Chapter Text
Madam Pomfrey had shooed away all the other Marauders (Sirius had run into them in the corridor) come curfew, though she knew better than to ask Sirius to leave. The young woman knew not the full extent of the boys' relationship, but from the way Sirius still wore the blood on his neck and stared with stormy grey eyes at the face of one unconscious Remus, she knew she hadn't the heart to pull him away. Instead, she had fetched the poor boy some pillows--one on which to sit, and the other for his head--and a warm blanket. With that, she left the two boys to have some peace.
Sirius couldn't remember what peace was anymore, and it had only been a few hours.
With Remus unconscious like that--gauze wrapped 'round his head, his face looking gaunt, his body emaciated, and his skin pale and grey--Sirius could not know peace. Peace was foreign to him when Remus could not wake, and when he could not speak to tell Sirius that he was alright.
Instead, Sirius knew pain.
No, not the physical pain one feels when a bee stings his or her arm, or when one falls off their bicycle and breaks his or her leg. This pain was something much worse, and much more difficult to endure. Sirius felt the pain that plagues one's mind; the pain that possesses every thought, every memory one can muster.
Sirius could not close his eyes without seeing Remus' body lying on the floor. How long had he been there? The books and parchment were in complete disarray. Had Remus simply dropped them while cleaning up, or was he struggling to pull himself up, to find help? Madam Pomfrey had said that there was no self-inflicted trauma, nor any foul-play to be suspected. However, that also meant that there could be--and there probably was--something very wrong with him.
Apparently, from what she could gather, Remus had been suffering from severe pre-lycanthropic symptoms through the entire day and chose to ignore them instead of seeking health. It would appear that the main cause of his weakness, which ultimately led to his collapse, was due to a combination of elevated stress, lack of sleep, and malnutrition. Madam Pomfrey assure Sirius that the blood, which had been the most terrifying part of this whole experience, had only been due to the fact that Remus had hit his head on the floor when he fell. While he lost some blood, there did not seem to be too much damage and he would be alright by tomorrow morning.
What Sirius worried about the most, though, was whether or not Remus would make it to the day after next. Of course he would wake up tomorrow, but would his condition hold come nightfall? Would Remus be able to transform and still use up all the energy he did every other month? Would the wolf know not to go too overboard, or would Sirius have to carry Remus' body to the hospital wing once again, but this time...dead?
Sirius did not sleep until 1 in the morning, at the earliest, and should he have been in a larger sleeping space, he would have tossed and turned restlessly. Despite the lack of area with which to do so, Sirius' body reacted in kind: his head shook, his hands twitched, and his legs thrashed as he dreamt of the scene from hours before, though with an alternate ending.