Revenge Most Sweet

"Revenge Most Sweet"

by s1ncer1ty

~ * 3: Don't Go Away * ~

"we've been sharing so many words and feelings

age is heavier, it seems, than years alone

but I told you things I wouldn't dream of telling anyone

are we drifting out, like flowers from a forgotten someone

don't go away...

i can't feel the same without you"

~ Toad the Wet Sprocket

Through the machinations of a cruel professor who would have liked nothing better than to see me expelled and James' absence from class (for which Gryffindor lost still more house points), I ended up paired with Severus Snape during the next day's practical Potions lesson. We had never gotten on well, but by that lesson we were looking upon each other with undisguised loathing. I still wanted nothing more than to punch him -- if only just once, to vent my frustration -- but I restrained myself in the presence of Adder.

The potion that day was a caustic one, designed to melt away any traces of magical graffiti. Part of me suspected that Filch merely wanted more cleaning solution to scrub down the walls of the boys' bathroom, but another part of me couldn't help but wonder if Adder had deliberately set us up working with such volatile potions ingredients.

But I said nothing, and merely bit my tongue as Snape snapped directions like a commanding officer over the day's potion. With Adder keeping a particularly close eye upon our workstation, I pulled stingers from venomous fireflies and squeezed acidic secretions from poison slugs. I even put up with Snape's snidely undercutting comments regarding my ability to brew a proper potion without giving in to the desire to break his oversized nose.

I was good, but I was seething. Finally, I could take it no more, and dissolved the dutifully patient act.

"How could you?" I whispered halfway through the potion's creation.

Inky black eyes, cold and unbetraying of his guilt, tilted up to meet my own. "I'm sorry?"

But he wasn't sorry, the patronizing git. I suppressed the escalating urge to throw the beaker of acidic slug secretion in his face. "What you did to Remus."

"There is no question of what I did to Lupin," Snape hissed, eyes smouldering with fierce hatred, even if his voice remained level. "It is a question of what you and Potter did to me."

"What we did to you?" I muttered incredulously. "After you deliberately knocked over that --"

"Not in the slightest!" interrupted Snape. "Must I remind you that it was you and Potter that conspired to soil my reputation? You know as well as I that there was no mandragorda in that beaker."

"Can I help it if you're blind?" I said, avoiding his gaze. "Or perhaps you're not quite the star potions maker that you proclaim yourself to be."

"That beaker was filled with silver dust, Black," Snape said smoothly, adding several lacewing flies to the potion bubbling in a thick mass before us. "How odd, indeed, that Lupin reacts so violently to silver dust."

That did it. With a sharp cry, I yanked my wand from my robe and drew my arm back as if to strike him. Yet before the vilest of hexes burst forth from my lips, my hand was roughly seized, thick fingers circling my wrist.

"You will put your wand away in my class, Mr. Black," said Adder, squeezing my wrist so tightly I could feel the bones grinding together. Helplessly, my wand dropped from my fingertips and hit the table.

"Let me go," I whispered, hoping to disguise at least a little of the venom in my voice.

Adder dropped my arm with a jerk, and I rubbed at the aching flesh with my opposite hand. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your lack of discipline, Mr. Black. One more outburst from you, and I will see that you are suspended, if not expelled. Get back to work."

I buried my hands into the long sleeves of my robes, so that neither Snape nor Adder could see the trembling in my fingers as I rubbed feeling back into the tips. I flushed angrily, and less than gently threw several firefly stingers into the potion.

Finally, Snape spoke again, his voice soft and, surprisingly, almost concerned in tone. "Remus Lupin is not to be trusted, Black. He's dangerous. I thought you had that figured out by now."

"You know nothing, Snape. Absolutely nothing," I snapped, and if it weren't for the looming figure of Adder hovering at a nearby workstation, I might well have hexed him on the spot, expulsion be damned.

"Apparently, you are not to be trusted either," he said, his voice dropping back to its usual honeyed sneer. "I do suggest you be careful of who you choose as your friends. Or else you may find yourself aligned with those who engage in ... less than acceptable wizarding practices."

"So help me, if he dies because of you, I'll --"

"You'll what?" he sneered, looking down his oversized nose at me.

But I left the threat ultimately unspoken, bottling the rage inside me just long enough to cut off any potential fodder that Snape could use against me in the future. I would not show him my full hand, and would not give in, even though it took my entire force of will...

