FromBooksToFics

They snuck across the school grounds beneath James's invisibility cloak, the world feeling impossibly small. Hogwarts lay sound sleep behind them, its towers little more than silhouettes against the dark sky.

Her hand softly brushed James as they moved towards the Black Lake. Its surface softly rippling beneath the cool autumn breeze.

Sitting on the water bank Lily tipped her head back slowly watching the sky as constellation after constellation made its presence known. “You know,” she started softly, “if McGonagall catches you, she will skin you alive.”

“Just me?” James laughed. “I was rather hoping you'll share some of the blame.”

“In your dreams.”

They stayed silent after that; not because it was awkward or because they didn't have anything to say. No, they stayed silent because even the best of conversations were nothing compared to the starry night sky that hung above them.

After a while Lily leaned back on her hands. James snuck a glance at her and then back up at the night sky before she could catch him looking.

There is this one bench hidden by the edge of the schoolgrounds. The wood is old and silvered over with age, its surface is scratched and marked with countless initials which have been softened by rain over time.

Luna often passes it on her walks.

It's always empty.

And yet, it never quite looks that way.

The seat has been worn smooth in two places, side by side, as if the wood remembers the people better than people do each other. Sometimes the bench looks lonely. Other times, simply waiting.

She wonders from time to time, who left all those marks behind. But never enough to ask, some questions seem happier unanswered.

Curfew has long since passed, but the castle was too restless and so Luna wanders the grounds, covered by the pale light of the waxing crescent moon.

Nearing the bench, she slows down.

Professor Lupin is sitting there.

He doesn't notice her, his eyes not fixed on the forest itself but rather a narrow path crawling its way out of a small gap between the dark trees. He sits there waiting in a way that makes him look like part of the landscape.

Luna considers turning back, but before she can something moves by the treeline.

A large black dog. It steps out of the shadows and makes its way across the grass. It's stride confident, no hesitation. It moves as if returning to the place it belongs, and professor Lupin smiles.

It is small, but changes his whole face.

The dog settles by the professor's side. Its head resting on his knee.

Neither of them speak.

They don't seem to need to.

They just sit there – together – looking out across the lake as the water reflects the occasional moonlight.

Luna watches them long enough to know she has wandered into something private. Not necessarily secret, just private.

I did not tell you about the cave calling my name.

I let you laugh. You let me steal your jumper.

Our hands find each other like it's the most ordinary thing.

As if tomorrow were guaranteed.

It isn't. Not anymore. Not for people like us.

You ask, “Will I see you tonight?”

And I lie, “Of course.”

I know you'll never forgive me.

How can you?

I never told you.

And isn't that the cruelest part?

The wind howls as if grieving, mourning the love it may once have felt.

The same love I steal from you.

It is brutal, the wretched way none of us have a say.

We do as we are told.

Boys dressed up as obedient soldiers, marching into a war.

A war we inherited, never chose.

The water waits with patient hands.

It already knows that I am gone.

Maybe it will quiet the storm raging inside my mind.

The lightning finally severing what remained of us.

Every single one of them has noticed the way Barty sometimes shuts down. He's about to say something and then just doesn't. He becomes quiet, withdrawn, only speaking when spoken to. It's worrisome and, if Dorcas has to be fully honest, also a bit terrifying. It's Barty they're talking about. The ultimate stick-it-to-the-man kind of guy. He's the son of a politician for Merlin's sake — he knows how to talk! So why doesn't he?

Dorcas doesn't know what to do anymore. There should be no reason for him to shut down the way he does. The ridiculous shit he’s said in the past should attest to that. But for some reason, he does.

She sees him sitting on his own in the common room during her free period. While it's not strange to see him skipping class, he does not usually do it alone.

Dorcas plops down on the sofa next to him but doesn't say anything. Barty is curled into himself, face down and avoiding everything around him.

“Confess,” she says casually. There is no pressure or determination behind her voice, there is no worry or fear either. She says it in the same tone one would use to comment on the weather.

“What?” Barty asks, still not looking up.

“Confess,” she just repeats.

For a while, it's quiet. Barty fidgets with his rings, and Dorcas looks at the fire burning beside them.

“I love him,” he whispers.

Evan, she thinks. While this isn't a surprise, it wasn't the answer she had expected to hear him say — but now it all makes sense.

“I love him,” Barty repeats quietly, finally looking up, unshed tears shining in his eyes. “But he doesn't love me.”

“He does.” she whispers softly, laying her hand on his.

