Work Text:
All Sirius could see were flashes of light, the colors blurring together as his eyes struggled to stay open. His body writhed in pain, twisting around on the floor as screams ripped from his throat.
Cut after cut appeared on his body, tearing up his skin. Blood trickled out of them all.
Usually, the agony had slowed by now. But here he was, slumped on the ground as another spell hit him. Indescribable pain shot through his body. He let out a strangled cry, unable to muster anything more.
Above him, wands pointed straight at him with lines of green light, were his own parents, cruel as ever. Sirius could just make out the sharp lines of their faces as another, “Crucio,” rang through the room.
The only thing he could do was take it. His body spasmed and twitched, but that didn’t stop his mother or father. If anything, Sirius thought, it encouraged them.
White hot pain was all he knew, all there ever was, and all there would ever be. Tears ran freely down his face, mixing with his blood on the floor.
Walburga's shrill voices came as the spells ceased, letting Sirius catch what breath he had left.
“Do you understand? You will not embarrass us like that again.”
Sirius could only nod. His mother scoffed, then tucked her wand away. She turned on her heel, walking out of the room, but not before slamming a kick to Sirius’ stomach. He glanced up at his father. He was usually less aggressive with his punishments. Maybe he would help this time. He didn’t. He left Sirius on the floor, bleeding out and full of pain.
He had no idea how long he laid on the floor. It could have been days, or maybe just hours. Sirius had never been good with time. Slowly, every bone in his body aching, he pushed himself up.
After much stumbling and even more slipping, Sirius finally made it up to his room. Multiple flights of stairs wrapping around below him, each step streaked with a bit of crimson blood.
He slammed the door behind him, desperately trying to wipe the tears off his face, but his attempts were fruitless.
His whole body hurt. Everything ached from head to toe. He could hear them laughing downstairs. Laughing as if they hadn't just beaten him, abused him, traumatized him.
He could hear the sniffles of his brother in the room next to his. Why was he crying? He could've stopped them. He could have done something, anything.
For all of the times he had taken one for Regulus, couldn't his brother pay him back just once?
No, those thoughts were wrong. Those were the type of thoughts that got pushed deep down, far away where no one could see them.
Sirius crawled into his bed, not caring if he bloodied the fancy linen sheets. In fact, he hoped he did. He curled into a tight ball and let the tears flow freely down his face, his silver eyes turning foggy.
All he could think about was them. The way their wands flashed, their shrill voices as they laughed and jeered, their faces as they hurt him.
They hurt him...
Parents shouldn't do that, Sirius had come to learn. They were supposed to love and support you, help you through hard and confusing times. They were supposed to hug and kiss you, provide comfort and a safe space if needed. Never once should they lay their hands on you in an uncomfortable way. They should never hurt you, never cause you pain or bandages or hospital trips or anything of the sort.
Or so he’s been told. Sirius wouldn’t know. His parents, if he even dared to call them that any more, were quite the opposite.
Parents should act like James', he thinks. They loved their son, cherished and cared for him. They cared for Sirius, too. They should have been his parents.
Why did he have to be born into this horrible family? Was it even a family? At what point did it turn into something deeper, a cult obsessed with pure blood and traditions, going so far as inbreeding just to stay true to the lies told long ago, passed down, believed, put into practice, and held to standard by generation after generation.
Why couldn't he have been born to someone else, somewhere else? His life would be so much better.
He wanted to escape. Leave this horrid place and never come back. Maybe he would. Maybe he could think of something.
Sirius' head swirled as he lay helpless on his bed, the sheets tangled around his ankles and the pillows muffling his pitiful cries.
Pitiful. The word always brought his thoughts to Remus. Funny, how the mind works. In Sirius' eyes, Remus was anything but pitiful.
Sure, he was cursed with a painful... affliction. But he had accepted that and done what he could with his ruined state. The monthly transformations didn't stop him from being top of his classes. They didn't stop him from pulling pranks or constantly studying.
The random jabs of pains didn't stop him from enduring hours of Quidditch practice on James' behalf. They didn't stop him from walking all over the castle they called home.
The days leading up to those horrible nights didn't stop him from charming girls left and right. It also didn't stop him from charming Sirius himself.
The realization had come quick, and once it had, Sirius was surprised he hadn't known since the moment he met him. He was beautiful.
His tan skin covered in freckles.
His golden brown hair that glowed in the sunlight.
His scars that he hated.
Oh, fuck. Those scars. Sirius loved them. He wished he could trace them, kiss them, know where they led, where they started and ended.
He wished Remus loved them as much as he did. The boy didn't deserve to be self-conscious about something as silly as marks on his skin. Pretty, silvery scars on his beautiful skin.
Scars nothing like his. His were in straight, controlled lines down specific spots of his body. His were meant to be there, a punishment, a reminder. The very thought of them caused Sirius another rush of tears, his new cuts throbbing.
Remus' were jagged and random, varying in length and width. His were pretty little accidents. Sure, some may argue they were self-inflicted, but not purposely.
They were put there by the horrible wolf that lived inside the boy.
Sirius wished he could stop it. If he had to pluck the very moon out of the sky, he would. Who cares about waves and nights and days when Remus exists?
When he was in pain?
When all of his suffering could be ended with just one small change?
Unlike his. Sirius’ suffering wasn't as simple as a beast taking over your mind. Compared to his, it actually sounded quite peaceful.
Then again, each month, his best friend's bones snapped, his brain went dark, his skin melted, molding itself into the shape of another. His teeth and nails grew, his spine bent, his morals and filters faded away.
Maybe Remus’ suffering was worse.
Sirius sat up in bed, tear trails finally starting to dry on his cheeks. Then and there, bloodied and bruised, he promised himself that no matter what happened, he would be there for Remus. Whether it was a shoulder to cry on, a body to lay with, or a star to be guided by, Sirius would be there.
Anything he could do to make Remus a little less in pain, he would.
Sirius yawned, a wave of exhaustion hitting him dead on. He could think about escapades and beautiful werewolves another day.
Painfully wrapped up in blood covered white sheets, Sirius tossed and turned. Pain shot through him as he did.
But when he did fall asleep, his dreams, for once, weren't full of wands and green flashes and dark hallways.
They weren't made up of shrill voices and glass breaking and bodies thumping.
They weren't about his brother or his parents.
They were of a boy.
A smart, stunning, scar covered, book loving, mischievous boy.
Remus Lupin.