Chapter Text
Sleep betrayed him from an early age.
Sirius was eight when they started.
The first night terrors came without warning, after an evening of fighting in the grand foyer of his ancestral family home. Sirius was eight, yet it had been going on for years. The abuse. The yelling. The cracks in the mirror from his mother, Walburga, screeching and lashing out at her eldest son. The burnt smell of flesh; his father’s cigars deep in his arms. Eight years old, yet he still counted on the night to save him.
He once learned not to provoke her, not to toy with her mood, until it was too late and the leather collided with skin. Still, late in the evening the enduring would end, and he would be rewarded with a good, he hoped, night's sleep, and be ready to relive everything again the next day. There used to be something soothing about sleeping, Sirius thought. Now, he couldn't remember the feeling.
Closing his eyes until silence remained, and he drifted into dreamless comfort. And that night, deep in the February cold inside Grimmauld place, he felt it through his bones. The restraint of it, the physical touch of a shapeless form gripping through him like his father's hands, yet with the strength of his mother as it cut him open. The feeling of floating through a sea of burning knives slashing your throat until he couldn't breathe. The power of a first night terror, burning his torso as he tried, in vain, to free himself from the grasp of it. It all felt too real. The darkness, the loudness of it as he could see the shapeless forms merge into something all too familiar.
Too fast, too loud, the yelling came back, his mother's eyes flowing into a dark silhouette, coming for him. His mother's voice resonated through a blurry, muffled scenery. Hands on him, pulling him and ripping him and touching him and-
Sirius woke with a gasp. His breathing was ragged. His eyes flew open with a jolt, trying to take in his surroundings as the dark room submerged him, sweat dripping from his shirt. His body felt stiff, almost as if for a moment, he couldn’t move.
The green faded wallpaper of his childhood home, with the dark wood sculptures, and the face of his ancestors on the tapestry in the foyer, Sirius was back at Grimmauld place.
I can't move, I can't get up, I can't,
But then, a familiar ceiling of a golden bed canopy came to his vision. The red curtains of the Gryffindor dormitory were drawn closed around his bed, and from his vision, Sirius understood where he truly was, at last. It was deep in the night, no glimpse of light, natural or not, came to sight. Sirius came to be used to it, by now. The silence around him felt too much. He pushed the blankets back from himself, and sat upright.
“Fuck.” Sirius whispers out.
He muffles around in the covers, trying to find his wand.
Can’t do anything right. Damn it, Sirius.
He can't find his wand.
You're a mistake, Sirius.
Useless child.
He let out a humorless laugh that broke halfway into something painfully close to a sob.
Sirius was tired.
In the last nine years, Sirius had terrors every night. But the worst part about the terrors aren’t the terrors themselves, and Sirius knew it; it was the broken anticipation. That every night without fail, through the exhaustion and the fear, he would close his eyes, and the nightmares would be waiting for him. And every night, they claimed Sirius, patient and precise, hurting him when his parents couldn’t anymore.
The exhaustion built up. When he first reached Hogwarts as the heir of the Black pureblood family line, Sirius already felt like a broken shell. Small, crushed by accumulated sleepless nights, and traumatic days. Yet the warmth of being accepted into a new family, his new Gryffindor friends taking him in like he was one of theirs; Sirius’ night terrors eased for some time, easing into his new found home.
But now.. Sirius is tired.
He still can't find his wand. Panic settles in him. He needs to find it, he needs to cast a charm of some sort, he needs.. but quickly the feeling goes away as it's replaced by a sharp stinging behind his eyes. The fatigue, the exhaustion is overwhelming.
Sirius lays back down on his bed, his wand lost somewhere in his blankets, and tries to calm his breathing. He can't think like this.
In, out, In.. In. No, out, fuck. Breathe, Sirius, fucking breathe. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. Through the silence of the room, he can hear James shifting in his bed, his mattress creaking. The soft snoring of Peter, somewhere too. The cicadas outside are going quiet.
Sirius wants to sleep, too.
I don’t want to live like this anymore, Reg.
Why was I the one to live their abuse, Reg.
Reg, I hate y-
"No!"
He quickly dug the heels of his palms into his eyes until stars burst behind his eyelids.
Sleep doesn’t come.
He turns around in his bed. It hurts. His back hurts. His eyes sting from the exhaustion. The sweat clinging to his back. The shortness of breath. And suddenly it comes again.
Stop that, Sirius. They’re home, she’s not real, she’s not here.
Across the room, one mattress creaked. His stomach dropped.
"Sirius?"
The voice was thick with sleep, barely louder than a whisper.
“Sirius?”
Remus.
Sirius met Remus before anyone at Hogwarts, on the train. Back then, when he entered the carriage where the boy had been sitting in the corner, quiet and shy, Sirius didn’t know that Remus would become his longtime best friend. The first person to have ever seen him not like his family. The first person to ever tell him that he was different. His first friend, and first-
He pushed the thought aside and slowly parted the curtain from his bed.
Oh, Remus. Remus was lounging on his side, his eyes heavy with sleep, but his glasses were still put- he had fallen asleep reading, Sirius knew-. He had cast a lumos charm, a soft blue light emanating from his wand. His hair, messy from sleep. He was wearing the same thick wool jumper as last night, with embroidered silver stars on the cuff. Sirius secretly loves that jumper.
"You're breathing really hard. Are you okay?" There was no irritation in his voice. His voice held a hint of warmth, like a drip of honey in tea. Just pure concern. Somehow that felt worse for Sirius. "I'm fine, Rem," he managed. Merde, he thinks to himself.
Silence.
"It would be okay if you were not."
Oh, Remus. The light slipped through the gap in the curtains, and Remus sat up in his bed. One hand rubbing tiredly at his face, the other resting on the edge of the mattress, as if deciding whether to get up. Sirius came to the realization that he was the cause that Remus was awake at this hour.
"I woke you.."
"Mm."
" ‘M sorry, Rem."
"You don't have to apologize, Sirius."
Sirius looked away, instead staring at his lap. "I'm okay, really" he lied again. I'm okay, just sleep deprived and trying to-
Remus let out a slow sigh. "I know you want me to believe that."
Silenced again, Sirius tries to focus.
“I just” Sirius whispers.”It’s just so loud in my head, Rem. I can’t sleep”.
To those words, Sirius hears the mattress across from his creak. Then, he sees Remus, patting the new space next to him, a soft, barely there smile on the corner of his lips.
Sirius stares at him for a moment, but then his body gives up. He climbs into bed next to Remus, like it’s the most natural thing between them. Truth be told, it is not the first time that Remus invited Sirius into his bed after his night terrors. Sirius’ head rests on Remus’ shoulder as the older boy closes shut the curtains of the bed. His wand is still casting a now low lumos charm. Sirius looks up. Cutout stars -made by Remus in their fourth year, enchanted to react to any contact of light- were laid out on the ceiling of Remus’ bed, made in the shape of constellations. They were glowing softly in contact with the charm, and Sirius felt safe.
"Better?"
Sirius shifts into the warmth of Remus, his warm arms and hands around him, and finally, finally, his body feels at ease, like something snapped right into place.
"Mm. Thanks, Rem." Sirius whispered.
"You don't have to tell me," Remus adds gently. “But just know, I’m here.”
And those were the last words Sirius heard that night, before darkness submerged him, warmly this time, dreaming of a pair of amber eyes.