A gift for olivieblake.
Inspired by Draught of Living Death by OlivieBlake.
A short while ago, I asked for prompt ideas. I wanted a distraction. When OlivieBlake suggested I write something similar to one of her fics, but with a different pairing, I jumped at the chance. You see, she's been a wonderful help to me. She reads over a lot of my work and gives me honest feedback. I don't think she understands how helpful that is or how much I appreciate her and her time. So this is for you-I apologize for any mistakes you find.
Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and themes from the Harry Potter universe are property of J.K Rowling. I make no profit from the writing or sharing of this story.
Thumping music is more of a comfort to Sirius than Remus; to Remus, it's a deep grating thunder against his sensitive ears. He doesn't complain. They all came to the party, but James ran off with Lily after convincing her that the giant squid dances to the music and Peter snuck off with his Slytherin girlfriend—the one they don't really talk about.
Sirius is sunk as low into the couch as he can get with a bottle of firewhisky at hand. He doesn't know where it came from and he doesn't rightly care. After a quick pull, he hands it over to Remus, who's sitting upright and takes his own swig. Remus leans back against the couch and watches the others move around him. It's like watching a symphony; everyone moves to the beat, but not everyone is part of it.
"Hey," Sirius says as he nudges Remus' shoulder for the bottle. Remus shakes his head a little and hands it back. "Want to go back to the dorm?"
Remus considers the question. He's not sure why Sirius wants to leave. He knows he's been trying to think of a way to exit without causing a scene, and this is a perfect opportunity. Perhaps Sirius doesn't see anyone worth pulling.
He nods.
When they're back in the dorm, Remus collapses on his bed with eyes closed and curtains pulled mostly shut. It's a bit startling when Sirius crawls in next to him. Remus watches his black hair sway, covering his face and pillowing beneath his head as it lands on Remus' shoulder. Sirius wiggles until he's comfortable. Always one for casual touching, Sirius drapes an arm across Remus' chest. Remus doesn't think anything of it, but he isn't quite sure what's happening.
As Sirius continues to move closer, he throws a leg over Remus. That's when Remus can feel him—he's hard and slowly rocking against Remus' thigh.
Softly, into the edge of his shoulder, Sirius asks, "Moony?"
Remus looks down and before he can think to respond, Sirius is kissing him. It's eager, but gentle. He keeps things light and soft until he opens farther to swipe his tongue through the slit of Remus' lips. The slight tinge of alcohol in Remus' blood relaxes him enough to let it happen. They're tangled—limbs and tongues and arms that don't know where to be, but need to move.
Remus rolls so that Sirius is beneath him. His own hardness drives into Sirius and the other boy is all fluttering eyes and expectant moans. His legs come up around Remus' waist and they're moving roughly now.
"Clothes," Sirius whispers.
It's a fast sort of slow-motion as they pull apart, tear their own clothes off, and come together again. That first touch of skin against skin takes their breath away. Gasps turn into a heated kiss, which devolves into frantic rutting.
"Have any lube?" Remus asks. Sirius nods, pointing to his clothes puddled on the floor. Remus leans over, spreading his legs to brace himself and letting Sirius continue exploring his body. When he's found it, he sits up and looks down at the boy beneath him.
Remus clears his throat gently, trying to get the ball of anxiety clear. "Are you sure?" he asks.
Sirius nods, digging his fingers deep into Remus' waist.
The lube is cold at first, but warms on contact with Remus' fingers and he doesn't waste time. His index finger finds Sirius waiting—wanting. He pushes past the tight ring of muscle and watches as Sirius' stomach rolls a bit, arching his back at the intrusion. Remus waits until he's licking his lips and nodding. The preparation is slow, Remus fumbling a bit when he has to put in another finger. He's not quite sure if he should just push both through or one and then slide the other against it. He goes for the former and Sirius' arms are flat against the bed, fingers digging into the sheets.
"Okay?" Remus is concerned, preparing to pull out.
Shaking his head, Sirius says, "Okay. Slow."
Remus goes slow.
When he's there, he looks Remus in the eye—holds his gaze—and says, "I'm ready. Fuck me."
The words are shocking and Remus stills. His fingers make an odd squelching sound when he pulls out, but it's ignores in favor of pouring more lube onto his fingers, judiciously spreading it on his cock, and scooting forward.
