R.J. Lupin

cherrybomb-witch‌:

perennialgrace‌:

plantsandpotions‌:

charity-h-burbage‌:

Edgar gripped her arm and they moved towards the exit. That was good – he was walking away from it all, he wasn’t falling apart. Once they were outside, they could talk about something else, she could try to help pull him back to himself. Her own mind threatened to fall back, the clouds of darkness which had been present since her stint with the Dementors trying to claw their way to the forefront of her consciousness, but she couldn’t let that happen. Edgar needed her. So she walked, and she shook, but she kept herself present through sheer force of will, and didn’t even consider the possibility of letting herself fall apart. No matter how much Marlene had looked like another woman, lying dead-still on the floor in front of her.

Charity opened her mouth to begin speaking again, but before she was able to say a word, a scream shattered through the air. Her heart skipped a beat. That scream… it sounded like someone was dying. Like someone had just lost a loved one. It was pure grief in one sound, and it stopped Charity cold in her tracks. Had Alastor died? He was the most obviously hurt, what if – and she’d just walked away from him lying on that table. How could she have done that?! She was useless but she could’ve… something. Just stayed with him. Something. He’d been so kind to her, and she just walked away, like the useless, cowardly, stupid little bitch she was.

A sob fell from her mouth before she even realized she was crying.

In the same moment that she turned back towards the meeting room to find out what had actually happened, Edgar tore away from her and ran out into the night. For a moment, she hesitated. She still wanted to know who the screams were for, but at the same time, Edgar was clearly also not handling the situation well, and he needed her more. These were his friends, his colleagues, people he actually knew. She had no real place here. There wasn’t anything she could do, and the others would likely resent her presence as they tried to manage their grief. So the only thing she could really do was to follow Edgar.

Luckily for her, he’d fallen to his knees not far from the house, instead of running until his legs gave out, as she’d once done. That would’ve made things far more complicated. 

She approached him slowly, not wanting to startle him. It wasn’t until she was right next to him that she could hear his words over the ongoing shrieks, but once she did, she cast a silencing spell the best that she could. She couldn’t tell if the screams she still heard were actually still coming through the spell, only muffled, or if they were just echoes ringing in her ears, but it was better either way. So she sat down in front of Edgar, and tried again.

“Edgar? It’s Charity. You’re still safe, it’s all right. I’m here. What can I do?”

@plantsandpotions​

Tilden had never heard the cry of a banshee before, but he couldn’t imagine it could be any worse than the scream that filled the room now. He turned away from Moody and Remus, staring at Marlene where she lay. Was she in pain? Yet she didn’t seem to be hurt. Not physically at least. Tilden couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind now. Was she still fighting off the effects of the curse? Or was the realization of what had happened causing this heartrending grief?

To his surprise, Professor Dumbledore called out to him from Marlene’s side, requesting a Calming draught. That would certainly be a good idea. Tilden’s thoughts went immediately to Charity and the potions she’d mentioned having, but when he looked around for her, she was nowhere in sight. There was no time to wonder where she’d gone, though, not with Marlene’s ongoing dismay.

“Oh, um,” he stammered, checking that Remus was alright with Moody before hastening over to Dumbledore’s side. As he did so, he saw Madam Pomfrey hurry through the doorway, her face pale but expression set in determination as she made a beeline for Remus and the barely conscious Auror.

“Charity has stronger Calming draughts than I do,” Tilden said as he crouched beside Marlene. He had to raise his voice over her continued wails. “I’ve a few Healing potions and a pretty weak Essence of Mind Ease. But it still might help!” He fumbled through his pockets to pull out another potion bottle. The liquid inside was a pale, crystalline pink. He uncorked it and leant over Marlene. “Daize, hold her head,” he told Daisy. Once he was sure that Marlene wouldn’t just choke on the potion, he poured it into her mouth.

@perennialgrace​

Marlene’s eyes opened and settled on her face, and Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. That she wasn’t immediately trying to attack them was proof enough that the curse was no longer in effect, thank god.

But then Marlene started screaming. Daisy jumped, leaning back slightly and trying to figure out what had happened, if she’d been injured and they’d somehow missed it. There was no trace of injury though, at least nothing bad enough to be causing the pain she heard in Marlene’s scream. Shock, she realized. And probably, pure horror, over what had just happened.

She grabbed Marlene’s hands, trying to get her attention. “It wasn’t you,” she told her, though she doubted the older girl could heard her over her screaming. “You’re okay, it wasn’t you, it wasn’t your fault!”

Tilden appeared by her side, a vial in his hand, and she nodded as he asked her to hold Marlene’s head. She blinked back her tears and grabbed Marlene, trying to hold her still enough that Tilden could give her the potion. Once she was fairly sure Marlene had managed to drink it, she threw her arms around the witch’s shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” she told her, hugging her tightly. “It’s over.”

Only it wasn’t over. It hadn’t been Marlene’s fault, but she didn’t know how much damage the curse sent from her wand might have caused. She didn’t know exactly what had happened, didn’t know how much danger Moody was in— she’d immediately looked away when she’d seen the blood— so much blood. She pressed her lips together, blinking quickly and trying hard not to cry.

@cherrybomb-witch

Marlene wasn’t there anymore, her mind had long fled to that Nowhere it run whenever she went catatonic. It had only happened to her twice before; the first time she had seen her own mother fall into a similar stupor had triggered her to follow, the second time was when she had been attacked by a Dementor. It took extremely harsh emotional situation to knock her out of her mind, and having her own willpower controlled into injuring, possibly killind someone she knew and admired, what just the kind of situation to do the trick.

Of course, non of this thoughts were actually being processed by her at the moment, since she was not there. It was just her body, screaming and screaming without any intention of stopping. At least, snce she was not at all there, she opposed no resistence in being held still, nor did she attempt to spit out the potion. Her body executed the bodily function of swallowing on its own, a natural reflex that was not impaired by the stupor. The screaming stopped after the potion made effect, though it was not strong enough either to pull her out of the catatonic state, or make her lose consciousness, so she merely sat there like an inanimate object, a doll staring vacantly ahead and blinking. She could not feel Daisy’s arms around her, nor listen to her words of comfort. She could not feel anything, hear anything, see anything. 

