She Will Have Music

She Will Have Music

2 September, 1974

As the door closed behind James and Peter, Remus said to the one who remained, “Are you ready to tell me what really happened?”

Sirius turned away from the window and scowled at him. “I told you what really happened. Lestrange thought aubergine was my colour and tried to enforce his opinion, er, forcefully. After I called his slag a slag,” he added reflectively.

Remus sighed and regarded him steadily from the hospital bed.

“I swear that’s what happened, Moony.”

It was Remus’ turn to scowl. Over the summer, his friends had come up with and bestowed upon him that nickname. He wasn’t sure yet whether he liked it or not. On the one hand, it was nice having a nickname. He’d always been Remus to his parents. And there was real affection in his friends’ tones when they called him that. On the other hand, he thought Moony made him sound too much like someone’s pet. And he wasn’t. Once a month he was a truly dangerous creature, mad with bloodlust, and he was deeply afraid his friends would forget that.

Seeing his expression, Sirius reached over and mussed his hair playfully. Remus flinched at the touch, but the other boy did not appear to have noticed. He was smiling again, the white, even teeth flashing against the bruise-darkened skin.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” said Remus. “If Pomfrey comes back and finds you here, she might not let you leave.”

“I’m fine,” said Sirius blithely, though that was palpably untrue. His smile never reached his eyes, and after a few moments it faded from his mouth as well. He leaned against the windowsill and folded his arms across his chest. “Should probably get going,” he agreed. But he stayed where he was, and it became clear to Remus that he wanted badly to say or do something. He kept fidgeting: uncrossing his arms and stuffing his hands into his pockets. Pulling them out and playing with the cuffs of his sleeves. Glancing out the window, turning back to grin limply at Remus, then glancing up over his shoulder at the array of potions and emollients on the table beside his bed. “Fuck,” he said finally, “do you really have to take all of those?”

“No,” said Remus dryly. “They’re just there to look…impressive.”

“Impressive? For whose benefit?”

“Mine, I suppose. I think she wants to…impress upon me the severity of my situation.”

“Like you don’t already know.”

“Well…” And he found he could return Sirius’ pallid grin, even while talking about this. “I think she thinks I don’t take very good care of myself. She thinks I’m too skinny.”

“You are too skinny. Even though you eat like a… Sorry, I was about to say ‘wolf.’”

“Well…”

“Well,” Sirius agreed. His grin broadened for an instant, then fell again. “All right if I have a fag?” He was already digging into his pocket. Remus watched him extract one cigarette, then replace the carton. He put it between his lips and it lit at once. He took a long drag--Remus watched that, too, and observed, not for the first time, that, even split and swollen, his friend had very pretty lips--and blew out.

Remus wrinkled his nose.

“Sorry,” said Sirius, around the cigarette. He turned to open the window and let in a crisp September breeze that was laced with the scent of pine resin and heather. “Not too cold?”

“Nah.” He did shiver, but Sirius still had his back to him and didn’t see. He didn’t want the window closed, at any rate. He was tired of the hospital ward’s sterility. Unfortunately, he was stuck here until Madam Pomfrey found him fit to resume normal activities. And considering how bad last night had been, it was unlikely that would be any time before supper. He wasn’t in much pain anymore, but his cuts were still healing and he was weak with blood-loss. Partly to take his mind off that, and partly because he wanted to shock Sirius, he said, “Pass me one.”

“Huh?” Sirius turned back to him, eyebrows raised.

“Could I have a fag?” said Remus.

Wordlessly, Sirius passed the other boy his half-used one. Then, as Remus inhaled, “I never knew you smoked.”

The end between his lips was still moist from Sirius’ lips. It tasted, he thought, like a singed kiss--and choked abruptly.

Sirius grinned. “Knew you were a virgin.”

“Speak for yourself,” Remus said weakly.

“No need, mate.”

Remus glanced up at him sharply. Now he was cold, but determined not to let the other boy know. He said, as casually as he could, “When? Who?”

“July. Vanessa Fields.”

He had a sudden vision of long, tanned legs, a small freckled nose, and a very full bikini top. “From Cornwall? That Muggle girl? Why didn’t any of us know about it?” Then he realised James probably knew.