He can't look at Sirius when he pushes the head through. As it breaches the tight entrance, Remus inhales sharply and braces. His hand lets go of his cock and he's on either side of Sirius, caging him in. The boy beneath him is having a hard time staying still. They begin an odd sort of rhythm and, while it isn't smooth or practiced, they manage.
Remus is grunting and rolling his hips deep into Sirius. The backs of his thighs create a delicious slap as he makes contact, then pulls away. Sirius is wantonly moaning beneath him, his hair a sweaty black halo around his head.
When Remus is close he leans forward and pants, "Close."
Barely paying attention, Sirius catches the word, reaches between them and grabs his own cock to stroke it roughly. Remus watches the abandonment of Sirius' motions and he speeds his thrusts. There are only so many breaths left in him before he's spilling inside Sirius, his thighs as tight against the other boy as Remus can go. Sirius is still moving his hand, rolling his head back and forth as he chases his own orgasm. It comes quickly.
Remus shudders as Sirius contracts around him. He pulls out, watches as a little of his seed drips down Sirius' arse. The sight makes him both aroused and completely unsure what to do.
Sirius waves his hand, pats the bed as if searching for something. They're laying next to one another trying to catch their breath when Sirius sends a cleaning charm over them both. The sharp pricks of his magic leave a tingle that spreads through Remus.
They don't talk. They don't move. All they do is pull pants on and grab the blanket shoved to the end of the bed. The curtains are pulled shut and locked with a simple charm.
In the morning, Remus wakes with Sirius wrapped around him like a blanket. He's clinging to places Remus didn't know he could get hands on. This scares him. He's angry at himself. Waves of fear and uncertainty wash over him and all he can think is that he's such a freak.
"I don't know if I'm okay with this."
The noise wakes Sirius, who disentangles himself and rolls to his back. He feels the cold wall between them and when Remus doesn't look at him, he leaves. It goes against everything he wants right at that moment—leaving the warmth of Remus' side, the comfort of his body—but he doesn't know how to breach the defenses Remus has put up.
Remus retreats inside himself. He becomes even more of a recluse than they'd known him to be. Others question it, but Sirius just says, "You know Moony, he's just having a moment."
Sirius doesn't respond so well. He's acting out and pulling pranks that even James thinks are stupid and dangerous. When he lands in detention for three weeks, all he thinks is that he can avoid Remus for a little while longer.
"What is it?" James asks as he leans over the table, trying to grab at the letter.
"Leave it, James." Sirius' tone is enough to cause a wrinkle on James' forehead, to dump him back on his arse on the bench.
The letter crumples beneath the force of Sirius' ire, the pulsing of his jaw in time with the endless litany of obscenities running through his mind. When Peter nudges James, making an off-hand comment about Sirius looking fit to burst, James shakes his head and quiets the blustery boy.
Softly, just below his ear, Remus says, "Sirius?"
When the response is a quiet headshake, Remus doesn't push. He can feel the energy building in the boy next to him, feel him vibrating through the bench, but all he can do it watch from the corner of his eye.
Sirius tosses the parchment into his half-full bowl of potatoes and mutters a spell. It goes up in flame and everyone around them is wildly waving to be rid of the smoke. He doesn't wait; he's on his feet and out of the hall before anyone can react. He barely hears the call of, "Mr. Black!" from the head table.
The remaining three look at the sizzling potatoes, the stench intolerable. Peter's plugging his nose and James looks as if he's ready to follow Sirius. When he stands, Remus beats him to it.
"I have him," he tosses over his shoulder and then, he too, is gone.
On the way back to Gryffindor Tower, Remus checks all of Sirius' favorite hiding spots. Some he can't just slip into due to being the middle of the morning, but he's careful to think where Sirius might run to first. He smirks a bit when he hears the grunts and odd drag of a shoe before it kicks the wall.
Pocketed behind a portrait of a prancing pony, Sirius is running his hands through his hair, muttering about "filthy, blood-monger mothers," and occasionally punching the wall. Remus just misses getting a fist to the face when he walks through. The space isn't a big one—there's room for three people, possibly four if they were small and not afraid of close proximity with one another. He watches as Sirius holds his knuckles, leans against the wall, then slides to the floor.
