I keep forgetting to add a disclaimer. Everyone who's name you recognize
is the creation of JK Rowling.
And, thank you to you folks out there who have commented on this story.
Recap: After sharing a companionable dinner, an increasingly enraged Sirius told Remus about Harry's experience in the graveyard at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Remus got some insight into the depth of Sirius' emotional torment.
Chapter III Visible Scars
The nagging ache in his back woke him to a rush of unfamiliar sensations. Knubby cloth against his cheek, a symphony of bird calls, the dewy smell of flowers and grass. Blinking rapidly in the early morning light, his vision adjusted to the dimness. For a brief, gut-clenching moment, he had no idea where he was. And then he remembered.
His eyes fell on the other person in the room, propped up in ungainly fashion in the old chair. If his back hurt from trying to fit his too-long frame on the couch, Remus was sure to wake up with his spine in knots. His tawny head tilted to one side, mouth slightly open. Sirius couldn't be sure in the faint light, but he suspected that the gleam at the corner of Remus' mouth was saliva that he was unconsciously puddling onto his own shoulder. The thought of the usually fastidious werewolf drooling in his sleep delighted Sirius. A broad grin split his face, and he had to firmly stifle a loud snort of amusement. 'Wonder how his students would react to seeing calm, collected Professor Lupin slobbering on himself?'
But, the thought of students made Sirius think of Harry, which, in turn, made him think of the previous evening. His smile vanished with the familiar twinge of guilt. He'd write to Harry today. Surely by now he was back with the dreadful Dursleys. Sirius lay quietly on the couch, feet dangling off the edge, and began organizing his thoughts on what to put in a letter. After pondering for a considerable amount of time, he rolled to his feet and quietly hobbled into the sun-lit kitchen. He'd make himself useful preparing breakfast.
Remus awoke with a painful crick in his neck, momentarily confused about why he was in his living room. The untidy pile of books and wooden shards on the floor and the sounds of someone moving around his kitchen jolted his memory. He rose and walked in to see Sirius preparing breakfast.
"What are you doing?" Remus said with some surprise as Sirius cracked several eggs into a bowl.
"I admit it's been a while since I made myself useful in a kitchen, but unless I'm greatly mistaken, one must remove the eggs from their shells in order to prepare an omelet properly."
"That's not what I meant. You should be off that leg!"
"I considered fixing breakfast while lying flat on my back in the middle of the floor, but that seemed rather impractical."
Remus snorted in exasperation, although he enjoyed the bantering tone in Sirius' voice. "Don't be dense. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."
"Still the worrier, aren't you? I'm hardly putting any weight on it at all."
And, indeed, Sirius stood with his left knee bent, his foot barely touching the floor. Somewhat mollified, Remus saw to the toast. They stood close together waiting for the various parts of breakfast to cook, until Remus glanced at Sirius, feeling the weight of his gaze. He raised a questioning eyebrow.
Sirius smiled at him, somewhat shyly. "Thank you for taking in a beat up, old stray."
Remus moved a step closer and blurted out, "You're not some sort of beggar. And I'm not taking you in. I'm welcoming you home." He stopped, sensing a slight withdrawal on Sirius' part. He wondered if he said too much. Well, too bad. Some things needed to be uttered out loud.
But, to his hidden delight, Sirius shuffled closer and tentatively reached out to squeeze his shoulder. Remus closed the distance between them, bringing the slender wizard within his gentle embrace. Sirius stood still, allowing himself to be held. There was nothing passionate or sexual about it, although Remus knew that if he thought too much about the body he held close, he'd be hard pressed not to push Sirius down and make love to him on the kitchen floor. But, still, it was so comforting to lean against the man he had missed for so long.
The sizzling omelet popped loudly. Remus slowly drew back to tend to breakfast, and sensed that Sirius didn't want him to let go. He smiled to himself. It was a small step, but maybe Sirius had dropped some of his defenses.
They ate in companionable silence until Sirius made a sudden apology. "I'm sorry I broke that shelf last night."
Remus shrugged. "It was just a board sitting on several struts. I have extras in my shed. If I can't repair it, I'll replace it."
"Still, that was a little disturbing. To me,anyway. I'm never sure whether I should be happy that I still have magical powers, or worried that they erupt out of me." The expression on his face made Remus smile. He'd seen it many times at Hogwarts, a mixture of satisfaction at a perfectly constructed prank combined with concern that detention or the loss of House points would be the inevitable outcome.
"I think you're allowed to be a little rusty, considering what your life's been like."
"Mmmm," came the dubious reply. "What really scares me is that I'll find myself in a situation where I have to cast a spell or throw a hex and I won't remember something absolutely crucial. Something that could save my life." He sighed and muttered, "Or someone else's." His eyes darkened.
