Chapter Text
The whole mess began when Remus was at the library, pouring over an essay with four books open before him. He had been diligently trying to get his work done, which seemed nearly impossible with a group of Ravenclaw girls across from him huddled close, hissing their gossip so loud that his sensitive ears could pick up nearly every word.
It was always the same damn shit. Who liked who, who kissed who, who was scandalous enough to do more than that. And Remus felt like his eyes might roll out of his head at the seemingly thirtieth mention of his friend, Sirius Black. Because there was nothing that people loved to talk about more than the infamous rebel heir himself. Remus couldn’t help but think that if those who whispered about him truly knew the boy, if they ever broke through Sirius’ tough walls the way the Marauders all had, they would see him for exactly what he was. Not the charismatic god they put on a pedestal. But an immature, frustrating contrarian who was hardly as cool as everyone thought he was.
Remus’ ears pricked again at the sound of heels against the stone floors as another girl hurried towards the group, slamming her textbooks down on the table as she started spilling over with words. Remus couldn’t help but pick up on some of it.
“Potter,” he heard her hiss. “His spell must have backfired or something.”
Remus’ head snapped, watching the group go wide-eyed at their friend.
“Where is he now?” one asked.
“Infirmary.”
Remus sprang to his feet, flipping the books close with the flick of his wand as he gathered them into his bag. He rolled up his parchment, tying it off with his teeth as he ran from the library, sprinting down the halls. Keenly aware of the eyes on him, the whispers. James’ names repeated over and over again as he dodged through the post-class crowds.
He slowed to a stop at the doors of the infirmary, spotting Sirius and Peter standing at the edge of one of the beds. He rushed to their side, chest running wild with breaths. “What happened?” he asked, looking down to the bed to see James laid out. He was awake, waiting patiently as Madam Pomfrey was mending a bloody gash on his arm.
Sirius sighed, “Would you like to tell him, Potter?”
James rolled his eyes. “We know you’d take far more pleasure in it. Just don’t be dramatic about it.”
“He was in divination and properly got fucked by his crystal ball.”
“Mr. Black!” Pomfrey looked back, mouth hanging open aghast.
“Sorry!” his eyes went wide. “I mean, he messed with it.”
Remus set his heavy book bag down with a thud. “Messed with it how?” he asked James, hands going to his hips like a cross parent.
James scoffed, “It was cloudy! I was just trying to clear it. A little Revelio never hurt nothing, right?”
“Exhibit A,” Peter snorted, motioning to the patient.
Remus looked to Sirius, begging for further explanation.
Sirius’ mouth went thin, shrugging his shoulders, “He flew back about three rows.”
“Jesus, Potter,” Remus griped. “Are you kidding me?”
“Hey,” he gaped, “Padfoot has done way more moronic things than that.”
“That may be true,” Remus agreed, winning him an elbow in his ribs. “Ow,” he groaned, rubbing the spot with his hand. “But I expected better from you, Potter.”
“Well, said, Mr. Lupin,” Pomfrey agreed with a nod. She handed him a potion. “Bottoms up, Mr. Potter, and then, your friends can escort you back to your dorm where you will rest for the duration of the week.”
“But there’s a match-”
“I said, the duration of the week,” she snapped with utmost finality.
The boy’s shoulders fell as he threw back the potion, face twisting up at the taste.
“Come on, big boy,” Sirius said, grabbing James' wrist to pull him to his feet. “Let’s get you to bed.”
James stood weakly, leaning his weight against Sirius as they started to hobble towards the door. Peter rushed to fill in at James’ other side, sneaking under his other arm.
“Grab his things, Moony,” Sirius called over his shoulder.
Remus sighed, reaching for his bag and slinging it over his shoulder as he went to the bedside table. He started gathering up his friend’s textbooks, reaching for his wand. But as he wrapped his fingers around the carvings, he felt a zap of energy run through his arm. Not so different from an electric shock. He hissed, pulling back as the wand fell to the floor.
“You alright, Remus?” Madam Pomfrey asked as she paused from sorting her supplies. That nervous concern in her eyes that felt entirely reserved for him and his precarious condition.
Remus stretched out his fingers, shaking off the shock. “Yes, sorry,” he mumbled, bending down to pick the wand up again. Content when touching it didn’t sting this time. He stuffed James’ things away as he began to leave.
“Remus,” Pomfrey called after him.
