A/N: This is little more than a filler chapter--I know that.
Disclaimer: Not mine; please don't sue!
He stood outside the door for a long time, trying to stifle the memories that were trying to resurrect themselves. He didn't want to think about why he was here or how he was the only one left to do this. Unfortunately, that left him with nothing to do but to feel. And he sure as hell didn't like that.
"Oy! Who are you?" The gruff voice made Remus turn his head quickly to see who had spoken. "Oh, it's you."
The Muggle caretaker who took care of the flats in the building seemed to tense even more upon recognising Remus. "Hear your mate got himself in a bit of trouble."
Remus nodded once. "Just a bit."
"The police were here tearing through his flat a couple of times."
"So I heard."
"You the one who's gonna pack it up, then?"
Remus drew in a breath. "So I've been told."
"I've got a few boxes downstairs if you need them."
"That's very kind of you."
"Hey, who's getting that motorbike of his? She's a beauty—wouldn't mind making an offer on her myself."
"Isn't she a beauty?"
"Sirius, what in the hell are you going to do with a motorcycle?"
"Ride it, Moony! After I make a few adjustments..."
Remus closed his eyes and tried not to wince. He'd not given a thought to the motorcycle. He thought he remembered someone saying that Sirius had given it to Hagrid, but that didn't seem right, somehow. "I think it's promised to... someone else," Remus said hoarsely.
The Ministry would have a bloody fit if he sold that motorcycle to a Muggle. Serve them right, said a little voice in his head.
The man was staring at him so there was nothing else to do but unlock the door and push it open.
"I'll bring up some of those boxes —"
Remus nodded and stepped through the door and into the living room.
"Only you, Padfoot, would paint your sitting room in Gryffindor colours..."
The Aurors had not been gentle in their search, but it wasn't as bad as Remus had feared. Things had been taken from shelves and then replaced carelessly. Photos and pictures and posters that had been hanging from the walls when Remus had seen them last were piled haphazardly on the floor. The entire place still tingled with hints of magic that the Aurors used to track Dark magic items.
But, under it all, there was still a lingering trace of the aftershave that Sirius used and, when Remus closed his eyes and breathed deeply, he swore he could smell the coffee that Sirius brewed so strongly that a spoon would nearly stand upright in it.
More pressing, however, was a persistent, slightly expectant feel in the air, almost as if there were spirits whispering, Is he coming back? When will the master return?
"Can you believe this? It's all mine!"
"A toast! To the king —"
"To the emperor —"
"To the lord and master —"
"Yes! I am the lord and master! And you can be my house elves..."
Remus headed for the kitchen but froze in the doorway from shock. Cabinet doors and drawers were open and every dish and cooking utensil had been piled on the counter. Bottles, cans, and boxes of food had been opened and then left on the table. The stench from his vantage point by the door was unbelievable.
"Evanesco." A few simple flicks of his wand and the spoiled food disappeared. A couple of charms dispelled most of the odour.
"Not that bad," he scoffed, thinking of Moody's protestations.
Despite the cold November air, he opened the window in the kitchen to allow the fresh air to carry away the rest of the foulness and stood there, leaning on the windowsill and debating what to do next.
He wasn't ready to face Sirius' bedroom—the place where most of the traitor's clothes and personal things would be. So that left him the spare bedroom. He had stayed in that room several times: when he was too rat-arsed or too tired to Apparate to his own place, or when either he or Sirius didn't want to be alone. That had happened somewhat frequently for a while—after Caradoc had disappeared, after Benjy had been killed, after Marlene and her family had been massacred...
"A' thisss rate, we'll all be dead by this time nex' year."
"Padfoot —"
"Well, 's true, innit? Bloody bastards keep gettin' s-s-stronger. 'S not righ', Moony! 'S not righ'!"
"C'mon, Padfoot. Let's get you to bed."
The sheets and blankets had been ripped off the bed and then piled on top of it. There was a jagged line that ran the length of the mattress to show that the Aurors had ripped it open, diligently searching for evidence of Sirius' treachery and Darkness—and then had used a Reparo on it.
Remus couldn't help the tight smile that slipped across his face. Did they think Sirius would take the time to hide Dark magic items inside a mattress? He shook his head, thinking that maybe the Aurors hadn't been completely wrong: a Dark creature had slept in that bed, trying to hide from the increasingly devastating news of lives lost in a seemingly hopeless war.
His eyes slid over a book on a bedside table and then went back when his mind had registered what it was. His hand shook as he reached for it.
"What's so good about that book, Moony?"
"Read it and find out."
"But this is why I keep you around—to read things for me and then tell me what they say."
He opened the book and began to leaf through the pages. A loose sheet suddenly slipped out from about a third of the way from the back of the book and Remus slowly pulled it out, trying to remember what it could be.
"Moony,
How in the hell is one supposed to keep these names straight? Hope you don't mind I charmed it to make it easier to read."
Remus looked a little closer at the pages. Every Japanese name in his James Clavell novel had been changed into an English name. 'Lord Toranaga' had become 'Lord Tony'; 'Mariko' had become 'Mary'. Before Remus could stop himself, he smiled.
Without knowing why, he turned the loose sheet over and caught his breath. In that familiar, sharp handwriting, a quote from the book was written: "It's a saying they have, that a man has a false heart in his mouth for the world to see, another in his breast to show to his special friends and his family, and the real one, the true one, the secret one, which is never known to anyone except to himself alone, hidden only God knows where."
