Bewitched | wolfstar au

Forty-one

"We have bad news," 

Remus almost falls back into the fireplace—again, yes—when Regulus' voice rings out across the library. 

"What is it?" he asks, one hand on his heart and the other clinging on to the fireplace. 

"Reg, this isn't how we break bad news to people," Sirius rubs his temple. Just like yesterday, the two Blacks are seated next to each other. Sirius stands up and walks over to him.

"Are you alright?" 

"Your boyfriend is fine," Regulus rolls his eyes, crossing his legs. "And now you've ruined the drama of the situation, Sirius."

"You really want Dorothy to die, don't you?" Sirius scowls at Regulus, hands on his hips. Remus has to fight his smile to keep it from filling up his whole face. 

"You wouldn't dare," Regulus glares at Sirius.

"I definitely would," 

"Oh no. Anyway," Regulus shifts his gaze to Remus, "Our uncle is sick. Not in the good way. The way meaning, uh, cool, and the like. The actual physically ill way. And he's old and alone in Italy so someone has to go and look after him."

"That someone being Reg," Sirius chimes in.

For bearers of bad news, neither of them look too unhappy.

"Oh," Remus says, unsure of what else to add. "I... Hope he gets well soon?"

"Me too," Sirius sighs. "I haven't seen Uncle Alphard in years."

They fall silent for a minute before Sirius speaks up. "Well... You better finish your packing, Reg," he then turns to Remus, "Come down to the kitchen after you change. I'll make us some tea."

*** 

On account of Regulus' flight being scheduled at three-something in the morning and Remus having to leave for work by eight, Sirius practically tucks Remus into bed before they leave in their room despite Remus' protests. Only Marshbutton's in the room with him, sitting on Sirius' bed.

Remus tosses and turns, wishing Sirius would just come back already. He throws the blanket off of him, and then pulls it back up when he realises that it's cold. And then his feet feel weird, so he has to kick the blanket to give his toes some breathing space.

"God," he sits up with a sigh, pulling his knees up. He turns the light on. It's dimmed, but his eyes still take a minute to adjust.

With another sigh, Remus slips out of bed. He walks over to Sirius' desk, hoping to find a novel—even a textbook, he'd take anything—to read. 

Sirius' desk is a curious place. The dark wood of the work surface is by no means perfect. There are coffee rings on it, and a few cuts and scratches, and a mark that looks like it was left behind by fire. And jars. Several of them. Remus trails a finger over a particularly deep cut in the wood, wondering what could have caused it. 

The only books on Sirius' desk are dictionaries. There's a massive English one, Oxford, and an even more massive French one. Remus pulls a drawer out, hoping for something more agreeable to read at God knows what in the morning. To his surprise, he finds a thick book with a leathery black cover, unmarked at the front. He picks it up. He quickly puts it back, realising it could be a diary.

But then he picks it up again, because diaries don't turn bulky because of pages too heavy. 

Carefully, he undoes the elastic that holds the book closed. He opens the first page, almost shaking with excitement.

And... it's empty. So is the next one. 

Impatient, Remus flips to a random page in the middle.

He forgets how to breathe.

Hands. There are hands painted all over the two pages, in colours Remus wouldn't have dreamed of being able to capture human skin on paper. There's purple and blue and red and even faint lines of green, but somehow it looks so... so right. Remus traces a finger along a pair of  entwined hands. The paint is thick, and Remus can feel the brushstrokes under his fingertip. 

Eager for more, he turns to the next page. He almost gasps at what he sees there. A splash of black ink on one page, obviously covering something else previously painted underneath. Only one half of the other page is there, trimmed with an angry tear. There's half a bunch of flowers—hydrangeas­— left, painted in soft blues.

Remus finds himself more horrified as he turns the pages. The book has been mutilated. He finds the remnants of a sunset otherwise burnt to ashes, sweet little portraits cut up and shredded to strips of coloured paper, and blank pages covered in nothing but thick black lines. 

When Remus climbs back into bed, having put the book back where he found it, he finds his hands to be trembling. The back of his neck tingles as he goes to turn the light off, so he leaves it on. Which is when he realises that he's frightened.

But of what?

Of Sirius?

No, never. Remus crawls out of his bed and climbs into Sirius' one instead, pulling Marshbutton close against him. He doesn't want to sleep alone. She curls up against his stomach, warm and purring, and Remus instantly feels better. Sirius' pillow smells of him. Of that flowery smell Remus always catches when Sirius is nearby. He pulls the blanket over himself and the cat, and falls into a deep and miserable sleep.