Marauder crack

Get well

On the third day in bed, Sirius is desperate. Eight hours a day of being alone in the tower. Unable to leave. Without the strength to imagine innovative ways of torturing Quejicus. If he gets up too quickly, he gets dizzy. If he tries to read the lines on the books he will overlap. If he talks for a long time, his throat hurts. His chest burns. He is hot. He is cold. He is hot and cold at the same time. The nurse who visits him is more sullen than his cousin Antonia and her cousin Antonia even her mother calls her "Banshee", which, taking into account her mother's standards, it's like the devil comes out of hell and calls you a devil.

And on top of it all, he has to put on repellent ointments that smell like rotten mandrake. Drinking infusions so bad they seem boiled in Peter's dirty socks. And eating, you don't even talk. Healing broth. AND that's it. Three days without biting into anything. In the middle of the Thursday afternoon, he's so hungry that he might taste a corner of the bed. The useless ones, his friends, say they don't have the fucking delicacy to bring him anything from the dining room. They argue that they are "nurse's orders." The fucking cowards.

Between class and class, Remus has the decency to go up to his room.

-Moooooonyyyyy - he complains, as soon as he sees him open the door.

- And now what's the matter with you.

He says it in an affectionate tone but Sirius's infected mind gets upset anyway.

- Nothing. - That he is bored. That he is hungry. That he is fed up with everything! - That's what happens. I'm dying, nothing more!

God, it's so fucking hot. For once he has a fever and it has to be in spring. The sheets stick to his body. He angrily pushes them away and graves on the bed. He is delirious, he moves, he can't find a position, everything hurts. He ends up lying face down, without the strength to remove his pijama pants. The room pulses and uncoils. His chest smells like Liniment and ointment fumes make him dizzy. Remus sits on the bed that is next to his. He doesn't remember whose bed it is. All is so confusing when he's sick. It's very strange.

- No, I'm talking serious business here. I think I'm dying. And I don't see that anyone cares, Remus. - He glimpses a smile on Remus and notices the fall of those familiar and humorous eyes. - I will die here alone, in the tower of Gryffindor- moans. - You will find my corpse at dinner time, but no crying, no crying for me. - Yes, he's laughing. That bastard Remus Lupin finds his death notes very funny. The very miserable. - Get me on a boat and turn me on fire in the sea, is the only thing I would ask of you. - With the little strength he has, he half stands up on one arm and extends the other. He pulls on Remus's tie, to get him closer to him and to focus his sight better. He does not have very good reflections so they collide. Face to face, but it doesn't hurt much. It's hard to coordinate and, oh, yes, I think so, it's fine like this, nose to nose with Remus, which is the only thing that doesn't smell like liniment. At the moment. - I want a Viking funeral, Moony.

His breath burns. Remus must feel it on his face. Maybe it also burns him.

-Will you get me a wee boat if I die here, Remus?

- You're not dying, Padfoot.

He lets go of the hand that was holding his tie. How can he know if he is dying or not? If he says that he is dying, he is dying and there is nothing to discuss. Sirius holds onto Remus. He clings to his neck to keep balance. His skin is cooler. He relieves him quite a bit. Freshness. Relief. Yes, better, much, much better.

-Promise me- he orders. His own voice sounds nasal, more like usual Remus' voice, who's that afternoon, however, sounds somewhat fainter, as if he were sick too.

- I promise you, you won't die.

He likes the vehemence with which he assures it. MMM yes. He likes it badly. Much more than being sick. Yes, indeed. The room smells like healing potions and rosemary. Remus says that he is not going to die. That's fine.

- But if I die, you will get me a wee boat.

- You already have a motorcycle. Now a ship?

How hot, sir. Remus's fingers and neck are burning now, losing some of the intense coolness of him. Maybe he'll console himself if he takes his face with his hands and, Oh yeah. Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes. Compared to his body temperature, Remus is fresh grass, April sunshine, and a shower at the end of the day. Relieves. He thinks so. He closes his eyes to enjoy it well. MMM. It had been three days since he had felt something so incredible. He feels that he refreshes the whole body, even the feet, and the ideas.

- Remuuuuuuus - he whimpers his name, like a scream. - Promise it.

- I do. Whatever you want, Sirius. - When he speaks his voice is like a whining gasp that rubs his face and also soothes it. - I'll get you what you want.

That's better. Yes. Remus is going to take care of him. Better. He will have a Viking funeral. How good is that?

- I like it that way. - Yes, that's okay. Leaning on Remus. - You're quite cold.

In a slightly strangled tone of voice, Remus asks "What?" but Sirius doesn't have the strength to answer, nor to keep lying down, so he throws himself on the bed. He rather falls. Out of the corner of his eye, he makes out a silhouette that gets up and goes to the door. NOW ARE YOU GOING TO LEAVE? He can't leave! Has it been so long? He does not know what time is it but he doesn't want to be alone again. The bed is sticky.

- Hey you! -He has no strength to demand, so he pleads. Puts his best expression of an abandoned doggy on a rainy night. - Don't leave me.

- Sirius, I have classes.

Remus's voice is so soft. Shit. Why isn't everything so soft? Sick, everything is hard and violent and too bright. But not Remus. Nope. With Remus it's fine. If he stayed, everything would be fine. With all those times when classes have been skipped and now the very traitor wants to leave. He turns his abandoned dog face into his abandoned dog face and hurt. He will be a bastard.

- You should be here with me!

He seems to be thinking about it. That it costs him to make a decision but he wants to pretend not. "You're cold", Sirius murmurs, so softly that seems like a diluted thought. "Like a giant ice cube".

- Do you think I have nothing better to do than entertain you, Pads?

- Well, you shouldn't!

Even more, if Remus were a good friend, he should be sick with him. It is the least that can be expected. Good idea.

- You know what? I will hit you with my illness and you will have to stay. When you leave, I'm planning to get into your bed and sweat your sheets and I'll wash my teeth with your toothbrush. And if it doesn't work, and you don't get ill and sympathize with me, I'll suck the plates of your food. And I warn you that if that still doesn't work, I will - tries to imagine something worse but has little left imagination- I'll wait until you fall asleep and lick you off head to toe until you too start to shiver and sweat and burn! And to be as hot as I am! - That. Good plan. He has run out of strength with so much talking. But surely Remus has gotten it. - It's so fucking hot!- he yells. -Remus, I'm very hot- he sobs.

He's not sure but before he falls asleep, delirious with 40 degrees of fever seems to him that he hears Remus's voice saying "you are not the only one" "But it might be the fever.