~*~

Five days we waited from the time the full moon rose to its deepest ebb, and Remus Lupin would again be safe to return to the school. I thought I would go sick with worry -- not just for Remus, but also for James, who had distanced himself from us all since the incident. Despite repeated attempts to visit the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey rebuffed us at every turn, without giving us so much as an inkling as to whether or not Remus was even alive.

"Please, Madam Pomfrey," I grouchily implored after the moon had begun its wane. "Just let us know if he's okay. Hell, let us know if he's dying. It's been five days -- I think we have a right to know."

"Sirius Black," she had snapped in reply, her stern demeanor returned in full force since the initial shock of the incident. "I want you back in your common room immediately, and I don't want to see you here again unless you are sick yourself! And the same goes for James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, if you would be so kind as to pass on the message."

"But Remus --"

"Is still under strict quarantine. Good day, Sirius."

I left dejectedly that day, and joined Peter at supper that evening where I picked at my food, while he stared firmly at his plate and ate without second thought. James didn't bother joining us to eat, but later that night I stayed awake in the dormitory to listen to his whimpering, his thrashing about upon the bed in the throes of agonized nightmares. I wanted to go to him, to wake him up or to place a hand on his shoulder, but I knew he wouldn't want comfort. Not from me, at any rate.

On the fifth day since the incident in Potions class, I dragged myself back to the Gryffindor common room after an achingly long day of blurred, bleary classes -- I'd nearly passed out from boredom in another of Professor Binns' dissertations on the Goblin rebellions; had nearly impaled myself upon my transfigured hedgehog in Professor McGonagall's class; and had worked very hard to keep from detonating Snape's cauldron in Potions.

As I entered the Gryffindor common room all went silent. Since Remus' incident, it had been infinitely more subdued than usual, but when I pushed through the secret passageway that day, the silence that greeted me was almost deafening. It took me several moments to realize that the whole of the Gryffindor common room -- from the wide-eyed first-years to the solemn seventh-years -- was staring at me.

Lily Evans was the first to speak, standing from her chair and swiftly crossing the room to place a hand on my arm. "Sirius, you need to see --"

"Remus?" I murmured past numb lips.

A faint twinge of a smile at first reassured me, until I saw the tears beginning to spill down her cheeks, and she turned from me with a quiet sob breaking from her throat. My heart froze -- I didn't know whether to hug her or to shout at her. Before I could make that decision, a voice from the top of the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories broke through my thoughts.

"Sirius!" A pale-faced Peter stood at the landing, his eyes so wide they nearly bulged out of his head. "Sirius, come quick!" Without bothering to wait up for me, he clambered up the top several stairs two at a time and disappeared around the corner.

I didn't give a second glance to Lily. My books fell into a heap upon the floor, my parchment scattering across the common room, but I didn't care. I tore up the stairs fast on Peter's heels and burst into the dormitory, where Peter stood like a stunned, shivering ghost beside Remus' bed. Another figure, silhouetted behind the gauzy curtains surrounding the bed could be glimpsed, sitting at the bedside with his head in his hands. James. My breath turned to glass within my throat.

"He -- he was asking for you, before --" Peter whispered, rubbing at the back of his pale neck with a hand as his eyes darted towards the floor.

Remus... No...

I wanted to run, run far from this dormitory, far from Hogwarts. I wanted to scream at the night's sky and rail at the moon, believing with all my heart that her once-full face had cruelly stolen Remus from us. But my legs moved mechanically, drawing me steadily closer to my friend's bedside, where, irrational a thought as it was, I was absolutely certain that he would be laid out, cold and unbreathing.

As I drew back the thin curtains, the first thing I saw was James, seated at Remus' bedside, his nearly grey face buried fast in his hands. Yet as he heard me approach and looked up, I could see that he was smiling. Reluctantly, my heart pounding fast in my chest, I tore my gaze from his and turned towards the bed, where Remus lay sitting propped up against a pile of pillows, pale-faced, with deep rings beneath his eyes and even more strands of grey mingling with his sandy brown hair.

He was awake. He was breathing. He was alive.

"Good evening, Sirius," Remus Lupin said, his voice no more than a deathly hoarse whisper.

