now, or perhaps the gesture is simply mechanical.
"Pomfrey will be here with my potions soon," he says.
"And you'll drink the lot of them, even if they do taste like shit," Remus says sternly.
"They taste worse than shit. They're like liquefied dragon bollocks."
"To be fair, that could be an ingredient."
Sirius grimaces. "That's not actually something they'd put in a potion . . . is it?"
Remus shrugs and says, "I jumped ahead in our textbook and after discovering most cough draughts contain seahorse penises —"
He's cut off by the sound of the hospital wing doors. He quickly looks over, half-expecting to see James, or perhaps Peter, but to his surprise, it isn't a Marauder at all — or even a friend.
It's Regulus.
Discreetly, Remus lets go of Sirius's hand, and the other boy clenches his jaw as Regulus slowly glides towards them. The younger wizard looks nervous, pupils bouncing back and forth and hands shoved deep in his pockets, emerald tie pulled taut to his throat.
Remus wants to scold him. He wants to ask him if he sees the light now, knowing what Walburga did. Yet, he knows this is not what Sirius would want, so he stays quiet, instead observing as Regulus makes his way across the flagstone floor.
He is unable to look at his older brother, even as he parks at the foot of his bed.
"Reg," Sirius says heavily.
"Brother."
"Surprised to see you here."
"Yes, well, I thought we ought to talk," Regulus replies. He cranes his neck towards Remus. "If you wouldn't mind, my brother and I could use some privacy, please . . ."
Something flashes in Sirius's eyes.
"No. Anything you want to say to me, you can say to Remus."
Remus awkwardly glances between the two siblings, but ultimately continues to respect Sirius's wishes and roots his feet to the floor. There is a palpable distance between them now. He misses the warmth of Sirius's hand.
"All right, then," Regulus says stiffly. His eyes bore into Remus for a brief second before darting towards Sirius. "You're erm — you're looking well, brother."
"I look like dog shit," Sirius breathes. "Thanks to you."
"I — I did not know she —" Regulus exhales shakily. "I'll be forthright. I had some concern that something had been done to the chocolates, but I did not know for certain."
Something twists in Remus's stomach. He has always known the Blacks to be cruel, but he had hope for Regulus. Alas, he is a lost cause — just as Sirius said.
"So you suspected they were poisoned but you still gave them to me?" Sirius asks, bewildered.
"I believed my suspicions to be paranoia. I did not think it possible she would — I didn't think Mother would take it quite so far."
"And just how far did you think she would take it?"
"I thought she would send a simple Howler, perhaps jinx you when we returned home next month." Regulus swallows. "I had to tell her, brother. There was no way around it, not when there are so many whispers about you."
"Why?" Sirius hisses. "Why do you give a troll's nut what happens to Fenrir Greyback? And why does she? She loathes . . ." He pauses. "His kind."
Regulus frowns.
"Who's Fenrir Greyback?"