Hello, Darkness: Chapter Five
Chapter 5: Third Year
And he carries a reminder
Of every glove that laid him down or
Cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame...
-- The Boxer
"I think it's pointless," Sirius said.
"That's because you have the attention span of a kneazle," James replied.
"I hear kneazles are actually very -- "
"Shut up, Peter," James sighed. Peter chuckled, and returned to the thick book in front of him.
"Well, it's ridiculous, isn't it?" Sirius asked. He glanced at Remus, who was a few shelves down in the library, lit wand held high so that he could read the titles. Supposedly they were writing their Transfigurations essays, but Remus was the only one who actually was; Sirius and James would no doubt sit down at breakfast and scribble out something brilliant around toast and eggs, and while Peter had been working hard on his, this was much more fun. "I mean his birthday's in two weeks, and people've been looking for a cure for lycanthropy for two thousand years."
"Three," James corrected.
"Well, they weren't being very organized about it," Peter added. "These books make my head hurt."
"Don't strain anything."
"Funny, Sirius."
"Well, aren't there like..." James tapped his fingers on his jaw, resting chin on hand. "I mean. For every thing like this, there's some silly myth about a cure. Like the holy grail or the philosopher's stone."
"The what stone?" Peter asked.
"Sorcerer's stone," Sirius grunted.
"Oh, right."
"Well, there's talk of lunar eclipses and that," Sirius said. "But that's a bit of a one-time shot."
James watched Peter and Sirius return to their books, paging through volume after volume of werewolf lore. It had been a brilliant idea to cure Remus for his birthday, if he said so himself, and of course he did. Even Sirius had admitted eagerly that it was a good idea, and Sirius was never eager about anything. Peter had looked slightly crestfallen, as he'd already bought Remus a shiny copper box with his initials on it, to keep his first-aid supplies in, but there was always Christmas, of course.
After all, they were Black, Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew. They owned Hogwarts, or at least the bit of Hogwarts under the age of thirteen. If they couldn't cure lycanthropy, nobody could.
But it was getting to look like nobody could, after all. There was some obscure muttering in one of the books about a sedative potion, but it wasn't like making a werewolf sleepy really did anything.
James drifted his eyes away from the text, staring at nothing in particular as he indulged in one of his many delusions of grandeur, imagining himself (and Sirius and Peter in the background, of course) recieving a Ministry commendation for curing lycanthropy, and then riding off on his broomstick to battle dragons single-handedly, and steal all their treasure, because damsels-in-distress, while an important outward aspect of his life, did not yet really figure all that highly in his fantasies. He wouldn't really have known what to do, had he actually acquired one. Not that he'd ever admit that.
"This is stupid, it's all about animagi," Sirius growled. "Not that Lupin wouldn't jump at the chance, I'm sure. Oh, Professor McGonagall," he said, imitating Remus' light Yorkshire accent, "Can I have some extra tutoring? Care to run wild in the forest with me, wolf and cat in perfect accord -- "
James snapped out of his dream to stare at Sirius, who'd stopped suddenly. Sirius' finger moved down the page, then flipped it back, two, three, four pages.
"Werewolves instinctively attack human beings," he read, seeming to savour every syllable. "But are unaffected by other animals. Tests conducted with transfigured humans seem to indicate that animagi in animal state are also safe, but as no actual animagus has yet volunteered to be locked in a room with a werewolf, that is purely conjecture."
"So?" James asked.
"I'll tell you later," Sirius said, slamming the book shut as Remus approached. Peter quickly pulled his essay out from under one of the books, and began scribbling madly on it.
"Getting on then?" Remus asked, cheerfully.
"Oh, yes," Sirius answered. James could see he had something up his sleeve, although only because he'd been sharing rooms with Sirius for nearly two and a half years. "Very interesting stuff."
"It is, isn't it?" Remus asked. "I'm done here, when you are. Don't think I need anything else."
"Mind those footnotes," Sirius said, as they left, Remus stuffing checked-out books into his satchel. "Never know when they're going to turn on you."
"I always do," Remus replied evenly.
***
When they arrived back at the Common Room, it was the usual Friday evening mess; the first and second years had been herded to an early bedtime by the prefects, the third-year girls were giggling about something in their dormitory, and the other two third-year boys were studying in a corner, trying not to be noticed.
It wasn't difficult, after all. The fourth and fifth years were mostly swotting for OWLs or snogging each other in dim corners; why they couldn't just go to their own dorms, Remus didn't know, but perhaps they took some sort of sadistic pleasure out of making other people uncomfortable. Then again, most of the world seemed to. At any rate, it made him uncomfortable a lot of the time. James and Sirius, an excellent if self-absorbed buffer, were only around so often, and Peter just never seemed to understand that not everyone drifted amiably through the world being liked by everyone else.