Sirius shrugged. “It was a one-time thing. Gimme that back.”

As he returned the cigarette, “How was it?”

Sirius took another long drag, and this time Remus made a concerted effort not to look at his lips, or any other part of his face. He looked instead at the one big hand curled around the windowsill. It too was scabbed and bruised. He tried, but could not help hearing Sirius say, thoughtfully, “Not bad, actually. Not quite as mind-blowing as I thought it would be, but not bad. I mean,” he went on, passing the cigarette back to Remus, who took it between trembling fingers, “it’s one thing to wank off to some dirty mag. It’s another when a bird’s got you in her mouth and she’s-- You all right?”

Remus was coughing, struggling for breath, but his lungs seemed full of smoke. Sirius went to him at once, helped him sit up, and took the cigarette from his limp fingers. “Fucking virgin,” Sirius said pleasantly.

“I’m fine,” Remus protested. “Give me another one.”

“Nah.” Among the potions on the bedside table there was a pitcher of water. Sirius poured him a glass, and pushed it into his hands.

Secretly grateful, Remus took a sip, then said, “How old did she think you were?”

“Sixteen,” said Sirius, and laughed.

“Oh, Merlin.”

“What? I’m almost fifteen, anyway.”

“You won’t be fifteen until January. That’s five months. Not almost enough.”

“What are you, my mum?”

“Your better half,” said Remus succinctly, and Sirius laughed again.

“A virgin who can’t smoke, that’s what you are. Don’t tell me what to do, wolfy.”

Remus eyed his friend over the rim of his glass and decided not to mention Paul, the boy he’d met at the Fringe Festival in August. They’d shared a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of beer Paul had nicked from some Muggle off-license. Then, in the damp grassy shadow of Arthur’s Seat, they’d groped rather mindlessly--until without warning Paul had yanked his trousers open and Remus had abruptly lost his nerve. Despite being mildly intoxicated--and undeniably aroused--Paul had been rather good about it, though Remus had never felt more virginal--until now. And he’d spent days convincing himself that he’d actually been very cool and mature.

“And just what does that look mean?” Sirius asked sweetly.

“It means,” set Remus, setting his glass on the table, “you shouldn’t be so quick to judge.”

“Ooh. Had some fun behind our backs, Moony?”

“Piss off.”

Sirius actually seemed pleased by Remus’ reaction, but Remus had meant what he’d said. He didn’t like the other boy’s proximity. It wasn’t because he fancied Sirius or any of his other friends (though Sirius had returned from summer holiday more gorgeous than ever before). He didn’t really fancy any specific boy. Not even Paul, whom he hadn’t seen again after that awkward afternoon. He was only just beginning to realise that he liked the way boys looked and that in his fantasies the faceless person who had his cock in his mouth and his hands on his body was another boy, not a girl. He wasn’t sure yet if this was a permanent thing or if he’d grow out of it or come to his senses once he’d met the right girl. Until he knew, though, he didn’t want his friends to suspect anything. They knew he was a werewolf and that was enough. It was more than enough, sometimes. They might accept it if he turned out to be gay. They probably would. And that, he thought, would be more understanding than he could handle. They were already studying to be Animagi. What would they do if they discovered this new secret? Begin undressing in front of him just to show him how all right with it they were? Study to be poofs? Fix him up with male relatives? The idea made him queasy. Rejection would almost be easier.

“I mean it,” Remus said, as Sirius continued to beam at him. “Piss off, if you’re just here to yatter. I’m knackered. Go torture Slytherins or something.”

It was the wrong thing to say, he realised, about a second too late. Sirius continued to smile, but it was obviously forced. Remus bit his lip.

“Tomorrow,” Sirius said. “I’ll torture Slytherins tomorrow, when you’re feeling up to it. Wouldn’t be sporting to do it today, anyway. Ought to give the little bugger a day of grace, don’t you think? Let him get cosy, then show him what he’s signed up for.”

Forgetting his unease at their physical closeness, Remus said quietly, “Are you really going to punish Regulus for being Sorted in Slytherin? Most of your family’s in that house, anyway.”

