Sirius stood in his animagus form in the fenced in back yard of the unkempt home. This home never belonged to him, but he knew it well. He looked around. He remembered, before Lily and James went into hiding, how Lily use to tend to the flowers. She made the garden beautiful, something that the Marauders never attempted. They never saw the need for flowers to be in the back yard of Remus's home. But now that Sirius looked around, and saw the way the place looked without her magical touch, he realised how much life the colourful garden had brought to the tired building.
He looked away from the weeds and the lifeless grass, now yellow and brown, and turned his attention to other areas of the yard. Old rusted beer cans lay carelessly around the yard, along with cigarette buds; colours completely washed away, and the buds pressed into the ground, from the feet that once walked on them. He always thought it was humorous that he was the only Marauder to smoked. He remembered one of his greatest memories.
It was a Saturday, and the sun was shining brightly. Remus sat on top of the single wooden table, which sat randomly in the middle of the yard. Sirius sat on the ground, leaning against one of the benches, smoking the first fag from the new box of menthols. He closed his eyes as he took a long drag of the cigarette. He looked behind him, to where Remus sat, watching him, an amused smile plastered on his face.
"What's so funny?" Sirius asked, letting out a curious laugh.
Remus shook his head and answered, "You. Why can't you make faces like that during sex? I almost think you love your fags more than you love me." Sirius gave him a dramatically hurt look, his empty hand over his heart, clutching his shirt as if in pain.
"Why, oh why, dear Moony, would you ever think something like that? You know I love you. But, have you ever smoked? No, I don't think so. Here take a drag, it's great." Sirius flicked the ashes from the fag and held it up to Remus.
"I don't think so. My senses are a lot more . . . enhanced then yours . . . Just the smell burns my nose. Imagine what it would do if I actually inhaled that thing into my lungs on purpose," Remus laughed, and pushed Sirius's hand away, but Sirius was persistent.
"Oh, come one, Remus. Just one drag. It can't possibly be bad, even for you."
Remus was silent for a few seconds. Sirius pulled the hand away and flicked more ashes to the pile beside his leg, took a hit, then held it back up. He smiled at Remus, who stared at the cigarette. Finally, he reached out and took it between his fingers. He closed his watering eyes, to shield them against the smoke. He put it to his mouth, and inhaled. A split second later, he began coughing, holding his chest, eyes still watering. Despite his coughing, he managed to let out a laugh. Sirius joined in the laughing and took his cigarette back. He took one last drag before throwing it to the ground near his foot and stepping on it.
"Damnit, Sirius, I told you that would happen."
Sirius shook his head against the memory, feeling the urge to laugh, despite his melancholy mood. He continued to look around. He stared at the house, studying its appearance. The white paint had begun pealing some thirteen years ago, but now, the colour was nearly gone. A few shingles from the back rooftop had fallen the ground. The place looked as if nobody had lived in it for several years, though Sirius knew that to be untrue. He knew who sat inside, possibly reading a book, maybe the Prophet. He allowed himself to transform in his human body.
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He knew he had no reason to be afraid. After all he was once a Gryffindor, and still is. It wasn't him how betrayed James, Lily, and Harry. But then again, Remus didn't know that.
How could he possibly explain everything? Would Remus give him time to explain? And most importantly, would he believe him?
He opened his eyes and looked at the door. His legs shook beneath him, barely holding him up. In fact, he was shaking all over. He wasn't cold, actually, he was quite hot in the thick cloak he 'barrowed' from a random wizard on the street. He was scared . . . no, nervous.
He reached up and tried desperately to run his fingers through the mass of long black hair, but failed miserably. His hands were covered in dirt, grime, and cuts – some fresh. Clenching his fists, he took once step forward, very aware of the tremble in his step, then another, until he stood on the first step to the back door.
