Bathed in Moonlight
It was twelve years. Twelve years of what ifs, and should haves, and maybes. Twelve years of sleepless nights, and empty days, and screaming fits, and crying until there was nothing left to cry. It was twelve years since the last time Remus had wrapped his arms around Sirius Black.
Sirius was skin and bones. Remus could feel every rib as he hugged him hard. Sirius's long hair was slick with grease and grime, and he smelled like something you would scrape off the bottom of your shoe. But his breath, ragged, blew against Remus's ear the same way it always did when they hugged, their heights matched as perfectly as ever, as Sirius slid his arms around Remus and held fast.
Remus could remember their last hug as clearly as though it was yesterday. Standing in the doorway to their flat, the mid-October air brisk, threatening a cold winter. Their lopsided Jack-O-Lantern sat on the stoop, grinning into the early morning light as they said goodbye for what neither of them realized would be the last time. Remus, with his traveling cloak and knapsack. Sirius, young and fit, still smelling of toothpaste and shampoo, his hair damp. The hug then, twelve years earlier, had been full of the words unspoken between then, the distrust and betrayal, but the longing and wanting too. Remus had brushed a kiss against Sirius's lips quickly, but had lingered in the hug, breathing in that Sirius smell deeply, before stepping out, turning on the spot, and disappearing from sight.
He felt Sirius's hands now, on his back. Felt the other man sag into him, weak with grief and relief, and twelve bloody years. The last hug and this one seemed to twist together in Remus's mind, so that he couldn't remember if he was saying goodbye or hello. Should he be kissing Sirius or cursing him or…All he knew was that he had his hands on Sirius again, finally, after a lifetime apart, and he was never letting him go.
It was hard to speak clearly, to think clearly, to tell the story. He had spent twelve years with this secret in him, the only living free person who knew about James and Peter and Sirius, and their transformations. He had spent a lifetime trying to forget how much he had loved them all, because it hurt to be alone, but it hurt more to remember that he hadn't always been. He answered Hermione's questions, and Harry's, and focused on the boy, on his messy hair, James's hair, and Lily's eyes, glowing fiercely behind glasses that mirrored James's exactly. Remus felt the old nicknames on his lips, clumsy in their disuse. Padfoot. Prongs. How many years, how many lifetimes, had passed since he had last said those out loud?
"Snape?" Sirius had asked, tearing his eyes away from Peter to look over at Remus. Remus had locked eyes with Sirius, staring into those sunken orbs, eyes that had once danced, and glittered, and burned. They were dark and hollow now. But at the name of his old schoolyard enemy, Sirius still tensed.
"He's here, Sirius," Remus explained. Somehow, of course, Snape was still tied up in this, in everything, making everything that much harder and worse than it needed to be. "He's teaching here as well."
Remus started to explain the Prank, the one with the capital P, the one that had changed everything for the Marauders, the one that had nearly derailed everything. Sirius interrupted, scoffing. "It served him right. Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to…hoping he could get us expelled…"
Remus had caught Sirius's eye again. It was an instant. A brief pause before Remus turned back to the children, to explain what had happened, to try to convince them, to make the understand. In that instant, though, Remus was not a teacher, not an adult, not anything more than a scared, angry, betrayed sixteen-year-old boy with a broken heart. He remembered which bed he had been lying in, in the hospital wing, when Peter had come in, white faced and trembling, the bearer of bad news. Remus was sure he had killed someone or turned someone. Sure that something had gone wrong. No, Peter had explained. No one died. No one got hurt. But…
It was weeks before Remus could speak to Sirius again. Weeks before he could even look him in the eye. Weeks of James and Peter making forced conversation and pretending everything was okay. Weeks of Sirius staring at Remus with those grey eyes, silent but unwavering, as Remus looked down, looked away, look anywhere else. Weeks of James going between the two of them, begging them to please, please just talk to each other, and yes, Remus, he messed up, but just listen to him, just let him explain, he's tearing himself up, Moony, you know he is.
