It wasn't Remus. It couldn't be. Remus wouldn't do that. He was certain of it.

'If you're so bloody certain, why are you rooting through his things?' Sirius groaned and slammed the draw of Remus' bedside table close with such force the lamp toppled to the floor.

He'd found nothing. Again. But then, what was he even looking for; a notebook titled 'Secret Spying Stuff'?

Sirius sank onto the bed and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. It had been weeks since he'd slept properly—weeks since any of them had. Everything had gotten so jumbled lately, so confused and vague. It was as if no one could really remember what they were fighting for anymore.

But something was wrong. Sirius could feel it. Even despite the exhaustion, things were going wrong too often. Too many Death Eaters intercepting hidden missions, undercover agents being outed too quickly, meticulously planned operations being thwarted too easily.

There was a spy in the Order. Sirius was sure of it.

And Remus was missing.

He'd talked to James about it, but James was a bloody idealist; too conditioned to believe the best in everybody, that Remus would never betray them, never.

James had called Sirius a romanticist, saying that Sirius couldn't take it if they were betrayed by just anyone. It had to be their best friend. No one else would be worthy of it.

In the end, it didn't matter what James thought. Sirius had worked it out, looked at everyone in the Order; Remus was the only one who fit the criteria. No one else was smart enough, able to sneak into covert circles, could lie with such honesty that you'd be a fool not to believe them.

("What about us, Sirius? We spent our whole childhood lying to get out of trouble? Why don't you suspect me!?"

"Don't be ridiculous, James. I know it's not you."

"...You're a bloody bastard, Black.")

The door creaked open. Sirius leapt to his feet and rushed into the hall, wand raised.

Remus stood hunched in the doorway, his hair dripping from the rain and mud splattered on the ends of a tattered overcoat.

He caught sight of Sirius' wand in his hand and raised his eyebrows at him.

"Are you going to use that?" Remus grunted, pulling his jacket stiffly from his shoulders.

Sirius flinched but held his ground. "Do I need to?"

Sirius' gut twisted in guilt as he saw Remus pause at the coldness in his voice. But Sirius had to be sure; he wasn't James. It was all or nothing for Sirius; it always had been.

Remus kicked off his shoes and shook the rain from his hair. He looked awful, like he hadn't eaten or slept in a warm bed in days. Sirius could see Remus' collar bone protruding from his jumper, a deep purple bruise trailing under the hem.

'That explains the stiffness,' Sirius thought. Remus had always had bruises, a consequence of his condition. But that didn't stop Sirius' mind from wondering where he was getting all these bruises, weeks before the full moon.

Remus sighed and turned to look at him. "Are you going to let me into my own house, or do you need proof it's really me?" Remus asked with a strained patience.

Sirius thought about just stepping aside—he really did. But he couldn't.

"What was the last thing I said to you before you left?"

"You asked where I was going," Remus said shortly. "And I said I couldn't tell you." With that, Remus shoved his way past Sirius and into the hall.

"Aren't you going to ask me one?" Sirius called after him.

Remus didn't look back.

"No."

The kitchen was cold and damp. Sirius had been staying at James', so no heating or food had been cooked here for weeks. Sirius hovered in the doorway, twirling his wand as carelessly as he could between his fingers and tried not to stare at Remus' wand, which had been discarded in plain sight in the middle of the kitchen table.

Remus had his back to him and was rooting through the fridge, trying to find anything remotely edible.

"So, where were you?" asked Sirius with none of the nonchalance he was aiming for.

Remus didn't answer immediately. He scooped up whatever food he deemed edible, took it to the table and sat down to eat.

"You know I can't tell you, Padfoot," Remus said quietly, without looking up. "Dumbledore's ord—"

"Oh, screw Dumbledore's bloody orders!" Sirius yelled. "When have we ever followed Dumbledore's rules?"

"THIS ISN'T SCHOOL, SIRIUS!" Remus slammed his fists on the table with such force that it split in the middle. Sirius jumped back as the food and cutlery clattered to the floor, but Remus barely glanced at it.

"We have to trust Dumbledore. We have to trust that someone knows how we're supposed to win this bloody war. Otherwise, what do we have?"

"We're supposed to have our friends!" Sirius shouted.

"Yeah? Well, a fat lot of good those seem to be doing me!"

Sirius cowered under Remus' steely, gold eyes. He could see the wolf roaming in them, power and fierceness prowling in his gaze.

Remus blinked and shook his head as though trying to shake the wolf from it. He glanced down at the ruined table at his feet. "I'll fix that later," he mumbled, stepping neatly over the mess.

Sirius said nothing as Remus walked by him. Did he trust Dumbledore? He followed his orders, went on raids when asked, reported back after missions. He did as he was told.

But he didn't hide anything from his friends. Sirius didn't keep secrets.

Sirius didn't know how much he could trust a person who did, even if it was by necessity.

"I'm taking a shower. You can finish looking through my stuff if you need to," Remus said tersely. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

THC

House: Gryffindor

Position: Astronomy

Drabble

WC - 990

Prompt - Distrust