A/N: Warning(s) for: Mild depictions of torture, and implied child abuse

Next update Saturday: 16th May

Finally, the wait will be over...in a week. Guess who's meeting who in the next chapter and there'll be a cookie in it for you guys ;)

Happy reading!

Chapter Six: Something Hushed

...

"The room I entered was a dream of this room.

Surely all those feet on the sofa were mine.

The oval portrait

of a dog was me at an early age.

Something shimmers, something is hushed up."

-John Ashbery

...

"Those go in the cupboard, " Remus says without looking up from the dishes, referring to the freshly dried glasses in Sirius's hands. He's always preferred to do the chores the muggles way when he can, his mother used to do so and Remus had to admit… the repetitive motions are relaxing, they occupy his thoughts without being intrusive.

"No," Sirius replies, his voice sour.

"No?" Remus quirks an eyebrow, finally looking up to his best friend, staring at him with a slight frown. They're alone in the kitchen, with the children all upstairs and the Weasley couple occupying the first floor living room. "They don't go in the cupboards?" Of course, he knows that's not the actual reason why Sirius is being so uncooperative.

"You are being an idiot, Moony," he says and Remus promptly gets back to the numerous dishes still left from dinner. He had fought for them tooth and nail, finally managing to shoo Molly Weasley away for a short break. He needed this. He needs to feel useful. The full moon is too close for comfort. There's a deep ache already settling in his bones.

"I'm not being an idiot," he calmly says, ignoring the way Padfoot snorts. "I'm washing the dishes and you promised you'd help. So either stop abusing the cutlery or help me wrap this up so we can go sleep." he so desperately needs sleep. If given the chance, Remus is sure that he can drop dead right there by the dishes.

"You cannot spend the night alone," Sirius insists, smacking the offending glasses in his hands back on the table with a startling clank, causing Remus to mildly glare at him, hands never pausing in their movement.

"I do it every night, I don't see why I would be having any problems tonight."

Sirius actually growls. "Stop this! Stop pretending you don't know exactly what I'm talking about!" his voice is starting to rise. "Because you do. Stupid doesn't suit you, Moony."

Remus washes his sud covered hands under the running water and reaches for another plate. "On the contrary, I'm told it's quite a look on me,"

"You went behind my back to Dumbledore." Sirius points a finger at him. "You went to him, and you begged him to let you spend the full moon anywhere else that isn't here, fully aware that I cannot come with you! You're being an idiot!"

"I've managed twelve years, Sirius. I'm not," 'gonna need you', that's how Remus was going to end the sentence before he stops himself, and then he winces, because he shouldn't have said that in the first place. Even the unspoken words seem to hang there between them, heavy. Sirius would blame himself for those twelve years, feeling guilty for going after Wormtail so recklessly, for abandoning Remus and his godson behind, for being imprisoned. They have avoided talking about the subject this long, and even though a part of Remus knows how unhealthy this is, he's pushing to see how far they can go without talking about… everything.

He looks at him now, to see that Sirius' face is still determined and exasperated. He guesses that there's no avoiding this anymore.

"But you don't have to do it by yourself, not anymore," Sirius steps closer, his voice taking on a desperate edge, "Can't you see how much easier it would be? Why are you so intent on suffering?"

"I'm not," says Moony as he sneaks a glance over his friend's shoulder. He really doesn't want Molly and Arthur hearing this. "Severus was kind enough to provide me with-"

"Not that kind of suffering!"

Remus finally sets the dish he is holding down, and then fully turns to face Sirius. He doesn't say anything, just looks at him, urging him to continue. He has the urge to put up a silencing charm, but fears that it would alarm others. He stares at Sirius and silently begs him not to make a full-blown argument out of this.

"Just…" Sirius starts, finally faltering under Remus's eyes. "Going through everything alone just like before is... You've had to do it for the last twelve years as you did before. Before us. James, and… I and I know that it's my fault, so please, let me help."

The words hang between them, awkward and filled with tension. Remus, knowing that he is being petty, fists his hands, and lets himself wallow into Sirius's good intended, albeit poorly worded speech. "Oh, so you're doing it out of guilt?" there is no heat behind his words. He's always cool and collected when he's mad. Especially when he's mad.

Sirius instantly blows, his hands going up to claw at his hair in frustration. "No, ugh! You always do this! This, this-"

Remus cuts in. "What."

Sirius growls. "This deflecting thing! It doesn't work on me anymore! I can see right through you, Moony."

Remus's eyes narrow, the water is still running behind them and by now he's sure that not only Molly and Arthur, but any other stray ears might be privy to this argument. Sirius is a loud person, Merlin forbid encountering him when he's pissed.

"You just miss a playmate, " Remus says, accusingly, viciously, even though he doesn't mean it. Because he cannot. He just cannot think of spending a single second with his best friend as Padfoot. Not anymore. The wolf craved a friend, the dog, for years, month after month, even though Remus patiently told himself ' he's gone, stop this, he's gone, and you know it '

Still, the wolf persisted, every single month, and was disappointed time after time, every single month. Remus is tired.