Remus was determined to prevent Sirius from falling out of the relaxed mood he had been in. "I have plenty of books you can use as refreshers. I know it's not the same as using your own wand, but at least it'll be a way to test what you remember. Plus, it's something you can do while staying off your feet. And, if you behave yourself, I'll even let you borrow my wand for practice."
The black brows arched in mock horror. "Is that wise? I may blow the roof off in a fit of over-exuberance."
They both grinned. For the first time since his arrival, Remus felt he was seeing the Sirius he remembered.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They spent a quiet morning. Remus repaired his bookshelf and then tended his garden. Sirius dragged a chair and small table into a sunny spot near the garden. He spent a thoughtful hour composing and writing his letter to Harry. Remus didn't intrude, but glanced up questioningly from his tasks when he heard a loud sigh. Catching his look, Sirius, smiled sadly. "I'd much rather be able to sit down and talk to him face-to-face. I think he could use a sympathetic shoulder to lean on."
Remus' expression grew thoughtful. "Since Dumbledore wants you to contact the old crowd, maybe Arabella could arrange to have Harry come over to her house when you're there."
The gray eyes fired with intensity. "That's right! She lives nearby, doesn't she? Excellent idea, Remus, assuming Arabella doesn't hex me into oblivion when I pop up at her door. She could make up some sort of story about needing Harry to help her move heavy objects around her house. We'd be able to spend some time together to talk. Really talk."
His face was alight with enthusiasm. Privately, Remus wondered how open Sirius could be with Harry, considering his reticence to talk about himself with Remus. As if picking up on the thought, Sirius added wistfully, "It's funny, you know. Sometimes it's easier talking with people when you have no history with them."
Remus saw the truth in that statement. Harry and Sirius really didn't have a history together, although Harry had remained in Sirius' thoughts through the years. Whereas he and Sirius had the blessing and curse of remembering their time together and the loss of separation. He thought it best not to comment on his thoughts, saying only, "I'll take your letter to the Owl Post this afternoon, as my owl won't return from her trip to Hogwarts before tomorrow at the earliest."
Sirius smiled his thanks.
His letter finished, Sirius earnestly began thumbing through several spell books. Occasionally, he'd ask Remus questions to compare what he read with what he remembered. Sometimes the recollection of a simple spell was enough to trigger the memory of a host of related, but more complicated magic. Remus thought it was like watching the icy grip of winter melt under the assault of spring. Although perhaps he shouldn't be surprised; Sirius had always been a quick study.
They worked silently for a while. Only the scrape of a trowel or the turn of a page indicated their progress until Sirius said with bewilderment, "What are all these kitchen spells? Peeling spells? Chopping spells? I don't remember any of this!"
"I'm not surprised. You refused to use them. You always said that preparing food was a holy act with which one should not tamper."
"Did I? That sounds awfully pretentious."
Remus turned to look at him, his hands covered in mulch. "I found the effort you'd put into planning and making a good meal rather endearing."
"Oh." Sirius thought about this. It made sense, fitting with hazy memories that wavered just out of his reach, memories redolent with the sights and sounds and smells of kitchens. They were good memories, he knew, from his childhood, from Hogwarts. The smell of gingerbread and his mother's voice humming, a chorus of house elves welcoming them on a kitchen raid. Sirius couldn't quite bring everything into focus, but he knew he would soon. It was one of the few times since his escape that he felt some of his lost self coming back to him. He was almost absurdly grateful.
Remus eventually finished mulching, and glancing up, saw that Sirius' head was resting on his crossed arms, which, in turn rested on the table. He approached quietly, and confirmed his suspicions. Sirius slept, soothed perhaps by healing sunlight. Cautiously, with a touch as light as a feather, Remus ran one hand along the black tresses, feeling the sun's reflected heat. He backed away. He'd get lunch ready before waking his still-weary friend.
After bustling around the kitchen collecting plates and cutlery, slicing up some ham, cheese and bread, Remus piled everything on a tray and went back outside. "Sirius?" He called when he was still a good ten feet away. Not a muscle twitched on the still body. Carefully placing the tray on the table, Remus tried again. "Padfoot?" He said, laying his hand against a sun-warmed shoulder.
Sirius leaped out of his chair, twisting away in a snarling tornado of black fur and snapping teeth. A menacing Padfoot faced him; lips curled back, hackles raised. Remus' hands shot up in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
In the blink of an eye, Sirius was back in human form, the wildness fading from his face. "S'alright. I.I'm not used to letting my guard down. Just.just don't come up behind me like that."
As if clouds had suddenly cast a shadow, the mood surrounding the men darkened. Conversation over lunch was stilted. Remus tried drawing Sirius out on what he had read. Sirius responded with monosyllables. Talking had become an effort for him again. He felt tired and anxious. Perhaps a nap might help his mood.