When she finally gets him to meet her eyes, she can still see the doubt in them.

Lily is good at wizarding chess. She knows it, her friends know it. She even beats Peter more times that she loses against him, and he grew up playing the game she only recently learned existed. So when she sees a blond girl playing both sides of a wizard’s chess board on a Saturday afternoon she can’t help herself.

She walks up to the girl with the long blond hair and the soft, dreamy expression and asks if she can join her.

“Sure,” the blonde girl replies. “I’m Pandora.”

“Lily,” Lily introduces herself as she sits on the opposite side of the table.

Lily goes in expecting to win. She had seen the way Pandora played, there was no way she could lose. Not when her strategies had strategies, not when she knew every possible move that could be made.

She lost. Lily lost. She lost the game so fast she doesn’t even know what happened. It doesn’t make any sense. How could she lose?

She asks for another game, and Pandora agrees. Then another, and another. And by the time the sun has set and they have to make their way towards the Great Hall, Lily has lost track of how many games they’ve played and still hasn’t figured Pandora’s strategy out.

Pandora is unpredictable, none of her moves make any sense. Every time Lily thinks she has figured the pretty girls strategy out, Pandora surprises her with yet another strange move.

When, a week later, Lily spots Pandora once again sitting in the library playing chess by herself, she can’t help herself — she joins her. And a week later she does it again, and again, and again until it becomes a habit. Every Saturday Pandora sits in the library chessboard set up, and every Saturday Lily joins her.

Two months after this all started one of the younger students approaches Lily in the common room asking for help with something.

“I can’t right now,” she says.

“Yeah!” she hears James shout from the other side of the common room, “Lily has a date she can't be late to.” he continues teasing.

“It’s not a date!” she shouts back, “I’m just trying to figure out her strategy!”

“Sure.”

It’s no use arguing with Potter, she is already late enough.

And it isn’t a date.

Sirius was raised a pure blood — a Black — it meant no Muggles, no questions, no anything.

He grew up surrounded by ancient portraits, and books that told him who to be. He learned pride before kindness, tradition before freedom. He could feel the air thicken with prejudice day by day.

He hated it.

When he finally turned eleven and got to go to Hogwarts, and got out of the House of Black, he packed his bags faster than anyone had ever packed a bag before. He couldn't wait to leave that place behind.

When he finally gets on the train James Potter is the first person he meets. A Potter. Perfect. That alone will already piss his family off.

They wander the corridor together looking for an empty compartment. There isn't any. What they do find is a compartment with only a single boy inside. He's reading.

Sirius doesn't hesitate and slides the door open, “Can we sit with you?” He asks before James can say anything, “Everywhere else is already taken.”

The boy looks up, “Sure,” is all he says before he turns back to his book, reading.

For a moment Sirius forgets how to breathe. The boy's eyes are green — dark and deep like a forest — his sweater hangs just a bit too loose around his frame. The way he sits, it's like he is used to not being noticed, but Sirius does notice, and he can't stop staring.

It's James who shakes him out of his stupor with a slight poke of his elbow. Sirius lifts his suitcase on top of the rack on the wall while James introduces themselves.

Remus. The boy's name is Remus. Sirius likes it.

Sometime later Peter also joins their compartment, he's an old friend of James, and conversations start to flow, but every so often Sirius catches himself staring at the boy across from him.

“GRYFFINDOR,” the hat yells across the Great Hall.

Sirius doesn't look at the Slytherin table, he can already feel the glares from his cousins coming from the other side of the Hall.

“Lupin, Remus” he hears McGonagall say, and sees Remus move through the crowd of first-years. He hadn't seen him since they arrived at the boats. His movements are awkward, like he doesn't wish to be seen.

“Gryffindor,” the hat yells out once again. The table claps for their new housemate, and maybe Sirius claps just a bit harder than he needs to, but who will say?

The four of them; Sirius, James, Peter, and Remus become fast friends. He finds out Remus is a half-blood raised in the Muggle world.

The books he always read were a big clue. They were Muggle books; some were stories, others were history, sometimes he even read Muggle papers.

When Sirius finds out, he can't help himself from bombarding Remus with questions upon questions. He wants to know what a life beyond the walls of Black is like. Remus answers every single one of his questions the best he can. It's great, Sirius learns more than he could ever wish to find in the Black family library.

Their sixth year, that's when Sirius realised it. It doesn't come sudden, it also doesn't come kind. It just creeps in through the shared laughter, and the arguments. It comes in the way Remus curls himself up on the cushions, the same way he did on the train. It comes in the way Remus disappears into his books, in the way they are always by each other's side.