He looked to her, readjusting his bag on his shoulder.
“You’ll let me know if there is anything… strange happening with Mr. Potter, right?”
“Strange?” he furrowed his brows in confusion.
“Anything out of the ordinary,” she explained. “Strange things happen to wizards who meddle with the divine.”
He watched her, feeling like her words were some sort of riddle he couldn’t solve. “I’ll let you know,” he nodded, before taking off after his friends.
Despite the accident, James seemed entirely himself for the duration of the evening, harboring more concern about missing his upcoming match against Slytherin as the boys made sure to bring him his homework and dinner.
“We need you better,” Sirius agreed, sitting at the edge of Prong’s bed. “So, we can decimate my brother and his abhorrent choice in friends.”
“Yeah, I was supposed to take Miranda to a winning Gryffindor match,” Peter pouted, leaning against a bedpost. “Hardly romantic if it ends in defeat.”
“How about we just need James better,” Remus said, forcing a tight smile. “And he can’t get better unless we let him get some much needed sleep, hm?”
Sirius and Peter conceded, slinking off James’ bed and going off to their own.
“Good night, boys,” James yawned, charming his curtains close with a lazy snap of his fingers. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“You’d do the same for us,” Sirius said, waving his hand to dim the lights to nothing.
Remus shut his curtains too, laying back on his bed and staring up into the darkness for a long moment. He pulled his wand from behind his pillow, wordlessly lighting it. He hovering it over his hand, as if he would be able to see the mark left by James’ wand. But it looked completely fine, normal. Which somehow just unsettled him even more.
Nevertheless, he flicked his wand off, stowing it away before he fell into sleep.
---
When Remus woke up, blinking his heavy lids open, he wasn’t in his dorm bed anymore. No, when he looked out at his bed, it was larger, huge. With weighty silk sheets and a navy blue duvet that felt like pure velvet. In fact, the whole room around him was different. Walls lined with wallpaper, shimmering gold foil vines twisting up navy meeting dainty moldings that were intricately woven into the corners of the sloped ceiling. A brass and crystal chandelier seemed to twinkle with more than just shining glass. Like it had some sparkling charm weaved into it.
He looked down at his pajamas, noting that those seemed different too. A black t-shirt that was too big on his shoulders, a pair of boxer shorts underneath. Not what he’d typically wear at all. Somehow confirming for him that this was, in fact, a dream.
He rose from the bed, feeling the cricks of his body. Stiff the same way he was after a full moon, but longer, almost. Taller. He stretched each tight vertebra as he walked across the room, noting a newspaper left out on the dark walnut dresser. He flicked it between his fingers. It was a Daily Prophet. Some sensational headline across the front about the Quidditch World Cup. He had to blink once, twice at the sight of someone familiar staring back at him. James Potter. And though he looked different indeed, he was there, with his arm slung around a mop of brunette curls. Both of them sharing wide smiles as they clutched either side of the trophy. A bright peel of silent laughter stitched between their teeth. It was Regulus. Taller and broader and happier, but Regulus, nonetheless.
Remus’s eyes shot up to the date, gasping when he saw it staring back at him.
The 21th of April, 1986
His eyes guided up to the mirror above the dresser, suddenly eying himself with hesitancy. Hyperfocusing at the faintest of lines near his eyes, between his brows. Wondering when his cheeks had sunken. The slight scruff on his jaw. Looking more like a photo of his father than himself.
Remus shook the thought away. Afterall, it was nothing but a dream. Some manipulation of the truth in his head. He felt a draft against his neck, spinning to look towards the windows, but thick black drapes hung, blocking the light that was trying to peek through. He felt drawn closer to it, taking slow steps over the wood floors and hearing them whine under his bare feet.
He pushed the drapes away, squinting at the daylight as the scent hit him. Sea salt, lifting something heavy from his chest. He felt his mouth curl up into a smile as he adjusted his eyes. Blackened sea waves curled before him. Loud and powerful as they pushed and pulled in a timeless dance. The view hovered right over the water, dotted with fishing boats. And he stood mesmerized by the way it somehow glittered, even with gray clouds looming overhead.
Remus leaned into the chilled sill, wondering what that water below would feel like. If it would be as cool as it looked. As refreshing. He gripped the sill tighter, willing it to disappear so he could thoughtlessly jump from the window into the seas below. But it didn’t budge. It stayed stubbornly intact. His eyebrows drew together in confusion.
