Autumn by Moonfoot
"I know it was you. . ."
"No. . . No! I didn't do anything."
"I know you did."
"I didn't! It was him, you have to listen."
"They're dead, gone, all because of yo--"
"Out of everyone you're the one person I thought would believe me."
***
Sirius awoke with a start, sweat beading on his brow and trickling down his spine. He lifted an arm to wipe angrily at the dampness, then forced his fingers through his tangled hair. A glance sideways confirmed that, yes, Remus was still tucked safely at his side, snoring softly with his face hidden beneath one arm.
Dreams -- no, nightmares -- still plagued him, even after so many years. He could remember that day so well, the day he'd come home to Remus hoping for a friendly face and a helping hand only to find that he too had turned on him.
***
"You're dead to me," Remus hissed, tears in his voice. Sirius stood framed in the doorway, shoulders drooping and hands held palm outwards towards Remus, beseeching him. "Dead."
"But Remus. . . I didn't. I would never hurt James and Lily!" Sirius stepped forward, but for once, either because of fear or anger, Remus was faster. His wand was held securely in his fist, pointed directly at Sirius.
"Don't take another step. You're dead. Leave."
And Sirius had no choice but to do so.
***
He'd learned later that Remus had broken down then. He knew that the werewolve's life had been hell after that night. Everyone he'd cared for had either been killed (at least supposedly) or imprisoned.
A thick hand graced the scarred surface of Remus' back, rubbing across the prominent shoulder blades and spine down to where the blanket began at his hips. There was a fleeting moment in which he was tempted to pull back the material and look at his lover's nude form in its entirety, but he didn't want to awaken the poor fellow.
"I remember. . ." he whispered, leaning down to press his stubbly cheek to Remus' smooth back, "I remember."
***
Like most places of the sort, Azkaban was both chilly and uncomfortable, but for some reason Sirius rarely noticed these facts. Either it was because canines care little what the flooring beneath them feels like, or it was the constant agony that his memories brought him.
It was like a slideshow put on repeat. Pictures of friends, of family, of Remus, James and Peter flashed through his mind continuously. Each brought a different feeling: pain, regret, loneliness. . . and none were pleasant.
True, it would be this that eventually saved him from insanity, but that was little consolation at the moment.
His thin body lay across the cement floor, legs and arms akimbo. It wasn't the chill that caused him to shiver, but the memory of Remus' eyes when he'd told him to leave. They'd been so cold, like shattered ice.
***
'But they aren't anymore,' he told himself silently. Now Remus' eyes were warm again. Not the blazing summer heat they'd been when they were teenagers, but a mute autumn fire that was somehow more comforting.
"I love you," he said to the werewolve's sleeping form.
"I love you too."
The reply made him jump, but his lips slowly curved into a small smile.
"Come on Sirius," Remus said, turning onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow. "Lay back down with me, it's all right."
"You're right." Sirius sighed and sank down into the comfort of the bed, and then into the safety of Remus' arms.
"You're safe."
"I know."
And for once. . . he did.
"I know it was you. . ."
"No. . . No! I didn't do anything."
"I know you did."
"I didn't! It was him, you have to listen."
"They're dead, gone, all because of yo--"
"Out of everyone you're the one person I thought would believe me."
***
Sirius awoke with a start, sweat beading on his brow and trickling down his spine. He lifted an arm to wipe angrily at the dampness, then forced his fingers through his tangled hair. A glance sideways confirmed that, yes, Remus was still tucked safely at his side, snoring softly with his face hidden beneath one arm.
Dreams -- no, nightmares -- still plagued him, even after so many years. He could remember that day so well, the day he'd come home to Remus hoping for a friendly face and a helping hand only to find that he too had turned on him.
***
"You're dead to me," Remus hissed, tears in his voice. Sirius stood framed in the doorway, shoulders drooping and hands held palm outwards towards Remus, beseeching him. "Dead."
"But Remus. . . I didn't. I would never hurt James and Lily!" Sirius stepped forward, but for once, either because of fear or anger, Remus was faster. His wand was held securely in his fist, pointed directly at Sirius.
"Don't take another step. You're dead. Leave."
And Sirius had no choice but to do so.
***
He'd learned later that Remus had broken down then. He knew that the werewolve's life had been hell after that night. Everyone he'd cared for had either been killed (at least supposedly) or imprisoned.
A thick hand graced the scarred surface of Remus' back, rubbing across the prominent shoulder blades and spine down to where the blanket began at his hips. There was a fleeting moment in which he was tempted to pull back the material and look at his lover's nude form in its entirety, but he didn't want to awaken the poor fellow.
"I remember. . ." he whispered, leaning down to press his stubbly cheek to Remus' smooth back, "I remember."
***
Like most places of the sort, Azkaban was both chilly and uncomfortable, but for some reason Sirius rarely noticed these facts. Either it was because canines care little what the flooring beneath them feels like, or it was the constant agony that his memories brought him.
It was like a slideshow put on repeat. Pictures of friends, of family, of Remus, James and Peter flashed through his mind continuously. Each brought a different feeling: pain, regret, loneliness. . . and none were pleasant.
True, it would be this that eventually saved him from insanity, but that was little consolation at the moment.
His thin body lay across the cement floor, legs and arms akimbo. It wasn't the chill that caused him to shiver, but the memory of Remus' eyes when he'd told him to leave. They'd been so cold, like shattered ice.
***
'But they aren't anymore,' he told himself silently. Now Remus' eyes were warm again. Not the blazing summer heat they'd been when they were teenagers, but a mute autumn fire that was somehow more comforting.
"I love you," he said to the werewolve's sleeping form.
"I love you too."
The reply made him jump, but his lips slowly curved into a small smile.
"Come on Sirius," Remus said, turning onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow. "Lay back down with me, it's all right."
"You're right." Sirius sighed and sank down into the comfort of the bed, and then into the safety of Remus' arms.
"You're safe."
"I know."
And for once. . . he did.