Chapter Four
Despite his misgivings, Remus found his first week of school passed dizzyingly fast, and by Saturday he was well overdue for (what he considered) a well-earned sleep-in.
Everyone else, it seemed, had other plans, communicated to him through the eloquence of a pillow being thrown into his hapless face.
"Come on, Remus, you're going to be late!" he heard James' voice calling. Remus cursed inwardly – he'd been certain it was a Saturday – but nonetheless tripped out of bed and into the shower, where he completed his assigned breathing exercises to save time. It was only once they started dressing that he realised something was different.
"Why're you wearing the uniform, Rem?" Sirius asked, donning his own battered jeans and a noticeably well-loved Zeppelin tee-shirt.
Remus stared at him for a moment, then, groaning, flopped bonelessly onto the bed.
"What's wrong with you?" said James, poking him with a piece of toast he'd already acquired from the Great Hall.
Remus brushed buttery crumbs from his tawny brown hair. "I was so sure it was the weekend – and then it wasn't, but you…" he grumbled, to resounding laughter from his roommates. It was then he noticed James was wearing a football jersey in blazing Gryffindor colours.
"What's going on?" he asked beseechingly.
Taking pity on him, Sirius replied, "It's the school soccer match today. James is on the team."
"Oh?" Remus said interestedly, sitting up. "What position do you play?"
James made a frantic arm movement, toast still in his mouth. He yelled something unintelligible as he thundered into the hall, followed by "Lily will be so impressed!"
"Only if the ball hits you in the head and changes your personality!" Sirius retorted loudly after him, while Peter, with a squeal, dashed after their departing friend.
Remus turned to Sirius. "What position does he play?"
Sirius snorted. "Hell if I know. I hate the game." He thought for a moment. "I'm pretty sure he kicks the ball..."
"He kicks the ball?"
"Yes."
"In soccer? Really?"
"Shut up, you ponce. Sport is for brainless, overcompensating, rule-abiding prats." He paused. "And James."
Snorting, Remus queried sceptically, "You never played any sport?"
Sirius pondered, demonstrated by his distinctive pondering face. "I played polo once."
"What happened?"
"Well, 'played' is generous. It was more like I stole the horse and rode it through my Uncle Alphard's country estate. Same difference, really."
Remus just gawked.
"He thought it was funny," Sirius said defensively.
"So am I to understand that your entire family is as stark crazy as you?"
"No. They're much, much worse."
His tone was a dismissive one, and feeling slightly reproved, Remus dropped the subject. Instead he hastily swapped his thrown-on school pants, shirt and tie for casual wear, and joining Sirius, went down to breakfast.
Remus deeply regretted coming. It was forty minutes into the second half (they'd been too late for the first), and he'd spent the entire time trying to stop himself from bawling. He hated this atmosphere – the screaming and whistling, brightly-coloured banners everywhere, people pressing in on every side...
He began to hyperventilate.
"Are you okay?" Sirius questioned, grey eyes intense with concern. Remus swallowed nervously. Maybe he could just say he was claustrophobic? That wasn't too unusual.
But Sirius was staring at him, and that made it rather difficult to speak as it was, and the people were still everywhere, and it was loud and vivid and suffocating.
Can't – breathe...
Sirius saw the panic flare up further in his friend's – brown? hazel? amber? – eyes, and watched in confusion as he began to sway in his seat. He grabbed the other boy's arm, trying to steady him, trying to find the words to calm him down, but he had no idea what to say, or what was going on.
Remus felt his arm being gripped, and alarm shot through his core. "Don't – touch," he managed to pant, pulling away.
Sirius looked startled. "Remus, what...?"
Calm down. Calm down. Deep breath. Relax...
"Remus, talk to me."
Don't, please. Calm down. Don't...
"I have to go," Remus blurted out, breathlessly.
"Wait, what?"
"Have to go," he repeated frantically, jumping to his feet, squeezing through rows of complaining, brightly-clad people, and dashing away, down the stands and across the grounds. Distantly, he registered Sirius calling after him, but the voice became fainter as he fled.
"Please," Remus muttered wildly. "Please, I don't need you, not now, don't..."
An eruption of cheers cut through the grounds as James kicked the winning goal. No one heard one boy's ramblings turn to screams, or the silence that followed.
"No..."
a/n: Climactic endings make me laugh (I can't take myself seriously... and they're kinda ridiculous).
I so bet someone's guessed *the secret* by now. Also, I know poms call soccer football, but that will just lead to confusion.