Notes: Slight Remus/Sirius if you take it that way. Written after the fifth movie, which was watched after reading Shoebox Project in its entirety. Just a short drabble. Take from it what you will.
Death of Promises
It's too fast. Remus knows it's too fast, too soon, too unreal. And yet real as real can be. Had he had time for himself, he would've gaped, disbelieving, but as it is, there's the boy, and Harry still has fresh wounds from Cedric's death.
Hide your pain, Remus. Hide it well.
He can understand the incoherencies from the boy's mouth – or at least, he understands what he himself would be trying to say. He understands, and he swallows it, because at the moment, as he holds the teen in a surprisingly firm grip, he would gladly give himself up if only to bring Sirius back for Harry's sake. Harry, who's never known a caring family or a welcome home, and out of all the people Bellatrix could have hit, Remus wishes it were himself, and not another promise broken.
Later, when Remus has time alone to think, to grieve – ostensibly, grieving the loss of the last of his close friends – he still wishes he could trade his soul for Sirius'. Sirius would get mad at him for it, complain that he may as well just be back in Azkaban if he couldn't be with his Moony, and Remus would have to leave a note behind, reminding him that he has Harry to care for, and that he'd better survive the war for the boy's sake, and if he gets lonely later, he can find himself a nice French girl to romp with – Remus won't mind, but Harry might complain about the noise.
Remus sighs. The thought of taking the boy in himself comes and goes. Even if he wanted to, he has no real authority. Sirius had been the official godfather. Remus was just the friend. And even Dumbledore, who has always supported them, would advise against it. Remus is a werewolf, a Dangerous Creature. And even if Harry doesn't mind that bit, there's no way anybody would allow it, not to mention Remus himself would be far too afraid of hurting the boy. At least, before Azkaban, Sirius had a canine's body against the werewolf, and even if those nights left Sirius battered and bruised, Remus knew, deep down, that even the werewolf would not and could not kill Sirius Black.
He's not so sure he has that safety with Harry, even if Harry could turn into a big dog and was adept enough at fighting to transfer the skills to a canine style. The selfish bitterness boils up – it's Harry's fault Sirius is dead – and Remus knows, even if it's true, Sirius would not blame the boy. No, Sirius would blame himself, and so Remus knows he has to blame Sirius for Sirius being dead. Not Harry. He knows he can't blame Harry. But the selfish little voice does it all the same.
And suddenly, Remus is grateful that he is the one left alive. Sirius would have moped, and, in a moment of irritability, or perhaps drunken stupor, he would lash out at Harry, because Harry would be there, and he would say things he shouldn't, say things he doesn't mean, and Harry would be hurt, and his life would be no better than it is with his Muggle relatives. Remus, though – Remus knows how to leave things unsaid.
Hide your pain, Remus Lupin. Hide it well.