While under the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, her mind was still lingering around, it had simply been restrained. But now a victim of her own fragmented self, it had simply left the building, run away, away from the reality that hurt and condemned her. Away from the pain, the guilt, the fear. Away from comfort. Away from everything and nothing.

@edgarbonesknows

The screams seemed to dim into the background of his mind, but it wasn’t until he heard Charity’s soft voice over the cries that he realized they were only in his thoughts now. She was kneeling before him, trying to calm him down.

It reminded him of when Rommie had to calm him from his attacks and this helped.

Allowing his hands fall from his ears, he took a few steadying breaths before finally opening his eyes. To his relief, it was no longer the gruesome sight of corpses, but simply Charity Burbage sitting worried in front of him.

“I’m okay,” he told her shakily. “I’m okay,” he repeated again. “I’m okay.” The words became a chant, something to help ground him and remind him that the trauma’s in his mind were simply that - in his mind. Well, most of them.

Though the screaming had been silenced, Edgar couldn’t help but glance back at the safe house with a frightened glance. “Are they?” he asked hesitantly. What had the screaming come from? Had another attack happened? 

And suddenly he had the strong urge to run back into the house, realizing only now that he had fled like a coward without knowing the cause of that horrific scream. It certainly sounded as though someone had died. “Moody —” he said urgently, scrambling suddenly to his feet. “We — What happened?” 

“Stay out here!” A voice cut in and Edgar turned to see Madam Pomfrey hurrying toward them, looking grave. A sharp breath escaped from his mouth and he watched her run by, a medical bag in hand as she entered the house.

What if it wasn’t safe? Edgar lurched forward, trembling and feeling unsteady as he moved to follow despite the command.

—

Inside, Madam Pomfrey entered the room and took in the scene for only a second before falling to Moody’s side and assessing the situation. “Let me see,” she said tightly to Remus, already pulling potions from her bag. One of which she popped the top off immediately and poured it over the bandages that were already covering parts of the wound. A loud hiss filled the air as the blood began to bubble and clot before their eyes. Hopefully it would stop the wound from opening as soon as Moody was moved to the hospital, having lost enough blood as it was.

@thelionwolf​

Remus wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the ringing sound of Marlene’s scream taking over everything else. He was focused intently on the task at hand, one hand wrapping bandages tightly around the other man while the other cast spells to hold the material down, hoping the pressure would be enough to give the Auror enough time. That’s all they needed— time.

The werewolf didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he felt the gentle familiar presence of Madam Pomfrey by his side. When he finally exhaled it was shaky, as if his body was finally catching up with his mind, the weight of the situation landing heavily on his shoulders. He realized belatedly that Marlene’s screams had stopped. The wizard quickly shifted to the side to give the matron room to work. It was strange working next to the other woman rather than being her patient, everything about the moment feeling off and wrong, but there was no one Remus would trust more to the task than the other witch.

He didn’t waste her time with questions, instead shifting his attention back to Alastor. The man looked like he had slipped out of consciousness, but Remus could see the fight in the flutter of his eyelids. The werewolf tried to still the shaking in his hand as he reached for his wrist to check his pulse. Too slow. He whispered a gentle waking incantation that he had seen the matron use on him countless times over the years.

“Moody, can you hear me? It’s Remus. Pomfrey is here with us. Everyone’s okay. It’s going to be fine.” He wasn’t sure if the words were true, but he had to believe them. The werewolf could still hear the ringing of Marlene’s scream in the back of his mind as clearly as if it had never stopped.

Loony, Loopy Lupin.

edgarbonesknows‌:

cherrybomb-witch‌:

perennialgrace‌:

head-auror-moody‌:

plantsandpotions‌:

charity-h-burbage‌:

Tilden vouched for her quickly, and she felt a surge of gratitude towards him. Given the situation, it would’ve been so easy for any of them to immediately lost all trust in an outsider, but no one seemed to be looking at her harshly. No one had taken her up on her offer of calming potions, but at least they weren’t accusing her of being an infiltrator or throwing her out.

She shifted her focus back to Edgar, who was also working to deny her offer. “That’s okay, it’s all right, I understand. Whatever you need.”

Daisy was helping Marlene – stunned.  Charity couldn’t help but wonder who had actually cast the spell to knock her out, and to feel sympathy for them. These people were all friends, it seemed, or at least knew each other. She couldn’t imagine how terrible they must all be feeling, to have someone they knew and trusted start attacking them out of nowhere, to find out they’d been under someone else’s control, to have to attack a friend to save other friends. It was a devastating scenario – and then to have one of their own injured in the process… That part she was feeling a bit as well. She certainly couldn’t claim to be part of the group, but she was at least friendly with Mr. Moody – she very much liked the man, actually. It was almost impossible to reconcile the man she knew, the strong, solid, confident man, with the bloody figure lying across the room. He wasn’t the kind of person who seemed like he could be injured, and yet, there he was. It was shocking, to say the least, and she wished – Merlin, she wished more than anything that there was something she could do for him.

Professor Dumbledore was giving instructions to a painting, and Edgar’s eyes seemed drawn across the room. In the instant it took her to realize that seeing Mr. Moody injured would likely not help his current state, it was already too late – he’d seen it. His face paled, he looked like he was going to be sick, and then he lurched to his feet and out the room. Not a moment later, the younger man attending to Mr. Moody was levitating him onto the table.

He wouldn’t keep the leg. That much was immediately and abundantly clear even to Charity. And it was – it was still bleeding… Her own hands began to shake, now she was going to be sick, and her chest hurt – it hurt – it shouldn’t hurt, she wasn’t injured, but it hurt, and she could feel tears falling down her cheeks – the man was asking for help, for someone to clean the cloths so they could wrap Mr. Moody and stop the bleeding, but she couldn’t – she couldn’t remember the spell, she was useless useless useless

She shook herself and stood. This would not happen again. She couldn’t help Mr. Moody – she really didn’t remember the spell, if she ever knew it, and she had no medical training whatsoever. But she might be able to help Edgar, who she could hear in the hallway.

“I’m sorry, I – I’m not good at things like that,” she said to the young man, stumbling over her words. “I’d do more harm than good. I’m going to find Edgar and see if I can calm him down.”