It's Remus.

It has always been Remus.

It will always be Remus.

It can never be Remus.

Sirius knows that. One can't love the same gender, the same sex. It's impossible, yet here he is, falling in love with one of his best friends. He swears to not tell anyone. He swears to keep it a secret.

That promise is broken a couple of months later by a lot of firewhisky and a very hot-looking Remus. It is the best thing Sirius has ever done even if it meant hiding most of the time.

One day, late at night when they lie in bed with the curtain drawn Remus whispers softly, “It doesn't have to be like this.”

Sirius can't help the sharp laugh that makes its way past his lips. “Yes it does,” is all he says.

Remus doesn't argue immediately.

“Muggles used to think so too,” he says instead, “some still do.”

It's quiet for a while, letting the words sink in. “But,” he continues, “there is this place,” Remus turns to his side so he can see Sirius better, “Stonewall.”

Sirius turns his head on the pillow so he's looking up at Remus.

“The people stopped hiding. They fought back. They still are.”

Sirius looks at him like he's speaking some language he doesn't understand.

“They fought,” Remus repeats, “and they changed things.”

Sirius doesn't say anything, he doesn't need to. Remus knows him well enough, he can see the small embers — the start of a fire — beginning to glow in his eyes and that's enough for now.

Remus lies back down on the mattress while Sirius stares at the canopy above them.

Regulus stares at the mirror before him, his eyes drawn to the crescent-shaped scars on his chest. They're hideous. He's hideous. The sight of them makes his skin crawl. Before, his chest had felt like something foreign — a body he had been forced to borrow — now jagged scars were all that remained. Reminders of all that he has left behind. It makes him wonder if it was a mistake — if he should have done this. Would it have been better if he had stayed her?

When he was still her, he had been sure of a future — a future filled with respect and certainty. He had a family that held status, wealth, and influence within the wizarding world, but by choosing to be him, he had lost all that. Sure, the Black family wasn't a place filled with love, but it had been a stable place to live.

He remembers binding until he could no longer breathe, remembers avoiding mirrors and flinching upon seeing his own reflection. He remembers the pain, the fear, the wrongness of it all, and yet there is still some traitorous part of him that wonders if his mother had been right after all. That there really is something wrong with him.

He couldn't have stayed her. The thought alone makes him want to tear his skin off. But standing in front of the mirror, fingers tracing the pale, rigid scars on his chest, he can't help but wonder if it was all worth it.

Was being him worth losing all he has ever known?

“Hey love,” comes the soft voice of James. He's leaning in the doorway, eyes focused on Regulus. Regulus looks at him through the mirror.

“Hey,” his voice is quieter than he wants it to be.

James lifts himself off the doorway and makes his way across the room until he's standing behind Regulus. They meet each other's eyes in the mirror.

Without a word, James takes his shirt off and holds it out.

Regulus stares at the red fabric.

“I don't want your pity.”

“Good thing that's not what I'm offering.”

After a long moment, Regulus finally takes the shirt and slowly leans back into James's embrace.

“There you are,” came James's voice from around the corner. He and Sirius had just gotten into a fight; Regulus had heard the shouting match it had turned into. It's something that has been happening more and more ever since James and Regulus started seeing each other, not that Sirius knows — or anyone else really for that matter. The two of them have just been spending a lot more time with each other and in order to do so in secret they had needed to cancel some plans and disappear every now and then. They never told their friends the reason why and for Sirius, someone who has gotten used to spending almost every minute with his friends, being left behind or out must feel a lot like how he must have felt while he still lived in Grimmauld Place — Regulus doesn't care. He can be selfish too. And aren't some fights worth getting into if that means you can get to be with what's yours sooner?

“Here I am,” Regulus responds as he leans back on the steps of the stairs, his Astronomy textbook laid open in his lap. James smiles down at him before he moves to capture the younger man's lips. A grin overtakes both of their faces, Regulus nods up at the stairway behind him and James takes Regulus's hands in his and leads them up the stairs into a small, almost hidden classroom. The room doesn't get used much anymore, so James and Regulus come up here a lot during their disappearances. The place has only one large window which gives a picturesque panorama of the school grounds and the Forbidden Forest.

It may be small, filled with dust and spiderwebs, and drafty, but it's theirs and no one will take that away.

