Painted Scars // WOLFSTAR

Year Four: Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop

Following the attack at King's Cross Station, Sirius had trouble sleeping. When night crept up on him, he'd lay tossing and turning in his sheets for hours with flashing images behind his eyes. Nothing too scary – a flash of green here, the figure of a Death Eater there – but these images did nothing to soothe his fear of that night.

Sirius wasn't good under pressure. He cried when his mum suggested moving him to another school, and he couldn't hold his own in an argument to save his own life. However, even still, Sirius had not expected to crumble so wholly in the face of danger that his body would lock and his face would stay shock-ridden for hours after the attack.

The only person who was more frightened than him on the night of the attack was Euphemia, but by the time they stumbled through the door of the Potter manor, Sirius finally had his breathing under control. While his brave face might've satiated Mrs. Potter, night fell and Sirius couldn't fend off the violent shivers that didn't dissipate even long after the cold left his fingertips.

The papers hadn't been sure of why the attack at the station had occurred, much to Sirius and the others' chagrin. It was another unexplainable attack, like the countless muggle murders or missing muggleborn cases, and it left the students of Hogwarts' skin crawling.

"Doesn't your family know the people who did this? You could figure out why they're hurting all these people if you try," James had suggested to him on one particularly chilly evening over the break. They were outside in the snow, a bit farther off from the others, lying down and chatting mindlessly about what they'd gone through.

"How would I even do that?" Sirius had questioned back, his neck going numb from the pellets of snow breaking through the gap between his hat and the neck of his coat.

James had shrugged then, face undergoing a gloomy light. "You could always pretend to be... like them. Your parents might be thrilled enough to believe it."

Sirius didn't speak to James for several hours after this comment, and James didn't bring it up again.

It was tense, to say the least, for several days after the attack, but things finally regained some normalcy nearing the end of break, when there was news of one of the Death Eaters being captured and brought in for question.

Now, it was three weeks later, and while there still weren't publicized answers, the promise of justice allowed everyone to settle down, just a bit, and enjoy their Christmas.

The closing of winter break brought on another development, which Sirius had an even more difficult time broaching than the one at the station. Something about that night – perhaps the fear, but much more likely, the prospect of death – brought out something in the four of them. An unexpected closeness that gripped Sirius long after Christmas drew to a close.

He'd first noticed it with Peter – he'd stuck to his hip for nearly the entire break, and while Sirius complained about it aloud, he was comforted by the knowledge that he could look over and have Peter at his side.

Then it was James. Something about the attack had pulled some sort of hidden instinct from him, and while this took a touch longer to develop, he was now dueling like he had something to fight for in Defense Against the Dark Arts. As terrifying as dueling him now was, it was nice to know that if they ever faced something real, and running wasn't an option, they'd have someone capable enough to fight it.

Remus, naturally, was last; however, his closeness seemed to come in waves. The night of the attack, Remus knew better than anyone what to do. He took on a role of confidence and assurance that compensated for Sirius's lack thereof, and he kept a steady calmness throughout. This calmness quickly faded, though, when they'd reached the Potters. Sometime after Sirius had borrowed his sweater, Remus had gone... reclusive.