I felt my knees give way, and I wrapped my fingertips around the headboard before slithering to the ground. Kneeling at his bedside, I stared for several moments into his weakly smiling face before forcing a pained grin of my own and whispering, "Hey. How are you feeling?"

Remus' shoulder lifted almost imperceptibly. "I'll admit, I've felt better..."

"Did you make it through okay? The past few nights, I mean..."

"I don't want to talk about that right now, if it's all the same to you," Remus murmured, grey eyes tilting momentarily away from me. It had been a hard, hard transformation this month -- that much was apparent from the haunted expression on his face, the deep rings beneath his eyes and the delicate care of his movements, as if merely breathing was an agony unto itself.

"Listen," James interjected, "what did Madam Pomfrey have to say? You're going to be alright, aren't you?"

"I'm not going to die anytime soon, if that's what you're worried about," Remus said in that harsh whisper. "Madam Pomfrey managed to stop the -- the bleeding..." He trailed off, swallowing as he watched James and I wince.

"Is there still, you know, that poison still inside you?" Peter quietly piped up from the corner of the bed, where he'd kept his distance from the three of us the entire time.

Remus shook his head gravely. "Madam Pomfrey gave me a purging potion in the infirmary. She says whatever hasn't left my body after that probably will be there forever."

"You poor sot," I said, sympathetic, yet in a breathlessly joking voice, as if that alone would provide enough distraction from our melancholy. "They gave me a purging potion once as a kid after I'd eaten an orange venomous snail, thinking it was a candy. You know the phrase 'going out both ends?' No joke, I didn't leave the loo for three days!"

"Stuff it, Sirius!" James suddenly exclaimed, wrinkling his nose. Remus gingerly reached around to hand him one of the pillows scattered about his bed, and James gave me a sound thwack up side the head.

"Ow! It's true!" I protested, throwing my hands up to wield off a second strike.

In a brief round of laughter among us all, the tension dissolved, until Remus suddenly jerked forward, his hands again tugging at the collar of his sleeping robes. His laughter gave way to a choking, almost gurgling cough, which he struggled fiercely to contain.

"Jesus, Remy," James said, immediately on his feet and rubbing his hand in a wide circle across Remus' back. "Take it easy there."

"I'm fine -- fine," Remus managed to gasp. When he finally sat up again, the collar to his robes was torn, and his short, human fingernails had drawn thin, bloodless scratches down his chest.

"Of course you are," said James quickly. "It's too soon after the full moon for you to feel perfectly well, anyway. Take it easy."

Remus fell back against the pillows with an exasperated sigh, eyes fluttering closed in a barely perceptible wince. "I should have just walked out of class," he whispered. "I think I'd rather have been expelled."

"You can't change things now," Peter said suddenly, and he twisted his fingertips within the sleeves of his robes as we turned to stare at him. "There's a lot that all of us could have done, but we didn't. We didn't know. There's no sense dwelling on what might have happened if we'd done things differently, because we didn't."

James swallowed and, with a reluctant expression in his eyes, nodded in accordance. Remus and I merely continued to stare, unable to find the proper words to form a response.

"Who knows, we might even have made the situation worse," Peter whispered, miserably.

"I guess for now, all we can do is look forward," I finally murmured.

"That's right," interjected James, his tone quite hasty, even a little dismissive. "Remus, you'll be on your feet before you know it, and we'll be back to ourselves in no time."

Remus nodded, a ghost of a smile flittering across his pallid face, and his light lashes closed over grey eyes as he slumped back beneath the covers. "I do hope you're right."

"Right as rain," James said, forcing a strained grin of his own. "Come on, we should let you sleep."

I dragged myself to my feet, clutching fast to the bedpost as my knees protested angrily. Without thinking, I tugged the blankets atop Remus' chest. "We'll be here if you need anything, okay Remy?"

Remus nodded, and turned his head before weakly coughing twice. We whispered our goodnights, lingering at his bedside as his chest hitched with shallow breath, his forehead lined with pain and dark memory.

Peter slipped away first, the back of his neck still flushed, and he crawled upon the edge of the window overlooking the Hogwarts grounds, where the waning face of the moon was hidden behind gathering clouds. Meanwhile, James and I stood side by side for some moments, gazing at each other in mute confusion -- and overwhelming sadness -- until I finally broke the silence.

