Notes: Writer's block sucks. Whaaa… ;_; And I don't know why I'm making this chaptered. (Psst! Review slut, right here!)

For people confused as to why in God's name I keep making Remus a cutter (Yes, why? For the love of God, WHY?) it's all because it was right there in PoA. Remus says that, without anybody else available to scratch and bite when he was in wolf form, he would scratch and bite himself. I tell you, I just about died of happiness reading that. *Author sits down next to Remus. The two compare scars.*

Something's Gonna Give

Silence, like nothingness, hung in the air. It was a pall, a catharsis, a comfort to James Potter, who stood, barefoot, in the boys' lavatory and stared glumly into the mirror. He turned his head one way and then the other, scowling with displeasure at the face that stared back. After furtively trying to smooth the waves of his unruly hair, he grabbed the toothpaste and brush he'd brought with him, beginning his nightly grooming routine.

For a moment the silence was lifted; James scrubbed his teeth noisily, trying hard to see how much foam he could make with a minimal amount of the minty paste. He swirled the mixture of soap and saliva around his mouth, letting it slide between his teeth and tongue with a pleasant squishing sound. Finally, he began to spit into the sink, alternately swallowing handfuls of water from the running tap to rinse thoroughly.

As he was expectorating the final, lingering sweet taste, shooting the water almost directly down the drain, he heard the solid 'bang' of the shower room's doors as they were pushed open and the frantic patter of feet as they rushed across tile. Curious, he lifted his head; in the reflection of the mirror he could see his friend Remus jogging toward him. Instinctively, he turned and opened his mouth to greet the other boy, but stopped when he realized that something was wrong. Remus' eyes were wide and wild; they stared past James, not recognizing or acknowledging him. And there was something odd about the way he was running. His gate was stiff, jerky, and almost lopsided. James could see that he was favoring his left arm, cradling it tenderly against his chest. He watched, confused, as Remus limped the final few feet to the porcelain sink and turned the hot water tap.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Remus' breathy mutter carried easily in the open space of the showers and toilets. "Oh please, oh god, oh please." James found himself opening his mouth again, this time intent on getting Remus' attention and asking him what was wrong.

But before James could make a sound, Remus lowered his arm to the sink and answered his unspoken question. Blood flowed freely from a deep, wide cut that nearly spanned the entire length of the pale boy's forearm. For a moment, all he could see was red, until Remus placed his wrist beneath the steady stream of water. Then the wound seemed white and bared, vulnerable and sickening. Remus scooped water into the palm of his other hand and dripped it over the part of his arm that wouldn't fit beneath the faucet. "C'mon," he whispered, "Oh please, just stop…"

"Remus," James' voice was a heavy and solid contrast; the sudden sound of it made the room seem full and comforting, as opposed to the eeriness of silence and whispers. Remus' head shot up, and he stared at James with frightened recognition. "Remus, what happened? What happened?"

The question made Remus flinch; he stared at James for a moment in utter confusion before looking back down at his arm, his interest so intent that it seemed to James that Remus hadn't truly been aware of his injury before that moment. For several moments he just looked at it, watched the red swirl down the drain. His mouth opened. He began to scream.

It began as a low growl deep in the back of his throat, moved quickly into a moan, and finally crescendoed into a spectacularly high wail. Remus backed away from the sink, his right hand circled around his left wrist, and screamed and screamed and screamed. James felt helpless and paralyzed standing so far away. He took one step forward and then another, almost blown back by the sheer force of the noise escaping his friend's throat. Never having dealt with anything like this before, never having seen so much blood coming from one human being before, James was scared. But he knew, as he took the final steps to close the gap between the two boys, that Remus was in pain. Something was seriously wrong and, no matter what, Remus was still his friend. His sense of compassion and love for the other boy overcame his fear, and, within the barest of moments, James had thrown his arms around Remus, gripping and restraining him. Soon, the other boy's cries were coming in short breaths; he would shriek loudly, take a deep breath, and shriek again. James held him tightly and murmured, "Shh… calm down, calm down. Everything will be ok, don't worry."

And then Remus' legs seemed to give out on him; he sagged in James' arms, sobbing with a force that sounded painful. As gently as he possibly could, James kneeled and then sat, crossing his legs and pulling the tangle of limbs, robes, and blood that was Remus Lupin into his lap. "What happened, Remus? Shh… don't cry, don't cry. Tell me what happened; we'll fix it." He reached for Remus' left hand and uncurled the tight fist that the boy had unconsciously made. When he pulled the wounded arm toward him, the material of his white sleep-shirt was splashed with blood. He hissed inadvertently, carefully setting Remus' arm down and pulling off the soiled shirt as quickly as he could without disturbing the body sprawled across his lap. As soon as he'd tugged it over his head, he threw it across the seeping cut and pressed firmly to staunch the flow of blood.

"I'm sorry." The thin and reedy voice of a little boy met James' ears, and he looked up into a pair of watery brown eyes. Tears streaked their way down Remus' cheeks as he tried to speak. "It was an accident. I'm so, so sorry."

"What was an accident?" James pulled his shirt away from the cut momentarily, taking a quick peek to assess the damage that had been done. In that passing glance, he saw something that his eyes had skimmed over previously.

Scars. Dozens, maybe even hundreds, of smooth, shiny, pink scars. And, when he twisted Remus' arm to the right and to the left, he could make out the white lines of scars that had long ago healed into a camouflage of skin. Yes, there were hundreds; they piled atop one another, they crisscrossed like the thin, emaciated corpses you always saw in the photos of the concentration camps.

