The Morning After the Night Before

The Morning After The Night Before

When it's finally all over, Remus lies naked and bleeding on the floor of the Shack, not even noticing how tenderly Sirius picks him up and rests him on the bed. It isn't much of a bed, hardly more than a stained and threadbare mattress with a bit of mold around the edges, but it serves its purpose. It's still softer than the floor, though not by much.

So much blood... The floor is sticky with it, and the cloying coppery smell hanging in the air makes the Shack seem like an abattoir. Sirius never knew a person could bleed so much and still be alive afterward.

But then, he'd never watched as a fifteen-year-old boy turned into a werewolf, either.

The Shrieking Shack isn't really haunted; it never was. All the horrible noises that the villagers thought were spirits - they'd only been made by Remus during the pain of his monthly transformations. Now that he has witnessed it firsthand, Sirius understands. He feels more than a bit like shrieking himself.

He almost wishes they'd never learned the Animagus spell, that he and James and Peter were still ignorant First Years, still oblivious to Remus' lycanthropy. He'd been so afraid, Sirius had, when they first tried it out. No brave Gryffindor he, afraid he'd do it wrong, or not be able to at all, or that his Animagus would turn out to be something a werewolf would rather have for a snack.

But instead of the rabbit he'd feared, it was a dog. A huge, shaggy, black mutt.

"Holy shit, mate," James had said, he and Peter staring slack-jawed as Sirius bounded his new form jubilantly across the room, skidding his newfound paws gracelessly along the floor. "You're a fucking Grim!"

He'd been afraid, too, that he'd forget how to transform once he was alone with Remus in the Shack. He hadn't wanted to be the only one there, not on his first time, not when he had no idea what to expect. But James was laid up in the infirmary with a nasty flu, and Peter... Well, Peter hadn't quite mastered the spell.

It turns out he makes a rotten Grim. A Grim is supposed to be fierce and terrifying, a renowned omen in the wizarding world of impending doom and death. It's not supposed to cower like a puppy in the corner, whimpering helplessly, while werewolf bones break and reform under his friend's skin.

Sirius had watched in horror as Remus-as-wolf bit and scratched at himself, tearing viciously at his own flesh in an effort to quell the bloodlust in him. And Sirius-as-dog was powerless to stop him.

Sirius realizes that he is still shaking, although the moon has long set and the sun is sending bright rays into the Shack. What, he wonders, was the point of becoming Animagi if we can't be of any help? I never imagined... No one could imagine anything like this...

Slowly he becomes aware of Remus' eyes on him. "You're awake," Sirius says.

"You stayed," Remus whispers. "You really stayed." A ghost of a smile flits across his lips as his eyes close again.

Sirius sits carefully at the edge of the mattress. With one hand he brushes Remus' tawny hair out of his eyes, frowning at the new cuts. Deep scratches - welts, really - adorn one cheek, crisscrossing over top of the faint white lines of old scars.

"I didn't think you'd stay," Remus whispers.

A lump rises in Sirius' throat and he chokes it back, ashamed of his earlier fears. It's still Remus, he thinks. Still just Remus. I could have distracted him. Dog and wolf - it's not so different. I could have kept this from happening.

He leans close to Remus' ear, his breath feathering the other boy's hair. "Next time," he promises, "it will be better."

"It already is," Remus says, drifting into sleep.