Remus insisted that he get a proper sleep in a real bed. "And walking up the stairs will give you a chance to try this out. I transfigured an oak branch this morning. I thought you could use it until your ankle is better." He reached down by his feet and sat back up, brandishing a cane. However, this was no mere stick. Like anything that Remus transformed, it was beautiful. "Smooth, balanced and strong."
'Just like you, Moony,' Sirius thought. He stood up and leaned on the cane. It would do admirably. He hobbled up to the bedroom and stretched his fatigued body across the bedspread. Yes, this was what a mattress felt like. He remembered this. Within minutes, Sirius was asleep.
He slept deeply and dreamlessly until late afternoon. When he finally woke, he remained motionless for a long time, acutely conscious of comfort. It was delicious, almost decadent. In the space of a day he had been showered with blessings. Food, shelter, clean clothes, indoor plumbing complete with hot and cold running water. Soap and shampoo. Comfortable furniture. A bed. A real bed. With pillows. He was the richest man in the world.
And Remus. Who, for some unfathomable reason, seemed to have forgiven him for his sins. Again. Who inexplicably seemed happy to have him stay, not giving a damn that he was a fugitive with a death sentence hanging over his head. Who worried about him and cared for him. Who still wanted him as a friend and companion. And, Sirius was sure, as a lover.
Remus. The sound of his laugh, the slight frown that appeared when he sat writing at his desk. The impossibly gentle way his fingers probed another person's injury, assessing the damage and soothing the hurt at the same time. Sirius remembered the touch of those fingers as they slid through his hair or wandered over his body, teasing, tickling, caressing. He wanted to feel them again. He wanted to feel Remus' arms around him, holding him tight. But, he also dreaded it.
As if pulled by the power of Sirius' thoughts, light footsteps climbed the stairs, hesitating at the door of the room. Poking his head around the doorframe, Remus found Sirius staring at him, as if expecting his arrival. The gray eyes were fraught with emotions, much as they had been the previous evening in the bathroom.
Slowly, Remus approached the bed. "Well, at least I won't run the risk of giving you heart failure by waking you up."
Sirius pulled himself up, leaning his back against the headboard. He simply didn't know what he wanted to say, so he remained silent.
Remus tried again. "I wasn't sure how long to let you sleep. I know you're terribly tired, but then I worried if you slept too long this afternoon, maybe you'd have trouble sleeping tonight, but every time I checked on you, you looked so peaceful it seemed a shame to wake you so I thought I'd wait just a little longer -"
"Moony."
"What?" Remus' breath stopped at the sound of his old nickname.
"You're babbling."
With a rueful grin and a slight shrug, Remus acknowledged it. "I know. I'm trying to find the right words.the right tone.to tell you."
"Tell me what?" Sirius could think of any number of totally unrelated things that Remus might be trying to get out. He had no clue whether Remus was about to declare his undying love or apologize that he hadn't sent Sirius any birthday presents over the last fourteen years.
Remus sat at the edge of the bed, close but not too close. With a flick of his hand he lit the candle on the nightstand. "What I really want to say is that I'm worried about you, and I'm afraid that events will take you away too soon, and I'm happy you're here and I don't want you to go."
It was not at all eloquent, and it pierced Sirius' heart. "I don't want to leave, Remus. But I may have to. If anyone suspects that I'm here, if some Ministry flunky shows up looking for me, I'll turn into Padfoot and leave."
Shaking his head, Remus argued. "No one will know. I set up protective wards around the property. No one but you can get within a half mile of here without an alarm going off. You're safe -"
Sirius lunged forward and grabbed Remus' arms. "Maybe. But you know the Ministry has infiltration experts. If I discover even a hint of something suspicious, I'm leaving. I won't risk you."
Remus was about to remonstrate when his eyes were attracted by the way the candlelight reflected off of the inside of Sirius' wrist. There was a jagged scar there, the remnant of a deep, nasty wound, a long, uneven trail running from the heel of his hand up his arm, disappearing under the cuff of his sleeve. He had noticed it last night, but it didn't register at the time. There had been too many other nightmares to deal with. But now.He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
"What happened to your arm?" He asked in a deceptively conversational tone.
Sirius immediately let go of him and sat back. "Nothing. I'm fine."
With the wolf's lightning reflexes, Remus grabbed Sirius' arm and turned it firmly into the light. More slowly, he grasped the other arm and turned it to see a matching scar. He felt a horrible vertigo, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the affirmation of what he already knew in his gut would push him over. His hands slid up past the slender wrists, pushing the sleeves higher, as high as they would go, halfway up to the elbows, and, still, the scars meandered on, marring the once-soft skin.
"What made these scars?" He whispered, staring now into gray eyes gone flat and emotionless. "Tell me."
Sirius drew several deep breaths, and then, with the battered dignity of a fighter beaten but not broken, he said, "I decided one night that I was tired of prison, and since I had no way of getting out alive, I tried to get out dead."