They were studying for O.W.L.s before Remus caved. James and Peter had gone off in search of a late-night snack, tucked under the cloak together, leaving Sirius and Remus alone in their tense, terrible silence. Remus had tried, he had tried his hardest, to stay focused on his book, and his Arithmancy notes, but finally he had broken, and glanced up, just for a second. Even now, all these years later, he didn't know what it was about the look in Sirius's eyes, but something inside him snapped that night, like a dam bursting open. He had pulled Sirius out the window and onto the rooftop, and they'd had it out, with Remus yelling, and Sirius explaining, and ranting, and railing against Snape, and Remus fighting tears as Sirius justified and justified and justified, giving reason after reason, he's a snake, he's trying to get you expelled, or locked up, he's a bigot, a homophobic Death Eater wannabe who deserves to suffer, he's…and on and on, until finally they were both quiet and still, their rage burned out, sitting on the roof, staring out at the stars, passing a cigarette between them.
"He deserved it," Sirius said, blowing out smoke.
"I didn't," Remus retorted, holding out his hand for the cigarette.
"I know," Sirius said, passing it to him. Remus didn't know which of them had leaned in first, but he knew their first kiss had been filled with regret and smoke. It wasn't the last of its kind.
It was just a breath. All the memories of the Prank, of the fighting, of the kissing, and everything that followed and followed and followed. It was an instant. Sirius spoke, and Remus looked at him, and in that breath, Remus knew that Sirius was remembering too.
It was like being in a time warp when Severus pulled off the cloak. Remus nearly expected to have James at his shoulder, Peter a half step behind. He could practically see Lily out of the corner of his eye, coming to tell them all off, Mary and Alice flanking her, the three of them already more sure of right and wrong than the boys would ever be. Remus couldn't believe he was here, once again, at Hogwarts, being bullied by Snape with Sirius at his side. How many years had it been? Shouldn't things have changed?
But nothing had. It played out the way it had a million times. Useless reasoning from Remus. Merciless hatred from Severus, pushing, pushing, pushing, until Sirius snapped. The roles were the same. But there was no James to back Padfoot up, no Wormtail to help Remus to his feet. They were off balance, out of sync, without their counterparts.
But of course, there was a Potter in the room. Remus watched from the floor as Snape hit the wall. He felt relief pour through him. Thank Merlin for impulsive teenage Potters. Thank everything. Sirius untied him, but Remus was staring at Harry, who stood looking so much like James that Remus nearly misspoke as he thanked him, had to catch himself at the last moment to make sure he said Harry, and not James.
Then there was Peter, squirming and wriggling, terrified and sickening. Remus had missed him. Had mourned him. Had cried as many tears over the death of Peter as that of Lily and James. He had had his doubts about Sirius, of course. Could it really be true? How could he have loved someone and been so wrong about them? But never had he suspected Peter. Not for a second. Not Peter, who loved to draw, and would spend whole afternoons sketching his friends. Peter, who would sneak off the kitchens the nights before full moons and bring Remus back mugs of steaming hot chocolate. Peter, who was timid and scared, but could always be counted on to have his friends back in a fight. Peter, who laughed like the world was all glitter and sunshine, even when his mum got laid off, and even when he struggled with his N.E.W.T.s, and even when he couldn't find a decent job after Hogwarts. Peter, who listened to The Beatles and David Bowie, and would sing the harmonies with Sirius, and play air guitar with James, and lay on Remus's bed with him for hours as they listened to Bob Dylan and thought deep thoughts. Remus had cried over Peter and never for a second suspected he had been anything less than loyal to the end.
Peter cried, and argued, and pled, and Remus swallowed hard, forcing down the bile, forcing down the images of Peter on a broomstick for the first time, Sirius riding beside him, both laughing; Peter playing gobstones on the common room floor, eyes sparkling in the firelight; Peter unwrapping his Christmas gifts and crying out in delight at the new set of pencils from Remus, before tackling the older boy in a hug; Peter, playing with Harry, sending puffs of colorful smoke into the air, making Harry giggle.
"You don't believe this," Peter was saying. "Wouldn't Sirius have told you they'd changed the plan."
Remus looked over Peter's head to Sirius, his heart pounding as the images changed, to Sirius asleep, or pretending to be, when Remus crawled in late at night, smelling of werewolves and secrets; Sirius, slipping out the door without saying goodbye, without a word; Sirius, crying in the shower, when he thought Remus couldn't hear him, as Remus leaned against the door and wished he could just go in and make everything okay; Sirius, kissing him, touching him, but not looking at him; Sirius, shouting about dinner, and dirty clothes, and finishing the fire whiskey, but never about the lying, and the secrets, and the reality they were living in; Sirius, and all the things neither of them had said to each other.
