Written for Camp Hogwarts, the July Writing Club and the Spring Seasonal Challenges of the same forum.
Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one, please.
Chapter warnings: none
Word count (chapter): 2827 words
And so the angst begins. Second chapter, y'all! Enjoy!
Paris never feels the same, when the streets all call your name
1.2 - In Separation
He walks down the quiet little lane, feeling oddly melancholic. He's on yet another mission for Headmaster Dumbledore. Dumbledore's assignments have steadily been getting lengthier and lengthier, and he hates being away from his friends so often.
It weighs on him, that he hasn't been around to share in his friends' lives lately. He hadn't been present when James came home with news of his promotion, he hadn't been there for Peter's birthday, and he had quite nearly missed Harry's birth entirely, arriving at St. Mungo's a mere half-hour before his little cub was born.
It's been a rough few months—James and Lily have had to go into hiding lately, and Peter rarely comes by anymore, preferring to stay at home, looking after his mother. He needs to be around in case of emergencies, Peter says, and his mum isn't young enough to protect herself if there's a raid in the neighbourhood.
It saddens him, that this is what they have come to. They aren't as close as they used to be. Sirius, James, Lily, Peter, and Harry, they're his family. It kills him to see his family drift away from him, and he cannot bear to watch them slip through the cracks.
The impending war has torn apart so many families, but it hasn't forced them into ruin yet. They are broken, distant, but still hanging on to each other, and it gives him comfort.
He reaches the end of the little lane, and it widens out into an open road. There are more people here, out on the streets, and most of them seem to be tourists. Sounds and scents assault his senses as he walks on, and he longs for the quiet of another empty tree-lined street.
The quiet darkness of the alleys had given the walk a pleasant air, and it almost made him forget that he isn't in Britain. But now, looking around, everyone and everything is but a reminder of where he is, and who isn't with him.
There seems to be some kind of fair or other night event in the near distance, or maybe these crowds are standard fare in this city. He doesn't know, he's never been here before. He hadn't planned on being here without him, but here he is.
Groups of tourists are flocking towards a determinable direction, and because this is his luck, they're all travelling the same route as him.
He sighs. It is so typical that he never gets peace when he wants some. There are always distractions—just the Marauders at first, but then there was the addition of Prefect duties, then Lily, then the Order members, one by one, and now even the general public seem to annoy him. All he wants is some tranquility. Why is that so much to ask?
He looks up for what feels like the hundredth time, and yes, Sirius the star is still right where he's last seen it, winking back at him from its position close to the moon, not quite full, but almost there.
The full moon is in three days, and he plans to go back home for the ordeal—he has transformed alone exactly once, since the inclusion of his Animagi family on his night excursions, and the experience was horrendous enough that he has long since promised himself that he is never doing it again, no matter how dire or delicate the Order assignments he undertakes.
He lets the crowds carry him in its surge as he stares up at the night. The sky is cloudy tonight, obscuring most of the stars into dim greys with its near opaqueness. The stars can barely be seen, but Sirius shines bright, as close to the moon as it has ever been.
He hates that he isn't back home with Sirius right now, with his Sirius. This is yet another thing that he's missing out on—his lover isn't here to share this with him like he always has. Sirius isn't here to whisper words of promise in his ear, Sirius isn't here to hold him tight and say that he'll always be there, and it aches.
He makes do with the memories, but it's not enough. He stares up at the sky, hoping that blocking out the sights around will suffice to ease the pangs of I-shouldn't-be-here-without-him, but it isn't enough. He plays back the memories of their last night at the castle, when he felt fulfilled and invincible, but it isn't enough. He wants more.
He wants Sirius.
"We revolve around each other, Rem. Even if, by chance, I move away, I'll always find my way back to you. Always."
He wants Sirius.
He sighs again, frustrated. This isn't working, and looking up at the shining star above just makes him long for its namesake.
As he turns his eyes away to look back at the busy street, his gaze accidentally catches the very sight he's trying to avoid. A brightly lit tower, unique and unmistakable in its lattice design. He looks down quickly. He didn't get that good a look, so it can be considered that he hasn't yet seen the Eiffel tower, right? Right.
He knows how silly it is to overthink to this extent. It's foolish and inane, and it makes him seem like a child, or worse yet, a lovesick little girl with delusionary fantasies. But Sirius has made him a promise, and impossible as it is, he still wants to hold on to it. Being here without him is making him guilty, as it is, and he doesn't want to lose the magic of seeing Paris for the first time with Sirius by his side.
