A/N: Written by Chaser 1 for Pride of Portree for QLFC Round 7

Pairing: Harry/Remus

Prompts: (word) addicted, (word) scarf, (poem) Ship by Carol Ann Duffy

Word count: 1346

This is a slight AU, diverging from canon during the holidays before Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts.

Thank you to my teammates for being amazing betas.

Remus strode along the laneway until it opened up into a meadow that stretched out across the horizon, interrupted only by the occasional tree or mound of dirt. Aside from the occasional chirp of a passing bird, it was silent and still, a precious rarity in a place as boisterous as the Burrow.

Raising his hand to block out the sun's harsh glare, he scanned the open space for a familiar mop of black hair. He had Apparated over as soon as he received word that Dumbledore had dropped Harry off for the remainder of the summer, but the boy had proven himself to be elusive as ever. After spending the best part of the morning searching for the grieving teenager, he was starting to grow frazzled.

Finally catching sight of Harry sitting by a tree in the distance, Remus sighed in relief and hurried over towards him. James would have been proud — of Harry, at least.

The knowledge that he had let James and Lily down by failing to be there for their son — and Sirius, too, first by not believing in him, and then by failing to keep him safe — haunted him like a banshee, howling his worst nightmares at him whenever he was most vulnerable. It was as if, no matter how hard he tried, he could never quite chase its voice from his mind.

Shaking his head, he forced his mind back to the present. He would be no good to Harry while distracted, and he was determined that he would never again fail somebody he cared about.

As Remus approached the tree, leaves crunching under the weight of his feet, Harry flinched and jerked around to face him. "Oh. Hello, Remus. I didn't hear you coming."

"You did seem a little preoccupied," Remus commented, gesturing at the silver scarf that the boy was twisting about between his hands. "What did that scarf ever do to you?"

"It was Sirius'. Mrs Weasley found it in his things and thought..."

"That you should have it?" Remus supplied. Now that Harry had pointed it out, the scarf did look an awful lot like the one that Sirius used to wear around all the time when they were kids. Given to him by his cousin Andromeda for his thirteenth birthday, it was one of the few gifts Sirius had kept after fleeing the Black home. He hadn't worn it much as an adult — Remus suspected that the man hadn't wanted Grimmauld Place to taint it — but he had pulled it out every now and again when he was feeling particularly sentimental. "His cousin bought it for him for his thirteenth birthday," he explained. "She was one of the few people in his family he actually liked."

Harry's only response was a sharp nod as he continued to weave it through his fingers.

"How have you been holding up?" Remus asked, crouching down on the ground beside the young Gryffindor. His voice sounded strained to his hypersensitive ears; he could only hope that Harry didn't notice.

"Fine. How did you know where I would be?"

Remus paused. He didn't want to tell Harry the truth, but he knew he deserved to hear it. "After Greyback first bit me, while I was still getting used to what… what I was, I spent a few months trying to be as alone as I could. I became rather adept at identifying the last place anyone would think to look for me. It took me a while to work out what that place would be for you, but —"

"But you found me."

"Yes." Remus stared out over the open meadow, wanting to give Harry as much space as possible before continuing the conversation. "Harry, why were you hiding?" he asked after a few minutes.

Harry hesitated for so long that Remus started to think he was going to ignore the question entirely. When he did reply, his voice was strained. "I'm sick of being around people. When they ask me how I'm coping with Sirius'... you know… it bothers me because I know that they won't ever understand. But when they don't ask, it makes it even worse."

Remus nodded. "I understand."

"No, you don't."

"I have been — was — best friends with Sirius for most of my life. Trust me, I understand what it's like to have conflicting emotions about something."

Shock filled Harry's vivid green eyes as they darted up to stare at him. Sounding almost bashful, he said, "I'm sorry. I —"

Remus shook his head. "It's alright, Harry. Grief makes people do abnormal things. If the worst you do is snap at me once or twice, you're still far ahead of most."

"Like Sirius, you mean. Like how he…" His face contorted with guilt as his hands started to fiddle with the scarf again. "Like how he drank. And how he sometimes called me James."

"Yes," Remus replied, not knowing how much to tell him.

Harry swallowed hard. "Was he addicted to it — the alcohol?"

"He — What you need to understand is that Sirius never moved on from your parents' deaths. When Sirius escaped Azkaban, he was, for the first time, faced with the prospect of living without them — and it terrified him. The alcohol helped him deal with the pain, but it also changed him."

"Life at Grimmauld Place wasn't exactly living," Harry muttered, his voice full of bitterness. "Not for him, anyway."

"No, I don't suppose it was; but it could have been. Children aren't the only ones who get scared, Harry. The difference is that they fear the dark, while adults dread the light — and, more specifically, what it can reveal about their sins. Sirius grew up in the darkness; as loyal and brave as he was, that was where he felt the most comfortable. He would have fared better had he not been confined to that place, but he still wouldn't have been free."

"Why are you telling me this? I didn't think you'd want to talk about... Sirius."

"I don't," Remus admitted, "but I think you have to. You've faced death so many times already, Harry, but have you ever talked to someone about what you've seen?"

Harry shook his head, confusion etched upon his face as if he wasn't used to being listened to. And, Remus supposed, he wouldn't have been. The Order treated Harry like a child who should be protected but never consulted — and even Sirius, who had advocated for his involvement, had found it difficult to separate Harry from his father.

Remus felt shame stab his chest as he realised that he hadn't given Harry the support he needed either. But he knew that, for his friends and for Harry himself, he had to. "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you over the years. After the night your parents died,things were… They were tough, and I was re-evaluating everything. The only people who had ever accepted me were all gone, in one way or another, in the blink of an eye.

"It was all I could do to survive; I was in no place to take care of a baby, and I knew the Headmaster had organised somewhere for you to stay. I didn't think you'd appreciate the company of a depressed, half-starved werewolf." His gaze darkened. "By the time I realised how badly your aunt and uncle were treating you, you had Sirius, so I didn't think you needed me. But I promise you, Harry, that I will always be here for you from now on. You can trust me. You can talk to me."

Harry scrutinised him for a long few moments before giving a sharp nod that seemed to speak a thousand words.

Remus' heart was still heavy with the memory of Sirius' death, and the future of the wizarding world was as dire as it had ever been. But that single nod was like a toy boat sailing across a small pond, bringing with it joy and hope and, possibly, the chance to redeem himself from the mistakes of his past.