Shimmering beautiful (and when I break it's in a million pieces)

A hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you

A/N: chapter title from The archer by Taylor swift (it's the official fic anthem along with "this is me trying" by Taylor and mirrorball OFC)

Lupin residence. Thursday, July 15th, 1976. 15:47

"What?" Remus whispered, his lips barely moving, "he's- he's not, he's- he can't be," he uttered, his whole body flashing hot and cold. His heart opened a black hole in his chest, his gaze flitting between Euphemia Potter's tired eyes and his mother's teary ones.

"Merlin, no!" Euphemia replied fiercely, shaking her head, "he's alright, there was an incident involving his family and..." Euphemia's voice faded away into the ringing in his ear, flashes of Sirius' empty eyes, his bloodied, cold body lying on the ground. The heavy dread that has been making a home in Remus' stomach since the beginning of summer break, the endless crumpled letters he never sent, taking for granted that he had more time to figure things out, to make things right.

His legs dragged him to their living room, ignoring the voices of the two women behind him calling out his name as he grabbed a handful of floo powder, an invisible force pushing him towards the fireplace.

He had to see him with his own eyes, hear his heartbeat, see the way his chest expanded with his breaths, he needed it more than he needed oxygen. Remus took a deep breath, muttering "Potter Manor" and stepping into green flames.

He stumbled into the Potters' living room, coming face to face with none other than Fleamont Potter.

"Where is he?" He choked out. Fleamont looked at him and pulled him into a wordless hug, pulling away before Remus had the chance to protest. He led the way up the stairs, Remus trailing behind him, hot on his heels, and they stopped in front of a door, Fleamont turning around to face him.

"I'm not sure how much Effie told you exactly," he started hesitantly, "but you have to be prepared. He's quite malnourished and they cut his hair off, Effie tried her best to heal everything but he's still covered by bandages. I need you to tell me that you can handle it." He demanded gently, placing a comforting hand on Remus' shoulder.

"I can handle it," Remus repeated robotically, his voice sounding foreign in his ears.
Fleamont hesitated but squeezed his shoulder, his hand falling to his side and turned around, swinging the door open silently.

The first thing he saw was James. He looked horrible, his eyes bloodshot and his face weighed down by a frown, his glasses sitting lopsidedly on his face. Remus' eyes trailed to both of his hands reaching towards a bed next to him, clutching a pale, slender hand.

James immediately jumped up, steadying himself on the armrests of the plush red armchair he was sitting in, letting the pale hand fall onto the white bedsheets.
"Remus..." James breathed, stepping closer to them, attempting to block the view or pull Remus into a hug. Either way, he didn't care, his eyes finally fell on him.

A huge pink scar stretched across pale skin, dark colour surrounding shut eyelids, long lashes resting quietly on high, protruding cheekbones, flowing into hollowed cheeks, icy cold and devoid of colour.

Pale pink lips parted around slow breaths, amplified heartbeat beating steady in the quiet of the room, synchronised with a jumping line on floating parchment paper, surrounded by various changing numbers.

Long, dark hair didn't flow on the pillow around his head, in its place a pathetic, uneven buzz cut, scalp visible through the short hair.

He thought it ridiculous when his mother had read to him the story of Snow White, resting in her glass coffin, enchanting the prince despite her eternal sleep, but he gets it now.

Bandaged arms laying on soft white bed sheets painted a picture of ethereal, broken beauty and it brutally ripped out the beating heart in his chest, throwing it onto the ground, pathetically discarded.