All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Seventh Year : Sunday Afternoon

Sunday 29th January 1978

“Moony?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s after midday…”

“So?”

“Thought you might fancy getting up?”

“…no thanks.”

“Can I come in?”

“…no.”

It had been like this since Wednesday. Sirius had arrived at the Care of Magical Creatures classroom only to discover that Remus was already gone, along with Mary and Marlene. He’d found Lily and James, who explained in hushed voices what had happened.

Marlene’s brother was one of the victims.

He was still alive. And in St. Mungo’s. Nobody seemed to know much more than that—all Lily had heard was that it “didn’t look good.” Of course, it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what that meant. When Sirius returned to the dorm afterwards, the curtains had already been drawn around Remus’s bed.

Now, Sirius stared at those same velvet bedcurtains, stomach sinking. Remus had hardly left his bed since Wednesday, only getting up to use the bathroom. He’d bunked off all his classes on Thursday and Friday—somehow no one had given him detention for it, which Sirius suspected had something to do with Madam Pomfrey. He hadn’t even gotten up for meals; if the marauders hadn’t been smuggling food up to him and passing it through a crack in the curtains, Sirius reckoned he might’ve starved to death by now.

“…ok then.” Sirius said, quietly, turning to leave. He’d try again later—maybe sneak over to Honeyduke’s and nick some chocolate frogs; chocolate always seemed to make Moony feel better…

“I’m sorry.”

He was halted by Remus’s voice, weak and somewhat scratchy, but still loud enough to be heard through the curtains. “I do want you here, I just don’t know what to say.”

Sirius hesitated, wishing that he knew what to say—wishing he could find the magic words that would make everything better, would make Remus stop punishing himself for something that hadn’t even been his fault to begin with.

“We don’t have to talk?”

There was a pause.

“…ok then.”

Sirius pulled back the curtains immediately, making Remus wince as the sunlight streamed in. He clambered onto the bed and let the curtains drop shut behind him, trying not to stare.

Despite lying in bed for the past four days, Remus looked as though he’d hardly slept—his face was drawn, eyes shadowed by deep bags. His hair was a mess, curls staticky with frizz, flattened in some places and sticking out in others, and he was still wearing the same pyjamas that he’d had on since Wednesday. Sirius reached out, pulling him into his arms.

“Thanks,” he murmured, softly, “for letting me in.”

“Reckon I must stink.”