Chapter 15 – Worst Night of my Life

James had just managed to get Sirius down and slightly calmer, when Lilly flooed back, nearing hysterics. "James! James, it's horrible! Sirius is right, he has to go to hospital right NOW!"

James frowned. Sirius stood up again. "Will you help me? I can't … I don't think I can face seeing him like that again …"

"LIKE WHAT?"

"James! Don't shout at Sirius! He's had a very upsetting experience!"

"What's wrong with him!"

"He's – oh, it's terrible!"

"When you feel like telling me, I'll be all ears!" James said sarcastically, folding his arms. Sirius got to his feet and headed towards the fireplace, folding his arms across his chest as if in defence or as though he was suddenly cold. "He slit his wrists."

"What!"

Lilly confirmed, "He did, James. Sirius, I – I really don't know what to say…"

"Can we just go and get him to St Mungo's, please?"


Sirius paced. He had never been so worried in all his life. Remus was in one of the private rooms of the hospital, surrounded by healers. Lilly and James, both looking stunned and worried, were sitting on the blue chairs lining the walls. Suddenly, the door opened. Sirius spun around. A dark skinned healer smiled at him. "Mr Black, pacing around this room won't help."

His voice sounded Asian. He walked over and introduced himself as Patel. He took Sirius by the arm after shaking his hand and took him to sit next to Lilly and James. Patel sat down on the coffee table in front of them. "Now, I'm afraid there's good news and bad news."

"Bad news first," Lilly ordered before either of the men could speak. Patel nodded and smiled as he saw the expression of terror on Sirius' face. "Don't worry, Mr Black. Please. The bad news is, we have found that Mr Lupin has taken copious amounts of drugs – one drug, in fact, but one of the most damaging. It is called Vanaculum. It is made from the sap of the Venomous Tentacular and several other additives. If taken over long periods of time, it can cause severe heart and lung conditions."

Sirius was looking more ashen-faced with every word. Patel smiled. "I thought I said not to worry. The good news is that we have healed the cuts on his wrists – he will be left with tiny scars, barely noticeable. Also, we believe we have found out about the drug problem before it severely damaged his respiratory and circulatory systems. We will have to give him a blood-replenishing potion, but before that, remove any more drugs from his system. To do this, we need to know how much he has taken and approximately when his addiction started. We only need to know when it started to see the scale of what we are dealing with."

Sirius didn't seem to be breathing. Patel reached over and touched his shoulder. "Mr Black, he will be fine."

Sirius sniffed. "I'll go and see if I can find anything back home to help you."

Patel nodded and stood. "Please, feel free to call in and check on him at any time. Oh, and Mr Black? We understand that Remus is a werewolf and you are his mate. If you wish to stay here for any length of time, all night for example, let the staff know and we will gladly do what we can for you. I know it is hard for you to be apart."

"Thank you," Sirius murmured. Then he stuck his hands in his pockets and hurried down to the fireplace on the ground floor to go back to the house that no longer felt like home.


Sirius went back up to the bedroom and muttered a cleaning charm. The blood disappeared from the bed, but the image remained in Sirius' mind. He shook his head, failing to clear the horrendous picture from his head, and hurried to Remus' bedside cabinet. He wanted out of that room, fast. He could feel tears welling in his eyes and a faint feeling was spiralling in his head. His stomach was writhing with a thousand snakes, and he could barely suppress the urge to throw up. Remus had at least tried to commit suicide in this room. That was how bad he had been feeling, how low his self-esteem had sunk. And Sirius himself had been feeling too sorry from himself – worrying Remus had stopped caring for him, like that could ever happen – to realise that there really was something terribly wrong.

He checked the top two drawers – nothing, nothing at all to indicate that a drug addict had once lived – and almost died – in this room. However, the bottom drawer was protected by a locking charm. That wasn't all. It had been locked with a key, too. Sirius had to literally smash the lock to open it once he had cast the counter spell.

