The Marauders Year Five Part 2 #Wattys2017

Dreamed

Dreamed

When Remus woke up, it was just before four o'clock in the morning and the black dog was gone. He lay in bed for a second, wondering if he'd dreamed it... He sat up and pushed the duvet back, looking across the room to see Sirius was asleep across his own bed, his hair draped over his face messily, sprawled about like a starfish. Remus looked down, disappointed. Until he saw a small clump of black fur stuck to the sheets. His heart raced and he plucked the little clump of fur from the sheets and held it in his hands as he looked back over at Sirius. He hadcome over to him. Remus clutched the fur like he was holding a precious stone of some sort, and he held it to his chest a moment...

Remus got up and he went over to the desk, pressing the fur into one of his books between the pages so he wouldn't lose it. He thought about opening that drawer and seeing what it was Sirius had been looking at when he woke up, but thought better of it. He grabbed his towel and a bottle of shampoo that the boys all shared and headed for the showers, his bones a little achey from having slept in a funny position, wrapped about a dog all night.

The corridors were chilly, the sun not yet up to warm the castle, and Remus pushed open the door of the showers, relieved to find it empty. He always came in the earliest hours, before most people even woke up, because he didn't like the other boys in Gryffindor seeing his scars. He just wouldn't take a shower if he couldn't get there while it was empty.

Remus worked at unbuttoning his layers of sweaters and folding them carefully, laying them on the bench outside the shower, when he'd undressed, he stood at the sink staring into his own face for a few moments, running his eyes and fingers over his scars, as though taking an inventory. Sometimes it was easy to forget they were there - sometimes, he imagined himself smooth and normal, and he would look into a mirror and be startled by what he saw staring back. Sometimes it was good to remind himself who he was. That's what he was doing then, just touching each of the marks and trying to commit to memory exactly where they were on his face... His fingers paused on the deep gouge across his nose and cheeks, the most vicious of the lines, the only one he could see without a mirror, and only barely, if he crossed his eyes, he could sort of make out the dip of it on his nose and under his eye.

Finally, he sighed and turned to the showers, shivering in the cold of the room. He slid across the tile and reached for the faucet, turning it on as hot as it would go, water spraying over him - cold at first ("shit, fuck, shit, ow - cold, cold, cold," he hissed, dancing about under the faucet head to get away) and then it warmed and finally came out boiling hot and he groaned as the spray hit his back. He closed his eyes and positioned the shower head so it fell straight down upon him as he leaned his forehead against the tile wall, feeling it stream over him, the steam filling up the room thick as smoke. He breathed deeply, the humidity in the air warming his lungs and the hot water feeling just so good on his sore muscles.

He was sixteen but he felt like he was sixty for all the pains and aches he had. Ned Veigler had told him that would happen. Arthritis was common in werewolves, Veigler had said. Common to set into your bones early. Remus stared at his hands and flexed his fingers a few times, feeling the tension in the knuckles and the stretching of his skin over the bones.

The door to the shower room opened, but Remus didn't hear it, his head under the water of the shower. He didn't realize anybody was there at all until he felt a hand on his back.

"What the f---" he turned around in a panic to find Sirius there, staring up at him. "What're you doing?" Remus asked, "Trying to give me a coronary?"