Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The Harry Potter universe was created by JK Rowling and consequently belongs to her and her various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.


Anything Else Would Be Too Bitter

He feels like suffocating. The air around him is filled with memories and dust that has been covering ancient heirlooms for years. It is the house. He hates the house. The familiar smell of a youth long gone hidden behind spider webs and heaps of dust and dirt. He coughs, angry and defiant. He fled this tomb once before and he will escape again. One day his name will be cleared and then he can leave and walk the street as a free man.

"Sirius, could you help me with the cabinet?" Molly Weasley's voice seems to be muffled by the thick, hostile air around them and the pale light that fights its way through the heavy curtains swallows her figure rather than illuminate her.

Sirius shakes his head to get rid of his gloomy thoughts. "Sure," he says and goes over to her. The cabinet is locked and only Merlin knows what's in there. Nothing friendly, he is sure about that. Everything in this damn house seems to bite, sting or curse.

"I tried Alohomora and several other spells but it won't open," complains Molly. She looks exhausted and a little smudge adorns her round cheek just beneath her eye. Sirius doesn't like that she questions his authority as a godfather but he admires her persistence. Several rooms are inhabitable thanks to her driving them all on.

"Let me have a look." Sirius kneels before the cabinet. The wood is almost black from age and the family crest of the House of Black in skilfully carved into the surface. A favourite piece of furniture of his grandmother's, if memory serves him right. His fingers glide over the wood reluctantly, feeling for the secret mechanism he suspects to be there, somewhere. It is behind the front leg on the left side that he finds it, hearing a soft clicking sound when his fingers brush it. He draws back instantly. The dark doors of the cabinet open without a sound. Molly kneels beside him, wand at the ready.

There are hundreds of little glass bottles and phials, all of them filled with different fluids though it is hard to tell with what. They are as dusty as everything else in the house and the glass is milky from age.

"Oh my, what are they for?" asks Molly.

"No idea. They belonged to Grandmother Irma, so it can't be good. I suppose they're poisonous potions of all sorts." Sirius eyes them grimly. Even if he spends another decade cleaning out the house there will still be traces of the Dark Arts his family were so fond of. Were. He is the last Black and Merlin knows whether he will survive the upcoming war.

A warm hand on his shoulder. "Let's get some tea before we start on them," says Molly with fake cheerfulness. She knows he is brooding and, although he appreciates the gesture, he suspects that she will tell Arthur and Remus about it. Yes, Sirius Black is going crazy if he isn't already, right? He presses his lips together and tries to swallow his anger.

It isn't easy. Most of the time he feels empty and it's a painful emptiness, greedy like a black hole. One day, he is afraid, all of him will be sucked in and there will be nothing left of him. A lot of everyday actions are everything but easy for him now. Smiling hurts. Small talk seems meaningless and as hollow as his insides. It's only in Buckbeak's company that he is at ease because he doesn't have to pretend in front of the hippogriff. Prisoners, both of them, exiled into a house that devours every single happy thought.

In the kitchen, Molly sets a cup of tea in front of him and says, "Remus will be back tonight."

The magical words. He is supposed to be happy and relaxed around Remus, though this, too, becomes increasingly difficult. Remus has his own problems, carries his own burden and he was never one for talking straight from the heart. If there is one person more tight-lipped than Sirius is at the moment, it's definitely Remus Lupin. The tea is too sweet but he doesn't want to displease Molly, so he doesn't pull a face. No, Sirius sips his overly sweet tea and thinks of all the times he complained to Remus about Lily making the tea not strong enough, a running gag because it had always been strong enough to serve as foundation.

Lily. James. He still sees their faces when he closes his eyes at night. Smiling faces, hopeful and young, so young. He hardly recognises himself in the mirror these days and he can't remember what it felt like to look into it and not be appalled. A corpse, that's what he is, a walking, breathing corpse.

"Sirius, when did you say Kingsley and Tonks would come in?" Another brave attempt at having a conversation, he must give her that.

"I didn't say. Maybe tomorrow or the day after. They weren't precise. And, well, neither the house nor I will run away, will we?" he smirks bitterly.

"I'll make sure to bring over enough food," Molly says, impatience carrying in her voice. Before the day ends he will get another lecture about how he shouldn't spend all his time in the master bedroom with Buckbeak and that he should be grateful that he isn't back in Azkaban. He shrugs. Whatever.