Paris.
He never thought he'd be here, not like this. His mother told him stories of all kinds about her childhood summers spent here in Paris. He has always had this idealised dream of what the experience would be like. He's imagined coming here with Sirius countless times, and each dream has been magical.
He never thought he'd be roaming the streets of Paris to meet with and gain the support of four runaway, now homeless werewolves in a back alley at eleven in the night.
Surreal isn't the word for this.
He's muttering to himself as he crosses the main road and turns right. He's leaving the throng behind on the main street, only to join another crowd here—although thankfully, the swarm in this side-street is much less than the mob on the main.
This seems to be an artist's lane, and as he looks around for a street sign to confirm that he is on the right path, he cannot ignore the little clusters of people everywhere, as they stand for their portraits. Everywhere he turns his head, there's an artist with their easel, with their subjects modelling for them—smiling couples holding hands, family portraits, and one amusing case of a mother holding down her wiggling three year old on the stool, while the artist in the flashy scarf waves his arms about wildly, dripping little blue paint drops on the pavement.
Someone is playing some light background music with a portable radio, and he can hear the strains of smooth French where he stands. Quaint looking cafés dot the street, enticing aromas of coffee and dark chocolate filling the air. He's surprised that the shops are still open, but well, this is Paris.
The whole road is brightly lit, enabling the artists to work well, but the quaint charm of this bustling street is far from lost. The pavement stones are somewhat old-fashioned, but they only add to the beauty of the whole scene.
Sirius would have loved seeing this.
He can picture Sirius at the heart of this street. Sirius buying a scarf from the cart to the left there, Sirius making them stand for their very own portrait, making silly faces next to him, getting him to smile. Sirius hunting down the source of the music and requesting a David Bowie song to be played next, just for the heck of it. Sirius speaking in his fluent French, making loud and cliché declarations of love in front of everyone just to get him embarrassed. Sirius pulling him to the nearest café, saying, "For the love of Merlin, Moony, we're in France. Can you, for once, order something that isn't tea?"
Everything about this street screams Sirius, and he can't stay here any longer without breaking down. He just stands there, unmoving, the memory of that innocent fifteen-year-old promise playing on repeat in his mind's eye—the first of many.
"Where d'you wanna go when you grow up, Remmy?"
"What do you mean, Siri?"
"You know, when you're a big adult and can go anywhere you'd like… where d'ya wanna go?"
"Oh."
"Yeesss?"
"What?"
"Argh! Rem, just bloody answer the question!"
"Okay, okay, fine! I—can't."
"Can't what?"
"Go anywhere. I'm a werewolf, Siri. Where do you think I can go? I doubt I'd barely be able to take care of myself. I can't let myself think about luxuries when there's a high chance that I won't even be able to afford necessities."
"Oh. Right. Uh, I didn't think of that."
"Well, now you know."
"Don't look so down, Remmy! I'll figure something for you, I promise. I always come through, don't I?"
"Yeah, for pranks."
"Hmmpfh. Well, you'll see, I'll come up with something fabulous. And then you'll have to admit that I always come through for you. I know what I'll do! I'll find a way to solve your furry little problem. And I'll get you to Paris too."
"Oh please, Sirius, you can't find a way to get rid of the wolf—what? How'd you know I want to see Paris? I've never told you that!"
"Well, I'm just very, very observant you see. I can tell everything about you… that, and you always talk about those tales of your mum's summers there, and you cart around Les Misérables and that Two Cities book absolutely everywhere, so it wasn't tough to figure out."
"... oh. Oh, um, thanks, Sirius. I didn't know you could tell all that. It's… nice."
"Tell you what. When this whole You-Know-Who business is over with, we'll go to Paris together. Just the two of us. We'll see the sights, take pictures to make James jealous, and I'll take you to every single museum there is. We'll have a blast. I promise you, Rem, I'll get you to Paris. You'll have me with you the whole time, and I'll get to see each and every one of your reactions."
"My… reactions?"
"Of course, that's the best part!"
He feels a touch on his arm, and it jolts him back to the present. It's only the self-control he has honed from years of experience which keeps him from whipping out his wand and shoving it in the agitator's face.
The threat turns out to be a little moustached man with a pin-striped vest and a bright red scarf knotted loosely around his neck.