Remus was expecting it, but even so, it was like a knee to the groin. His fingers loosened on the damaged flesh, but didn't let go until Sirius tugged free. He felt sick, but he had to know. Everything. "What sort of weapon leaves a scar like that?"
Sirius was silent for a long time until finally he said, "My teeth."
"Oh, God!" Remus cried, his brain filled with the vision of Sirius, dirty and disheveled, gnawing on his own arms, driven by despair so deep that he sought to bite through his own veins, to chew his way to the freedom of death. It should never have happened. He'd done nothing to deserve that. And Remus, who had thought him guilty, would have laughed at the bitter irony of the Animagus wishing desperately for Padfoot's sharp teeth, all the while knowing that his dog brain would not comprehend suicide.
"Oh, God, Sirius." he whimpered, his throat tight. His fingers ran lightly up and down the scars as if he could sweep them away. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault. Besides, as you can see, I was unsuccessful. As I recall, I had a lot of trouble getting the blood flowing properly. Too much flesh gets in the way of your teeth. You really have to work at it." His tone was coolly matter-of-fact as if he was reporting on a science experiment that didn't go quite as planned. Remus raised his eyes, staring at Sirius with horror.
"How can you brush this off, like it's nothing!?"
Sirius shrugged, turning his face away from the heated hazel eyes. "It doesn't matter now. It was a long time ago. They found me, healed me and kept me under observation for a while. I never tried it again. It doesn't matter."
"It *does* matter, goddam it!" Remus yelled, his anger boiling over. Sirius flinched away from him. "Why do you keep saying things don't matter?! 'It doesn't matter..I don't matter.' What the fuck is wrong with you?! Of course, it matters! Azkaban is torture! You were tortured! For Peter's crime! Maybe you don't give a shit anymore! Maybe you're too far gone to care! But, it matters to me! You matter."
His voice broke and he buried his face in his hands, smothering the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He was so angry. Angry at Sirius' apparent indifference to his own suffering. At Peter, who deserved to be flayed alive. At himself because he had believed in Sirius' treachery. And, because his anger could not burn away his own helplessness to put everything right.
Remus felt the mattress shift and then an arm encircled his shoulders. He couldn't bear it. Not now. Remus sprang to his feet and launched himself down the stairs and out of the house.
Although he sat completely immobile on the edge of the bed, Sirius felt he was floundering to keep from drowning. Trapped in a twisted net of uncertainty, the safest course was to do nothing.
He didn't know how long he sat there before his mind broke through his body's inertia. He had to find Remus. Sirius tottered down the stairs and out the back door. There was no sign of the missing wizard. The cane thudded to the ground as Padfoot cast about back and forth until he found the strongest scent of Remus. He followed it into the woods.
It wasn't long before the limping dog caught the scent of the werewolf floating in the air. He soon sighted a figure sitting dejectedly on a tree stump. Slowly and quietly the dog approached the man. He felt anxious, sensing sad/hurt feelings from the man/wolf who was his pack. Cautiously, Padfoot came close. With an uncertain whine he nudged the man's arm with his broad nose and looked up into the eyes that were almost-Moony's.
Remus had been silently berating himself for losing his temper. He knew Sirius' emotions were raw and volatile. Yelling at him for not feeling the way Remus thought he should feel would only add to his turmoil. Their breakfast banter seemed like a dream right now.
He was suddenly aware that he was not alone. He turned, just as he heard a whine and felt a strong push at his arm. Padfoot's eyes were the same ghostly gray of his human form, but with a different type of sentience to them. Even so, they were filled with canine worry. Remus stared into them, a rueful smile beginning to quirk his lips, as his hands slid to scratch behind the soft ears. His fingers burrowed through thick fur, kneading the dog's shoulders.
After a few minutes Remus dropped his hands. "Change back?" He asked.
Sirius stood next to him, his eyes still worried, but now with the full weight of human knowledge in them. "Are you okay?"
Remus nodded and rose to his feet. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - "
"Don't. You have nothing to apologize for."
"But - "
"No. Look, can we make a deal? Can we agree that.that things should be.that we're not who we. that we can't.?" Sirius shook his head in annoyance. He paused, obviously struggling to round up the proper words from the verbal herd running loose in his head. "We've been apart.alone for so long. We're.we're bound to.stumble into things.unexpected things about each other. And.maybe we'll be.get angry or sad or hurt. But, we have to.deal with it even if it's not easy. And just.try."
The stormy eyes in the thin face pleaded for understanding. The words weren't perfect, but they captured the essence of what Sirius was trying to say. Remus regarded him solemnly and said, "And when we fall on our faces, we'll help each other up and try again."
He laid a hand against Sirius' face and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. In spite of the slight tensing of the taller wizard's body, Remus felt like some of the strangeness between them had dissipated. He felt the ground solidly beneath his feet. "Come on, let me help you back to the house."
