Recap: Sirius is in a motorbike accident, and tries to explain to James, resulting in Sirius storming off; Remus tells Lily someone has tried to kill him; James talks with Moody about guilt; Lily and Remus reconnect.
and nothing but the truth
chapter thirty-six
Lily blinks awake, her knees and neck aching, and it is a full minute of sleepy incomprehension before she realizes she is still sitting on the floor of her dorm room, her head tucked uncomfortably into Remus's shoulder.
He is still asleep, and the half-circles under his eyes make it clear that he is sick and exhausted. Something in her whimpers. She's not unaccustomed to seeing her friend looking unwell, but it's not, she suspects, because of the moon.
It's because of the curse. The cursed letter, an actual assassination attempt, and only by some miracle has he survived. Lily will never say this, but she suspects Remus's lycanthropy may've played a role in the saving of his life. For all the illness it causes him, he certainly has been made stronger too…
Remus snorts in his sleep and shifts slightly closer, and then she remembers the assumption James had made – about her relationship with this man – and she blushes.
That can't be what Remus wants. They are friends. They've always been friends. And if he wants more, he'll say something…won't he?
Still, the damage is done in her mind, and she gently pushes him away and whispers, "Remus."
He tilts precariously – sleeping sitting up is never easy – and she whispers his name again, a little louder this time. He stirs.
He rubs his eyes and mumbles something in French, leaning his head against the white plaster wall. She takes this to mean he is not fully awake yet, because Remus is normally very self-conscious about speaking in other languages.
"Remus," she says for a third time, "I really need you to get up."
He does open his eyes now, and he shifts away from her to get up slowly, croaking, "Right, I'm up…"
"You said something in French," she tells him as if this did not happen just thirty seconds ago. She struggles to her feet too, joints sore. He seems to have it worse, though, wincing and rubbing his jaw.
"My whole body aches," he says, tactfully ignoring her comment.
Lily feels a pang of guilt – here she has been worrying about giving him the wrong idea, but he is her best friend, and at this moment, he needs her. She moves forward and wraps her arms around his waist. He reciprocates, a little surprised but warm, moving his hand in soft, ingenuous circles over her shoulder blade.
"I'm glad you're okay," she tells him, squeezing his torso and leaning her cheek on his shoulder.
"I'm glad, too," he responds quietly.
His chest moves up and down with his breath, and in this Lily is oddly reassured – both in its steady rhythm and in the knowledge that he is very much alive, and, at least for now, she is not alone.
--
Sirius is a black silhouette in the sharp morning air, his hands fisted in his pockets and his shoulders curved under an invisible weight. He is silent and still outside the grey building, the rook ready to take another step towards either checkmate or simply sacrifice. And then he moves forward, his feet shuffling against the concrete floor like, unbeknownst to him, Remus's had only minutes before, and he finds his way up to Lily's door.
He hesitates before knocking.
The door opens after a moment and Lily is there, tired but nonetheless wonderful to see, and such relief feels his heart that for a moment he forgets why he's here.
"Sirius," she says surprisedly. "Has – has something happened?"
And then his stomach plummets, and that warm feeling is gone, and he is back to the Sirius that, it seems, he's doomed to be: bringer of bad news.
"Yeah, something's happened," he mumbles, tugging at his sleeves. "Can I come in?"
She steps away from the door, and he comes in, remembering the first time he was there, and wonders how he could've been so stupid then. He had been the composed one then, breaking down barriers for the sake of curiosity…
And at the same time he was practically begging for James to come to the frontlines. But now – now he knows, understands the price of war.
"What is it?" Lily asks. She is pressing a cup of tea into his hands – strange, because she doesn't even have a kettle. But she doesn't ask about his face, which he supposes he should be grateful for.
He shakily takes a seat on the edge of her bed, and she leans against her desk, watching him. "It's Marlene," he says quietly.
"She's gone," she answers blankly, her face becoming serious, her eyes widening. He falters.
"Yesterday morning, she…"
She nods, but although her expression is calm he can see her hands trembling against the wood of her desk, and her breathing quickens. "And – someone sent you to tell me?"
He nods too.
For a moment they are silent, and Lily's eyes close, but she doesn't cry. And Sirius finds himself whispering, "It was suicide."
"…what?"
"Suicide," he repeats, looking at the ground. "Death Eaters were after information and she – she didn't want to be captured."
Lily is quiet. She doesn't look at him for a long time, and when she does, it's with a great shuddering breath, and an "Okay," and he knows she'll be alright.
If only it were that easy for him.
--
"Familiar?"
A glossy photograph – a lanky boy, maybe 17.
"Yeah. Lestrange. Rabastan Lestrange. Went to Hogwarts with him."
"Anything else?"
"He's a Death Eater. Signed on Re -"
A beat. A patient look.
"- my brother."
--
Her fingertips are brushing across his jaw, gingerly tracing the outline of his bruise. "How are you?" she asks very softly. Sirius shivers.
