#each other with cigarettes and make out sloppy after tournaments

[lainpsx]

hm. i want a s/o

[hurt-care]

Or for Lupin, I've always wanted something on him dealing with the death of Sirius. Maybe his first really bad cold/flu and he's alone.

Well…he’s not entirely alone in this but I promise it’s angsty as hell for a while. Enjoy the feels ride….

Remus Lupin, cold

-Everything after the Ministry is a blur. There’s a rush of activity at Grimmauld Place as the Order gathers and tries to process the incident in the Department of Mysteries. And no one will really make eye contact with Remus. Plates of food appear in front of him and hands squeeze his shoulder in sympathy, but nothing more.

He nurses a glass of Firewhiskey with Bill and Arthur in the library and then excuses himself, heading upstairs. He pauses outside the room where Sirius had slept just last night but he cannot bring himself to open the door. Instead, he continues on to his own bare-bones room. It’s been stripped of all the garish luxuries of the Black family in favour of a simple quilt on the four-poster, a writing table, a bookshelf, and a dresser. Remus changes into a worn t-shirt and pyjama bottoms before crawling under the covers, feeling numb. He wants to cry, but he can’t make the tears come. Instead, he tosses and turns, head reeling with the fresh memory of his old friend disappearing beyond the veil. There’s the sound of Harry screaming echoing inside his head. There’s his own voice saying the terrible, terrible truth: “He’s gone”.

Sleep will not come. After hours of staring at the ceiling, he wanders downstairs. The Order has dispersed and he wonders for a moment if he’s all alone until he sees Bill’s boots and Fleur’s shoes at the door; they must’ve agreed to stay. He wishes that Tonks, his sometimes fellow insomniac, was here but she still lay injured in St. Mungo’s. Sometimes when Sirius was still alive, he’d make this same trip down to the kitchen at three in the morning to find her and Sirius sitting with cups of tea and playing cards. They’d deal him a hand and he’d play a few rounds until they all wandered back to bed and slept well past sunrise.

Tonight, the kitchen is empty. Remus pours another glass of Firewhiskey and lets it burn his throat. He pours another two fingers and takes the glass with him back upstairs. He tosses it back and crawls back into bed, burying himself under the quilts. Finally, sometime around four, he falls into an uneasy sleep.

It’s eleven before he wakes again. He thinks briefly about staying in bed but knows sooner or later someone will barge in insisting he come down for a cuppa. He goes and stands under the shower until the hot water has nearly scalded his skin, and then he dresses and goes downstairs.

Bill, Fleur, and Charlie are in the kitchen. They all say awkward morning greetings, clearly unsure of how to deal with the situation. Remus mumbles his greeting in return and pour a large mug of tea. He sits at the table in silence as the other three chatter casually.

“How’s Tonks?” he asks after a while.

Charlie looks at him and gives a small smile.

“She’ll be okay. I went to see her earlier this morning. Healer said she’ll probably be in another day or two and then she’ll be released.”

“Good,” Remus replies.

“You should go see her later,” Charlie suggests.

Remus shrugs and finishes his tea, washes his cup, and goes back to his room. In the mirror on top of his dresser he stares at his reflection and does not recognize the face that looks back. This man looks much older than mid-thirties. He’s seen much more than any thirty-something should.

He climbs back into bed and sleeps for the whole afternoon. He doesn’t feel like doing anything else. Bed is his old friend and old enemy all mixed into one complicated mess. It’s where he’s so often convalesced before and after full moons. He rarely spends time there if it isn’t necessary; it’s too tied up in the wolf. Today, sleep is a refuge from people and feelings. And Sirius.

Someone knocks on his door and calls that dinner is on the table. He shuffles downstairs and sits in his usual spot. Molly Weasley puts a plate in front of him with far more food than he can eat even on a good day. Bill sits down at his left in the chair that had normally been occupied by Sirius. Remus feels a surge of anger at this change in routine and stabs a potato with his fork.

The food tastes bland and sandy in his mouth. He forces it down, washing it away with a glass of water that he refills twice. Someone asks if he’s gone to see Tonks today and all he can do is shake his head.

