Hearing, Doubting, Knowing
By Indus
Taking a page from Ithica's book (or fic), for my twenty-first birthday I am posting a fic that has been bouncing around my head for a while. Well, read and review! Disclaimer: Again, no copyright of JK Rowling and publishers of Harry Potter intended. This is for non-commercial uses only. Any original characters are mine and I am usually willing to share if my permission is asked. Warning: Slash alert! Otherwise a PG-13 story
Summary: What if Sirius told Remus the truth?
Pairing: My all-time favorite Sirius/Remus
Thanks so much to my beta- Gryph you rock!
I would not have wished my life and my problems on anyone. Not the lycanthropy and not the confusion of wondering which of my best friends was a traitor and a murderer. No one who had not experienced what I went through can ever hope to understand. I spent almost thirteen years unable to feel emotion or think of my friends without wondering who the liar was. I could not trust both of them, so I was forced to trust neither, and my memories of friendship even less.
I am sure that there were many wizards who lost all their friends and family as I did during the War with Voldemort; war accomplishes nothing save the creation of shipwrecked souls and orphans. As horrible as it sounds, I often caught myself wishing it had been that easy for me. I did not simply lose those I loved, and those few who would not just dare but revel in being friends with me, but I also lost the past I had shared for them. I had to hate the traitor, and because one of them was the guilty person, I was forced to hate both of them. I wish, and by Godric I tried, but I could not love them both. And I swore then that if Sirius escaped, I would kill him, as I would Peter if he was the guilty individual.
In the beginning, I found myself believing Sirius sometimes. I would work it all out in my head, and I believed that it could have happened as he had told me. But I always came back to one truth- it could have been true if the person in question was anyone but Peter. Dear Peter, who swooned the first time he saw me transform, could never have killed a dozen innocent people on the street. My beloved friend Wormtail had always loved James the most, as I believe we all did, and he could not have betrayed the best Marauder and the family we all were a part of to Voldemort. He was never the strongest of us, but all that meant was that they would have chosen me for Secret-Keeper long before they chose him.
But it was in those moments when I was almost sure that Peter was guilty for that I hated Sirius more than I hated him for the loss of James and Lily. I could forgive him more easily for killing Peter than for tainting every memory I had of Wormtail as he had already tainted those I had of Padfoot. During those long, dark days and nights preceding and following the full moon, thoughts of Prongs were my only salvation, and Harry was all I had for proof that something in my life had gone right. Dear Harry. I was not able to raise him, but I thought of him every day. He saved me in more than one way just by being The Boy Who Lived.
After a few years, the overwhelming evidence and public opinion wore me down, and I stopped believing Sirius' story. A werewolf should never go along with the masses, especially since the masses most often want to kill him, but in this case I thought it was safe. There was no evidence whatsoever that Sirius was telling the truth, but Sirius had told me in person that he was the Secret-Keeper. Oh dear Godric, if they had asked my counsel I would have been the first to suggest my lover.
My lover. Sirius always held that title. As part of the werewolf curse, mating for life turned overnight from something romantic and soul-affirming to a source of pain and suffering. And guilt- for only a truly dark creature could love someone so evil.
Some would say that I should have believed Sirius to be innocent and stood by him for the rest of my life if I was truly in love with him. I wish the world was so simple. As a werewolf, I spent my life fighting an urge to kill that may have lived within me but was not of my construction. But the person who betrayed James and Lily was human, and therefore created his own darkness. I could not forgive him if he was guilty, and I could not allow myself to believe him against all the evidence. Moony needed the anger and hatred to stop from feeling the loss, as did Remus Lupin.
And I did survive. Not well, but for werewolves surviving even without traitorous lovers is quite an accomplishment. And I did it alone. My father had never allowed my mother to coddle me, insisting that a werewolf would need to learn how to get by without asking for assistance, and he was right. Shame on me for believing the rest of the Marauders when they told me I would never be alone again!
I kept up with news about Harry, including the frequent accounts of wizards meeting him on the street, and knowing him immediately from the scar on his face and the uncanny resemblance to his father. There were some tabloid articles on the life of Harry Potter, but everyone knows better than to trust those things.
*
It was not a very clear or warm day in September when I boarded the Hogwarts train for the first time in over fifteen years. Dumbledore had hired me on the pretext that I would be able to keep Harry safe from Sirius. Why should I have been surprised; I was the only Marauder Sirius Black had left alive in 1981 save himself.