With legs extended, he's practically touching both walls, but Remus doesn't mind. He sits next to Sirius and watches as he lights the tip of his wand, shooting white sparks into the air. Several minutes of this and Remus places a hand on Sirius' thigh. "Sirius." His name—just his name, but the sparks change from white to green and Sirius drops his wand.
Remus doesn't ask about the letter. He knows Sirius doesn't want to talk about it. Eventually, he'll get the details, but he can tell that right now—right now, Sirius doesn't want to think about it.
It shocks him—the first touch of lips. Sirius somehow straddled his thighs in one curious movement and they're locked, hip to hip. Remus braces his arms as if Sirius has fallen. When he looks up, Sirius' eyes are full of fear and hate and anger.
Remus lets him wash it away in the ocean of his mouth.
They'd been so careful, quiet. When Sirius creeps from his bed to Remus' in the middle of the night, their silencing charms and locking spells weave together to make the space impenetrable. They wait several breaths before either will move. They do move, though.
Together, they forget about family in all its painful varieties, public ridicule, poor grades, pranks they didn't manage to pull off quite right, and the inevitable pain of Remus' curse. Together, they forget everything but the way teeth mark skin and the sound of a gasp in a lover's ear.
After the full moon, Sirius waits until the others are asleep. He listens so closely to the vacant snoring from Peter and restless movement from James. Remus is still. He's always so still after a transformation.
Gently dropping his feet to the floor, Sirius walks toward Remus. The curtains aren't quite closed and he can hear the uneven breath of the boy just beyond the burgundy fabric. Remus is on his side, waiting for Sirius to join him—confident he will end up beside him.
Sirius always manages the journey to Remus, even if it's only for a little while. As he listens to Remus drift in and out of sleep, Sirius gets the rare pleasure of seeing him unencumbered, unburdened. He allows his fingers to drift over moon-pale skin, pulling constellations out of freckles and aligning scars just so to make them match the figures he loves most.
Remus has a scar that looks like Aries, situated next to several freckles Sirius tricks himself into thinking look like Canis Major. These he traces diligently. They are Remus to him; they are Moony. The almost-touch along Remus' skin tickles and the hairs on his arm stand up. Sirius likes to think that, even in sleep, Remus is reaching for him.
One night, James is sitting up on the edge of his bed when Sirius' feet hit the floor.
"Pads?" His voice is heavy with sleep and Sirius turns, his path toward Remus' bed obvious.
"Go to sleep, James."
He doesn't get a response as he continues toward the moon-stricken boy in the next bed.
When they announce they'll be living together after graduation, James stares hard. He didn't stop them before and he doesn't plan to stop them now, but the news is unsettling.
James pulls Sirius aside. "What are you doing, Sirius?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Sirius kicks a heel against the wall, his head knocking back so he doesn't have to look at James.
"You know what I mean," James starts, then steps closer. "If you hurt him, I'll—I don't know what I'll do, but—just don't, okay?"
Sirius looks through the round rims of James' glasses and wants nothing more than to break them. He wants to be hurt. He wants something—or someone—to step between and stop the madness they're spiraling into, but that's not what James intends.
"He's too good, Pads." James has his hand on the back of his neck, looking over his glasses as if he can see Sirius better that way. "He's too good for us; he's too innocent."
A loud, barking laugh escapes Sirius. The grim face looking back at him doesn't change, so he offers, "Yeah, I'll be sure he's fine" before kicking away from the wall and walking out the portrait door.
Graduation came too quickly. The boys hole up in their flat often, even though Remus is desperately trying to find a job.
"Why are you going again?"
Remus sighs, then looks to where Sirius lays sprawled across his bed. "I need a job, Sirius." He continues picking out a shirt, debating between one tattered garment and another. "You can't pay for everything."
"Bullshit."
Remus spins toward him, head cocked to the side. "What?"
"Bullshit. I call bullshit. I can pay for the both of us and we can live comfortably for a long time, so what's the fucking problem?"
The shirt in Remus' hand crinkles as he grips it tightly, lowering it toward the bed. "I need to help."
He tries to end the conversation by holding the shirt up, asking, "Is this one all right?"
Sirius shakes his head. Walking toward Remus' closet, he rummages through the few items there and picks out a light grey jumper to go beneath his jacket. After all, it's a muggle job Remus is applying for, so robes aren't part of the ensemble.