She did just that. He wasn’t hard to find, not far from the door. She did remember a Vanishing spell, and took care of the mess in front of him, before gently taking his shoulder.

“Edgar?” she started quietly. “Do you maybe want to go a little farther away from the door? They have everything handled. Madam Pomfrey will be here soon, Mr. Moody is being taken care of, and Marlene is being taken care of.  They don’t need us right now. And it’s okay if you can’t. It’s not your fault. Let’s just step away a bit, maybe get some fresh air – I know I could use some. Would you step outside with me? I don’t want to go by myself.” Maybe, perhaps, maybe they were alike – maybe he was feeling just as useless as she always did. Maybe if she helped him feel like he was helping her with this small thing, keeping her company outside at night in a strange place, maybe it would help. She hoped it would help. She didn’t quite know what else to do.

@plantsandpotions​

Tilden nodded in understanding of Remus’ orders, sliding his hands carefully under Moody’s shoulders and the back of his neck. The Levitation spell was doing all of the heavy lifting, but Tilden ensured the the short trip to the tabletop was at least as comfortable as possible for the injured wizard.

As comfortable as you can be with a leg like that, he thought, trying not to look at the bloody mess. His stomach was churning at the mere thought of it and the stench of blood in the air. Unfortunately, he soon knew that he couldn’t just ignore the wound, terrible as it was, because Remus’ next request was help cleaning it so that he could bandage it. Charity claimed to be unable to do such spells and retreated to help Edgar. Tilden nodded to her, glad that she was keeping her head. What a first meeting for her to experience. He wouldn’t blame her for an instant if she ran and never came back.

“I… I think I can do that,” he said, turning back to Remus and answering his question. He remembered learning the spell the summer before, when Andromeda Tonks and some of the other healers in the Order had taught them some basic healing spells. He’d used the charm a few times since then, mostly to clean the dirt out of any small cuts or scrapes that he got while out in the garden. He drew his wand again and forced himself to look at Moody’s wound.

The sight of it made him feel faint, but he forced himself to take several deep breaths and concentrate. He pointed his wand at Moody’s leg and spoke the incantation.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, had turned back from the painting and was now crouching beside Daisy, both of them staring down at Marlene’s prone form. Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he told her quietly. “The curse will be broken now. And if it is not, we will be ready.” Though he seemed calm once more, he had his wand in his other hand. “Please wake her up, Miss Hookum.”

@head-auror-moody​

Talking had been a lot of effort. His felt as if his energy had been sucked out of him, and it was becoming near impossible to stay in the room. Something cool was being pressed against his lips, but before he could figure out what it was, liquid was being poured into his mouth. He wanted to cough it up. It could be poison for all he knew. Death Eaters were going to kill him by making him drink poison. Nothing was making sense. He expected something to happen, though he wasn’t sure what. If he was being made to drink poison, then surely he ought to be dead by now. The voice that spoke to him didn’t sound like it came from a Death Eater; it was more familiar. Though he couldn’t quite make out what was actually being said to him, he allowed himself to relax a little and he drank.

Whatever it was, it had a calming effect. Most certainly, he wasn’t going to die from it. His eyes were feeling heavy again, and it was a battle to keep them open. After a few attacks and retreats, he lost.

Despite being surrounded by a sea of black, he still felt as if he were still aware of what was happening to him. He flinched at the contact made that seemed to be lifting him up. Since he had no point of reference anymore, it was odd to feel weightless in a black void. The sensation soon ended though as his back came to rest on a hard surface.

A terrible smell wafted in. Having been to enough crime scenes, he knew the main thing he was smelling was blood. But he also smelled something like burning flesh too, and that made his stomach turn. If he had the energy to be sick, he might have been. A worse sense of dread hit him as his mind processed what was the origin of these awful smells. It was him. He was the victim in a crime scene that he always dreaded stepping into. He dreaded to think what came next.

Trying to make his eyes to open, he found that the darkness gripped him and was unrelenting. He wanted to escape! His heartbeat echoed in the void, and he could hear it get faster with each unsuccessful attempt. Through his efforts, he felt light tickling sensations travel down his face; it was sweat, he presumed. And yet, his body felt cold, as if someone had let a Dementor in the room. A number of things whizzed by in his head, as he tried to think was happening. Shock, seemed the most reasonable, but it wasn’t as if he could tell anyone that and even if he could, the thought slipped away. Useless; he was utterly useless.

@perennialgrace​

Daisy waited with Marlene, silently urging Dumbledore to hurry up and come and check on her. She glanced toward where he was speaking to one of the paintings lining the walls, with the intent on calling him over. Unfortunately, that put Moody into her line of vision, as Tilden and Remus moved him onto the table. Determinedly, she averted her eyes, but not before she caught sight of a lot more blood, and blackened skin, and… had that been bone? Merlin. Sick to her stomach, feeling rather faint, she focused her attention back on Marlene. She could try to help her, at least, she thought, taking a deep breath and trying to forget what she’d just seen.

Dumbledore joined her a moment later, crouching beside Marlene. It took him only a few moments to assess her, before he turned to Daisy, assuring her that the curse should be broken. His voice was remarkably calm considering all that was going on. It made her want to believe that everything was fine, now, but the fact that he had his wand at the ready sort of lessened the effect. She shot a worried glance at him, then turned her attention back to Marlene, carefully casting the counter spell. It had been a stunning spell, right? What if something else had knocked her unconscious? What if she didn’t wake up?

Daisy reached forward, shaking Marlene’s shoulder gently. “Marlene? Are you okay?” she said quietly, trying her best to wake her. Her voice shook, and she realized that she was about an inch away from bursting into tears. How could this have happened? How had no one noticed that Marlene had been imperiused until it was too late? What had happened to Moody- Daisy still didn’t dare look over to properly see what had happened, but she could tell from the bits of conversation that drifted towards her that it was really, really bad.

Shaking Marlene’s shoulder again, she said more urgently, “Marls, wake up!” It might have been kinder to let her stay unconscious— it wasn’t her fault that she’d attacked them, but that wouldn’t make the realization of what had happened any less awful for her. But Daisy wanted her to wake up, wanted to be sure that she was under her own control again, that the curse had broken. If it wasn’t— well, Dumbledore was ready. And Daisy still had Marlene’s wand, just in case.

