Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling isn't God, but she sure is close. These
magnificent, multi-layered characters belong to her, because she molded,
crafted, and made them what they are today.
Here, in his bed, Remus was surrounded by the scent, the musk - the essence - of Sirius Black that made his stomach churn and his heart pump heated, liquid-fire through his veins. Remus had promised himself not to go into the bedroom. Molly didn't want him to - she closed it off, out of respect she said, but Remus knew the truth. Molly wasn't a mother of seven children for nothing. Bill, the oldest, was only a few years younger than Remus - Molly had spent nearly the span of his lifetime perfecting the art of being a mother.
Sitting up, Remus caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror over Sirius's dusty dresser. He was thin, pale, with thick brown hair that was slowly being consumed by the gray that had started at his temples. His reflection multiplied in the shards that remained of the mirror. Pairs of amber eyes, ringed with lack of sleep, stared hard and cold back at him. Remus was by no means one of the red-haired Weasleys he loved so much - he was certain there would be many more to come, and Molly would rejoice at having grandchildren. No, not by any far stretch would Remus ever be a Weasley. He was a Lupin, the last Lupin, and once he expired his line would die just as the Black's had. Just as Sirius had. Sirius.
Remus recalled one of the last times they argued, and it felt as though someone had plunged the shards deep into his gut, stirring the pain and regret, and most of all, the guilt that he harbored. Remus even caught himself making a childish gurgling noise in the back of his throat, and was startled to find that his eyes were wet - that the gurgling was his choking, that he was crying now, silently, helplessly, powerless to resist. Even in death, Sirius had that affect on him.
The scene began to roll through his mind like a miniature muggle movie. Only, Remus didn't smell the aroma of stale, buttered popcorn, or feel the sticky floor tugging at his loafers while he treaded down the aisle. The memory was so stark that Remus could almost touch Sirius, taste Sirius - nearly submerge into the sweet, euphoric womb of his existence.
"Remus, you don't understand! I need to get OUT of here." Sirius had been pleading, and even in human form he had those big puppy dog eyes would rip out Remus's heart, again and again.
Remus had tried to remain reasonable; his exterior calm apparently unshaken. Oh, but he understood. He understood longing, wanting to do the things other people did - the longing for normalcy - and worst of all, having it all denied. Sirius only wanted to be helpful. He simply couldn't understand that being helpful was doing what he was told. "Sirius, it's too risky. The Order will never agree to it."
"TO HELL WITH THE ORDER!" Sirius snarled, lost halfway between being a dog and a man. Weeks in the house hadn't been good for him. Undoubtedly, being exposed to the Black heritage was bringing out the madness that ran rampant through his family. Sirius was a Black just as Remus was a Werewolf. Remus had embraced his truth long ago, before the two men even met, and felt something akin to pity as Sirius finally faced his. Sirius saw the look in Remus's amber eyes and span around, feeling ashamed.
"Sirius," Remus said gently, but before he could reach out to touch Sirius's shoulder, something queer happened. Sirius caught Remus's gaze in the mirror. His face contorted, and for a moment it became obvious where he had gotten his features; he favored his mother quite a bit when he was acting insane. In one quick open-handed thrust, Sirius had shattered the mirror, and it was perfectly clear to Remus the intent. Had it not been his reflection, it would have been him. Sirius pivoted and hissed. "To hell with you, Lupin."
Perhaps it was the impersonal use of his last name, or the way Sirius made it sound like a derogatory term, but Sirius might as well have hit him. It would have been less painful. Of course, Remus knew that Sirius didn't mean it, he was on edge, being fool-hearted and being fueled by frustration, but that didn't take away the hurt. If anything, it re-broke Remus's spirit seeing Sirius that way. He knew only too well how it was to live day by day, minute by minute, second by second, dealing. He knew how breathing was painful.
Remus had worked quickly to amend the damage between the two, though he did this is stealth, like most everything else. That night, by the light of the only candle he could find that Molly wouldn't miss, Remus composed a letter to Albus Dumbledore, asking permission on Sirius's part to accompany the rest of the order with Harry to Platform 9 and ¾. Of course, Albus replied asking if Remus was drunk - which he probably was, now that he thought about it - and said that no, he would absolutely not give his consent for such carrying on. Albus did, however, end his reply with a postscript noting his concern for the well fare of both men, and his regret concerning their situation. Like all things Albus, the note was short and to the point, though brimming with the good-humored, fatherly aspect of the man that was becoming a rarity these days.
And so, for the second time in his life, Remus deceived Albus for the sake of Sirius. He showed the letter to the rest of the Order, but beforehand, left it out on Sirius's bed for him to see. Remus knew full well that the idea of accompanying the rest of the guard hadn't even occurred to him, and once the idea implanted itself, Sirius would get his way.
