Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter…well, then I'd be pretty damn happy. But I don't, so there you have it.
My favorite part of the entire HP series is the end of the fifth book—the department of mysteries is just so well done and such a brilliant scene, even though my favorite character dies in it. What has always ticked me off, though, is the lack of reaction Lupin has to Sirius' death. They were best mates, weren't they? In my opinion, they were a little bit more.
This is the aftermath of the death of Padfoot from Lupin's point of view, most likely taking place after the fight at the ministry.
The candles have burned down to stumps, drowning themselves in their own little pools of wax. He blows out their last stuttering gasps, replacing them with fresh ones from the cabinet beside the bed. They are muggle candles—they burn out in a few hours. He can't remember where they came from, or how they'd come to be in a house like this, things of non-magical origin have been treated with violent scorn for decades upon decades.
His hands shake as he pulls his wand from inside his coat pocket. Incendio, he thinks, and taps the candle's thick white wick. Nothing happens. Once again, he allows the word to float across his brain, casting out all other thoughts but the sudden, spontaneous burst of flame he requires of the magic. Nothing.
He frowns. Coughing softly to rid himself of the lump in his throat, he says loudly and clearly, "Incendio."
Still nothing, not the tiniest wisp of smoke nor the merest trace of ashes a fire spell leaves in it's wake.
He leaves the candles, turning his wand to the stack of books on the table. "Wingardium leviosa," The books remain on the table, motionless. Without breaking stride, he raises the slender rod into the air and shouts, "Lumos!"
His wand tip remains unlit, and the room stays dark.
He makes a disgusted sound in his throat, tossing his wand onto the bedspread. He moves to follow it, but he never makes it, because his legs give out inches from his destination. Something inside him snaps. He's suddenly on his knees, pounding his fists against the rough wooden floor, muffling his scream of frustration against the side of the mattress.
In the back of his mind, he knows what's going on. Magical ability can be affected by a severe shock, a trauma of monumental proportions. Deep down, be knows this, but it still feels like the magic has betrayed him, betrayed all of them. Betrayed Sirius.
Sirius.
The name echoes across his thoughts like a curse, like a memory of fear and darkness. Just hours ago it stood for home and safety, for something he can turn to when the world becomes too much of a burden to bear alone.
Alone. All alone now…
The bubble of misery in his throat bursts free before he can censor it, escaping him in an inhuman howl of rage.
"God damn you!" he snarls, and he doesn't know who he's cursing. Fingers claw at the sheets on the bed. And suddenly his hands aren't hands anymore. They are like razors, tearing the linen to shreds and gouging deep ruts in the wood underneath him. "How dare you!" he shrieks, his voice echoing impossibly loud even to his own ears. Anger is swelling inside him like a physical thing, tainting his blood and racing through his veins. There is too much, too much to hold inside. He feels the wolf straining against his skin, fighting the moon's restraint's.
How dare Sirius leave him like this?
The sound of feet pounding along the corridor outside do nothing to diminish the rage, and it's not until the door crashes open and a familiar voice bellows, "Remus!" that he even remembers he's inside a house, that he's in the process of destroying Sirius' bedroom. Slowly, he raises his head. It feels heavier than usual.
Tonks and Snape stand in the open doorway, wearing identical looks of dismay and confusion. Nymphadora's hair is brown and lank, she looks exhausted. Snape looks like he could use a few hours sleep.
"Remus?" Tonks tries again, taking hesitant steps forward until she's only a few feet away.
"I'm sorry," Lupin answers her quietly, though it comes out guttural, like a growl.
Tonks shakes her head quickly. "No, that's not what I…" She trails off. "Remus…" She waves a hand in front of her face.
"What?" he grunts.
Snape strides forward, drawing his wand. Lupin tenses but he just draws a oval in the air. "Look at yourself, Remus," he demands sharply.
The oval solidifies into a mirror, hanging in the air in front of him. He peers inside, registering the yellow eyes, pointed canines, and shaggy hair with nothing more than numb acceptance.
"I'm changing," he mutters.
"Bloody hell, is it the full moon tonight?" Tonks asks.