The sixth and seventh years were making a racket in their dorms as usual, and James rolled his eyes as they trudged up the stairs, following Remus, who had practically bolted from the company of others down in the Common Room.
"What is it they do up there?" Peter asked, cherubic face more curious than annoyed.
"Lots of furniture moving, by the sound of it," Sirius replied.
"Ought to go up there and tell them to shut it," James grumbled.
"Don't let me stand in your way," Sirius said with a grin. James scowled.
"Prefects'd just give me detention," he muttered, flopping onto his bed. Remus began neatly unpacking his books, while Peter laid out his clothes for tomorrow on his trunk, and Sirius leaned in the doorway. Because Leaning was Cool, Sirius had explained, the one time he'd tried to teach Remus how to be Cool. It hadn't gone well. Remus had said something about bad posture and spinal misalignment, and Sirius had said he was hopeless, and Remus had beheld a moment of pure terror before he realised Sirius meant in this case, and not as a friend in general.
"Well, we ought to do something about it," Sirius said. "Nobody else will."
"Up to us as usual," James agreed. "Reckon we could get them in trouble?"
"Not without being tell-tales," Sirius scoffed. "But we could find out. Then it's blackmail."
"Blackmail has a rather bloody history of backfiring," Remus pointed out, putting his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling, pulling his legs close so that his knees stuck up. He didn't like to stretch out; Sirius and James were far too keen to look at him, and he knew he was ugly and skinny, but that didn't mean he couldn't hide it.
"Well, we won't know till we know, will we?" James asked, sliding off his bed. "Come on, then, Sirius."
Sirius looked alarmed. "You're not really going to go tell them off, are you?" he asked, though he kept his voice level. Which was somewhat pointless, as Remus and Peter had trained themselves to detect very minute tones of hysteria, even through the Cool (James had never bothered).
James held up the invisibility cloak.
Sirius grinned.
"I think I'll stay here and not get slaughtered by the seventh years," Remus said tiredly, as James and Sirius ducked under the cloak.
"Peter?"
"Paper to finish," Peter replied. "If you die, can I have your broomstick?"
When James and Sirius were gone, Remus turned his head to glance at Peter, who was sliding to the floor.
"Where are you off to?" he asked. "I thought you had a paper to finish."
"Er...yeah...I asked Evans if she'd look it over," Peter stammered. "Won't be but five minutes, just going to pick it up."
Remus lifted an eyebrow.
"I do NOT have a crush on her!" Peter protested.
***
"So are you going to tell me what your brilliant idea back in the library was?" James asked, as they carefully climbed the stairs to the sixth years' rooms, huddled together, somewhat stuffily, under the invisibility cloak.
"I think we've been going about this wrong -- no, let's go see what the sevenths are up to, first. If we get them to shut up, they'll come down on the sixths too," Sirius said, as James paused on the sixth-years' landing. Loud chattering voices could be heard through the thick door, and the occasional shriek of laughter from a sixth-year girl.
"Wrong?" James prompted, as they continued up. Someone came stumbling down the stairs before Sirius could answer, and in a well-rehearsed move, they flattened themselves against one of the walls. The seventh-year wove unsteadily down the stairs, nearly knocking into them before stopping at the landing they'd just passed and pounding on the door, demanding they stop shouting. They hurried after him as he climbed back up the stairs, and Sirius dropped to catch one hand in the door before it closed, so that it opened just a crack into the dim stairwell.
James hunched over him, and Sirius put his eye to the crack. After a moment, James pushed the door a little wider.
They couldn't see much at the angle they were looking, but it was well more than enough. On one of the seventh-years' big four-posters, there were two couples, playing some kind of Muggle card game; both boys had their shirts off, and one of the girls was completely topless.
"Look at those -- " James began.
" -- bottles," Sirius interrupted, and James glanced down to see Sirius' eyes fixed on a rack near the bed, which was half-full of the sort of bottles they kept well behind the counter in the Three Broomsticks.
It was only then that James realised each of the card-players had a large goblet in their hands, and every time someone won whatever they were trying to win, the three who didn't take off an article of clothing took a drink.
Another boy stumbled over and flopped onto the bed, causing one of the goblets to spill, and they all pelted him with cards, shrieking.
"They're drunk," James whispered, but Sirius was already pulling the door wider, creeping in on all fours, and it was either follow or let Sirius slip out from under the cloak.