"James, how are you --"

"I'd rather not talk right now, Sirius, if that's quite alright with you." I could see the muscles in his face tensing as he stared back at me.

"Are you angry with us?"

James shifted uncomfortably on his feet, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his robes. "No, I'm not. I just need to think."

"Don't fall apart on us, Jamie," I said to him once again.

A mirthless smile spread across his lips. "It would be nice if I could, though, wouldn't it? I am a bit tired of having to be the strong one here."

"Jamie --"

"No, Sirius. I'm not having this conversation now. If you'll excuse me." He turned, and disappeared behind the curtains to his four-poster bed, shutting them securely against the world.

Even though it was early, I stayed upstairs, huddled behind the curtains of my bed, listening with a feeling akin to despair as Remus muffled his coughs against a pillow. And, within the seclusion of his own design, I was certain that James was doing the exact same thing, hiding his hurt and his fears from the rest of us when, really, we should have been together, trying to muddle our way through the sharp turn our lives had taken in the briefest of seconds, upon the shattering of a single glass.

~*~

Ultimately, Remus did recover, and a lot quicker than any of us had thought imaginable. He was bedridden only one more day, during which time the remainder of Gryffindor welcomed him back with open arms, overwhelming concern, and very likely the entire stock of chocolate from Honeyduke's. Soon -- perhaps too soon -- he was again on his way to class and struggling to catch up on the work he'd missed during his absence.

But the silver had clearly left its mark -- Remus often found himself winded simply by walking to class, and a jaunt up even a single flight of stairs would catch him in the throes of a coughing fit. After I dragged him back to the hospital wing after a particularly breathless spate that left him almost blue in the lips, Madam Pomfrey prescribed him inhaled potions to help clear his lungs and forbade him from even simple physical education. Remus, not much of an athletic boy to begin with, accepted this decree without complaint, and sat gladly on the sidelines with a book while the rest of us suffered through mandatory physical education, practice Quiddich runs against a particularly sorry lot of Hufflepuffs.

Of course, none of us slept really well for some weeks after the incident. After Remus left Madam Pomfrey's care, he could be heard throughout the nights struggling to muffle a chronic, wheezing, almost unrelenting cough against his pillows -- the aftereffects of the silver, long after it had been purged from his system. When he did manage to sleep, it was fitful, often broken by long periods when no noise whatsoever could be heard from him, before the silence would shatter with a sudden, breathless gasp. Most mornings, he would awaken looking harrowed and even worse than if he hadn't rested.

James, as well, slept terribly, his nights plagued by incessant nightmares. He, too, would thrash about in his sleep, kicking aside sheets and blankets, until he awoke -- often gasping, sometimes crying aloud. He never spoke of his nightmares, but just by the way he watched Remus cough uncontrollably every time he ascended a set of stairs, the way he lingered at the boy's bedside before lights-out, it was safe to assume that they somehow involved Remus. But he allowed none of us to get near him for comfort, or even for a reassuring word. He held simply too much pride to let on exactly how much the incident had truly shaken him.

Even Peter, who had been a mere observer at the time of the incident, was affected, although in quite the opposite way -- he coped with the horrible memories by retreating into a deep, narcoleptic sleep. Quite often, he would nap through classes, through mealtimes and breaks, so much that I began to grow concerned about his health as well.

My own nights grew interminably long, and I became afraid to drift off. There were some evenings when I'd stay awake just to make sure that Remus awoke the next morning. Other times, I would sit at James' bedside and try to shake him out of the desperately terrifying dreams that haunted him each night. At the break of day, I'd try to ignore James' twisting whimpers as he fought his way out of a twisted nest of blankets, or Remus' furtive attempts to strip and hide the blood-stained pillowcases from us all.

One night, maybe two weeks after Remus' incident, I awoke in the dead of night from an all-too-brief bout of painfully light sleep as someone shook my shoulder. Muttering something unintelligible, I turned and cracked open an eye to see Remus kneeling at my bedside. Beneath the light of a half moon filtering through the castle windows, his skin glowed all the more pale, his eyes wide and fearful.

"Sirius, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't wake Jamie. He's in a bad way... Worse than usual. You have to help."