@cherrybomb-witch

She came back slowly, hesitantly, as if her subconscious knew something she did not, knew that when she woke up, something terrible would be happening. She wanted to avoid, to be protected by the blanket of sleep, far from the horror. 

But she could not, because her name was being called by a voice she was compelled to protect: Daisy, that girl who was like another sister to her, and there was concern in her voice. Marlene could not allow that. She could not  through more worries in her way. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and the action felt strange, heavy, almost painful but relieving at the same time. Probably because it was an act of her own, not controlled by someone else. The bubble inside her head was gone now, though at first she felt disoriented and out of place. She struggled to turn her head, the blurry spots of colour in her vision finally forming the shape of Daisy’s face, sporting a concerned look. Marlene immediately tried to sit up and check for injuries, but she only managed to lift her head for a moment before dropping it back in exhaustion. She was aware of a greater turmoil around her, of people running and calling each other in alarm. 

Something had happened.

The stunning charm, bombarda, the curse. It all came back in a flash and Marlene let out a primal cry of anguish as colour drained from her face, realizing to a full extent just what she had done. She had turned against the Order, against her friends. People who trusted her, who relied on her. She had said fowl words, made statements she did not believe in, and then she had attacked…Merlin’s blood, she had attacked Dumbledore!

How many more!? How many more has she hurt!? How could she, how could she, how, how, hoooooow…

The screaming wouldn’t stop, she kept shrieking higher and higher as if she wanted to drain all possbility of sound from her body. Eventually she stopped listening, eventually she stopped realizing she was still screaming. Her body and mind became disconnected and her mind wandered off somewhere far, far and distant and straight into a catatonic state; eyes vacant, but not in the same manner as when she had been imperiused. They were vacant, but at the same time full of fear, full of resignation, and above all, full of self-loathing.

Someone was beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Jumping back, he scrambled for a breath when he realized it was only Charity, looking concerned and speaking quietly to him. There was still lots of noise coming from the room next to them and it was difficult to focus, but he thought she might have been asking if he wanted to leave the building. 

“Y-yes,” he said automatically, every bone in his body begging him to run. This wasn’t right, none of this was right, and he desperately needed to get away from it before he lost complete control. 

Allowing himself to be led away from the gruesome scene behind them, he tried his best to pull himself back to reality. It was so difficult to stay, his mind kept racing through past events, past traumas, trying to drag him back into them. His hand gripped Charity’s elbow as they moved toward the exit, it felt like they weren’t moving fast enough. He needed to get away.

Suddenly a scream pierced the air behind them and a cold shudder ran through his body before he finally gave in and ran. Practically throwing himself at the door that led to the dark streets, once the cool night air hit him in a rush he collapsed to his knees. 

The scream was all his mind had needed to pull him back into a dark flashback. Corpses were slick under his feet, people were crying out for their children and screaming at the morbid display. The heavy stench of blood and entrails were clouding his senses. He clamped his hands on his ears and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the sound but it only seemed to make it louder. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” he begged quietly, tears streaming down his face as he tried to break away from the memory. “Stop it, stop it, stop it.” He just wanted it all to stop.

-

Back in the room, Dumbledore was doing his best to calm the situation, turning to Tilden and asking the young man if he had a calming potion on him to help calm the panicking Marlene. “Everyone, remain calm,” he spoke over her screams as he rested a hand on the young witch’s shoulder. “Marlene, you are alright. Please look at me for a moment,” he asked, trying to meet her eyes.

@thelionwolf​

Remus’ eyes lifted, briefly narrowing as they met the other witch’s glance, watching as she stumbled over her words. The cleaning spell wasn’t difficult, so the reluctance came as a surprise to the werewolf. Of course, she didn’t owe them anything, and he understood the fear— he felt it, too. However, he couldn’t shake the same feeling that had been building since the start of the meeting tonight, and the weight of the thought would linger with him long after.

The Order couldn’t survive like this. At least, not for very much longer. Lowered glances, fearful eyes, and reluctant words in a meeting might seem harmless on the surface, but in the heat of a battle, it was much uglier. It was cowering in a corner as innocent people got hurt, falling apart and missing the chance to take down an Death Eater at the right moment, or freezing up and running in the opposite direction from the fight. He had seen each of these things first-hand, and knew what happened to those left behind when there wasn’t enough people around to help. The thought made his stomach turn.

Against the heat of a fire or the sound of crying children, he could have run. The thought might have seemed tempting when everything was falling apart. Even now, a part of him wanted to run out the door, and keep moving— he could run until he couldn’t breath, not stopping until everything in the room was little more than a distant nightmare. However, in each of these moments, he couldn’t help but think of the faces of the people left behind. The innocent kids, the strangers, the people he loved and cared for. Alastor was fighting for his life tonight not because he had been the target of the attack, but because he had fought to protect someone he cared about. How many others would have been able to do the same? 

Pushing the dark thought down, Remus turned away from the other witch and back to the makeshift bandages, offering a word of thanks to Tilden for his help. Casting a hasty sanitizing spell on the material, Remus worked alongside the other wizard, wrapping sections of his leg and using a charm to keep the material in place. His hands had been reaching for another strip of fabric when the deafening sound of a scream cut through the air, causing the werewolf’s hands to freeze. 

His face was pale, eyes wide as the chilling sound continued. The werewolf had to harden himself against it, forcing his hands to stiffly continue with the motion, hoping to mask just how much they were shaking. The sound was ringing in his ears, but somewhere beneath it he could hear Dumbledore speaking. It would be fine. Dumbledore would know what to do. He had to help Moody. They didn’t have time— he needed to focus.

Sirius didn’t even bother with a response. What good were potions if you never used them? They also had an expiry date, though these lasted for 5 years or more, but that was besides the point. And save them for what, a “better burn”? Stupid Remus.

Sirius huffed a flat laugh at the mention of the mess. “Its temporary, till I move it.” he gave his scripted response, knowing that bringing his work home annoyed both of his Marauder flatmates at different times throughout the day. 

