Shadows of Doubt

by elfmage

Disclaimer; I own none of the characters of the Harry Potter universe, that honour belongs to the brilliant Ms. J.K. Rowling. Eternal praise be to her for providing us fanfiction-addicts with enough material for a lifetime!

Warnings; Extreme angst (I mean it, this was written to satisfy my sadistic need for amazing amounts of angst!), self-mutilation, attempted suicide, depression, and other cheery things.

Additional notes; See prologue. Short chapters are for emphasis of content!

Reviews are appreciated, but only if you wish! Now that that is over with, on with the story!

Chapter Six: The War In Your Head That I Did Not Understand

Remus woke up the next morning to a dull ache in his neck, and the sound of Sirius talking in his sleep, obviously caught once again in one of the frequent nightmares that haunted his sleep, almost every night since he had escaped Azkaban.

Carefully disengaging himself from the dishevelled man asleep on his shoulder, Lupin used his wand to send Sirius into a deeper sleep, hopefully one that would be dreamless. The werewolf then considered his sleeping friend briefly, before turning and walking out of the room as quietly as he could, gathering up the tray and its' dishes and taking them with him.

Wincing slightly at the cracking and popping of his joints as he walked, Remus felt his way down the dark stair, taking care to avoid the third one from the bottom, which he knew had a tendency to screech loudly. Thankfully, Kreacher had finally left, the day after Harry had been killed, and the portrait of the late Mrs. Black had finally been destroyed, much to the relief of Lupin and Sirius, the only ones left living in the Black Mansion.

Once again entering the cavernous kitchen, he set the tray down on the bench near the slightly rusted sink, taking care not to drop any of the precariously stacked crockery. Placing the plate of uneaten sandwiches in the creaking fridge, Lupin turned his attention back to the dished. He was almost tempted to simply use magic to do the chore of washing them up, but he instead opted to do them the Muggle way, giving him some much-needed time to think.

Running the water for a moment, waiting for any hints of rusty brown to dissipate from the water, he put the plug in the hole, noting the edge of rust around the drain. If he and Sirius were going to be spending any great length of time here, he would need to start doing some cleaning.

Searching fruitlessly for some detergent, Remus gave up, and used his wand for that small task. When the sink was reasonably full, he began washing the crockery. His actions were automatic, however, and his mind was elsewhere, as he pondered his options for helping Sirius, exploring possible avenues by which he might help his friend defeat the inner demons that he was so obviously battling.

Sirius was beside himself with grief, that much was apparent. Who wasn't? Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had finally been defeated, and his godfather, the man who swore to protect him, had been forced to witness it, unable to do anything. Remus exhaled slowly. It wasn't just the grief that was debilitating Sirius. It was the overwhelming guilt over Harry's death, combined with the guilt he had been harbouring for years, guilt that he had been unable to save one of his closest friends.

For as long as Remus had known Sirius, he had always been aware of what he privately thought to be his friend's biggest flaw; the way in which he remembered every failure, every mistake he had ever made. Instead of learning from his errors, he continued to remind himself of them, allowing them to destroy him from the inside out.

It was terrifying to watch. How someone like Sirius, someone so strong, so composed, so completely together could simply go to pieces, haunted by the demons of his past, eventually being brought down by them. That night at Hogwarts, when Remus had had to watch his friend's façade shatter, had frightened him terribly, and now he experienced the same feeling of helplessness that he had that night.

That this voice in Sirius' head had become so powerful though, that was of great concern. It wasn't that Remus thought his friend was insane; no, he knew that he was not. Lupin also had some idea of what had given this voice its' power, which he suspected had increased gradually since Sirius' imprisonment in Azkaban.

The Dementors alone were enough to reduce a grown man to a shadow of himself, and yet that had not happened as much with Sirius as one might expect. Not by the Dementors' means, anyway. No, Remus knew that the real destruction of the Sirius he once knew, had come on that day when he had visited Azkaban; when Sirius realised that his friend no longer believed in him, was no longer there for him, now despised him. Remus had not realised it at the time, but in hindsight he knew that that day he had witnessed the final shattering of what remained of his old friend.

