FicWad

“Magic is a fickle thing, Miss Granger.”
That sentence was hardly the most welcoming thing for Sirius to wake up to. His mind was a blur, fuzzed and bleary, and he couldn’t comprehend anything in the moment; the world spun, his vision had black spots invading it and he had no idea why the whiteness of his surroundings was that sterile.
In all honesty, Sirius didn’t really focus on anything being said. He was still very much in the grasp of sleep, and he longed for it to take him once more. Consciousness was a state he could do without.
He heard an indignant huff. There was silence, then:
“There was something else I wished to speak to you about, something the boggart said.” He recognised it as Dumbledore’s voice. Why was Dumbledore here? “About you ‘thinking you can change the world.’”
Confusion clouded his mind, and he instantly felt alert. Who felt they could change the world? No one replied for a while. He tried to level out his breathing, tried to play the part of a sleeping boy; it wasn’t difficult- he’d done it plenty of times before. All you had to do was clear your mind, measure your breaths, monitor your face. Sleeping was such an easy escape to replicate.
“Professor, what are you trying to say?”
The air in Sirius’ throat stopped half-way down to his lungs. He recognised the voice. It was Hermione’s.
“I just ask for you to remember what I told you the last time we spoke. Regarding time, and how-”
“Dangerous things happen to those who meddle with it.” Sirius couldn’t help the frown that took over his face. He knew his muscles had frozen, and that it would probably give him away if one of them were to glance over. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to relax. “I know, sir. I haven’t forgotten.”
Time? What did time have anything to do with… well, anything? And how could you meddle with it? It happened suddenly, a sickening feeling flowering in his stomach, growing, sprouting unease as it made its way up his body. The revelation hit him, and he felt winded by the blow, but it was inevitable; Hermione was hiding something.
Really, Sirius didn’t know why that surprised him. The girl was practically a walking mystery, a bundle of nerve and bone and secrets. She fell from the Gryffindor Common Room ceiling for crying out loud! And yet, they all felt something for her- he felt something for her. But he couldn’t think of it as a betrayal. It was not a betrayal. They’d only just met her, she was obviously suffering from the aftereffects of something, so it was natural for her to not want to tell them every little minor detail about her life, just yet, if ever. Sirius swallowed. He just hoped Hermione would tell them eventually. He felt they had a right to know. What that right was, however, was an entirely different question.
It wasn’t a betrayal. Betrayal required a bond in the first place, if it was to be broken.
But you have a bond, a snide voice commented slyly. You have a bond with her. You all do. And yet you don’t know why. Don’t you think that’s strange? You’ve only just met her and you’d lay down your life for her.
Sirius didn’t want to think about this. It was something he hadn’t allowed himself to mull over, lest it raise more awkward questions that he couldn’t have the answer to, and that would just make him miserable. And he didn’t enjoy being miserable when the situation didn’t warrant it.
A door shut, and it jolted him out of his thoughts long enough for him to realise that it was just him and Hermione. Sirius wasn’t sure how he felt about this.
He didn’t even know where he was. Judging by the clean scent and thin duvet, he was in the Hospital Wing again. But why?
It came hurtling back to him; the lesson, the boggart, the harsh spitting truths, the complete and utter shut-down of his body.
“Look what’s become of you.”
The hiss cut through everything else, stark and strangely clear in the static of his mind. Sirius felt again the almost non-existent beat of his heart. It was such an absurd feeling, this knowing you’re alive and feeling the thrum of your life, but sensing it as though it were fake, as though you were a clockwork toy with a metal key to keep you functioning. Sometimes, he wished it was that simple.
He remembered James’ desperate eyes, his voice pleading and taut.
“Sirius, come on. This isn’t real!”
And again:
“There’s no reason to be scared. That isn’t you! This isn’t real.”
Urging, always urging.
“You’re wrong.”
“What do you mean? This is all in your head.”
“I know. That's what scares me.”