"Not if he thought I was the spy, Peter. I assume that's why you didn't tell me, Sirius?"
There was life in him yet, Remus thought. A flicker of it. A second of pain. Of shared regret and memories. It flitted across Sirius's eyes as he spoked. "Forgive me, Remus."
How many times he had heard those words. "Forgive me, Remus," after spilling pumpkin juice on Remus's nearly completed Charms essay. 'Forgive me, Remus," after eating the last of Remus's chocolate frogs. "Forgive me, Remus," after the kissing that had followed the Prank. "Forgive me, Remus," whispered one night in bed, when he thought Remus was asleep, whispered into the darkness, never to be addressed by the light of day.
Remus had never forgiven easily. He held onto his grudges. He nursed them. He took care of them as tenderly as his herbs and his books and his sweaters. He cared for them lovingly. It took weeks, months, sometimes years to wheedle him down, to finally get Remus to concede, to give in. Even then, he forgave, but he never forgot, the transgression always tucked away, ready to be pulled out and brandished at a moment's notice. Yet the forgiveness, this time, came quickly, easily. Twelve years. All Remus could feel was relief. He could not muster anger or resentment or even guilt. It wasn't Sirius. Sirius was innocent, and good, and the man Remus had always loved. So it was easy, then, to nearly smile, and say, "Not at all, Padfoot, old friend. And will you, in turn, forgive me for believing you were the spy?"
There it was again. That flicker. Joy, this time, almost. A bit of something that wasn't just hatred and depression. Something in Sirius's eyes that made them look almost grey again, instead of slate black. Sirius's sleeves were rolled up to match Remus's, and their eyes were locked as they agreed on what they had to do. Shoulder to shoulder once more, in the face of Peter's tears, Ron's disgust, Hermione's horror. Shoulder to shoulder, like they always should have been.
"Good-bye, Peter," Remus heard himself say, shocked to hear how calm and cool he sounded in the face of what was certainly the hardest decision he had ever had to make. But before they could finish what Sirius had started, of course, there was that impulsive teenage Potter. Pulling Snape back from the edge, pushing them to become animagi, proposing to Lily at just eighteen. Harry had gotten all of his father's brashness, it seemed.
"I'm doing it because I don't reckon my dad would've wanted them to become killers just for you."
Sirius looked at Remus, eyebrows raised. Remus looked back at him steadily. Become? The faces of Death Eaters passed in front of Remus's eyes. How many had there been? More than five? More than ten? Remus never thought he would lose count of the number of people he had killed, but war does funny things to a person. Become killers? As though James himself had never put another man down. As if Lily hadn't killed, in the kill or be killed world they had come of age in. Sirius opened his mouth, to set Harry right, Remus knew, but Remus shook his head, just barely. Harry didn't need to know. He was young, younger than Remus could ever remember being. He was good, and innocent. He would find out, Remus was sure, that the good guys sometimes killed the bad guys. But he didn't need to find out tonight. Remus lowered his wand and Sirius followed suit instantly.
It was simple, after that. Bind Peter. Splint Ron's leg. Drag Peter up to the castle. Remus listened to Sirius and Harry's conversation as they made their way out of the shack. Felt himself smile in what felt like the first time in a century when Harry agreed to live with Sirius. Felt, rather than simply heard, the grin in Sirius's voice as he replied. A home. Sirius was offering Harry a home. Remus allowed himself ten seconds of picturing a home, not just for Harry and Sirius, but for all of them. Harry, back with the Marauders, as he should be. Sirius and Remus, together at last, finally, with nothing to tear them apart this time. They stepped out onto the dark grounds, and Remus felt something close to happiness, even as he threatened Peter, his wand leveled. A home. For Harry. For Sirius. For him. Remus breathed deeply, breathing in the scent of the grounds: the trees in the forest, the plants in the greenhouses. That smell that just made Hogwarts Hogwarts. The smell that his friends had always professed not to be able to smell, that he himself could only seem to conjure up when the full moon was…
Remus looked up at the sky, at the bit of silver peeking out from behind a cloud. He started to turn. He started to shout. He started to tell them all to run, to take Peter and go, to get the children away. He started to look for Sirius, for the comfort he always found in those eyes. He started. Then the cloud shifted, and he was bathed in moonlight.