TBC
And, thank you to you folks out there who have commented on this story.
Recap: After sharing a companionable dinner, an increasingly enraged Sirius told Remus about Harry's experience in the graveyard at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Remus got some insight into the depth of Sirius' emotional torment.
Chapter III Visible Scars
The nagging ache in his back woke him to a rush of unfamiliar sensations. Knubby cloth against his cheek, a symphony of bird calls, the dewy smell of flowers and grass. Blinking rapidly in the early morning light, his vision adjusted to the dimness. For a brief, gut-clenching moment, he had no idea where he was. And then he remembered.
His eyes fell on the other person in the room, propped up in ungainly fashion in the old chair. If his back hurt from trying to fit his too-long frame on the couch, Remus was sure to wake up with his spine in knots. His tawny head tilted to one side, mouth slightly open. Sirius couldn't be sure in the faint light, but he suspected that the gleam at the corner of Remus' mouth was saliva that he was unconsciously puddling onto his own shoulder. The thought of the usually fastidious werewolf drooling in his sleep delighted Sirius. A broad grin split his face, and he had to firmly stifle a loud snort of amusement. 'Wonder how his students would react to seeing calm, collected Professor Lupin slobbering on himself?'
But, the thought of students made Sirius think of Harry, which, in turn, made him think of the previous evening. His smile vanished with the familiar twinge of guilt. He'd write to Harry today. Surely by now he was back with the dreadful Dursleys. Sirius lay quietly on the couch, feet dangling off the edge, and began organizing his thoughts on what to put in a letter. After pondering for a considerable amount of time, he rolled to his feet and quietly hobbled into the sun-lit kitchen. He'd make himself useful preparing breakfast.
Remus awoke with a painful crick in his neck, momentarily confused about why he was in his living room. The untidy pile of books and wooden shards on the floor and the sounds of someone moving around his kitchen jolted his memory. He rose and walked in to see Sirius preparing breakfast.
"What are you doing?" Remus said with some surprise as Sirius cracked several eggs into a bowl.
"I admit it's been a while since I made myself useful in a kitchen, but unless I'm greatly mistaken, one must remove the eggs from their shells in order to prepare an omelet properly."
"That's not what I meant. You should be off that leg!"
"I considered fixing breakfast while lying flat on my back in the middle of the floor, but that seemed rather impractical."
Remus snorted in exasperation, although he enjoyed the bantering tone in Sirius' voice. "Don't be dense. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."
"Still the worrier, aren't you? I'm hardly putting any weight on it at all."
And, indeed, Sirius stood with his left knee bent, his foot barely touching the floor. Somewhat mollified, Remus saw to the toast. They stood close together waiting for the various parts of breakfast to cook, until Remus glanced at Sirius, feeling the weight of his gaze. He raised a questioning eyebrow.
Sirius smiled at him, somewhat shyly. "Thank you for taking in a beat up, old stray."
Remus moved a step closer and blurted out, "You're not some sort of beggar. And I'm not taking you in. I'm welcoming you home." He stopped, sensing a slight withdrawal on Sirius' part. He wondered if he said too much. Well, too bad. Some things needed to be uttered out loud.
But, to his hidden delight, Sirius shuffled closer and tentatively reached out to squeeze his shoulder. Remus closed the distance between them, bringing the slender wizard within his gentle embrace. Sirius stood still, allowing himself to be held. There was nothing passionate or sexual about it, although Remus knew that if he thought too much about the body he held close, he'd be hard pressed not to push Sirius down and make love to him on the kitchen floor. But, still, it was so comforting to lean against the man he had missed for so long.
The sizzling omelet popped loudly. Remus slowly drew back to tend to breakfast, and sensed that Sirius didn't want him to let go. He smiled to himself. It was a small step, but maybe Sirius had dropped some of his defenses.
They ate in companionable silence until Sirius made a sudden apology. "I'm sorry I broke that shelf last night."
Remus shrugged. "It was just a board sitting on several struts. I have extras in my shed. If I can't repair it, I'll replace it."
"Still, that was a little disturbing. To me,anyway. I'm never sure whether I should be happy that I still have magical powers, or worried that they erupt out of me." The expression on his face made Remus smile. He'd seen it many times at Hogwarts, a mixture of satisfaction at a perfectly constructed prank combined with concern that detention or the loss of House points would be the inevitable outcome.
"I think you're allowed to be a little rusty, considering what your life's been like."
"Mmmm," came the dubious reply. "What really scares me is that I'll find myself in a situation where I have to cast a spell or throw a hex and I won't remember something absolutely crucial. Something that could save my life." He sighed and muttered, "Or someone else's." His eyes darkened.