And truly, he gets the talk while they are cleaning out the cabinet. The bottles refuse to be vanished, so that they have to store them in an old crate. All the while, Molly rattles on, a meaningless lecture on how he got a second chance and how he needs to see the good in the current situation. Sirius only stares at the crate, another thing he cannot take care of. He won't be able to get rid of it, they'll have to wait for Remus or someone else. Anyone who is allowed to leave the house. And then the room seems to shrink and the fear is eating him greedily, rapidly, the fear of getting swallowed by the looming walls, the rotting house. He doesn't hear Molly any more, only a rushing sound – the blood thumping in his ears – and he can't breathe, can't --

"Excuse me," he whispers hoarsely and flees the room. It is only in the bathroom that he finds rest, only icy-cold water can make it stop. Slowly but steadily, water drips from Sirius' stubbly chin as he faces himself in the mirror. His intestines still tingle from the abating panic attack. Powerless, he feels utterly powerless and weak. His knees tremble as he finds the way to his bedroom. Rest; yes he needs rest. He isn't ready to face Molly just yet.


It's the hour between day and night when he wakes. Sirius is surprised that he feels better. The fear is only a shameful memory in the safety of his room. He lies there, still, for another half an hour until he hears footsteps in the hall. Remus. Hurriedly, he gets up and throws on a new robe. No need for Remus to see how pathetic he has been. The Black pride is intact, even if nothing else is.

Sirius reaches the bottom of the staircase just as Molly shuffles Remus into the kitchen. From the short glimpse Sirius catches, he looks weary and cold. Well, it is going to be Christmas soon and they are going to spend it alone. The Weasleys and Harry will stay at the Burrow, no doubt. He won't ask Harry to come to Grimmauld Place, of course he won't. When he was Harry's age he spent all holidays at James' or at Hogwarts, anywhere but home. Sirius takes a deep breath and follows the other two into the kitchen.

"I left you stew and bread for three days and – oh, Sirius. Remus just arrived." Molly looks a little disgruntled. She has probably not yet forgiven him his abrupt exit.

Remus turns his head and smiles. Warmth spreads in Sirius' chest because he can't not react to this smile. It changes his friend, transfigures him into a younger and much happier version.

"As I said, you'll be fine for three days. Let me know through Tonks or Kingsley if you run out of supplies."

"Thanks, Molly." Remus leans back in his chair and lets out a sigh of exhaustion. Sirius slips into the chair on Remus' left and asks as casually as possible, "So you're staying for a few days?"

"Yes."

"For how long?" Sirius cannot completely hide the eagerness in his voice but before Remus can answer Molly announces her departure.

"The Burrow is in a right state. Gnomes infesting the garden again and the laundry has to be done…"

"That's alright, Molly. Say hello to Arthur," says Remus. She smiles absent-mindedly, already at home with her thoughts, and bustles out of the kitchen. Silence reigns for a few uncomfortable seconds. Remus looks too tired to carry a conversation and Sirius is still embarrassed about losing it earlier. He wonders whether Molly said anything.

"Would you get us some stew? Molly said that it's --"

"I know where it is," snaps Sirius and his chair nearly falls over, he stands so quickly. With a flick of his wand he heats the ancient brass pot. Even though it's darkened by age, he can make out the Black family crest. It's as if the Blacks had to remind themselves of their superiority on every occasion. Not that his mother or grandmother had ever laid hands on kitchen tools. He feels Remus' gaze in the back of his neck but says nothing. Everything used to be easier when they were young, even conversations.

Before long, their dinner is ready and he sits down beside Remus again. They eat in silence and Sirius pokes around in his stew. Carrots. Why does there always have to be carrots?

"It's good," murmurs Remus and Sirius doesn't know whether he means Molly's stew or something else, something that has to do with them. Probably the former. It's the only time one of them breaks the silence. Sirius can't talk because he sees that Remus is worn out and nearly asleep and everything he could say now would be insignificant babble and there has to be some meaning in his life, their lives, hasn't it? He is suddenly appalled by himself and his inaptitude to talk about more than cleaning the house or Order work in front of his best friend.

When they are finished, he collects their dishes and while he pretends to be busy at the sink he hears the door closing behind Remus. Relieved and frustrated at the same time, Sirius closes his eyes and lets out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.