It wasn’t his fault he had a dinky work bench. He also liked having his projects around to keep his mind occupied at night. Not that he’d ever mention it to the others but on the off chance that he couldn’t sleep, doing something that required 100 percent of his attention helped soothe the nagging worries. 

But it was just a lot easier to annoy them with it, then talk about it.

Sirius paused his search, watching Remus summon for his wand. He could feel it moving beneath them and felt around. It missed his hand however and landed right into the person who’d called for it. 

Sirius eyed his wand keenly, like a dog following his treat. He debated snatching it right from Remus’ hands. He’d probably be quicker, he had good reflexes. Then again if he failed, Remus would dig in his heels even more and be super annoying about it.

The seconds ticked by and he knew his moment was lost. If Remus had half his wits about him, he would have already read Sirius’ mind.

“Ugh!” Sirius let out the biggest “diva-like” sigh he could possibly manage, flipped his hair and got up to his feet in one graceful motion. Years of quidditch definitely helped with his clumsy tendencies.

“You’re lucky you’re injured. I never take on a man if it ain’t a fair fight,” he lied, his face dropping into a fake frown. With the Marauders, he was notorious for using sneak attacks, especially to save or recover his pride. He was very good at being a sore loser.

Sirius sauntered over to the kitchen, opening just about every upper cupboard, until he landed on the one with the dry food. His eyes searched over the shelves quickly. “Jaffa cakes, hobbygoblins, custard wands…” he listed them off in a controlled yell to the other room. His eyes landed on a half opened bar of chocolate.

“Swish and Flick?” He added to the list without thinking. “Well suppose that was a stupid question,” he muttered under his breath immediately after suggesting it, grabbing the chocolate bar and shutting the cupboard. 

He headed next to the fridge, pulling it open and searching the door for beer. He grabbed one, hesitating a quick moment before grabbing a second one. He shut the door with the side of his foot on his way back to the couch. 

“Here then, ya fairy,” he smirked, setting the chocolate down into Remus’ lap. Tucking one of the beers under his arm, he popped open Remus’ top and handed it over, before popping the other for himself.

“Need more beer. Last two.” he added, finally setting back down into his seat. He reached for his first and shook the can. It was still half full, a lot more than he’d been expecting, but Sirius didn’t mind double fisting.

He took a large gulp from his old beer, hoping to finish it quickly before his other one got too warm. 

“Hmm.” He motioned with his hand for Remus to pass his arm back over. 

If there was something that the marauders had always been good at, it was making each other laugh even in those moments when just smiling felt like an insurmountable feat. At least, that had always been true for Remus. The werewolf’s shook his head at Sirius’ reaction, leaning back into the sofa and allowing himself to sink into the brief moment and enjoy it. 

“That’s not true.” He countered, shutting his eyes and letting out an exhale. “You know I’d win, injured or not.” 

These moments were the ones that he would hold onto. James tossing Peter into the lake, or Lily laughing until milk came out of her nose. On paper they seemed so small, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to trade them for any price. They were all he had; that one good thing that was all his own, something even the war couldn’t take away.

Remus’ eyes opened in time to see the wizard return successful, years of living together making it easy to fall into a routine. Shooting the wizard a tired smile and silent thanks, he accepted the opened beer with his good hand and took a long sip. 

“I’ll go shopping tomorrow after work. Make a list if you or Wormtail want anything special.”

He shifted his arm back towards the other man after only a brief moment of hesitation, eyes refusing to linger on the mess of fresh burn and old marks for longer than necessary.

↳ a comma of silence relieves all the violence

Alastor nodded at the suggestion; it was becoming too hard to talk. There was only so much hope in this sort of crisis, but he was more than willing to hope: hope that the parents had already gotten out and were waiting, or at the very least, were alive. Every second that passed widened reality and hope. 

Above them, he heard a telling sign that they really needed to go. He forced his mind to focus on what the outside looked like before apparating with a louder pop his usual. Once his feet touched the ground, he doubled over and coughed. The mix of fresh air and smoke still in his lungs kept him coughing. Cool air breezed through the street and made the sweat on his face cling to his skin. His eyes rendered a blurry street and he wasn’t sure if Remus and the boy had made it out, but he’d made an agreement. Guess I’m going back in. 

After spitting on the ground to try to get rid of the taste of ash from his mouth, he covered his mouth with his sleeve jacket and began to run back into the flaming house. It was very much on fire now; there was hardly any house left to see. Definitely a madman, he thought to himself as he got closer. He pointed his wand toward where the door used to be - now indistinguishable from the rest of the surrounding flames. Summoning a strong spell to split the flames, he jumped through the hole he made. 

The second time being in the foyer was much more frightening that the first. The stairs were pretty much gone, he was sure. Alastor darted left down the hall. “Anyone here,” he tried to shout, but found that his voice was raspy and didn’t carry over the sounds of the flames. Pointing his wand at his throat, he cast the amplifying charm and repeated himself. “Hello! Anyone here!” Hearing nothing, he continued forward.

Flames licked at the walls, though fortunately, the hallway was still manageable to get through. There was a closed door on his left. Reaching out, he hovered his hand over the doorknob and found that it was radiating heat. Shit. Alastor took as good of a breath as he could and took one step back. With a wave of his wand, the door flew off its hinges and released a furious rush of fire at him. Without a moment to spare, he dived to the ground and covered his head. His hands felt as if they were being boiled, but the feeling soon passed. Carefully, he lifted his head up to see that the burst of flame was gone.  

He was slow to get to his feet. His body felt heavy and he would’ve been convinced if someone told him he was more filled with smoke than anything else. Stepping back to the door frame, he pointed his wand at his throat again. “Anyone here?!” 

Through the haze, he thought he saw a hand raise. “Remus, we’ve got one!” He hoped the other man could hear him.  

As soon as they had apparated, the young boy by Remus’ side had immediately bent over, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the grass. The werewolf wasn’t much better, the change in air causing another series of painful coughs. Remus’ wrapped an arm across his chest again, cursing under his breath. He waited just long enough for the muggle boy to point towards a window on the back of the house before starting back towards the building. Of course, at the moment it barely resembled a home, flames escaping from windows and smoke surrounding the property.

