Carry You Over To A New Morning

Remus took a little over a second to recover, surprised at the mixture of feelings that had settled into the middle of his stomach: shock, discomfort, and somewhere, hidden underneath that, joy. That emotion, however, Remus determinedly filed away.

'Mr Black,' he said calmly. The words were dusty with disuse, but somehow fit exactly in his mouth, as they had done so many times before. 'What appears to be the problem?'

Sirius snorted derisively as Remus and his second-assistant Healer approached the bed he was lying on. Remus gestured to his assistant, whom he was pretty sure was called Wingby, and watched the boy fumble through a slew of truly awful diagnostic spells. Remus noted absently that it would probably be prudent to have the boy replaced with someone else before year's end. He had heard from most of his colleagues that this year's assistant Healers were turning out to be a pathetic, clumsy bunch. He would bring the matter to the attention of the board in the next meeting; perhaps a review of the application standards were in order, he thought vaguely, as finally the boy got the spell to work on his sixth try.

The diagnostic spell revealed that Sirius was suffering from a magical injury that appeared to run through his very veins; many of the pathways lit up under his blood-smeared clothes. Whatever was affecting him seemed to be concentrated in Sirius's abdomen, which he was clutching, but his lungs also appeared to be affected. Sirius was shivering, cold sweat forming on his forehead. Wingby looked up at Remus, nonplussed, but Remus narrowed his eyes, alarm bells ringing in his head.

'Tried that diagnostic spell, didn't I?' came an annoyed voice from behind him, and Remus looked around to find Healer Rodgers standing there, leant against the wall. 'Fat load of good it did. And he's no help, either,' he said, gesturing his head towards Sirius.

'Rodgers,' Remus said firmly, but calmly.

Rodgers met Remus's eyes with disdain. He had never quite forgiven Remus for taking what he had believed to be his rightful place as Head Healer of Spell Damage, even though most everyone knew Rodgers would be wildly unsuited for the job. On his part, Remus disliked Rodgers greatly. He had been the reason Marlene and Jo Martin broke things off. And while Martin had taken a job at a hospital in Ireland shortly after the incident, Rodgers had stayed. He didn't go out of his way to humiliate Remus or his friends, but when they came face to face with each other, he made no effort to hide his dislike. Despite this, Rodgers was a very talented Healer, and was assigned to deal mostly with private, out-care patients. This meant that their paths rarely crossed except, it seemed, in this very case. Rodgers, after all, was the Healer in charge of the Potter account, and Sirius, unfortunately, was part of that account.

Rodgers had obviously been forced to summon Remus to the case, having been unable to solve it by himself. Although he preferred to hide the fact, Rodgers was a half-blood wizard who had grown up, fatherless, in Essex with his Muggle mother. This meant that he knew very little of pureblood customs. And now that Remus was here, Remus had seniority over him.

Rodgers dutifully said no more, although the look on his face was resentful. He stepped closer to the bed, shouldering past poor Wingby to make room for himself. Startled, Wingby dropped the parchment on the floor, and had to duck down to retrieve it. 'Doesn't want to tell me what's happened, but it's definitely spreading fast,' Rodgers told Remus, without really looking at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

'Ah, but Rodgie, that would be telling,' Sirius said, in a sing-song voice. 'If I told you what was wrong, I wouldn't need you to heal me in the first place, would I now?'

'You don't even know what's wrong, you spoiled little –' Rodgers said, taking the bait.

'Rodgers,' Remus interrupted, his voice carrying a note of warning this time.

Rodgers didn't finish his sentence, but he was starting to look murderous. Wingby, meanwhile, had retrieved the parchment from the floor, and was looking between the Remus and Rodgers as if he were watching a particularly riveting tennis match. He was annoying. Both of them were being extremely annoying. Remus felt a headache prick at the back of his mind, a steady reminder that he hadn't taken his potion yet this morning. He was forever forgetting to take it in the morning.

'Rodgers, Wingby, leave,' Remus instructed.

Wingby's eyes widened in shock, and he looked like he couldn't quite believe Remus was sending him away without letting him be a part of such an interesting case. Nonetheless, he handed Remus the parchment, and left the room, barely making a sound. Rodgers, on the other hand, had narrowed his eyes at Remus. When Remus met his gaze, steadily, Rodgers gave a grunt of acknowledgement, or maybe anger, and stomped out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him with a sharp crack.

'You know, if you wanted me all to yourself, you could've just asked,' Sirius said. It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat when it was followed by a coughing fit. Sirius shivered, his hands tightening on his abdomen, the colour of his skin almost translucently pale.

Remus sat down by him on the bed, pulling out his own wand and performing the diagnostic spell again, watching as it lit up patches of Sirius's skin.

'How long have you been this way?'