Sirius paused when they were just inside, backing into a crouch and looking around. There were people sitting on most of the beds; some drinking, some having what appeared to be intense, deep conversations, while others were having intense, deep snogging sessions. Even the Prefect, a somewhat uptight young man, had a goblet and was gesturing expansively with it at a girl whose Hogwarts uniform shirt was unbuttoned indecently.
"Sirius, what're you doing?" James hissed in a whisper, as Sirius began to move again. Sirius grinned over his shoulder, and kept crawling stealthily, dodging around a dangling leg as he reached the edge of the nearest bed. Ever so carefully he stood, pulling James up with him by the arm, and extended one hand in the direction of the bedside table where the bottles stood, while the other reached out to knock over the nearest goblet.
There was another shriek and commotion, and James watched in awe as Sirius, calmly and coolly, snatched two large bottles off the rack. He held out his hands to accept them from the other boy, and Sirius managed to grab a third, shorter bottle, with a colourful gold label on it.
"You're mad," James whispered in his ear, but Sirius just backed up against him, until he took the hint and began walking backwards, glancing to the sides to see if anyone was coming.
The door hadn't fully shut behind them, and James eased it open, continuing to move backwards until they were on the landing.
They descended silently and nervously, past the sixth-years' landing, the fifth years', the fourth years', until they were on their own again. Peter came up the stairs just as they were opening the door, and ran into them, stumbling backwards until Sirius ducked out from under the cloak and caught his arm.
Peter, rosy-cheeked and looking immensely pleased with himself, grinned and let himself be pulled into the dorm, where James threw off the cloak entirely and woke a napping Remus with a shout of triumph.
"Whaa?" Remus asked, sitting up and blinking blearily.
"Look what we nicked!" James crowed, holding up the bottles. Sirius was polishing the one he had with the tail of his shirt, looking immensely pleased with himself. Remus held out a hand, and James set one of the bottles in it.
"Finest malt firewhiskey," he read aloud. "One hundred proof -- I thought you went to tell the seventh years to shut it."
"We did, but it was more fun to steal their drink," Sirius answered. "You should have SEEN it."
"Naked women!" James managed.
"Muggle card games!"
"A regular den of sin," Peter observed, taking the smaller bottle from Sirius. "Evercloud. I've heard of this stuff, it turns your eyes different colours when you drink it. It's nearly pure alcohol, you know. That's a serious violation of school code, they could really get in serious trouble -- "
"So could you, you're the one holding it," James retorted. Peter shrugged.
"Well, if we wanted to tell on them, this'd be the thing to tell about," Peter said complacently.
"They really would kill you then," Remus added, looking worried. Sirius took the firewhiskey bottle back from him, uncapped it, and attempted to smoothly take a sip --
A good quarter of the bottle spilled over his neck and shoulders as he gagged and spat, fighting tears in his eyes while his throat appeared to catch fire. Remus fell backwards laughing, and James rescued the bottle before Sirius could drop it or pitch it across the room. Peter trotted to the washroom, returning with a glass of water which Sirus gratefully downed.
"God, it's awful stuff!" Sirius gasped, well aware that he had officially lost his Cool somewhere around the third or fourth second of desperate coughing. "You try it without -- "
"Spilling half of it on your shirt?" Peter asked. Sirius pulled the damp clothing off, tossing it in a crumpled heap near the foot of his bed.
"You're supposed to drink it a little at a time, I think," James said, regarding the open bottle cautiously. He held out a hand and Peter put the empty cup in it. Glass clinked on glass as he poured out a measured amount. Raising it in a salute to the other boys, he lifted it and tossed it back in one smooth, easy --
-- coughing fit.
Sirius pointed and laughed so hard he fell over. James looked sheepish.
"Come on Peter, your turn," James said, offering Peter the glass. Peter, grinning broadly, took it and poured out about half of what James did, managing to get it down, though he choked a bit afterwards and his eyes watered. He passed the bottle and glass wordlessly to Remus, who glanced at Sirius and James.
"I'm not sure I should," he said reluctantly.
"Be a mate, Lupin," James insisted. Remus sighed, and poured a very small amount into the glass. Peter, cheeks already flushing deeper red from the shot he'd just done, tapped the bottom of the bottle, sloshing more into the glass.
Remus looked at it again, sighed, looked at the approving smiles on James and Sirius' faces, and sipped cautiously.
All three watched for signs of watering eyes or constricted throat, but Remus just frowned.
"Tastes rather like medicine, doesn't it?" he asked.
They stared at him, and it was only then that he realised he probably should have faked a fit of some sort.
"Drink more," Sirius insisted, and Remus -- grateful for the second chance -- lifted the glass, drank a little, did a rather bad spit take, and tried to cough a bit.
Sirius, meanwhile, was procuring three more cups, and pouring generous amounts into each.