Remus was determined to prevent Sirius from falling out of the relaxed mood he had been in. "I have plenty of books you can use as refreshers. I know it's not the same as using your own wand, but at least it'll be a way to test what you remember. Plus, it's something you can do while staying off your feet. And, if you behave yourself, I'll even let you borrow my wand for practice."
The black brows arched in mock horror. "Is that wise? I may blow the roof off in a fit of over-exuberance."
They both grinned. For the first time since his arrival, Remus felt he was seeing the Sirius he remembered.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They spent a quiet morning. Remus repaired his bookshelf and then tended his garden. Sirius dragged a chair and small table into a sunny spot near the garden. He spent a thoughtful hour composing and writing his letter to Harry. Remus didn't intrude, but glanced up questioningly from his tasks when he heard a loud sigh. Catching his look, Sirius, smiled sadly. "I'd much rather be able to sit down and talk to him face-to-face. I think he could use a sympathetic shoulder to lean on."
Remus' expression grew thoughtful. "Since Dumbledore wants you to contact the old crowd, maybe Arabella could arrange to have Harry come over to her house when you're there."
The gray eyes fired with intensity. "That's right! She lives nearby, doesn't she? Excellent idea, Remus, assuming Arabella doesn't hex me into oblivion when I pop up at her door. She could make up some sort of story about needing Harry to help her move heavy objects around her house. We'd be able to spend some time together to talk. Really talk."
His face was alight with enthusiasm. Privately, Remus wondered how open Sirius could be with Harry, considering his reticence to talk about himself with Remus. As if picking up on the thought, Sirius added wistfully, "It's funny, you know. Sometimes it's easier talking with people when you have no history with them."
Remus saw the truth in that statement. Harry and Sirius really didn't have a history together, although Harry had remained in Sirius' thoughts through the years. Whereas he and Sirius had the blessing and curse of remembering their time together and the loss of separation. He thought it best not to comment on his thoughts, saying only, "I'll take your letter to the Owl Post this afternoon, as my owl won't return from her trip to Hogwarts before tomorrow at the earliest."
Sirius smiled his thanks.
His letter finished, Sirius earnestly began thumbing through several spell books. Occasionally, he'd ask Remus questions to compare what he read with what he remembered. Sometimes the recollection of a simple spell was enough to trigger the memory of a host of related, but more complicated magic. Remus thought it was like watching the icy grip of winter melt under the assault of spring. Although perhaps he shouldn't be surprised; Sirius had always been a quick study.
They worked silently for a while. Only the scrape of a trowel or the turn of a page indicated their progress until Sirius said with bewilderment, "What are all these kitchen spells? Peeling spells? Chopping spells? I don't remember any of this!"
"I'm not surprised. You refused to use them. You always said that preparing food was a holy act with which one should not tamper."
"Did I? That sounds awfully pretentious."
Remus turned to look at him, his hands covered in mulch. "I found the effort you'd put into planning and making a good meal rather endearing."
"Oh." Sirius thought about this. It made sense, fitting with hazy memories that wavered just out of his reach, memories redolent with the sights and sounds and smells of kitchens. They were good memories, he knew, from his childhood, from Hogwarts. The smell of gingerbread and his mother's voice humming, a chorus of house elves welcoming them on a kitchen raid. Sirius couldn't quite bring everything into focus, but he knew he would soon. It was one of the few times since his escape that he felt some of his lost self coming back to him. He was almost absurdly grateful.
Remus eventually finished mulching, and glancing up, saw that Sirius' head was resting on his crossed arms, which, in turn rested on the table. He approached quietly, and confirmed his suspicions. Sirius slept, soothed perhaps by healing sunlight. Cautiously, with a touch as light as a feather, Remus ran one hand along the black tresses, feeling the sun's reflected heat. He backed away. He'd get lunch ready before waking his still-weary friend.
After bustling around the kitchen collecting plates and cutlery, slicing up some ham, cheese and bread, Remus piled everything on a tray and went back outside. "Sirius?" He called when he was still a good ten feet away. Not a muscle twitched on the still body. Carefully placing the tray on the table, Remus tried again. "Padfoot?" He said, laying his hand against a sun-warmed shoulder.
Sirius leaped out of his chair, twisting away in a snarling tornado of black fur and snapping teeth. A menacing Padfoot faced him; lips curled back, hackles raised. Remus' hands shot up in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
In the blink of an eye, Sirius was back in human form, the wildness fading from his face. "S'alright. I.I'm not used to letting my guard down. Just.just don't come up behind me like that."
As if clouds had suddenly cast a shadow, the mood surrounding the men darkened. Conversation over lunch was stilted. Remus tried drawing Sirius out on what he had read. Sirius responded with monosyllables. Talking had become an effort for him again. He felt tired and anxious. Perhaps a nap might help his mood.