The following day begins with a heavy blizzard. Sirius blinks into the blinding whiteness outside his bedroom window and he feels a powerful longing to be out there and run through the wuthering icy-cold wind and wildly swirling flakes. The thought is more and more alluring every second and it takes all his willpower to turn around and leave the snow for another day of cleaning. Carelessly, his eyes ramble over the remaining paintings on the walls, so much darker and bleaker than the snowstorm outside. The truth cuts deeply; he owns his own prison.

"Morning." Remus sits in the kitchen, already dressed and shaven. He reads the Daily Prophet, a cup of cold tea in front of him, forgotten. A few months ago Sirius would have smiled at the familiar habit but now it only means routine. There is nothing but routine and organised boredom.

"Morning," Sirius mumbles back. The soft rustling of the page being turned is his answer. Remus was never the chatty type in the morning but back then, when life was still something he embraced, it didn't matter. There used to be endless mornings spent in bed, kissing and fucking, golden and fuzzy as the memories Sirius cherishes but doesn't dare to visit too often. It's complicated now. Neither of them has mentioned that they used to be more than friends before everything went to hell.

"Molly and I were cleaning yesterday," says Sirius curtly, while getting himself a cup of tea, "and there is a crate that needs to be done away with. Lots of bottles." He sips the steaming tea, thereby searing the roof of his mouth. "Probably poisonous."

"Of course," is Remus' reply, a hint of cynicism hidden in the timbre of his voice.

"How was your mission?" asks Sirius, leaning against the sink.

"Spiffing. I found the werewolf Dumbledore wanted me to see near Cardiff and we had a little chat. He broke my nose in a rather unexpected fist fight and I took that as a no."

"I'm sorry."

"Aren't we all?" Remus looks angry and Sirius realises that this has nothing to do with him at all. He feels a surge of shame for wallowing in self-pity once more without even noticing.

"No, I'm sorry you have to do this. You shouldn't," Sirius says, softer.

"And you shouldn't be locked up here. The world isn't a Chocolate Cauldron song." Remus folds the newspaper briskly and gets up. The chair scratches over the ancient marble floor. "I'll get rid of the crate."

Remus is almost at the door when Sirius calls, "Moony!" He sees his friend's shoulder slumping, the old nickname still full of magic and able to draw the tension out of Remus. When he turns his head, only slightly, and looks at him, Sirius can't find the words he longs to say, has been eager to say since he embraced Remus in the Shack. His helplessness softens the cynical expression of the brown eyes that are looking at him.

"Yeah, I'll be careful." A promise that lingers in the room long after the door falls shut behind Remus, easily made and comforting nonetheless. Sirius smiles despite himself.


"Mistress has never trusted the master, oh no, she hasn't. An ungrateful prat the master was, upsetting Kreacher's mistress with the pictures in his bedroom and sneaking out with that Potter boy. Blood-traitor his friend was, oh yes. Married a filthy Mud--"

"STOP IT RIGHT NOW!" roared Sirius. His fingers tighten around his wand. It would be too easy to hex Kreacher or order him to punish himself – that sneaky lackey of his dragondung-smoking parents – but no, he needs to calm down and remember that Kreacher only parrots the venom his mother spread all her life.

"Master can force Kreacher to keep quiet but he cannot --"

"I TOLD YOU TO HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" Sirius shouts at the top of his lungs. Words are all he has now, empty words, since Kreacher doesn't care for his opinion any more than he cares for his.

Hurried steps on the stairs and then the door bursts open, revealing Remus. He looks worried without the usual exasperation Sirius is wont to see in Molly.

"Is there a problem?" he asks calmly and steps inside.

"The Half-breed is even worse than Master's old blood-traitor friend. How dare he live in this house? Kreacher's Mistress would never have allowed --"

"One more time, Kreacher, shut the hell up and leave this room! At once and without father's watch!" Sirius is breathing heavily and all he wants to do is smack the old house-elf and cut out his acid tongue. He watches Kreacher's stubborn retreat impatiently.

"Was this really necessary?" asks Remus as soon as Kreacher is out of the room. His father's study. Oh, how he hated being sent into this very room when he was a boy! His father would always sit behind the massive, ebon desk and look at him with a mixture of disappointment and anger. Being the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black wasn't a piece of cake. Sirius' eyes are on the desk when he sneers, "Of course not but we all know that I'm not right in the head. Sirius is unbalanced. Don't think I haven't heard Molly saying it. I might be crazy but I'm not deaf."

