Nothing to do with Valentine's Day
Title: A Breath of Fresh Air
Fandom: Harry Potter
Ship: Remus/Sirius
Genre: Flangst - OotP
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: When Sirius is irritable and Remus is determined to move on with his life, a breath of fresh air does them both some good.
A Breath of Fresh Air
They were avoiding him.
A full room would empty within seconds of his arrival. People would start putting away the plates the moment he sat down to eat. When he spoke, everyone seemed to conveniently remember something they had forgotten to do. Brief conversations, wary eyes and forced smiles followed him around the house.
The truth of the matter was that no one wanted to be caught in the near vicinity of Sirius Black.
Sirius was beyond irritable. When he had first received the orders to stay at Grimmauld Place, there weren’t enough curses to contain his frustration, but he had eventually managed to console himself with the fact that at least he’d have company. Now, however, he found himself trapped, bored out of his wits, completely useless and utterly, irrefutably avoided.
“Is it my hair?” he asked Remus one morning, approaching him from behind and peering over his shoulder at the Prophet crossword.
“Oh good, you’re up,” said Remus vaguely, erasing the letters to number 34 down. “Molly dropped by earlier this morning and made breakfast- there’s still some eggs and toast left, if you want.”
“Is there something in my teeth?” Sirius continued on.
“I can’t figure this one out,” came the answer. Remus scratched his head. “I only need one more word to finish it.”
“God, I don’t smell, do I?” Sirius gestured wildly to himself, voice bordering on the hysterical as he tried to rule out the possible explanations. “Do I have some sort of highly communicable disease, or really bad skin or…”
“What’s a synonym for repugnant?”
“…bad breath?”
“No, that can’t be it. Seven letters.”
Sirius stared at him. “Remus!”
Remus closed the paper and set it down on the table. “Sirius, I have no idea what you’re going on about,” he sighed.
“You bloody well do. Or have you just not noticed how people run off the minute they see me coming? That they take the long way to the kitchen in order to avoid me? That they start shoveling their food down their throats when I ask them to pass the gravy so they can leave the table as soon as possible?”
Remus frowned. “You’re exaggerating.”
“So I was right, then. What the hell did I do that sends everyone running for the hills? It’s bad enough to play the part of Dumbledore’s little pet, sitting on my arse in this fucking death-trap, listening to the rest of you discuss plans I can’t be a part of. I can’t go anywhere, I can’t do anything, I can’t fight, I can’t see Harry, I can’t even move without…”
“That’s enough,” said Remus curtly, standing up to face the seething indignation radiating like heat from burnt-out grey eyes.
“I wasn’t done,” barked Sirius. “It’s as if I’m some sort of bloody joke: Sirius Black, still living in his dear old mum’s house, not good enough for the Order, not good enough for Dumbledore…”
“You’re acting like a child,” Remus interrupted, his voice hard.
Sirius glared at him before switching gears. “You ignore me.”
Remus blinked. “That’s not true.”
“They won’t have anything to do with me, and you ignore me.”
“I don’t know what you’re…”
The rest of his sentence caught in his throat as Sirius stepped closer to him and reached out to stroke his cheek with the back of his hand, fingers smooth against stubble.
“Sirius,” said Remus quietly, turning his head away. “We’ve discussed this.”
“Just like how we’ve discussed letting me go out.” Sirius smiled humorlessly, his voice laced with bitterness. “Right.”
He lowered his hand, feeling Remus’ eyes on the back of his head as he turned away. “I hate this fucking house.”
It sounded more heartfelt every time he said it.
**
They had an Order meeting the following week.
It was nothing particularly special, really. They gathered around the antique wood of the kitchen table (which really should’ve been rotting by now, had it not been so bloody well made) and talked. Sirius fidgeted throughout most of it, earning a couple of reproachful glances from Molly and Remus, and a particularly nasty sneer from Snape.
At one point, Remus placed a hand on his leg, which was uncontrollably bouncing underneath the table. “What’s gotten you so worked up?” he whispered, not looking at him.
Well, you’re doing a pretty good job of getting me worked up right now, Sirius wanted to say. If fact, if you move your hand any closer to my -
“Control yourself, will you?” Remus interrupted his thoughts, returning his hand to his lap. His eyebrows furrowed.
Sirius scowled, turning his attention back to the meeting.
The discussions were lifeless and routine. There was no exciting news about the weapon - save for a brief mention - and instead they occupied empty space with talk of goblins, gold and something to do with Scrimgeour that Sirius didn’t quite catch. He contributed very little, simply nodding along in agreement with the majority and approving something that Arthur had said about Magical Enforcement laws. Why they were wasting their time with this rubbish instead of working on the blueprint for the Department of Mysteries, Sirius had no idea. He slouched in his seat.
When everyone got up and made ready to leave, Sirius did the same, bumping into Tonks on his way out.
“Wotcher, Sirius,” she chimed. “Sorry, I’ve got to run, I think I left the -“
“No, you didn’t. You just don’t want to talk to me,” said Sirius, narrowing his eyes.
She sighed. “Look, Sirius. You’re a bit of a wreck. You can’t finish a sentence without complaining about something, and I know it’s awful to keep you in here-” she hurried on before he could interrupt again, “but there’s nothing we can do about it. We know you hate it. You don’t need to keep reminding us.”
“What, so that’s the reason for all this? That I can’t close my big fat mouth?”
She grimaced. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later, okay?” She Disapparated before Sirius could get in another word, gone in a wink of bubblegum hair.
Remus shot her retreating figure a grateful glance from across the room. “I’ll be in the study if you need me, Sirius,” he called.
“Hold up, Moony, I’m coming,” Sirius said, catching up to him.
