Disclaimer: Not mine, JKR's. Written for fun, not profit.
Archive: Sure, just ask.
Chapter 3
The sky was grey, overcast with clouds. A light drizzle fell. One could say that the sky was weeping along with me, thought Sirius.
Only he wasn't weeping. Not anymore. For more than a month Remus had lay dead to the world, his heart obstinately going on, and Sirius had shed his tears then, little by little, drop by drop. And now he was empty. He heard Minerva sniffle and felt her squeeze his shoulder. He turned to her.
"I'll be alright," he whispered hoarsely.
He almost laughed hit with the realisation that he was now the last of the Marauders. What a jolly lot they had been! How swiftly it had all gone to hell! James turned to him, eyes too bright behind his glasses… no, not James. The eyes were green. It was a boy. Just a boy that had been forced to carry the weight of the world.
Albus' eulogy was brief. He had never been one for long speeches. His eyes met Sirius' for a moment then he glanced at Severus. Perfectly composed Severus. Sirius was not surprised. He'd seen Snape brew and drink the calming potion himself.
Severus wore a vaguely bored expression that must have convinced most of the mourners that he truly had no heart. No one was squeezing his shoulder. No one was near him. He never tore his gaze from Remus' still body. Remus, dressed in white, peaceful at last. With his small frame one could take him for a child if it hadn't been for the grey hair.
A flick of Albus' wand and the flames started. The burning boat with its sleeping passenger was launched in the lake. Spectacular in death, quiet, sweet Remus.
"Goodbye Moony," whispered Sirius. "See you on the other side."
Severus was still staring at the fire which was slowly dying out in the middle of the lake. The night had fallen. It came early that time of year. The moon was almost full from what he could see behind the clouds but it no longer scared his Remus. The fire in the water was gone now and only the moon's cruel silver light fell on the lake. One by one the mourners made to get back to Hogwarts.
Sirius did not want to receive condolences like a bereaved widow. He wasn't unnecessarily harsh, he knew that the students and members of staff that told him how sorry they were and asked if he was alright had meant well.
Ron gave him a pat on the shoulder that had started out as a hug but at the last minute he had seemed to remember his homophobia. Sirius smiled kindly to the boy whose eyes were as red as his hair.
By the redhead's side, Hermione wiped at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
"He was a brilliant Professor, and a wonderful person," she whispered.
Harry guided his friends away sensing his godfather's need to be left alone.
Before leaving he gave one last look at Sirius then followed his gaze which had landed on the gaunt black-clad figure of a man that was still staring at the lake as if rooted on the spot. The Headmaster's figure illuminated only by the light of his wand was making its way towards him.
In the quiet night their voices carried. Sirius stood still.
"I'm fine, Albus."
"What have you taken?"
"Oh, did I disappoint you by not beating on my chest and tearing my hair out?"
"It's not good for you to be numbing your pain."
The other man gave out a harsh laugh. "The potion won't last for very long. I'm expecting my pain to come back full blast in about an hour or so."
The razor-sharp sarcasm did not faze the Headmaster. He placed his hands on Snape's shoulders.
"He's dead, my son. You aren't."
"I'm a shadow, Albus. I was never alive. So please, no lectures on moving on and learning to live without him. I've gotten enough of those from Remus."
"And you will not respect a dying man's last wishes?"
"Where is your greatest love, Albus?"
The white-haired man took a step back. "She's dead," he said in a tone Sirius had never heard him use before. "She has been dead longer than you have been alive."
"And did you move on?"
"At 110 it didn't seem like a good age for that."
There was silence for a while.
"I'm sorry, Albus," Severus sounded tired. "I know that you only want what's best for me."
"Come, I'll walk you back to your Dungeon," Dumbledore's tone showed that he did not need the apology.
And Severus always believed that I was his favourite, thought Sirius.
The Tranquillus Potion had left Severus exhausted. Albus put his arm around his shoulders and together they headed back to the Castle.
"I don't want anyone to see me," murmured Severus.
They passed Sirius. Dumbledore gave him a curt nod. Severus did not notice him.
"Don't worry, no one will see us," said Albus taking out his wand. With a murmured word that Sirius didn't catch and a little flash they disappeared. Sirius could still hear their footsteps. The invisibility charm could not do much about sounds.
In his dream, no one was dead. He had Remus tucked under his chin and his hands were busy torturing his upper body. Teasing his nipples then going lower to stroke on his flat stomach enjoying the feel of the fine hairs. And Severus was there taking care of things bellow the waist, his bobbing head brushing against Sirius' fingers. Remus had melted like butter between them. Their Remus.
Abruptly, as it is the case with dreams, the scene changed. They were still in Remus' enormous four poster. Somehow Sirius had ended in the middle… was that a memory? Something he had wished for? Severus was asleep with his head on Sirius' chest. Severus was always the last to fall asleep if he slept at all.
Sirius half-opened his eyes not wanting to accept the reality of his cold, solitary bed. Definitely a memory. He could remember everything down to Severus drooling on him and how surprisingly soft and sleek his hair had felt. He'd mostly avoided touching it until then even though he and Severus had been intimate many times and in many ways already. He'd run his fingers through the silky mass while he felt Remus' warm breath hitting the side of his neck.
Sirius had never felt more complete. That moment had been pure perfection, it would have been enough to feed a Dementor for a year. He gave out a bitter laugh which was cut short when his breath hitched. His eyes stung as though the moisture he felt running down his cheeks was blood, not tears. He thought he'd run out but apparently he'd been wrong. He wondered whether he was crying for the dead or the living.
