Sirius returns from a mission with the Order, believing Remus is the spy who wants to betray the Potters to Voldemort. I've just written the scene in my fic "We Can Be Heroes" where Sirius begs Remus for forgiveness for betraying his secret to Snape, and it got me thinking about this part of the story. I hate how awful things get for Sirius and Remus, I love them. Also, I absolutely despise Pettigrew, just had to make that clear. This is full of angst, and nothing else.
Betrayal
The flat feels too quiet, hollow almost. He would have called out aloud, affectionately, months ago, whenever he came back from a mission unscathed. Now he goes about his new routine wordlessly. After muttering complicated spells to fix the wards (each time he returns they get longer, as his paranoia increases), he bathes. He needs to wash the grim stench of death off every inch of his body, like a sacred ritual. Moody nearly got him thrown out of the order the time he insisted on washing himself in a stream in the middle of their week-long mission in Northumberland. Fuck him. Rather die clean than live dirty.
It's got nothing to do with vanity, though he won't deny he's that, the only side of himself he supposes he's happy with - even that is sullied by the fact that he looks like the spitting image of Walburga Black. It has to do with new beginnings, and purification, and soothing himself. Most of the time he feels like a violin string pulled too taut, that's about to snap and break beyond repair. He recalls James' phrase: Fucked Up Beyond All Redemption. FUBAR. It's a muggle phrase, it fits his situation perfectly, he snarls to himself.
They're all FUBAR. Him and Remus especially.
He's tired and starving, but he sticks to his routine, clothes scurgified and boots out. He polishes them by hand, like Lily taught him, the steady rhythm helps, a bit. He polishes them like he needs to discover a new skin underneath the leather. Relentless and furious.
He finally braces himself to face the breakfast table. Remus on the far side of the long table, reading the paper. He looks terrible, gaunt and miserable and detached. Sirius knows the full moon is tonight. He still remembers the lunar phases each month. Habit. Remus looks up briefly, like he's considering starting a conversation, but thinks better of it. His gaze drops down to the paper again. Like he can't be bothered talking to him, Sirius thinks.
Why are they even both still living here? He wants to scream at him - why are you doing this? What the fuck happened to you? Do you think I don't realise what you're doing? Tell me you're the spy, I need to know! Maybe a part of him hoping Remus will be able to convince him that he isn't the spy. But it has to be one of them, one of the Marauders. They were the only ones who knew about the mission in June. Nobody else, aside from Moody, the Prewetts. And Fabian and Gideon are dead.
He's not stupid. He's not a damned fool.
He says nothing, sits down heavily and pours himself some coffee and eats the porridge that is waiting in front of him. That Remus made. Head bowed.
Remus looks up again. He senses the struggle in Sirius' mind. He wants to hurl the plate in front of him at Sirius, overturn the table in one fell move. He could easily do it, he has more than enough strength to do so until the full moon passes. Go on a rampage, smash up the entire flat. Grab Sirius by the throat and shake him. How could you believe it's me? Have I not been anything but loyal to you, to James, to Lily, to Peter, all these years? How dare you look at me in disgust? Say something, you spineless bastard! You don't have the guts to accuse me, do you? How could you think for one second that I would betray you, any of you? You're all I have.
You're all I have.
"Pass the marmalade," he says instead, his voice a mixture of defeat and terseness. His features betray no emotion.
Sirius hands it to him wordlessly.
A few moments of silent eating, the very sound of Sirius chewing his food enough to drive Remus mad. When did I become such an irritable bastard, he thinks. Sirius gets up abruptly, and starts putting plates and cutlery away, like he can't stand to be anywhere near me, Remus surmises. Drawers and doors slamming shut.
"Stop slamming everything!" snaps Remus. When did he become this grumpy old man? "You'll ruin the mechanism…"
Sirius barks a short, bitter laugh. Remus tried to cure him of that habit, when they first moved in.
"Stop being so infernally picky! Like we'll still be around when they stop working! Give me a break, Moony!" he snarls.
He glances around at the mess Remus has created - his books strewn across the kitchen surfaces, his canvas bag with provisions for his transformation in front of the cooker.
"And while we're being picky, tidy up your mess, Moony! it's taking over the entire flat," he glares.
He doesn't miss the flicker of hurt in Remus' face.
Remus looks round, reminded once more that he is only there due to his friends' charity- Sirius' flat and James' money paying for their upkeep. Maybe they just pity him.
"Do you want me to move out?"
Sirius' breath constricts. He wants to cry. Where would Remus go? He's not going to last long in a job, not with his furry little problem, and he cannot afford to rent anywhere. He won't let Remus end up on the streets.
"No," he answers shortly, his voice thick.
Sirius holds onto the edge of the table, his cheekbones more pronounced than ever, knuckles white from keeping his emotions in check.
A muscle in Remus' jaw is twitching. He wants to break down and cry. But maybe the unspent tears are the only thing binding him together, and if the dam bursts, he might disintegrate with it.
"I'll be gone overnight," Remus says, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. "Should be back tomorrow before evening."
It will be his second transformation on his own. The previous one was the worst he has had since he started in Hogwarts all those years ago. He was a mess. Used up all the bottle of dittany in one go. Peter wasn't available, seems always busy on missions these days, the Order never seem to give him a break, seeing as he has proved himself so valuable on recent missions. Who could have predicted his bravery? James begged Dumbledore to be allowed to accompany him, but the old man refused sternly, accusing James of not putting his family first, of being irresponsible. James nearly cried, Remus recalls. James is an emotional man, but he doesn't often cry: his parents' funeral, when Lily nearly got killed in an ambush, Lily's parents' car crash. He reassures himself that James does care, does believe him. He and Lily had repeatedly asked him to visit them, but he felt tainted. The Order might put guards on the premises if he arrived, the shame of it. And now he can't see them, since the Fidelius Charm. Sirius is their secret keeper. And Sirius thinks he is a spy who wants to betray them, who wants Harry dead.
He'll apparate to his family home, deserted now, since Lyall moved in with his elderly brother. The last time he chained himself to the walls of the fortified cellar, he was so close to being stuck there. The key to unlock the chains had been kicked out of his reach during the night and he had to painstakingly nudge it towards him, heart racing in case he ended up dying of thirst and starvation there. It's a real risk. He contemplates asking Sirius to come and find him if he isn't back by nightfall. But Sirius will probably think it's a trick to lure him into an ambush with Death Eaters, he thinks.
Maybe he's better off saying nothing. He forgave Sirius for his betrayal at the end of 5th Year, Sirius swearing he'll never betray his trust ever again. But what is this if not a betrayal of trust? He's dying anyway, dying in that God-forsaken cellar, or dying slowly as he's doing now.
He says nothing.
Sirius looks at him, a pained look on his handsome features. He longs to accompany Remus, to help him tonight, to care for him. His feelings towards Remus too ambivalent to fucking… his temple is throbbing.
"Fine," says Sirius. "I'm going to sleep for a while."
He's often wondered why he bothers putting up those wards when he could be murdered in his sleep any day. He just doesn't believe Remus would hurt him. He knows this, deep down. So how does he still think he is the spy? He throws himself on the bed, wand flung somewhere on the bedroom floor. Maybe he has a death wish, he thinks, if Remus ever attacked him maybe he'd prefer to be dead than confirm his worst fears?
"Shut up and stop thinking about him," he tells himself disgustedly.
Remus remains seated at the table, a gust of wind rustles against the kitchen window.
We have withered away like leaves, he thinks, our flaws scattering us, like Autumn gales.