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Positively Jinxed


Newt Scamander turned abound to look at Sirius Black in that awkward sort of way he had, never quite fully meeting his eyes. HIs teeth rested on his lower lip and he ducked his head at an angle, then, “So sorry,” he muttered, “Didn’t mean to wake you.” And he quickly turned back to the operation at hand without another word, reaching for the hand of the person strung between Dumbledore and McGonagall as Madam Pomfrey turned down the bed sheets.

“Is it Tina?” Sirius asked, worried, “Has something happened to Tina?” he rolled out of bed and Remus flopped face-first onto the pillows as Sirius departed, waking up from the impact and blearily blinking about.

Newt stared down at the hand he held in both of his, a most pained expression on his face, as though he were being crushed from the insides out. He nodded shakily without saying anything, his lips pulled tight. Dumbledore had lit a couple lanterns about the bed and now that there was some light, Sirius could see that Mr. Scamander’s coat was doused in a great deal of blood and his hands were covered in it, caked in it, and he had a cut on his cheek that dripped with it and his suitcase was nowhere to be seen, he had a sort of empty look about him without his suitcase, incompleted. And he clung to the hand as though it was all he had in the world, sort of rocking himself. He was clearly having a very horrid anxiety attack.

“Drink this, Mr. Scamander, it will help,” said McGonagall gently, coming over with a cup that Madam Pomfrey had just given her. McGonagall put her hands heavily on Mr. Scamander’s shoulders and he seemed he both cringe and appreciate the weight of them at the same time.

Sirius stepped up to find Tina Scamander there upon the bed, her clothes torn, a newly healed gash slashed across from her left shoulder, over her collarbone and disappeared beneath the cover of her blouse, headed for her right arm… Tina was very, very pale. Sirius thought of the sectumsempra gash on James the year before and his belly twisted.

“Mr. Black, what are you doing in here?” Madam Pomfrey asked, coming back with a jar of ointment and loads of bandages, “I believe I asked you to leave nearly four hours ago.”

“Yes, but -- Remus needed me. So… You know us, Poppy, we only leave when you’re looking.” She clucked her tongue and pushed by him. He inched toward the bed, “What’s happened?”

“Mr. Black, I believe it would be best to give Mr. and Mrs. Scamander their privacy,” Dumbledore announced as Poppy opened the ointment salve and scooped a big handful of it in her hand and began to smear it across Tina’s shoulder.

“But I want to help,” Sirius pleaded.

“I know you do, Mr. Black, and that is most noble of you, of course, but I’m afraid that the best help you could give would be to give Poppy the space and time to do her healing properly.” He glanced over at Remus, who was blearily sitting up and rubbing his eyes on his bed. “I believe Mr. Lupin has probably rested long enough he can make the journey back to Gryffindor Tower and we will see the two of you tomorrow,” he said, making an executive decision. “I am absolutely positive that your mate, Mr. Pettigrew, could use your attention as well… after what happened.”

Sirius blinked up at Dumbledore, “Something’s happened to Peter, too? Bloody hell. What is it with Yule Balls and people getting tore up?”

Dumbledore said wisely, “The holidays makes us all go a wee bit crazy. Now -- pip, pip.”

Sirius hesitantly turned away, leaving Madam Pomfrey to her work and poor Newt to cling desperately to Tina with one hand and shakily hold the cup McGonagall had given him with the other. He gathered Remus’s hands and helped him sit up, grabbing the mirror and his top hat from the nightstand and Remus’s tie and jumper from the table, and the invisibility cloak from the folds of the sheets. He was tossing the cloak over his arm when Dumbledore said --

“Mr. Black. May I see that cloak?”

Sirius hesitated.

“I will give it back, of course,” Dumbledore said. “I just… would like a look at it, if you don’t mind?”

He handed Dumbledore the cloak and Dumbledore looked it over as Sirius pulled Remus to his feet beside the bed. The silver fabric shimmered in the moonlight and flickering lanterns and Dumbledore inspected it, running his fingers through it, searching for seams, but the fabric was so smooth it was as though it had just formed into the cloak without sewing of any kind. “This is a very interesting cloak,” Dumbledore murmured. He’d been wanting a look at it for some time. “Do you mind me inquiring where you obtained it?”

Sirius said bluntly, “A little.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Then I won’t ask.” He smiled.

Sirius held out his hand for the cloak and Dumbledore’s hand seemed the slightest bit unsteady as he put the cloak down into Sirius’s hand.