Remus waited patiently at the foot of the stairwell. “I haven’t heard that in a while,” he commented as they walked together through the cobweb-coated hallways.
“What? Moony?”
Remus smiled. “Yeah.”
“D’you miss it?”
“I miss a lot of things, Sirius.”
Sirius looked at him strangely, eyes intent under the dull light of the dusty chandelier. “Don’t we all,” he murmured under his breath.
Remus cleared his throat awkwardly, and sat down behind the mahogany desk as they reached the study, spreading out some papers before him. A moment passed before Sirius spoke up again:
“Tonks says I’m a wreck.”
“Do you agree with her?” Remus said absently, flipping through the pages of a file folder.
“I guess,” he muttered. “I don’t know. I’ve got all this wasted energy that I don’t know what to do with.” He collapsed into the nearest leather armchair. “D’you think Harry’s coming over for the holidays?” he asked suddenly.
Remus looked up. “Most likely. He’ll want to see you, at any rate.”
“Yeah?” Sirius brightened considerably.
“Of course,” he replied, warming the air with his soft smile.
Sirius grinned back at him. “I’d give anything to be in his place. To be part of the action - to be out there, fighting. Running around Hogwarts - Merlin, d’you remember, Moony?” he said, more than a little wistfully.
“You say that like we’re ancient,” Remus laughed.
“Aren’t we? I don’t even remember half of it. Twelve years in prison does that to a man, apparently.”
Remus’ smile faded considerably at this. “Sirius…”
“I just want to - I want to remember what it’s like. I want to live again, Moony, is that such a crime? Can you really blame me for wanting to go back to the best years of my life? I’m wasting away in here, wasting away until one day-,” he exhaled deeply. “Until one day, it’s over.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Remus bit his lip as Sirius leaned forward in his seat, his breath ghosting across Remus’ neck.
“We could go out, you know. Dumbledore doesn’t need to know. We could take an invisibility cloak, I’m sure there’s an extra hiding around here somewhere. I could go as Padfoot and we could go to…”
“Sirius, you know that Lucius…”
Sirius ignored this, but left his sentence unfinished. “What if we went flying?” His eyes lit up with the thought. “There’s bound to be some old brooms we could use, and we could cast a good Disillusionment Charm like you did with Harry in the summer. No one would suspect a thing.”
“Sirius.”
“Soaring above London, the world miles below…Gods, it feels as though it’s been forever. We’ll go anywhere you want, Moony - just the two of us. We could both use a breath of fresh air for a change. They’re predicting good weather for tomorrow night; what do you say?”
Remus couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He closed his eyes. “You know what I’m going to say,” he said grimly.
But instead of backing off or throwing another fit, Sirius leaned in closer. “Just give me one night, Remus,” he whispered.
The werewolf shivered in response to Sirius’ breath, hot and affectionate at his ear. He turned his head, startled at the alarming closeness of pleading eyes and full, slightly parted lips. It was only after forcing his eyes away that he managed to speak. “I can’t. Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” It came out as a sigh.
Sirius nearly fell out of his chair. “What? Why?”
“Order business. Dumbledore’s located a group of lycanthropes near Bristol and I’m going to make a day trip to meet with a few of them. I’ll be acting as a spy; I’ll see if I can convince them to resist Voldemort’s offers of freedom. I’ve been doing a bit of research,” he gestured to the files on the table, “so hopefully it won’t be any more trouble than necessary.” He strained to keep his voice steady. “It’s just a preliminary step, of course. If they show interest in the idea, I’ll be going back to speak with their leader next week,” he finished.
“So,” said Sirius, voice thick with fury. “You can agree to go get yourself ripped apart by a pack of werewolves, but you can’t agree to spend one fucking night with me.”
Remus stared at him levelly, knowing that words would only complicate matters.
“Fuck this,” Sirius spat, standing up. “Have a nice trip, don’t forget to pack your socks and - oh, I almost forgot - try to come back in one piece.”
He was shaking as he stormed out of the room.
**
Sirius was already in a dangerous mood by the time he rolled out of bed the next morning. He stumbled to the bathroom in a sleep-logged stupor, poking at his face in the mirror and slipping on the soap in the shower.
Toweling his hair, he reached for his clothes and stumbled downstairs for something to eat.
“BLOOD-TRAITOR! SHAME OF MY FLESH!” his mother greeted him on the way to the kitchen.
“Good morning to you too,” he said in a falsely cheery voice, flipping the portrait two fingers as he rounded the corner.
“Anything left?” he called to Mrs. Weasley as he entered the kitchen.
“What’s that? Of breakfast, you mean?” She turned to face him, her flaming red curls falling untidily around her round face. “Sorry dear, that was ages ago. It’s already past noon.”
Sirius grunted, looking up at the clock.
“Another thing before you go, Sirius: Arthur said he found a nest of doxy eggs in the drawing room. He got rid of them, of course, but I thought you might want to have a look around the area.”
“Sure,” he answered sullenly, his voice dead. “I’ll get around to it later,” he confirmed, knowing full well that this would not be the case. “Thanks, Molly.”
“Not a problem. You should have something to eat, though; you’re looking a bit peaky. Did you want me to…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll ask Kreacher to make something,” he grimaced, fully aware that his appetite had dropped out of his stomach and the last thing he would want was something made by the house-elf. “Where is the little bugger, anyway?”
“Sorry, I haven’t seen him all day,” said Mrs. Weasley, bustling off.
“Huh. He must be up in the attic, then,” Sirius determined, more to himself than to anyone else.
Kreacher was indeed in the attic. It was a decrepit, squalid little thing, and the dust was so thick that Sirius nearly choked with the stench of old blood and revoltingly pure lineage as he stepped inside. “Kreacher?”