And it was true. How could he possibly explain it though? How could he possibly reveal to James that sometimes, the only thing that made him want to just fall off his broom when he was three hundred feet in the air, or go back to his parents’ house, or step into the Black Lake, was a part of him? As much a part of him as James was, as the Sirius he knew and cared for was; the one who made puns all the time, and laughed audaciously, and loved with a ferocious fire that consumed his being entirely. Deep and twisted, writhed and resolutely interlocked with the arteries that pumped blood around his body to keep him alive. He needed this part of him if he wanted all of the other parts of him to work.
And it was sad, but it was the truth.
“You are Sirius Black. You belong to the darkness-”
He didn’t know if the boggart meant anything, if it was anything past a projection of what he had tried to lock away for so long. But Sirius felt his chest grow heavy, as he realised that, real or not real, meaningful or inconsequential, the boggart was right.
He belonged to the darkness. And it was coming to claim him.

\oTLo/

Hermione sighed, closing the book with a decided frustration that caused a sharp bang to echo around the empty Common Room. Everybody else had gone to bed hours ago, and she had no idea what time it was, but if she had to guess, she’d say it was well into early morning.
Madam Pomfrey had let her and Sirius out just after tea, and she’d made haste with sitting down and cracking on with researching boggarts, and catching up with work that she’d missed. Since she’d been released, she had claimed the sofa by the fire and the coffee table as her domain, and since the students had slowly, one-by-one, trickled off to bed, her books had surely spread to occupy more of the empty space.
Hermione stared into the fire. The book was heavy in her lap, but a comforting weight. Her eyes stung, and fatigue settled in every part of her mind and body.
A creak from behind frightened her, and she whipped around to see Remus. He smiled apologetically.
“I’m sorry,” he said, making his way towards her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t startle me, I just wasn’t expecting anyone else to be up at this time.”
“Normally, nobody is.”
Hermione looked at him. He stood, seemingly unsure about something, a metre or two away from her. His pyjama bottoms were too big for him, and he had tied the thread around the waist as tight as it would go. His jumper was ragged and old, tattered and torn. She wanted to ask him what he meant by ‘normally’, but the words wouldn’t come, and she already knew the answer.
Wordlessly, she patted the seat next to her. He sat down.
“What are you doing?” Remus asked, his curiosity evading his voice but obvious in the way he eyed the piles of books.
“Looking for answers.” Hermione didn’t need to expand, and she felt her throat tighten, uncertain about how he would react to this.
“Have you found anything?”
Her previously dissipated exasperation returned at that question, and she threw her hands up and exclaimed, “There’s nothing!”
“Nothing?”
“Every book I’ve read so far only has the basic information on boggarts- there’s absolutely nothing on abstract fears!”
There was silence, in which the crackling of the fire was the only thing that could be heard, aside from some distant snoring from one of the dormitories.
“I’ll help you, if you want,” Remus said. He avoided looking directly at her as he said it. “If it means something, or even if it doesn’t mean anything, I’ll help you.”
Hermione just stared at him, blinking in the compassion that was Remus Lupin. Finally, she smiled and said, “I’d like that. Thank you.”
He simply shrugged. “That’s what friends are for, I guess.” But he was blushing slightly.
They sat in content quiet, both entranced by the embers of the dying fire. She licked her lips, wondering whether or not to tell Remus about her chat with Dumbledore. It wouldn’t hurt, and the information would be useful if he really was going to help her. She’d just have to leave out a few parts.
“Dumbledore came to see me today,” Hermione said. Remus looked at her.
“What did he say?”
She paused, before saying, “He thinks the boggart was symbolic. He thinks it was the embodiment of my subconscious, trying to give me a message.”
He didn’t reply for a while, so she glanced sideways at him. His eyebrows were raised slightly. “That’s different.”
“Mm hm.”
“I’ve never heard of a boggart doing that before.”
“Mm hm.”
Again, he didn’t say anything. When Hermione looked at him this time, his eyebrows were knitted together and he was dragging the middle phalange of his index finger along his bottom lip. The skin there was broken, and from this close, it looked sore and abused.