'Not really sure. Two hours, maybe three,' Sirius said, frowning. His voice was a little raw.

Remus nodded thoughtfully, turning to check Sirius's heartbeat with his wand. Sirius's wrist was clammy, and his pulse rapid, but weak. Remus let out a sigh, putting Sirius's hand back on the bed. 'Care to tell me why you seem to be suffering from an illegal Pestilence Curse, Mr Black?' he asked, looking up at him, slightly irritated.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head in disbelief, a bubble of laughter breaking free from his chest. 'Not a clue,' he said, but he sounded far from being sincere. 'Does explain why I feel like utter shit, though,' he added, as a cough racked through his body.

Remus turned away from him to check the warding on the room, breathing out in relief when the wards shimmered in response. That was good, then. That meant that none of them should be in danger of contracting the Curse, but that didn't mean things were entirely risk-free. As a precaution, it was perhaps best that they should all be tested before they finished their shifts. He was suddenly glad he had sent away Wingby. The poor boy would've probably had a heart attack at the idea that they had a patient who was infected by the plague. Remus was pulled from his thoughts by Sirius, who had begun muttering to himself.

'A Pestilence Curse, Christ, she's such a fucking lunatic. If she got some on my bike, I'm going to kill her. I should've just flown to Bristol, faulty invisibility barrier be damned.' He turned to Remus. 'Did you know that Rodgers is an absolute prick? I told him to go fuck himself if he couldn't figure out what the hell I was suffering from, Merlin knows how much money he gets paid –'

Remus realised that he found Sirius's language slightly jarring, which probably meant he was getting old. He patiently waited for Sirius, who was still talking about a mile a minute, to finish, but when it appeared that he wasn't going to do so any time soon, Remus carefully grabbed hold of his face, turning it towards his own.

Sirius froze at his touch, looking at him with wide, feverish eyes.

'I need you to stop talking, Mr Black,' Remus told him curtly, raising his wand until it was level with Sirius's face. 'I'm trying to remember the counter-curse and you yammering on constantly isn't helping.'

'Sorry,' Sirius said softly. For the first time, it sounded like he meant it.

'Thank you,' Remus responded, dropping his hands from Sirius's face, and trying to rack his brain for the counter-curse. It had been a very long time since he had needed to rely on his knowledge of dark magic, because the Ministry had really started buckling down on the prevention of it in the last two years. Anyone found guilty of using dark magic would be subjected to heavy fines or, in some cases, even sentenced to Azkaban. This meant that formally, the use of dark magic had declined, and victims were few and far between. In real life, however, this simply meant that most cases didn't make it to St Mungo's.

Remus had recognised the symptoms of the Pestilence Curse in Sirius nonetheless, because it remained one of the most favoured Curses amongst purebloods. The Curse worked swiftly, infecting the victim with a magical, more aggressive variant of the plague, and it usually resulted in death, unless the victim was treated within the first six hours of contracting it. The hospital had gone through a spell of the Curses early in Remus's career, which meant that Remus was probably one of only a handful of Healers in the hospital knew the counter-curse. However, he hadn't had to use this knowledge in years, and he was currently having a little trouble recalling the proper page of Moste Darke Magick, which contained the necessary information.

Sirius was quiet, studying Remus's face intently, as if he was trying to read his thoughts. Sirius had changed very little in the last two years, only growing more handsome, as far as that was even possible. His hair was longer, touching his collar, and he had a scruffy three-day beard, something Remus had never seen on him before. Being so close to Sirius, with so many words left unsaid hanging in the air between them, felt odd. Absently, Remus noticed that Sirius's wrist had a tattoo of the Canis Major constellation on it, Sirius's namesake star in the middle twinkling in and out of existence with every beat of Sirius's heart.

'Clever,' Remus said, softly, nodding his head at the tattoo.

'Thanks,' Sirius responded, his head leant back against the wall, his throat exposed.

Remus tried to shake away the uncomfortable feeling that had settled again into the pit of his stomach, and put his wand to Sirius's temple. The counter-curse flowed from his lips without too much thought, and immediately, Sirius stopped shivering. Remus performed the diagnostic spell again to check his work, and nodded in satisfaction when he checked Sirius's pulse, and found that it had steadied.

'That should stop the Curse from spreading, Mr Black. But I'm going to need you take several potions over the next couple of days. It'll take a while until we're able to flush this Curse completely out of your system, and we'll need to monitor you closely.'

Sirius blinked. 'I have to stay?' he asked, emphasising the last word in surprise. 'I've never had to stay before.'

'We need to make sure that the Curse is fully out of your system before we can allow you to leave the hospital, Mr Black,' Remus said.

'You can't speed up the process?' Sirius demanded. 'You were always able to fix me just fine before.'

Remus stood up from the bed. 'I'm afraid not. This Curse is different.'

