Winter melted into spring and eventually summer, bringing sun and heat and increasingly dangerous Order missions. As the days grew longer, Remus and Sirius's relationship grew more and more distant. Remus spent most of his time in bed, silent and motionless and shivering; Sirius tried again and again to talk to him, to get him to explain what was going on or what had upset him so greatly, but Remus always either ignored him or told him to leave him alone. Eventually, Sirius stopped trying. The rest of the Marauders did too.
Sirius and Remus still slept in the same bed, but Remus almost never allowed Sirius to touch him. And the chasm that had opened up between them was far more than just physical. Sirius had absolutely no idea how to fix it—he didn't even know if it could be fixed, since he didn't know how it had broken in the first place.
It was mid-July when Sirius received a letter from Dumbledore telling him that his father had passed away from a serious case of Matagot flu. He felt nothing but numbness at the news; any love he'd ever held for his father had died away long ago. He tossed the letter into the fireplace and did his best to forget all about it.
But it wasn't so easy for him to deal with the next letter from Dumbledore, which arrived just a few weeks later. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, it said, but I thought you deserved to know: your brother Regulus has been declared dead. It appears he had attempted to defect from the Death Eaters and was killed for his efforts. I will be sure to let you know if we learn anything more.
Sirius had given up on Regulus long ago, but reading of his death brought instant tears to his eyes. He was so young; he'd only graduated from Hogwarts a couple of months ago. Not only that, but he'd tried to defect…. Maybe the Order could have helped him if he'd come to them, helped to protect him…Sirius could have protected him, just like he had when they were little boys. Why hadn't he asked for help? He probably thought that he wouldn't get any.
Remus was the only one home; he ducked into their room after returning from some solitary errand, saw Sirius's tears, and glanced down at the letter sitting beside him on the bed. Then he left again, and Sirius cried some more.
"Hey." Remus rapped on the open door some time later—minutes or hours or days, Sirius had no idea—and stepped inside with a plate of food in hand. "I made you some pancakes. They're the chocolate chip ones you like."
Sirius glanced up, feeling a sudden wave of anger surge through him. "That's your response?" he snapped. "My brother's dead, and you thought making me pancakes would make everything better?"
"Of course not," Remus murmured. His voice was always so quiet now. "I just—I wanted to do something for you."
"You wanted to do something for me?" Sirius stood up. "You've hardly spoken to me since January. How about you start by telling me what the bloody hell is wrong with you?"
Remus glanced down at his feet. "I don't know," he whispered.
"Well, whatever it is, I can't deal with it right now. And I don't want your pancakes—I want my boyfriend back, Re." He wanted Remus to hug him and kiss him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that Regulus's death wasn't his fault and there was nothing he could have done. "Do you even care about me anymore?"
"Of course I do, Sirius. But I…I can't be what you want me to be right now." His voice was barely audible. "I just can't."
"Yeah, whatever." Sirius turned away from him. "I'd rather you just get the hell out of here, then."
Remus lingered in the doorway for another few minutes; Sirius could sense his stare, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Then he walked away, taking the pancakes with him, and Sirius collapsed into a silent, soul-crushing sob.
