[ he thinks that the dissonance between the houses, the discord between gryffindors and slytherins is foolish— after all a house, a castle divided is one that falls. and that should be a concern, for all of them, given the whisperings of voldemort, the word mudblood being thrown around more callously. though, never towards him. doing so would incite the wrath of the marauders, more typically known as his friends.
sometimes he looks at the younger slytherins, the one’s just sorted, with eyes like dinner plates as they take in the castle and finds himself sympathizing with them, wonders how they will take the suspicion cast their way from the other houses, and how eyes will drift to their sleeves. their covered forearms. he thinks that if anyone knew, if anyone caught on to what he was, he would be looked at with more than suspicion— the ensuing reaction would tred into animosity, and maybe that would bring the students to a common goal. band them together long enough to rid the halls of the resident werewolf.
it’s not a nice thought, but it’s one that reoccurs more often as of late, one that it’s hard not to return to without distraction. comes to him now in the infirmary, propped up on one of the beds with a pillow fluffed by madam pomfrey herself. there’s a wash of sunlight coming from the window beside him, crisp like the month itself, the edges of the glass lined with a creeping frost.
there is an increasing amount of activity in the hospital wing, as the days get colder, as rounds of sickness make their ways through the student body, leaving more than several of the unfortunate stricken laying in sickbeds moaning about a persistent nausea. an ache settled into their bones.
if anyone were to ask, he’d claim the same. say it was a fever that knocked him down, and fatigue that kept him here. the thing is no one does ask, he’s generally bustled around as students move to keep their respective friends company. play games of wizarding chess on medical trays. he’s staring at a group of them, first years he would guess, huddled around a girl with a bright red nose and a mountain of tissues at her side content to let his thoughts drift until clarke approaches. he shifts his gaze to her, the notes she sets down, and the smile he gives her is small but earnest. thankful for the consideration, but.
wary. always wary of someone who may notice the particular dates of when he falls ill, the reoccurrence of them. ]
Thank you, Clarke. You’ve saved me from having to ask Sirius for help. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it, if I did.
[ a moment, a beat of hesitance, before the smile becomes something strained. ] I think I’ve caught the same as the rest of them. Don’t worry, you’ll have this bed back in a couple of hours.
[ and ready for the next, probably flu-afflicted individual. ]
[It occurs to her to let him know that she knows. It's not just that he has a poor immune system that even magic can't help. His monthly illnesses are normal, and there are times when she wonders if and when someone else will catch on and ruin his life. But at the same time, she doesn't want him to think that she might find herself capable of such a thing. Remus' kindness is well known by all. Though he can be just as sharp-tongued as the rest of his band of friends, he's different when he's away from them.
Still, she imagines that he wouldn't mind knowing that he has some support in the world aside from his chosen group of friends.
Maybe one day, when they're out of here, she'll let him know.]
Does he even take notes? [she asks, considering Sirius Black. She's not very fond of him. His raucous nature is agitating, and even if she doesn't join in with the Slytherin behavior, he still is just as abrasive with her as if she does. She's been sharp with him a number of times.
Oh, and there was the time that he asked out Lexa, declaring that "even if she was a Slytherin," he'd give her a chance. Like she was a charity project. Clarke recalls her rebuttal—and Lexa's display of affection weeks later when they knew only Sirius had his eyes on them, as their fingers twined and Lexa's lips touched the corner of her mouth.
These sorts of displays were normal for Sirius, who she's not even certain wanted to date Lexa so much as be a git about it. Had she accepted (she wouldn't have), there's a good chance that he would have shot her down in order to humiliate her.
(Idly, she and Lexa have wondered if Sirius is a bit more like them than he'd care to admit. The way he looks at both James and Remus seems to indicate as much.)]
Slughorn fawns over him enough that I was under the impression that he doesn't have to. [She barely veils the contempt in her voice. She was once one of Slughorn's favorites, but her lack of clear ambition had her ousted from the club. But even if Sirius has no desire to be there, that's ... almost the point of Slughorn's fawning. Like he'll be able to change his mind.]