“I take it the message is important,” Remus said eventually.
“Oh, extremely.”
“I see.”
“The fate of the world depends on it,” she said in a dry voice, and it did not escape her notice, even whilst Remus chuckled, how morbidly true the words were.
Not for the first time that night, or morning, or whatever, they fell into silence. They were both tired souls, too dead to sleep.
“Do you usually do this?” Hermione asked, her eyes tracing the movement of the flames, which twisted and danced and licked the air in a starved but passionate tango, like a lover deprived of a kiss.
“Do what?”
“Midnight escapades.”
“It’s a little past midnight,” he pointed out.
She scowled. “You know what I mean.”
A yawn stretched her mouth, gobbling down air, and her eyes watered.
“Maybe you should try get some sleep,” Remus suggested, watching her.
“I don’t think that’s an option.”
And it wasn’t. Or, at least, it didn’t feel like one. Her mind was alive with energy, with fear and the anticipation of closing her eyes and seeing the boggart reappear before her, both there and not there, both a threat and harmless. She could still feel its rancid breath, and the closeness of its being to hers.
Hermione's lips went dry. She licked them.
Remus stood up suddenly, and he turned to look at her, before offering her his hand. “Come on,” he said.
Surprised, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Where are we going?”
“I want to show you something.”
“What?”
He just grinned.
“It’s a secret.”
This piqued her attention, and she didn’t even glance at his hands, still staring into his eyes, as she locked her fingers with his. He pulled her to her feet.
“You’ll like it,” he said, and his hand was hot and cold in hers and she vaguely wondered how that was possible. His skin was smooth and soft. “I think.”
Hermione let him lead her out of the dimly lit Common Room, and out into the darkness of the sleeping castle. Shadows pooled in their malicious parties, and for all their mystery, she found them somewhat calming, somewhat enticing. They called out to her as she passed.
She listened.
They walked for a while, down the grand staircases, inhaling the serenity that Hogwarts seemed to live on during the night. She wasn’t sure where they were heading, as they were six floors below the Room of Requirement, which was the only place Hermione could think of someone going in the early hours of the morning.
Eventually, Remus, still holding her hand tightly, directed her to the very end of the first floor corridor. He stopped outside of a door. They just stared at it.
Hermione glanced at him, before reaching out to open it.
She said, “It’s locked.”
Remus brandished his wand, wiggling it slightly and said, “Thank God for magic, right?”
Noiselessly, he tapped the handle, and the door clicked, swinging open on its own accord. He let go of her hand, holding out an arm, motioning for her to go first. She obliged.
The room was an old classroom, which clearly hadn’t been used for many years, decades even. There were no desks or chairs, but a large bureau, made of dark wood, was pushed into the corner. It was impossibly dark, as there were no windows in this small stone classroom.
Remus’ hand, warm on her arm, stopped her. He was so close to her, and Hermione hadn’t even noticed he was behind her. She could feel the heat radiating off of him, and let herself relax into it. Every movement of his chest seemed to echo off her back, and his breath tickled the nape of her neck.
He lifted his wand and waved it once, and along the very top of the walls, an almost invisible thread of fairy lights appeared from thin air, winding and twisting around the perimeter, bathing the room in a soft light.
Hermione’s eyes followed the magic, entranced and utterly in awe. She finally let her gaze fall to the floor, which had now been illuminated, and what she saw made her gasp.
The room’s floor had been completely taken up by a miniature model of Hogwarts. Intricate details, contrived from various objects formed the structure. She could see that a few of the walls closer to her were made out of old notes pages, and she recognised the scrawl of handwriting as that of all four boys. It wasn’t complete, but it had clearly been started long ago, for the attention to detail was incredible, and Hermione felt humbled and overcome with emotion at the sight of it.