Following this was a simple seven word question: "Do you suppose this is true, Remus?"
The book and the paper tumbled from his suddenly nerveless fingers.
He didn't want to think about what Sirius might have been implying. He didn't want to think that maybe Sirius was trying to warn Remus about his betrayal and the Potters' impending doom. He didn't want to think that maybe, just maybe, if he'd asked Sirius to return the book, he might have seen this note and read it and they might have discussed it and then everything that happened might not have happened...
"Oy!"
The abrupt shout startled him, causing him to blink rapidly a few times and then shake his head to clear it.
"Hey, you still here?"
He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm coming."
The caretaker was standing in the sitting room with several boxes in his arms. "Where d'you want me to put these?"
"Oh, uh..." Remus found himself rubbing the tense muscles in the back of this neck. "Anywhere. There's fine."
The man dropped them where he stood and the sound was like a gunshot, making Remus jump.
"You alright? You look a little peaky."
"Yeah, yeah. Fine." Remus couldn't bear to be standing in the crimson sitting room another moment. "I have to go. I can't—I have to—I forgot I have an appointment." He again cleared his throat. "Thanks again for the boxes."
"No trouble. Look, I don't want to rush you or anything, but there have been a lot of people eyeing this flat, waiting for me to tell them when it's going on the market. Any idea of when it'll be ready for sale?"
"A toast to Uncle Alphard, the one who knew I'd need this place before I knew it!"
"To Uncle Alphard!"
"He was the only relative—outside of Andromeda—who I could stand. Poor sod. I hear my mother blasted his name from the Family Tree for this."
"If he left the money to you because he knew you were going to need your own place, I doubt he'd mind being blasted from the Tree."
"That's absolutely true, Moony. Of course, he also left me the money as a kick in the teeth to my parents."
"Doesn't matter why you got the money, Padfoot. It only matters that you have it."
"True, Prongs. Too true."
The janitor was staring at him and he cursed himself for letting his thoughts stray. "I really don't know," he finally mumbled. "There are legalities and things and, honestly, I don't have the slightest idea who has the power to make those decisions."
The man grunted. "Well, then, if you find out, could you let me know first? My brother's been looking for a flat."
Remus just nodded and found himself hoping that Alastor Moody didn't want him to handle that as well.
***
"Did you know what he was planning?"
"No! I told you —"
"How long was he in You-Know-Who's service?"
"I don't know. I didn't think he was at all."
"Don't you think you should have known?"
"I should have known, yes, but I didn't!"
"He's lying!"
"I'm not!"
"Give him more Veritaserum."
"We've already given him twice the usual dose."
"Bring out the silver."
"NO!"
By the time he came to full consciousness, he was already flinging himself off the couch and stumbling toward the bathroom.
This wasn't the first time in the six weeks since his interrogation that he'd had these dreams. It wasn't the first time that he'd ended up in the bathroom, heaving the contents of his stomach into either the toilet or the sink.
As he took a drink of water to rinse out his mouth, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
"Shit," he muttered. He looked awful.
What did he expect, considering he'd been drinking more alcohol than eating actual food.
He left the bathroom and went into the kitchen, intending to make a cup of tea. As he waited for it to boil, he contemplated the contents of his cupboards and small fridge. There wasn't much. Even if he got a job today, he wouldn't get paid for a week or two. That meant he'd have to either go home and ask his parents for help or resort to stealing.
He sighed. Sometimes he wasn't sure which one was the worst option.
"You're not serious, Moony."
"You're Sirius. I, however, meant exactly what I said."
"You don't have to be a thief —"
"This coming from the one who habitually found his way into Honeydukes at least twice a month."
"Moony, we'll help you out —"
Remus slammed his mind shut and reached for the box of cereal. He pulled himself up onto the counter and ate a couple of handfuls of cereal straight from the box, deliberately concentrating on the words on the box.
There were only so many words on the box and only so many flakes inside, though, so in a very short time, he was sipping at a mug filled with hot tea and staring at the brick wall across from his kitchen window. Thin veins of ivy covered the wall but, with the lack of sun and fresh air, the tendrils were weak and the leaves a strange olive colour.
They look like I feel, Remus thought.
But now what? A quick glance at the clock told him it was too early for job-hunting. Involuntarily, his eyes went to a drawer beneath the counter where he'd been sitting. He didn't want to think about the key that was in there, but somehow his mind refused to let him forget its existence—and what he'd said he'd do.
Snarling ferociously, he strode across the room and yanked the drawer open. The innocent piece of metal lay among the other odds and ends that Remus had tossed carelessly in the drawer for safekeeping.
It was amazing how that key had the power to make his heart pound harder in his chest and clogged his throat with a lump that just could not be swallowed.
It had to be done. He might as well get on and finish the job. The last thing he wanted was for Moody to come back with his insinuations and accusations.
He picked up the key, clutching it tight in his fist.
"Here's my key, just in case something happens tonight."
"Nothing's going to happen."
"I know. But in case it does, here's my key so you can get into my flat."
"Padfoot—"
"I know, I know. I'll shut up. But, just in case. You know?"
"I know."
The sooner he got Sirius' things packed, the sooner he could get on with his life. Or so he told himself.