“You’re up.”
Remus whipped his head towards the door where Sirius was standing. He was wearing a pair of black jeans that were slim to his legs, a cable knit sweater that looked more like something from Remus’ wardrobe. His wide shoulders sloping past the narrow seams. Loose threads and stretched spots from years of wear.
Remus blinked, wondering why Sirius was here. Were the others here as well? James and Peter. Even Regulus maybe.
“I’m not sure I am,” he murmured. Because the line between dreaming and waking felt thin and he still wasn’t sure which side he was on.
Sirius huffed under his breath, smiling as he came closer, into focus.
Remus watched carefully, tracing those similar lines near his eyes. The way he smoothed his long hair behind his ears. Trapped between the details that felt familiar and the ones that didn’t.
Sirius reached up, placing the flat of his hand against Remus’ forehead. His gaze painted down his face, a mask of subtle amusement pulled over concern, “Not like you to sleep in so late.”
Remus pushed his hand away, not one to feel comfortable being looked after, “What time is it?”
The mask fell, concern a shade deeper. “Nearly noon.”
Remus suddenly felt nervous, watched under his stare. Desperate to get the attention off of himself. “I thought making friends with noon was your job.”
Sirius seemed to concede at that, unable to stop himself from laughing. There was still a twinkle in his eye, just like the Sirius that Remus knew well. And it eased his nerves to know maybe this dream wasn’t as far fetched as it seemed.
Sirius beckoned to the waves outside the window, “What are you doing?”
Remus pulled his gaze back to those waves, feeling the crash of them in his chest. “Just… admiring,” he smiled. “Stunning view, isn’t it?”
“You chose it well.”
Remus blinked, wondering if he did choose it. Afterall, it was his dream. “I guess I did.”
“You want to go for a walk out there?” Sirius asked, bumping shoulders.
Remus met his eyes, letting the daylight catch on the few stray lines at his eyes. The same brightness from his youth, something even the fictitious glaze of age couldn’t dim. Though Remus couldn’t help but notice his irises, a murkier blue than the Sirius he knew. Not far from the wild waves beyond the windows.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Let’s walk.”
Sirius shooed Remus to the closet, letting him sort through racks of beautiful clothes. Some of them unequivocally Remus’, neat trousers and wool sweaters and simple sneakers. But there were far more clothes that he didn’t recognize as something of his own. Shirts with intricate, colorful patterns and leather jackets with more zippers than a dress shop, flashy velvet suits in rich jewel tones. Nothing Remus would be caught dead in, so he didn’t pay them much mind.
As Sirius led him through the house, Remus couldn’t help but stare. Eyes drawn to the walls and ceilings as every room was even grander than the next. The large home beautifully historic and filled with treasures. Looking like something out of a novel Remus would have read a hundred times cover to cover, wishing it was his life. But even so, he couldn’t help but admire his own creativity for creating something so real and intricately detailed in his head.
Outside, the wind was blustering loud in his ears. Cutting through him and his clothes with its chill. They sat down on the crest of a large grassy hill beside the home, eyes centered on those moving seas. On the fishing boats that bobbed along the surface. Absentmindedly, thinking he could have sat there all his days and never tire of it.
“I just came from St. Mungo’s,” Sirius said, toying with his sleeve.
It caught Remus’ ears immediately, the shift in his tone. The way it dropped deeper when the topic turned serious. He stared at him, seeing it wear on his features, between his tight shoulder blades, and wondering why he hadn’t caught it as soon as Sirius had walked in the door.
“She passed last night,” he said, murky navy eyes flicking up to him. “Regulus at her side, like the perfect little son of a bitch he is.”
The realization took hold of Remus like a hand around his throat. Exactly what Sirius was saying. His mother, Walburga Black. The Black family matriarch. Gone.
There was some childish instinct to jump to his feet, to cheer. Because the batty old bitch had never filled Remus with anything but pure contempt for people so awful who could be fated for a child as wonderful as Sirius. But as he watched the man’s face, he noticed exactly how it wasn’t that simple. How there was sadness and anger and guilt and grief. Maybe not even grief for his mother, but for the child within himself that had to endure her. And Remus couldn’t help but relate. Because he’d been there too in his own way.
“Sirius,” he breathed, turning to face him on the soft grass. His own movements felt hesitant, untrustworthy as he forced a hand to the man’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “I’m sorry. Truly.”
