Song For Life
Fairy lights flash like fireflies on the drawing room windows as Sirius Black sits with his chin propped in his palm in the center of the drawing room. His mind, troubled tonight as it is most often these days, leaves him shifting in his seat and feeling overall as if he'll ever be comfortable in this house of shadows in which he's been forced to remain. The acute restlessness he feels now, so relentless since he stepped foot in the house for the first time in years, was what had led him away from the Christmas Eve festivities and to the cold comfort of drawing room in the first place, but the more time he spends upstairs tonight, away from the cheerful chattering of the teenagers and adults downstairs, the more he wishes he were surrounded by people. This feeling of wanting to be both with and away from others, this complicated reality of his life now, has perplexed him since it started. Among other things, it is what is responsible for making him question who he is so often lately. Sometimes, maddeningly, he feels as if he has to re-introduce himself to his own mind after Azkaban. Never before has he had such difficulty with the simple act of living, and that worries him more than anything.
He rubs his eyes with the tips of his fingers and finds himself committing the familiar act of wishing that Remus were there.
It scares Sirius how reliant he is on Remus Lupin.
Leaning forward in his seat, Sirius focuses on the fire and rubs his hands together to warm them. In a long, uncomfortable moment, he tries to clear his mind of the confused, concerned look that Harry had thrown his way when he'd left the room scarcely an hour earlier. At this, he fails, and as is customary at this time of night, his internal monologue starts insisting that he's an incapable godfather, an incapable person in general. He knows that if Remus were around, he'd tell him that he is wrong to think this way, that he shouldn't allow himself to think such negative thoughts, but unfortunately Remus is not there, and Sirius is too tired to convince himself that these thoughts are not the truth. He's tried to do for himself what Remus is able to do for him, to convince himself of his value, of his courage, but so far he's failed every time.
As the fire begins to die down, Crookshanks joins him on the sofa and warms his side. Sirius is grateful as usual for his company. Letting out a sigh, he reaches his hand out and strokes the cat's head gently, and the ginger cat rewards him with a loud purr. Feeling suddenly more calm, he closes his eyes, continuing to stroke the cat mechanically.
Sirius knows, without knowing how he knows, that if it weren't for Remus, he would spend his time almost entirely in the company of animals. If it weren't for Remus, he'd probably be a dog for good, resigned to hanging about in alleys and scavenging in trash bins. If it weren't for Remus, there would be no human left in him.
The clock chime sounds as the hand strikes eleven, and Sirius, choosing finally to give in to his exhaustion, leans back in the sofa cushions as much as he can, still petting Crookshanks. He believes he's resigned himself to the fact that Remus won't be in London on Christmas Day, but he still feels the sharp pang of yet another disappointment tainting his mood.
He's fallen asleep by the time Remus enters the room, holding a battered suitcase and wearing a wet travelling cloak. After lowering his suitcase carefully to the floor, Remus pads over to the sofa quietly, sitting next to Sirius carefully and shaking the man's thigh to wake him up.
Sirius opens his eyes slowly, but when he sees Remus, he looks alive. His face breaks into a grateful smile, and he sits up, yawning. "Hey," he says. "You're back for Christmas."
"I'm back for Christmas," Remus confirms, smiling in his very Remus-like way, which always seems to settle Sirius. He leans forward and kisses Sirius full on the lips. After a moment, Sirius puts an arm around his shoulders, and they lean back together, staring at the blazing fire, minds occupied with separate thoughts, but they are thoughts about each other.
"What happened?" Sirius asks after several minutes. He's frowning, and his hand is unsteady as he strokes the wispy hair at the nape of Remus's neck. "Were you safe?"
"Of course I was safe," says Remus, but there is no impatience in his voice, just kindness. He looks distant as he stares into the fire, but still he squeezes Sirius's hand. "We ran into the rival pack, which is why I'm so late, but everything turned out all right in the end. Turns out even the werewolves will refrain from bloodshed if their family is on the line." He squeezes Sirius's hand again. "Everything will be okay, Sirius. I'm not trying to get myself killed."
"I know," says Sirius, pulling his hand away and frowning. "I know you're not trying, but nobody's trying."
Remus smiles weakly. "You're right," he says, propping his head on his hand and giving Sirius a very sincere look. "That was a stupid thing to say."
They sit in silence for several more minutes, feeling themselves begin to thaw in each other's presence.
"Did Harry get his present?" Remus asks eventually. He knows that Sirius had been greatly looking forward to passing on their Christmas gift to Harry, a set of Defense books they had hoped would be helpful for teaching the D.A.
"I thought I'd wait 'til tomorrow," says Sirius. He's hugging himself, and he suddenly looks sadder than he has all night. Remus cannot guess why, but he's used to the sudden changes in Sirius mood these days, the highs and lows of every hour, always there. It's difficult to deal with, and he can't always help the way he would like, but he tries, he always tries the best he can, because that's what you do when you love someone.
Driven by sudden intuition, Remus rises from his seat, pulling Sirius with him. Sirius gives him a curious, crooked smile, but but he follows him out of the room anyway, and they pad down the stairs and to the front door, keeping their steps as quiet as possible as to not wake Sirius's mother's portrait.
Once they are in the entryway, Sirius quirks an eyebrow, and his eyes widen as Remus flips up the latch and opens the front door. There is a light snowfall happening outside, and it looks so beautiful to Sirius. He feels himself drawn to it. Slowly, very slowly, he moves over to the door and stretches his neck through the doorway. This time, Remus doesn't stop him.
"You deserve the world, Sirius," he says instead. "If anything, I want you to always remember that."
They walk down the steps and into the snow. Sirius can feel his heart racing, and he resists the urge to yell out into the night, to let the city, let the world know that he's here, that he's alive, that he's not given up on living just yet; that no matter everything that has happened to him, he's still a man, and there are still parts of him. The snow is refreshing, and Remus's hand on his shoulder grounds him. It's a terrible tragedy, but he's forgotten just how beautiful life is.
And Remus knows this. Remus knows everything before Sirius knows himself, he always has, and in this moment, this extraordinary moment, it does not matter that he's still a wanted man, or that Remus is still a werewolf, or that there is still a war going on. All that matters is that Remus is still here, and that he is still alive, and that they have lost so many things, but that is still so different from losing everything.