James had never heard the term "self mutilation". He'd never heard talk about the people who banged their heads against walls for pleasure or carved patterns into their skin when nervous or scared. But, once or twice, he'd read about different methods of suicide. And he knew that, sometimes, desperate and frightened people would try to kill themselves by opening the veins in their arms and bleeding to death.

"Are you trying to die?" He whispered, both awed and horrified. Still, as soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew they were the wrong ones. Remus just wasn't the type of person who would ever try to commit suicide… or so James thought.

"No…" Remus shook his head violently. "No, no, no, no, no!" Eyes wide and hunted, he shoved his free hand into his mouth and bit down as hard as he could.

"Hey!" Now James was panicking. He grabbed the wrist of the hand Remus was chewing on and yanked it away. The other boy's sharp eyeteeth ripped into his own flesh and left behind long, ragged tears on the back of his palm. For a moment they remained clear and deep, and then the blood began to well up and spill over. Remus wailed.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." His voice was hitched and frantic; he began trying to twist away from James' grasp, clawing wrenching like a restricted animal. The fingers of his mauled hand caught James across the cheek in a weak slap.

More surprised than injured, James let go of Remus and tumbled back. The other boy scooted just out of reach of him, cooing gently to himself and delicately embracing his arm. James' fingers slipped on the smooth tile of the bathroom floor as he propped himself up into a sitting position. There was blood on his hands and on his bare chest from the struggle. "Remus." He began to try a different approach. "Remus, you need to go see Madame Pomfrey! That cut is really serious and-"

"No." His voice was no louder than a whisper, but James could still hear the fear in it. Remus stood weakly and hunched himself back over the sink, trying again to clear away the blood.

"Why not?" James asked, surprised and horrified. "It won't hurt; she'll be able to heal it really fast for you…"

"I said 'no'!" Remus snarled. "I don't want her looking at me!"

"What…?"

"Jesus Christ!" With a cry of impatience, Remus stamped his foot and then kicked the base of the sink. "Why won't it stop bleeding?"

"'Cause you aren't putting any pressure on it." James stood and grabbed his shirt that had been discarded during the tussle. He embraced Remus from behind, wrapping the fabric around his arm and carefully holding the cut closed. After a moment he felt Remus relax into him and start to gently rub the curve of his bottom into the hollow of his friend's hips. James pulled back as tactfully as he could; he wasn't entirely sure what Remus was doing, but he didn't want to make him angry either.

"Thank you." Remus' voice was tempered and restricted suddenly; James found the sudden switch disconcerting. "I'm so sorry you had to see all this… I try not to bring other people in…"

"Into what?"

"I don't really want to talk about it." Remus sounded so sad that James couldn't resist giving him a squeeze of reassurance.

"It's ok. You don't have to tell me." He looked up into the mirror and saw the reflection of Remus' distracted, but smiling, face. "Hey… I've got some bandages and stuff in my room. You want me to patch this up for you?"

"Yes, please." Remus began to allow James to lead him away from the sink. "Wait… why do you have bandages?" His eyes were wide. "You don't…?"

"Uh… no." James blushed slightly and tried to avoid looking at Remus' arms while they walked. "It's for… um… Quidditch injuries, you know? I can't go bothering Pomfrey with every little scratch I get."

"Oh," Remus nodded his head solemnly. As they reached the door of the lavatory, however, his eyes grew wide and he gasped. "Oh, no!"

"What? What is it?" James stopped immediately and glanced around at their surroundings. "What's wrong?"

"What if…" Remus leaned against the door frame and gnawed at his lower lip in worry. "Oh, I hope I didn't wake anyone with all that screaming!"

James paused for a moment, blinking rapidly. "You… what?"

"I don't want everyone to be mad at me!" Remus seemed to stare through James, more concerned with the concerns bouncing to and fro in his brain. "I mean, I know I made such a fuss over something so little… I'll really try to do better next time. I swear!"

James took a deep breath. "Number one," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm and steady as he possibly could, "Number one… these walls are solid-" He banged one fist against the nearest partition as proof, shaking it afterwards in effort to ease the resulting pain in his knuckles, "-solid stone. I'll bet you could murder me right now and I could scream absolute bloody murder and no one would know until tomorrow morning's bathroom rush. All right?"

 "Ok," Remus replied, his voice very small.

"And Number two… Number two is…" He took another deep breath and bellowed, "Number two is that you've got this great, bloody cut on your arm that could be life-threatening very soon if we don't bandage it up! You've got this… gouge! This gouge and I think you made it and I don't understand why!" He broke his tirade for a moment to laugh, short and bitterly. "And you're worried about whether the other boys in the dorm will be mad at you? I mean… It's just…" He buried his head in his hands for a moment before looking back up in alarm. "And what d'ya mean 'next time'?"

"I… uh…" Remus' eyes had gone large again, filled to the precipice with large, sloppy tears. "I just…"

"Never mind," James waved one hand in controlled dismissal and gently extended his arms in the direction of his friend. "I'm sorry."

Remus fell into them, his own arms still wrapped in each other; one fist was clenched against pain while the other was struggling to hold James' t-shirt tight against his flesh. "I'm sorry too."

"You don't have to be sorry," James sighed. "Maybe later… but not right now." He petted Remus' hair and closed his eyes. "But… you did scare me."

"I know."

"C'mon," With an air of falsely cheerful friendliness, James patted Remus on the back. The embrace had felt good. Right. Not awkward, the way James had feared it would. Nice. As he began to lead Remus back to their room, an odd thought crossed his mind.

We fit well together.