"Sirius, we're worried about you, I don't deny that. But that's it. We worry. You spend too much time alone and --"

"And whose fault is that?" Sirius spins around and glares at Remus. Remus, who has always been patient and indolent to a point that riles Sirius immensely.

"Certainly not mine, so stop biting my head off." Remus looks tired. Of him? He doesn't want to know. Their friendship is different now. Reliving the past, that's what they do. Sirius can't blame Remus. He knows that he's forgiven and he himself doesn't bear a grudge either but he hasn't been part of Remus' life for over a decade. How could he expect to be confided in, to be considered a close friend? Does he know Remus as he is now? All the lines in his friend's face, the grey hair, the wary eyes, even around him; Remus is still Remus but he is also a stranger, polite but distant. His voice startles Sirius out of his reverie. "What was this about?"

"My father's watch. Or rather one of them. He had a collection."

"So let him have it, Sirius."

"No," Sirius says forcefully. "I'll throw it all out! There won't be any more precious heirlooms and memories of my parents and grandparents. The Blacks are gone and I won't allow Kreacher to keep them alive by having a shrine in his cupboard. You know what they were like!"

Remus sighs. "Yes, I know. But Kreacher, well, he is old and a little touched in the head. Let him have the watch if it makes him happy."

"Old and a little touched in the head," Sirius chuckles bitterly. "Like me, eh?"

Remus only gives him a hard look, turns around and leaves. Sirius bites his lip. Being left behind becomes a habit. To distract himself he steps up to the window. It has stopped snowing and there is a thin, quickly yellowing film on the cars and pavement. He remembers playing in the street, making snowballs fly by magic when nobody was looking.


Sirius is fighting a biting cloak that used to be one of his Uncle Cygnus' when the doorbell rings. The cloak snaps at him once more before Sirius immobilises it distractedly. Nobody is foolish enough to ring the bell, nobody but –

"Tonks!" calls Remus and he hears hurried footsteps before his mother starts screeching and yelling.

"BLOODTRAITORS! FILTHY HALF-BREEDS! SCUM OF THE WORLD! HOW DARE YOU SET FOOT INTO THIS HOUSE?"

Sirius takes two steps at a time and with an angry flicker of his wand, he closes the curtains in front of his mother's portrait. "Shut up, you old cow. It's my house now," he bellows.

"I'm so sorry," Tonks mumbles contritely.

"Yeah," Sirius says dismissively and adds silently that she always is.

"Now, how about a nice cup of tea? Come into the kitchen. You must be frozen." Remus leads the way, making an inviting gesture with his arm. Sirius doesn't like the look Tonks gives his friend, he doesn't like it at all. It confuses him since he always took her for one of them. When he follows them, his hands are clenched into fists.

"Where's Kingsley?" asks Remus as they enter the kitchen.

"Oh, he had to get back to the Muggle Minister because we're suspecting an attack on his wife. Sad, really. She doesn't know anything about us after all."

"Lucky her," remarks Sirius. He leans against the now closed door and looks at his favourite cousin's daughter. She is a pretty girl, there is no denying that. Her hair is purple and spiky and gleams with thawing snowflakes. Her face glows in the soft light of the candles, which are reflected in her eyes. He could understand if Remus fell in love with her. Understanding, however, doesn't equal approval. When he reaches out for the doorknob his palm displays small half-moon-shaped wounds.

"Sirius, don't stand there like a ghost! I'll have to take over from Arthur in one hour, so let's talk a bit and be merry," Tonks smiles at him, though Sirius is convinced that she would rather be alone with Remus.

"Your tea." Remus puts the steaming cup in front of her and she gives him a much warmer, wider smile.

"Ta," she breathes and reaches for the cup before Remus pulls away. Their hands touch for a split second and Sirius' stomach drops into nothingness. He wants to leave and he wants to shout and pull Remus away at the same time and this ferocious reaction surprises him most of all. How can it be that he feels all these things all of a sudden when he felt nothing for so long? It leaves him dizzy and he misses that Remus pulls his hand away, quickly, as if burnt.

"I'm sorry, Nymphadora, but you need to content yourself with tea and a warm fire. We two old men are not exactly a fountain of mirth," Remus apologises.

"I'm not old," protests Sirius hotly. "Speak for yourself, Lupin." This earns him a genuine grin.