"Good luck, Moony. I hope this one works out."
"Me too."
Remus hangs his head a little as he walks off to the bathroom. All he can think about are the jobs he's been let go from. There are only so many relatives can be sick, Remus. After a while, that's what they all say.
He doesn't keep the job for long.
Joining the Order certainly isn't coinciding with Remus' need to help with the flat or Sirius' drive toward self-destruction. Remus takes odd jobs from the paper in between Order assignments; Sirius dives head-first into Order chaos.
At first, they're often paired together. Moody and Dumbledore watch how easily their magic flows around one another. Remus and Sirius don't question it. They're just lucky not to be with Edgar Bones. He's a brilliant lad—really—but lousy in a fight.
The first time they get distracted on a mission, Sirius crouches behind Remus as they're staking out a possible Death Eater sanctuary. They've been there for hours and all that's happened is a stray cat wandering up and hissing at the both of them. Sirius barks back.
When the moon disappears behind a bank of clouds, Remus tries to stretch his legs. The groan that follows is hushed, but still just there. Sirius' hands come around his waist. He feels lips drop to the back of his neck. A brush, a nip, and Sirius is lapping at that spot Remus can't help but love.
"Sirius."
He's ignored.
"Sirius, we have to stay focused!"
Remus tries to pull away, but Sirius is now biting the tendons in his neck. The gasp he elicits is entirely involuntary.
"Come on, Sirius," he pleads. "You need to stop."
Gentle hands wrap around those at his hips and Sirius drops his forehead to the back of Remus' neck.
Sirius is chastised for all of two minutes before, "I'm fucking bored, Moony."
"It's a stake out. What did you think it would be like?"
Sirius grins and captures Remus' lips before he can give another admonition. He's threading his hands down toward the junction of Remus' thighs, nose buried at the back of Remus' neck when they hear it.
The pop of apparition sounds so loudly they jump apart. Scrambling to see who is coming or going, they're on top of each other and neither can make anything out. Whomever it was, is already gone.
Moody separates them after that. He has Remus digging through old files and newspapers, looking for Merlin knows what. Sirius, on the other hand, is pushed to partner with James, whose recklessness is no match for his own.
"They told us we'd have to choose," Lily says as she looks over the faces in front of her. "We're going to be locked away for a long time and the person holding this information is paramount to our safety."
Peter is nervous, nose twitching and hands fumbling in his lap. Sirius, casual as ever, leans back on the sofa to wait.
Remus asks, "Does it have to be one of us?"
"Who else would it be?" James responds, entirely confused by Remus' question. "You lot are my best mates. Who else would I trust with this?"
"Peter's got his mum to look after and Remus has Moony, which makes him unable to complete the spell." Lily says the words as if they're not a death sentence and all eyes turn to Sirius.
"Fine," he breathes. "All right, you've got me." He smiles, but his anxiety shows through the slight wincing of his eyes.
The spell is complete. Sirius is secret keeper. Despite the anger and hurt between James and Sirius for so many things, their friendship overwhelms him. Every day he paces, thinking about his friends' safety.
They depend on him to stay alive—to keep them alive. Then there's little Harry. He's a little whirlwind of radiating joy whom Sirius would die for.
Sirius drops to his floor, unable to bear it. He's been living a lie for so long he doesn't think he can keep this family—his family—safe. The crack of disapparation is loud when everything else is quiet.
"You have to change it."
James is in his boxers, glasses barely on his nose as he answers the door. "What the fuck are you talking about, Sirius. It's too damn late for this."
Sirius looks down at his hands. "I can't keep you safe. I'm in too much danger." There. He's said it and if he keeps saying it, perhaps he can believe that that's the reason he has to give it up—to let them be in the hands of someone more capable.
"We have to change what, Sirius?" James is running his hand through his hair, scrubbing at his tired eyes when a yawn overtakes him.
The frantic man pushes past James into the living room. "The spell—the fucking spell," he says quietly. "It can't be me. Use Remus or… fuck you can't use Remus. Use Peter."
He's nodding as if the riddle is solved and everything can move forward again.
It takes some convincing, but they switch secret keepers.
Shortly after, Sirius is dealt another blow. "What do you mean you have to leave?"
"It's for the Order, Sirius. I don't exactly get to decide what I'm volunteered for." Remus tugs his suitcase out of the closet, begins neatly tucking things inside.