Because of the full moon, I had to travel on the train with the children. In a way, that was a relief. Children are so much more entertaining than adults. Moreover, Harry would be on the train. And Dumbledore had warned me with twinkling eyes about a certain set of red-haired Weasley twins. Unfortunately, I fell asleep long before the children finished saying their good-byes and boarded the train.
I woke to coldness.
I specialize in Defense against the Dark Arts, and there is little more frightening than Dementors. However, I also know that that little fact is their power over you, so I allowed my lupine senses to take control.
The first thing that struck me was the scents. I did not recognize three of them, other than to identify them as two human girls and one human boy. The fourth I knew immediately. It was Harry, smelling of something other than that warm milk and powder scent shared by all babies now, but with that same basic scent that is unique to him. I had not smelled it for twelve years, but I knew it immediately.
Due to the Dementors, I had no chance to dwell on my reconciliation with the baby who had once relieved himself on my face. Once I sent them away with a Patronus (not my best, but it was difficult to concentrate), it was too late to do more than give Harry and his friends some chocolate for warming. Later I decided not to tell Harry who I was; I could not answer some of the questions I am sure he had. Besides, I would not be comfortable discussing Harry's parents with the child immediately after an encounter with Dementors and in front of people he had not known for more than two years. Although apparently these people already knew quite a lot. Dumbledore had told me about Harry's first two years, and I liked the scents of Harry's two best friends and the poor little girl who had been through so much. Poor Harry, he will have to deal with the burden of knowing that everyone he becomes close to will be a target for Voldemort. I know that burden well.
The year progressed- well, strangely. My professional life improved dramatically, although working with Snape, and relying on him for the Wolfsbane potion chafed me intensely. I did not hate Severus; unlike Sirius, I never had. Unfortunately, I never liked him much either. I did admire him as I knew how much courage it takes to fight against the evil that lives inside you to make yourself something better, but he was, and still is, one of the crankiest and most unpleasant people I know. Still, my classes were fun and for the first time since I had graduated from this same institution I was doing something I liked and was good at. There are moments when we all do something and have an epiphany. It is as if a light goes on in our heads and a voice tells us that this is what we were meant to do. For some people it is a partner, and for others it is becoming a parent, but for me it was teaching. Whether I was in a classroom full of students or training Harry to fight Dementors, I did well, and I was proud of it.
There were moments with Harry that caused me pain, such as when he asked me if I knew his father. I remembered holding James as he sobbed out his joy at the safe birth of his beautiful son, and feeling his body tremble as he leaned on me and tried to control his fears for the future. Somehow I doubt that in his fevered imaginings of calamities involving worldwide nappy shortages he ever envisioned a future in which his son did not know me.
But I took comfort in the knowledge that Harry liked me, personally and as a Professor.
*
In all this time, I had never forgotten Sirius' account of Peter's betrayal. But that year I thought I witnessed enough to convince me that my lover was everything the Ministry said he was. After all, he tried to kill Harry twice in the castle. Once he ripped apart the painting of the Fat Lady. Godric, she was there when we were. She had always smiled when she saw us sneak in after shagging in some remote area of Hogwarts.
Then there was the incident with Ron Weasley. Strange, isn't it, how the past repeats itself? I would have said that Ron was a lot like Sirius as a child, and yet Ron has already proved himself to be so much more. When it came to the question of his best friend or himself, Ron chose Harry.
But I see a great deal of myself in Ron too. He seems so needy, but while I wanted nothing more than to blend in and not be noticed, he craves attention. Dear boy, it seems somewhat petty of fate to pair him with a brilliant child like Hermione and Harry, who garners all the attention despite his desire to blend in like I did.
Hermione. she worries me quite a bit. Sometimes I believe she knows, but she is unfailingly polite and does not draw away from me.
But all in all, I think I like this trio. If James and Lily could have seen them I think they would have been pleased. They are suffering through some conflict at the moment, and poor Hermione seems to be left out, but they will get through it as Sirius and I got through the Shrieking Shack incident in our sixth year.
