Hold Your Breath and Drift Away
One of my first fics...not my best, but I thought I'd post it up, anyhow.
Hold Your Breath and Drift Away
Rated: PG-13
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black
Summary:
December 2004
Disclaimer: None of the characters are my own, and I make absolutely no profit from this fic
Hold Your Breath and Drift Away
The kitchen of Grimmauld place was dark and quiet, with the exception of the erratic creaks and pops of the house settling for the night. A single candle was lit and rested in the centre of the large oak table, casting a soft light that silhouetted a lone figure sitting at the far end of the table. A thin, tattered book lay beside the figure, who seemed deep in thought; his lips were thinned and the corners of his mouth were pulled down into a frown.
His long fingers held a teacup steadily in his hands and large, light-brown eyes gazed into the tea, watching two sugar cubes slowly dissolve. The man sighed and slumped his shoulders so that the robes he wore slipped down just enough to reveal thin, silvery lines--snaking scars--along his lower neck and chest. He set the teacup down onto the table roughly, and a small wave of tea washed over the lip of the cup, splattering across the table.
Remus immediately rose from his seat, grabbed a tea towel, and sopped up the stain. He paused only when he noticed the small crest of the Black family embroidered on the corner of the towel, and he clenched his fingers around the it tightly, balling it up into his fist. He sighed, placed both of his hands down onto the table, and willed his legs to continue to support his weight. Bowing his head, he blinked furiously at the tabletop, the soft glow of the candle reflecting off of his light hair.
Remus desperately wanted to cry out-to verbally mourn the loss of his best friend-but he found that he couldn’t. The muscles in his throat were constricted, and a large ball of sorrow was lodged directly behind his Adam’s apple, where it had taken up permanent residence since one week ago, at the Ministry. He’d continually tried to swallow it down…to swallow it down with endless cups of tea. Merlin knows how many cups he had consumed, how many times he’d tried to swallow down that great, horrid lump. Unfortunately, it was still there, a tight ball that made it difficult for him to speak and constantly reminded him of how very alone he was.
Instead of throwing back his head to cry out for the loss of Sirius--his dear, beloved Padfoot--Remus folded the tea towel into a neat square and placed it with the other towels and cloths that needed to be laundered. He took his seat at the table again, and lifted the teacup to his lips. He pulled a face, but continued to drink the tea down to the dregs. It was lukewarm and absolutely disgusting, but he thought that perhaps this would be the cup of tea to make the pain go away. Perhaps this cup of tea would wash away his sorrow.
Remus tilted the cup forward and peered at the dregs, suddenly reminded of how worried Harry and Ron had been when Sybill, as per usual, announced that she had seen the Grim in Harry’s leaves.
*****
“What do you think, Moony? Impressive, no?” Sirius was grinning from ear to ear, his grey eyes shining with laughter. He had just transformed from a giant, shaggy, black dog into human form, and he was standing in the shadows, leaning up against a tree with his hands behind his head.
“Oh, yes. Most impressive,” Remus replied casually. He was also camouflaged in the darkness, and a cool breeze whipped at his hair, ruffling it slightly. “It figures that your animagus form is an omen of death.” He shook his head slowly, snorting with amusement.
They were out on the grounds past curfew, near the edge of the forbidden forest. Sirius had been the first one to master transforming into animal form, and immediately dragged Remus out at the first available opportunity to show it off. Now, he was holding his chin high, his dark fringe falling into his eyes with a casual elegance, waiting expectantly for more praise. “You look exactly like a Grim, you realize,” Remus added, smiling.
“Absolutely brilliant, isn’t it? Can you imagine what I can do to Snivelly now? I’ll follow that beaky bastard around until he’s convinced that he’s going to keel over. It’ll drive him mad.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Remus replied dryly, but he didn’t discourage Sirius. Snape had been awfully curious as to where Remus was disappearing to every month, and convincing Snape that he was dying could prove to be a useful distraction. “Once he’s died of fright and realized what you’ve done, I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Sirius shrugged. “Let him,” he replied haughtily. “I’ve dealt with enough ghosts in my day that one more will hardly have much of an outcome. Besides, in ghost form, he won’t be leaving a grease trail everywhere.” He barked out a quick laugh, and Remus quickly realized that there was more to Sirius’s dog form than he he'd previously thought.