"Monsieur, voulez-vous acheter quelque chose?" the man asks hesitantly, and he realises that he has been standing in the same spot near the man's stall for the past five minutes. He flinches.
"Sorry, I'll leave," he says hastily, and hurries out the street. He doesn't look around anymore, just following the directions of the map he's had memorised and praying that he's on the right track. He cannot afford another lapse, not if he wants to reach home soon.
"When the war's over, Moony, we'll go anywhere you want. We'll travel the world for as long as we'd like, see every country in every continent."
He turns left, then right, then right again. He's speed-walking through the crowded streets, not daring to look up. Anything he sees will only remind him of Sirius, and this will only slow him down.
"We'll go to Paris, tour all over France. You're gonna love it. The first time you see Paris, I'll be there by your side to see it with you. I promise."
A final left, and then he's leaving the crowds behind. The Eiffel tower is now behind him, and there isn't a risk of him even glancing that way accidentally, but he isn't taking any chances. The pavement is uninspiring, but he doesn't dare look up, other than to observe for threats.
He's in another dark lane, quiet and pleasant. There are no people around, save for a young couple out under a nearby tree. He sighs in relief. He needs to get his game face on, if he is to convince the four werewolves to come back to Britain and join their side, and crowds unnerve him.
He smiles fondly at the two teens—so reminiscent of him and Sirius when they were younger. The dark haired young man reaches for the girl's hand, and they smile at each other, and he's instantly reminded of the innocence of their youth.
He turns his head away, intending to move on towards his destination, but before he does, a movement catches his eye and he focuses back on the couple. He sees that the boy's other hand has moved towards the girl's neck, and before he knows it, the two of them are passionately kissing in the dark.
The smile falls off his face.
"I'll kiss you everywhere, Rem—in the streets, atop the Eiffel tower, inside your favourite museums, in front of cafés and in alleys. We'll leave our mark all over the city, and when we look back at our trip, all we'll remember are those kisses."
He's dashing the rest of the way. He doesn't care, he doesn't care, all he wants is to meet with these werewolves tonight and hurry back home. He doesn't want to be here. He'll drag the wolves by their non-existent tails back to Scotland and shove them at Dumbledore if it gets him to Sirius quicker.
He needs to see Sirius.
Right, right, left, straight. He follows the directions of his memorised map right down to the last footstep. He doesn't want to be stuck here in Paris any longer than he has to, and he doesn't even bother with checking the street signs. He just moves, and hopes that he'll be taken where he needs to go.
"We'll stargaze from the Eiffel. I'd sneak us up at night, and you'd protest against using our magic to break rules, but you'll come with me anyway. We'll stay up all night, right at the top, and we'll watch the city lights go off one by one."
The streets are dark here, more rundown. The moonlight guides his steps as he hurries silently across the pavement. He's heading towards the river Seine—heading for the docks, but not quite.
"You'll fall asleep on me, and I'll let you. We'll sleep together on the ground all night, and we'll wake up the next morning with the sun shining in our eyes and a beautiful sunrise on the horizon. It'll be glorious."
There. A narrow, near invisible alley, right before the turn-off towards the docks. It's dark and lonely, well-hidden—perfect for their rendezvous point. It's the only place the werewolves could agree on for their final meeting.
"Together forever, remember?"
He'll be alright. He must have done this at least fifty times now, and he has it down to a science. He takes a deep breath, and forces his muddled mind to clear. He blocks out all thoughts of James' latest Auror case, of Peter's increasing distance, of Lily's worrisome obsession with her protective magic books and potions, of Harry's upcoming sixth month birthday.
As hard as it is, he wipes out all thoughts of Sirius.
It's a precautionary measure—maybe unnecessary, but he can never let himself jeopardise the protection of his family. He doesn't know these men's skills, he doesn't know whose side these people are on yet. For all he knows, this can be a trap, and if someone chances a read at his mind, he cannot let them glean any information from him.
The four men he's been meeting with for the past two weeks are all friends, good friends. They've escaped from Britain, hoping to find a place here with one of the men's mother's side of the family. He finds them to be good people, and they remind him of himself, of the Marauders. He wants to help them, but he doesn't know what he can do, and the war comes first.
Another deep breath. He lets out a single weary sigh, then straightens himself, gearing up to enter the alley. He has a mission to accomplish.
He goes in.