Sirius. I've been thinking of him quite a bit lately. No one seems to be able to discuss anything else. And then those who know- they see me and try to change the subject, but I know they are thinking not of the escapee but of the man he had been, and his friends, and that is so much worse. I can stand people talking about the madman, the traitor and murderer, but not my friend and lover.
I am sitting in my office, thinking of the past almost thirteen years. I try not to think of the years before then, but it is difficult. For the first time since Peter surrendered it to Filch, I have the map in my hands. Although I felt the Marauder in me rise up in shame, I had to confiscate it from Harry. He is already in too much danger; whatever part he will play in future events can be done without the assistance of Moony, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail.
He doesn't know who they are, or I should say were. I wanted to tell him earlier today, but I could not. Neither of us was ready then.
I push the map away, irritated by my own brooding over these difficult years. It must be the full moon and waiting for that smug bastard Snape to give me my potion that is making me so morose. And finding that map, filled with that familiar handwriting. When I opened it, they all greeted me. It is unsettling to be visited by a past version of yourself. And I saw his handwriting, and I suppose I was caught up in memories of other occasions when that messy scrawl made me feel so much.
I think I still have that note he sent me via owl the day after we moved into our first apartment. It is not very romantic, but I kept it all these years. Not properly, or even consciously all the time, but somehow that note has stayed with me through my adventures.
Moony, I'll be late home tonight. I know, it's our first night here, and you probably want to celebrate, but I can't help it. If you can't wait up, don't. But please try! ( Padfoot
Sweeping the note back into the drawer, my hand brushes against the map and pulls it towards me. Against my will, my eyes are drawn to it, and are caught on a name. That blasted werewolf vision allows me to read it clearly in a quick glance.
Peter Pettigrew. but how is that possible?
I grasp the desk, but can find no balance for my chaotic brain. Strangely enough, all that runs through my mind is some trite Muggle quote about cornered rats. Cowards can, and do turn on their friends. Perhaps, in this case, fear did become cowardice.
And then I look again, and I see the other names. Sirius, my love, is there with Ron, and coming towards him are Harry and Hermione. Godric, Harry thinks Sirius killed his father! I have to go sort this out!
*
I wake up, and for the first time in so many years, I'm happy. I know that Sirius might have been Kissed while I was sleeping, but right now it does not matter. I know that I have not harmed anyone, and for a few minutes last night I held my lover in my arms, and felt him hold me back. But I am content mostly for one reason: I have my faith back.
We all have faith in some things or people. All wizards have faith in their magic; the only thing I can imagine worse than waking up a squib, is waking up to find that all the people you had faith in let you down. James and Lily betrayed me by dying, Peter by killing them, and for a while I lost my faith in Sirius too. But now I can believe him, and take comfort in knowing that he was always the same Sirius I loved and knew so long ago. He has been affected by time and imprisonment, but never diminished. Dear love, you still keep inside you the man you once were, the man I loved, and made my mate.
Sirius is not perfect. He betrayed me once almost twenty years ago, and he betrayed me again when he made love to me without once mentioning the Secret-Keeper switch. Because of him, I lost quite a bit, but I cannot blame him. If he knew it was one of us, I was the most likely suspect. I have never attempted to rise above my lycanthropy. I am a Dark Creature; I would not trust myself in such a situation. It is not as if Moony only lives during a full moon. He is always within me. And how can I blame my lover for once allowing himself to fear and distrust Moony when I do so every day?
*
He is not dead, nor Kissed. Sirius is safe, and I will be with him soon. Dumbledore has told me where to find him. As much as I want to see him, I admit to a little reluctance to leave. I would like to have seen how my students did at the end of the year. No, they are not mine anymore. Severus made sure of that. It's a pity- I thought all those years spent struggling in the human world might have actually panned out. But at least I am leaving with the knowledge that I will be with Sirius. If he was not there, I think I would finally have given in and joined a werewolf community, instead of trying to be the first one of my kind to be considered an equal to wizards. But I have someone to go to, and a war to fight.
I don't know if I will survive this war. I made it through the last one "unscathed," the only one of us friends to do so, and I fear the odds are against me this time. But I can die content, knowing that I have lived through two moments that made the years of pain bearable. When Sirius held me in the Shack, he reaffirmed my humanity in that I had loved and been a friend wisely. And when Harry said good-bye, he recognized me as a teacher, and a good one who he will miss. They make me more than a Dark Creature.