Remus had taken care not to appear to anxious for the departure from Number 12 Grimmauld place, but as the time neared, a few uncharacteristic butterflies began fluttering in his stomach. Of course, no one would have guessed by his ever-calm, stoic composure, but Remus was nearly as giddy as Sirius when Molly - who was preoccupied with getting the children to the train on time - gave up, and grudgingly gave Sirius permission to accompany the party. Remus, tall and forlorn, scrutinized Sirius from afar. His black coat was gleaming, and Remus was happy to admit that for the first time in what seemed years, Sirius looked thoroughly healthy. His body was sleek and black and perfectly sculpted - the finest specimen of an eternally youthful canine. Remus even let his carefully crafted cover slip back a bit and smiled warily at Molly when Sirius took to chasing his own tail and snapping at pigeons. Her lips were pressed tight together, but under all the worry, Remus could see that Molly was glad for Sirius.
The sunlight was waning into long, red rays now. Remus found himself startled at the amount of time that must have passed, for the tears had dried on his cheeks leaving them wet and sticky. Remus, despite himself, lay back onto Sirius's tangled sheets. Sirius's scent was fading. Here, where Sirius had spent so many of his last precious days, the scent was fading. Soon, Remus realized, the man in him might not be able to recall the smell. Might not be able to recall the laugh, or that playful bark - the feel of the playful nips on his knees, the fantastic feel of Sirius's hair - his coat - his entirety. The details were already slipping from Remus, though he wanted desperately to keep them, to treasure them for the years to come.
Sirius was free now. Free as he had been when he was out with Harry, nipping at pigeons and being the big, lovable goof he had been when he was in school. Oh, the ministry thought they had captured him when they locked him away in Azakaban, but Sirius had evaded them. Sirius, oh that glorious, magnificent man, had evaded them, and now he was evading Remus too. Bellatrix hadn't captured him either. The death, for Sirius, was a release that had been put off far too long. The house, the bed, it all smelled like Sirius, encompassed Sirius's presence, but it wasn't Sirius. It wouldn't bring Sirius back. The house, all of it; it was everything Sirius hadn't been able to stand in life - prejudices, the silliness of wealth and money and power. No, Sirius wasn't in the house. Remus, with a faint smile, realized the silliness of all his attempted to re-capture the most magnificent and noble Padfoot. Sirius - Padfoot - would never, in life or death, be contained.
Author's Note: Well, I hope that went over well. At any rate, I'm hoping it's done no one I know shame - in particular, the person's whose Remus I've rather borrowed and manipulated. At any rate, do feel free to review. ;D
Here, in his bed, Remus was surrounded by the scent, the musk - the essence - of Sirius Black that made his stomach churn and his heart pump heated, liquid-fire through his veins. Remus had promised himself not to go into the bedroom. Molly didn't want him to - she closed it off, out of respect she said, but Remus knew the truth. Molly wasn't a mother of seven children for nothing. Bill, the oldest, was only a few years younger than Remus - Molly had spent nearly the span of his lifetime perfecting the art of being a mother.
Sitting up, Remus caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror over Sirius's dusty dresser. He was thin, pale, with thick brown hair that was slowly being consumed by the gray that had started at his temples. His reflection multiplied in the shards that remained of the mirror. Pairs of amber eyes, ringed with lack of sleep, stared hard and cold back at him. Remus was by no means one of the red-haired Weasleys he loved so much - he was certain there would be many more to come, and Molly would rejoice at having grandchildren. No, not by any far stretch would Remus ever be a Weasley. He was a Lupin, the last Lupin, and once he expired his line would die just as the Black's had. Just as Sirius had. Sirius.
Remus recalled one of the last times they argued, and it felt as though someone had plunged the shards deep into his gut, stirring the pain and regret, and most of all, the guilt that he harbored. Remus even caught himself making a childish gurgling noise in the back of his throat, and was startled to find that his eyes were wet - that the gurgling was his choking, that he was crying now, silently, helplessly, powerless to resist. Even in death, Sirius had that affect on him.
The scene began to roll through his mind like a miniature muggle movie. Only, Remus didn't smell the aroma of stale, buttered popcorn, or feel the sticky floor tugging at his loafers while he treaded down the aisle. The memory was so stark that Remus could almost touch Sirius, taste Sirius - nearly submerge into the sweet, euphoric womb of his existence.
"Remus, you don't understand! I need to get OUT of here." Sirius had been pleading, and even in human form he had those big puppy dog eyes would rip out Remus's heart, again and again.
Remus had tried to remain reasonable; his exterior calm apparently unshaken. Oh, but he understood. He understood longing, wanting to do the things other people did - the longing for normalcy - and worst of all, having it all denied. Sirius only wanted to be helpful. He simply couldn't understand that being helpful was doing what he was told. "Sirius, it's too risky. The Order will never agree to it."
