#blaming himself

Wolfstar June 2, word count 600

Previous part First part

It took Remus a few days longer than he would have liked to be given the all-clear. Healer Ward barely came by, and when he’d tried to get her to discharge him, she’d already walked away. Alastor came by to pick him up. 

“We’re going to see Sirius, right?” he asked, needing to make sure that Moody wasn’t reneging on his promise. 

“Yes, I have the paperwork right here.” He patted his chest, the sound of parchment from an inner pocket crinkling audibly. Moody led him down an alleyway, far from the eyes of any Muggles and apparated them to Azkaban. 

Remus pulled his cloak tighter around himself as the wind bit into every inch of his body. Sirius had been here for weeks; how had he endured it?

“We’re here to see Black,” Moody growled at the dementor, floating beyond the iron gate. It waved its arm and the gate opened, the hinges protesting from lack of use. Remus swallowed nervously and followed Moody in, feeling the cold dread of the dementors wash over him. 

“Expecto Patronum,” Moody said, and a shimmery smoke poured from his wand. Remus copied him and his great silvery wolf unfurled from the tip of his wand, growling silently at the dementor ahead of them. He felt instantly better, the hold of the dementors slipping from his body. 

Sirius was waiting for them in the room they were led to. He stood by the opposite wall, chains attached to heavy manacles around his wrists, and hadn’t seemed to notice their presence. 

“Sirius?” Remus said softly once the dementor had left. 

“I know it’s my fault. I’ve been telling you that for weeks, James. Am I not being punished enough? Then please tell Lily to stop attacking me.”

“Sirius?” Remus said a bit louder. 

“I know I failed you. I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life!”

“Black!” Moody barked, and Sirius snapped out of whatever nightmare he was stuck in. He turned to look at them, and Remus gasped. 

His eyes were hollow, and he’d lost so much weight, even more than Remus had. His hair was knotted into thick mats. Remus thought he’d perhaps been pulling it out, as there were patches of thinner hair that hadn’t been there before. 

“Remus?” Sirius whispered before lunging forward. “Remus!” His chains yanked him backwards. He landed hard, curling his legs up to his chest and starting to rock as he yanked at his hair. “Remus, are you here to shout at me too?” He asked in a croaky, pitiful voice. 

Remus rushed to his side and wrapped his arms around him. He looked so broken; Remus couldn’t stand it. 

“No, Pads, I’m here to get you out.”

“Lupin!” Moody snapped. 

“No!” Remus turned on Moody, his teeth bared as Moony bayed inside him. “Release him into my care. I’ll watch him while we wait for his trial.”

“There is no trial. The evidence—”

“The evidence is wrong!” Remus put his hands on the manacles and, tapping into that wild magic within him that he kept tightly locked away, they fell apart like charcoal, brittle. 

“Lupin, what the hell are you doing?!”

“What needs to be done.” He grabbed Sirius up into his arms and stormed out of the room, his patronus mowing down the dementors that had gathered beyond the door and whisking Sirius out of Azkaban, turning them both into fugitives in the process. He didn’t care. What had the wizarding world done for them anyway? They’d need a safe place to hide, so Remus headed to the only one he knew. Hogwarts. 

John’s reaction to Catherin Braithwaite’s ‘You stole my horses!’ 

Wolfstar June 1, word count 173

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They were outside his cell door. They were always outside his cell door. He could feel their putrid breath penetrating his soul, teasing it, showing that they could take it if they so wished. It was driving him mad. 

For the first few days? He thought it was days, but right now he wasn’t sure. He’d screamed and demanded they let him out. He’d pounded his fists raw trying to get someone’s attention, anyone but the dementors gliding around the fortress on a rock that was Azkaban Prison. Azkaban. How had things gone so badly that he’d ended up in here? He closed his eyes and immediately opened them again when the image of James’s lifeless body flashed behind his eyes. He needed sleep, but sleep meant dreaming of Lily and James and the anger they hurled at him over his oh-so-clever idea. He’d killed them. It was his fault. 

“Your fault. Your fault. Your fault,” he repeated over and over again as he rocked back and forth on the cold, stone floor.