They make me human.
By Indus
Taking a page from Ithica's book (or fic), for my twenty-first birthday I am posting a fic that has been bouncing around my head for a while. Well, read and review! Disclaimer: Again, no copyright of JK Rowling and publishers of Harry Potter intended. This is for non-commercial uses only. Any original characters are mine and I am usually willing to share if my permission is asked. Warning: Slash alert! Otherwise a PG-13 story
Summary: What if Sirius told Remus the truth?
Pairing: My all-time favorite Sirius/Remus
Thanks so much to my beta- Gryph you rock!
I would not have wished my life and my problems on anyone. Not the lycanthropy and not the confusion of wondering which of my best friends was a traitor and a murderer. No one who had not experienced what I went through can ever hope to understand. I spent almost thirteen years unable to feel emotion or think of my friends without wondering who the liar was. I could not trust both of them, so I was forced to trust neither, and my memories of friendship even less.
I am sure that there were many wizards who lost all their friends and family as I did during the War with Voldemort; war accomplishes nothing save the creation of shipwrecked souls and orphans. As horrible as it sounds, I often caught myself wishing it had been that easy for me. I did not simply lose those I loved, and those few who would not just dare but revel in being friends with me, but I also lost the past I had shared for them. I had to hate the traitor, and because one of them was the guilty person, I was forced to hate both of them. I wish, and by Godric I tried, but I could not love them both. And I swore then that if Sirius escaped, I would kill him, as I would Peter if he was the guilty individual.
In the beginning, I found myself believing Sirius sometimes. I would work it all out in my head, and I believed that it could have happened as he had told me. But I always came back to one truth- it could have been true if the person in question was anyone but Peter. Dear Peter, who swooned the first time he saw me transform, could never have killed a dozen innocent people on the street. My beloved friend Wormtail had always loved James the most, as I believe we all did, and he could not have betrayed the best Marauder and the family we all were a part of to Voldemort. He was never the strongest of us, but all that meant was that they would have chosen me for Secret-Keeper long before they chose him.
But it was in those moments when I was almost sure that Peter was guilty for that I hated Sirius more than I hated him for the loss of James and Lily. I could forgive him more easily for killing Peter than for tainting every memory I had of Wormtail as he had already tainted those I had of Padfoot. During those long, dark days and nights preceding and following the full moon, thoughts of Prongs were my only salvation, and Harry was all I had for proof that something in my life had gone right. Dear Harry. I was not able to raise him, but I thought of him every day. He saved me in more than one way just by being The Boy Who Lived.
After a few years, the overwhelming evidence and public opinion wore me down, and I stopped believing Sirius' story. A werewolf should never go along with the masses, especially since the masses most often want to kill him, but in this case I thought it was safe. There was no evidence whatsoever that Sirius was telling the truth, but Sirius had told me in person that he was the Secret-Keeper. Oh dear Godric, if they had asked my counsel I would have been the first to suggest my lover.
My lover. Sirius always held that title. As part of the werewolf curse, mating for life turned overnight from something romantic and soul-affirming to a source of pain and suffering. And guilt- for only a truly dark creature could love someone so evil.
Some would say that I should have believed Sirius to be innocent and stood by him for the rest of my life if I was truly in love with him. I wish the world was so simple. As a werewolf, I spent my life fighting an urge to kill that may have lived within me but was not of my construction. But the person who betrayed James and Lily was human, and therefore created his own darkness. I could not forgive him if he was guilty, and I could not allow myself to believe him against all the evidence. Moony needed the anger and hatred to stop from feeling the loss, as did Remus Lupin.
And I did survive. Not well, but for werewolves surviving even without traitorous lovers is quite an accomplishment. And I did it alone. My father had never allowed my mother to coddle me, insisting that a werewolf would need to learn how to get by without asking for assistance, and he was right. Shame on me for believing the rest of the Marauders when they told me I would never be alone again!
I kept up with news about Harry, including the frequent accounts of wizards meeting him on the street, and knowing him immediately from the scar on his face and the uncanny resemblance to his father. There were some tabloid articles on the life of Harry Potter, but everyone knows better than to trust those things.
*
It was not a very clear or warm day in September when I boarded the Hogwarts train for the first time in over fifteen years. Dumbledore had hired me on the pretext that I would be able to keep Harry safe from Sirius. Why should I have been surprised; I was the only Marauder Sirius Black had left alive in 1981 save himself.