"TO HELL WITH THE ORDER!" Sirius snarled, lost halfway between being a dog and a man. Weeks in the house hadn't been good for him. Undoubtedly, being exposed to the Black heritage was bringing out the madness that ran rampant through his family. Sirius was a Black just as Remus was a Werewolf. Remus had embraced his truth long ago, before the two men even met, and felt something akin to pity as Sirius finally faced his. Sirius saw the look in Remus's amber eyes and span around, feeling ashamed.
"Sirius," Remus said gently, but before he could reach out to touch Sirius's shoulder, something queer happened. Sirius caught Remus's gaze in the mirror. His face contorted, and for a moment it became obvious where he had gotten his features; he favored his mother quite a bit when he was acting insane. In one quick open-handed thrust, Sirius had shattered the mirror, and it was perfectly clear to Remus the intent. Had it not been his reflection, it would have been him. Sirius pivoted and hissed. "To hell with you, Lupin."
Perhaps it was the impersonal use of his last name, or the way Sirius made it sound like a derogatory term, but Sirius might as well have hit him. It would have been less painful. Of course, Remus knew that Sirius didn't mean it, he was on edge, being fool-hearted and being fueled by frustration, but that didn't take away the hurt. If anything, it re-broke Remus's spirit seeing Sirius that way. He knew only too well how it was to live day by day, minute by minute, second by second, dealing. He knew how breathing was painful.
Remus had worked quickly to amend the damage between the two, though he did this is stealth, like most everything else. That night, by the light of the only candle he could find that Molly wouldn't miss, Remus composed a letter to Albus Dumbledore, asking permission on Sirius's part to accompany the rest of the order with Harry to Platform 9 and ¾. Of course, Albus replied asking if Remus was drunk - which he probably was, now that he thought about it - and said that no, he would absolutely not give his consent for such carrying on. Albus did, however, end his reply with a postscript noting his concern for the well fare of both men, and his regret concerning their situation. Like all things Albus, the note was short and to the point, though brimming with the good-humored, fatherly aspect of the man that was becoming a rarity these days.
And so, for the second time in his life, Remus deceived Albus for the sake of Sirius. He showed the letter to the rest of the Order, but beforehand, left it out on Sirius's bed for him to see. Remus knew full well that the idea of accompanying the rest of the guard hadn't even occurred to him, and once the idea implanted itself, Sirius would get his way.
Remus had taken care not to appear to anxious for the departure from Number 12 Grimmauld place, but as the time neared, a few uncharacteristic butterflies began fluttering in his stomach. Of course, no one would have guessed by his ever-calm, stoic composure, but Remus was nearly as giddy as Sirius when Molly - who was preoccupied with getting the children to the train on time - gave up, and grudgingly gave Sirius permission to accompany the party. Remus, tall and forlorn, scrutinized Sirius from afar. His black coat was gleaming, and Remus was happy to admit that for the first time in what seemed years, Sirius looked thoroughly healthy. His body was sleek and black and perfectly sculpted - the finest specimen of an eternally youthful canine. Remus even let his carefully crafted cover slip back a bit and smiled warily at Molly when Sirius took to chasing his own tail and snapping at pigeons. Her lips were pressed tight together, but under all the worry, Remus could see that Molly was glad for Sirius.
The sunlight was waning into long, red rays now. Remus found himself startled at the amount of time that must have passed, for the tears had dried on his cheeks leaving them wet and sticky. Remus, despite himself, lay back onto Sirius's tangled sheets. Sirius's scent was fading. Here, where Sirius had spent so many of his last precious days, the scent was fading. Soon, Remus realized, the man in him might not be able to recall the smell. Might not be able to recall the laugh, or that playful bark - the feel of the playful nips on his knees, the fantastic feel of Sirius's hair - his coat - his entirety. The details were already slipping from Remus, though he wanted desperately to keep them, to treasure them for the years to come.
Sirius was free now. Free as he had been when he was out with Harry, nipping at pigeons and being the big, lovable goof he had been when he was in school. Oh, the ministry thought they had captured him when they locked him away in Azakaban, but Sirius had evaded them. Sirius, oh that glorious, magnificent man, had evaded them, and now he was evading Remus too. Bellatrix hadn't captured him either. The death, for Sirius, was a release that had been put off far too long. The house, the bed, it all smelled like Sirius, encompassed Sirius's presence, but it wasn't Sirius. It wouldn't bring Sirius back. The house, all of it; it was everything Sirius hadn't been able to stand in life - prejudices, the silliness of wealth and money and power. No, Sirius wasn't in the house. Remus, with a faint smile, realized the silliness of all his attempted to re-capture the most magnificent and noble Padfoot. Sirius - Padfoot - would never, in life or death, be contained.
Author's Note: Well, I hope that went over well. At any rate, I'm hoping it's done no one I know shame - in particular, the person's whose Remus I've rather borrowed and manipulated. At any rate, do feel free to review. ;D