He tried to force himself not to think of Moody, and if he had made it out alright. Of course he was okay. The older wizard was Head Auror, nearly double his age, and easily one of the most skilled in the Order. Remus tried to take in a last shaky inhale of air before walking into the thick haze of smoke in front of him, the night illuminated by little more than the bright flames from inside. 

The window was still in tact, although from the swirl of dark smoke inside, it wouldn’t be long until the fire consumed this side of the house, too. A quick wave of his wand allowed the lock mechanism to shift, and Remus grasped at the bottom edge with his fingertips before turning his head to the side and pushing it upwards. He was immediately greeted with a hot rush of angry smoke, the heat biting at his cheeks. 

“Fuck.” Remus coughed, heedless to the pain this time as he lifted himself into the narrow opening. Once inside, he had intended on calling out, but instead found himself struggling through another series of coughs, his lungs and mending ribs burning in protest. He couldn’t see anything through the dark haze of smoke in the lightless room. It was instead a voice that caught his attention, the sound of Alastor’s amplified calls cutting through the roar.

The werewolf straightened, a new rush of optimism and purpose fueling his movements at the other wizard’s words. Someone was alive. Lifting his wand, Remus cast a spell to clear the smoke in the corner of the room he had entered, immediately freezing at the sight of someone just a few feet in front of him. An older woman, laying facedown on the floor. She wasn’t moving. Remus forced himself forwards, bending to her side and grasping at her shoulders. His chest was tight, breathing nearly impossible in this room.

As Remus shifted her body, the woman’s limbs fell slack. Through the dim lighting and fog of smoke, her chest was still and unmoving. He didn’t have time to think or analyze the situation— the lightheadedness that had started to consume his mind forced him to act quickly. With stony features, Remus wrapped an arm gingerly around her back, lifting the frail woman in his arms with surprising strength as he forced himself to stand on weak legs.

“Moody!” He called out with a rough voice, moving a few slow paces. A door connected the small study to what appeared to be another room, and the werewolf pushed against it with his shoulder, eyes widening in relief as his gaze fell on a barely conscious muggle man frozen in fear, and Alastor in the doorway. 

“Come now,” Sirius mumbled from behind his hair, rolling his eyes. It wasn’t that Remus had pulled away but he sensed the hesitation, like when coaxing a scared cat.

“I ain’t gunna hurt you.” His smirk came through his tone. He knew how Remus felt about people touching (or even looking) at his scars. If Sirius didn’t think it was right daft, he might have even been a little flattered that he was one of the lucky few.

“Well if that’s the case, then we know where you got it from.” He chuckled, ignoring the insinuation.

There was definitely a wound, and one that was going to take a lot more than spell work.

“Have some healers in the cupboard,” Sirius thought aloud, getting up to his feet with a puzzled, yet determined look in his eye. It was one he often wore when they were on the edge of a scheme. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it all the way back, before turning on his heels and beelining to the main bath.

Sirius rummaged through the medicine cabinet beside the sink, pulling out just about every bottle he came across. This could all be put back later, right now they just had to deal with Remus’ arm.

He found a couple that might help; one would definitely be enough to soothe the pain. He also grabbed a wash cloth and wet it with some water. They’d have to clean his arm first. 

Sirius returned with two fists full of little bottles, his anger replaced by momentary determination and distraction. 

He set them down and returned back to his seat beside Remus, taking his arm again and placing it in his lap. 

“So how do I know that its you right now?” He feigned seriousness, getting started on his work. He forgot about his lost wand and frowned, searching around in his seat again for it. “… like you could be a Death Eater right now, biding your time, getting me to heal up all your wounds while eating all my sweets from the cupboard.” He mused, his search growing more frantic despite all the teasing. 

He stopped suddenly and frowned, getting a far off look while he thought. He’d brought it to the couch with him when he’d grabbed a beer. Where’d it get to?

Remus’ lips curled into a tentative smile as Sirius laughed, his eyes softening around the edges. “That’s true. Definitely your fault.” He mused, exhaling smoke into the air as he watched Sirius stand. Dropping his hand, the werewolf’s gaze following the other wizard as he started to leave the room, everything about the movement filled with purpose.

“You don’t have to—” He had fleetingly begun, already knowing that Sirius wouldn’t heed his words. Instead, the werewolf leaned forwards, taking another drink from the other man’s beer. Again, he wished it was something stronger.

Silently, he finally forced himself to bring a tentative hand to the rough skin on his arm, scanning it over and cursing under his breath. The skin had just healed from his mission at the start of the month. Another burn, another bad memory. 

Here in their familiar flat, however, it was easier to feel grounded again. The security of the locked door behind them, the melody humming on the record, the sound of Sirius’ laugh— all of it eased the hard line in his back, the memories of the night fading in contrast.

Lifting his eyes as Sirius returned, the werewolf raised an eyebrow at the collection of bottles in his hands. “—We should save those.” He argued futilely, the thought interrupted by Sirius’ question. The werewolf adjusted the fabric around his arm, a shadow of a smile ghosting across his lips in muted amusement. He lifted his glance, shooting the man a pointed look.

“If I was a Death Eater, I might have asked why this place looks like shit.” He nodded, feigning a serious tone as his eyes fell on the kitchen table, currently occupied with Sirius’ work. Of course, the stack of books piled onto the other end happened to be his own, but that was entirely besides the point.

Remus’ lips lifted again as the other wizard began to search again around his seat for his wand again. “Or I’d have asked what kind of wizard manages to lose their wand in the middle of a war.” He commented, pulling one of his legs up onto the sofa, he lifted his injured arm.

The long pause stopped him, as he was forced to wait for Remus’ reaction through the intermission of the offered drink. It was just long enough to allow the hothead to think a little more clearly about what he’d just heard. Of course he was mad, and he had a right to be! They were his friends and colleagues. And it was Marlene! But Remus barely reacted, brushing him off like he’d been expecting the outrage. 

Sirius’ hands balled into fists, the feelings starting to overwhelm him as they seared into his skin. They weren’t doing enough. This was what happened when they just waited for the enemy to get the upper hand. How many times did he say something like this would happen? But even he knew that now was not the time for ‘I told you so’s.’ Besides, the one person he wanted to say it to, wasn’t here anyway. 