Because of the full moon, I had to travel on the train with the children. In a way, that was a relief. Children are so much more entertaining than adults. Moreover, Harry would be on the train. And Dumbledore had warned me with twinkling eyes about a certain set of red-haired Weasley twins. Unfortunately, I fell asleep long before the children finished saying their good-byes and boarded the train.
I woke to coldness.
I specialize in Defense against the Dark Arts, and there is little more frightening than Dementors. However, I also know that that little fact is their power over you, so I allowed my lupine senses to take control.
The first thing that struck me was the scents. I did not recognize three of them, other than to identify them as two human girls and one human boy. The fourth I knew immediately. It was Harry, smelling of something other than that warm milk and powder scent shared by all babies now, but with that same basic scent that is unique to him. I had not smelled it for twelve years, but I knew it immediately.
Due to the Dementors, I had no chance to dwell on my reconciliation with the baby who had once relieved himself on my face. Once I sent them away with a Patronus (not my best, but it was difficult to concentrate), it was too late to do more than give Harry and his friends some chocolate for warming. Later I decided not to tell Harry who I was; I could not answer some of the questions I am sure he had. Besides, I would not be comfortable discussing Harry's parents with the child immediately after an encounter with Dementors and in front of people he had not known for more than two years. Although apparently these people already knew quite a lot. Dumbledore had told me about Harry's first two years, and I liked the scents of Harry's two best friends and the poor little girl who had been through so much. Poor Harry, he will have to deal with the burden of knowing that everyone he becomes close to will be a target for Voldemort. I know that burden well.
The year progressed- well, strangely. My professional life improved dramatically, although working with Snape, and relying on him for the Wolfsbane potion chafed me intensely. I did not hate Severus; unlike Sirius, I never had. Unfortunately, I never liked him much either. I did admire him as I knew how much courage it takes to fight against the evil that lives inside you to make yourself something better, but he was, and still is, one of the crankiest and most unpleasant people I know. Still, my classes were fun and for the first time since I had graduated from this same institution I was doing something I liked and was good at. There are moments when we all do something and have an epiphany. It is as if a light goes on in our heads and a voice tells us that this is what we were meant to do. For some people it is a partner, and for others it is becoming a parent, but for me it was teaching. Whether I was in a classroom full of students or training Harry to fight Dementors, I did well, and I was proud of it.
There were moments with Harry that caused me pain, such as when he asked me if I knew his father. I remembered holding James as he sobbed out his joy at the safe birth of his beautiful son, and feeling his body tremble as he leaned on me and tried to control his fears for the future. Somehow I doubt that in his fevered imaginings of calamities involving worldwide nappy shortages he ever envisioned a future in which his son did not know me.
But I took comfort in the knowledge that Harry liked me, personally and as a Professor.
*
In all this time, I had never forgotten Sirius' account of Peter's betrayal. But that year I thought I witnessed enough to convince me that my lover was everything the Ministry said he was. After all, he tried to kill Harry twice in the castle. Once he ripped apart the painting of the Fat Lady. Godric, she was there when we were. She had always smiled when she saw us sneak in after shagging in some remote area of Hogwarts.
Then there was the incident with Ron Weasley. Strange, isn't it, how the past repeats itself? I would have said that Ron was a lot like Sirius as a child, and yet Ron has already proved himself to be so much more. When it came to the question of his best friend or himself, Ron chose Harry.
But I see a great deal of myself in Ron too. He seems so needy, but while I wanted nothing more than to blend in and not be noticed, he craves attention. Dear boy, it seems somewhat petty of fate to pair him with a brilliant child like Hermione and Harry, who garners all the attention despite his desire to blend in like I did.
Hermione. she worries me quite a bit. Sometimes I believe she knows, but she is unfailingly polite and does not draw away from me.
But all in all, I think I like this trio. If James and Lily could have seen them I think they would have been pleased. They are suffering through some conflict at the moment, and poor Hermione seems to be left out, but they will get through it as Sirius and I got through the Shrieking Shack incident in our sixth year.