The ugly, wrinkled stump of a house-elf rushed up to bow at his feet. “Master called?”
“What are you doing up here? Nicking more junk for your collection?”
“Oh no, Kreacher was only-”
“Only lying, I’ll bet. What’s that you’ve got?” said Sirius, pointing to what appeared to be a solid gold locket, its chain dangling from the elf’s grubby hands.
“Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if he let it go, oh no, what would she say if she could see poor Kreacher now, cleaning for blood-traitors and the half-breed, the nasty little piece of filth that he is…” the house-elf muttered furiously, spitting out each consonant as though it had personally offended him.
“Cleaning? The only things you’ve been cleaning is all this useless rubbish,” he said, disgust dripping from his voice as he wrenched the necklace from Kreacher’s grasp and threw it into the bin. The house-elf let out a noise somewhere between a violent cough and a howl of fury. “And don’t you dare speak about Remus like that, do you hear me?”
He kicked the elf, sending it sprawling mercilessly across the room. When it got up, its saggy skin stretched across its face to make more room for its bug-like eyes, which were bulging with shock.
“Is it true? Kreacher has heard what they say, oh yes, and he wonders why they say such dreadful things. But then, Kreacher knows there are rumours, and Master defends the werewolf like it is his friend, and oh, what would my poor mistress say if she knew her son was a…”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Sirius snapped, his eyes wild and furious.
He collapsed against the side of the wall, breathing heavily as he watched the house-elf scamper away with a smirk on its squashed features.
Looking around the room, his gaze fell upon an old cardboard box at the bottom of a crowded shelf, its empty label jogging something in Sirius’ memory. He pulled it off the wooden rack, prompting a thick cloud of dust to rise up into the stuffy air and settle over Sirius like a grimy halo. He coughed, and the halo shattered over his eyes.
The box was filled with forgotten treasures. They were all items that had been confiscated from him when he had still been living as a teenager in the house, and to see them all again felt strangely otherworldly, as though he had been jerked back into a previous life.
The first thing that caught his eye was an old motorbike magazine - a muggle subscription, of course - way back from his 5th year at Hogwarts. Running his fingers over the glossy cover, Sirius felt a brief pang of loss for the bike he had loved so much, and an equally weighted pang of guilt for having forgotten about it. It was all so long ago…
There were also a few books, a handful of pins, and letters from uncle Alphard amongst the collection of oddities. Curious, Sirius sorted through it all, stopping when he came to a pocket photo-album at the bottom of the box, caked with dust so thick that it had turned handsome black leather to a chalk white powder.
To Sirius’ great dismay, it was empty. He flipped though it, trying to remember why such an item might’ve been taken away from him, and then he inhaled sharply as he came to the last page.
At the very back of the album was a picture of him and Remus. They looked no older than fifteen, and they were laughing and smiling without a care in the world, oblivious to the life outside their frame. With a jolt, Sirius remembered the exact day the photograph was taken. It had been early spring, and James had bought a camera to document the pranks of the season, using up a whole roll of film before he realized he had forgotten to take the cap off the lens.
The Sirius and Remus in the picture were young and alive, glowing with the thrill of youth, and Sirius felt himself grow jealous of their bright eyes and brushing shoulders. Biting down on the inside of his cheek as picture-Sirius looped an arm around picture-Remus’ waist, he couldn’t help but think: What happened to us, Moony?
It was a question that he didn’t want to deal with answering.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of nostalgia and alcohol, as he kept Summoning more and more Firewhisky from the pantry to keep him company as the day went on. He did nothing more than pace the attic, stare at the picture and drink, until his thoughts turned gloriously incoherent and he could hardly move without tripping over his own feet.
He stumbled out of the poorly lit loft when he heard someone calling for supper. Grateful for once that everyone was ignoring his glazed eyes and sluggish movements, he ate quickly and then promptly passed out on the couch.
He was in a daze when someone woke him up three hours later, forcing him to deal with a headache and a hangover he had been hoping to avoid. “Get to bed,” they said. Too groggy to tell one redhead from another and too helpless to argue, Sirius obeyed.
For a second, he considered sleeping in Remus’ bed. It was selfish, really. He simply wanted a chance to curl up to sheets as soft as the seventies, to press his cheek against pillows that smelled of waxing moons and fraying jumpers. However, after a moment of staring at the door, he decided against it. He dragged his feet as he trudged across the hall.
At first he thought he might wait up for Remus - there were so many things Sirius wanted to discuss - but after a restless hour filled with scar-shaped anxieties, he gave up.
However, it didn’t help him fall asleep.
His thoughts were plagued with stale memories and amber eyes; soft skin and roving hands from nights made warmer with a body next to his. Sighing, he turned over onto his side. He was just hovering precariously on the brink of slumber when there was a knock at the door.
Remus let himself in.
“Sirius?”
Sirius sat up brusquely; startled into awareness by the familiar shadow. “Remus,” he smiled weakly. He patted the side of his bed, motioning for him to come over. “How was your trip?”
“Terrible,” he grinned, “Dreadful, really.”
Sirius arched an eyebrow and propped himself up on his elbows. “And yet you’re smiling about it.”
Remus took a seat at the end of Sirius’s bed and fished around in the bag he was holding. “Look, I got you something.”
“Did you, now?” Sirius sat up straighter, his eyes dancing with amusement. And then he saw Remus pull the item out of the bag. He chuckled.
“A collar? Kinky, Remus.”
Remus snorted. “There’s a leash too.” He paused. “Well, come on then. Let’s get going, you pillock.”
Sirius gaped at him.
“Does Padfoot still want a walk, or what?” It was Remus’ turn to look amused.
Sirius glanced over at the clock. It was nearly two am. “But I thought you said…” he spluttered.