'Great,' Sirius said, slipping down onto the bed, his head landing neatly in the middle of the pillow, like he had aimed it. 'That's just fucking fantastic.'

Remus ignored that. 'Is there anyone I can contact for you?'

Sirius turned to him, something dark flashing over his face. It was gone a second later. He shook his head. 'That's all right,' he said.

'You may wish for someone to bring you some clean clothes,' Remus pressed, pointing to Sirius's jacket and ripped jeans, which were stained with blood. 'Our laundry staff can wash what you're wearing right now. And,' he added, 'some company might be nice.'

Sirius looked at him. 'I'm fine,' he said, and there was a note in his voice that was a little lost, but at the same time, he sounded firm.

Remus dropped it. 'I'll have Wingby deliver a Sleeping Potion for you, Mr Black. Your body will need lots of rest over the next couple of days.'

'Fine,' Sirius said. He sighed theatrically, and then reached down into one of the pockets on his leather jacket, searched for something. Whatever it was, he quickly found it, taking it out, and then lobbing it, with very precise aim, straight at Remus.

Remus only had to lift his palms to catch it, feeling the heavy clink of metal against his skin. When he opened his palm, he saw that it was a set of keys. He looked up at Sirius, surprised.

'Keys to my bike,' Sirius told him. 'Park her somewhere safe, would you, I don't want anything to happen to her.' He then gave a grin that did stupid, stupid things to Remus's knees. 'Cheers.'

Remus nodded absently in response, and left the room.

The next morning, Remus made his rounds, with Wingby trailing him, as usual. When he arrived back on the ground floor, the only patient he still had to check on was Sirius. Wingby had reported that Sirius had slept through the night and most of the morning with the aid of a Potion for Dreamless Sleep. Arriving at Sirius's room, Remus knocked once on the door, and after Sirius's affirmative "Yeah!", he stepped inside, Wingby on his heels.

'About bloody time!' Sirius said, once he spotted the pair of them. He was sitting up in the bed without a shirt, his hair messy with sleep and his scruffy beard making a sharp contrast against his pale skin. Despite this, he looked handsome, almost effortlessly so. 'I've been only waiting all morning. What did you do to her?' Sirius said.

Remus blinked at Wingby, who shrugged to indicate his own confusion. Remus looked back to Sirius. 'Pardon, Mr Black?'

'My bike!' Sirius all but shouted. 'What did you do to her?'

Remus wanted to laugh at Sirius's obvious distress, but felt it may be a bit inappropriate. 'We had your motorbike stored in our garage, Mr Black. It's being cleaned and you'll be able to pick it up after your treatment has finished. You'll find your garage ticket and your keys in your bedside table. Second-assistant Healer Wingby put them there this morning.'

Sirius looked utterly horrified, gesturing at Wingby with a look of distrust on his face. 'You let him drive my bike?'

Wingby promptly turned very scarlet and opened his mouth, obviously on the verge of saying something. Remus gently pressed his hand on Wingby's shoulder, and turned his face to Sirius. 'Mr Black, I think it's more important that we focus on the fact that you appear to be doing much better.'

'Depends on your definition of better, doesn't it?' Sirius said darkly. He had reached into the drawer on his nightstand to check for his keys and the ticket, and slammed it shut with more force than necessary when he found them both present. 'I keep spitting up blood.'

'That's only to be expected,' Remus said calmly, letting go of Wingby's shoulder, who had stopped shaking. 'And it will probably continue for a while.'

'Lovely,' said Sirius dryly.

Wingby, who was still quite red, made his way over to the bed and performed a set of diagnostic spells. Sirius didn't protest, simply sitting back against the headboard with a morose look on his face. Wingby performed the spells faultlessly, and when he was done, he looked at Remus. 'The Curse has stopped spreading, Head Healer Lupin. Do you still wish to administer extra Blood-Replenishing Potions every four hours?'

Remus, who had been studying the parchment that detailed Sirius's status, nodded. 'I think that would be helpful, Wingby.'

'Sir,' said Wingby, from the bed, 'Healer Rodgers suggested to me earlier this morning that we need to check Mr Black's lymph nodes, to see if they need draining.'

'You're not coming near anything of mine that needs draining,' Sirius said, in an annoyed voice.

'Mr Black, please,' Remus said patiently. He turned to Wingby, lowering the parchment, and looking at him earnestly. 'Wingby, if Mr Black's lymph nodes needed draining, which of the diagnostic spells you have just cast would've indicated that?'

'The second,' Wingby said, somewhat hesitantly.

Remus nodded. 'Correct. And why is that?'

'Because the spell is designed to indicate anything that's wrong with the patient's body?' Wingby guessed.

'A diagnostic spell that shows you what's wrong,' Sirius sneered. 'You're an absolute genius, Wingby.'

