3 The Minutes
Remus is not sure why Sirius wants this, but he doesn't ask. Sirius's eyes sparkle restlessly when his gaze interlocks theirs. Remus holds up his wand and whispers:
"Legilimens."
At first he sees nothing. It doesn't surprise him, for this skill is blind lucky hits rather than something he masters. But slowly a strange feeling creeps into him: it is as if he is walking in the midst of memories and feelings floating on the surface of Sirius's mind.
The images come in a blurred rush, overlapping each other.
A black-haired teenaged boy is yelling at a grim-looking woman until an ominous man strides into the room and slaps the boy's face violently. A languished man lying on a narrow bed is listening to the wailing filtered by the stone walls of the cell. A chilly front of black creatures is approaching Sirius, who has collapsed onto the ground, but something of silvery shimmer is running towards them over moonlit water.
A slender bespectacled boy is passing fingers through his black hair and smiling. Harry – or is it James? – shoots into the sky on his broomstick. A green-eyed baby reaches out for Sirius's face, Lily and James are beaming and laughing. But then it is night, the house is in ruins, and there is no light anywhere, not that night and not for many, many years.
Sirius's face is anxious, concentrated. He is struggling to show Remus something.
The flow of images grows clearer. Remus sees an animal, no, two animals. A night of green-black vines, of darkness coloured by stripes of moonlight is rushing by, a wolf is moving like a powerful dream, followed by a black dog. The whining, writhing shadow of the animals is rolling on the ground until the wolf presses itself down, offers its neck for the dog to bite as a sign of surrender. The dog nibbles the wolf's neck gently, and the wolf whimpers with pleasure, tameless, yet tamed.
Remus is the wolf and the wolf is Remus, sitting in the Shrieking Shack pale, trembling. He is a child, an adult, scintillating, grey and everything else, he is ten million different Remuses who are all the same. He is bright and sharp-edged on a shadowy background. And finally Remus is bare and soft and hard, hasty and fumbling and willing, glowing and full. And long years later changed, more patient, wearier, but his expression is still the same as he looks at Sirius.
The bare and soft and hard Remus is lying on a bed and laughing a happy, quiet laughter, pointing at the drawn curtains, putting a finger on his lips, listening to if there is anyone else in the Gryffindor dormitory. When there is no sound, he reaches for Sirius to pull him into his arms --
And Sirius reaches his arm out in the present time and touches Remus's face --
-- and the flow breaks, because Remus has closed his eyes, his hand is trembling fiercely, the wand falling down to the floor. He hears Sirius's quickened breath and realises that although it has only been minutes, they have spent many moons, years, entire lifetimes standing there.
Remus is sure he knows but he still asks:
"Why?"
"I wanted you to know."
"I know, Padfoot," Remus replies.
Love is love even when it remains unspoken, he thinks, but doesn't say it. Words would only shatter it into dust and ashes, this something that doesn't fit inside any words.
Remus pushes Sirius onto the bed, and neither one of them is thinking of the past or the future anymore.