“Forget what I said.” His smile was so simple and sincere that it took Sirius by surprise, and he blinked as he registered the words. “Coming?”
Remus stood up. Sirius followed suit and walked up to him, incredulous.
Sirius smiled, the first genuine smile Remus had seen on him for ages. “You’re amazing, Remus,” he ended up saying, and it was heavy with feeling as it left his lips. They weren’t the three words he had originally intended, but they would do for now.
They looked at each other for a moment, eyes shining and faces slightly flushed, and for a second they were both fifteen again.
In the back of his mind, Sirius knew that Padfoot had never needed a leash and that this could only mean that Remus hadn’t learned to trust him again. Dumbledore be damned; this was personal. But they were on the edge of a war, where friendships were a delicate thing, and Sirius knew that if he brought up the issue of trust, the night would die before it had begun. He knew better than to complain.
Wriggling into Padfoot, he stepped forward to lick Remus’ fingers, wagging his tail enthusiastically.
“I thought you might,” smiled Remus. Together, they stepped out into the dark.
**
Padfoot bounded down the stairs with irrepressible energy, diving into the crisp November night.
The trees were skeletons in the deadly silent air, but the ground was covered in snow, distracting the world from the harsher realities of the season. It wasn’t the light fluffy snow of years past, but it was snow all the same: hard, sprayed with dirt and polished with the glistening ceramic shine of caged freedoms.
It even was better than Sirius had remembered it, causing Padfoot to run in excited circles.
Remus was surprisingly strong for a man of his build, but he was still no match for Padfoot, hurdling down the icy streets, rejuvenated by the peppermint air and blinded by the chill of independence. Remus felt the leash burn against his bare hands as Padfoot tore off in every direction all at once, jumping and running with silent barks and ear-shattering joy.
He ran, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he caught the scents and sights in his muzzle, as if he hadn’t tasted life for a hundred years and was completely overwhelmed by the force of its flavour. Remus ran to catch up with him, chasing the dog who was drunk on the outside world, high on life and laughter.
Padfoot stopped suddenly at a tree, and Remus took the opportunity to regain his breath. A second later, he had burst out laughing. The sound was alien as it rang through the night.
“You couldn’t use the toilet before we left?” he said with a smirk.
Padfoot snuffed. If dogs could give patronizing looks, they would be something like the one then given to Remus. He kept laughing anyway.
Then Padfoot took off again, with double the energy this time, dragging Remus behind him as he hurtled into a park.
“Padfoot… can you … slow down for a bloody minute?”
Padfoot grinned as only dogs could, panting and wagging his tail all too cheerfully at Remus’ exhaustion.
“This is the thanks I get for sneaking you out?” Remus teased.
Padfoot leaped at him, tackling him to the ground, so that Remus found his face pressed against a mat of soft black fur. “You ungrateful prat,” he panted, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Padfoot slobbered all over his face in reply. Remus made to push him off, but then suddenly it was Sirius on top of him, radiant and flushed with freedom.
“You’re disgusting, did you know that?” Remus said, wiping dog drool off his face with his sleeve.
“You love it,” quipped Sirius, rolling off of him and landing on a hard patch of snow, eyes to the heavens.
The immediate silence that followed made Sirius wonder if he had possibly said the wrong thing; if he had wandered back into uncomfortable territory and out of Remus’ good graces. He held his breath.
Then Remus chuckled, breaking the tension like a perforated edge as he turned his head to look at Sirius. “You’re only as old as you feel, eh?”
“If that’s the case, I don’t even think I’ve hit puberty.” He winked. “Fountain of bloody youth, you are.”
“Glad to be of assistance.”
Sirius clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You know, for someone so bloody proper all the time, this is pretty damn reckless of you.”
“Is it, now?” said Remus in mock-innocence, his eyebrows skyrocketing.
“Utterly irresponsible…”
“Mmmhm.”
“And potentially very dangerous, even life-threatening…”
Remus’ expression sobered. “I know,” he said quietly. “It took me long enough to sort out my priorities, eh?”
Sirius didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
They lay in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company and reveling in the feel of being able to do so.
Then Sirius spoke up out of nowhere. “Can you see it, Moony?”
“Hmm?” said Remus, putting his hands behind his head.
“Can you see me up there?” he said, gesturing to the suspended ornaments in the sky.
Remus tensed slightly as he shifted his body in the snow. “No."
“Look, it’s right there,” Sirius pointed in earnest. “Really, you can’t see the dog star?”
“I…” He sighed. “Sirius, I never could. I’m sorry.”
Silver eyes cradled the confusion of a child. “But I thought…3rd year, didn’t I show you all how to find it?”
“I just played along. The last thing I wanted was for you to think I was slow. I nearly failed Astronomy that one year… I’m afraid I’ve never been much good with stars.” Remus said with a small, sad smile. “I could never really tell them apart.”
Sirius leaned over to brush the fringe from Remus’ eyes. “You could learn. It’s not too late.”
Remus caught Sirius’ hand in his own as it lowered, smiling for the millionth time that night as he turned his eyes back to the sky.
“I could.”
If Remus had been thinking rationally, he might’ve checked his watch and urged them to hurry back before daybreak. He might’ve suggested that they discuss this after breakfast, when they were both rested and well fed. He would’ve gone to sleep and dreamt of new questions and old answers until they began to all sound the same. He would’ve put them away for a more convenient time.
As it were, Remus was thinking none of these things. Ears beginning to freeze and lips turning blue, he lay in the snow, body leaning against another. Suspended in a life of rational thought, the moment was too flimsy to touch, too fragile to hold, but it held the strength of a thousand futures, reflected in two silent smiles.
