Love is Blindness

Only one thought kept racing through his head: I should have known.

It haunted him at all hours of the day and night, and slipped into his mind when he least expected it. Old coffee cups in the cupboard would prompt a flashback to Sirius sitting right there at that table, smiling at him and oh God… Why didn't he see right through those smiles? How could he have smiled back and poured him another cup? Where were the signs?

He spent countless hours putting thoughts, memories, mementos into a mental inventory, scanning each one for traces of betrayal, for any signs of infidelity. Those times he was late and blamed the Order, should Remus have trusted him? Of course not, he thought now bitterly.

But love is blind. It is darkness and drowning in a deep well. No one blames you, Dumbledore told him gently. No one could have foreseen this. . .

Remus disagreed silently. Maybe they couldn't foresee this, but surely he should have been able to. As close as he was with Sirius, one would have thought any visible signs or clues would have been picked up. Unless, of course, one was wilfully ignoring the signs; turning a blind eye, if you will. Love turned two blind eyes and saw what it wanted to see.

It saw Sirius really trying to make their relationship work, despite their schedules conflicting. It dismissed late nights and excused forgotten plans. Things were easier with blind trust. Things were easier when he could just hold on to something solid with both hands.

Now as he lay in bed with the darkness surrounding him, he stopped questioning, stopped analyzing. Sirius was a murderer, and no amount of questioning was going to change that. He closed his eyes and let acceptance come over him in waves. It was easier this way.