“Bloody hell, Sirius,” Remus said suddenly. “I should have known it would be a dog. You never could pass an opportunity to take a piss on a tree.”
Sirius’s eyes glittered mischievously. “Just marking my territory, Moony.”
Moony. It was what James and Sirius had started calling Remus this year. At first he was worried that the nickname would give way to his secret, but the boys called him Moony with such affection that he hadn’t the heart to tell them to stop. To be completely honest, the name was growing on him. “Ah, yes. I think you deserve a nickname now, too, Sirius.” The corners of Remus’s mouth twitched as he gazed at his friend, feigning deep thought. “My grandmother had a poodle named Snuffles, what do you think?”
“Snuffles?” Sirius growled incredulously. "Do I really strike you as a Snuffles?" He dropped his arms down, hunching over until he was on all fours as the black dog once more. The dog bounded towards Remus, its gigantic paws catching him squarely in the chest and tackling him to the ground. The dog nipped at his shoulder playfully, nuzzling Remus in the neck with its cold, wet nose.
Remus shrank away, laughing quietly. “Geroff, you great oaf,” he protested, lightly cuffing the dog. “Shouldn’t you be chasing your tail or something, Snuffles?”
In reply, the dog immediately backed off, standing on his hind legs and hopping around in a circle. Remus groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Sirius dropped back to all fours, his large black eyes fixated on Remus, tail thumping on the ground, waiting for praise. Remus tried hard to keep a straight face. “Show off. You’re worse than James.”
The giant dog then rolled over onto his back, his great padded feet sticking into the air. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he stopped panting. He was obviously playing dead. “Oh, you think you’re really cute, don’t you?” The dog twitched, and it was all Remus needed to see. He doubled over, howling with laughter. After a few moments, he crawled over to the dog, rubbing him on the belly. “Oy, Padfoot. You’re something else.”
*****
Remus sighed once more, rubbing at his temples as if the motion would wipe away his memories. It seemed that everything was reminding him of Sirius nowadays, and he could hardly stand the heartache of it all. He quickly dumped the last dregs of the tea leaves into the rubbish bin and meticulously washed away the gentle brown stains from the inside of the cup.
A loud shriek echoed from upstairs, and he could hear claws scraping across the floor. Remus set the cup down gently and tilted his head up towards the ceiling. “Buckbeak’s up,” he murmured to himself. He dried his hands unceremoniously with the front of his robes, and went down to the basement in search of some food for the hippogriff.
The basement of Grimmauld place was damp and musty, a soft layer of cobwebs hanging delicately from the ceiling, like low-hanging clouds. Remus ducked his head under a hanging beam and passed a long, dusty table that was scattered with the remains of old potions ingredients and a large rusted cauldron marked with the initials ROB. He realized that it must have been Regulus'. Both heirs to Grimmauld place dead and gone.
There was a narrow corridor to his right, and a small door led to a primitive root cellar of sorts. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, adorned with spider webs and the dirt and dust that had settled upon them. Remus’s eyes drifted to the corner, spotting three ferrets hanging by their tails. He pulled one down and turned to leave. Quietly stepping forward, his foot came into contact with something on the ground, resulting in a loud, clanking sound. His gaze flickered to the floor, where a bottle of brandy had rolled away from the end of his boot. Ah, he thought, the family stores. He paused, then picked up the bottle and tucked it into his pocket. He didn’t drink all that often. When he was a teenager, it had been quite a feat to keep up with James and Sirius, and when he did, it usually resulted in the most awful hangover.
Still, the idea of the alcohol numbing him from his emotions was almost comforting.
Remus climbed up the stairs quietly so as not to disturb Mrs. Black’s portrait. After Kreacher had informed her that Sirius was dead, she had been screaming about her son’s stupidity at getting mixed up with the traitors in the first place. Her wailing and cursing became something of a mourning process that Remus loathed. He found that it was very hard to keep his cool when she hurled verbal abuse at the house, and had been diligently searching the library for a countercharm. He wasn’t sure of what sort of sticking device she’d used, but continued to search fervently, desperate to take her down and throw her out.
