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Who Will Stop the Rain?


“I’ve packed four chocolate bars,” Peter said, looking up from his bag, “Do you reckon that’s enough?”

“It’s only one night,” said James from where he knelt, bent over his school trunk, searching for his favorite Gryffindor jumper once again, really wishing he could find it - it was worn just right and softer than his newer ones, therefore more comfortable for full moon nights. “Four is one each, and most of the time we’re out there we aren’t even going to be humans. Do you seriously think we’d need more than that?”

Peter hesitated, then scrambled into his stash to find more because yes, he did reckon he’d need more than that.

“It’s one and a third each,” Sirius said, “Seeing as the three of you can split the fourth one between you. I’m not going.”

James looked up, having reached the bottom of his trunk with no luck of finding the jumper. He sighed. “Sirius, you can’t just not go.”

Sirius was lying across his bed, “I can. And I will. Or won’t. Whatever the right word is. You lot go, keep Remus company, keep Remus safe. I - I can’t.”

“He’d want you there,” Peter said desperately. He was discreetly shoving two additional bars into his bag so that everyone would have two each. He could make do with two bars if he had to. He grabbed an old, stretched out sock he’d found in the bottom of his trunk, too, and shoved that in - he’d found it earlier in the week and thought what a nice nesting tool it would make and, in rat form, he had been working on making a little nest in a hole in the wall by the couch for when they slept in the Shrieking Shack.

“I don’t think he would, Wormtail,” Sirius said sadly. “I’ve ruined everything for him, haven’t I? With Newt and Tina having to leave…”

Because of the incident with the Erumpent last month, it had become rather public knowledge that Newt Scamander had been staying somewhere in the vicinity of Hogwarts or Hogsmeade and, in the name of staying hidden from the Ministry for Magic, they’d decided to go to America and hide out with Queenie, Tina’s sister, in New York for a time. This meant, of course, that Remus wouldn’t be continuing on with Bradley’s werewolf lessons (at least for now) and that he’d be transforming, as usual, in the Shrieking Shack - whose front wall had been repaired by magic, but the exploded trees in the yard were still laying across the grass, left to decompose on their own. It also meant that, unless Newt Scamander was cleared by the Ministry for Magic soon, Remus would have to find a new place to stay over summer holiday.

“I doubt very much whether I’m welcome in that Shack,” Sirius said sadly.

Peter looked at James.

“Well…” James sighed, “You know how to find us if you decide to come out.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah. Do I ever.” He lay there for a moment in silence as they finished packing their sacks and finally, James and Peter headed for the door.

“Last chance, mate,” James said.

“Bye.”

“I left you some licorice wands on the desk,” Peter offered.

“Thanks.”

“Cheerio, mate,” James said and he stepped out the door, followed by Peter, who looked back over his shoulder at Sirius’s form as he scrambled after James into the stairwell, pulling shut the door behind him.

Sirius lay there for several long moments in silence, feeling the beating of his heart in his chest cavity as he breathed long and steady, eyes closed. He glanced at the window - it was getting dark, nearly dinner, but he wasn’t hungry. Food seemed pointless. He sat up and rolled, bending to reach beneath the bed and pulled out the guitar from underneath. He’d been practicing still, getting a bit better, his fingers callusing a little ‘round the ends where he held the strings. He propped the thing up on his knee and he stared out the window at the full moon as he slowly brought his fingers across the strings, making the guitar squeal a little bit as he played the chords.

“Long as I remember
The rain been comin’ down
Clouds of mystery pourin’
Confusion on the ground
Good men through the ages
Tryin’ to find the sun…
And I wonder…
Still I wonder…
Who will stop the rain?”

Sirius slowed his hand and the music faded away as he sat there, staring across the room at the three other empty beds. He felt a lump rise up in his throat, picturing James and Peter sneaking off across the grounds and into the dark below the tunnel. He closed his eyes and cast the guitar aside. He walked over to the stereo and shoved a tape into the deck, and changed into Snuffles, jumping up onto Remus’s bed and curling up in a ball as the music started playing - quiet and melancholy.