“That wouldn’t be very brotherly of me, would it? But then, it wasn’t very cousinly of Bella to let her big hulking git of a fiancé beat the shit out of me, yesterday.”

“I thought you hit him first.”

“I did,” said Sirius. “Because he insulted you.”

He would continue to look at him, Remus thought petulantly, with those big, innocent blue eyes. He would say stupid things like that, and think they meant nothing. And really, they did mean nothing--but Remus felt his insides squirm anyway, and he remembered that he’d been in the middle of kicking Sirius out, and why. He couldn’t go through with it, though. The other boy was still so obviously nettled by his younger brother’s Sorting, and there was no guarantee James or Peter would say the right thing to him.

“I think I’m supposed to thank you,” he said at length.

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

“Thank you for standing up for me.” Then, with more effort, “I appreciate it. Really. I’m just sorry it resulted in the--”

“--Rearrangement of my beautiful face?”

“Yeah.”

It really did look as though it had been painful. Sirius’ lower lip had been split open, there was a short slash across the line of his cheekbone, and most of his face was varying shades of yellow and purple. Remus winced, thinking about what had happened. Though uncharitable, Sirius’ description of Rodolphus Lestrange was apt. It was all too easy to imagine him overpowering the younger, slimmer boy and pounding him ruthlessly into the pavement.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he offered softly.

Sirius snorted.

“I know there’s no way I could’ve been. If I’d gone with you on the train I’d never have made it here for moonrise. I’m still sorry, though.”

“Not much you could’ve done. There were more of them, and Bella had her wand out. I’d’ve been fine, I think, if she hadn’t hexed me. James could’ve taken Snivellus, and even Peter could’ve handled that pork chop, Rabastan. Naturally, Reg was completely useless.”

“He’s ten. You can’t blame him for being afraid. Bellatrix and the Lestranges would frighten any ten-year-old. Even her own cousin.”

“I was never afraid of her.”

“Well, you’re not afraid of anyone. Because you’re stupid.”

Sirius shrugged, nodded, tried gamely to smile, but gave up after a few seconds.

Leaning back against the pillows, Remus studied his friend. The long black lashes were downcast, shadowing the vivid blue eyes and the bruised cheeks. The shoulders were bowed slightly. He was taking his brother’s Sorting a lot harder than he probably wanted anyone to know. There wasn’t much Remus thought he could do about that. Peter liked to tell Remus, always sounding awed, that he always knew just what to say, but really, he didn’t. He was simply good at reading people, and at guessing which words would help the most. He was right a lot of the time, but not always. Here, he found himself at a loss. He didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and most of his cousins lived in France, so he barely knew them. His mother was Muggle-born, and he supposed his Aunt Odette might once have harboured some resentment toward her younger sister. But she’d married a wizard, and her daughters were both at Beauxbatons and her son was apparently doing quite well for himself at the Sorbonne, so that was no help.

While he fretted, Sirius glanced morosely at his cigarette butt, dropped it into Remus’ empty water glass, and, before the other boy could protest, swung his long legs up onto the hospital bed, and settled himself down beside him. Remus opened his mouth, but shut it again when Sirius grimaced and rolled onto his side. “Fuck,” he muttered, and dug back into his pocket for his cigarettes.

“Did Bellatrix hex you in the back?” Remus asked. Sirius only glared. “Well…that was pretty cowardly. Did you let Pomfrey look at it?” That, he knew, was a stupid question. Sirius wouldn’t even let the matron get near his face with her potions. Sighing, he pushed himself up and rummaged among the bottles and flasks on his bedside table. He found the one he wanted and turned back to Sirius, who was puffing sulkily at his cigarette. “You’re going to have to put that away,” Remus said.

“Why?”

“So I can put this on you.”

“M’fine.”

“You can’t even lie on your stupid back.”

“M’fine.” But after one last suck at his cigarette, he passed it to Remus and rolled onto his belly, jerking the bed curtains closed as he did. “In case anyone wanders in,” he explained unnecessarily. “Don’t want anyone to think we’re a pair of bleeding poofs, now.” He dropped his head onto his folded arms and his heavy black fringe flopped over his eyes. “All right, Moony. All yours.”