Sirius swallowed down a visible tightness in his throat. “It’s fine,” he nearly choked out. “I’m fine. Really.”
It wasn’t convincing, but it was enough to have Remus easing off. Giving him space, silence.
“Regulus is off season now,” the man fixated on the sea.. “He’s going to take care of things, so I can go back to work.”
Remus thought of the photo of Regulus and James in the Prophet. Quidditch players, on the same team. Who would have thought? And Sirius having a job. Remus ached with curiosity to know what career he’d placed Sirius in. Hell, he wondered if he himself had a job. But maybe that was beside the point of the dream, outside the true scope.
“James brought up a good point,” his friend nodded, wiping at his nose. “Said you should write the obituary for the Prophet. Could you do that?”
Remus had no context for the task or why it was being given to him. His jaw went slack with wavering thoughts. “Sure,” he finally nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
Sirius seemed to ease slightly, showing no shame as he leaned his head onto Remus’ shoulder.
He felt himself sit a little straighter, not used to Sirius’ lingering body contact. Not used to anything more than a pat on the back or an elbow in his side. But against the chilly winds, it felt warm, nice. Especially knowing Sirius was hurting, knowing that Remus was taking even the smallest bit of pain away. “You know you can tell me,” he whispered. “Whatever you’re feeling. You can tell me. I probably know better than most how you feel.”
Sirius twisted his chin to Remus’ shoulder, face so close as navy eyes traced down his face. Remus felt a heat reach his cheekbones, too paralyzed to move.
Sirius reached over. Taking Remus’ left hand with his own. He folded their fingers together, looking up into his face. “You’re amazing,” he breathed. “You know that?”
Remus felt that heat radiate everywhere, first thinking it was from Sirius words, the buttery soft affection in his tone. But then he noticed just how warm his hand felt. He looked over to where their hands were joined, for the first time, noting the gold band on his ring finger. The way it shined even under clouds. He felt the way the metal pressed up against the gold of Sirius’ own identical ring. And how when they were touching like that, they gave off a subtle warmth that traveled everywhere. Static with whispers of magic hammered into the material.
It was only then that Remus put the pieces together. The house, the bed, the closet, the rings. Sirius wasn’t just his friend. And the rings weren’t just rings.
Before he could gasp, before he could meet Sirius’ eyes with shock, Remus shot awake. Chest quivering and shaking with shock as he clutched his hand against it. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breaths. Taking in the sensations around him just to ground himself. The flannel sheets, the narrow width of the mattress, the groan of the stove. He was back. He was in his dorm bed.
He rubbed his face with his hands, torn between wanting to recall and wanting to forget, when his curtain ripped open. His eyes snapped open, meeting Sirius’ inquisitive gaze. Not the one he’d just been face to face with. The real one.
“What’s wrong?” the boy asked, making it sound like a demand.
Remus shook his head, gulping, “Nothing.” He felt himself crawl backwards into the headboard, trying to avoid the press of the boy’s eyes.
“You look like a wreck,” he noted, eyes sinking down the length of his torso.
Remus could feel his expression deepen into a glare, “Good morning to you, too.” He reached up, trying to yank the curtain back close, but Sirius stopped him.
“Bad dreams?” he asked, with the slightest flick of his dark brow.
Remus stared up at him, stomach churning as he dared remember. The softened look of grief in his friend’s eyes. The murky blue that hid a thousand complex emotions, not far off from the tumultuous, yet beautiful seas. He felt his own empathy like a twisting knife in his gut.
He reached up, wrapping arms around his friend and pulling him closer in a tight embrace. Closing his eyes and feeling that ache go weaker, like it was enough to atone for the pain his dream had put the fictitious man through. But only then did realize how incredibly stupid it all was, a bolt of embarrassment running through him as he rushed to pull away.
Sirius’ eyes were locked on him, brows creased in utter confusion. “What was that for?”
Remus’ mouth hung open. Speechless for too long a moment before the words finally came. “Sorry,” he winced. “You were right. Bad dream.”
The boy’s confusion didn’t ease. “Well, clean yourself up,” he chided, walking off towards the bathroom. “Breakfast is only out till half nine.”
Remus watched him go before his fingers dove into his hair. He had the temptation to hold his pillow to his face so he could scream. But instead, he spread his left hand out in front of him, eyeing the empty spot on his ring finger. And only then was he able to sigh with relief.