"Fuck the Order, Moony." Sirius is pulsing with anger; it's fairly dripping off him to puddle at the floor. "What are you doing? Where are you going? How long will you be?"
The barrage of questions startles Remus enough for him to drop a pair of trousers. He leans over to get them, answering softly, "I can't tell you that."
"You what?" He stalks toward the man whose calm demeanor grates at his nerves. Sirius grabs his arm. "Why the fuck won't you tell me?"
Remus' suitcase is full and he brings the top down gently. The locks latch in place and he turns to face Sirius.
"I was instructed not to."
Sirius bellows the entire way to the door. Drawn deep into himself and utterly exhausted, Remus doesn't look back as the door clicks shut.
Neither managed to say goodbye.
Only later, when Remus is told—when Remus is brought to the Potter house, when he's questioned and taken back to Headquarters while other Order members search their flat, does he regret. He regrets so many things.
He's angry. He's bitter and afraid. Several times, Remus snaps at someone only to have them question his involvement, his integrity, his truth.
James would have known why he was angry. James would have… Remus growls and stalks out the door. He needs air. He needs to hurt something. He needs… Sirius.
Dust settled, Remus is finally allowed back into their flat—his flat. The moment he opens the door, he expects to hear that cracking laugh, to see long black waves as they dance in the light of Sirius' eyes. He waits with hand on the door knob, afraid to close it, afraid to go in for fear of not getting out.
Everything has a story. Remus tries his best, but he ends up sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. He's holding a picture of them; it's the one they took after Lily finally agreed to go out with James. They're dancing, arms around each other, while Peter looks on laughingly. Sirius and Remus reach for each other, twine fingers just out of sight. Sirius pulls their joined hands up to his mouth and gives Remus a soft kiss.
Remus screams. He cries. He shatters the frame holding the photo so that glass cuts down Peter's face and he's trying desperately to fix it, to put it all back together, but he just can't.
The following day, he wanders the flat for things he might need. Those he maneuvers into his suitcase, the bulging clips unhappy with their burden. Finished, Remus begins gathering Sirius' things. They fit in a small box. He's shocked to see that he flat is full more with his things than Sirius', but then he remembers what Sirius always told him: I'd rather be surrounded by you, even when you're gone.
Remus looks away from their life, condensed so precisely into two boxes. These he takes to the hole he'll be living in. Though he regrets the way he treated Dumbledore, he's done a lot to help Remus. If it wasn't for him, Remus would likely be out on the streets, unable to pay rent or help anyone, much less himself.
His flat is above a potions store It smells something awful and he has to ward the floor for seepage—most days he doesn't want it all to end because of noxious fumes. He can't complain much; the owner could care less about where he goes in the middle of the night or if he's not home for several weeks. So long as the rent's on time, Remus has a roof over his head.
The roof isn't the problem, though.
When the moon waxes full, Remus retreats to the Shrieking Shack. He's ashamed, but it's a home of sorts. Without the Marauders to keep him calm, Remus destroys himself. Moony is angry. Moony doesn't understand the loss of his packmates and no matter how much he paces, whines, claws at the floor, they aren't there.
Nervous and alone, Moony bites at his shoulder, digging deep into the muscle. It's a neurotic sort of behavior, but he doesn't know anything else. When he's bloody and limping, Moony drops in exhaustion. The panting wolf lays on the floor until Remus is finally able to break through.
Madam Pomfrey doesn't come for him in the morning. He's alone—still. Gathering himself, he transfigures the bloody sheet into a robe and walks up to the castle. He's naked beneath the harsh fabric, but his clothes were destroyed, torn to pieces. Poppy takes one look at him and he can smell the salt of the tear falling down her cheek.
Even the wolf knows he can't be trusted.
In time, Remus receives an offer of professorship at Hogwarts. He declines, though he vividly remembers Albus' visit to his little flat.
"Albus, surely you realize how poorly it would turn out?"
The headmaster hums, hand rummaging in his pocket before popping a lemon drop into his mouth. "I'm not sure what you mean at all."
His aloof response angers Remus.
"No one wants a werewolf teaching their children!" he yells. "It would be a disaster and I'd be run off again."