Remus dropped Sirius’ cigarette beside the first in the water glass and unscrewed the lid of the emollient he’d selected, scooped up a generous dollop--and hesitated.

What in the world was he doing? He’d just offered to slather goop onto his friend’s back. His handsome friend’s naked back. Obviously Sirius had no problem with it. He hadn’t looked the least bit embarrassed, and his quip about poofs had been just that--a meaningless quip. He couldn’t think Remus fancied him.

Remus did not fancy him. It was just that he was male, and very attractive. So what? They’d seen each other half-naked quite a lot over the summer. It had been hot down in Cornwall, and they’d spent most days at the beach. They’d seen James and Peter half-naked, too. There’d been no awkwardness.

Of course, that had been before Edinburgh and Paul, and a little too much nicotine and alcohol, and damp grass beneath his back and Paul’s leg between his thighs, and his hot wet mouth on his nipple…

Remus dismissed the memory. That had been Edinburgh and Paul. And too much nicotine and alcohol. This was Hogwarts and Sirius, and relative sobriety. Paul had been like a phantom, Edinburgh a blur of noises, colours, and sounds. This was his friend, in pain. This was real. He doubted his touch would remind Sirius of Vanessa. He doubted Sirius would have thrown out that comment about poofs if he’d had the slightest suspicion.

Swallowing his misgivings, with his free hand Remus gathered the back of Sirius’ robe and pushed it up around his shoulders. Underneath, he wore only a thin Muggle t-shirt, and a faded pair of jeans. They were slung low on his narrow hips, but that was of no concern to Remus who, taking care not to brush the smooth skin with his fingertips, pushed up Sirius’ t-shirt and surveyed the damage.

It wasn’t extensive, but it looked as though it hurt. He couldn’t tell what hex Bellatrix had used, but she’d singed a palm-sized patch of Sirius’ back, a few inches below his shoulder blades. It stood out angrily against his tan, was already peeling, and beginning to blister.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

“She did it.”

“I mean you should have had this looked at.”

“Thought that’s what I was doing.”

Remus bit back a retort. “This might sting at first, but it’ll feel better, promise,” he said, and dabbed the goop onto Sirius’ burned back.

The other boy hissed, and, “Fuck,” he said.

“I warned you.”

“So? It still stings like a bitch.”

“Sorry.” He spread the goop around and pretended he was spreading sauce on pizza dough, the way he and his father used to, when he’d been younger. The image amused him and helped remove his mind from Sirius’ lean muscles--had he been this toned in July? Remus didn’t think so--and the graceful dip just above the waistband of his jeans.

He was smiling again, thinking about fresh mushrooms, basil, and caramelised onions when Sirius said, quietly, “I had a sister.”

Remus started. “Excuse me?” he said.

“A sister,” said Sirius. “I had one.”

“I never knew that.”

“Didn’t tell you. Didn’t tell anyone.”

“What happened to her?” Remus asked, though he’d noted Sirius’ use of the past tense.

“Died,” the other boy said tonelessly. “When I was six. I think she was about two years older than me. Don’t remember. Mum and Dad never talked about her after she died. Think they were ashamed of her. There was something wrong with her heart, you see. Something really wrong, I mean, not the usual Black rottenness. They kept her in the house all the time, hardly ever let her out. Don’t think they wanted anyone to know about her. Sometimes I wonder why they didn’t just send her away somewhere. Guess it was because she could do magic and they were afraid people would trace her to them. She looked like a Black. Pretty. Thin. The hair. Saw a picture of her once, but Kreacher must’ve gotten rid of it. Anyway, one day I came home from somewhere. Must’ve been a friend’s house. And I found her in the yard. Dead. Think it was October or November. She was just lying there in a pile of leaves. No one else was around. I mean, Kreacher was in the house, but I didn’t go get him. I didn’t call for anyone. I think I knew that once they found her, they’d take her away and I’d never see her again. So I sat with her. In the yard. Until it got dark. Then someone found us. I think it was Dad. He must’ve got someone to take her away. And I really never saw her again.”

Remus had stopped stroking long since. His hands still hovered over Sirius’ bare, slicked back, but he did not touch him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and his mouth felt dry. “What was her name?”

