A large, black mound lay six feet in front of the lorry. A man -- presumably the driver -- was trying to approach it. Children from the park were beginning to gather around, being held or coaxed back by their mothers. One little girl started to cry.
Over the thrumming of the blood in his head, Remus's sharp ears picked up threads of conversation as he approached.
"I didn't see him, I swear," the man babbled, looking at the mothers. "He just ran out in front of me, chasing the ball."
A small boy clutched a ball to his chest, in turn being held protectively by his mother. He looked miserable, on the verge of tears. "It got away from me," he hiccupped.
The lorry driver wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "It was too late to stop. Too wet..." He crouched in front of the black lump, but at a snarl, rose again.
Remus arrived on the scene, breathless and aching. He tried to take everything in, to understand what had happened, but his eyes couldn't leave the shape lying in the road. With a bone-juddering crunch, Remus fell to his knees next to the dog. He closed his eyes, hoping against hope it was a stray. The thought made him feel guilty, but the idea that his best friend was lying there with a dark reddish pool growing beneath him was abhorrent.
The dog began to snarl again as Remus reached out, until his neck craned around enough to catch sight of him. Grey eyes lit with recognition, and the big, black tail thumped weakly against the ground.
"Be careful. He's got no collar, and he's vicious," the man said.
"It's alright," Remus said calmly in a voice he dimly recognised as his own. "He's my dog."
Dropping his head down close to Sirius's, he buried his face in the black ruff. "Padfoot," Remus choked out, to an answering whine. "Are you hurt badly?" He lifted his face, gently running his hand over Padfoot's side, wincing as his friend let out a plaintive yelp. The front right paw was bent in an unnatural angle, and Sirius flinched pathetically when Remus tried to touch it. His chest heaved with laboured breaths at regular intervals.
"I'm sorry, guv," the lorry driver said. "He looks like he's in pretty bad shape."
The man recoiled at the fierce expression Remus shot at him. "He'll be fine. Stripping off his overcoat, he gently laid it over Padfoot. "He needs a doctor," Remus muttered, wondering how he was going to get Sirius to treatment with a bunch of Muggles around, and Sirius himself in dog-form.
Throat thickening, Remus leant down so Padfoot could see his face once again. "I'm going to get you help."
A lady from across the street ran over in her nightdress and gown, a sad-looking dachshund curled in her arms. "I've phoned the veterinary surgery up on Horsham St, young man," she huffed out to Remus. "They can see to your dog's care, if you can get him there."
"Horsham Street." Remus looked haunted. "That's... too far." Words and thoughts jumbled inside his head, each fighting to be heard. He couldn't Apparate there with Sirius with so many people around. Sirius in dog-form -- particularly injured -- was too heavy for him to move on his own. In the event they could Apparate to St. Mungo's, Sirius would have to change back, and--
Sirius's distinctive eyes looked up at him from beneath hairy, black brows. He wheezed as he took in air.
"I'm sorry. I--" Remus faltered. "I don't know what to do." Sirius whuffed gently in response; pained, but understanding. It broke his heart.
"I can take you to Horsham St," the lorry driver said. "He's too big a hound for you to carry."
Remus didn't want to take Sirius to a vet, he wanted to take him to a hospital, but with no other alternative left...
"All right," he let out a shuddering sigh, "but can you give me a moment?"
"Certainly," the driver said, walking back over to his lorry. Remus glanced at the few adults standing around. They nodded, and ushered children back to the park amidst a flurry of curious, blunt questions.
Remus leaned down to Padfoot again. He reached for his wand in the inner folds of the coat, disguising the movement as an embrace.
"I'm sorry I can't do any more than this right now," he apologised. With a few muttered words of a numbing charm, Remus brushed the wand over Padfoot's legs and chest, hoping it was enough to ease any pain.