Albus looks at him calmly. He's seated on the torn, stained couch—all Remus could afford—and watches as Remus breaks apart. The younger man's shoulders are shaking and he barely notices a hand come to rest upon his own.
"Remus, dear boy," he starts. "You are not the monster you have running around inside your head. He's not so terrible and you are more than that—more than this. You have much to give the students of Hogwarts. Come?"
They are gentle words to a broken man.
Sirius is lost—lost in the midst of Azkaban, lost in thoughts of things that happened too quickly, lost in the idea that everything he had was taken from him.
He's trying desperately to keep any shred of happiness to himself. The dementors are ruthless, but he finds being Padfoot helps control their urge to take from him. He's exhausted. Being mentally prepared for every attack creates a soul-deep exhaustion. It doesn't help that the concrete seeps the warmth from him through the thin prisoner jumpsuit. His bones are ice beneath a shell of a man who can barely keep his head up.
Scents of salt and ocean drift through the open window. He often spends time sniffing at the changing seasons and new life on the other side of the bars. That isn't his world anymore. It isn't his to have.
Padfoot is somewhat of a comfort to him. In that form, he escapes some of his most terrifying thoughts, but Padfoot still knows. He circles the chamber, pissing in a corner. It's much more dignified to shit in the corner of a cell as a dog than as a human.
Even Padfoot can't keep the twitches at bay. The shaggy black dog paces, panting heavily despite the cold. When he lays down, there are sores on his elbows that cause a low whine. He chews at the fur just above his paws. It's like he's gotten something on them and can't manage to get it off.
Maybe it's the dirt of Azkaban—the smell and stain of it. Maybe it's the idea he'd cost James and Lily their lives. Oh, and—no. He can't think of him.
He's ready.
Getting through the bars isn't the difficult part. He thinks, perhaps, that transforming in mid-air while scrabbling at the side of a building wasn't the greatest idea. It's too late. He has to skirt from one window to another, losing his grip and catching himself on a window ledge just in time to avoid breaking his face—but he can't stop from losing much of the skin on his stomach with the slide down.
At the base of the prison, Sirius becomes Padfoot again. He's running even though he feels more like drowning. By the time his paws meet the ocean, he's sure he can't make it. He isn't sure he can make it ten yards.
The current is strong as it batters the rock wall. Turning his snout to look behind him, he allows the warmth of home to drive him forward—straight off a cliff.
Swimming becomes too much. He tries to float, but Padfoot falls beneath the water and he's struggling to breathe. It's too far, too far, but the idea that someone—anyone—might be waiting for him to come home is enough.
When he reaches the shore, he's heaving great rattling breaths. The water in his lungs is heavy and he doesn't know if he can move. The sand here is warm despite the waves lapping at it, threatening to drag it back into the ocean. He's contemplating lying there in that spot, disintegrating as other dead things do, when he hears them. Children are running and yelling down the beach. He has to move. Despite everything, Padfoot gets up and runs until he sees something familiar—then there is nothing as he collapses to the ground.
For weeks, Sirius chases down information—anything he can find. He'd seen the picture in the paper, but that didn't tell him much, not enough by any means. Everything he comes across leads him back to one place: Hogwarts.
What he doesn't expect to find there is Remus. His scent is everywhere. Padfoot drops into a whining crouch when he first picks it up. It leads him into the forest, to the Shack, all over the grounds. He tracks it back and forth until he picks up another scent—a familiar scent—the one he'd broken out of Azkaban for.
Standing between Harry and the bloody rat is Remus Lupin. He wants to faint for the sheer stupidity of it, but his anger keeps him standing. Sirius turns back to the boy on the bed, the boy who is cradling a traitor, protecting him.
They lose him.
Sirius can't focus on the details as everything moves forward. Through the chaos of discovering Peter Pettigrew alive and at Hogwarts, the only thing he remembers is being wrapped in Remus' arms. He nearly breaks at the touch, falls apart, but the shock wears off when he's forced back into hiding.
Twelve years in Azkaban and Sirius is reduced to his childhood nightmare: he's stuck in Grimmauld Place with no hope of escape. Order members come and go, but he's relegated to the "safety" of a house under the Fidelius charm.
"Whose safety?" he asks Remus as the other man walks through the door.
Remus holds groceries and the bags slung on his arm take a hit when Sirius confronts him.
"You've broken the eggs, Sirius."
