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The first morning after, Remus only knew pain. He was well acquainted with pain—had grown to be its friend on occasion. He wasn’t particularly surprised. It was the morning after a moon, afterall, and the sting of Madam Pomfrey’s potions lingered along all of his fresh wounds (which, thanks to magic, were already starting to close up. Remus could nearly feel it happening). He let himself sit in the pain, absorb it for a few more seconds. It wasn’t pleasant, exactly, but it wasn’t terrible either. If he was going to live with it, his father used to tell him, he might as well learn to appreciate it.
Everything went downhill the moment he opened his eyes. He was in his usual bed in the hospital wing. His feet were surrounded by the usual chocolates Padfoot always bought him after a full. Pomfrey was absent, which wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary (there were, of course, other students at Hogwarts), but Remus did wish she would come and give him some of that pain relief potion. He sighed a bit and turned, expecting to see Sirius beside him, as had become their unspoken ritual.
“James?” Remus managed to croak out. Embarrassed at the crackliness of his voice, he cleared his throat and spoke more clearly: “Don’t you have Quidditch? Where’s Sirius?”
A few emotions flitted across James’ face in quick succession. Remus missed most of them, but caught what looked like confusion and anger. “You don’t remember, then?” he said, his voice carrying a stoic quality that was unusual for the animagi.
Remus tightened his lips. “You know I don’t, Prongs. After the transformation”—he would always remember the pain—his lycanthropy was not kind enough to let him forget that bit—“I don’t remember. What? Did something happen? Is Sirius hurt?” His eyebrows tightened now, and he sat up in his bed, wincing but refusing to allow a new scar keep him from sitting up.
James’ face turned more stern. “Not exactly, Remus. We need to talk.”
***
The second morning after, Remus had a precious ten seconds of peace before his conversation with James tumbled back down his mind. It was a part of him now, of his history. It was his blood and his brain, his heart and lungs. His heart tore again, fresh and new and bloody.
“He told Snape.”
Remus blinked. His eyes widened, and his lips let out a half-hearted laugh without his consent. “He what?”
“He told Snape. Sirius did.”
Everything Remus had ever known collapsed inwards and burst.
Remus found that he couldn’t move, not yet. Something about his heartstrings seemed to tie him into his bed, like the tendons were tied to his ribs and strapped down into his mattress. He grasped his wand from under his pillow and muttered a silencing charm, almost as an afterthought. Remus opened his lips and screamed.
It wasn’t a single sound, not really. It was a melody that Remus screamed, a chorus of every moment with Sirius he could remember. The first night in their dorm, when Sirius scoffed at the Gryffindor bedspreads. That time in second year, when Remus came back from a particularly nasty full moon and he made eye contact with Sirius, realizing at once that the boy knew . In fourth year, when Remus first met Padfoot. In fifth year, when Sirius first had his heart broken by Miranda Shell—the same day Sirius first fell asleep in Remus’ bed, after crying for what felt like hours.
The most recent, just a month ago, just after the last full moon, when Sirius had been by Remus’ bedside in the hospital wing. When Sirius had pushed back Remus’ hair from his eyes, and rested his hand on his cheek, and Remus had thought that his breath might turn into a butterfly and float away. That was not the first time he had let himself hope. Every moment Remus could remember, he screamed, and with it came bile and anger and worst of all, haunted love. Dark, twisted, angry, vile, blackened, dirty love.
His voice was gone for the rest of the day.
***
The third morning after was the first time he had seen Sirius since. It was early, far too early, and Remus had not changed out of his pajamas for forty-eight hours. He dragged himself to the bathroom, to pee and splash some water on his face before going back to bed when he saw him. The moon was waning, and sent pearls of light through the dormitory. Remus shuddered.
It was brief, really. The lights in the bathroom were on when Remus pushed open the door, and that should have been his first warning. He didn’t see Sirius directly, but he saw his reflection. Sirius looked bad. His hair was greasy, tied back into a bun with a stray quill. His eyes were red (from crying, Remus guessed, although Sirius had no right to cry). He was wearing Remus’ jumper, the one Remus had given him two months ago when Sirius had refused to wear a jacket for a snow fight. Remus had brought the jumper knowing Sirius’ lips turned purple when he went too cold, the same way Sirius’ fingers turned ice white and the gray of his eyes turned silver. Sirius looked like he hadn’t slept for the last few days. Remus hadn’t seen him in the dorm (or anywhere, for that matter). It had seemed a blessing at the time.
Their eyes met in the mirror through the crack of the door. It was only for a second. Sirius’ head snapped up. His lips fell open, but he didn’t say anything. Remus tore his gaze away.
His voice was acid when he spoke. “I should’ve known it would have been you.” Remus was ice and stone, gripping onto a sword until his palms pooled with blood. “Sirius Black.”
He knew it would sting. He wanted it to sting.
In the morning, Sirius was nowhere to be found.