He looked up to find the cab door open and ready for him. He motioned the lorry driver over, and spread his jacket out on the ground next to Padfoot. On the count of three, the two men lifted the large dog as gently as possible onto his coat. Once he was safely in the centre, they used it as a stretcher, carrying him to the lorry. Sliding Padfoot into the seat, Remus clambered up behind him, cradling the hairy head in his lap.
They set off for Horsham St, the driver attempting to avoid bumps and potholes along the way. Remus had his fingers buried in Padfoot's thick ruff, fingers trembling in the wet, matted fur. Padfoot shifted his head slightly to place his cold muzzle in the palm of Remus's hand and lick it.
It seemed to take an age to reach Horsham St. When they pulled up outside the clinic, the lorry driver opened the cab door and let Remus out. Remus gave Padfoot a reassuring tousle, before sliding off the seat. He took the dog as gently as he could, shouldering the burden with no complaint.
The door to the surgery was already open, and a middle-aged man with glasses perched on the end of his nose ran straight up to them. Remus thanked the lorry driver, who apologised again, but his words were lost on Remus, already carrying the stretchered Padfoot into the building.
It was a small practice connected to a private residence -- presumably, the vet's own -- and Remus's sensitive nose quivered at the influx of different animal scents that permeated the room; other dogs, cats, birds... also the distinct air of guinea pig and the familiar pungency of rat, to name a few.
A cat sitting on a chair sunning itself looked startled and leapt out of the way as Remus barrelled by. The vet led him past the initial waiting room to a tiny examination room. In the centre was a table large enough to lay Padfoot down on.
Remus placed his friend down gently, removing his coat to let the doctor examine him.
"So the old boy got hit by a lorry?" the vet spoke without preamble. Remus nodded dumbly. When strange hands moved over Padfoot, he let out another -- much weaker -- snarl. "It's alright," the vet said in a surprisingly soothing voice. "I'm here to help. What's his name?" He directed the question towards Remus.
"S- er, Padfoot."
"Had him long?" The vet asked, checking Padfoot's gums. He received a sneeze in response.
"Since I was fifteen." Remus gave Sirius a fondly fragile smile. He watched the vet's hands expertly feel for any injuries.
"What's your name?"
"Remus... Remus Lupin. And you are...?"
"Malcolm Reddy," the vet answered, running his hands down Padfoot's leg.
"Mr Reddy--"
"Call me Mal. His leg is clearly broken here." Mal carefully extended Padfoot's right front paw. "It doesn't seem to be causing him any pain, though. He must be going into shock. There might be some internal damage... ruptured spleen is likely." Mal felt along Padfoot's torso. "Definitely a few broken ribs."
"That's bad."
"It isn't good," Mal said, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "His laboured breathing is most likely being caused by the broken ribs pressing in on his lungs."
"Oh." Remus felt very small and very helpless. He looked down at Padfoot, lower lip trembling. "What can we do?"
Mal used his thumbs to gently lift Padfoot's eyelids for a clearer look. "Eyes are a little glassy. He's probably sporting a good concussion." He turned towards Remus, brushing loose black hair off his hands. "I'll be honest, young man. Even if I operate, his injuries seem fairly serious. There's no guarantee I'll be able to repair all the damage."
Padfoot whuffed and made an attempt to get up. Both Remus and Malcolm lay gentle hands on him to keep him down.
"There there, boy," Mal soothed, running his fingers through the shaggy, black fur. The vet turned to Remus, peering over his spectacles. "He seems young and strong, which is good. But he could also just be running on adrenalin. Once that stops, the severity of his injuries will be more apparent. There's also the expense of the operation to consider."
He looked -- not unkindly -- at Remus's soaked and bedraggled appearance. "Would it be something you could afford?"
"Of course," Remus replied, voice hoarse and choked.
Silence hung once again like a pall in the room. Remus stared down at Padfoot without a word, until Mal cleared his throat politely. "I don't wish to seem insensitive, Mr Lupin, but if you decide to let him go to spare his suffering, it's a painless procedure."