“Of course it matters Remus.” He growled darkly. How could he even think that? In his mind, they should already be plotting their next move. They wouldn’t take this attack lying down. He watched Remus’ head drop, with what Sirius saw as cowering in defeat. This would not be them. He wouldn’t let them stop fighting, not when he’d given up everything just to be here. 

Sirius shifted his eyes to the back wall. His body had hardly moved, immobilized by adrenaline. The Marauders knew he was trying to work on his anger. None of that seemed to matter, after what had just happened. What was the bloody point? They should just release the dog on the enemy. He was ready and willing. 

But their pesky voices rang in his mind. Breathe, 5 seconds in, 5 seconds out. He closed his eyes and huffed a frustrated sigh, looking somewhere between pained and exasperated. It wasn’t Remus’ fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. They couldn’t control what the enemy did. The only thing you can control is your reaction to things. 

His stomach tightened and he made a disgusted face, opening his eyes to roll them at himself. It always seemed so corny and embarrassing. He’d changed a lot in the last 5 years and not all for better. Most of the time he just felt out of control. 

She was aiming for Dumbledore.

“Well it must have been done by some idiot then, if they missed a target as obvious as that beard.” he blurted impulsively, his mean laugh causing his expression to gradually soften. The feelings would linger for hours, he knew. It would be like eggshells until the bomb was finally set off. But it was better it went off on himself, rather than Remus. 

Sirius mirrored Remus, taking a calming drag from his cigarette. His changes in mood could be dizzying to anyone who wasn’t used to it. That said, his fist was still unable to let it go and stayed balled at his side. 

Sirius finally turned to pace around the coffee table, stuffing his fist into his pocket. He heard what Remus was saying, but it sounded like criticism. 

“No, I’d know. I’d always know if it was you. ” His heckles rose and he couldn’t help but get defensive. 

How could something like this happen? The implications beyond Marlene and Dumbledore were huge. They now knew who was in the Order, where and when they meet. Anything talked about was presumably compromised. All that work, just gone. It was gone, and for nothing. 

“Ask, like what?” He frowned, unable to let it go. “Like what we ate for dinner last week or something?” He was mocking him and immediately felt guilty for it. 

“No, now.” he crossed the floor in one giant step, joining Remus’ side on the couch. He grabbed Remus’ arm but despite the motion, his hands had surprising gentleness. 

“Let me see.” He said quietly, his hair falling to cover his face as he tried to pull up Remus’ sleeve. 

Although he worked on motors for a living, he knew how to be delicate with his touch. His hands were often rough and cracked from over-washing the grease off of them. 

He gently inched the sleeve slowly up his arm, not taking any no’s for an answer. Finally, he started to reveal the wound. 

“Remus..” Sirius whispered chastisingly. “You could be getting dragon herpes from this.” he smirked weakly from behind his head of curls.

Remus frowned at the answer, eyes flickering down to his best friend’s fists and then back up to meet his eyes. His voice was painfully even when he spoke, but the other man knew him well enough to understand the frustration here, and the warning tone. “Who are you going to go after, Sirius? Is it worth getting yourself killed?” He paused a moment, fatigue escaping in his words. “It doesn’t matter who. It’s all of them.”

He was angry. Of course he was angry. But they had to be careful. Their next move had to be calculated. They couldn’t risk being reckless: not now.

Remus bit back a retort at Sirius’ bitter comment, his head lowering at the words and the impact that the man had yet to realize. He didn’t know about Moody, but that was a discussion for the next day. Dumbledore had promised to send word as soon as he had an update on his health. He took a long drag and hoped to disappear in the smoke.

No, I’d know. I’d always know if it was you.

Remus was unable to help but lift his eyes, meeting the other man’s gaze with parted lips. He wanted to take back the words, but was unable to do so. Of course, he could pick the other wizard out from a crowd with his eyes closed, if asked. When he got home from work, he could tell by the simple sounds of their footsteps and the weight of their breath if it was Peter or Sirius walking through the door. Sometimes he wondered, glancing in the mirror at his reflection, if it was possible to understand someone else better than yourself. He wondered if Sirius felt this, too.

The question and mocking tone landed unsurprising in the air, and Remus countered quickly. “Yes, just like that.” He answered flatly, before adding with more sincerity. “With the others. In the Order, or when we meet up. It’s important.”

Remus’ shoulders dropped as Sirius moved to sit by his side on the couch, the grip on his arm causing the werewolf to tense. If it had been anyone else, save James or perhaps Peter, Remus would have pulled away, or come up with a hurried excuse, as he had for years. Sirius knew this. Today he was silent instead, biting down on his lip.

His eyes were locked on Sirius’, looking anywhere but at the disfigured mess of scars on pale skin that was temporarily masked by harsh, stinging burns. Dropping his glance to the man’s lips at his comment, a smile ghosted over his features, and a light, only slightly unsteady laugh broke the silence.

Sirius watched Remus move about the room, uneasiness growing in the pit of his stomach. He’d been expecting, something different from his mate, maybe a direct answer or statement of a fixable problem, but Remus appeared to be making him wait for one.

The breeze hit his face and his curls blew, causing him a second of relief to the sudden tension that filled the room. Sirius frowned and his body moved to follow Remus back to the other end of the sofa.

He picked up the can of beer and took a swig, this time spilling only a dribble that got caught in his short beard.

‘Something happened…’ 

His heart jumped and he immediately thought to James and Lily. Well it couldn’t be James, they’d been together all night.

Sirius caught the pack in his lap and found his own cigarette, lighting it quickly. It felt like he was about to need it. He offered the can of beer to Remus after another drag and swig.

So it had been Marlene.

Sirius’ mind continued to race with questions. But everyone was okay… Sirius eyed Remus’ arm closely.

Sirius looked away with a loud huff, before bolting up to his feet.

Of course fucking Remus would put this whole thing on himself. The anger was boiling and starting to overpower him.

Sirius stood towering in front of Remus, arms crossed and looking like there was a problem that needed to be solved.

“What happened? Who did it?” He asked, his hand slicing through the air as he demanded answers.

Who had the balls to come onto their turf, put the entire Order, his friends and family at risk, and threaten them with such flaming audacity…

His eyes were growing darker and his frown sunk into a tight-lipped line.

“And your arm?” He nodded towards Remus, taking a long drag from his cigarette. 