Wingby looked down at his shoes, the tips of his ears going red.

'Mr Black, kindly refrain from insulting my staff,' Remus said, shortly. He turned his attention to Wingby, who met his eyes with some hesitance. 'Wingby, you're correct. The second diagnostic spell you just cast would show you if Mr Black's lymph nodes need draining, because it is meant to light up if anything's out of the ordinary. But what I was hoping you would add is that the rune Beorc, which you draw with your wand as you are casting the spell, should reveal any signs of deeper infection in the body. I created it, after all, based on that spell. If no part of Mr Black's body lit up when you used it, his lymph nodes are fine.'

'Right,' said second-assistant Healer Wingby, who looked embarrassed. 'Sorry, Head Healer Lupin.'

'Don't apologise, you're here to learn,' said Remus, dismissively. 'But please make sure that Healer Rodgers isn't preparing to drain Mr Black's lymph nodes as we speak.'

'Yes, sir,' said Wingby, with a small smile. He made his way out of the door, scribbling hastily on the room's parchment. Remus's eyes followed him out. Wingby could learn. Perhaps with the right person to steer him, he could become a Healer.

'Head Healer Lupin? You've been promoted, then,' Sirius said, out of the blue, and Remus turned his head to look back at him.

When their eyes met across the room, it was as if time itself stopped, and in that moment, the years simply fell away. Sirius was seventeen again, sitting on the bed without a shirt on, his smile almost disarming in its brilliance. In that moment, something very strange happened in Remus's body; something he thought he had locked away and stowed at the back of his mind the moment of Sirius's departure, seeped back out and roared into life. Suddenly, Remus remembered their laughter, the handful of kisses they had shared, the warmth of Sirius's body next to his in a small hospital bed. And then, he remembered the way Sirius had looked at him that day in Lily Evans's house, and the feelings stopped, rather abruptly. Instead, humiliation and anger that he thought he had forgotten flooded him.

'I was,' Remus replied, and the words were somehow painful. Now that Sirius's life wasn't in any danger, Remus's focus was shifting. And that was very, very dangerous. He had already burned himself once on the fire that was Sirius Black, and it hadn't ended well. Perhaps, Remus thought vaguely, it had never ended.

'That's good, you deserve it. Glassborow must be happy,' Sirius added, and it sounded small, and like it cost him a substantial amount of effort to sound polite.

Remus looked at him, surprised for a moment. And then, it suddenly all made an incredible amount of sense. That day at the hospital, the day that Valerie had broken up with him, Sirius had overheard. The details of the conversation were only a vague memory in Remus's mind, but it would make sense that Sirius had heard something, and had been hurt by it. That must have been why he had nearly bowled over Marlene as he was leaving. Why he had ignored Remus's letter, and had sent it back, unopened. And that must've been why he had been so very cold to Remus when they saw each other again, face to face.

Remus paused, his mind racing. The last two years would never have happened if he had stayed that day, and had perhaps forced Sirius to listen to him. And then, he could've been with Sirius. He could've had love, and warmth, and someone to look after him in the mornings when his headaches were the worst. They could've shared Sirius's amazing London flat, and they could've hosted Sirius's infamous parties together. Sirius would've never dated Something-or-Other Fawley, because he would've had Remus. They would've had each other.

But, if anything, the way this had gone showed Remus, now clearer than ever, that Sirius was young. He was so much younger than Remus, free to discover the world, and get the most out of life. Remus had had his fill; he had his career, his friends, and his godson Neville. He was all right. He had been burned, but he had survived. And things could've been, but they weren't. And they never would be. It was time to end this, once and for all. Time for his Ravenclaw sensibility to take over, and put his make-believe Gryffindor impulsiveness to rest.

'She is,' Remus responded, smiling a smile that he had to do his very best to mean. 'She is happy.'

'Good,' Sirius said, letting out a breath that was slightly shaky around the edges. His face appeared mask-like, but his eyes were blazing, hard, as if they were trying to catch Remus out in his lie, which perhaps had not come out as fast as it had needed to.

Remus looked back impassively, which seemed to satisfy Sirius, and he lay back down. 'It's good that she's happy. I'm going to go sleep.'

Remus nodded, wondering why he felt hollow, and empty. 'Sleep well, Mr Black.'

'Thanks, Head Healer Lupin.'

Author's Note: I can't believe that we're almost there. Just one chapter left, guys. Just one chapter left!

For those wondering, the Pestilence Curse is of my own making; it mimics the symptoms of the septicemic plague, which is one of the three main forms of the plague, although I did take some liberties.

Sirius's tattoo is based off an idea I got from a drawing by Tumblr user atalienart, who drew Sirius sleeping under a blanket, with Canis Major embroidered into it. I thought it to be a very suitable tattoo for him.