"I don't miss a playmate. I miss my best friend." Sirius's voice is still louder than usual, and Remus inwardly cringes. He hates causing a scene.

"I've talked with Albus, and we both reached the same conclusion" He's proud of the lack of wavering in his voice. "I cannot spend the full moon in the headquarters. It's too dangerous."

"Then how come when I talked with Albus he said-"

"Because you're a spoiled brat" Remus hates himself for saying these words. "And that's how you shoot down a brat, Sirius. You give them what they want until someone can deal with them," he takes a deep shuddering breath. "I'm that someone. "

"You're doing it again!"

"And it's working! " Remus finally yells back, well… it's his equivalent of a yell anyway. It sounds more like a rumble to him. More like the wolf letting off some steam. He hates it when he's aggressive. He hates it when Sirius forces his hand like this.

"Why don't you just admit that you fucking blame me?! Just do it so we can get this over with and I can have you back again! Then you can stop being an idiot!"

Remus freezes for a moment, "Sirius," he sighs, his irritation ebbing away in a single instant, giving way to weary exhaustion, "It wasn't," he mutters quietly. He cannot do this, carry on and let Sirius think that's the reason for this.

"Alright?" he gulps. "It wasn't all your fault." this conversation was way overdue. Remus knows that. "You shouldn't blame yourself. James was our best friend, we were both devastated."

Beyond devastated. Remus's life wasn't anything resembling a life at all after… the incident. It still isn't.

"You weren't the one who went barging in yelling bloody murder, and then accused of a massacre," Sirius' voice sounds so glum, that Remus pulls off his gloves and steps even closer to him, he doesn't process his actions until he steps too close and takes Sirius' hands in his own and murmurs softly, "It was just righteous anger. Everyone felt it, but you more than anyone. And you acted upon it, it's not your fault that it went wrong."

"And it ruined your life. And Harry's." Sirius tightens his grip on Remus' hand. They're both still mad, maybe not at each other anymore, but still mad nonetheless.

"Harry is still probably safer with his muggle relatives," Remus hates telling Sirius the bitter truth that he has a hard time believing himself. "The blood wards are a lot stronger than anything we could have provided."

"He shouldn't have needed those wards, if I'd just not insisted that Wormtail be made secret keeper, he wouldn't have," something breaks in Padfoot's voice, and the ache in Remus' bones become heavier. "James would have been here. He and Lily would have fixed this."

"Padfoot," Remus breathes out, voice low and painful, "No one, no one knew about Wormtail being a death eater. Not even James could have fixed that. Some things are just up to fate… like Wormtail… And the… the prophecy too. Some things are just meant to happen."

Remus sees the way Sirius grits his teeth, sees how the emotion in his eyes shifts from grief to anger, "A prophecy," he spits, "About an infant, spewed out by a drunk fraud! It doomed him from the moment he was born and it isn't even certain that he would succeed in what he's been 'destined' to do. Lily and James's boy… Remus, he's just a boy."

"That's how prophecies work, possibilities instead of absolutes," Remus murmurs, even though he shares Sirius' anger. "He's strong, Sirius. Stronger than you give him credit for."

"I know," Sirius sighs. "But I look at him, and all I see is the baby I held in my arms for fifteen months, the one I babysat with you, the one that James and Lily adored beyond anything on this planet… that's the boy. And I keep asking myself, why him? It could have been anyone else's child, why Jamie's?"

"We don't get to decide our fate, Padfoot. There's nothing we can do but help him," and then, against his better judgment, he wraps his arms around Sirius, folding him into his embrace. Sirius feels so small in his arms, even though he's the taller one. It's times like these that Remus is reminded again and again of just what exactly Sirius went through in Azkaban, twelve years with those horrifying creatures, only the thought of vengeance keeping him alive.

"We'll get through this," he promises Sirius, as well as himself. "We'll get him out of this alive. We owe it to James and Lily, and to Harry."

"I'm speaking with Dumbledore again," Sirius says as they finally pull away from each other. "There's no way you're spending the full moon alone, ever again."

This time, Remus doesn't argue.

#

Rosier is amazed at how their sheer plebeian, tedious normality hasn't wiped the muggles out as of yet, as a whole species, he wonders at their existence the same way he wonders at an ant scrambling under his boot, unaware of how close the danger lurks, the omen of death, and the judicial strand of fate that belongs under a simple foot.

He marvels at how small and insignificant they are, living their lives in identical houses, driving their little vehicles, going about their way… unaware, and small.. And all around pathetic, really.

This doesn't mean that he thinks all wizards are superior to these squirming creatures, there are bound to be a few vermin amongst their sort as well, Dolohov himself being one, as he squealed like a little pig before his Lord's wand, quivering and hollering on the floor, begging for mercy, begging for redemption after his own incompetence landed him by The Dark Lord's feet.

Rosier hates those kinds with passion. The pathetic, common scum who have been wrongly blessed with magic. The blood traitors, the mudbloods. It revolts him, and he's sure that his Lord shares this particular brand of disgust as well. Weakness, in the face of offered power, is insolence. And people like Dolohov are worse than muggles for misusing magic in such an undermining way.