Morning would wait.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Ship: Remus/Sirius
Genre: Flangst - OotP
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: When Sirius is irritable and Remus is determined to move on with his life, a breath of fresh air does them both some good.
A Breath of Fresh Air
They were avoiding him.
A full room would empty within seconds of his arrival. People would start putting away the plates the moment he sat down to eat. When he spoke, everyone seemed to conveniently remember something they had forgotten to do. Brief conversations, wary eyes and forced smiles followed him around the house.
The truth of the matter was that no one wanted to be caught in the near vicinity of Sirius Black.
Sirius was beyond irritable. When he had first received the orders to stay at Grimmauld Place, there weren’t enough curses to contain his frustration, but he had eventually managed to console himself with the fact that at least he’d have company. Now, however, he found himself trapped, bored out of his wits, completely useless and utterly, irrefutably avoided.
“Is it my hair?” he asked Remus one morning, approaching him from behind and peering over his shoulder at the Prophet crossword.
“Oh good, you’re up,” said Remus vaguely, erasing the letters to number 34 down. “Molly dropped by earlier this morning and made breakfast- there’s still some eggs and toast left, if you want.”
“Is there something in my teeth?” Sirius continued on.
“I can’t figure this one out,” came the answer. Remus scratched his head. “I only need one more word to finish it.”
“God, I don’t smell, do I?” Sirius gestured wildly to himself, voice bordering on the hysterical as he tried to rule out the possible explanations. “Do I have some sort of highly communicable disease, or really bad skin or…”
“What’s a synonym for repugnant?”
“…bad breath?”
“No, that can’t be it. Seven letters.”
Sirius stared at him. “Remus!”
Remus closed the paper and set it down on the table. “Sirius, I have no idea what you’re going on about,” he sighed.
“You bloody well do. Or have you just not noticed how people run off the minute they see me coming? That they take the long way to the kitchen in order to avoid me? That they start shoveling their food down their throats when I ask them to pass the gravy so they can leave the table as soon as possible?”
Remus frowned. “You’re exaggerating.”
“So I was right, then. What the hell did I do that sends everyone running for the hills? It’s bad enough to play the part of Dumbledore’s little pet, sitting on my arse in this fucking death-trap, listening to the rest of you discuss plans I can’t be a part of. I can’t go anywhere, I can’t do anything, I can’t fight, I can’t see Harry, I can’t even move without…”
“That’s enough,” said Remus curtly, standing up to face the seething indignation radiating like heat from burnt-out grey eyes.
“I wasn’t done,” barked Sirius. “It’s as if I’m some sort of bloody joke: Sirius Black, still living in his dear old mum’s house, not good enough for the Order, not good enough for Dumbledore…”
“You’re acting like a child,” Remus interrupted, his voice hard.
Sirius glared at him before switching gears. “You ignore me.”
Remus blinked. “That’s not true.”
“They won’t have anything to do with me, and you ignore me.”
“I don’t know what you’re…”
The rest of his sentence caught in his throat as Sirius stepped closer to him and reached out to stroke his cheek with the back of his hand, fingers smooth against stubble.
“Sirius,” said Remus quietly, turning his head away. “We’ve discussed this.”
“Just like how we’ve discussed letting me go out.” Sirius smiled humorlessly, his voice laced with bitterness. “Right.”
He lowered his hand, feeling Remus’ eyes on the back of his head as he turned away. “I hate this fucking house.”
It sounded more heartfelt every time he said it.
**
They had an Order meeting the following week.
It was nothing particularly special, really. They gathered around the antique wood of the kitchen table (which really should’ve been rotting by now, had it not been so bloody well made) and talked. Sirius fidgeted throughout most of it, earning a couple of reproachful glances from Molly and Remus, and a particularly nasty sneer from Snape.
At one point, Remus placed a hand on his leg, which was uncontrollably bouncing underneath the table. “What’s gotten you so worked up?” he whispered, not looking at him.
Well, you’re doing a pretty good job of getting me worked up right now, Sirius wanted to say. If fact, if you move your hand any closer to my -
“Control yourself, will you?” Remus interrupted his thoughts, returning his hand to his lap. His eyebrows furrowed.
Sirius scowled, turning his attention back to the meeting.
The discussions were lifeless and routine. There was no exciting news about the weapon - save for a brief mention - and instead they occupied empty space with talk of goblins, gold and something to do with Scrimgeour that Sirius didn’t quite catch. He contributed very little, simply nodding along in agreement with the majority and approving something that Arthur had said about Magical Enforcement laws. Why they were wasting their time with this rubbish instead of working on the blueprint for the Department of Mysteries, Sirius had no idea. He slouched in his seat.
When everyone got up and made ready to leave, Sirius did the same, bumping into Tonks on his way out.
“Wotcher, Sirius,” she chimed. “Sorry, I’ve got to run, I think I left the -“
“No, you didn’t. You just don’t want to talk to me,” said Sirius, narrowing his eyes.
She sighed. “Look, Sirius. You’re a bit of a wreck. You can’t finish a sentence without complaining about something, and I know it’s awful to keep you in here-” she hurried on before he could interrupt again, “but there’s nothing we can do about it. We know you hate it. You don’t need to keep reminding us.”
“What, so that’s the reason for all this? That I can’t close my big fat mouth?”
She grimaced. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later, okay?” She Disapparated before Sirius could get in another word, gone in a wink of bubblegum hair.
Remus shot her retreating figure a grateful glance from across the room. “I’ll be in the study if you need me, Sirius,” he called.
“Hold up, Moony, I’m coming,” Sirius said, catching up to him.
Remus waited patiently at the foot of the stairwell. “I haven’t heard that in a while,” he commented as they walked together through the cobweb-coated hallways.
