Were you but the silver bullet that pierced my flesh
I would die a happy death
were you the night air in my lungs
I would gladly draw my last breath
Were you the healing to my scars
I would suffer every one
were you the light that brought me back
The dark would have never won.
Were you the sun that gives me life
I would let the monster out and free
were you the thought that keeps me sane
I could remember I was me.
Remus stares down at the twelve lines that have inappropriately interrupted his History of Magic notes. He doesn’t have the faintest idea of where they’ve come from. He is not a poet and he is most certainly not in love, as the werewolf who wrote this obviously is. And yet, he’s the only werewolf in school and these are his notes.
He is, to say the least, very confused.
He’d like to ask James and Sirius which one of them it was that took his notes and managed to re-write them so perfectly with this little poem stuck in. He doesn’t of course, because that would be an infinitely stupid thing to do; it isn’t like he even fancies anyone as to make this a joke. He is just Remus.
He is, in fact, very happy being just himself, by himself. It’s okay to be with James and Sirius and Peter, but they are extensions of himself, not additions. The person this poem was written about was clearly an addition. Remus would be very happy if he went the rest of his life without any additions; it’s more than enough taking care of himself, he doesn’t need the added worry for another person, thank you very much.
He re-reads the poem once more. It is most assuredly not the best poem he’s ever read and it reads quite unfinished at that. He would never write something like this. He’s much better with words than this. See, here, the flow is off. And over here, the meter. It is ridiculous to think that he’s written poetry at all. But poetry that is this bad? It is nearly laughable.
And who has he written it about?
He manages to keep down the snarl. He did not write this. He didn’t. It is ridiculous to think that he has written this because there isn’t a blessed soul in all of Hogwarts or the world that he would write this about; could write this about. There is no one he knows that keeps him sane during the transformation, no one that makes the change easier. Not a blessed one.
No one except for“
He pinches his wrist, hard, and nearly yelps. It is not true. It is not true. It. Is. Not. True.
And yet, his eyes fall upon that face, that hair, those eyes. That smile that makes others go weak in the knees. It’s a good thing he’s sitting on his bed because he’s sure that his knees would have given out beneath him if he would have been standing. That smile. He nearly melted off his mattress and into a puddle on the floor.
A voice rises in some anonymous complaint from below them and Remus finds himself returned to normalcy.
It isn’t true.
And yet, when he looks back down at his notes to continue studying, the words are there, haunting him. It isn’t true. They aren’t true.
But they’re there. And Remus Lupin has learned in life that while there are very few things in life that one can trust“his body has betrayed him, people have betrayed him“but words, things that are in front of him, anything he can touch or smell or see“ those things tend to be truer than not. It is the intangible things that turn on him. Trust, friendship, a taken-for-granted that his body would stay in his control. But words? Words have never lied to him. They have never pretended to be anything than what they are. And these words are“
No.
“What are you studying?”
He groans. “History of Magic.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re being tested tomorrow,” he says patiently.
A snort. “Don’t be stupid. Binns won’t notice if you copy off your notes. And who cares about History of Magic anyway?”
“I do.”
“Liar.”
That cheeky smile.
Remus nearly has to pinch himself again. “I do too like History of Magic.”
“Yes. But that’s because you’re mad.”
“I am not“” he begins indignantly.
“You are too. But don’t worry. We like you that way. You’re our Mad Moony.”
A hand reaches out, tousles his hair. He hates getting his hair tousled. Had thought that by the time he reached the ripe old age of fifteen that the whole thing would stop. But it seems as though someone has never gotten the message. Then again, Remus doesn’t seem to mind so much when he does it.
He scowls at himself and the hand jumps back.
“Well, if it bothers you so much“”
“Don’t be an arse,” Remus says without thinking. “I mean“I really need to study,” he explains, begging. If they aren’t so close to each other, he can handle it. If they aren’t so close that he can’t tell where his breath begins and the other’s begins, he could handle it. If they weren’t so close that he could count the individual pores on“
“I have to study,” he says again. “Not everyone is as brilliant as you are. Not everyone can ignore every word said in class, study for ten minutes and then pull a perfect score.”
He got another cheeky smile for that and nearly did slide off his bed.
“Yes. Well. It comes with the genes,” Sirius says flippantly.
“I’m sure it does,” Remus mutters.
“Ah, don’t be jealous,” Sirius says, still being obnoxious on purpose, knowing how much it infuriates Remus. “You just weren’t born under a lucky star is all.”
Remus gapes at Sirius. Surely he didn’t say that on purpose“
“I mean,” Sirius goes on, “it’s not everyone who gets to be born into the House of Black. I’m practically royalty, you know. Heir to the Black name and all that. Thank Gods all my cousins are girls and there’s no one to contest it. You don’t know about the bloody battles of Black House,” he says. “That’s what they should be teaching in History of Magic. The spells that were invented. The intrigue. The romance. The incest.”
Ah. Sirius is making fun of himself then. This is familiar territory.
“Somehow, I think even Binns could manage to make that sound boring,” Remus says dryly.
Sirius flops down on the bed beside him, staring up at the ceiling of the four poster. “I suppose you’re right,” he says, heaving a heavy sigh. “No one really cares about my family, pureblood nutters that the lot of them are. Right?”
Remus nods as he is required to.
“Right,” Sirius says, and then grabs for a piece of parchment off Remus’s lap.
Remus protests, lunging for the page as he silently swears and they are tousling in moments. All of his notes are flying but the most important page is still stuck in Sirius’s fist, getting crumpled. Ruined. They yell, they poke, they kick and they pinch.
“I’m going to have a black eye,” Sirius pants when Remus has finally gotten the paper away.
“Good,” Remus snaps. “You can trademark it as belonging to your family.”
Sirius stares at him and then starts laughing, the sound filling Remus’s ears with ringing as he blushes.
“That hardly even counted,” Sirius says. “Try again.”
“Try“what?”
“Bad comeback. Try again. I know you have it in you. You can’t be hanging around with me and James for so long and not be able to come up with something better than that. Try again.”
Remus considers Sirius for a moment and then strings together an explicit suggestion of what Sirius can go do to himself with a goat for company.
When he’s done, Sirius is staring at him, open mouthed.
“Well,” he says, his mouth working like a fish out of water. “Well.”
A/N: I claim posession while writing this fic, which takes place before my fic "Ill Met by Moonlight' which should be getting a massive face lift as soon as I have a few hours to myself as I have decided that every fic that takes place while they're in school needs to be in a first person POV. Hopefully, the whole fic will then make more sense, but we'll see.
Hope you enjoyed!
If you did, please leave a review as they make my sad, 9-5 day in an office that much brighter...