He raised his hand to knock, wondering if that was a good idea. Maybe he should just enter, that away Remus couldn't simply pushed him away. But then again, if he just walked in, Remus might hex him on the spot. He could think that Sirius Black, supposed mass murder, has come back to finish off the job of killing off his friends. But Sirius would never hurt Remus. He should know that, shouldn't he? No, how could he? Like the rest of the magical world he must think that Sirius is responsible for the deaths of three of their closest friends, and Sirius's godson, so why should be believe him? Nope, he couldn't do it.
It would be safer to go to Harry, to watch over him, and try to win his trust. With some hope, Harry might not know about him. Although somebody would have told him everything. Surely. Why wouldn't somebody tell Harry about how his father's best friend led Voldemort to his home, to end his life, his family's life?
Sirius took a step back, onto the ground, and began backing away from the door, when he saw something shine from inside a crack in the concrete of the small doorstep. At once, he looked into the opening. Shock hit him like a lightning bolt. His breath hitched, and he was unable to gain control of his breathing. It seemed like several minutes of looking at the object, when his ability to breathe finally returned to him. Shaking, he reached into the hole, and grasped the object with his sweaty hand. He pulled it out and looked at it closely, afraid that he had in fact gone insane in Azkaban prison.
The watch shined, even though the silver metal was tarnished, and scratched, and the face was cracked. The white hands now stopped at 1:34. He held the watch so close to his face that his breath fogged up the glass. Something wet hit the watch, and Sirius realized that tears were leaking from his eyes. He closed them tightly, gripped the watch securely, and wiped the tears from his away with his free hand.
Remus didn't hate him? How could he know he would come here? Was there hope yet? Did Remus somehow know the truth? Or could he just not bring himself to hate the man he once loved so much?
Sirius undid the clasped and slipped the watch onto his wrist. He realized that he could have easily fit the watch over his skeleton-like hand, due to the weight he lost. However, the realization was nothing compared to the gift Remus left him.
Curious, he looked back down, and reached his hand into the hole again. His fingers brushed against something smooth, and rectangle. He used his index finger and thumb to grab onto the small box and pull it out. He looked at the box. During the time spent looking at the watch, the moon had managed to replace the sun, and stars filled the sky, making it difficult to make out what the carton said, but he instantly knew what it was. He opened it, and looked inside.
Ten fags sat against the front, being pushed back by a folded up piece of paper. Knowing he wouldn't be able to read the letter in the dark, or light a fag without a match he looked around for something that might be of some use to him. Absentmindedly he looked to the sky, as if the answer was held in the stars. For the first time he noticed, how the moon was full. And then he knew, that Remus wasn't home. He was somewhere safe, away from people. He knew, that Remus expected him to come on a night such as this. He knew, what to do.
He walked up to the door, and grabbed the doorknob, his hand no longer trembling. He turned the knob and pushed the unlocked door open. With a sharp intake of breath, he took in the obvious differences from the outside.
Unlike the yard, Remus's kitchen and small living was very clean, and tidy. Everything in its place, and organized, just like Sirius remembered it. The white cabinets, stood out against the dark wall paneling, and the chrome white sink didn't match the silver appliances. Despite this, everything was perfect. From the books aligned in the bookshelf across the room, to the tile floor and tan carpet.
Sirius walked over the couch beside the only lit lamp, and sat down. He looked at the table and smiled when he saw the small box of matches. He picked up the box and withdrew a match. Taking a fag from the other carton, he set it in his mouth, ready to light it. But first, he allowed himself to close his eyes, and take in the smell of the fabric, he sat on. It smelled just has Sirius remembered. It smelled of Remus. He etched the sent into his memory, afraid he would not have many more chances to experience the feeling of this warmth in his nose. Finally, he brushed the match against the side of its box and a small flame lit the end.
He inhaled and blew out the match out. Once the smoke filled his lungs, he began to cough. Twelve years without a fag, certainty had its disadvantages. He spent the next few minutes inhaling and exhaling, before he remembered the letter. He pulled the letter from box. The parchment was yellow from age, and smelled slightly of something unclean. He opened it and a small white folded paper fell from the older parchment's folds. Ignoring the fallen note, he opened the one in his hand.