He can't survive like this. Sirius screams in frustration and walks outside. When Remus worries more about the eggs than Sirius' sanity, he doesn't think he can keep doing—whatever this is.
Things are not easy between them. They're not the same boys afraid of the monster hidden within themselves. They're not boys anymore. Sirius doesn't understand Remus' infuriating ability to sit quietly and read all evening. He wants to talk, to learn every detail of the last twelve years, to know what Remus went through while he was gone. He's all balled-up energy and anxiety. Remus is hesitant, keeping something from Sirius that he just can't pinpoint.
It isn't until Remus is gone for a couple of weeks that Sirius figures it out.
Walking through the door, ignoring the eggs that lay shattered on the floor, Sirius kisses him. It's bruising and uncomfortable. Remus' head hits the door and he swears into the cavern of Sirius' devouring mouth. Remus shoves him away, wiping at the blood his split lip leeches down his chin.
"I'm sorry, Remus," Sirius says slowly, his fingers absently going to his hair then scrunching there.
Sirius steps away, cowering in the corner while a confused Remus kneels down to pick up the remaining groceries and vanish the mess Sirius made.
His mess. That's it.
Sirius waits to confront him again. He finds Remus sitting on the couch with The Daily Prophet and moves in.
"What happened to you, Moony?"
Remus looks up to him, lowering the paper just enough to see his worried eyes. "I'm sorry?"
"Why won't you talk to me?" Sirius asks, but doesn't give Remus enough time to answer. "Do you hate me? You know it wasn't me. I'm innocent." Sirius is on his knees in front of the couch, making Remus itch just below his shoulders; it's an itch he's no intention of scratching.
"Innocent?" comes the response. Sirius stares. "You were never innocent, Sirius."
The words sting and Sirius rocks back on his heels. Across the small divide, Remus sighs and summons a nearby decanter of whisky. He pours two glasses and nods to Sirius, a hand patting the couch beside him.
"I'm just—I'm just not sure I can do this again, Sirius." When Sirius looks at him, confused and hurt, he leans forward and fiddles with his glass on the low table before him. His thumb circles the edge absently.
"Remus?" Sirius asks. Remus only nods, as if answering something to himself before emptying his glass and looking Sirius in the eye.
He whispers, "I loved you, you know." The words catch Sirius off-guard. He'd thought their fumbling during school and after was just that—two boys trying to figure things out.
"I—" Sirius starts, but Remus waves him off with a loose hand. His eyebrows come together, trying desperately to think of what he wants to say—how he wants to say it.
"We were different then, Sirius. The world has changed and we have not been apart from it." Remus looks at him sadly.
"No!" Sirius' exclamation is adamant and it startles Remus. "No, damn it. I spent twelve fucking years in Azkaban and I'm not about to lose you now!"
Sirius' eyes are empty, but he can't explain that he's cried all his tears. He's spent the last twelve years crying in a cell—alone. He can't… He lifts off the couch to brush his rough thumb against Remus' cheek. Remus lifts a hand to hold him there. He closes his eyes and inhales the scent that is so uniquely Sirius.
Remus tries to control his breathing. The steady lift of his shoulders bellows deep in his chest and Sirius is awash in remembering the last time they'd touched, the last time Remus looked at him as if he had all the answers.
"Sirius, I'm not sure I can do this."
The words cut him, but Remus is crying while they crawl out of his throat. "Twelve years… twelve years thinking of you…"
"But I didn't—" he interrupts.
"I know." Remus nods sadly. "I know now, but—oh god, we all left you there." He buries his face in long-fingered hands.
"Remus, look at me." Their hands drop to Remus' lap and he looks down at them, remembering when they were youthful and could stare at their twined fingers for hours—remembering when clawing fingers held him to the earth so he didn't drift away. "Remus, you didn't know. It was my fault. I shouldn't have trusted Peter. I shouldn't have…"
It's Sirius' turn to cry.
They end up on the floor in a puddle, trying to remember what it was like to love.
They are much like a tree. Whereas man's folly can bend a tree, make it contort in many ways, its branches will often come back together. Sirius and Remus are just on the other side of dealing with their follies—gently.
When others are around, they keep things to whispered words and the occasional lingering touch. It's not there unless someone is looking, watching a bit too closely.
