A/N: A little something from Sirius' perspective now; a departure from what we are used to.
This second part is the first time Remus and Sirius see each other after Sirius has been on the run after POA.
Disclaimer: I don't own them so there is no need to sue.
He hadn't waited long on the doorstep for Remus to answer the door. He was thankful for that at least. He was still nervous that people were watching; waiting to arrest him and take him back to Azkaban. Yet he had escaped and now he no longer had the luxury of hiding, which caused an interesting sensation of fear and relief as he saw his friend's face as he opened the door.
"We can't talk here in the open," Sirius said, barging past Remus who had his body blocking the door. He looked shocked yet Sirius could hardly blame him; for all he knew he should have still been on the run.
The room hadn't changed much since the last time he had been here. It was still sparsely furnished and the table Sirius remembered being cluttered by so many things was now empty asides from a folded paper and a green shaded lamp. Remus had swept back into the room, pulling up one of the dining chairs that stood against the wall for Sirius to sit in, as he took his seat opposite. He folded his arms on the table, waiting for Sirius to speak; and Sirius read in his face a sort of nervous apprehension he had grown so used to of late.
"Got a drink?" Sirius managed gruffly, trying to re-establish some sort of normality to this surreal situation.
"What…oh yes…" Remus rose and turned his back, and as he riffled through his cupboards Sirius couldn't help but notice how patched the robes he was wearing had become. His eyes travelled down to the newspaper Remus had been reading, pulling it towards him to see the job vacancies he had ringed with red ink; Muggle work.
"You can do better than this," Sirius said, allowing the newspaper to fall back to the table as Remus placed two low earthen-wear tumblers between them. A sad smile was a ghost on his mouth and Sirius noticed, for the first time since he had entered, how much his old friend had aged since he had last seen him. His sandy hair was peppered with grey and the lines on his brow and around his mouth seemed more pronounced as he uncorked the bottle he had brought with him.
"I know, but it seems that someone in my…position has little choice in what sort of employment they can get." Sirius pulled the cup Remus had half-filled towards him; his nostrils filling with its highly alcoholic scent. Thank god he had found something stronger than tea.
"Join the club," Sirius said, laughing shortly before downing the burning liquid in one. For a moment his head swam; his vision became blurred then cleared as he shook his head. As his eyes focused he watched Remus take a small sip of his drink before asking, "What's wrong, Sirius?"
"Voldemort's back," was Sirius' curt reply as he pulled the bottle towards him and re-filled his cup. Remus said nothing although he was watching Sirius very closely; he could feel his friend's amber eyes upon him as he continued, "The Triwizard Tournament was the perfect opportunity; the chance he had been waiting for to use Harry to help him reunite whatever's left of his soul to his body…"
"Is Harry alright? Has he been hurt?"
Sirius lifted his eyes, slightly proud at the concern in Remus' voice. He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes, as he stared down into his drink. "No. He escaped, but only just. Another boy died."
Remus' face remained fixed although the frown lines became more pronounced as he didn't allow himself to relax back into his chair. Finally, after silence only punctuated by the low ticking of a clock dragged out between them, Remus' lips barely moved as he said lowly, "It was only a matter of time."
Sirius could say nothing to this so he took another drink.
"What does Dumbledore want us to do?"
"Reassemble the Order. Prepare ourselves to fight in ways we couldn't before," Sirius paused, not fully understanding what he was saying; or perhaps understanding better than he would like to admit. "Harry will need protecting. He can't get to him, Moony, you hear me? I won't let that be Harry's fate!"
"It won't be," said Remus in a voice so infused with determination Sirius found it soothing; so soothing in fact that he withdrew his hand that had been reaching to take another drink.
"Dumbledore thinks it would be a good idea if I lay low here for awhile." Sirius watched Remus' face very carefully as he said this, although he was giving nothing away. He shrugged, perhaps to provoke a reaction, as he mumbled half to himself, "I know you don't have much room. I'll understand if I can't stay."
Remus said nothing, blinking once, as he rose to his feet. Sirius stood too, a little nervy, thinking that this was what he had been waiting for; that Remus would tell him to leave. Yet Remus remained silent as he walked over to the kitchenette, setting a saucepan on the stove that he had magically ignited before saying in a very quiet voice, "If you want a shower…" He paused, turning and pointing to a doorway to the left. "It's through there. There are towels in the bathroom and…" He hesitated and Sirius saw something like mischief in his old friend's face as he said, "I'm guessing you'd appreciate some other clothes to wear?"