Remus insisted that he get a proper sleep in a real bed. "And walking up the stairs will give you a chance to try this out. I transfigured an oak branch this morning. I thought you could use it until your ankle is better." He reached down by his feet and sat back up, brandishing a cane. However, this was no mere stick. Like anything that Remus transformed, it was beautiful. "Smooth, balanced and strong."
'Just like you, Moony,' Sirius thought. He stood up and leaned on the cane. It would do admirably. He hobbled up to the bedroom and stretched his fatigued body across the bedspread. Yes, this was what a mattress felt like. He remembered this. Within minutes, Sirius was asleep.
He slept deeply and dreamlessly until late afternoon. When he finally woke, he remained motionless for a long time, acutely conscious of comfort. It was delicious, almost decadent. In the space of a day he had been showered with blessings. Food, shelter, clean clothes, indoor plumbing complete with hot and cold running water. Soap and shampoo. Comfortable furniture. A bed. A real bed. With pillows. He was the richest man in the world.
And Remus. Who, for some unfathomable reason, seemed to have forgiven him for his sins. Again. Who inexplicably seemed happy to have him stay, not giving a damn that he was a fugitive with a death sentence hanging over his head. Who worried about him and cared for him. Who still wanted him as a friend and companion. And, Sirius was sure, as a lover.
Remus. The sound of his laugh, the slight frown that appeared when he sat writing at his desk. The impossibly gentle way his fingers probed another person's injury, assessing the damage and soothing the hurt at the same time. Sirius remembered the touch of those fingers as they slid through his hair or wandered over his body, teasing, tickling, caressing. He wanted to feel them again. He wanted to feel Remus' arms around him, holding him tight. But, he also dreaded it.
As if pulled by the power of Sirius' thoughts, light footsteps climbed the stairs, hesitating at the door of the room. Poking his head around the doorframe, Remus found Sirius staring at him, as if expecting his arrival. The gray eyes were fraught with emotions, much as they had been the previous evening in the bathroom.
Slowly, Remus approached the bed. "Well, at least I won't run the risk of giving you heart failure by waking you up."
Sirius pulled himself up, leaning his back against the headboard. He simply didn't know what he wanted to say, so he remained silent.
Remus tried again. "I wasn't sure how long to let you sleep. I know you're terribly tired, but then I worried if you slept too long this afternoon, maybe you'd have trouble sleeping tonight, but every time I checked on you, you looked so peaceful it seemed a shame to wake you so I thought I'd wait just a little longer -"
"Moony."
"What?" Remus' breath stopped at the sound of his old nickname.
"You're babbling."
With a rueful grin and a slight shrug, Remus acknowledged it. "I know. I'm trying to find the right words.the right tone.to tell you."
"Tell me what?" Sirius could think of any number of totally unrelated things that Remus might be trying to get out. He had no clue whether Remus was about to declare his undying love or apologize that he hadn't sent Sirius any birthday presents over the last fourteen years.
Remus sat at the edge of the bed, close but not too close. With a flick of his hand he lit the candle on the nightstand. "What I really want to say is that I'm worried about you, and I'm afraid that events will take you away too soon, and I'm happy you're here and I don't want you to go."
It was not at all eloquent, and it pierced Sirius' heart. "I don't want to leave, Remus. But I may have to. If anyone suspects that I'm here, if some Ministry flunky shows up looking for me, I'll turn into Padfoot and leave."
Shaking his head, Remus argued. "No one will know. I set up protective wards around the property. No one but you can get within a half mile of here without an alarm going off. You're safe -"
Sirius lunged forward and grabbed Remus' arms. "Maybe. But you know the Ministry has infiltration experts. If I discover even a hint of something suspicious, I'm leaving. I won't risk you."
Remus was about to remonstrate when his eyes were attracted by the way the candlelight reflected off of the inside of Sirius' wrist. There was a jagged scar there, the remnant of a deep, nasty wound, a long, uneven trail running from the heel of his hand up his arm, disappearing under the cuff of his sleeve. He had noticed it last night, but it didn't register at the time. There had been too many other nightmares to deal with. But now.He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
"What happened to your arm?" He asked in a deceptively conversational tone.
Sirius immediately let go of him and sat back. "Nothing. I'm fine."
With the wolf's lightning reflexes, Remus grabbed Sirius' arm and turned it firmly into the light. More slowly, he grasped the other arm and turned it to see a matching scar. He felt a horrible vertigo, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, and the affirmation of what he already knew in his gut would push him over. His hands slid up past the slender wrists, pushing the sleeves higher, as high as they would go, halfway up to the elbows, and, still, the scars meandered on, marring the once-soft skin.
"What made these scars?" He whispered, staring now into gray eyes gone flat and emotionless. "Tell me."
Sirius drew several deep breaths, and then, with the battered dignity of a fighter beaten but not broken, he said, "I decided one night that I was tired of prison, and since I had no way of getting out alive, I tried to get out dead."