Even the vet himself was surprised at the expression of complete and concentrated horror that graced Remus's face.
Remus's vision became blurry and indistinct, and his left temple began to ache.
"I... I... I..." His brain seemed to cease functioning, leaving him a stammering, and indecisive mess. "I'd like to get him to his own d- er, vet."
"I understand, but moving him at this time could be very dangerous. Also, if his injuries are as serious as I believe they might be, time is of the essence." Mal paused delicately. "It wouldn't hurt to do some x-rays to confirm the extent of his injuries, however... do you need some time to think?"
Glancing down into Padfoot's face, his heart plummeted into his feet. Padfoot nosed Remus's hand weakly.
"Please," Remus was finally able to get out, pressing the heel of his hand into his left eye socket. "I-- yes."
"Of course," Mal said, giving Padfoot's fur a final tousle. "I'll make the necessary preparations. Just call for me when you're ready." With a kindly and reassuring nod in Remus's direction, Mal left them alone in the room.
As soon as Remus heard the door shut, he fell on Padfoot in desperation.
"I'm about to do something very stupid," he sniffed into Padfoot's neck, to a curious whine. "Think of our bedroom in the flat. Specifically, the bed; think of how it was this morning when we got out, how soft the mattress is, the side you like to sleep on. Don't think of anything else but our bed. Do you understand?" Padfoot whuffed once in response.
"I hope this works," Remus closed his eyes, said a little prayer, and Disapparated.
***
When he opened his eyes once again, he and Padfoot were in the comfort of familiar surroundings. Their bed was still unmade from the morning. Remus very nearly sobbed in relief, even as Padfoot's tail gave two weak thumps on the bedclothes.
Remus climbed off the bed to kneel on the ground, eye to eye with Padfoot. "Stay here," he ordered shakily. "Don't move, don't transform, don't do anything. I'm going to Floo James."
With a sloppy kiss on the side of Padfoot's muzzle, Remus tore out of the bedroom. He ran to the mantle and dashed a handful -- too much, really -- of Floo powder into the fireplace.
"Potter residence," he called frantically. "James!" Each second felt like ten years as he waited. "James!" he tried again, more desperately.
"I'm here," James replied, voice slightly distorted as he talked through the fireplace. "How are you, Remus? Lily was just saying--"
"Sirius has been hurt," Remus interrupted bluntly. "I need help."
It stopped James in his tracks. "Your assignment today-- was it Death Eaters?"
"No!" Remus wiped his brow. "I mean-- yes, there were Death Eaters, but they didn't do this--" Remus gave a hysterical little laugh. "No. He got hit by a lorry while a dog. After the attack. And he's hurt. Badly, I think. And--" he glanced back to the bedroom door, eyes itching. "And I don't know how to get him the help he needs."
The sound of a very human scream ripped through the air of their flat. Remus's eyes widened like saucers.
"Go," James said in that commanding, calm voice. "I'll be right there."
Remus sprinted back to their bedroom to find Sirius -- the human Sirius -- lying on his side in the foetal position, whimpering.
"I think-- the numbing spell's-- worn off," he bit out. Every few seconds he had to pause to take another breath.
"You idiot," Remus cursed, moving back to the side of the bed, "Why did you do that?"
Sirius's lungs rattled as he inhaled. "I-- wasn't going to-- get any help-- as a dog."
Footsteps down the tiny hall alerted them to James' presence. He surveyed the situation with an appraising eye before joining Remus.
"I see he transformed," James said, chewing his bottom lip.
"Why is that-- a problem?" Sirius wheezed out.
"I'm guessing he has internal injuries?" James asked, directing the question to Remus.
"Yes," Remus answered, cupping one of Sirius's hands with grazed knuckles in his own. "Broken ribs pressing on his lungs, possible ruptured spleen."
