The Sugar Quill
Author: Corgi (Professors' Bookshelf)  Story: Cold (Sixth Sign of the Werewolf)  Chapter: Default
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Cold (Sixth Sign of the Werewolf)

Cold (Sixth Sign of the Werewolf)

A flip side of Copperbadge's 'Civilised' (; also inspired in part and sideways by somebody's 'Unpopular Opinion' about Remus and Sirius not, canonically, being the best mates that fandom would make them.

Remus couldn't help himself. When he had to explain to Harry what had just happened to Sirius, before their horrified eyes, his voice remained calm. Just one little tremor that leaked out, despite... everything.

When he got back to Headquarters, his calm and even demeanor unsettled all the grieving Order members who came over to him to 'see how you are,' when in reality they were looking for an outlet for themselves. Tonks, stuck in St. Mungo's for a few days, would cry off and on, almost without being conscious of it, and gripped Remus's hand fiercely. She might not have had the time to know her cousin-once-removed well, but her mother spoke positively of him -- defiantly -- and Tonks herself respected the wizard she'd worked with for ever-so-few months.

And all this time, Remus couldn't help himself. Every night when he finally went to bed, he would lie there and wait to see if his own grief would present itself. He expected it, after all. When James and Lily (and, he'd thought then, of course, Peter) were killed and Sirius arrested, he had torn his flat to shreds. Exploded as abruptly and devastatingly as an ambush device, sobbing in an exhausted heap on the floor when his unnatural strength finally waned.

However, nothing ever came. Thirty years of lycanthropy had taken its stealthy toll on Remus in a way he'd never expected. Long practice at self-discipline, at restraint and moderation and poker-faces, at suppressing the wolf as it tried to poke its loathsome snout into his everyday life, had frozen his whole being into a calm imperturbableness. He truly did want to weep for the loss of his last childhood friend. James, Sirius and Peter had meant everything to him growing up, surrounded by their cheerful acceptance, and this last piece of that had gone, leaving him perched on the narrow support of the Order alone.

But no tears. Even when he tried, remembering Harry's desperate and angry screams, the look on Sirius's face. when Remus tried to make himself as stomach-wrenchingly unhappy as possible, screwing up his face in a parody of a sob to inspire his emotions to make it real, his discipline held... and although his mind grieved for his lost friend, his heart remained calm... placid... as unruffled as a untouched pond. Remus found himself capable of self-disgust, but no matter how irritated his thoughts, anything more passionate than a furrowed brow and a frown had become beyond his capacity to express.

This was a sign of the werewolf they never covered in Defence Against the Dark Arts. The snout, the tufted tail, the eyes, all known... the heart frozen all month awaiting the full moon's thaw, was not.
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