Remus glanced up as Sirius stood, his chest tightening and a frown crossing his lips as he watched the impact of the news sink in. He wanted to take back the words, and linger for just a moment longer on an understated minute with a crossroad puzzle and spilled beer. He needed to commit the details to memory, but just as quickly as it had appeared it had past, and it was too late to try and save the moment. Almost just as quickly, he saw that familiar flash of anger, stretching from the the sharpness of his motion to the darkness in his eyes. He had seen it before: that electric, red-hot flame of anger that threatened to burn anyone who got too close. The werewolf didn’t back away, and he wasn’t afraid; he knew the warmth behind it, and the reason for the rage. Remus felt it, too.

The offered beer was sitting on the table between them, and Remus lifted the drink to his lips, wishing it was something stronger. He shook his head at Sirius’ question, at a loss for an answer.

“I don’t know.” He exhaled, hating the way the words sounded. “Does it matter?” It wasn’t a secret to the pair that every day, Voldemort’s numbers continued to grow. Over and over again, he had seen the same twisted mask, each one blurring into the next in both his nightmares and his waking hours. “It’s all of them, Sirius.” He forced himself to drop his glance, shaking his head.

“I don’t know how it happened. She was acting off during the meeting, and I should have noticed. It happened so fast.” The werewolf swallowed thickly, before meeting Sirius’ glance again. “She was aiming for Dumbledore.” The words were heavy with importance, and he didn’t want to think about what would have happened if the plan had been successful. Remus brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly.

In this room— in their home, Remus had finally let his guard down, the weight of the night catching up to him quickly. He felt for a moment as if he might suffocate from the weight of it all, expression now indecipherable. His words were uncharacteristically firm when he met Sirius’ eyes again. “We can’t trust this anymore, Sirius. We have to be more careful.” There was an urgency to his voice, as if he needed the other man to hear the words in this moment. “I could have been anyone. You wouldn’t know.” Remus swallowed, a flicker of fear crossing over his eyes. “You need to ask me. Something only I would know.”

Dropping his glance, he shook his head. “I can’t risk it— we can’t.” He quickly corrected his words. It was difficult to imagine the people they had been before the start of the war. He wondered if he would still recognize them, if they stood in front of him now. 

Sirius listened to the sounds of Remus replacing the wards. They were familiar and the silence was equally unsurprising. Usually Remus might have been in a better mood, if not considering where he’d just been. 

Meetings were sometimes hard on everyone, not just Sirius. Not to mention the fact that it was late. Probably was an extra long day for him. He couldn’t blame him. 

He picked up the can without looking, still considering the placement of the words on the page. Four letters, definitely wasn’t ‘hand,’ which was the obvious answer. Dick? Sometimes Prophet crosswords got cheeky, but he doubted they were that cheeky.

He sighed, tuning out the rest of the room, and letting the music drone in his ears. The can was left hanging in the air, before finally deciding thoughts were better with a drink. 

He rose it the rest of the way to meet his lips at the same moment a voice appeared behind him. Sirius jumped, spilling a mouthful of beer down on his lap. 

“Cunt. Fucker..” he hissed with surprise, whipping his head around, and patting his lap where he felt a sudden cold wetness. 

“Merlin, you just apparate here or?” he chuckled, the shock quickly replaced by amusement. “Ya scared me.” he added, stating the obvious. 

The spill made him turn to sit up in his seat, setting the can safely back down on the floor. He tossed the paper aside for now and re-checked his clothes for signs of beer.

Sirius wiped his pants with his hand, as though that would make it go away. It could be fixed with a simple spell of course. Assuming he could find his wand between the cushions of the couch. 

He used his hand to feel behind his back, squishing it down as far as he could between the cushions he was on. It would be ideal if he didn’t have to get up to find it. He caught Remus’ eyes.

“Whatt?” he chuckled, trying to read Remus’ strange expression. Wasn’t so much a face he was giving, but more so a hidden look behind his eyes. “Whatt?” His amusement died away. “Fuck, I’ll clean it up.. Just gotta find my fucking wand, this bloody couch eats everything.” 

“What? Why are you looking like that?” He added defensively. It helped that he’d been living with the Marauders ever since he was 11, so it was safe to say he knew most of Remus’ faces. It always made him really uncomfortable when he didn’t–– when he couldn’t read people. It turned his gut and lurched like he was ready to face an unknown doom. 

Time had made that easier on him, but there were still moments when faces that were angry or annoyed caused him to flinch. He’d hide it of course, but there was no hiding his snappiness. 

Remus straightened at the sudden string of curses that escaped his roommate’s lips, a shadow of a smile ghosting on his lips at the sight of the spilled drink. The feeling lingered as Sirius fumbled for his wand, hand searching between the cushions of the sofa to no avail. It disappeared as Sirius met his eyes, a question falling from his lips. Remus dropped his gaze. After living with each other for nearly ten years, it was difficult to keep anything from the other man. 

Letting out an exhale, the weight of the night was quickly catching up to him as he stepped away from the sofa, walking towards the window and sliding open the frame. They were greeted with a gentle breeze, the cool summer air comfortable in the night. Reaching for his pocket, the werewolf pulled out a pack of cigarettes, listening to the beat of the record playing in the background. He walked to the sofa, taking a seat on the opposite end of the other man, the movement comfortable and routine despite the night being anything but. Pulling a cigarette from the pack and placing it between his lips, he tossed the rest of the pack towards the other wizard in offering.

“Something happened at the meeting, Padfoot.” He finally spoke. The werewolf sounded tired, unsure of where to start. He lit the end of the cigarette with a short wave of his hand, inhaling instead and enjoying the familiar sensation. He didn’t rush, taking his time before exhaling gently, watching the trail of smoke that escaped into the room.

“Marlene was Imperiused. There was an attack.” He bit his lip as he leaned forwards, resting his arm against his leg before quickly pulling back at the movement, pain stinging at the contact on his raw skin. “Everyone is okay.” He continued. The words were mostly true, but the meaning was clear— no one had died. He shook his head, lowering his glance. “Mostly. It’s just fucked up. They’ve seen the Tonks’ house. They knew where to go.” Remus brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking a long drag and exhaling again.