At night, alone in the echoing halls of Grimmauld Place, Remus reads until his eyes fall closed. Sirius smiles as he enters the room. He gently shakes the other man with a soft, "Moony, wake up."
Together, they walk up the stairs to the room Remus claims as his own. Remus doesn't question when Sirius follows him to bed. He hears the screams and sees the haunted look on Sirius' face as he walks the halls, rubbing the chill from his arms. Remus doesn't mind the company. He hasn't felt comfortable enough to let someone into his bed since… since before Sirius left.
If, in the mornings, they find comfort in each other before facing the world, it doesn't seem to matter. They move around one another in an odd sort of dance. They're careful not to overstep—not to push.
There are things buried just beneath the surface, beneath the skin, that are too raw and uncomfortable yet. So they dance.
They're afraid of the silence and lonely rooms; afraid that if they move too fast, they'll fall over and nothing can bring them together again.
It's fast. The call comes and they gather with the others to apparate. Remus and Sirius follow quickly, but know they can't fight back to back. Gone are the days they could read slight gestures and know to move just enough. Their magic is too different now—they fear hindering the other rather than keeping him alive.
It's chaos. There are Death Eaters everywhere and in his zest to protect the children, Sirius runs into the midst of it. Remus is more practical, taking on a fringe opponent before moving just a little closer.
It's frightening. When Bellatrix comes toward Sirius, calling out a spell that he can't quite make out, Remus starts to sprint. His legs burn while he struggles to reach them, but he is forced to watch in horror as Sirius stumbles backward, through the veil. The world stops for Remus.
It's everything—and nothing. Remus can't breathe and his chest aches, but the only thing he can do is rush forward.
"Harry, no!"
His arms wrap around the boy who is struggling with everything he has to get away.
"You've got to let him go, Harry."
He says those words and on some level they make sense, but all he thinks is You can't save this one, Harry.
Sharp, hurried breaths mingle with Harry's screams to cut through the room. Bellatrix is gone. Harry tears free and takes off after her. Remus is left before the arch, contemplating what to do. He drops to his knees. The painful crack of them hitting the ground is lost to the whirl of his own thoughts.
He can hear Sirius' soft laugh from that morning—the first time he'd heard it since coming back when it wasn't forced. He can hear the whispered, "I love you, Moony," at the back of his neck when they fell asleep the night before. He can feel the last brush of Sirius' fingertips against his jaw.
His fingers come up to touch just there, ghost-like..
Someone is talking to him, but he's gone deaf. The words are jumbled and the only thing he can focus on is the look of peace Sirius had as he left Remus alone. He feels he can't begrudge a battered man a little peace.
Grimmauld Place is hollow. There is an emptiness in the house itself—he always expects to see Sirius coming around the corner or padding softly down the hall in bare feet. On occasion, he swears he catches a glimpse of a black tail and his heart skips, thudding roughly until he gets up to check—only to find himself alone.
Despite Molly's best efforts, he can't be around the others. Their grief is their own and he just wants to wallow in his. There's no coming back from this. This isn't Azkaban where at least he knew Sirius was alive. This is it.
Days turn to weeks and, though Harry's left with the others, Remus changes. He isn't just the sallow professor who looks a bit sickly. His face is gaunt and he takes up Sirius' post, walking the halls at all hours of the night. Sleep is too difficult. He can't relax enough—can't go back to the room he shared with him. Instead, he falls across a couch or molds himself into an armchair long enough for his muscles to rest.
There's a great storm battering against the windows of the house. Remus hurries to close the window he's left open. It feels too tight, too warm. When his fingers reach for the latch, he sees something move in the garden.
Wand out, he moves through the door quietly and finds himself face to face with a shaggy black dog. It sits on its haunches and stares at him. Remus can't talk, can't call the name he knows belongs to this creature. He swallows the lump in his throat, kneels, and drops his wand. The dog comes closer. All he feels is soft breath puffing against his cheek, the cold nose nudge against his chin. Just as his hand lifts to dig into its scruff—it's gone.
Remus drops his hands to the grass, feeling the rain drip down his face as it washes away his tears. He smiles.
Gathering his wand, tucking it into his pocket, Remus walks back inside. He finally feels tired. He climbs the stairs to his room, crawls beneath the covers and buries his nose in a pillow that smells of happier days.
For the first time in a long while, sleep comes when he calls.