Sirius looked down at his clothes; the only clothes he had managed to get hold of whilst on the run. They were tattered and torn; covered in grime and muck and at least two sizes too short.
"I don't know," Sirius said, characteristically rising to the challenge of the tease. "I thought this look rather suited me."
Remus said nothing as he smiled lightly, turning away and placing some bacon in the pan with the words, "Help yourself to whatever of mine you like."
The bathroom was cramped; hardly big enough for the toilet, wash basin and shower it contained. The tiles were yellowing, although Sirius assumed that at some point, in the distant past, they must have originally been white. The pipes groaned as the hot water trickled down in a pathetic attempt of pressure that may have frustrated Sirius before. Yet it felt so good to be out of those clothes; to be washing and making himself clean that he hardly noticed; scrubbing his hair and the stubble of beard that he intended to get rid of when he got out.
He laughed to himself at the way Remus had ordered his shaving kit on the shelf; razor, brush and soap all equidistant from each other. Sirius watched, fascinated, his reflection in the mirror as he shaved away the hair; seeing someone that was much younger and vaguely familiar, staring, slightly surprised, back out of him.
Remus' bedroom was just as humble an affair as the rest of the flat. A desk with a broken leg stood in the corner, littered with dusty, old books. Sirius' eyes roamed the bed with its fading white sheets and for one fleeting, horribly unbidden moment, he wondered who he had shared this bed with. However, smelling the cooking bacon and pushing these idle thoughts to the back of his mind, Sirius opened the wardrobe to find something suitable, before rejoining his friend.
Sirius enjoyed the bacon sandwiches, although he wondered why his friend ate nothing; staring down at the newspaper, one finger idly tracing his jaw line. He would have felt more comfortable if Remus had eaten too. But it seemed he was simply content to wait until Sirius had finished, almost as if to make sure that he ate everything he gave him, before magically banishing the empty plate to the side. Sirius leant back in the chair, transfixed by the new-found smoothness of his face, watching as Remus began to peel an apple and slice sections of it with a wave of his hand. He watched Remus slowly eat his way through the fruit, pausing every now and again to make another circle. Sirius felt like the time was trailing by.
In silence they sat; Sirius was unable to talk about the things he had wanted to say, things he had infinite time to think of whilst locked in Azkaban. It saddened him to see that Remus had aged more than he had expected; every now and again a glimmer of the boy Sirius had known so well shone through, only to be suppressed by the practical man he had become. This is how he coped, Sirius thinks to himself, drumming his fingers lightly on the table, perhaps in a subconscious attempt to make Remus look up. This is how Remus has coped with it all.
Yet suddenly Sirius doesn't want his friend to be coping; he doesn't want to see the carefully constructed ghost of the person he once knew, slicing apples and drawing rings. Selfishly, he wants it all back; he wants the intimacy he has longed for in the loneliness of imprisonment. He wants the tenderness he has craved whilst an exile. Yet Sirius knows as he watches Remus, the lamp light bathing his face, that he is an exile too. He is just a much a prisoner as Sirius is and that, maybe for both of them, it has simply become too much to bear.
"Can we go to bed?" Sirius asked as he stands, the cups jumping on the table with sudden movement. Remus looks up at Sirius, the way he has wanted him to do for hours, yet there is something missing from his gaze which causes Sirius pain.
"You go, if you like," Remus seemed to be fighting himself as he looked down at the paper once more. "I'm not that tired yet."
He had fought the urge to slam the door petulantly as he left, slipping out of Remus' clothes and into Remus' bed, that doesn't smell a thing like the person Sirius remembered. Sirius struggled to fall to sleep; to ignore the knowledge that he was waiting for the moment when his friend would finally acknowledge him and come to bed.
It was hours before this happened and Sirius watched in the darkness as Remus pulled back the sheet, climbing into bed as though to not wake him, before blinking up at the ceiling.
"I'm sorry," were the words Sirius chose to let Remus know that he was still awake. Sirius watched his friend's face as he flinched, closing his eyes briefly as though these words had hurt him, before opening them once more. Sirius rolled on his side, looking into Remus' face, that appeared, all of a sudden, more youthful in the dark. His voice was husky as he pressed on, "I've had too much time to think; and I've realised many of things that I wasn't ready to except before…" Yet before Sirius could say what he had always hinted at before, but never explicitly stated; before he could confess what had taken him thirteen years and the worst kind of imprisonment imaginable to realise, Remus had turned from his back to his side, away from him, before saying in a resolutely hollow voice, "It doesn't seem to matter anymore."
I hear mumbles of dissent; where is this resolved tension? Read on, dear reader, and let me know what you think xxx