Remus allowed the water to drain out of the sink, fetching a rather ratty looking tea-towel and began wiping the dishes clean. The spell he had placed upon Sirius was going to wear off soon, and the man needed feeding something desperate, assuming he could convince him to eat. He would take the sandwiches up again, and hopefully his friend would manage at least one.

The werewolf knew, however, that more than anything, Sirius needed to talk. He would be well enough to get out of bed by tomorrow, maybe even today, which would make it even more difficult to corner him. Remus vowed that he would not let Sirius out of his sight, not until he knew that the man was no longer a danger to himself. At the moment Lupin was wary to even leave Sirius alone with his thoughts, worrying about what the outcome of such an internal dialogue could be.

Making another two mugs of hot chocolate, Remus reminded himself once more that he would need to go shopping within the week. That left the problem of what to do with Sirius. Rubbing his tired eyes with long fingers, Remus gathered his supplies together, pushing the problem to the back of his mind. He would deal with that when he came to it.

Lupin walked carefully up the stairs, one eye on the steep steps beneath him, the other making sure nothing on the tray was in danger of falling. Walking along the hallway, he paused briefly at the third door on the left, the threshold of the room that served as his bedroom. He could hear someone talking within the room, quietly, occasionally denying something with an unconvincing vehemence.

Debating whether or not to barge in and stop this potentially dangerous conversation, Remus decided against it, instead placing the tray on the floor silently, and using his sensitive werewolf hearing to eavesdrop on Sirius conversation with his internal detractor.

"I… I didn't kill them!" Remus felt his heart lift for a moment. Perhaps Sirius was gaining the confidence he needed to overcome this. However, he was disappointed when Sirius spoke next;

"I… You're right. God, always… always right. Bu… but I didn't… I never meant…"

"It does… does matter. I would never… I couldn't betray…"

"Moony said he… he didn't mean it!" The werewolf paid sharp attention when he heard his name spoken. He sagged against the doorframe when he realised that Sirius was replaying Remus' statement, when he said Sirius betrayed them all.

"He wouldn't lie! …" Sirius' voice was adamant. "He said… said I wasn't, he doesn't mind…" His voice faded to little more than a whisper, and Remus had to strain to hear him.

"It's all I ever do, isn't it? All I ever do is inconvenience them, cause them pain," Sirius voice was disturbingly bitter.

"I can't do it! I already failed, and now I am even more of a… of an inconvenience than ever. I already failed once…"

So don't fail. Remus could almost hear the voice himself. His blood ran cold as he realised what Sirius was talking about. He heard the dressing table drawer open… where he kept the old-fashioned blade he used to shave!

Realising he should have intervened earlier, he burst through the door, the oak swinging open to grant him a view of the room within. The bed was empty, and Sirius was standing, swaying heavily, next to the dressing table, the old-fashioned cut-throat in his hand. He turned to look at Remus, his eyes glazed as though he was in a dream.

Lupin broke free of his momentary paralysis, dashing forward to grab the blade. Sirius, however, was determined to do as the voice told him, determined to rid his friend of the inconvenience he believed himself to be. With a strength that Remus was surprised at given his current condition, he wrestled with the werewolf for the blade, determined not to fail again.

Remus held on to the razor desperately, knowing that he could not fail. He was trying to wrest it from his friend's grasp without hurting the man, who was fighting him with all his strength. Exhaustion soon began to regain its' hold on Sirius though, and soon he was barely able to keep his grip. Giving the blade one last twist, he fell to the floor, jerking Lupin off balance.

That little twist had a surprising effect, however. The blade skimmed lightly across Remus' hand, opening a shallow but rather painful gash, which promptly started to ooze blood. The sight of the red liquid seemed to rouse Sirius from the dream-like stupor into which he had sunk, and he immediately scrambled backwards, retreating hastily until his thin back hit the wall behind him. Panic overtook him, and he frantically tried to move further back, unable to rise as he was.

