Baffled
Remus baffles Sirius.
They're best friends, in spite of the twelve years Sirius has spent in an
antiquated hell. They're each other's one grasp on reality, despite the fact
that they've both spent almost half their lives unbearably alone.
They've talked more through letters in this last year than Sirius ever recalls
them having talked in school. Sirius used to depend on James to make his world
right. James was the person who made him feel whole. The person who believed
him when everyone else was whispering nasty things about ill gotten talent and
inbred psychoticness.
Sirius thinks now that he was more like Jamie's leech than he was like Jamie's
friend. And it's not a comfortable feeling.
But Sirius can't be Remus's leech. Remus won't let him. In fact, half the time,
Sirius wonders if Remus even cares. And that's not a comfortable thought
either, but not many thoughts these days are. He's used to it.
Remus baffles Sirius.
And Sirius wonders if there was ever a time where he understood his werewolf friend,
or if he just selfishly imposed his own thoughts and feelings on someone who
never felt them. Even now, as Sirius travels up to meet with Remus at the
cottage he's been staying at, Sirius can't recall Remus's favorite color. Or
what makes him laugh. Or what makes him cry.
And he has to wonder. Did he ever know? Did he ever know what made Remus angry?
Did he ever know what frustrated Remus?
He and Remus are best friends, in spite of what's happened in the past, and in
spite of old spites.
He knocks on Remus's front door, an elated smile on his face as he prepares to
meet up with his long lost childhood buddy. But at the same time, in a tiny
corner of Sirius's heart, Sirius can't help but feel that even if Remus opens
the door, Remus will never invite him in.