“Electra.”

“Like Orestes’ sister?”

“Like one of the Pleiades,” said Sirius. “You know, those little stars that’re all clustered together? Near Orion, in the winter sky. They’re not so far from my star, and Dad’s and Reg’s.”

“I know where they are,” Remus said.

“There were seven sisters who became stars, but there are only six stars, so one of the sisters must have disappeared. That’s what all the books say, but none of them know which one. The Greeks say that Merope married a mortal. Sisyphus, in fact, the silly bint. Calaeno was struck by lightning. Electra turned her face away, so she wouldn’t see Troy fall. I always thought Electra was the missing Pleiad. She went away so she wouldn’t see how fucked up everything got. Now I’m cold.”

“The stuff’ll sink in, give it a minute. Shall I close the window, meantime?”

“No, stay here.” It wasn’t a command, but a plea. Remus did not move. “Don’t really know why I’m thinking about her,” Sirius said. His tone was still flat, and his fringe still hid his eyes. Remus wanted to brush it aside, but of course he did not dare. So he waited, and at length Sirius sighed and said, “Guess it’s because of Regulus. He was really young when she died, I guess only about two or three. He doesn’t remember her at all. The first time I ever got mad at him--I mean really mad--was about that. I said something about her--I forget what--and he asked who I was talking about. I chewed him out for that, but you know, it makes sense he wouldn’t know. He was really young, and my parents took her name off the famous family tree. There’s really no proof she ever existed, anymore. I don’t even remember her birthday. We sort of celebrated. She’d come into my room and say today was her birthday, then I’d go and nick some sweets from the pantry and we’d have a party, just the two of us. Our parents never celebrated, though, because they never thought she’d live very long. Wish I could remember the day, but I can’t. I think maybe she didn’t even know. Once a year she just picked a day.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said again, because it was all he could think to say. He knew that his own parents had once been trying to have more children, but they’d stopped after he’d been bitten. That bit of information had always made him sad, but he didn’t think it would help Sirius now.

“It’s all right. I mean, it was a long time ago. I barely remember her, myself. I was just thinking about her, I think, because of Regulus. And because she did something for me once, like what you’re doing, after Mum gave me a hiding. Don’t even remember why. I was always getting locked in my room, or hexed, or thrashed for some reason or another. All I remember is, it was night, I was in bed, and it hurt like hell. Couldn’t even put a shirt on, and it was fucking cold. Then she came in. She didn’t say anything. Just sat down next to me and put some stuff on my back. Like how you were. Maybe she did speak. I don’t know. I can’t even remember how her voice sounded. You’d have liked her, though, Moony. She was nice, not like the rest of us. Maybe she’d’ve stayed nice. You might’ve liked her.”

“I like you,” Remus murmured, and taking care once more not to touch the other boy’s skin, he pulled Sirius’ t-shirt and robe back down. “You should be all right like that. Just--try not to get hit from behind, or anything.” He slumped back against the pillows, exhausted suddenly, and faced Sirius. “Maybe you should talk to Regulus.”

That had been the wrong thing to say, and this time he’d known it before saying it. But he’d had to. This was a secret for Sirius to share with his brother, not his friend who wasn’t even his best friend. Remus knew that, but he also knew that it would make no difference whatsoever. He felt a twinge of guilt as Sirius scowled at him across the pillow and said, “No.”

Already berating himself, “Why not?” he heard himself asking.

“Because,” said Sirius. “Because--no. I don’t want to. Not with Regulus.”

“Why not?” Remus asked again. “You can’t be mad at him for being Sorted into Slytherin. You can’t be mad at him for not defending you yesterday. You can’t be mad at him for forgetting your sister. He was so young…”

“No,” said Sirius stubbornly, “no, no, no,” and Remus knew that he would never tell his brother about their sister, knew as well that he’d never tell James or Peter about her, either. And was grateful. This was their secret. Remus felt it wriggle and burn inside him, but at that moment he would not have relinquished it for anything.

That was the first in his collection.