He passed the kitchen and turned the corner to make his way to the second floor, toward Buckbeak’s room. With his free hand, he pushed the door open and stepped forward, maintaining eye contact with Buckbeak. He bent down, offering Buckbeak a half-hearted smile. Another pang of sorrow resounded inside him as the image of Sirius, sweeping himself into a low, cultivated bow fit for the Queen herself, came to mind. Buckbeak dropped to his knee, tilting his head questionably at Remus.
“’Lo, Buckbeack,” he greeted quietly, tossing over the ferret. Buckbeak snapped and caught it, dangling the ferret from his beak, eyes fixated on Remus. Then, the hippogriff’s large eyes looked past Remus, scanning the room and out into the hall as if he was looking for his companion for the last two years. It nearly tore Remus to pieces, but instead, he stepped forward and stroked Buckbeak’s neck gently. “I miss him, too,” he replied, softly. “I miss him too.”
Buckbeak bobbed his head, giving Remus a quick nuzzle before devouring his ferret.
*****
Remus was living in a small, rundown flat when he had received his first letter from Sirius in more than twelve years. A large black-winged stilt, not the usual owl, delivered the letter, and Remus had untied it hastily, knowing the only person that it could have been from. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Padfoot,” he muttered, smiling.
Moony, my old friend,
Yes, the pun was fully intended. You couldn’t imagine my horror when I caught my reflection for the first time in years. When did we become so old, Remus? It feels like only yesterday that we were turning Snape on his head and glimpsing his unmentionables (ones that were mentioned by Bertha so much after that episode). But perhaps that’s because I’ve only just gotten those memories back…
…That’s not why I’m writing you, however.
I thought I’d let you know that I’m in Majorca with Buckbeak. We decided it would be the perfect place for two outlaws to reside-the sun is always shining, and the water is clear and gorgeous. So we’ve been feasting on almonds and ferrets (Actually, only Beaky is feasting on the latter) and basking in the sun. It’s much better than my last vacation in Azkaban.
Remus grinned. Sirius had always been a warm weather fanatic. Though he was one of the best people to have on your team during a snowball fight, he really was in his element in the spring and summertime. He’d been talking about taking a holiday to Majorca after they had finished their seventh year. Remus was glad he’d finally gotten there.
It was so good to see you, Remus. You have no idea how much I wish that I could talk to you or find out what you were doing. Harry-he looks so much like James, doesn’t he? He’s already a good boy-an intelligent boy. Is he much like James, do you know? Would you mind, Moony, catching me up on the past twelve years? I’d like at least two scrolls worth, and don’t try to argue with me, I remember seeing your History of Magic essays, they could stretch across the Great Hall.
I’d like to talk with you in person, but at the moment, I don’t want to risk it. You wouldn’t like Azkaban. It's hard to find quality chocolate there.
I wish you were here, really I do. Take care my friend, and please write to me. (Two scrolls!)
Yours,
Padfoot
Remus replied to Sirius almost immediately, and although it was not two scrolls, it was lengthy enough to give Sirius an idea of what had happened while he was gone. It was enough. It was enough until they could meet again and talk about it in person.
*****
After Buckbeak finished his meal and settled down into the corner, (Sirius had made a nest out of his mother’s bed sheets,) Remus escaped out the door quietly. He walked down the hall and entered a bedroom door on the left side, inhaling deeply. It smelled like him still. Of course, the house didn’t have the air circulation to keep the air fresh-something Molly constantly complained about. He scanned the room, noting a few empty bottles of brandy hidden behind one of the bedposts, and various articles of clothing strewn across the floor. Sirius had been hasty in getting ready to save his Godson.
Remus hadn’t been able to talk him out of it, hadn’t had the heart to force him to stay. He cursed himself for being such a coward every day since.
He walked over and sat down on the bed, eyes unusually bright. On the bed stand was a small, framed picture of Majorca, with turquoise water and white sand. A few birds flew across the water, dipping down and skimming the tops of the waves. He could practically hear the waves crashing into the shoreline. “Oh, Sirius,” he muttered quietly, voice tight and strangled.