“What? Moony?”
Remus smiled. “Yeah.”
“D’you miss it?”
“I miss a lot of things, Sirius.”
Sirius looked at him strangely, eyes intent under the dull light of the dusty chandelier. “Don’t we all,” he murmured under his breath.
Remus cleared his throat awkwardly, and sat down behind the mahogany desk as they reached the study, spreading out some papers before him. A moment passed before Sirius spoke up again:
“Tonks says I’m a wreck.”
“Do you agree with her?” Remus said absently, flipping through the pages of a file folder.
“I guess,” he muttered. “I don’t know. I’ve got all this wasted energy that I don’t know what to do with.” He collapsed into the nearest leather armchair. “D’you think Harry’s coming over for the holidays?” he asked suddenly.
Remus looked up. “Most likely. He’ll want to see you, at any rate.”
“Yeah?” Sirius brightened considerably.
“Of course,” he replied, warming the air with his soft smile.
Sirius grinned back at him. “I’d give anything to be in his place. To be part of the action - to be out there, fighting. Running around Hogwarts - Merlin, d’you remember, Moony?” he said, more than a little wistfully.
“You say that like we’re ancient,” Remus laughed.
“Aren’t we? I don’t even remember half of it. Twelve years in prison does that to a man, apparently.”
Remus’ smile faded considerably at this. “Sirius…”
“I just want to - I want to remember what it’s like. I want to live again, Moony, is that such a crime? Can you really blame me for wanting to go back to the best years of my life? I’m wasting away in here, wasting away until one day-,” he exhaled deeply. “Until one day, it’s over.”
“Don’t talk like that.” Remus bit his lip as Sirius leaned forward in his seat, his breath ghosting across Remus’ neck.
“We could go out, you know. Dumbledore doesn’t need to know. We could take an invisibility cloak, I’m sure there’s an extra hiding around here somewhere. I could go as Padfoot and we could go to…”
“Sirius, you know that Lucius…”
Sirius ignored this, but left his sentence unfinished. “What if we went flying?” His eyes lit up with the thought. “There’s bound to be some old brooms we could use, and we could cast a good Disillusionment Charm like you did with Harry in the summer. No one would suspect a thing.”
“Sirius.”
“Soaring above London, the world miles below…Gods, it feels as though it’s been forever. We’ll go anywhere you want, Moony - just the two of us. We could both use a breath of fresh air for a change. They’re predicting good weather for tomorrow night; what do you say?”
Remus couldn’t bring himself to look at him. He closed his eyes. “You know what I’m going to say,” he said grimly.
But instead of backing off or throwing another fit, Sirius leaned in closer. “Just give me one night, Remus,” he whispered.
The werewolf shivered in response to Sirius’ breath, hot and affectionate at his ear. He turned his head, startled at the alarming closeness of pleading eyes and full, slightly parted lips. It was only after forcing his eyes away that he managed to speak. “I can’t. Besides, I’m leaving tomorrow morning.” It came out as a sigh.
Sirius nearly fell out of his chair. “What? Why?”
“Order business. Dumbledore’s located a group of lycanthropes near Bristol and I’m going to make a day trip to meet with a few of them. I’ll be acting as a spy; I’ll see if I can convince them to resist Voldemort’s offers of freedom. I’ve been doing a bit of research,” he gestured to the files on the table, “so hopefully it won’t be any more trouble than necessary.” He strained to keep his voice steady. “It’s just a preliminary step, of course. If they show interest in the idea, I’ll be going back to speak with their leader next week,” he finished.
“So,” said Sirius, voice thick with fury. “You can agree to go get yourself ripped apart by a pack of werewolves, but you can’t agree to spend one fucking night with me.”
Remus stared at him levelly, knowing that words would only complicate matters.
“Fuck this,” Sirius spat, standing up. “Have a nice trip, don’t forget to pack your socks and - oh, I almost forgot - try to come back in one piece.”
He was shaking as he stormed out of the room.
**
Sirius was already in a dangerous mood by the time he rolled out of bed the next morning. He stumbled to the bathroom in a sleep-logged stupor, poking at his face in the mirror and slipping on the soap in the shower.
Toweling his hair, he reached for his clothes and stumbled downstairs for something to eat.
“BLOOD-TRAITOR! SHAME OF MY FLESH!” his mother greeted him on the way to the kitchen.
“Good morning to you too,” he said in a falsely cheery voice, flipping the portrait two fingers as he rounded the corner.
“Anything left?” he called to Mrs. Weasley as he entered the kitchen.
“What’s that? Of breakfast, you mean?” She turned to face him, her flaming red curls falling untidily around her round face. “Sorry dear, that was ages ago. It’s already past noon.”
Sirius grunted, looking up at the clock.
“Another thing before you go, Sirius: Arthur said he found a nest of doxy eggs in the drawing room. He got rid of them, of course, but I thought you might want to have a look around the area.”
“Sure,” he answered sullenly, his voice dead. “I’ll get around to it later,” he confirmed, knowing full well that this would not be the case. “Thanks, Molly.”
“Not a problem. You should have something to eat, though; you’re looking a bit peaky. Did you want me to…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll ask Kreacher to make something,” he grimaced, fully aware that his appetite had dropped out of his stomach and the last thing he would want was something made by the house-elf. “Where is the little bugger, anyway?”
“Sorry, I haven’t seen him all day,” said Mrs. Weasley, bustling off.
“Huh. He must be up in the attic, then,” Sirius determined, more to himself than to anyone else.
Kreacher was indeed in the attic. It was a decrepit, squalid little thing, and the dust was so thick that Sirius nearly choked with the stench of old blood and revoltingly pure lineage as he stepped inside. “Kreacher?”