The moment the door closes behind them, James has Regulus pinned against it. He loves having Regulus in his arms, knowing that only he gets to see the way Regulus's cold composure breaks and instead shows the side of him that longs for love. And James can show him that love. He can show him care and compassion. He can show him how he should be adored, should be held, should be kissed. James is the only one who can show Regulus how he is supposed to be loved. No one else. Regulus is his.

His hands make their way towards Regulus's collar, undoing the buttons of his pristine uniform. His mouth makes its way from Regulus’s mouth to his neck all while he whispers the younger man's name in between kisses.

Regulus loves the way he makes James lose control. He rolls his hips against James's leg that has been placed between his own and delights in how James's groan vibrates against his throat. He loves how James always comes to him. Loves knowing the arguments James has left unfinished just to find him, the way James looks for every opportunity to ditch his friends just to be with him — only him. He loves the way he consumes James's every thought; during classes, during their breaks, when he's with his friends — it's always him. He may have known Sirius longer, but Regulus is the one James looks for now. James is his.

They pull their shirts off over their heads and look into each other's eyes. They see their own thoughts reflected back and know there's nothing left of them that doesn't already belong to the other.

Remus wanders through the empty halls of their apartment, just two months ago they had bought it, Sirius and him, fully prepared to spend the rest of their lives here together, but now he is alone. Sirius is gone, has been for almost two weeks now. The funeral had been on Monday (it’s Friday now) but Remus couldn’t go, it had been too hard, it still is, the fact that now he is once again alone – he can barely stomach it. James and Peter had tried to get him to go outside, but Remus couldn’t find the strength to face a world without Sirius in it.

Often he catches himself pouring two cups of tea or speaking out loud for no one to hear, a lot goes missing and a lot gets found in places only Sirius would put it. He should find a new apartment, this one is too big for just one person. It holds too much of Sirius for Remus too bare.

The first time the book falls Remus thinks nothing of it, probably just the wind. The second time it happens the book opens up on a page Remus hasn’t read in years. In the margins scribbled in black ink is an all too familiar handwriting This’s rubbish Moony. It hurts, a cruel joke brought forth by grief. He used to love that book, he had lent it to Sirius a couple days before the accident. He hadn’t thought that Sirius would actually read it, would add his own thoughts next to those of Remus on the pages. It hurts so bad in a way that Remus doesn’t want to stop.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there staring at that page, but it was long enough for the sun to go under and the lanterns to light up the streets. He should pick it up, put it back on the shelf. Clean up the mess like he always told Sirius to do after he would make a mess. But he can’t. He can’t make himself pick up the book he never got to share his thoughts with Sirius about. All he can do is turn around and ignore it for now. He can pretend to go to sleep, he can pretend to get a proper night's rest like he does every night since that day. He can pretend nothing is wrong.

Some people are raised with sharp edges, and cold touches; Regulus is one of those people. He is raised in the cold and in the absence of heat. From early on, he has learned to be relentless, to be unforgiving. To curse and insult those who are beneath him.

Others are taught to soften every corner they touch, to shine a light in the dark; James never learned how not to. He is raised in the warmth of hugs and forehead kisses. Being surrounded by love and care since birth made it impossible for him to close his heart, even to the cruelest of people.

It was never supposed to work; the two of them were too different. Like the cold and the heat, like the sun and the snow, like day and night – never meant to meet. But that which should have made it impossible, that which made them opposites, was what made it work – made them fit. They understood each other in ways that no one else ever could. They tore apart in ways that no one will ever know.

With a war approaching choices had to be made. What side will you follow? Who will you leave behind? Will you choose the Light, or will you choose the Dark? A question asked to teenagers, young and impressionable, easily swayed by promises of grandeur and victory. 

A small question that will determine the remainder of their lives, a question to which they pretend the answer has not yet been determined. As if a boy raised in the darkness could ever reach for the light without burning. As if a boy, raised in the warmth of love, could ever survive the cold touch of the dark. As if they had ever been in the middle long enough to make a choice.

The wall they had built around them had never been solid; it only felt like it and, if you didn't look too close, it seemed that way too. Built to keep them safe, but trapped at the same time. The differences that had once completed each other began to misalign. Small cracks would appear in the wall, imperceptible at first; later it just became easier to ignore. Cracks grow and spread, until they cover every wall and meet in the middle. Sometimes opposites are meant to meet in the middle and support each other, but other times they are meant to erase each other so that neither one remains.

Once the cracks finally met, the wall came down, crumbling and collapsing around them, a ruin that could not be saved. But perhaps, in the end, they were equal, for leaving did not make Regulus softer; it only gave him nothing to lose. And for James, leaving did not make him colder; it only gave him more to fight for. 