Remus edged past her, grazing her elbow with his fingers. He moved to stand on the opposite side of the model, his hands stuck deep in his pockets. He looked slightly embarrassed, as though he had bared a part of his soul to her, and was scared that she would laugh in his face. In a way, Hermione guessed that he had, and she knew that she would not dare react in such a way; delicate things needed to be cradled, not broken.
She was lost for words.
Eventually, she said, whispered, "It's Hogwarts."
Remus ducked his head, hiding his smile and said, "Yes."
"It's breath-taking."
"That's the effect I was hoping for."
Once more, Hermione ran her eyes over every feature of the model. She could almost feel the passion and love and life of Remus thrumming through the artificial walls, and it left her honestly breathless.
"Remus..." But she didn't know what to say.
He looked at his feet bashfully. "Sometimes I don't sleep. I don't know why... It's like a-a fear of the dark or the night or the sleep itself, but I don't sleep very well," he said. Hermione bit her lip. "Sometimes Sirius can't sleep too, but he likes to be alone, or he likes listening to music; it-it takes him away, you know? Sometimes we sit they her or lay together-" Remus was pouring out of his body, his soul slipping past his cracked lips and into her mouth. She inhaled him, swallowing him whole. "But it was one of those nights where no one else was stirring and I had to get out because my mind was on overdrive. I don't know how I found this place, but I did. I didn't start this," he motioned to the miniature Hogwarts, "until a few sleepless nights later. So now, whenever I feel either too alive or too dead, I come here and I add a bit to it. Just a bit- like, a wall or something, something small each time so I can track the progress... So I guess all of this is just the result of time and burden. That's what it usually comes down to; time, and burden."
Hermione looked at the model again, feeling a certain sense of melancholy in her bones. Each wall was a witness to the tired and longing soul of Remus Lupin; each makeshift window and pointed roof was a result of the countless hours that he had spilled into this piece; everything about it derived from the nightmares that a poor insomniac, a haunted werewolf and, above all else, a lonely little boy suffered from. She realised that he could never truly escape his nightmares though, they followed him into the waking world even when he couldn't sleep... And so, he had somehow found peace in the robotic monotony of this.
"Why Hogwarts?" Hermione murmured, barely trusting her voice to be any louder.
Remus shrugged, a small lift and fall of his shoulders and said simply, "Why anywhere else?" Then, as if this answer wasn't enough, he said, "Hogwarts was the first place that ever accepted me. It saved me once and even when its halls felt like an ongoing part of a nightmare, I figured that if it saved me once, it could do it again, and it did. The repetitive nature makes me think less. It distracts my mind from the darkness lingering there."
And her heart ached. Her heart ached so much. Because here were these boys, in a time that was supposed to be happy, and she had foolishly assumed they were happy too. What a fickle mistake to make; that a human is ever as happy as you believe them to be. The Marauders had each other and they had family (whether it was legally their own did not matter), and they were young and intelligent and unbelievably promised the world. In fact, it was all but laid down at their feet. And despite all of this, they were sad.
Despite all of the laughter and smiles and jokes they shared, and good times they cherished and things they loved, it finally dawned on Hermione that they were just boys. And they were sad, and furious and envious of the wind, which could blow here and there and fly whichever way it chose, never by something as volatile as time.
Because they were just human.
She thought that since she had come back here, her intentions of keeping them as they were now were fool-proof. But now, she had glimpsed the truth.
It was not Lily and James' deaths that made them bitter; it was the unfairness of life. It was the sleepless nights and the full moons, it was the bruises from a mother who should've loved you, and the harsh words from a father who should've cheered you on, it was the front row seats of watching your best friends fall and slowly decompose before you.
The Marauders were broken.
And Hermione stared at Remus. The warm lights cast his face in shadow, picking out the gold highlights in his russet hair and the silver lines of his scars, and the blackness under his eyes. She moved around the model of his unrest and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and hugging him tight to make all of his pieces fit together again.
Yes, she concluded, the Marauders were broken. But she was going to fix them, no matter what it took. No matter if it destroyed her in the process.