2 for the prompt
So, this went from a fluffy fic to a full blown whumpy angsty fic. I swear, I try to write other things but apparently angst is the only think I’m good at.
Hope you like it!!
Concealment
Remus is reading, comfortably nestled under the covers when the storm hits.
It’s violent, pounding one, rain and wind and lightning torn from the sky. Water howls against the glass of the window, turning outside into a mess of swirling grey, periodic streaks of lighting slicing across the clouds.
For as long as could remember, he’s always loved storms. The wildness, the unpredictablity, how even after it was long gone you could still smell the hint of rain in the air. He remembers when he was five, just before the Bite, standing outside in the garden and letting himself get soaked under the clouds and the water and the wind.
Beside him, the door opens. He’s always complained about that, having the bed closest to the door, the sounds of the common room downstairs filling his ear. He rolls his eyes, turns another page, keeps reading as Sirius enters the room.
He doesn’t even bother to look up. Sirius was Sirius - if he wanted something, he’d ask for it. Remus merely turns the page, pulling the covers up around himself as Sirius stops. “Re.”
Remus cocks his head. “Yep?”
“Can I….can you help me with something?”
Remus sighs, placing the ribbon to mark his page. “I swear Sirius, if you need to copy my Transfiguration homework again I’ll hex you…”
He trails off, finally glancing at Sirius. He looks terrible, his face pale, hair pulled tightly back. His robes were bundled up in his arms, so that he was just wearing his white shirt and tie, his sweater tangled in the robes. Remus frowns. “Are you okay?”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, he curses. Of course Sirius wasn’t okay. The Break had just ended.
He remembers last year, when Sirius came back to school, the way he almost fainted when he tied the tie around his neck. Everyone brushed it off, saying Sirius was just being dramatic, but only Remus noticed the thin scars around his throat, the skin pale like all the colour has been leeched out of it. The year before, when Flitwick had told them that they would attempt to charm their way out of chains and Sirius almost threw up in the middle of class.
Everyone knew that things were rough at home with Sirius. Remus didn’t think they knew just how rough.
He climbs out of bed in an instant, wrapping his arms around Sirius. He’s shaking, so hard that Remus can feel it, trembling and trembling like he’s about to break apart. Remus moves his hands, presses one against Sirius’ chest and flattens the other at his stomach. He can feel the frantic pulse of Sirius’ heart under his palm, feel his shallow breaths between his fingers, and Remus buries his face into Sirius’ hair. “Sirius. Sirius, talk to me. Are you okay?”
Sirius just grips Remus’ hands, shaking his head. His mouth moves, just barely, the tiniest breath of air. No.
Remus presses a gentle kiss to Sirius’ forehead, trying to ignore how slender he had become. He can feel his rib cage underneath his palm, the bones sticking out against his wrist. “Hey. You’re alright now. She can’t get you.”
Sirius lets out a muffled sob, and Remus clutches him tighter. “I mean it, Sirius. She can’t get you here. She can’t hurt you here.”
Sirius is still trembling, breathing too fast and too hard, and Remus winces. “Breathe, Sirius. Take deep breaths. You’re going to pass out otherwise.”
He feels Sirius’ hand on his wrist, so tightly it hurts, but Remus doesn’t pull away. He just stands there, listening as Sirius’ harsh breathing gradually slows, feels his body start to relax in his. Sirius coughs, his voice quiet and hoarse. “Sorry.”
Remus shakes his head. “You never have to be.” He pauses. “What do you need my help on?”
Sirius swallows, hard, his hand drifting to ghost over his shoulder. “I - “ He cuts himself off. “You’re the only one I can speak to. I can’t to anyone else.” He sniffs. “They’d tell me to speak to someone. To tell an adult, someone who can help. But no one can. Not really.” He glances up, into Remus’ eyes. “Some scars can only be hidden, not healed. You’re the only other person who knows this.”
Remus bites his lip. “Did she - “
Sirius lets out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Left a hell lot of marks too.” He swallows. “And I don’t know - a few girls asked me about them today and I panicked. I don’t know how to hide them - they’re curse wounds and - “
“Hey.” Remus keeps his voice gentle, soft, even though he wants to scream and cry and murder Walburga on the spot. “It’s the same with werewolf scars. They can’t be hidden using normal magic.”
“But you can hide them right?” Panic fills Sirius’ eyes, his body starting to tremble again. “I can’t…I can’t handle all the questions, it’s bad enough what she did to me - “
“What did she do, Sirius?” Remus’ voice is deadly quiet. “What the fuck did she do?”
Sirius just shakes his head, and Remus nods. “Okay. And yes, I can cover these.” The corner of his mouth twists into a bitter smile. “I’ve been practicing this since I was five.”
“Thanks.” The words are quiet, and Remus reaches for his wand. Sirius stands there, like he’s bracing himself, before his fingers go to the bottom of his shirt. With a sudden, violent yank, he pulls it over his head and turns.
Slash marks. That’s what they are, hundreds of them. They stretch over his back and shoulders, down past his hips, dark and livid and deep. Most of them are still fresh, not even crusted over yet, blood trickling down his spine.
Remus swears. “What the hell?”
“Please don’t make me talk about it.” Sirius closes his eyes. “I don’t think….not yet.”
“Only when you’re comfortable,” Remus murmurs. He raises his wand, touches it to the tip of the longest gash. “Celare vulnera mea.”
Slowly, he watches as the skin on Sirius’ back ripples. It lightens, appearing to stretch over the gashes, though Remus knew they still lay there. This was a spell of concealment, not healing, and the pain still remained, though it was invisible.
He continues to circle around Sirius, pressing his wand against the patches that seemed to be fading, erasing the blood and scars and cuts. Around and around he went, until everything was gone, hidden under the layers of spells. With a groan, he stands, pressing his finger against Sirius’ shoulder blades. “Can you feel this?”
Sirius sucks in a breath. “Yes.”
“Good.” Remus glances up at him. “This is just a concealment spell. It hasn’t healed anything. I’m not good enough to do that, and I don’t want to screw anything up in your back - “
“You’ve already done so much.” Sirius’ voice is hoarse, worn out and Remus wonders if it was from screaming. “Thank you.”
“Anything.” Remus straightens, reaching up to tangle in Sirius’ hair. “You look different with your hair up.”
“Good different?” Sirius whispers back.
Remus tilts his head, considering, then reaches over and unknots his hair. The locks fall down around his shoulders, rough and tangled until Sirius almost looked like the boy he was before. “There. That’s better.”
“Thank you.” Sirius’ voice breaks on the words, cracks like a piece of glass. “I’m…I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Remus shakes his head. “She’s torturing you, Sirius! What the hell do you have to be sorry for?”
“I don’t know.” Sirius lets out a bitter laugh. It was interesting and heartbreaking seeing Sirius like this, stripped of his arrogance and wit and charm. It was easy, with the war looming on the horizon, so easy to forget that Sirius was only 15.
Remus closes his eyes. He reaches out, pulls Sirius’ face close to his, presses his lips against Sirius’. They are bloodied, with old wounds and fresh ones, and he tastes like Sirius, of outside and pine needles and copper and Remus parts his lips. “Tell me. What can I do, Sirius, how can I save you?”
Sirius just pulls away. The smile on his face is sad, heartbreaking, as he shakes his head. “Nothing, Re. There’s nothing.”