Sirius. I've been thinking of him quite a bit lately. No one seems to be able to discuss anything else. And then those who know- they see me and try to change the subject, but I know they are thinking not of the escapee but of the man he had been, and his friends, and that is so much worse. I can stand people talking about the madman, the traitor and murderer, but not my friend and lover.
I am sitting in my office, thinking of the past almost thirteen years. I try not to think of the years before then, but it is difficult. For the first time since Peter surrendered it to Filch, I have the map in my hands. Although I felt the Marauder in me rise up in shame, I had to confiscate it from Harry. He is already in too much danger; whatever part he will play in future events can be done without the assistance of Moony, Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail.
He doesn't know who they are, or I should say were. I wanted to tell him earlier today, but I could not. Neither of us was ready then.
I push the map away, irritated by my own brooding over these difficult years. It must be the full moon and waiting for that smug bastard Snape to give me my potion that is making me so morose. And finding that map, filled with that familiar handwriting. When I opened it, they all greeted me. It is unsettling to be visited by a past version of yourself. And I saw his handwriting, and I suppose I was caught up in memories of other occasions when that messy scrawl made me feel so much.
I think I still have that note he sent me via owl the day after we moved into our first apartment. It is not very romantic, but I kept it all these years. Not properly, or even consciously all the time, but somehow that note has stayed with me through my adventures.
Moony, I'll be late home tonight. I know, it's our first night here, and you probably want to celebrate, but I can't help it. If you can't wait up, don't. But please try! ( Padfoot
Sweeping the note back into the drawer, my hand brushes against the map and pulls it towards me. Against my will, my eyes are drawn to it, and are caught on a name. That blasted werewolf vision allows me to read it clearly in a quick glance.
Peter Pettigrew. but how is that possible?
I grasp the desk, but can find no balance for my chaotic brain. Strangely enough, all that runs through my mind is some trite Muggle quote about cornered rats. Cowards can, and do turn on their friends. Perhaps, in this case, fear did become cowardice.
And then I look again, and I see the other names. Sirius, my love, is there with Ron, and coming towards him are Harry and Hermione. Godric, Harry thinks Sirius killed his father! I have to go sort this out!
*
I wake up, and for the first time in so many years, I'm happy. I know that Sirius might have been Kissed while I was sleeping, but right now it does not matter. I know that I have not harmed anyone, and for a few minutes last night I held my lover in my arms, and felt him hold me back. But I am content mostly for one reason: I have my faith back.
We all have faith in some things or people. All wizards have faith in their magic; the only thing I can imagine worse than waking up a squib, is waking up to find that all the people you had faith in let you down. James and Lily betrayed me by dying, Peter by killing them, and for a while I lost my faith in Sirius too. But now I can believe him, and take comfort in knowing that he was always the same Sirius I loved and knew so long ago. He has been affected by time and imprisonment, but never diminished. Dear love, you still keep inside you the man you once were, the man I loved, and made my mate.
Sirius is not perfect. He betrayed me once almost twenty years ago, and he betrayed me again when he made love to me without once mentioning the Secret-Keeper switch. Because of him, I lost quite a bit, but I cannot blame him. If he knew it was one of us, I was the most likely suspect. I have never attempted to rise above my lycanthropy. I am a Dark Creature; I would not trust myself in such a situation. It is not as if Moony only lives during a full moon. He is always within me. And how can I blame my lover for once allowing himself to fear and distrust Moony when I do so every day?
*
He is not dead, nor Kissed. Sirius is safe, and I will be with him soon. Dumbledore has told me where to find him. As much as I want to see him, I admit to a little reluctance to leave. I would like to have seen how my students did at the end of the year. No, they are not mine anymore. Severus made sure of that. It's a pity- I thought all those years spent struggling in the human world might have actually panned out. But at least I am leaving with the knowledge that I will be with Sirius. If he was not there, I think I would finally have given in and joined a werewolf community, instead of trying to be the first one of my kind to be considered an equal to wizards. But I have someone to go to, and a war to fight.
I don't know if I will survive this war. I made it through the last one "unscathed," the only one of us friends to do so, and I fear the odds are against me this time. But I can die content, knowing that I have lived through two moments that made the years of pain bearable. When Sirius held me in the Shack, he reaffirmed my humanity in that I had loved and been a friend wisely. And when Harry said good-bye, he recognized me as a teacher, and a good one who he will miss. They make me more than a Dark Creature.
They make me human.