Shadowed Souls
Chapter 2
All disclaimers in the first chapter.
Thanks to all my reviewers: kind words make me giddy!
Farewell: thanks for the matches. * sneaks off and begins to pile books in the corner *. I hope this is a good look inside Sirius' mind for you.
Ralza: yeah – oodles of pain. They're so fun to torture.
Evil Spapple Pie: Remus is always huggable, but hurt Remus is amazing.
Sirius' POV
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...
I did it. I finally did the right thing, repaid a little of my debt. My four weeks at Remus' turned into the best and worst in my life. One minute, my skin would be alive with joy at his presence, my brain incandescent, and the next I would feel as if I was swimming through treacle, despair dragging at my limbs and flooding my heart, as I remembered what I should do. The chance to see him again, to be near him, to awaken every morning to the faint scent of Moony pervading the house filled me with mad energy. The indescribable feeling of being near him lulled my sleep, and Azkaban only appeared as distant flickers of madness. How wonderful it was. How terrible it was to have all this, and yet not have him, not as I once did, in those distant years when echoing screams did not haunt my nightmares, and I did not wake bathed in an icy sweat.
When I arrived, late at night, cold, soaked, filthy, matted, and miserable, it was enough to be here, to see that weary, beloved face. I hoped, I prayed that he hadn't forgotten those mornings when we awoke in each others arms, content and lazy with love. Memories of a time when we simply lay there, the warmth of our bodies mingling, swirled around me, as Remus reached out to grasp my hand. As he drew me inside, shutting the door against the unseasonable storm, and his fingers carelessly brushed against my shoulder through my sopping clothing, I flinched as I saw again his delicate fingers swirling on my skin.
I fervently longed to believe that the past was not as distant as the last thirteen and a half years had made it seem, that what we once were need not only be a fading dream. I was determined that Voldemort and Wormtail should not steal this from me, that in a darkening world, one light should be left. All this time, I simply watched Moony, his graceful spare movements, and his still silences. I marvelled at the way his hair dusted his forehead, at the way his eyes would light up when he found some nugget of information in a dusty tome. I drank in all the little details which I had forgotten, which I had been deprived of by those foul Dementors.
But although his very presence reinvigorated me, and I felt young again, I knew that to do what I desired most would be unspeakably wrong. Creatures such as me are not fit for dreams like these. I am a convict. The burden of the deaths of Lily and James still bows my back and haunts me in the dark hours. In the back of my mind, a cruel voice still whispers, "Murderer. You could have stopped it." How ever much I try to convince myself otherwise, I know that that voice speaks the truth, and one day I shall have to face the world as what I am: if not a traitor, then a careless fool. I spent over twelve years in Azkaban. That experience has embittered me, wizened my soul until it resembles a lightning-shattered tree. One thing I said to Remus was true. I am no longer the carefree one, nor am I a fit mate, least of all for such a pure soul as this one. I shall not ruin Remus' life with my ruin. He deserves greater things than the wreck of a boy he once knew, and so I shall play his better self. I shall deprive him of what he shouldn't want anyway.
He probably doesn't want me really. He admitted as much himself. How can it be possible that he loves me after so many long years, when the youth and looks and spirit with which I could once seduce him are broken and torn away like frippery trappings? I still love him, because he remains what he always was, but I am diminished until the point where I cannot even recognize myself in the mirror, and I would not bind him to such as I have become. This is not love he feels, but pity, and perhaps a little remorse. I do not deserve him; I shall not taint him; I will not let him waste himself; I will not let him sink into regret.
So, to save the dear fool from himself, from his romantic heart which will not relinquish the past, and would only bring him anguish, I shall do this; I have done this. To protect him from his trusting nature, which always cast mine into shadow, even when I was young, and did not know what darkness could be, I told him that I don't love him. I may ache for him, and even to look at him while I uttered those loathsome words was torment indeed, but this is the game I must play, even to its very end.
But I feel good. I feel justified. I really do. I did what was right, and that itself is my reward. I am content with my choices. I accept that I cannot climb those stairs, and slide into that tiny bedroom. I am resigned to the fact that I must not pull back the duvet and slip in beside Remus, pulling our bodies close, savouring the contact, burying my face in his hair and pressing my lips to his neck. The mournful loneliness of desire will fade. And he will forget that I ever hurt him. And on that day, I shall smile.
NO. NO. NO. What am I saying? Who am I kidding? It would kill me to know that Remus had found someone else. Even imagining him, in another's arms, in another's bed, awakens unspeakable despair within me. The Dementors could find nothing better to torture me with than that image, and day after day, my love paraded before me with an assortment of arms cast around his shoulders. Night after night, I was besieged with images of his silken hair mingling with another's on crisp pillows, of other fingers tracing the carved lines of his face. Yet despite this, my love endured, only to bring me to this unsurpassed cruelty. To cast aside the one I want for his own good. I love him now more than I ever did as a youth, but I must not weaken. I did this – I am right, and I shall be strong, yet it cripples me, and no joy comes from my moral certainty.
Oh my darling Remus, I would not condemn you to life with a battered convict, still less with one who is only a fraction of what you deserve, and who never was, but, oh my love, my Moony, how can I live without you?
TBC
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Flames will be used to cure frostbite. Positive reviews are like chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.