"You remember the mechanics of the change, Sirius," James said. "Your internal organs shift to accommodate being an animal, and back again. If broken ribs were pressing on your lungs as a dog, the transformation moved their position. They've now probably punctured it."
Sirius's eyes widened slightly. "Well-- explains the-- searing pain," he rasped.
"Shut it," Remus admonished. "We'll get you to St Mungo's." He turned to James, wild-eyed and desperate and mouthed How?
"S'why I didn't come straight through," James answered, a small smile coming to his face. "I had to get this." He reached into his pocket to unwrap a carved soapstone lion from a handkerchief. "Portkey directly to St Mungo's. Emergency use, and all that."
"Brilliant," Remus said, slightly in awe of his friend.
"That's our Ja-- auughh!" Sirius stopped mid-sentence, howling in pain.
James glanced at Remus pointedly. "We don't have time to mess about." He set the handkerchief and its precious cargo on the edge of the mattress. Both he and Remus climbed onto the bed on either side of Sirius. They each took hold of one of Sirius's hands and, at a nod, touched the portkey at the same time.
The familiar tug made Remus want to vomit, though he was sure that was also because of his mounting anxiety. They landed with a thud in the centre of St Mungo's emergency floor. Sirius's accompanying cry of pain alerted the witches on duty immediately.
Almost out of nowhere, their little group was descended upon by a flurry of medical staff.
"--young male, 20's, injured--"
"--he's bleeding, slight head trauma, possible concussion, obvious broken arm and--"
"--possible internals. Let's get him looked at immediate--"
"--sir, do you have any idea what happened to him? Sir?"
The last comment was directed at a dazed and confused Remus by the young woman who'd been sitting behind a desk. Remus opened his mouth to reply, but found that no words came out.
"He was hit by a Muggle lorry while on his motorbike," James said. "Sorry, my friend was there and he's still in a little bit of shock."
The witch gave Remus an appraising look. "Is he injured as well?" she asked James.
"No. I-- I just saw it happen," Remus said, finding his voice.
A stretcher had appeared and one of the attending wizards levitated Sirius onto it. "What's his name?" he asked.
"Sirius Black," Remus said. "Is he going to be alright?"
"Won't know until we've checked him over thoroughly," he replied. With that, the wizard began to wheel Sirius -- who seemed to have either passed out or been sedated by a spell -- down the corridor. Remus and James scrambled to their feet and made to follow, only to be blocked by the tiny witch from reception.
"I'm sorry," she said apologetically, but in a no-nonsense fashion, "but the mediwizards need time and space to work. You'll have to wait here."
"But we're family!" James protested.
"I'm sorry," she re-iterated firmly. "Even family has to wait."
"But--"
At the further objection, the young lady gave them both such a fierce look, all protests ceased. Remus's shoulders slumped, and he shuffled over to a row of plastic seats, practically collapsing into one. The witch looked at him sympathetically, before turning to James. "I have some admittance paperwork you can do in the meantime. It'll speed things up on our end if it's completed sooner rather than later."
"Of course," James said quietly, eyes not leaving Remus.
"I will tell you the moment there's any news," she said, smiling reassuringly.
"Thanks." James went and sat next to Remus, putting a comforting arm around the back of his friend's chair. "He'll be fine; you'll see."
Remus didn't answer.
***
An hour later, Remus was still sitting in the same chair. Too exhausted to pace -- besides, James was doing enough pacing for the both of them. Lily had joined them soon after at the hospital, baby Harry in tow.
Harry seemed to be enjoying his father's pacing and gurgled happily, and Lily interlaced her white hand with Remus's. She kept up a steady murmur of nonsensical words; small talk designed to comfort and distract him. It worked for a while, and Remus was grateful.
At some point after the paperwork was completed, the young witch came back to them with news that they could relocate to the third floor, Majere Memorial Wing. The seats were slightly more comfortable, the wait just as agonising.
