𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖟𝖊𝖗 ⋆ remus lupin

7

The night of the prediction, Milo found himself curtained inside the window seat having a right good cry. Having the thick crimson fabric on one side of him and only a thin pane of glass to stop him from falling from the tower on the other made him feel comforted; it made him feel more awake and alive than he had since the news of his mother broke out. Folded at his feet were gossip magazines he'd picked up from around the common room.

Teen Murder Suspect Back At Hogwarts, shouted one newspaper cover.

Milo Courtney: Guilty? blared a glossy magazine article.

His favourite had to be Witch Weekly, which had a small photo of him framed with flames and complete with devil horns, of which the title was, Courtney Case Continues, Catalyst Comes Clean. It didn't really make sense, but he did like the use of alliteration. Really put a punch to the words, he approved, but it didn't stop the tears from running.

The other good thing about the curtain was that it was thick enough to muffle his sobs to the outside world, and to muffle the outside world to him. It was late enough at night that the drawn curtains wouldn't attract interest, but this drawn curtain in particular was interesting to one boy.

Remus had returned from his prefect duties, ready to crawl into bed after a day of study, an evening of traversing the castle, and the upcoming full moon. When he saw the curtain, however, he bid goodnight to Lily Evans and waited until she'd disappeared before gently easing open the fabric.

"What do you want?" Milo spat, using a fist to scrub at his cheeks. Remus sighed and climbed into the window seat opposite him. They both had to draw their knees into their chests for both to fit, but eventually Remus tugged the curtain shut again and stared at Milo unrelentingly.

"You're not alright," Remus stated, and it was enough to set Milo off again.

"I'm— I'm fine," he hissed through choked-down sobs. "I don't— I don't want—"

"I don't care," the older boy stated blankly. It startled Milo enough to stop the tears for a split second. "I've danced around you for two months, trying to weasel my way into being your friend and helping you through all of this, but you know what? That first night I bandaged your hand up, Courtney, I didn't ask. I just did it. And look where that got us. So I'm not asking to help you anymore. I'm telling you I'm helping you."

Milo just stared at him.

"You've been bullied for five years and you've been accused of murdering your mother. I don't know what part of you thinks you don't need to talk about this," Remus continued.

"I don't need to talk about this with you," Milo mumbled, using his knees to clean the tears from his blotchy cheeks. "I've got friends."

"Friends who you haven't spoken to, I'm sure. I'm not your friend. Talk to me about it instead."

They shared a look. Remus's eyes were tired and analytical; he wanted Milo to talk because he was sick of asking and he needed to search any way he could to get answers. Milo's gaze was swollen with misery and guilt; he didn't want to burden Remus with his problems and he didn't want to talk about them, if he was being honest. Milo looked away first, down at his coral-coloured socks and his hands fidgeting with a loose seam on the cushioned seat beneath him.

"I'm just exhausted," Milo said finally. Remus sat up a little straighter to pay full attention.

"People stare at me in corridors and avoid me in classes, some teachers mollycoddle me and others ignore me altogether. Even my friends treat me like I'm made of paper and glass. Cass thinks it's all a big, elaborate joke. Renée doesn't even like me anymore, I think. She's been weird recently, I don't know why."

"Leave her—" Remus said sharply. Before Milo could give him the look of confusion the words had created, Remus added on, "—out of the equation for a second. She's not the problem."

Milo shook his head and agreed. "She's not. But I can't help but see her as a problem when my whole life is going wrong and I'm waiting for the only good things in it to implode too. I want things to go back to last year, when the only people who noticed me were your lot and my lot."

"No, you don't," Remus corrected. "My lot have layed off now. That must be something good."

"Yeah, except not really. Potter and Black still give me horrid stares, you know the look I'm talking about. Pettigrew still makes fun of me, even though they've gotten him to lay off a bit."

"Peter's difficult."

"You're all bloody difficult," Milo snapped. He must've found something humorous in what he'd said, because he began to laugh through his tears. Remus watched his copper cheeks turn blotchy and his broad chest heave, trying to breathe through sobs and giggles. Parts of his long hair grew damp from falling tears, and Remus craved to reach out and rub the tears away with his thumbs, plant his hands either side of Milo's head and tell him everything would be okay. But he couldn't. He wasn't allowed.

After a few minutes of incredibly wet laughter, Remus piped up, "They used to make fun of me, too."

Milo silenced immediately. "No they didn't. You're just saying that."

"I'm not lying to you, Court- Milo," Remus said sincerely, eyes wide like a child's. "I won't ever lie to you."

"Okay," Milo said softly. Remus nodded.

"It was because of my scars," he admitted. "They thought it was funny that my mother wasn't able to erase them and my father wouldn't. They stopped, in time, but it was hard for a little while."

"How did you get them to stop?"

Remus smiled fondly at the memory blossoming before his mind's eye, his gaze unfocused as he spoke. "I told Professor McGonagall, who had a go at them. They just got worse after that, so I jinxed Sirius's hair to be lilac and James's glasses to show everything upside down. Then they saw me as their equal."

"Why didn't you tell me to do that five years ago?" Milo demanded.

"Because it wouldn't have worked. You're not me. If you did that, it'd just add fuel to the fire."

Milo understood the reasoning, but it didn't make the facts any easier to swallow. "So you thought you'd sit and watch me suffer instead? Do you have some sort of hero complex that made you think you were a saint just because you cleaned me up and kissed my wounds better?"

"Milo, stop," Remus said gently. "You're not thinking straight. Calm down, then speak."

Milo fumed at the words and made to rebut them with fiery insults, but then he angrily realised Remus was right. He crossed his legs loosely and wrapped his arms around them, staring at the magazine covers between them. The other boy followed his gaze and looked down, then picked up the topmost magazine to flick through.

"That's creative," he snickered, offering the page to Milo with a finger on the article in question. "Milo Courtney: Murder Coincidence."

Milo stifled a yawn in response. "I— will your friends be angry you spoke to me? Potter didn't seem too pleased at Quidditch the other day."

"It's none of their business who I talk to," Remus responded with a kind smile. "If I want to talk to you, I will. They can't stop me."

"They can stop me," Milo murmured. "I'm going to bed."

He pulled open the curtains and walked away, but stopped halfway to the staircase. "Thank you, Remus."

"Anytime," Remus responded. He watched Milo disappear up the stairs, then allowed himself to grin.