When he’s cleared his plate and started to leave the kitchen, he can hear a small chattering of voices behind him. Arthur has been elected to confront him and he comes out into the hallway with a nervous smile.

“Remus,” he says. “Are you…Molly wanted me to ask if there’s anything you needed. If you’re doing okay, I mean?”

Remus shakes his head and forces a smile.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “I’m okay.”

How are you supposed to act when you’re mourning the death of someone you already spent a decade mourning? Losing Sirius a second time is not the same as the first, but it feels just as complicated.

With his hands in his pockets, Remus retreats back to the refuge of upstairs. He pauses again outside Sirius’ room; the one that he occupied for the past year, not the bedroom of his childhood that’s been left untouched. Remus pushes the door open and then shuts it behind himself, leaning against the heavy oak door and looking around the room. There’s a small pile of blankets on the floor next to the bed and Remus realizes with a pang that Sirius had not yet become re-accustomed to sleeping on a mattress. It had been the same when he’d showed up at Remus’ cottage after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Although Remus had set up the couch for him, he found Sirius asleep on the ground in the morning.

There’s a few empty glasses on the bedside table with the dregs of Firewhiskey in them and a pack of unsmoked cigarettes on the bureau. Remus sits down on the bed and closes his eyes, riding the wave of emotions. It had all been unfair. Sirius should have never been locked up in this family prison. The Marauders should have never been torn apart like they were. Every day since Halloween 1981, Remus had wondered what life would have been like without Voldemort. And what his life would have been like with his friends still in it. And now, what life would have been like for Sirius if he’d been a free man.

But Sirius hadn’t been a free man, even after Azkaban.

Maybe it’s for the best, he thinks. And then he’s furious at himself for thinking of denying Harry his godfather. And he’s furious at Sirius for insisting on coming to the Department of Mysteries. And he hates himself for not be able to save him.

The tears come finally, bitter and frustrated and erratic. He flicks his wrist, summoning a cigarette, and lights it with the tip of his wand. The smoke burns his lungs and he coughs painfully but it feels good. He takes another long drag and chokes out a sob. By the time the cigarette is burned down to the filter, he’s calm and stony-faced again. He snuffs out the butt on Sirius’ nightstand and wipes his eyes.

He goes back to his room and realizes that he feels like shit. His head is pounding and there’s a dry tickle in his throat that he blames on the cigarette. All he wants to do again is sleep. He sheds his clothes in favour of the same tattered pyjamas and lays back down, head full of a fog. He sleeps through the night, though the rest is interrupted by bizarre dreams where he’s running towards Sirius and James and Lily and Harry but he can never reach them in time. He hears himself yelling but his mouth isn’t open. They don’t seem to hear him at all.

He wakes sometime in the early morning hours, five or six, and comes to consciousness with the realization that he still feels awful. Worse, actually. There’s a weight on his chest that compresses his lungs and a throbbing in his sinuses. Everything feels clammy. He stays in bed until the sun comes up and then decides he needs tea.

He peels himself out of the sweat-soaked sheets and goes to the shower, running the water as hot as he can stand once more and steps under the spray. His breath rattles and wheezes but no amount of coughing will clear it. By the time he’s out of the shower and getting dressed, he wonders if it’s worth going downstairs at all. The others are bound to notice, he thinks, as he looks at himself again in the mirror. The old man stares back at him with flushed cheeks and dark circled eyes.

If he wants tea, then he must go down. Kreacher will not take an order from a werewolf, no matter how many times Sirius had screamed at him to do otherwise. Remus huffs a series of coughs into his arm as he descends the stairs and by the time he reaches the kitchen, he feels weak and wobbly. To his great relief, the kitchen is empty. He sinks into a chair and uses some sloppy magic to make the tea, barely looking up as he does it. The brewed cup is weak, but it’s warm and makes his throat feel a little better with each sip. He’s just considering the hurdle of getting himself back upstairs before he’s interrupted by the sound of the front door and voices.

