Don't own HP. I'm working on another Remus/Sirius fic, so look out for that sometime later this week. Influence comes from two sources: The District Sleeps Alone Tonight (The Postal Service), and We Might As Well Be Strangers (Keane). I don't take credit for owning either song, because I'm a broke high school student who would have much more money and a lot less free time if she was a part of either band. R&R.
.x. We Might As Well Be Strangers .x.
I let out an involuntary shiver as the viciously icy wind brushed past Sirius and me; we were standing in a corner, trying to block the wind. As Sirius' voice droned on, essentially repeating himself as he stumbled over his hapless words, I let my mind wander to sound of everyone's laughter as James made a fool of himself yet again in front of Lily. My watered down eyes found solace in the cold brick street beneath my feet, and it was here I focused my attention. Moments passed as I quaked under my cloak; I was so distracted that I did not notice when Sirius' speech halted.
"Moony, would you pay attention!" he snapped, his voice taking on the same edge that came into being when his family was brought up and after encounters with his younger brother, Regalus.
The problem was, I paid more attention than he would ever realize. I could tell his mood by the way his flipped his dark hair out of his eyes and what kind of chaos he was plotting by the way his gray eyes twinkled and gleamed. Most importantly, however, I could tell from the tone of his voice that Sirius' empathy was a charade. He was nowhere near as upset as he pretended.
"I always pay attention," I said quietly, bringing my eyes up to Sirius' own. Their shades of gray were so similar that they were almost perfect mirrors, apart from the subtlest details. Upon close inspection, the whites of Sirius' eyes had been oh so slightly tinted pink from the lack of sleep he got (he was sure that Sirius himself had not noticed this, and that only with my careful observation had it ever been brought to anyone's attention), and it was no secret that my eyes were surrounded by bags, dark circles, and premature crow's feet.
"Listen, Remus, we just…can't. I mean, you get that, right?" That very comment was Sirius' great personality flaw. While he was brave, honorable, and loyal friend, when it came to his romantic conquests, he became a bit shortsighted. It was easy for him to lose track of how the other person felt, especially when it came to The Breakup. After all, when he had had his fun, he had had his fun. I don't think he really believed in letting someone else dictate his decisions—too much commitment there, too much pressure to change or behave a certain way. And while I had always known that I would be sent up to the chopping block like every other lover Sirius had encountered, I had to express a bit of surprise at being shooed off so soon.
It was common knowledge that Sirius Black never stayed with one person long—it simply wasn't the way he operated. He liked extravagant public displays of affection (that usually resulted in more than one person calling "get a room"), and to take that opportunity away from him…I could never have expected to last more than a week. And I didn't…well, I mostly didn't. I have to admit that I had harbored some hope, small though it might have been, that maybe the fact that we were Mauraders, best friends, might have changed old rituals. But, as they say, you can't teach an old dog new tricks, nor can you break a young, red-blooded Animagus of hard habits. In simple terms, even though I knew it was inescapable…it still hurt like hell, and I could feel my gray eyes sting.
"Moony," he said impatiently, as though he was chastising a small child, though I was sure he thought his voice sounded soothing. Had I been in a better state, I would have laughed at the indignity of it all. I mean, every human being on the planet is allowed to mourn the loss of things dear to them, but I suppose I see it from Sirius' point of view. After all, this meant nothing to him. It was just another meaningless night, another meaningless shag. I silently cursed myself for being such an idiot. I knew this would happen…I hated when I made myself vulnerable like this, when I opened myself up to be hurt in ways that surpassed the physical scars that existed from nights spent in the Shrieking Shack. It was a pain that was on par with…well, nothing else on Earth, I guess. It's the most painful experience in the world. And I endured it without a word.
"Sorry…got something in my eye," I explained, blinking my eyes quickly to make the excuse plausible. Smart as Sirius was, he believed me. Sometimes I wonder about the idiocy of men. I mean, are we really all like that?
"Still friends?" he asked, with an air of confidence that suggested he thought things were much better than they were.
"Of course, we're the Mauraders," I said without faltering. He flashed me a large grin, resembling a canine more than ever somehow (I don't even know how he always managed that, to look like a dog).
"Good, well, I've got to go. Suzie's meeting me at the Three Broomsticks in ten. Don't want to be late." He pointed to his watch (more like the bare spot on his wrist where his watch would have been had he owned one—instead, he preferred to bum the time off of James and I…well, mostly me, though I had reason to believe that would change after that day) and dashed off. I didn't blame him—the toasty dryness of the pub would have been a welcome convenience if Sirius weren't headed there on a date at the moment. As he walked away, I saw him as if I was looking through a different pair of eyes.
And suddenly, Sirius was a stranger to me. I realized then that the differences that consumed us…were too large to even describe. It was as though there were oceans, even worlds, between us. I couldn't fathom the way that Sirius functioned, the way he lived his life. We might as well have been living in different worlds. There he was, a person I had spent more than a third of my life with…and I barely knew him. I hardly knew a thing about him. And that hurt, more than anything else. We might as well have been strangers, and, after nearly seven years…we were.