The Comfort of Knowledge, Chapter 11
"It's dangerous," he said softly.
"I know."
Remus could not will his body to sleep.
The skin on his back tingled.
Sirius had left the fifth year dormitory hours ago—leaving nothing behind but the lingering touch of his rough hands and words that Remus' mind refused to stop replaying over and over again.
He had known something was wrong since he first felt the raven-haired boy's gaze on him earlier that evening. Terry and Paige had effectively distracted him for most of the study session with a range of questions pertaining to their Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms homework; but by the end of the night he found he was having a hard time trying to continue avoiding Sirius' piercing gray eyes.
"Giants are completely misunderstood if you ask me. They're not the only ones though, I suppose."
The trepidation and fear he had felt as he walked back to the common room was dizzying. He knew the black haired boy would be there. He felt sure something would happen when he got back.
He had no idea how the sixth year would have found out his secret...or more importantly, how he had managed to keep the look of disgust off of his face for the whole evening.
"Remus, I—"
He'd stood outside the portrait for several minutes trying to imagine the look of revulsion that he would inevitably find on Sirius' face. The closest thing to that that he could conjure in his mind was the look Sirius had often bestowed upon Severus Snape—a look of pure loathing. Remus had felt a painful tightening in his chest at the thought of Sirius looking at him with that expression on his handsome face.
"Are these from all the times you tried to fly, Remus?"
He would have smiled at that had the situation not been so serious.
Why wasn't Sirius afraid of him?
The question was at the forefront of his mind as he struggled to remember Sirius' expression in the mirror.
Sirius had not asked anything of him—he hadn't wanted details, or an explanation, or a plea for silence.
He had simply tried to offer comfort.
He had touched Remus' hideous scars with his warm, rough hands and rested his head tiredly on Remus' back. There was shock, concern, and sadness in his expression…but no fear. Before that, in the common room, Sirius had been anxious, nervous even, but not afraid.
Remus let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension in his sore muscles.
He wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't expelled.
He wasn't alone.
Sirius knew his secret and still wanted to be his friend.
Sirius had touched him with no signs of disgust in his expression.
Remus sat up slowly and leaned over the foot of his bed—reaching to open his trunk as quietly as he could. His hand rummaged beneath his neatly arranged clothing and books and, after only a few moments of fumbling, closed gently around his most precious possession.
He sat back on his bed and laid the bundle in front of him as he had on many occasions.
Carefully removing the old robe he used to cover and protect it, he pulled out the worn leather book and stared down at it.
The cover was shabby and fading—the perfection of it long gone. He wished it had not taken him so much time to realize the affect his carrying it around with him everywhere would have on the precious pages.
He traced his fingertips over it—unconsciously imitating the way Sirius had traced over the scars on his back.
Material possessions had never been very important to Remus—the most valuable things he could think of could not be bought with money.
But this…this meant so much to him. Every page was ingrained into his memory. He remembered the first time he had seen Sirius—tall and handsome with his shining black hair tied back. How easily he could have passed as royalty in Remus' eyes.
Sirius might not be a king but Remus knew, without a doubt, that Sirius could have cruelly spat out his secret and hexed him in front of the entire school, and no one would have thought any less of the black-haired boy. The list of things Sirius could have done to hurt Remus was endless.
The fact that someone would choose to offer comfort and friendship instead of pain and hatred in response to his secret was unimaginable a few hours ago.
Remus laid back down, clutching the book to his chest.
He could almost hear Sirius' deep, soothing voice whispering to him in the dark.
"I know."
And the thought no longer scared him.
As Remus approached the Great Hall the following afternoon, he was sure he could hear Sirius' loud, boisterous laughter over the dozens of chattering students.
Naturally an early riser, it was very unlike Remus to sleep in so late—something that several students had apparently noticed as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. However, the extra sleep had left him feeling energized and refreshed and he could not help the small smile that settled on his face in response to the questioning stares.
Taking a seat a few places down from a group of rowdy seventh years, Remus felt any last remnants of doubt disappear in an instant.
Sirius was sitting next to his bespectacled friend, laughing and joking as if nothing had changed.
The sight made Remus smile even wider.
"And here I thought you couldn't get any cuter."
Remus jumped at the voice in his ear.
"Paige," he turned to greet the pretty brunette. "Good morning."
"Afternoon, Remus," she corrected, taking a seat next to him. "Let me guess…you haven't been awake long?"
"What gave me away?" he asked with a laugh.
She giggled and reached a hand up to comb her fingers through his hair. "Your hair's all messy."
He had been so excited to get down to the Great Hall that he'd forgotten to check his appearance in the mirror. He felt himself blush slightly.
"If you were anyone else, I would think you'd been up to something slightly," she leaned in closer, "naughtier…than sleeping."
His blush deepened and he looked up to find Sirius staring closely at him—all traces of laughter gone.
"I know I was doing something naughtier than sleeping," she continued. "Do you want to know what it was, Remus?"
He turned away from the gray eyes and willed his mouth to respond.
"Now, now, Paige…no whispering."
Remus head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice.
He was sure Sirius had been further down the table only a moment ago.
"What are you two talking about?"
The sixth year spoke with the usual charming, casual tone he reserved for those of the fairer sex, but Remus thought he could detect a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"Oh, we were just discussing where Remus has been all morning." She raised her hand to comb her fingers through his hair again, her other hand fiddling with the sleeve of his robe.
Sirius' eyes flashed.
"It's good to know he doesn't mind coming in late every once in awhile…you never know what might-Oh!" she gasped. "Remus—what happened to your arm?"
He looked down to where she had pulled his sleeve up to his elbow—there was a long, jagged scar on his otherwise smooth forearm.
"Just a little accident when I was young," he said, smoothly pulling his sleeve down to cover the mark. He glanced up in time to see Sirius staring at his now covered skin with a frown on his face.
"Oh don't cover it up," the girl pouted. "I like it."
Remus tried to smile his thanks to the pretty girl but found it rather difficult. He certainly didn't like his scars and when he looked up in time to see Sirius' quickly retreating back exiting the Great Hall, he realized he wasn't the only one.
He felt a twinge of shame at the thought and had to fight down the urge to chase after Sirius – to try to convince his black-haired friend that most scars fade over time.