“Remus?” one voice that sounds like Bill calls.

With creaking knees, he stands and goes to the front hall. Charlie is helping Tonks to take her boots off as Bill holds her steady and Fleur and Kingsley hover nearby. Tonks looks up at him and he feels a conflict of emotions in his stomach. She looks exhausted and ill, and her hair is a dull brown. The injuries are taking up too much of her energy and she cannot focus enough to morph her hair.

But still, she smiles gently at him and removes her foot from her boot, pulling away from Bill’s supportive arm. She steps towards him and before he can move, she’s got her arms wrapped around him.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly into his ear. He shakes his head. What does she have to be sorry about?

“I should’ve prevented it. I shouldn’t have fallen for her tricks. I know better,” Tonks continues.

Remus puts a hand tentatively on her back and gently strokes his thumb along her spine in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

She pulls away, looking up at him. She doesn’t say anything more, but he can tell by her expression that she’s worried about him.

The pressure in his head has built to a point where it must be relieved and a sharp prickle in his nose gives him a moment’s notice. He turns away, cupping his hands over his nose and mouth, and jerks with a thick, heavy sneeze.

Hurhh-GSHHH!

“Bless you,” a few voices offer before he turns back, sniffling and blinking his sleep-swollen eyes.

“Tonks, you should still rest,” Charlie chimes in, breaking a moment’s awkward silence. “Your usual spare room should be ready for you.”

He extends his arm to Tonks but she hesitates, looking back at Remus.

“You okay?” she asks softly so only he can hear her. He nods.

“Alright,” she says, turning to take Charlie’s arm. They head upstairs as the others watch from the front hall. When the pair have disappeared around the corner of the upper landing, Kingsley turns to Remus and offers his hand.

“I’m sorry about Sirius, mate,” he says.

“Thank you,” Remus says, returning the handshake. He tries to keep his grip steady but his body is starting to tremble from the illness and what he suspects is the start of a fever. “Please excuse me.”

He walks past the group and ascends the stairs himself, going back to the refuge of his room. He won’t be coming downstairs again today, he thinks. There’s an empty water glass on his dresser and he fills it to the brim, setting it down on the nightstand. With effort, he performs a freshening spell on the bedsheets and changes back into his pyjamas before settling below the quilts.

Shivers run through him, chattering at his teeth and making his muscles ache. He hugs the quilt around himself, closing his eyes tightly and trying to fall back asleep, but he’s too congested and achy. The tightness in his chest rattles and he coughs brutally into the pillow before going limp.

Sleep won’t come this time, even after lying there for almost an hour. He cannot catch his breath and the grip of fever is starting to take hold. He sits up and gulps from the glass, cringing as the water passes down his sore throat. A stack of pillows makes a decent place for him to lean, propped up. He lets his head roll back against the top of the headboard as he stares listlessly at the ceiling. Thank god the moon isn’t for another week, or he’s certain he’d be in big trouble. Things were never good around the moon when he was hyper-emotional or already sick, and now he’s both of those things.

He starts to cough again, heavy and hacking and unrelenting. Just as he’s taking another sip of water and the coughing is dying down, there’s a soft knock at his door.

Fuck off, he wants to shout in the style of Sirius whenever he was in a mood. But Remus never acts like that. He’s the model of control. Instead, he responds “yes?”

The door creaks open and Tonks steps inside. She’s wearing jogger bottoms and a black tank-top with a large cropped t-shirt over it. Her hair, although still brown, looks to have a soft hint of pink.

“Hey,” she says, shutting the door behind her.

He pulls the quilts up self-consciously and rubs his nose, making sure his face is clear of snot.

“Can I stay a bit?” she asks softly.

He isn’t sure what to say to that, so he makes the obvious excuse.

“I think I’ve got the flu,” he croaks.

“I could hear you coughing,” she says, approaching the bed. She extends her hand and before he knows what is happening, his fringe is being pushed back and her small, cool hand is pressed to his brow. She sighs heavily.

“You’re burning up,” she says, lowering her hand to cup his cheek briefly.