Dark clouds hid the morning sky. Stiff winds rattle the branches, carrying that petrichor scent across the school grounds. The rain has been falling from the sky since noon yesterday. It's no surprise – it is that time of year again when snow morphs into rain and the sun hides behind her clouds in the sky. The air feels cold to Barty’s skin as he stares out over the lake. Even with the winds racing around him, making his robes flutter in the air, the lake is as still as ever – not a ripple to be seen.

He should probably go inside; breakfast will start soon and he will need to get his clothes dry before then. But he can't seem to make himself move. He is stuck here, chained to the ground by an immovable force. Thunder sounds in the distance, lightning following quickly after. He needs go.

———

When Evan wakes up it doesn't take long for him to realise he is alone. The spot in which Barty had lain the previous night has gone cold. Regulus’ bed is empty too, it always is in the morning.

Outside sounds the distant rumbling of thunder as rain clatters onto the dorm's windows. Only the dorms of the Slytherins are above the ground, the rest of their house has always been hidden underneath the earth. The wind pushes against the windows, opening them to guide the water inside. It is times like these – when the weather has a mind of its own – that Evan wishes that the dorms could be underground too. That way the rain would remain unheard and the water outside.

He ought get up, get dressed and leave for breakfast. But as he moves to go to breakfast he doesn't stop at the doors leading to the Great Hall. No, instead he keeps moving, reaching the school's entrance. The large and heavy doors stand before him leading out towards the courtyard.

It's ridiculous, it's cold and wet. The ground is covered in mud and if he doesn't turn back now he will miss breakfast. But he moves on towards the lake where a silhouette is already standing by its shore.

———

Barty didn't go. He stayed on that shoreline and didn't leave, he never does. He knows he should; he is soaked and at some point it had begun to hail. The frozen pellets of rain hit his skin while he keeps on staring at the empty space before him.

Someone moves beside him, quiet and calm, not demanding any attention. Just a silent reminder that he isn't alone as their fingers slowly tread together.

———

Evan moves to stand beside Barty on the shore of the lake. Hail strikes his face, blurring his vision. It's freezing and a bit painful, but he doesn't mind. As long as he has Barty, he will never mind it.

Rain poured down from the blackened sky, drenching all those who stood in the stands. The wind was relentless, making the already dangerous game even more hazardous; multiple students had already been sent off towards the hospital wing. Yet even though the storm, shouting could be heard, rising above the distant thunder. No one dared to miss a Quidditch match – especially not this one, not the final: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Who would win the cup?

Regulus hung high in the sky, hovering above a sea of green and red jerseys, looking for that golden flicker that would win Slytherin the cup, and end this game. Below him James made his way towards the Slytherin goalpost, the Quaffle in hand. The other chasers, green or red, couldn’t keep up with him. At least the stormy weather benefited someone.

James' goal brought Gryffindor’s score up to 95, while Slytherin’s remained at 90. But the rain hung like a curtain over the court, hiding everything from sight. The cold wind clung to their bodies, freezing them from the inside out. Finding the Snitch in this weather would be near impossible. They had been in the air for hours now, and the ending was nowhere in sight. As captains, James and Regulus could, of course, try to reach an agreement, but that would never happen, they knew it, their teams knew it, the whole student body knew it. There would be no getting out of this rain, they were both too competitive for that. They would give it their all even if that meant playing for hours, or days until the Snitch was caught.

For some reason Remus hasn’t figured out yet, the wizarding world seems averse to the concept of a teabag. They just put the leaves in the water, which means that the leaves float in the water, which means you drink the leaves with the water. It’s ridiculous. Sirius, James and Peter don't seem to get it, being pure-bloods and all. At least he got Lily to share his struggles with even if she isn't such an avid tea drinker as he is.

When, in their third year, Divination becomes a class some of them follow, Remus starts to understand the lack of teabags, but he also sees the immediate lack of privacy. If the loose tea leaves are in order to see the future, everyone who sees your teacup will know it. No more secrets, no more hiding. All will be out there for everyone to see. Someone picks up your cup, and they will know. 

The others tell Remus he is being paranoid; that no one cares about the leaves at the bottom of his cup, but they don’t have to hide. They do not have to lie every day of their lives to everyone around them. They do not have secrets like he does. It isn’t about secret crushes, though yes he does have one, but for him it is about survival. About avoiding the hunt that will undoubtedly follow him were his secret to come out. 