Sirius fell asleep, his nose buried in the pillows of Remus Lupin’s bed.




“Are you sure we ought to leave Sirius alone?” Peter asked, scrambling alongside James through the dark of the tunnel, headed for the Shrieking Shack.

“He’ll come out,” James said.

“He didn’t seem like he would,” Peter argued. “And I mean with all that’s happened… and him talking about that dementor in his chest… aren’t you worried about him?”

“He’ll come out,” James repeated.

Peter sighed.

James said, “He has to come out. Remus is going to be heart broken he’s not coming.”

“What if he isn’t? What if Sirius is right and Remus didn’t want him to come?” Peter asked, looking up at James.

“Of course he wants him to come.”

“But they’ve broken up,” Peter said nervously.

“Yeah. But only because of the stupid thing Sirius did, not because they aren’t in love anymore.”

“But still. They are broke up.”

James frowned.

“Do you reckon they’ll ever make up?”

“I hope so, Pete,” James answered and he tugged the strap of his bag across his chest, adjusting where it lay on his shoulder, taking a deep breath of a sigh. “I really hope so.”

“Me, too,” Peter said anxiously.

James’s fist was balled ‘round the strap and he stared straight ahead through the darkness of the tunnel. Truth was, the thought of Sirius and Remus being broken up like they were scared him. He remembered the way he felt the day they’d flown Ace Dante’s motorbike to find Remus, how much his heart had swelled up with belief that true love existed, that real love was something not only possible, but something that everyday people could find and have… And now they were apart and it made James question that belief, it made him afraid of it, afraid of putting his heart fully into it. He thought of Lily and the date in Hogsmeade - just eleven days away - and how much he wanted it go to well, how much he wanted her to be The One… if such a thing existed. He felt his hand shake a bit in his grasp of the bag and he swallowed back the nerves that wrenched his stomach.

“Do you think it’s gonna be harder tonight?” Peter asked, “Without Sirius?”

“Dunno,” James replied. He shrugged, “Sirius said he’s not alpha anymore anyway because of what happened with Fenrir, so it might be harder anyway, even with Sirius. Rey’s wolf thinks it’s alpha dog now.”

Peter shivered.

They’d reached the trapdoor and James pushed it opened and stuck his head up inside the dusty shack. “Remus?” he called, climbing through, “Me and Peter are here, Rey!”

“Upstairs,” came the reply.

James climbed through and held out his hand for Peter, helping him up and they closed the door and jumped the missing step, heading up to the clubhouse room. They stepped inside and found it all torn asunder from the rampage of the niffler. James frowned. Several of the thumbtacks - shiny if the light was hitting them just right - had been pulled from the wall and all their papers and notes were scattered below on the floor. An ink pot had spilled and poured out over the desk where they’d made the Map and one of the beds had a broken leg, making it lean at a preposterous angle, broken when Newt had jumped upon it, trying to catch the wirey niffler as it leaped up onto the four poster’s canopy to get away the month before. James frowned at the mess of papers. Remus was lying across the non-broken bed, his face flush.

“Blimey, look at this mess… damned Niffler,” James muttered.

Peter started picking up notes and photos from the floor, collecting them so that his pockets were teeming with them.

“Sirius didn’t come?” Remus asked, looking at the empty doorway.

James shook his head. “He didn’t think you’d want him.”

Remus frowned, “Oh.”

“But you do, don’t you? You do want him?” Peter asked, looking up from his collecting job.

Remus hesitated, “I do… but… I dunno. I also don’t.” He sat up, wincing with the pain in his lower back as he did, and he felt a few tears squeeze out of his eyes. He cleared his throat, “I don’t know anymore what I want. It’s so conflicting.” He sighed. “I want… I want things to be back like they were before.” He sighed. “But I can’t just forget what happened, either.”

“I understand,” James said.

Peter frowned.

James waved his wand - the bed’s leg was fixed, and, with a second swish - the rest of the pictures swept into a pile on the desk and the ink slurped back into it’s bottle. He wished it was as easy to fix everything else that had been broken the month before as it was to fix the mess the Niffler had made.

But feelings don’t go back inside as easily as ink does into bottles.