He makes a small murmur of agreement.

“So you should probably go,” he says hoarsely.

“I can’t sleep,” she admits meekly. “I….I don’t really want to be alone.”

“I’m sure Charlie would sit with you,” he suggests.

“I want to be with someone who knew him,” she says.

Remus sniffles thickly and scrubs a hand across his weary face.

“I don’t want to pass this on.”

“I’ll take a potion later,” she says. “And you should probably take one now.”

“I can’t,” he says. “I have developed a rather significant intolerance to Pepper-Up over the years. S'what happens when it’s forced on you monthly.”

“Fever reducer, then.”

“Don’t have any,” he replies wearily. “Just let me rest, Dora. It’ll go away.”

The bed dips beside him and he looks up to see she’s climbed in.

“C'mere,” she says, sitting next to him and holding out her arms.

“Tonks,” he says warily. “I-”

“Remus,” she interrupts. “Please. I just….I want to touch someone right now.”

He reluctantly settles against her and she reaches to push his hair out of his face, stroking it back with long, gentle rakes of her fingers. He hasn’t been touched like this in recent memory and it releases a rush of emotions. His mother and Lily swim into his thoughts and his heart aches at the sight of each of them. He sighs heavily with a rattle to his breath and Tonks kisses the top of his head.

The tears threaten to come but he keeps them back, instead sniffling and closing his eyes. Tonks keeps stroking his hair and he can feel himself starting to relax, but his nose won’t allow it. He suddenly pulls away, leaning towards the opposite side of the bed and sneezing thickly.

Hurshh-TSCHHHH!

“Oh Remus,” she says sympathetically.

He shakes his head.

“I am an idiot,” he says as he wipes a wrist under his nose. “I didn’t even ask about you.”

“I’m fine,” she says softly. “They just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any lasting spell damage.”

“And there’s not?” he confirms.

“No. I’m just sore. I’ll be alright.”

He settles his head back against her chest and she resumes stroking his hair. The ache of fever is pulsing in him now and he feels the threat of sleep pulling heavily on his eyelids. Tonks reclines against the headboard, holding him close, and their breathing evens out together as they fall asleep.

The next thing he knows, he’s awake and something cold is touching his face. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking away sleep and trying to get his bearings. Tonks is still there but he’s lying down against the pillows now and she’s at his side, dabbing a flannel across his forehead and cheeks.

He tries to make a sound to ask about what has happened, but she smiles gently at him and seems to know that he cannot get out more than the low groan that issues from his lips.

“I know,” she says. “There’s some fever reducer coming by owl any minutes. You’re running quite the fever. Molly is downstairs putting some soup together for you.”

He winces and closes his eyes, embarrassed by all the attention.

“Here,” she says and he feels her reach to lift his head a little. “Drink.”

A glass of water is tipped to his lips and he drinks it messily, sloshing it across the bedsheets. She remedies it with a quick drying charm and then resumes her routine of pressing the cool cloth to his feverish skin.

“I…I’ll be okay with some more sleep,” he croaks out.

“Bill says you’ve done basically nothing but sleep for the past few days,” she replies. “I know you’re sad; we all are. But you need to take care of yourself.”

“But I-” he begins but then rolls away slightly and turns his nose into the pillow.

“Hhh-ngh'TSCHHT! Tonks, I…Hehh-TSXHT!”

She flicks her wand and summons a fresh handkerchief for him. He takes it gratefully and presses it to his nose.

“Ehh-ngh'GHSHTT! Ugh I ca—ahh-tsgh'GHT!! Ngh'XHT! ‘GHXT! Fuck…it itch—heh'TSGHHT!”

He blows his nose heavily, ending the fit for the time being, and he rubs his reddened nose vigorously.

There’s a tapping at the window and Tonks leaps up.

“That’ll be the potions,” she said, going to open the window. She returned with a paper bag tied with twine. Out of it came three bottles and a small tin of balm.

“For your nose and lips,” she said, handing over the little tin.

“Thanks,” he croaks.