When he was twelve years old, three people already figured his secret out. Sure, they didn’t mind. They were even looking into ways to support him even more (the leading option at the moment being animagi. They think he doesn’t know, but they’re horrendous at keeping things secret from him). Still, they are an exception, not the norm.

If his secret were to come out he would lose this, lose them, and he can’t have that.

As the school year continues on, his worries do not falter, he just becomes better at hiding them. Keeping his teacup close to his person, never letting it out of his sight, messing with the leaves after he is done. Everything and anything he can think of to keep his secret safe. 

Regulus has denied himself many things over the years: toys, books, space, hugs, friendship…love. He always told himself it didn't matter, that he didn't need any of it. But now, a tiny, selfish part of him can't help but wonder, if he hadn't denied it himself, would he still have gone here?

If he hadn't denied himself the sun, would he still have entered the night? Walking the rocky path with only the moon to guide him for so long. Freezing in the cold water, dragged under by death instead of being held afloat by life.

If he had not denied the late night conversations and the fleeting glances, would he still have gone alone? With one plan and no backup. No one to remember him, to scream his name and fear for him.

But he had chosen this silence over the love he could have had so loudly, didn't he?

Remus had met Sirius for the first time on a dark and cold September morning. The train had just taken off from the station on its way to Hogwarts. Sirius had opened the door to the compartment, his warm and vibrant eyes a complete contrast to the anxiety rising within Remus himself. For years their love had been fleeting – late night study sessions in the library, a brush of hands in the corridors – it was during these moments that Remus felt it: euphoria, in its most honest and truest form, the reckless race of his pulse, a dizzying ache in his chest.

Their love had come like a storm, sudden and violent with no warning or guidance. Days turned into minutes and nights into eternities. Every laugh and whisper was a note added to the symphony only they could hear. And Remus had clung to it, desperate to keep the fragility of it all safe within his arms.

And then, as if the world had been waiting, Halloween made its arrival and Sirius his departure. No explanation, no goodbye. All that he left was the hollow ache of years gone by.

Remus now walks the streets looking for the magic they have long since lost. He returns to King's Cross Station, why he doesn't know. Maybe to find answers to questions he had put to rest long ago. Maybe in search of the warmth that once flooded him at this station. Whatever it was, he couldn't find it.

Euphoria, he came to realise, is not just the heights, it's about the lows too. It's about the heartbreak and the pain that cling to the end of every pulse of joy and love.

Evan never considered the possibility that there wouldn't be a tomorrow. It's stupid, he knows. They’re at war – nothing is guaranteed – and yet he never stopped to consider that tomorrow could be part of that nothing.

Blame it on his stupidity or his naivety. Blame it on some childlike positivity he unconsciously had clung to all those years; the possibility that they could survive this war had always been a futile dream.

It had never been a possibility for them.

Here, on the cold dirt, it finally hits him: they never had eternity. Barty and he were doomed from the beginning. And maybe they had both known it from the start.

Loving each other had been foolish. Fighting this war is foolish. But they had both been so determined to ignore the future. They had only ever looked at the past, a past they had wanted to escape, an escape that they had found in each other. An escape that turned out to be just another prison.

Maybe Evan should have listened to Pandora all those years ago, or maybe they should have followed Dorcas. But in just a short flash, the past had become just as useless as the future always had been for him.

In hockey the crease is meant to protect the goalie. It's a boundary, a line that is never meant to be crossed. You don't get to crash it without consequence, you don't get to score when it's violated.

It's not a weakness, but protection written in black on white.

Remus knows this, understands it instinctively.

He has spent his life learning the rules, has memorised where the lines are. He knows when contact becomes dangerous and when the danger of getting penalised comes close. He keeps his distance and holds his ground.

He knows when to retreat into the safety of the blue-painted lines. Into the safety of himself.

Sirius does not. He is brash, all speed and impact, never afraid to come too close to the net, of breaking the rules which he never learned were made to keep others safe.

He thrives in the chaos in front of the goal. The high speed collisions, the scramble for the puck, the chance that something reckless might score the goal.

Until he notices the flinch in Remus when someone comes too close. Until he realises that Remus doesn't back away because he is afraid, but because he knows what happens when someone ignores the crease.

The shift comes slowly, unknowingly, as Sirius begins to learn what loving Remus means; not charging in, but respecting the boundary. He learns to guard the space, he stands between Remus and anyone who dares to cross the blue lines.

He learns that strength does not lie with charging but with protecting.