Lupin was taken aback at this. He quickly placed the razor on top of the dressing table, currently well out of Sirius' reach, and stepped carefully towards his friend, the shallow cut on his hand all but forgotten. Sirius whimpered as his friend advanced, half curling into a ball, whispering sobbed apologies.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I didn't, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

He continued in such a manner until finally Lupin crouched in front of him, trying to catch his friend's eye, though he was currently staring vacantly at the floor, regret awash on his face, his skeletal body shaking violently. Remus seized the opportunity, and grabbed Sirius' painfully thin shoulders, shaking him slightly to gain his attention.

"Sirius, look at me," he uttered softly. When the shaking man in front of him gave no indication of comprehension, he shook him slightly again.

"Sirius, I'm fine. Look at me, I'm fine, Sirius." Remus tried again.

Sirius looked up, his haunted eyes meeting Lupin's for a moment, before focussing on the werewolf's bleeding hand.

"You're… you're not. You're… hurt, and… and it's my fault." The man diverted his gaze towards the threadbare carpet once more, before whispering to himself;

"It's always my fault."

Lupin sighed. The cut on his hand was proving to be of great distraction to his friend, and so he rose from his haunches and went to the first aid box on his dresser, which he had left there since finding Sirius two nights ago. He quickly inspected the cut, and satisfied that it was shallow and would heal quickly, he wrapped a short bandage around it, securing it with a small clip and a charm.

That having been dealt with, he turned back towards Sirius. The Animagus was still hugging his knees against the wall, still whispering apologies. Remus reached his friend in a few strides, and pulled the taller man to his feet, slinging one of the emaciated arms around his shoulder for support. The werewolf then guided his friend to the bed, settling both of them on it. He still hadn't had a chance to change the sheets, he remembered.

When it became obvious that Sirius was going to need more time to compose himself before he was able to talk coherently with his friend. Recalling that he wished to check the progress on his friend's wound, and treat his forgotten hand, he summoned the first aid box to him, and began unwinding the long bandage around Sirius' arm.

Squinting slightly in the dim light, Remus quickly rose and opened the curtains, allowing the midday sun to flow into the room. Returning to the bed, he resumed his examination of the gash, relieved that Sirius appeared to have calmed down somewhat. However, he frowned at the look of the injury.

The edges of the cut were red and hot, more so than they should have been. Noticing that the cut was weeping, Lupin swore mentally, although he knew he shouldn't be surprised. The cut was getting infected, which was not too strange, given Sirius current emotional and mental state. Remus knew from his own past experience with bad transformations that the mind had a lot to do with physical healing.

Cleaning the wound with the disinfectant he found in the first aid box, he wrapped a clean bandage around it, tossing the dirty one next to the door, making a mental note to wash it when he was sure Sirius was asleep. Remus then moved on to inspecting Sirius' knuckles, which, as he suspected, were cut and bruised. He suspected that, had his friend been more aware of his surroundings, they would be quite painful, too.

Those cuts too showed signs of the beginning of infection, and Lupin cleaned them as thoroughly as he could with the disinfectant, wrapping a shorter bandage around Sirius' hand. He placed a large, cool hand against Sirius' forehead, checking for the beginnings of a fever that he knew would present itself. Sirius flinched slightly at the contact, but then relaxed at the calming presence.

Suspicions confirmed, Remus felt like banging his head against a wall. The last thing Sirius needed right now was an infection-induced illness. It seemed like since Harry's funeral two days ago, events had compounded dangerously, and he feared what the climax of these events would be.

Noticing that Sirius now seemed significantly more aware of his surroundings, he gathered his resolve. He had to get Sirius to talk to him, to really talk to him, otherwise… Remus didn't want to think about what would happen if Sirius didn't get through this.

A/N; And here ends Chapter Six. Next chapter coming soon (it's already written, so I feel safe in saying this... :P ). Hope you enjoy!