“And Fever-Reducer and Cough-Eaze. Take both of these and I bet you’ll be feeling a lot better.”

She doses out each and Remus swallows them dutifully before he sets about dabbing the cream from the tin onto his chapped nose. The skin there prickles for a moment before setting down and returning to its normal hue.

“Better?” she asks, capping the potions. His body rushes with a cool shiver running down through his veins and it feels a bit like being submerged in a swimming pool on a hot day. The fever is going down for sure. He takes a testing breath and finds he can keep from coughing.

“Yes, better,” he says wearily. “Still don’t feel great.”

“I know,” she says, climbing back onto the bed and curling up behind him and snuggling into his shoulder. “I think it’ll be a while before either of us is back to normal.”

He knows she is talking about Sirius.

“Remus?” she says softly. “Do you….do you want to talk about him?”

Remus doesn’t reply right away. What was there to say that had not been already said? Sirius should not have left Grimmauld in the first place, he should’ve been a more responsible godfather, and if he could’ve only learned to control his rashness then he’d be alive today. And if he’d learned that lesson early on, he might’ve even avoided a life in prison.

“I don’t know,” he says finally and she nods against his back, kissing him at the base of his neck.

“I know, me either,” she says. “It’s not fair.”

Most things aren’t fair. Look at my life, he thinks but he does not say it. It already feels a bit like a pity party and he doesn’t want any part of it.

“I’m sorry you lost him twice,” she continues quietly. “I remember how upset my mum was when it happened…the first time, I mean. I can’t imagine how it was for you.”

Lonely. Terrifying. Painful.

“It was not the best year of my life,” he says, giving perhaps the biggest understatement of his life. He’d nearly died after the November transformation thanks to the wolf’s hyper-charged emotional state and the sudden lack of Animagi companions. He’d been allowed to transform in the Shrieking Shack again for just one full moon so that he’d have someone to look in on him after. It took Madam Pomfrey three days to bring him back to consciousness and another ten days to recover.

“At least now you’re here, with us,” she says, planting another kiss on his neck.

He murmurs a sound of agreement. She’s right. As much as he wants to fall asleep and not think about any of it ever again, the feeling of her arms around him is a great comfort.

Ehh-tshGHXHHT!

And there’s that. He shivers with the outburst of a sneeze and she sighs in sympathy, summoning his handkerchief from the nightstand. He’s very glad for her attention and the potions, which seem to have started to work. He blows his nose and finds the congestion much looser and easier to move. His left nostril clears and he feels a great relief at being able to take at least a partial breath through his nose.

“Any better?” she asks.

He nods and wipes his nose one last time before putting the handkerchief back. Rolling over to face her, he reaches out and wraps his arms around her.

“Thank you,” he says wearily, closing his eyes and resting his head against her shoulder.

The next morning she is gone but he wakes with things feeling just a tiny bit brighter. He gets himself dressed and down to the kitchen to find her at the table. She grins at him and pats the seat next to her. There’s something in her smile that’s so unmistakably Sirius that he momentarily loses track of all other thought and stares at her.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “It’s just…I don’t think I ever realized…you smile just like him.”

“Those inbred Black genetics are strong,” she teases before turning more solemn. “But you’re not the first. Mum says the same thing. I don’t really remember him from when I was a kid though. When he was at Hogwarts.”

“Well,” Remus begins, sitting down at the table beside her. “I can tell you that the first time I saw him, he told me to get my, and I quote, 'skinny weird arse out of my way’ so that he could get into a compartment with some less desirable relations of yours. An unexpected Sorting and one week later, I think I saw that grin for the first time when James pulled a prank on the rest of us boys in our dormitory.”

He wanders off into the memories that he hasn’t shared in a very long time. They’re both laughing themselves silly by mid-morning, sharing recollections of Hogwarts. It feels a bit odd, laughing with such abandon so soon after they’ve lost Sirius, but Remus thinks that somehow it’s strangely perfect.

Next to him, Tonks giggles and grins that Black family smile at him. Strangely perfect, indeed.