He heaves another hefty sigh, ignoring the slight cramping in his back and the numbing sensation that's slowly expanding up his legs, he has been standing on the same spot for hours now, he's not aware of how many to be exact, and he doesn't need to, his job doesn't require him to be aware of time or his own bodily complaints, his mission requires firm dedication and a pair of keen eyes. And Rosier is blessed with both.

The muggle woman, the particular one he's been assigned to, is an absolute, cosmic nightmare, Evan isn't even sure that such a woman could really exist in any realms of reality, and yet, here he is, watching her furiously wipe her windowpane with a rag and an insufferable look on her face. So many disgusting features and bits of personality… all sewn together to make that waste of breath. To what end?

He'd almost rather be watching Dolohov tortured again.

'I'm sorry, my Lord! Sorry! Mercy… I beg you to have mercy!' he begged as if he deserved an ounce of it.

'You dare ask for mercy from me?' The Dark Lord's voice was cold, all hard edges and cruelty, displaying his displeasure in such a way that not even Dolohov could have mistaken it for anything else.

'No! No! I am nothing but your faithful servant!'

'Silence! Crucio!' A part of Rosier felt satisfaction at seeing him put in his right place.

'M-my Lord.' Dolohov was sobbing and sniveling on the ground, and Rosier felt his mouth twist in disgust.

'I gave you one job to do Dolohov," the Dark Lord drawled. "And you failed me. What use are you to me, when I can't even trust you to do a single task?'

'Information!' Dolohov hollered. 'I have information, my Lord! Shacklebolt was tailing the boy! I've said so before! He was after Potter, he snatched the boy right before the Dementor could finish the job!'

'Rosier.'

'My Lord,' Rosier's face was blank behind his mask.

'What is he babbling about?'

'It seems as though the order of the phoenix is cherry-picking high ranking Aurors, my Lord. Shacklebolt being one of their newest members. They seem to be guarding the brat at all times,' like a rat-infested hole, protecting their young, Dumbledore's pawns seemed to be all over the place.

'And you weren't made aware of this before?' Rosier admitted that the way the Dark Lord was running his fingers over his wand, sounding as calm as ever, sent a shiver of dread through him.

'The mole claims ignorance,' Evan forces himself to remain calm, discipline was his salvation. 'My Lord, he says he wasn't aware that Potter was under surveillance.'

His master's eyes narrowed. 'And have you made him aware of my displeasure, Evan?' his voice was so low, it almost resembled a malicious hiss.

' Of course, my Lord.' he had tortured the little bastard himself. 'He has learned his lesson. Such shortcomings won't occur again,'

' Good.' another stroke upon the scaley wand, 'Get this pathetic creature out of my sight.' Voldemort snapped at a masked death eater, sneering down at Dolohov's sobbing form. The remaining death eaters all sprang into a frenzy, three peeled off Dolohov off the marble floors, Malfoy and Snape outright left after a bow, which left only him and Bella by his Lord's side. 'Rosier, stay.'

'My Lord,' Bella was the only one daring to protest.

Voldemort's eyes flashed in warning. 'Bella, leave us,' he said, his eyes narrowed until Bella dipped into a curtsey and then turned to leave. After the double doors clicked close, Voldemort nudged his head at Rosier, calling him to kneel before him.

'I saw some interesting bit of information in Dolohov's mind, Rosier.' he started, once Evan looked up.

'May I inquire-'

'You may not,' Voldemort impatiently cut him off. 'but circumstances have slightly changed. I have a mission, just for you, Evan,'

'I would be honored, my Lord,'

' You shouldn't be,' his Lord hissed, unimpressed. 'it's your own brand of punishment. However, you should be aware that failure would cost you greatly,' Rosier smirked. As if he could ever fail.

'Of course, my Lord.'

' I will not let you slither past such failure again, Dolohov's blunder was as much your responsibility as his.'

Rosier's lips curled down on their own accord. 'Yes, my Lord, I am humbled by your mercy. '

'You should be.'

The mission had been the perfect punishment, and now Rosier knows why. It's the tedium, the utter boredom, and revulsion that's repelling him. Standing rooted in one spot for hours to no end, with no action, no spells, and no dueling. Just standing, and observing, meticulously but in a way that makes Evan impervious to gouging out his eyeballs to boil them in molten pools of silver.

Even so, he takes note of every little tick, every small nudge. He is a capable man, he knows how to exert himself well in order to succeed. He has to in order to survive.

So he watches, and he learns every single day.

Finally, after what feels like another eternity, and a sluggish blur of days passing him by, the moment finally, blessedly arrives, a month after his mission had begun. Finally.

A red vehicle pulls up to the porch and the obese pompous man gets off with difficulty, reminding Evan of a flobberworm squirming on a leaf, weak, pathetic and squishy. The man hurries into the house, only to emerge with the whale boy and the disgusting woman on his trail, the three of them mounted on the vehicle in giddy haste.

After a while of following and knowing all he needs to, Evan touches his mark with a relieved sigh and apparates to his Lord, falling to his knees before his master with a tilted head.

"It's time, My Lord," he almost croons, in his own excitement. "It's time."

The Dark Lord's mouth curls into a merciless smirk.