((A/N: Ok, first, this chapter deals with things that some people might find disturbing, or offensive, or whatever it is you mortals do. Second, yes, I am aware Sirius was supposed to run away before sixth year, but that conflicts with my plot, so I chose to ignore it ;;
Also, with the next few weeks I have a lot of school work and exams, so my updates might take longer. Anyway, I appreciate all the reviews, and please be patient with me. You shall have your updates, they might just take a while.))
Chapter 3
A nervous-looking first year climbed onto the stool to be sorted, and an equally nervous-looking Sirius slipped into the empty seat beside James. I watched him curiously as he tried hard to go unnoticed. He was acting so damned strange, I was beginning to wonder exactly what it was he was up to. James paused for a moment as he looked at Sirius with a distasteful frown, and then continued what he was saying, "Anyway, I think I've figured out a new strategy for the Quidditch team this year. We just need to..." I drowned out his voice with my thoughts. Quidditch was not a favourite subject of mine. I don't quite understand the allure. Either way, hearing James rant about another one of his Quidditch theories was not my idea of a good time.
I attempted idly to maintain some interest in the sorting ceremony, but other things were surfacing in my mind. Like Sirius. Why was I so preoccupied with him? It had never been like this before the summer, and now it would seem that everything was changing. 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder', the old clichè familiarized itself in my head and I laughed it off softly. Oh yes, I'm in love with Sirius. A chill shook me suddenly. The thought was meant to be sarcastic, but a familiar feeling stirred in my stomach, not quite nauseating, but I felt light-headed. I had felt the same way when Sirius grabbed my arm outside of the carriage. What was wrong with me?
"...Remus?" I looked up to see James staring at me curiously. "What do you think, Remus?"
I put a hand to my temple and shook my head, "It sounds fine, but you'll need more than a theory if you plan to win the Cup." If there was one thing I'm good at, it's bluffing. James stared at me for a moment longer but apparently decided my answer was adequate. "I guess, but I'm sure if I run it by the team they'll be all for it; any way they can win." He looked at Sirius in a slightly panicked motion, "You'll be trying out for beater again this year, right?" Sirius looked up from the table and then around at us before nodding. Once more James looked satisfied. "Good," he replied quietly, turning to watch the last first year slump beneath the weight of the sorting hat.
The first years never looked particularily amused during the sorting. Scared to death would probably be a better description. I grinned at the small boy as he was sorted into Gryffindor, looking rather intimidated by the loud cheers coming from our table. When he had been sorted, Dumbledore stepped forward and gave his usual speech. Peter nearly broke into giggles as James mouthed every word in synch with the Headmaster. Dumbledore made the same tired speech every year since we'd been here, and for Merlin knows how long before that. The only thing that ever changed were the yearly warnings that were tacked on to the end. This year we were warned that a hall in the Ravenclaw tower had been infested with pixies, and, of course, to stay out of the Forbidden Forest. I smirked; as though the name weren't forboding enough. After delivering these rules, Dumbledore quietly spoke an unfamiliar charm and the feast had begun. Magically, the tables were overflowing.
When the feast finally began I couldn't have been more relieved. I wouldn't be expected to talk while I'm eating. As I reached down for my fork my sleeve fell down my arm. I paused and stared at it for a moment. My arm looked so twiggy... Quickly I pulled the rim of my sleeve up again, hooking it over my thumb. I grabbed for the edge of the table, clinging to it as the room seemed to shift, then reached for my fork again. I managed to pick up a scoop of potatoe after pushing it around on my plate to the point of frustration. I'm not quite sure that the taste was worth the effort, but it served its purpose. I was eating, and that was good.
It's not that I didn't want to talk to the other Marauders, it's just that I'm not sure how. Maybe I've been quiet too long, but it just seemed normal now. Besides, what would I say? Nothing. I knew it must be irritating to the others, but I couldn't think of any other way. If I opened my mouth it would all come out, and I didn't think I could face the consequences if it did. Let them hate me for my silence, not for what he did. My hands clenched into fists, and I felt like someone had delivered a swift blow to my stomach. No, I wouldn't let them know. I got up and left the Great Hall suddenly, allowing my feet to carry me off as they so often did.
I'm not sure how long I walked for, or where exactly I had walked to, but I found myself in a long empty corridor. The walls were of grey stone and the only light came from candles glowing from their holders along the wall. The dungeons. I sighed and sank to the floor, resting my back against the cold, hard surface of the stone. For a moment I just sat there motionless, clearing my mind. Finally, most of the thoughts that had been buzzing loudly through my head had left. There was then only one thought on my mind, one of a morbid comfort.
Pulling my sleeves back from my arms easily, I turned them so I could see the pale undersides. Thin red lines were scrawled about the pasty white skin. Several long gashes ran prominantly down the length of my arm, but numerous smaller ones could be seen, more faded lines, a painful backdrop. I traced over the larger lines with my fingertips, taking some pleasure in the feel of the ridges where the cuts had been trying to heal. I cradled my arm in almost a proud gesture, then reached into my pocket. My fingers met with the feeling of a course fabric, and I removed the bundle from my pocket. Unfolding it in my lap, something caught the illumination of the candle. A small rectangle of metal was nestled within the fabric, the flickering light glinting off of the surface. I watched it shimmer, then picked the razor up hesitantly. My head felt light, and everything took on a dream-like quality. I brought the cool metal to my skin, gently dragging the edge along the familiar lines. Closing my eyes tightly, I pressed harder on the skin, wincing as though expecting some pain. There was, of course, none. It had only hurt the first few times. I opened my eyes again and looked down at my arm. A thin red line could just be seen running from my wrist downwards, only a few inches long. I dragged the edge of the razor over it again and spidery lines of red made branches across my skin. Only a little at first, but then the branches grew thicker, larger. I watched it spread for a few minutes before realizing the blood had begun to spill forth in large streams, running down my arm. I dropped the razor and wrapped my arm in the fabric, which went a rusty brown color as it grew saturated with my blood. My blood. All over the cloth. Dripping onto the floor. Something about that consoled me.
I held the cloth to my arm for what felt like forever, but eventually it stopped bleeding. I staggered to my feet and returned the bundle to my pocket, razor blade deep within the folds of the bloodstained cloth. The dungeon around me was not one I recognized, but soon enough I found a way out. I decided I'd head up to the commonroom rather than return to the Great Hall, in no mood for immediate questioning. For the first time in weeks I was determined to get a good night's sleep.