"No, it is not," Snape tells her, narrowing his eyes. "Remus, control yourself. These are the ravings of a lunatic."
"Lunatic, eh?" Lupin says, laughter gurgling up from his throat. It sounds nothing like him, high, thin, and insane. "What if I am a lunatic, Severus, what then?"
"Then we will find someone to put you out of your misery," Snape answers, voice perfectly level, eyes hard and cold. "Or I will do it myself. Your coarse, insufferable maggot of a boyfriend is dead. Accept it."
Lupin growls deep in his throat, one harsh, warning sound, before he launches himself at Snape, claws flying for his throat.
The Potions Master's expression doesn't change as he raises his wand and says, "Impedimenta." Lupin is blasted backward and into the air, sliding down the wall to rest on the bed, the wind knocked out of him.
"If you're going to be a git then get out, Severus," Tonks is saying. "Get out or he really will kill you. And maybe I'll help."
Snape's eyes are haughty and satisfied as he looks from one to the other, but he takes Tonks' advice and quits the room, black robes billowing in the draft as he shuts the door.
Lupin is breathing heavily, curling up into a ball on the bedspread and wrapping his arms around his knees, as if trying to keep his insides from spilling out. He is suddenly cold and he knows the wolf has been beaten back down inside. He doesn't want that, he wants it back. Wants the hard, brutal clarity of the animal, no desires outside the need to hunt and feed. The werewolf knows nothing of hopelessness and love and loss, all these stark, pointless emotions.
Because it feels pointless now. Everything. Lupin doesn't even know why he is still drawing breath, can't comprehend why Tonks is sitting down beside him, slowly smoothing away the hair from his sweaty face.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I always knew the two of you were more than just best mates."
She phrases it in a way that tells him it is a question, at least in part. He raises his head slightly, enough to fix her with one eye. Hers are red, the skin around them blotchy and abused from crying.
"More than best mates," he repeats. It sounds so hollow. "He was everything, Nymphadora, do you understand that? The moment I lost James and Peter…he became everything I had. And when they said…" He has to stop, force the tears back. He knows if he starts crying, he won't stop, not until he's dead. "When they told me it was Sirius who killed Lily and James, I accepted it quietly, I told people I believed it. But I never really did. He wouldn't betray them. He loved James as much as he loved me."
"But not in the same way, right?" Tonks prods.
He can't stop the smile from stretching his lips, though it most likely looks more akin to a leer. "No, Tonks, if you are asking if I buggered both my best friends, the answer is no."
Tonks chuckles uncomfortably, cheeks tinged pink. "That's not what I—."
"I know," Lupin says. "That was uncalled for, I apologize."
"You don't have to apologize for anything, Remus," Tonks assures him. "You and Harry both have the right to act like prats tonight..,"
Lupin stiffens.
Harry…
He had been the one to clutch Harry to him, the one to prevent him from launching himself after his godfather. He'd felt the way the boy had shaken, with rage and grief, when he'd spoken those words in his ear.
It's over, Harry. He's gone.
Lupin didn't know how he'd managed to keep the boy still, not when he'd wanted to follow Padfoot himself.
Now, sitting there on the bed that had once been Sirius', that had belonged to the two of them for the last year, Lupin realizes the weight of Harry in his arms had been the only reason he hadn't thrown himself through the veil to the land of the dead. He's sure Sirius would have welcomed him if it meant they could stay together. But he wouldn't have wanted his godson left alone. To Sirius Harry had never truly been Harry, he'd been always been James. A James Sirius could save. Somehow, by keeping him safe, he his best friend would never truly be dead.
"I think…" He raises his head further. "Could you…Nymphadora, could you leave me alone? I need…"
But Tonks is already sliding off the bed. "Sure, Remus. If you want to chat…"
He smiles softly. "I'll know where to look."
She returns his smile with one much more brilliant than he deserves. As she turns and closes the door behind her, he sighs into the coverlet. He isn't an idiot, he knows what those looks she gives him mean. Maybe, someday, but it's impossible to think about anything else right now, with Sirius' scent pervading his senses. It's all over this room, and his inhuman sense of smell is almost crazy with it. Musk and woodsmoke, with just the slightest trace of warm fur.