__________________

It was never a conscious decision to begin collecting Sirius’ secrets. For a time he thought only that it was nice knowing things about his friend that no one else knew, or was ever likely to know. He never told Sirius or anyone what he was doing. He barely acknowledged it to himself. Only sometimes, at night, when his friends were asleep around him, he would lie awake and think about his secrets--Sirius’ secrets--and spread them out before him in his mind and examine each one closely. They kept him company when he was alone during the holidays, and on dawns after the full moon while he lay bleeding on his bed in the Shrieking Shack waiting for Madam Pomfrey. When Geoffrey Abbott kissed him behind the broomshed in September of his fifth year, and he accepted finally that he was gay, they comforted him, made him feel less freakish.

Some of the secrets were amusing. At the age of five Sirius had run away from home, but returned to use the loo and been caught. He had discovered he was a wizard at the age of seven when, in a tantrum, he’d caused a bunch of expensive crystal goblets to fly off their shelf and hurl themselves at his mother. He’d once thought that the star Sirius really did belong to him. (His cousin Andromeda had told him that.)

Some of the secrets made Remus shiver. He’d had a dog, once. Not a Crup, but a regular mutt puppy he’d found abandoned in Hyde Park one day and brought home. He’d kept it in his room for three days. Then his parents had found out and ordered Kreacher to drown it because it had been filthy. They’d thrashed Sirius soundly after that, though of course it no longer showed. Remus had learned that the morning after a particularly difficult transformation. He’d been in horrible pain despite Madam Pomfrey’s potions, and Sirius had been sitting beside him quietly for about half an hour. Then he’d just said it matter-of-factly. “I don’t really know how you feel, but I can imagine.” And he’d told him why. And then he’d promised he and James and Peter would have the Animagus spell worked out soon--by the end of summer, surely.

Vanessa Fields had not been his first, Remus also learned. Sirius would not say the name of his first sexual partner, but he’d been thirteen at the time and, Remus gathered, it had not been very pleasant at all.

His favourite secret, the one he swore to himself he would never give up, even under torture, was the first one. The day after Sirius had told him about his elder sister, Remus had gone to Professor McGonagall and asked to see her book, the one in which were written all the names and birth dates of every magical child that had ever been born in Britain. She had asked him why, of course, and he’d told her he wanted to know his Grandpa Argyll’s birthday. He thought it was coming up, he’d said, but he wasn’t sure, and he felt stupid asking his parents. She’d given him a very long, piercing look over the horn-rimmed frames of her glasses, and pursed her thin lips, but she’d handed him the book, and he’d learned the birth date of Electra Black (and his Grandpa Argyll, just in case McGonagall questioned him).

He never told Regulus, whom he’d decided to try and befriend, and it was some months before he told Sirius. One afternoon in early May, he’d simply drawn his friend aside and told him to come with him; where and why he would not say. It had been a beautiful, clear day, with a gentle wind rolling down through the valley from the southwest. They’d gone round to the far side of the lake and sat on an old, rotted log, around which bluebells grew. They’d sat in silence for a few minutes, Sirius smiling a bit confusedly, Remus trying to work up the courage to say what he had to say.

In the end, he hadn’t had to say anything. He’d drawn from his cloak the carefully wrapped pastry he’d nicked from the kitchens just after lunch, and stuck a candle in it.

“My birthday’s in January,” Sirius had said, his eyebrows raised questioningly. “Yours is in September.” Then he’d looked out across the lake. “Oh,” he’d said. And, “You didn’t have to. Okay, no, I know you had to, because you’re our Moony.” He’d smiled. “Thanks.”

They hadn’t sung “Happy Birthday”. They never did. It never seemed right to them, to sing that song to a dead girl, who had probably been unhappy all her brief life. Instead they sang a nursery rhyme Remus’ father had used to sing to him (his mother’s had all been French):

“Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes
She will have music wherever she goes.”

It became a ritual, one they performed every year but one for the next six. They never told James or Peter or, later, when she joined their circle, Lily. It was their secret. It was Remus’ favourite secret, until one supplanted it.

It is important to remember that it all began in innocence. A selfish kind of innocence, but innocence nonetheless. Remus truly believed that. He went on believing it, until he fell in love.

02/01/04