"I'm fine," he says, catching her hand and pulling it away. She looks at him.
And as quickly as it was brought up, his resolve crumbles.
"No," he admits.
And then Lily does something he will always be grateful for – and marvel at.
She says again, "Okay," and squeezes his fingers.
--
"And… this one?"
"I don't know."
"Are you sure?"
"Don't provoke me." Anger. A shuddering breath. And… pain?
A beautiful young man. Beaming. Waving.
Another young man, not as beautiful anymore. Seething.
"I think we need to talk about what you can provide to the Order."
The photograph fell.
--
To love her. Not to lover her. Right now, a certain young man is wishing for the latter.
So she reciprocates his feelings. James knows this should make him happy, happier than ever, but instead he only feels worse.
He sits in a lecture hall – far in the back, carefully away from other students – and pretends to be taking notes. Instead, he doodles and thinks.
It's not that he doesn't want to be with her. He does, so badly. But every time he looks at another human being, his heart quickens and his hands tremble and he's afraid, desperately afraid, that he might snap. That after all this time, he too has gone crazy. That he, like Marlene, is nearing a breakdown – an end.
He'll keep Lily as far out of that mess as he can.
"Dismissed."
People begin to file out of the room, murmuring amongst themselves. James really looks at his paper for the first time.
It's a drawing of a dog.
--
For a family so enraptured with its pureblooded heritage, the Blacks chose a rather strange place to live: in the very depths of a Muggle neighborhood, that is – number 12, Grimmauld Place is just about the most average, ordinary British residence imaginable, except for its apparent inexistence. For the first time in his 18 years, Sirius finds himself wondering why they didn't live like other old, pure families – on the countryside, or in little villages, with more privacy and more wizards.
The sight of home brings back a sickening nostalgia that he hopes never to feel again – because despite everything, there were good memories in this place; his childhood dreams and realities, and this is where Sirius Black was molded. Or, rather, broke the mold.
He can still recall with clarity every lewd poster, every Gryffindor-esque ornament in his room. His haven.
But what is the House of Black to him?
"Nothing more than a revisited memory," he tells himself, unscrewing the top from a tiny flask and going for a swallow of liquid courage. But the whiskey burns his lips and he tilts the thing away, remembering Lily's face when he told her Marlene died.
The sensation of being sober is odd. Unfamiliar, almost.
For once, Sirius feels… safe.
He knocks. The door is answered. And then his face becomes trained and blank.
"Hello, Mother," he says.
--
"Enough with this dilly-dallying," Moody says angrily. "We're on Dolohov's trail; now it's just a matter of getting charges on Karkaroff. We need this case."
"I cannot allow you to parade the Prewetts' pain, Alastor," Dumbledore answers quietly. A few of the witches and wizards in the room nod in agreement; others look skeptical. "Fabian has far too much to struggle with already."
--
Sirius is secretly pleased at how much older his mother looks. She once was so elegant, the one to blame for her children's good looks, but now she has grown grey. Angry wrinkles have announced themselves on her pale face, and she's put on quite a lot of weight since her last saw her, which was – what? Half a year ago, at the King's Cross? Even then it was from a careful distance.
Contrary to his expectations, Walburga doesn't close the door in his face. In fact, this was only wishful thinking. She instead looks at him and shrieks at the top of her lungs.
"What the devil do you think you're doing on my doorstep, you filthy rag, you blood traitor?!"
"I've come back," he says very calmly, feeling some of his fear fade. Something like excitement – something strangely enjoyable – mounts in his stomach, and he watches eagerly for her reaction.
"There is no place for runaway scum like yourself," the old woman proclaims, "in this family." She moves to slam the door, but Sirius stops her by saying:
"I'm the last Black."
A beat.
Then Walburga is incredulously angry. "You," she hisses, "are not a Black."
"You need me," he says, grabbing the door and pulling it all the way open. Outwardly he is calm, but on the inside his chest is bubbling with the adrenaline, the bloody thrill, and he feels – oddly – alive, for once in a very long time. "Regulus is dead. Who's the real traitor?"
It doesn't even make him flinch to say this, but Regulus's name on his lips feel disgusting, sacrilege. Soiled. Yet it has the same effect on his mother, who is so thoroughly ashamed of her younger son that her face turns purple with rage.
"But I am here, Mother," Sirius reminds her delicately, tasting the words in his mouth. "I am back now. Your runaway son, reconciled. And I'm here to continue your name."
He can see her wrestling with the validity of his point. He is the last living male of the family. It is the two of them now. And without him, the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black will soon be no more.
Walburga's mouth closes, and she hesitates, and he feels an unpleasant sort of happiness as she steps away from the thresh hold.
"Let us speak inside," she says stiffly, "…son."
Author's Note: I'm sorry for the wait - I'm very busy. I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter, but it would be nice to hear what you think about it. Thanks!