Though I suppose he's brilliant enough to make up for it. Still, you never need to worry about asking me. I like to think mine are tidy enough to duplicate whenever you aren't feeling well. [Which is a hint that she knows. A hint. But nothing more.]
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sometimes he looks at the younger slytherins, the one’s just sorted, with eyes like dinner plates as they take in the castle and finds himself sympathizing with them, wonders how they will take the suspicion cast their way from the other houses, and how eyes will drift to their sleeves. their covered forearms. he thinks that if anyone knew, if anyone caught on to what he was, he would be looked at with more than suspicion— the ensuing reaction would tred into animosity, and maybe that would bring the students to a common goal. band them together long enough to rid the halls of the resident werewolf.
it’s not a nice thought, but it’s one that reoccurs more often as of late, one that it’s hard not to return to without distraction. comes to him now in the infirmary, propped up on one of the beds with a pillow fluffed by madam pomfrey herself. there’s a wash of sunlight coming from the window beside him, crisp like the month itself, the edges of the glass lined with a creeping frost.
there is an increasing amount of activity in the hospital wing, as the days get colder, as rounds of sickness make their ways through the student body, leaving more than several of the unfortunate stricken laying in sickbeds moaning about a persistent nausea. an ache settled into their bones.
if anyone were to ask, he’d claim the same. say it was a fever that knocked him down, and fatigue that kept him here. the thing is no one does ask, he’s generally bustled around as students move to keep their respective friends company. play games of wizarding chess on medical trays. he’s staring at a group of them, first years he would guess, huddled around a girl with a bright red nose and a mountain of tissues at her side content to let his thoughts drift until clarke approaches. he shifts his gaze to her, the notes she sets down, and the smile he gives her is small but earnest. thankful for the consideration, but.
wary. always wary of someone who may notice the particular dates of when he falls ill, the reoccurrence of them. ]
Thank you, Clarke. You’ve saved me from having to ask Sirius for help. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it, if I did.
[ a moment, a beat of hesitance, before the smile becomes something strained. ] I think I’ve caught the same as the rest of them. Don’t worry, you’ll have this bed back in a couple of hours.
[ and ready for the next, probably flu-afflicted individual. ]
no subject
Still, she imagines that he wouldn't mind knowing that he has some support in the world aside from his chosen group of friends.
Maybe one day, when they're out of here, she'll let him know.]
Does he even take notes? [she asks, considering Sirius Black. She's not very fond of him. His raucous nature is agitating, and even if she doesn't join in with the Slytherin behavior, he still is just as abrasive with her as if she does. She's been sharp with him a number of times.
Oh, and there was the time that he asked out Lexa, declaring that "even if she was a Slytherin," he'd give her a chance. Like she was a charity project. Clarke recalls her rebuttal—and Lexa's display of affection weeks later when they knew only Sirius had his eyes on them, as their fingers twined and Lexa's lips touched the corner of her mouth.
These sorts of displays were normal for Sirius, who she's not even certain wanted to date Lexa so much as be a git about it. Had she accepted (she wouldn't have), there's a good chance that he would have shot her down in order to humiliate her.
(Idly, she and Lexa have wondered if Sirius is a bit more like them than he'd care to admit. The way he looks at both James and Remus seems to indicate as much.)]
Slughorn fawns over him enough that I was under the impression that he doesn't have to. [She barely veils the contempt in her voice. She was once one of Slughorn's favorites, but her lack of clear ambition had her ousted from the club. But even if Sirius has no desire to be there, that's ... almost the point of Slughorn's fawning. Like he'll be able to change his mind.]
Though I suppose he's brilliant enough to make up for it. Still, you never need to worry about asking me. I like to think mine are tidy enough to duplicate whenever you aren't feeling well. [Which is a hint that she knows. A hint. But nothing more.]