And Such a Fool am I
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters are own by J.K. Rowling, not by me, obviously.
"O beware, my lord, of jealousy;
It is the green-ey'd monster, which doth mock
The meat it feeds on. That cuckold lives in bliss,
Who, certain of his fate, loves not his wronger:
But O, what damned minutes tells her o'er
Who dotes, yet doutbs, suspects, yet strongly loves."
William Shakespeare
"Lord, what fools these mortals be," he comments, glancing over the top of a worn and dog-eared book. The binding that holds the text together is falling apart, seams ripped and leaving pages to occasionally flutter to the ground, but he does not mind. Like most things, Remus assumes, these words only get better with age. And he knows the lines by heart, at any rate.
Sirius and James pause from their scuffling, hair mussed, and James's glasses have fallen askew, nearly about to topple from his nose to the floor, where they have landed many a time before. They have been being boys, wrestling, laughing, retaining innocence, and even though Remus pretends to be slightly annoyed, he cannot help smiling as he closes his book and lets it rest on his lap. It is only them in this corner of the common room. Peter is asleep upstairs, and though Remus has noticed that he is spending far less time with them these days, he has not said anything. Sometimes he feels that this is his role in life. The silent observer. But these thoughts only come on nights when he tosses in his sheets and lets them pool in pale white puddles around his ankles.
Sirius has managed to fix his hair, recapturing an air of confidence and ease Remus knows he himself will never have. But Remus sometimes thinks that Sirius's exterior is greatly covering what lies beneath the surface, and wonders about his own inner self, and just how much of him is actually him. James has flopped down onto an overstuffed couch and is pretending not to notice Lily, who has just walked across the common room carrying her books to her chest. Her hair catches Remus's eye in the firelight, and he feels guilty sitting across from James, and even guiltier when he sees James running his fingers though his coal black hair in an attempt to gain Lily's much desired attention. It is, Remus thinks, much like a rooster puffing out his chest to attract a hen, and he would normally chuckle inside, but he can't. And although he has not talked to Lily in several days, and has not kissed her in several weeks, his ears and lips are still burning from her, and for a moment he fears that they may be glowing in the dim room and exposing him. He reopens his book, attempting to look engrossed in its pages.
Sirius is watching the flames dancing in the fireplace, and for the moment he's not saying anything. Both boys know that right now a wall has been put up between them. Sirius is thinking, staring, contemplating, watching the flames flicker and give off warm yellows and oranges onto his face as he reclines on the rug. This has become common as well. Remus knows Sirius has left his family and his home; he knows of the flat purchased in London's East End, he knows of the rents and payments and creaky floors and of Sirius's refusal to live in anything elegant. He thinks this is another way for Sirius to estrange himself from his blood, and he does not press the issue, or even bring it up. If Sirius talks to anyone about these things, it is not to him, but James. Remus knows the skeletons, the framework, and he can only guess at the heart and organs of Sirius's thoughts. But, he supposes, having reread the same line three times now, if is better focusing on this than on James. Because that brings guilt. And guilt is not an emotion Remus is fond of.
Lily has climbed the stairs, retreating to the comforts of her bed, and James has gone back to looking restless and bored. He mutters something about "women" that Remus doesn't catch, because he's trying so hard to think of anything else but the very object of James's remark. And he knows that it's done between them- it was his decision. But why, he repeats inside, does he feel so damned guilty? It wasn't as though she had a tag on her, he has told himself over and over. She wasn't anyone's property for God's sake. And yet he had ended it, afraid of hurting her and afraid of hurting James. It was not a winning situation. Sometimes he thinks he can feel regret tugging at his sleeve, trying to gain his attention. He thinks perhaps it was the wrong decision. Until he looks at James when she walks by. For a second he is furious, and, he admits, a bit bitter, but he will never let those feelings last longer than a second and he will never, never share them with anyone else. James, his friend, James who has been smitten with the red-haired Gryffindor for years, James whose schoolboy crush and steadfast friendship has placed an unbearable weight on Remus's shoulders. So of course it would not last. Of course he had to end it. Of course.
The fire cracks and it jolts them all. When Remus catches James's eyes he has the terrible feeling that the boy is reading his thoughts, but all James says is, "So Moony, you planning on keeping that artifact till it turns to dust?" Remus inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, one he truly shouldn't have to be faced with, and shrugs, replying, "I'm not about to throw it out."
"Ah, are you going to be one of those pack-rat sorts?" Sirius asks, turning from his watch over the fire. The wall is down now. "You know, attic full of junk that you know you don't need but you're keeping it anyway?"
"No," Remus says, just a little too harshly, just a little too heavily, "I tend to throw away the things I need." He stands, very much aware of the looks on his friends faces, Sirius's eyebrows raised a little, James merely confused, and that irritates him as well. It is not feigned this time. There will most likely be questions later, but at this point, he doesn't really care. He wants to go to sleep. Full moon's not far off anyway.