I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand as I sat up and pulled aside the covers mechanically. As my feet touched the frigid stone floor, I began to feel almost immediately more lucid, and I looked towards James' bed, where he could already be heard twisting and whimpering in the throes of dark dreams.

I pushed aside the curtains and crouched beside the four-poster bed, while Remus stood, pale as a wraith, at the foot. Gingerly, I reached out to wrap my fingers around James' squirming arm, and he whimpered and recoiled from the touch. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his jaw clenched.

"James? Come on, Jamie-kins. Time to wake up," I said, grasping his shoulder more firmly and shaking.

With a cry, James lashed blindly out with a hand, and pain exploded in my cheek before I could dart out of the way. Cursing beneath my breath, I pushed myself onto his bed and wrapped both hands around his flailing arms.

"You're dreaming, Jamie," I said, leaning my face above his. "You need to wake up -- you're frightening us here."

Another cry escaped him, this one louder, and I might have physically struck him from his dreams if his own wails hadn't woken him first. His eyes fluttered open, his breath caught in a convulsive gasp, and I eased off him as, shaking, he returned to consciousness.

"I was dreaming," James whispered, chest heaving with terrified, stunted breath. "I -- Sirius?"

"Yeah, that you were," I said. "Must have been one hell of a dream there."

James looked around, fearful eyes narrowing as he squinted through the darkness at myself, the pale form of Remus standing at the foot of his bed. "Remus?"

"I'm here, Jamie," he whispered.

Relief spread across James' features, and he raked hand roughly through his hair. "I thought -- I thought you might have been dead," he admitted softly, sheepishly.

"Why don't you tell us about what you were dreaming, eh Potter?" I asked, forcing a grin to my lips as I settled upon the edge of his bed.

James turned his head, arms looping tightly around his knees as he drew well within himself once again. I gave his shoulder a light smack.

"Spill it. You've been a stranger to us for weeks. I won't stand for it any longer." I gripped James' shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"I --" Again, James' nearsighted eyes settled upon Remus, and he flushed as he ducked his head and stared hard at the twisted blankets. "Every night it's the same thing. I keep seeing that beaker breaking. I keep seeing Severus laughing, and Remus falling backwards trying to breathe. But I can't move, can't get to him fast enough, and by the time I catch him, it's too late. I can't save him from -- from --"

"From the poison," Remus finished, fingers touching his throat in remembrance.

"From the silver," James whispered in a barely audible voice.

Remus shuddered.

"Why did he do it? I mean, this goes above and beyond anything -- anything -- he's ever done to us before. Not even we've stooped so low as to try to kill another student we didn't like," James murmured.

I placed my arm around James, and he twisted his face against my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Remus whispered, his face paler than ever, wide grey eyes threatening to overflow. "If it weren't for me, none of this would have happened."

"Stop blaming yourself, Remy," I said sternly. "This isn't your fault. Far from your fault."

"I can't think of anyone else to blame," he murmured, hastily turning from us and pushing aside the curtains surrounding James' bed. "Excuse me..."

I sighed, but ultimately let him go. James was the one who needed me now; Remus would only push me away if I were to follow after him. Removing my arm from around his shoulders, I shifted awkwardly to the edge of James' bed, and he reached across to pick up his glasses from the bedside table.

"Would you like to play some chess?" I finally ventured.

"Chess? No, I don't think so," he murmured with a shake of his head.

"Come now, it'll take your mind off everything."

"Probably not."

"You and I both know that neither of us is going to sleep now. We should at least do something constructive."

James looked at me, blinking owlishly behind his thick glasses. "Perhaps... Just one game."

"I might even let you win this time, Potter," I said with a wink.

James started to smile, knowing my penchant for bragging when it came to chess. But the grin was interrupted by the sound from the other side of the room, as Remus Lupin again muffled a wheezing cough against his pillows. The lines in James' forehead deepened in concern, and he brought out his chessboard with a sober expression, one that didn't change even as he proceeded to wipe the board with me in a surprisingly devastating loss. And I didn't even let him win this time around.

Like the pieces in a traditional game of wizard's chess, we were falling to bits -- James through his wracking nightmares, Remus through his own bitter self-blame, Peter through his narcoleptic means of sleeping through his problems, and me... desperately trying to hold us together. Desperately trying not to snap. Something had to be done -- and done fast -- before McGonagall's "mad marauders" collapsed into ruin...