Remus woke up and heard a proper account of what had happened - about the conversation with James in the mirror and the arrival of Newt Scamander - as they walked back to Gryffindor tower, Sirius supporting Remus all the way.

It had to be the earliest hours, the Yule Ball had to be long over, but there were still people in the halls, tucked into alcoves beside the suits of armor, or noises coming from empty classrooms, and Sirius thought fleetingly of all the plans he’d had for Remus after the Ball if things had gone differently. He looked over at his wobbly, silly wolf of a boyfriend and he said, “Oi. Happy anniversary, by the way.”

Remus’s lips quirked at the edge. “And to you.”

“Best year of my life… being with you.”

Remus had a full blown smile now and he laced their fingers together between them, his finger spinning the ring on Sirius’s hand. “Sorry I ruined it.”

“Sorry I tried to make you ice skate in your condition.”

“You didn’t know,” Remus said.

Sirius said, “You know why I wanted to ice skate, don’t you?”

Remus said, “Because you like to torture me? I’m bleedin’ horrible at skating.”

“I remember,” Siius nodded. “Our first date, Rey. I took you down to the dungeons and froze the lagoon for you and we skated. Remember? And then we sat in that little boat and drank hot chocolate and you said you preferred Ovaltine.”

Remus smiled. He hadn’t remembered it when Sirius had been suggesting they skate, but now he could clearly recall the night. He squeezed Sirius’s fingers. “It seems like yesterday but also ages and ages ago,” he commented. “I feel as though I’ve been with you all my life.”

“Me too.”

“I’m going to miss you,” Remus said suddenly.

Sirius looked over, “Miss me? Where am I going?”

“Aren’t you going to the Potters’ tomorrow?” Remus asked.

Sirius nodded, “But aren’t you as well?”

“They didn’t ask me,” Remus replied.

“Bloody hell, Rey, family doesn’t invite family to holidays,” Sirius said, “Family just shows up.”

“They aren’t my --”

“Remus! Of course they are!” Sirius replied. “If nothing else, you’re sort of their… their son-in-law.”

“Their son-in-law?” Remus stopped walking. They were in the corridor, just outside the common room.

“Yes. Mrs. P thinks I’m her son, according to Prongsie anyway, and if that’s true then that makes you her son-in-law.”

Remus stared up at him, “Sirius, mate, we aren’t married.” He laughed.

Sirius thought of James and how he wanted to get married and have loads of babies and Roger, the cat, and realized it was his dream, too. Except he hated cats. And also he wanted his Moony, not Evans.

“But one day…” Sirius let the words drop away.

Remus’s throat was very lumpy and he nodded, “One day.”

He turned to continue toward the portrait hole. “And when we are, one day, I want to have four puppies.”

“Puppies?”

“Yes. Little black fuzzy puppies. Three of them will be black fuzzies and one will be grey like your wolf and we’ll walk them about in prams and people will think we’re mental but when they say something about them being dogs I’ll bloody rip their faces off because those pups are our children and we’ll raise them to be good doggies and learn tricks and the like and --” he looked up at the Fat Lady, “Ostrich Feathers, madam.” The portrait swung open and they climbed through, Sirius continuing on, “-- and we’ll give them brilliant names. Strong names like Odin and Pewter (that can be the grey one) and Hercules and --”

“Stephen.”

“Stephen? Bloody hell kind of name is Stephen?”

“Dunno - it just popped in my head.”

Sirius laughed.

Suddenly Remus stopped and nudged Sirius, pointing.

Annalee McKinnon was on one of the chairs by the fireplace, kissing with Jackson Maw, their limbs tangled about, her face flushed and hair a mess. They’d been at it some time.

Dumbledore’s words echoed in Sirius’s head. ”Mr. Pettigrew could use your attention as well… after what happened.”

“Bloody hell.” Sirius turned and ran for the stairs to the dormitory, Remus following along, too, glancing back over his shoulder at the girl who had undoubtedly broken his mate’s heart.

Upstairs in the dorm, there was a quivering lump in the center of Peter’s bed, deep beneath the covers. Sirius walked up and pulled back the duvet to reveal the rat in the sheets, curled about itself. He scooped it up with his palms and the little pink nose and whiskers twitched at him, beady little eyes flickering about. Sirius stroked the rat gently, “Aw, mate, we’ve just seen.”

Remus came in and saw Peter in Rat form in Sirius’s palms and closed the door behind him. “Anyone else reckon that the Yule Ball is positively jinxed for us Marauders?” he asked.