His eyes skimmed over the words, and a memory he had forgotten unlocked itself from the back of his mind. The letter told of the switch of secret keepers for James, Lily, and Harry's home. The letter explained every detail of the plan. It was within this moment, that Sirius remembered writing this letter to Remus. He had known that nothing would go wrong, when the came up with the idea. He had decided to write every detail of the plan, anyway. He remembered the day he handed it to Remus, a week before Peter told Voldemort the very thing he had sworn not to tell. He remembered telling Remus not to read it unless something terrible happened. Sirius's eyes stopped on the last couple of paragraphs.
Whatever you do, Moony, no matter what happens, nobody else can know about the switch. I don't care if I die, or whatever else happens, nobody can know. I know that Peter would never hurt them, would never give them away, but I do worry slightly about his slip of the tongue when he's drank a little too much. Ha. You remember that one time, right? Yeah. That was great. Lily's face was so red and Prongs looked like he could have died.
If I happened to have made the wrong choice, I don't want people to know. It would be worse for me to put so much faith into somebody else, and then have then betrayed, than for me to betray them myself. Don't you agree?
I love you,
-Padfoot . . . will lick your face.
The handwriting towards the end was much messier than his normally neat cursive, due to the slight anxiousness he had been experiencing at the time, despite the slight humor at the end. He knew, toward the end, that he had made a bad decision. But by the time he realized it, there was nothing he could do. He gripped the paper in his hands, crushing it in his grip. He crumbled it up and threw it against the wall, angered by the memory. Angered by himself, for being such an idiot, for not seeing through Peter's façade.
He unfolded the much smaller paper. Only a few words were written on it, in Remus's small, but neat print.
I believe in you, Sirius.
I love you too, and I miss you greatly.
I hope I see you soon. You know where to find me.
Be safe.
-Moony . . . will be in the shack.
-August 12th.
A smile appeared on his face when he read Remus's words, written the day before. But in the shack? Why in the shack? He hadn't used that ending since they were at Hogwarts. Maybe . . .
As much as his heart ached to hold his lover from so many years ago in his arms, he knew his first priority, had to be finding Harry. Leaving the fags and the matches on the small table, he slipped Remus's note into the cloak pocket, and left the house.
~*~
It was morning and Remus had just apparated into his backyard, when he smelt something . . . no, someone . . . familiar. The smell was faint, but strong enough to hold his attention. His heart began pounding with hope, as he gathered all the strength he could muster, and limped to his door. He looked down, and saw his present and the box of fags he had left for Sirius, missing. He pushed his door open roughly.
Inside the room, Sirius's smell was stronger. The smell wasn't clean, but it was still Sirius. Remus had spent many years with the smell of Sirius surrounding him. Sweaty Sirius, clean Sirius, dirty Sirius, Sirius. He walked tiredly to the couch, and saw the dirt that stained the tan cushion. He saw the menthol fags and the matches sitting on the table.
Quickly he looked around, his breathing speeding up by the second, his heart pounding. He wanted, so much, to see another sign of Sirius, but there was nothing else except for the crumbled up yellow parchment on the floor across the room. He already knew it was Sirius's letter, so he didn't bother picking it up. Instead he plopped down onto his couch in the same spot Sirius had sat in what must have been mere hours ago.
Leaning his head against the back of the couch, he looked up to the off-white ceiling tiles. The patterns of dents could not properly hold his attention, because all he could see in the shapes was Sirius's face, how it looked the last night the spent together, only a week before that terrible day.
He closed his eyes and continued to inhale the smell of Sirius, cigarettes, and the ashes that sat on the arm of the couch. The aroma was better than he remembered. Something as simple as Sirius' smell could get him high. He wanted, at this moment, to hold him more than he had in the last few years.
Soon. All he had to do is wait for a little longer, and he would get his wish. He knew it.