"My mother says the same whenever dad talks about aching joints," Tonks says cheerfully. Sirius feels a slight pang at the thought of Tonks' mother. They used to be close but the war and then Azkaban turned them into strangers.

"How is she?" he asks nonetheless.

"Mum? Oh, she's fine. Worried about me being an Auror as usual but nothing out of the ordinary. She always nags about it but I know she is proud of me anyway."

"You mustn't blame her." Remus frowns at her. "You've chosen a dangerous life and she lost most of her family. There are only Bella and Narcissa --"

"Don't mention Bellatrix!" Tonks interjects. "She is the only person mum never talks about and the one time she mentioned her…well, let's say I didn't expect her to know all the words she used."

Sirius chuckles. "Oh, Andy was very eloquent when she still lived at home. She taught me a lot." A memory resurfaces, a golden day in autumn, shortly before Andromeda's last year at Hogwarts began. She had called off her older sister for sending hexes at the Muggle neighbour children and when Bellatrix had smiled maliciously and called for Uncle Cygnus, their father, Andromeda had pointed her wand at Bellatrix's fiancé and threatened her sister to hex his balls off right then and there if she didn't shut her dirty mouth. Sirius and Regulus had been there for a visit and Sirius hadn't stopped laughing until Walburga arrived and dragged him into the fireplace to Floo home. The look on Rodolphos' face had been priceless.

"Those were the days, huh?" teases Tonks.

"Yes, back then we used to live in caves and play with sticks and stones," retorts Remus.

"You're not old," she protests.

"I'm as old as Sirius. You can't have it both ways, you know."

Immediately, Sirius feels left out of their banter. He forgot to be uncomfortable for a minute but now it returns tenfold. Why does she have to remind him of what they used to have and didn't value then, in their thoughtless youth, when touching, kissing and teasing were still normal?

"Anyway," Tonks says, "Arthur let me know that I'm to inform Molly at once if you two run out of supplies."

"We're fine," chuckles Remus. "Fine, really. She left us enough food for a week and this was the day before yesterday. She worries too much."

"Good old Molly," grins Tonks.

"When are you supposed to be on duty?" asks Sirius, a little too harsh even to his own ears. Tonks looks guilty and gets up immediately. Her cup is only half-empty. It shouldn't feel so good to see her leaving so soon. He usually likes her cheerfulness and he knows that Remus does. Yes, he certainly does. Sirius' jaw is working furiously as he accompanies his cousin to the door.

"What was that all about?" asks Remus sharply, as soon as the door closed behind her. He is a much better actor than Sirius, always has been, and he must have been annoyed with Sirius for quite a while.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sirius doesn't dare look at him, afraid to give away more than Remus probably suspects already.

"Merlin, Sirius, get a grip!" Remus bursts out. Sirius staggers, taken aback by the abruptness of his outburst. "You're not the only one who is miserable right now. Tonks has a hard time at home because Andromeda disapproves a lot more than Dora lets on. The Weasleys are worried about their children and Harry because that Umbridge woman is vicious and sadistic and Dumbledore...you know what the Ministry is planning for him. So could you please try to put things into perspective?" Remus gives him a stern look, more determined and serious than the younger Remus has ever been.

Sirius wants to reply that the Weasleys are not the only ones who are worried about Harry and what's going on at Hogwarts and that they are at least able to do something. But why bother? The emptiness threatens to swallow him again; the emptiness that is so much part of him he hardly notices its presence anymore; the same emptiness that now seems to emanate from Remus' narrowed eyes.

"Thank you. Twelve years in Azkaban really make one lose one's perspective. What would I know about being isolated and miserable?" asks Sirius tersely. He turns to the staircase, fed-up with Remus and everyone else telling him to move on. Move where? He is stuck in this house, trapped in a re-run of his memories, and nobody gives him anything to do. Do they hope he'll get better by cleaning out musty closets and listening to Kreacher praising the good old days?

"Sirius." Remus' voice is slightly softer but it is too late now and he needs to leave, needs to bring a door between him and the man he now calls his only friend.

"Yeah, I need to..." Sirius chokes out and takes two steps at a time. He imagines the look on Remus' face, the slight frown on his forehead while he is watching Sirius retreat. He hopes that he is sorry to see him leave, shakes off all thoughts of Remus being relieved to spend the evening alone with a cup of tea and a good book. What choice does he have?

Anything else would be too bitter.

...to be continued


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