The wolf in him wants to rub his back along the blankets, saturate his body with the scent. The human knows that won't make a difference. He's never coming back, and all scents eventually wash away.
But just for a moment, he allows himself to bury his face in the pillows, bury himself in memories of Sirius. Recollections of running his fingers through thick dark hair, of pressing his body against damp skin. A low, sensual voice chuckling in his ear, that impossibly adept tongue running up his spine. The feeling of security and warmth, the sensation of being held by arms strong enough to keep the rest of the world out. Sirius had shown him there were still some things worth living for, even if he was less than human now.
He remembers the thoughts that swirled through his mind that night two years ago when he'd followed three children, a cat, a rat, and a dog inside a haunted house. The moment he'd seen Sirius huddled in the corner, it had been a combination of shock, anxiety, and pounding lust. It was only through sheer willpower and the fact there had been children in the room that had stopped him from pinning the man to the floor, tearing off his filthy clothes, and having him right there.
And now. Now he's alone again. The bed he sleeps in tonight will be cold and empty.
He's shaking, pressing himself against the bedspread, as if he can drown himself in Sirius' scent, fall into a memory and stay there. But a moment later he's on his feet, sprinting from the room and nearly tripping over the long rug in the hall outside.
No one's ever seen him lose control before, no one but Dumbledore, that horrible night fifteen years ago. Yet he charges through the kitchen, not pausing to care that Tonks, Snape, Arthur, Bill, and Kingsley are all there to bear witness.
Because he's remembered something, something Sirius showed him a year ago, something he's kept hidden from all the rest. It's up three flights of stairs and a horde of cobwebs, but he emerges in the tiny room within moments. There's nothing inside but an old locked chest, and he remembers belatedly that he's left his wand back in the bedroom. But the moment he touches the lock it springs open, as if some remnant of Sirius lives in it, sensing his need.
He throws the heavy lid open and pulls out the golden, guilt-framed portrait inside it. Nerves filling him to the throat, he sets it gently on the ground. There, staring up at him with a roughish grin on his face, is Sirius. He's dressed in stiffly formal black dress robes, but he nevertheless manages to look handsomely disheveled. His hair has been pulled back from his face, which is young, barely sixteen. The artist has captured the pronounced cheekbones and the mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Buck up there, Moony, you look as if someone's died," the portrait Sirius says.
Lupin can only smile. This Sirius is not the captured visage of a lover, but of a best mate. The sixteen year-old boy who has not yet admitted his attraction to his best friend.
"Sorry, Padfoot," he murmurs, tracing a finger over the layered paint, as if he can fall inside. "Things have gotten a little hairy out here, just."
The portrait laughs. "Things are always a little hairy with you, Remus. Don't worry, it'll pass."
Lupin sits back against the wall, remembering.
He'd been reserved in his years at Hogwarts, too quiet and too brainy to register on girls' radar, not with Sirius and James always at his elbow. It had begun as simple curiosity—a teenage boy wanting to know what was so brilliant about all this kissing business. Sirius had shown him, on a sunny day under the beech tree beside the lake.
It had only seemed natural that the two of them take a flat together after their time at school. They'd spent a few years this way, before everything had fallen apart.
It always came back to Voldemort, didn't it?
"Don't think too hard, Moony. You'll hurt yourself."
Lupin lets out a braying laugh, looking back to the picture, which is peering up at him with as much affection as paint can render up.
"I know it, Padfoot, I know it."
The tears fall then, and he lets them, turning his face away so the Sirius in the portrait won't see. He knows he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be clinging onto useless memories, wonderful lies.
He draws a sleeve across his eyes, mopping up the wetness. He stands, picking up the portrait and placing it back in the chest.
"Goodbye, Sirius Black," he intones quietly. "I miss you—and I love you."
The chest closes with a solid click.
This has to be one of the most depressing things I've written. Still, I've been in Harry Potter mode lately (the last book comes out in five days. Freak out!) and I am a total SiriusxLupin shipper, and I thought their relationship deserved some examination, no matter how deppresing.
Oh, and I have a smutty fic for these two coming up next.