When the mediwizard that had treated Sirius walked down the corridor, James immediately stopped pacing. Remus and Lily pensively rose.
"Sirius Black's family?" he queried, and was met with three hasty nods. "You'll be happy to know that Mr Black is in a serious, but stable condition. His lung punctured and collapsed -- hence the difficulty you'd have noticed he was having breathing -- but is repairing itself nicely. The internal damage was again, severe, but fixable. He's got some bumps and bruises, but that's to be expected when you're hit with one of those terrible Muggle contraptions." At this, the mediwizard smiled. "He'll have to spend a few nights here to make sure everything's healing properly, but other than that, I expect him to make a full recovery."
Lily squeezed Remus's hand reassuringly, and he was glad to be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the Potters lest his legs give into the urge they had to suddenly fail.
"Can we see him?" James asked immediately.
"Of course," the mediwizard nodded. "You might want to go in one at a time, though. He's been through a rather bad time of it, and is still probably a bit groggy from the sedation spell. Second door on your right."
James inclined his head towards Remus with a small smile, and Lily gave him a gentle shove between the shoulder blades.
Remus looked from one to the other, a watery smile on his face, before he made his way to Sirius's room. He reached the door and peered around tentatively, not sure what to expect.
Sirius was in bed under stark, white sheets, propped up at the waist by a mountain of starchy pillows. His right arm was in a sling and resting above the linens, which were pulled up to his chest. His bare shoulders showed various bruises and lacerations. There was slight bruising to his head, purplish smudges beneath his eyes, and his bottom lip was split. Eyelids drooped a little -- he looked as though he were quite firmly fighting sleep.
"Moony," he slurred slightly, a large smile on his face. "Have any cigarettes on you? Could murder a fag."
"So could I," Remus muttered, walking over to his bedside. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm growing a new spleen!" Sirius announced, pleased.
"That must be wonderful for you," Remus responded, sitting himself down in the chair on Sirius's left.
"Well, actually," Sirius winced, "I think the anaesthetic spells are wearing off so... not really."
Remus half-rose again. "Do you want me to get someone?"
"No, no. I'll be fine." Sirius grabbed his hand and pulled him back down into the chair. "Don't go," he added, letting his eyes fall shut.
Remus looked down at their joined hands, at the graze marks and bruises next to the spidery network of silvery scars. Oddly enough, they matched.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Sirius spoke. "This is the part where you yell at me," he said, one eye cracked open.
"It is, usually, isn't it?" Remus murmured in a soft voice. He ran his thumb in hypnotic circles over the back of Sirius's hand.
"I'm not quite sure why you're not."
Remus looked up at him, lower lip giving a worrying tremble. "I-- I really should. I should be so bloody angry with you for not getting injured when fucking Death Eaters are firing Unforgivables at you. It had to be running out in front of a lorry after a ball... and what's more--" Remus hiccupped alarmingly.
"Remus?" Sirius asked, squeezing his hand slightly.
"I should be so furious with you," he continued, ignoring the interruption. "But--" Remus paused as something tickled his cheek, wet and cold and infuriating. "I can't help just being relieved you're alright."
"Remus," Sirius said softly, disengaging their hands. "You're crying." He used that hand to cup the side of Remus's cheek and wipe away the wetness tracking its way down his face.
Remus touched his face in surprise. "I-- oh buggering bollocky hell," he cursed. Sirius snorted at the expression, and tried to laugh harder, but held his chest and winced instead.
"Ow."
"Serves you right," Remus said, poking him in the bicep -- one of the few places he could see that wasn't bruised.
They lapsed into silence while Remus attempted to recover his dignity. He was almost there, when a terribly childish singsong broke the hush.
"I made you cryyyy..." Sirius teased gently, his words still slurring a tad.
Remus managed to choke out a sniffling laugh. "I swear if I could find somewhere you weren't bruised, I'd punch you there."
