Carve Me Open / r.l. + s.b. /

Different

"You are a different person than who you were yesterday, and you will be a different person tomorrow."

-via poets

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Hogwarts, September 1972 (Second Year)

Something was off; Remus could all but feel it in his marrow. The silence thrummed in his ears on the journey back to school, idle conversation that never seemed to quench his thirst, and forced smiles thrown his way by not one or two of the boys—all three of them. It hurt. James avoided eye contact like it was the plague, and Peter virtually disappeared at the station after their arrival. As for Sirius, he lulled about like a stray thought, not tangible but not obsolete enough to disappear.

Remus could handle the silence. Hell, he could even bear the cold shoulder act for a few days. But this mood the boys rutted themselves in lasted more than a mere day or weeks, but months. It was well into October, Sirius's favorite month of the year, when Remus finally had enough. The vacant stares and hollow words felt like a knife, gutting him with every absence. Who knew one could physically be here yet still feel a million miles away? Lagging behind them to class, not participating in the seldom pranks—who was this Sirius?

It was tempting to just flat out ask Sirius what the hell was going on; what could possess him to disengage so abruptly? Remus suspected his family had something to do with this awful detachment. It wasn't a secret that the Black family was discreet in their handlings with divergence, and Sirius was the root of all disruptions in the home, apparently. So it wasn't a far-fetched idea to assume something had happened over the summer, but what?

Grades were being handed out left and right that year; the Professors held no prisoners in assigning busy work and essays to the bright second years. For the first time, Remus felt like he was drowning in academia and not in the good way. From goblin essays to growing his own Fluxweed, not to mention Slade's rigorous DADA curriculum, the students were far too busy to concern themselves with each other. Even Lily and Julienne had made themselves scarce upon return.

In a way, Remus felt lonely. While they were still partnered in Potions, Sirius might as well have been an apparition. Even when called upon by Slughorn, he hardly spoke and didn't participate in any of the group activities assigned. Remus was no potions master, either. Their grades were suffering to Sirius's laziness and Remus's ineptness; the sinking feeling of failure grew more acute by the second. It wasn't like Remus to fail, not even in Muggle school. Deep down, he knew it was just a matter of adjusting.

But when Remus relied on Sirius's expertise, the feeling of helplessness took over in times like this. James suggested that he study independently; it wasn't strange for Remus to spend a weekend in the library, buried in mountains of books and documents. What made potions so different?

For starters, he didn't understand a damn thing about them. Remus was obtuse, whether it was the measurements or the differences in particular plants, down to the damn stirring methods. Those were Sirius's words. Remus had somehow managed to singe off his eyebrows in his first year with a simple Herbicide potion. His mother had a cow! It took almost the entire summer and a bit of the school year to fill in entirely again.

With or without Sirius, Remus needed to get a move on. So, on a stormy Saturday morning, far earlier than anyone should be awake, Remus trudged to the library with his satchel on standby. Lily had helped devise the perfect study plan; she excelled in Potions and did not hesitate in guiding Remus through a course of action. There was one condition, however. Lily made Remus swear he'd spend this time to really study and not daydream about silly things.