Remus was expecting it, but even so, it was like a knee to the groin. His fingers loosened on the damaged flesh, but didn't let go until Sirius tugged free. He felt sick, but he had to know. Everything. "What sort of weapon leaves a scar like that?"
Sirius was silent for a long time until finally he said, "My teeth."
"Oh, God!" Remus cried, his brain filled with the vision of Sirius, dirty and disheveled, gnawing on his own arms, driven by despair so deep that he sought to bite through his own veins, to chew his way to the freedom of death. It should never have happened. He'd done nothing to deserve that. And Remus, who had thought him guilty, would have laughed at the bitter irony of the Animagus wishing desperately for Padfoot's sharp teeth, all the while knowing that his dog brain would not comprehend suicide.
"Oh, God, Sirius." he whimpered, his throat tight. His fingers ran lightly up and down the scars as if he could sweep them away. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault. Besides, as you can see, I was unsuccessful. As I recall, I had a lot of trouble getting the blood flowing properly. Too much flesh gets in the way of your teeth. You really have to work at it." His tone was coolly matter-of-fact as if he was reporting on a science experiment that didn't go quite as planned. Remus raised his eyes, staring at Sirius with horror.
"How can you brush this off, like it's nothing!?"
Sirius shrugged, turning his face away from the heated hazel eyes. "It doesn't matter now. It was a long time ago. They found me, healed me and kept me under observation for a while. I never tried it again. It doesn't matter."
"It *does* matter, goddam it!" Remus yelled, his anger boiling over. Sirius flinched away from him. "Why do you keep saying things don't matter?! 'It doesn't matter..I don't matter.' What the fuck is wrong with you?! Of course, it matters! Azkaban is torture! You were tortured! For Peter's crime! Maybe you don't give a shit anymore! Maybe you're too far gone to care! But, it matters to me! You matter."
His voice broke and he buried his face in his hands, smothering the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He was so angry. Angry at Sirius' apparent indifference to his own suffering. At Peter, who deserved to be flayed alive. At himself because he had believed in Sirius' treachery. And, because his anger could not burn away his own helplessness to put everything right.
Remus felt the mattress shift and then an arm encircled his shoulders. He couldn't bear it. Not now. Remus sprang to his feet and launched himself down the stairs and out of the house.
Although he sat completely immobile on the edge of the bed, Sirius felt he was floundering to keep from drowning. Trapped in a twisted net of uncertainty, the safest course was to do nothing.
He didn't know how long he sat there before his mind broke through his body's inertia. He had to find Remus. Sirius tottered down the stairs and out the back door. There was no sign of the missing wizard. The cane thudded to the ground as Padfoot cast about back and forth until he found the strongest scent of Remus. He followed it into the woods.
It wasn't long before the limping dog caught the scent of the werewolf floating in the air. He soon sighted a figure sitting dejectedly on a tree stump. Slowly and quietly the dog approached the man. He felt anxious, sensing sad/hurt feelings from the man/wolf who was his pack. Cautiously, Padfoot came close. With an uncertain whine he nudged the man's arm with his broad nose and looked up into the eyes that were almost-Moony's.
Remus had been silently berating himself for losing his temper. He knew Sirius' emotions were raw and volatile. Yelling at him for not feeling the way Remus thought he should feel would only add to his turmoil. Their breakfast banter seemed like a dream right now.
He was suddenly aware that he was not alone. He turned, just as he heard a whine and felt a strong push at his arm. Padfoot's eyes were the same ghostly gray of his human form, but with a different type of sentience to them. Even so, they were filled with canine worry. Remus stared into them, a rueful smile beginning to quirk his lips, as his hands slid to scratch behind the soft ears. His fingers burrowed through thick fur, kneading the dog's shoulders.
After a few minutes Remus dropped his hands. "Change back?" He asked.
Sirius stood next to him, his eyes still worried, but now with the full weight of human knowledge in them. "Are you okay?"
Remus nodded and rose to his feet. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have - "
"Don't. You have nothing to apologize for."
"But - "
"No. Look, can we make a deal? Can we agree that.that things should be.that we're not who we. that we can't.?" Sirius shook his head in annoyance. He paused, obviously struggling to round up the proper words from the verbal herd running loose in his head. "We've been apart.alone for so long. We're.we're bound to.stumble into things.unexpected things about each other. And.maybe we'll be.get angry or sad or hurt. But, we have to.deal with it even if it's not easy. And just.try."
The stormy eyes in the thin face pleaded for understanding. The words weren't perfect, but they captured the essence of what Sirius was trying to say. Remus regarded him solemnly and said, "And when we fall on our faces, we'll help each other up and try again."
He laid a hand against Sirius' face and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. In spite of the slight tensing of the taller wizard's body, Remus felt like some of the strangeness between them had dissipated. He felt the ground solidly beneath his feet. "Come on, let me help you back to the house."
TBC