1991
Sirius' Point of View
He stared at me when I was forced through the gates; blue eyes filled with unshed tears, red and burning for my sake. His hands, which had been so warm, so soft and tender to the touch just days earlier, were rough and clenched tightly into fists as they nearly froze in the cold, damp sea air of early November.
The cold seeps into his bones, I can tell. It gets to him, to his inner wolf. I see him shivering and I know he's begging for his bed, and for sleep. But sleep won't come. It never does when you really need it.
He stands alone, his back facing the entire world. He doesn't shift his gaze; he wants to make sure I'm locked away for good. Remus never did take chances. It was always James and I that did.
Why doesn't he have Harry now? Remus should. He would be a fine father, loving but not too soft, as devoted to his child as I am to him. I envy his future children.
When he holds Harry, you can tell he loves him so. It's not sexual, of course, Remus isn't like that, but it is love, pure and unconditional in its greatest form. He'd give his life for Harry's, to redeem himself for some debt he never owed. Yes, he'd die for Harry. And Lily already did.
They probably wouldn't let him keep the boy. Werewolves aren't supposed to have children. That's not right, that sister of Lily's, Petunia, she can't care for a child. But neither can Remus, left alone on a full moon night.
Maybe it's for the best that things ended this way. He and I never could of made it. Remus is already an outcast, without any of my help. I needed him. He never needed me.