"Well, there is one place I'm not bruised..." Sirius began, "but I'd rather you didn't."
"Don't worry; I think it's punishment enough you'll need time to heal, and your right arm is broken."
"I-- oh wait. Moony, that's not fair--"
Remus crossed his arms over his chest. "You made me cry, you sodding bastard. Deal with it."
Sirius grinned sleepily, and inclined his head. "C'mere," he said, grunting with effort to shuffle to his right. Remus looked unconvinced, but still approached the bedside. He toed off his shoes and climbed onto the mattress.
"These sheets really are over-starched," he muttered, trying to settle himself against Sirius painlessly. He ended up resting his head gently against Sirius's shoulder, interlacing his right hand with Sirius's left.
"You're a cold fish, Lupin," Sirius mumbled in a sleep-addled voice, and kissed Remus's forehead.
"M'warm," Remus fired back without heat. The many stresses of the day had finally caught up with him and he was drained dry.
When James, Lily and Harry poked their heads around the corner ten minutes later, they found both friends sound asleep, foreheads practically touching. Lily pressed her finger to James' lips and pulled him out of the room, closing the door quietly behind them.
~fin
EPILOGUE:
Doctor Malcolm Reddy was in his vet practice, examining Rowan Jacobs' guinea pig when there was a fluttering commotion at his window. The guinea pig -- Patchy -- squealed in fright and tried to jump off his examination table. Mal caught Patchy and shepherded him into the safety of a nearby cage before checking out the disturbance.
He pushed up the window, which emptied out onto a flowerbox of honeysuckle. Whatever caused the noise was gone, but had left a few feathers behind.
Mal picked one up and studied it. "Soft edges," he mused. "Some kind of predatory bird." He squinted up into the morning sun. Mal shrugged and began to pull the wooden window frame down again when he saw a butter-yellow parchment envelope nestled amongst the honeysuckle.
Curiously, Mal picked it up and looked around. There was no sign of where the unsealed envelope came from. Shutting the window, Mal turned it over in his hand and pulled out a photograph. Mal stared at the square of paper with a frown, as it reminded him of the strangest animal case he'd had in recent memory.
About three weeks ago, a young man and a large dog had arrived at his surgery with serious injuries after a motor vehicle accident. He'd left the odd pair alone in his examination room while he made preparations, but when he returned, they'd both vanished without a trace. The whole episode had been so bizarre, he'd half-convinced himself the whole thing had been a delusion.
Mal was at a complete loss to explain what had happened, and had found his thoughts drifting to the young man -- Lupin, his name had been -- and his dog on more than one occasion.
"Where are my bleeding glasses?" He muttered to himself, the photograph vaguely blurry without his eyewear.
The specs were on his side table. Once perched on the end of his nose, the black and white photograph suddenly came into quick focus.
The mysterious young man of three weeks ago was sitting on some stairs, and next to him was enormous black dog. A bandage was wrapped around the dog's right front leg, but other than that, there seemed to be no sign of any other serious injury -- he could clearly see the dog's pale eyes sharp with keen intelligence.
Mal's eyes drifted back to the young man. He was dressed in similar clothes to what he'd been wearing when they'd met, his left arm draped in a proprietary way around the dog's neck. A tiny smile curled one of the corners of his mouth, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.
Mal looked in the envelope for any other information, but there was none. In disappointment, he turned the photo over and blinked in surprise.
In blue ink and a perfect copperplate hand, there was a date. Mal looked at it a few times before the significance occurred to him -- the date written was a week ago.
It was a recent photo.
Beneath the date was written in the same impeccable script: Thank you from Remus and Padfoot.
Mal read and reread the message at least half a dozen times. He walked over to his corkboard, where patients brought him photos and drawings of their beloved animals. With a disbelieving smile and a shake of his head, he carefully pinned Remus and Padfoot's photo to the centre.
Sincere thanks for reading if you got yourself this far!