Remus eyed the cups and realised that it was going to be a long, possibly very annoying evening.
***
It wasn't as though they'd never locked the other two Gryffindors in their year out of the dorm before; the two boys who hadn't managed to wedge their way into the tight quartet of friends generally knocked, swore at James (because James was less likely to punch a chap) through the door, and went downstairs to kick a couple of underclassmen out of their beds.
Remus felt sorry for them, in a vague way, but he was careful not to feel too sorry, lest their fate befall him as well. He never know what might get him banished from the foursome, and he felt he might have come very close tonight.
The alcohol had tasted peculiar, of course, but it hadn't been as harsh as the others apparently thought. Perhaps it had to do with being a werewolf.
Perhaps that was why he didn't even feel warm, let alone dizzy or ill, though they'd graduated him from firewhiskey to Evercloud. That had been around the time he reported, somewhat timidly, that the room wasn't spinning for him like it was for the others, who found it easier to actually get the alcohol down their throats, the second time around. And the third. And fourth. And fifth.
It didn't look entirely pleasant. Peter was flushed, clutching his head a little, and grimacing; James, who was declaiming an incredibly boring and highly embroidered monologue about their recent drink-snatching expedition, looked slightly green. Wasn't drinking supposed to be a pleasant experience?
Sirius, who was sitting next to him on the floor in the middle of the room, could not anymore be bothered to sit up straight, and was instead throwing his spine completely out of alignment by resting his head on Remus' elbow, crooked over his thigh.
"I don't feel so good, Lupin," he mumbled. Remus, putting a cap on the Evercloud bottle, nodded sagely.
"Probably what you get for drinking two bottles of firewhiskey in an hour," he replied. Sirius snorted with laughter, and turned a bit, so that he was gazing up at Remus, sprawling the rest of his body uncomfortably on the floor.
"Sensible," he slurred, pointing up at Remus, who batted the waving finger away. "Not Cool, but sensible."
"Well, not all of us can be Cool," Remus replied softly.
"No! It's too true, otherwise what's the point?" Sirius asked. Remus watched James weave his unsteady way towards the washroom, and averted his eyes when James didn't close the door before emptying his bladder and shoving his head under the cold water tap in the sink. Peter appeared to have passed out, finally, but at least he was on his own bed.
"You aren't drunk, are you?" Sirius asked. Remus shook his head. "Poor wolfie."
"I tolerate a lot, Sirius," Remus said, "But if you call me wolfie again I'll put a grindylow in your school trunk when you go home for the summer holiday."
Sirius giggled, and pushed Remus' elbow out of the way, so that the back of his head was now cradled between Remus' hip and leg. "Poor Remus. No fun in life. Gets all banged up all the time," he added, drawing a finger down Remus' forearm, where rolled-up sleeves revealed a few chance scars. Remus shivered.
"We're gonna fix it," Sirius beamed up at him. "Promise. Fonna gix it -- argh -- fix it!"
"Even you can't," Remus said, something tightening in his chest a bit.
"Can so! I'm Sirius Black I can do anything," Sirius answered, indignance rather ruined by incoherence. "Ancient and Most Noble And Can Do Anything House Of Bloody Black," he added. "But I tell you what. I tell. You. What."
"What's that, Sirius?" Remus asked, as James emerged, sopping, from the washroom and threw himself down on Sirius' bed. When Sirius didn't immediately reply, he shifted, helping the seemingly-boneless Sirius to his feet and walking him carefully towards the bed.
"I tell you what," Sirius repeated, as Remus pushed him into a vaguely-sitting position on the edge of the bed. A finger waved under his nose again. "Can't fix you. Can't fix you, right?"
Remus swallowed. "Reckon not," he said, lightly.
"So we're gonna fix us," Sirius said bravely. "Gonna come 'long with you."
Remus wrinkled his brow, but then he was fairly certain drunk people didn't make much sense, especially sick-drunk like Sirius was.
"Gonna give you a birthday present," Sirius mumbled, as Remus bent to pull off his shoes. A palm brushed his cheek while he was finishing with the left one, and he glanced up. Sirius was staring down at him, smoothing wisps of brown hair away from his face. The dark-haired boy pitched forward a bit, and Remus caught him by the shoulders.
Sirius' lips brushed his, almost carelessly.
Remus felt he should probably have jerked back, or looked shocked, or something, but it was just two dry lips pressing on his, hardly more than a hand on a wrist or an accidental elbow-bump would be.
Then Sirius turned pale, and gagged, and Remus barely managed to get out of the way before Sirius was throwing up all over the floor, his shoes, and Remus' trousers.
Remus sighed.