A/N: My friend jokingly called me homophobic for this LMAO
Originally written in 2018 when I was a baby ff writer :( (sort of. Again, wattpad originals do not count)
Yes, I'm french how did you know (do NOT bully me for this)
Âge De La Lune
[Age of the moon: numbers of days that have gone by since the last observed new moon.]
Sirius likes to avoid thinking about life, or about anything, really. It barely feels as if he had one to begin with, the twelve years in Azkaban making the first years of his life seem like a blur.
While he can physically remember it, he feels no real attachment to it, his memories being so fragmented that Sirius starts wondering whether he and the person he somewhat remembers being before locked are even related in the slightest.
Everything's changed, and he takes some sadistic form of pleasure in pretending that things are as they always were- but James and Lily are dead, Harry is now almost fully grown up and Remus is older, more exhausted than Sirius has ever seen him, the years weighing down on his shoulders like an invisible force pulling him down, increasing as time goes on, and Sirius fears it might finally crush him one day.
They don't do much, these days. While Sirius finds their lack of communication unnerving, he realizes at the same time that the only subjects he and Remus would talk about- in the hypothetical scenario in which they do talk- are the ones he'd like to avoid remembering.
He eventually starts questioning his own sanity. Perhaps the years spent with Dementors and no way to escape finally are finally taking their toll on him, more than anyone would ever like to acknowledge. He can feel himself slipping away further from reality, and he knows the fall is inevitable, but he can't bring himself to care, or to even do anything about it.
Lily and James are gone, and it's his fault. Perhaps, had he seen through Peter's web of lies, he wouldn't have made him be the Secret Keeper. Maybe if he hadn't been so distrustful of Remus, his best friends would still be alive.
"You didn't know," Remus tries to reassure him. The two always had some form of mutual understanding, and it feels as though Remus knows exactly what Sirius is thinking, at any given time. Maybe because he only ever thinks about one thing- October 31st, 1981 is the only date that makes any sense to Sirius, and he realizes that his grasp on time is slowly slipping away. The days go by, and, to Sirius, life feels like nothing short of an everlasting nightmare, the one in which there is no escape, no way to wake up, and in which he fears he might actually die, whether from direct danger, or because of the sheer feeling of anxiety caused by everything, and nothing at the same time. It's distressingly underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time.
He finds himself unconsciously pinching his arm- maybe if he does it hard enough, he'll wake up in his dorm bed, on a chilly November 1979 morning, and realize this had all been a very bad dream. He'll go to Transfiguration class, and explain to James that he's had the worst nightmare, and they'd pass over notes, doing their best not to burst out laughing, failing as always, earning them detention from Professor McGonagall, or 'Minnie McGee', as Sirius had so affectionately nicknamed her.
Alas, he has always known better than to hope for things to get better, or to hope at all.
Nothing makes sense to Sirius anymore, and Remus is the only thing anchoring him to reality.
"How is everything going?" Remus tentatively asks, as they sit in the cramped kitchen, eating breakfast.
"As everything goes for a person who has spent the last decade rotting in Azkaban."
Remus isn't coping well, either. Sirius doesn't think a day goes without Remus not blaming himself for Lily and James' death.
If the two have something in common, it's their tendency to feel guilt over things they had no control over. After all, the painful sting of betrayal and the death of a loved one has always been, and will always be far stronger than any hint of the common sense he may have left.
They're walking on eggshells, not knowing how to act around each other. There are only so many things that can still be meant after so many years, and Sirius doubts that his relationship with Remus will ever be like what it was. He tries not to think of what they could have been, had Lily and James lived, how different he would have been, had he been born in a somewhat 'regular' family, one that didn't spend generations clinging onto an outdated ideology, always tearing itself apart more and more while closing itself to the outside world.
As it turns out, Sirius is right about their relationship never fixing itself. Because on one night, Remus is called on account of the Order, and, just when Sirius is getting used to his presence again, Remus doesn't come back. He doesn't need to be told, to know what happened. Being a member of the Order of the Phoenix has never been an easy task, and Sirius fears he has been so accustomed to death that he's forgotten what it feels like, to hear about a loved one's death.
But Sirius has been so apathetic lately, that he can barely feel anything, at first. Thinking about his former friends hurts, like twisting the knife in a wound, but everything feels so far away that everything feels more like a blur of memories, more than something. But now, Remus is dead too, and it all hits him like a whiplash- the feelings of unsurmountable grief taking over as his mind tries to catch up with everything. Every person he's ever put his trust him is gone- Regulus, Dorcas, Marlene, Frank, everyone.
He feels everything and nothing at the same time, the heartache so strong he thinks it might kill eventually him, yet feeling numb in all of his limbs, barely able to stand upright. He can't open his eyes, the hues of grey surrounding him suddenly feeling too bright and too vivid for him to bear. Sirius wonders if everything has always felt this way or whether he has just always been too caught up in his own misery to know better.
Sirius feels himself slipping further and further, and there is nothing he can do about it.