The ugly, wrinkled stump of a house-elf rushed up to bow at his feet. “Master called?”
“What are you doing up here? Nicking more junk for your collection?”
“Oh no, Kreacher was only-”
“Only lying, I’ll bet. What’s that you’ve got?” said Sirius, pointing to what appeared to be a solid gold locket, its chain dangling from the elf’s grubby hands.
“Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if he let it go, oh no, what would she say if she could see poor Kreacher now, cleaning for blood-traitors and the half-breed, the nasty little piece of filth that he is…” the house-elf muttered furiously, spitting out each consonant as though it had personally offended him.
“Cleaning? The only things you’ve been cleaning is all this useless rubbish,” he said, disgust dripping from his voice as he wrenched the necklace from Kreacher’s grasp and threw it into the bin. The house-elf let out a noise somewhere between a violent cough and a howl of fury. “And don’t you dare speak about Remus like that, do you hear me?”
He kicked the elf, sending it sprawling mercilessly across the room. When it got up, its saggy skin stretched across its face to make more room for its bug-like eyes, which were bulging with shock.
“Is it true? Kreacher has heard what they say, oh yes, and he wonders why they say such dreadful things. But then, Kreacher knows there are rumours, and Master defends the werewolf like it is his friend, and oh, what would my poor mistress say if she knew her son was a…”
“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Sirius snapped, his eyes wild and furious.
He collapsed against the side of the wall, breathing heavily as he watched the house-elf scamper away with a smirk on its squashed features.
Looking around the room, his gaze fell upon an old cardboard box at the bottom of a crowded shelf, its empty label jogging something in Sirius’ memory. He pulled it off the wooden rack, prompting a thick cloud of dust to rise up into the stuffy air and settle over Sirius like a grimy halo. He coughed, and the halo shattered over his eyes.
The box was filled with forgotten treasures. They were all items that had been confiscated from him when he had still been living as a teenager in the house, and to see them all again felt strangely otherworldly, as though he had been jerked back into a previous life.
The first thing that caught his eye was an old motorbike magazine - a muggle subscription, of course - way back from his 5th year at Hogwarts. Running his fingers over the glossy cover, Sirius felt a brief pang of loss for the bike he had loved so much, and an equally weighted pang of guilt for having forgotten about it. It was all so long ago…
There were also a few books, a handful of pins, and letters from uncle Alphard amongst the collection of oddities. Curious, Sirius sorted through it all, stopping when he came to a pocket photo-album at the bottom of the box, caked with dust so thick that it had turned handsome black leather to a chalk white powder.
To Sirius’ great dismay, it was empty. He flipped though it, trying to remember why such an item might’ve been taken away from him, and then he inhaled sharply as he came to the last page.
At the very back of the album was a picture of him and Remus. They looked no older than fifteen, and they were laughing and smiling without a care in the world, oblivious to the life outside their frame. With a jolt, Sirius remembered the exact day the photograph was taken. It had been early spring, and James had bought a camera to document the pranks of the season, using up a whole roll of film before he realized he had forgotten to take the cap off the lens.
The Sirius and Remus in the picture were young and alive, glowing with the thrill of youth, and Sirius felt himself grow jealous of their bright eyes and brushing shoulders. Biting down on the inside of his cheek as picture-Sirius looped an arm around picture-Remus’ waist, he couldn’t help but think: What happened to us, Moony?
It was a question that he didn’t want to deal with answering.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of nostalgia and alcohol, as he kept Summoning more and more Firewhisky from the pantry to keep him company as the day went on. He did nothing more than pace the attic, stare at the picture and drink, until his thoughts turned gloriously incoherent and he could hardly move without tripping over his own feet.
He stumbled out of the poorly lit loft when he heard someone calling for supper. Grateful for once that everyone was ignoring his glazed eyes and sluggish movements, he ate quickly and then promptly passed out on the couch.
He was in a daze when someone woke him up three hours later, forcing him to deal with a headache and a hangover he had been hoping to avoid. “Get to bed,” they said. Too groggy to tell one redhead from another and too helpless to argue, Sirius obeyed.
For a second, he considered sleeping in Remus’ bed. It was selfish, really. He simply wanted a chance to curl up to sheets as soft as the seventies, to press his cheek against pillows that smelled of waxing moons and fraying jumpers. However, after a moment of staring at the door, he decided against it. He dragged his feet as he trudged across the hall.
At first he thought he might wait up for Remus - there were so many things Sirius wanted to discuss - but after a restless hour filled with scar-shaped anxieties, he gave up.
However, it didn’t help him fall asleep.
His thoughts were plagued with stale memories and amber eyes; soft skin and roving hands from nights made warmer with a body next to his. Sighing, he turned over onto his side. He was just hovering precariously on the brink of slumber when there was a knock at the door.
Remus let himself in.
“Sirius?”
Sirius sat up brusquely; startled into awareness by the familiar shadow. “Remus,” he smiled weakly. He patted the side of his bed, motioning for him to come over. “How was your trip?”
“Terrible,” he grinned, “Dreadful, really.”
Sirius arched an eyebrow and propped himself up on his elbows. “And yet you’re smiling about it.”
Remus took a seat at the end of Sirius’s bed and fished around in the bag he was holding. “Look, I got you something.”
“Did you, now?” Sirius sat up straighter, his eyes dancing with amusement. And then he saw Remus pull the item out of the bag. He chuckled.
“A collar? Kinky, Remus.”
Remus snorted. “There’s a leash too.” He paused. “Well, come on then. Let’s get going, you pillock.”
Sirius gaped at him.
“Does Padfoot still want a walk, or what?” It was Remus’ turn to look amused.
Sirius glanced over at the clock. It was nearly two am. “But I thought you said…” he spluttered.