***
The fourth morning was a Monday, and though Remus had missed class on Friday, he dragged himself out of bed in time for Ancient Runes. James went with him, a class he pretended to complain about ( “My mom made me take it, Remus, really!” ). That didn’t stop James from being the top of the class after Remus (much to James’ chagrin) and Lily (which James didn’t mind as much). Remus couldn’t bring himself to listen to Professor Bergie’s lesson.
“I don’t know if I can ever forgive him.” The words Remus whispered to James seemed to take a weight off of his chest. He felt guilty, briefly, about it. But it was true. James’ face darkened.
“He loves you, Remus. You don’t have to forgive him. You can hate him if you want. I won’t blame you. But he loves you.”
Remus sneered, an eerily uncharacteristic look for him. “Of course he does”—the venom was back in his voice, the snake making his way up his throat again—“How couldn’t he?”
It’s funny how this type of pain transformed Remus, a transformation almost more visceral than the ones he felt under the guise of a full moon. Sirius was his best friend, a friend he loved very much. Remus would pay everything he owned to see him strapped at the stake.
Even if it was just so Remus could save him.
***
After the fourth morning, the rest blended together. Remus went back to classes. He spent time with Lily, played Exploding Snap with Peter, and even went to James’ Quidditch matches. Sirius snuck back into the background, which Remus grudgingly allowed. He only ever saw him when he stayed up too late writing an essay and Sirius would sneak into bed—pausing by Remus always. He spoke to him, once, a tumble of apology and blasphemy and pleading and ugly misery. Remus hadn’t even looked up from his essay. He had heard Sirius choke back a sob, and Remus had laughed cruelly.
He hated this new part of himself. He hated the corner of his mind that loved to watch Sirius burn, loved to watch him squirm and beg and wail for his forgiveness. It wasn’t like him. But that part of him did love to see Sirius miserable. He wished he could seal it into a Horcrux and never let it resurface.
It was James, ultimately, that convinced Remus to stop being cruel to Sirius. Alright, James hadn’t actually said anything. Remus knew he wouldn't’ say anything—James had made it clear that he thought Remus’ anger was justified. But Sirius was James’ brother, and Remus saw how James had looked, almost forlorn, down at his plate when Remus had laughed, loudly and overtly and evil, at Sirius’ new haircut one morning.
There was another time, a few weeks after his second moon without Padfoot. Remus had finished Prefect Rounds early (or rather, skived off the second half) and came back to the dorm. He had been about to open the door when he heard sniffling that sounded like Sirius, and a voice that sounded like James speaking to him.
“Sirius…” James had said. Remus pictured how they might be sitting on James’ bed with their legs crossed. James would have an arm around Sirius’ shoulder.
“How long?” Sirius sputtered between hasty breaths. “How long until he can look at me? I… I know,” Sirius’ voice cracked, and he took a deep breath. “He’s never going to love me. But I want him to look at me.”
James was silent. Instead of walking in and deliberately ignoring Sirius (which Remus’ evil half told him to do, to hurt Sirius, to bury him in a hole), Remus went down to the common room. He was struck by the fact that he hadn't yet cried about what Sirius had done.
It was three in the morning when Remus slipped out of his bed. He chose to do it late as one final blow to Sirius. As he had done for countless nights before, he crawled between the curtains to Sirius’ bed and cast a silencing charm.
Sirius was asleep. Remus took a second, sitting on the edge of his bed, and admired him. He was gorgeous. It was his genes, of course, his dirty family line. His black curls were swept beneath his head and his lips were parted, puffs of air coming slow and steady. Remus woke him up with a punch straight to the face.
Sirius yelped as blood gushed out of his nose, sitting up and instinctively grabbing Remus by the neck. He realized who it was and pulled his hands away. “There.” Remus muttered, looking anywhere but Sirius. “I’ve looked at you.”
Sirius pinched his nose to stop the bleeding. He frowned. “Remus….”
“Don’t say my name.”
“You haven’t looked at me.”
Remus jerked his head up at Sirius, and their eyes met for the first time since the third morning. Remus tried to keep a scowl on his face, valiantly really. He tried to hate Sirius more, tried to punch him again and scream and stab and kill. He couldn’t. The tears fell hard and fast before Remus could send them away. He shook his head, sobbing now, wet and sweaty. “You fucking -”
Remus couldn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t look away from Sirius. He threw himself on the boy, grabbing him—Sirius couldn’t tell if it was violent or not—and cried more. Sirius hesitantly wrapped his arms around Remus, crying as well now. “I’m…”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Remus’ voice was still steel and ice, but at least he was in Sirius’ arms now. Sirius sent up a silent thank you to whatever god existed. Even if Remus never looked at him again, he had this moment.
“I am.”
“I might never forgive you.”
“James told me that.”
Remus pulled himself up. He felt dirty. “I’m going to bed.”
“Remus.” Remus didn’t yell at Sirius for saying his name. “Will you look at me in the morning?”
Remus frowned, already pulling open the curtains. “As you wish, Black.”