He opened the drawer. It was stuffed full to the brim with small hand-written slips of paper. With shaking hands Sirius picked one up. It was a receipt. It showed the amount of Vanaculum Remus had been given, the price and the total paid. Sirius scrabbled at a few more. The quantity of drugs was invariably large, as was the price. In contrast the money Remus had paid was the opposite: always nothing. Remus hadn't paid a penny for any of this. Sirius sat back on his heels and suddenly noticed something on the flood by the bed. A small, empty pill bottle made of dark brown glass, similar to the ones Muggle doctors prescribed. He picked it up. Hand-written on the label was the single word 'Vanaculum'. Sirius whispered, "No …"

Dazed, he pulled the drawer out and tipped it upside down so that a pile of paper lay before him. As well as the many receipts came more bottles.

Feeling even sicker, Sirius stood and went downstairs in a sort of hurt stupor. He came back with a bag and stuffed the papers into, followed by the bottles and packets. He swallowed hard and returned to St Mungo's, swearing not to leave Remus' side until he was better unless it was totally necessary.


Two weeks later.

Remus really didn't look good. He didn't look very promising and a recovery seemed almost impossible to Sirius. Tubes led into Remus' bloodstream in his wrists, tubes whose ends were magical filters to allow only the drug through. He had one going into each wrist.

With each hour that passed he seemed to grow paler, and slip further from recuperation. Sirius' skin was also growing pallid as he lost sleep and what little catnaps he did catch were when slumped in a chair. Dark rings of purple under his eyes showed how tired he was and added years to his face. He never smiled.

One day, walking up to the café on the top floor with James and Lilly after a particularly bad morning when the doctors had said that there were 'complications' and refused to describe them, Sirius had been going up the stairs and his legs had given up beneath him. Only James and Lilly's quick reflexes had prevented him from falling down the whole flight of the stairs and ending up in traction.

The doctors had ordered him home immediately.

James yelled at him until he was hoarse.

Sirius didn't leave; he just ignored them.

The doctors had threatened to lock him out of Remus' room unless he went home.

No one ever wanted to see Sirius like that again.

Lilly went into Remus' room and touched Sirius' shoulder. He turned his dull blue eyes on her. She crouched beside him and asked, "Would Remus want you to stay with him if it was going to kill you?"

Sirius shrugged and stared down at his lover's face. "I'd rather die than watch him get worse. Watch him get further from me."

"But would he want you to kill yourself by sitting here?"

"No …" Sirius whispered, sniffing. Lilly pulled him to his feet and into a hug. She half-carried, half-led him towards the door and opened it with her foot.

"I promise," she told him, "That either James or I will stay with Remus. He will not be left alone."

Sirius nodded, unable to speak. She took him downstairs and to the fireplace. "You go home and sleep. We'll come and get you if there's any change."


Sirius arrived at home and shivered. All the fires were out and the heating was off. He went upstairs without taking off his coat and into the bedroom. Immediately, his imagination painted the picture of Remus on the bed covered in blood over the sight before him.

Tears spilled over his cheeks as he walked over to the bed. The closest he could get to the werewolf was to lie on his side of the bed. He lay down and tried to sleep without changing his clothes or even taking anything off, not even his shoes. The time, however, gave him chance to think, to worry.

His tears became hysterical as he thought of Remus, lying in the pristine white hospital surrounded by instruments. He though back to the months before Remus had tried to kill himself, remembered how pale and ill he had been, how tired he had looked. How he had developed a nasty racking cough. How the grey in his hair had become more pronounced, and how good it would look on him if he got better – WHEN! When he got better! Think positive …

It was impossible. Sirius couldn't see a future with Remus in it. He was so sure his mate would die, and he would be alone. All alone.

His breath caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, but it only cleared his throat to let a wail of anguish through his lips. He was going to lose everything. He didn't have anything if he didn't have his werewolf. There was no point in living without his lover, his mate, his Remus.

He hugged the pillow, which was soaked with his tears. He tried to stop crying, blinking furiously. But it was impossible. Every place, every object in the house reminded him of Remus and remembering his lover brought waves of tears. He buried his head in the pillow, sobbing uncontrollably until he felt sick and headachy. He didn't sleep.

It was the worst night of his life.

Meanwhile, in St Mungo's, Remus slowly slid further from life.

(A/N: Ha, ha, not telling! You know I hate this stuff by now. Yes, I made up the drug name; well it is for wizards only, so ... anyway. Review?)