“Forget what I said.” His smile was so simple and sincere that it took Sirius by surprise, and he blinked as he registered the words. “Coming?”
Remus stood up. Sirius followed suit and walked up to him, incredulous.
Sirius smiled, the first genuine smile Remus had seen on him for ages. “You’re amazing, Remus,” he ended up saying, and it was heavy with feeling as it left his lips. They weren’t the three words he had originally intended, but they would do for now.
They looked at each other for a moment, eyes shining and faces slightly flushed, and for a second they were both fifteen again.
In the back of his mind, Sirius knew that Padfoot had never needed a leash and that this could only mean that Remus hadn’t learned to trust him again. Dumbledore be damned; this was personal. But they were on the edge of a war, where friendships were a delicate thing, and Sirius knew that if he brought up the issue of trust, the night would die before it had begun. He knew better than to complain.
Wriggling into Padfoot, he stepped forward to lick Remus’ fingers, wagging his tail enthusiastically.
“I thought you might,” smiled Remus. Together, they stepped out into the dark.
**
Padfoot bounded down the stairs with irrepressible energy, diving into the crisp November night.
The trees were skeletons in the deadly silent air, but the ground was covered in snow, distracting the world from the harsher realities of the season. It wasn’t the light fluffy snow of years past, but it was snow all the same: hard, sprayed with dirt and polished with the glistening ceramic shine of caged freedoms.
It even was better than Sirius had remembered it, causing Padfoot to run in excited circles.
Remus was surprisingly strong for a man of his build, but he was still no match for Padfoot, hurdling down the icy streets, rejuvenated by the peppermint air and blinded by the chill of independence. Remus felt the leash burn against his bare hands as Padfoot tore off in every direction all at once, jumping and running with silent barks and ear-shattering joy.
He ran, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he caught the scents and sights in his muzzle, as if he hadn’t tasted life for a hundred years and was completely overwhelmed by the force of its flavour. Remus ran to catch up with him, chasing the dog who was drunk on the outside world, high on life and laughter.
Padfoot stopped suddenly at a tree, and Remus took the opportunity to regain his breath. A second later, he had burst out laughing. The sound was alien as it rang through the night.
“You couldn’t use the toilet before we left?” he said with a smirk.
Padfoot snuffed. If dogs could give patronizing looks, they would be something like the one then given to Remus. He kept laughing anyway.
Then Padfoot took off again, with double the energy this time, dragging Remus behind him as he hurtled into a park.
“Padfoot… can you … slow down for a bloody minute?”
Padfoot grinned as only dogs could, panting and wagging his tail all too cheerfully at Remus’ exhaustion.
“This is the thanks I get for sneaking you out?” Remus teased.
Padfoot leaped at him, tackling him to the ground, so that Remus found his face pressed against a mat of soft black fur. “You ungrateful prat,” he panted, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Padfoot slobbered all over his face in reply. Remus made to push him off, but then suddenly it was Sirius on top of him, radiant and flushed with freedom.
“You’re disgusting, did you know that?” Remus said, wiping dog drool off his face with his sleeve.
“You love it,” quipped Sirius, rolling off of him and landing on a hard patch of snow, eyes to the heavens.
The immediate silence that followed made Sirius wonder if he had possibly said the wrong thing; if he had wandered back into uncomfortable territory and out of Remus’ good graces. He held his breath.
Then Remus chuckled, breaking the tension like a perforated edge as he turned his head to look at Sirius. “You’re only as old as you feel, eh?”
“If that’s the case, I don’t even think I’ve hit puberty.” He winked. “Fountain of bloody youth, you are.”
“Glad to be of assistance.”
Sirius clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You know, for someone so bloody proper all the time, this is pretty damn reckless of you.”
“Is it, now?” said Remus in mock-innocence, his eyebrows skyrocketing.
“Utterly irresponsible…”
“Mmmhm.”
“And potentially very dangerous, even life-threatening…”
Remus’ expression sobered. “I know,” he said quietly. “It took me long enough to sort out my priorities, eh?”
Sirius didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
They lay in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company and reveling in the feel of being able to do so.
Then Sirius spoke up out of nowhere. “Can you see it, Moony?”
“Hmm?” said Remus, putting his hands behind his head.
“Can you see me up there?” he said, gesturing to the suspended ornaments in the sky.
Remus tensed slightly as he shifted his body in the snow. “No."
“Look, it’s right there,” Sirius pointed in earnest. “Really, you can’t see the dog star?”
“I…” He sighed. “Sirius, I never could. I’m sorry.”
Silver eyes cradled the confusion of a child. “But I thought…3rd year, didn’t I show you all how to find it?”
“I just played along. The last thing I wanted was for you to think I was slow. I nearly failed Astronomy that one year… I’m afraid I’ve never been much good with stars.” Remus said with a small, sad smile. “I could never really tell them apart.”
Sirius leaned over to brush the fringe from Remus’ eyes. “You could learn. It’s not too late.”
Remus caught Sirius’ hand in his own as it lowered, smiling for the millionth time that night as he turned his eyes back to the sky.
“I could.”
If Remus had been thinking rationally, he might’ve checked his watch and urged them to hurry back before daybreak. He might’ve suggested that they discuss this after breakfast, when they were both rested and well fed. He would’ve gone to sleep and dreamt of new questions and old answers until they began to all sound the same. He would’ve put them away for a more convenient time.
As it were, Remus was thinking none of these things. Ears beginning to freeze and lips turning blue, he lay in the snow, body leaning against another. Suspended in a life of rational thought, the moment was too flimsy to touch, too fragile to hold, but it held the strength of a thousand futures, reflected in two silent smiles.
Morning would wait.