Remus took the bottle of brandy out of his pocket and unscrewed the cap, tilting it to his lips. He winced slightly--it wasn't sweet enough for his liking--but continued to drink from the bottle.
*****
He spun around in time to see them duelling, Bellatrix’s black hair flying out behind her in a wild tangle, Sirius’s face glowing with excitement and anticipation. Dumbledore was there, taking care of the rest of the Death Eaters, and Remus stepped forward with his wand ready, anxious to help his friend. A hex was just on the tip of the tongue when Bellatrix shot a spell at Sirius, knocking him directly into the veil.
The world froze, and Sirius fell.
He fell, and he was gone.
Remus felt the colour draining away from his face, and he stared at the veil in disbelief, not hearing Bellatrix’s triumphant scream. He only came to as Harry rushed towards the veil, crying out Sirius’s name, and grabbed the boy around his chest, pulling him back. Harry struggled against him, but Remus held him tight, focusing his energy on keeping Harry still. The world around them was still moving in slow motion, and the voices were merely echoes inside his head.
Remus argued with Harry, trying to convince him that there was nothing that they could do, but in the end, he didn’t even realize what was coming out of his mouth. The shock was too much, too much. His voice cracked, and he forced down the cry of anguish that was crawling up his throat. He dragged his gaze away from the veil, unable to look at it any longer.
It was time for him to be the sensible one, the responsible one. It was not time for him to mourn his own loss. He held his breath. He had to be strong for Harry. He should be strong for Sirius.
But it was hard. So hard.
*****
Long after the candle in the kitchen had burnt out and the sun had risen, Remus slept. He was nestled in Sirius’s bed, half a bottle of brandy sitting on the nightstand, carefully capped. His breathing was steady and slow, the rise and fall of his chest just visible under the blankets in which he was curled up.
He dreamed of Majorca.
If you should die before me, ask if you could bring a friend. Stone Temple Pilots, Still Remains
Hold Your Breath and Drift Away
Rated: PG-13
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black
Summary:
December 2004
Disclaimer: None of the characters are my own, and I make absolutely no profit from this fic
Hold Your Breath and Drift Away
The kitchen of Grimmauld place was dark and quiet, with the exception of the erratic creaks and pops of the house settling for the night. A single candle was lit and rested in the centre of the large oak table, casting a soft light that silhouetted a lone figure sitting at the far end of the table. A thin, tattered book lay beside the figure, who seemed deep in thought; his lips were thinned and the corners of his mouth were pulled down into a frown.
His long fingers held a teacup steadily in his hands and large, light-brown eyes gazed into the tea, watching two sugar cubes slowly dissolve. The man sighed and slumped his shoulders so that the robes he wore slipped down just enough to reveal thin, silvery lines--snaking scars--along his lower neck and chest. He set the teacup down onto the table roughly, and a small wave of tea washed over the lip of the cup, splattering across the table.
Remus immediately rose from his seat, grabbed a tea towel, and sopped up the stain. He paused only when he noticed the small crest of the Black family embroidered on the corner of the towel, and he clenched his fingers around the it tightly, balling it up into his fist. He sighed, placed both of his hands down onto the table, and willed his legs to continue to support his weight. Bowing his head, he blinked furiously at the tabletop, the soft glow of the candle reflecting off of his light hair.
Remus desperately wanted to cry out-to verbally mourn the loss of his best friend-but he found that he couldn’t. The muscles in his throat were constricted, and a large ball of sorrow was lodged directly behind his Adam’s apple, where it had taken up permanent residence since one week ago, at the Ministry. He’d continually tried to swallow it down…to swallow it down with endless cups of tea. Merlin knows how many cups he had consumed, how many times he’d tried to swallow down that great, horrid lump. Unfortunately, it was still there, a tight ball that made it difficult for him to speak and constantly reminded him of how very alone he was.
Instead of throwing back his head to cry out for the loss of Sirius--his dear, beloved Padfoot--Remus folded the tea towel into a neat square and placed it with the other towels and cloths that needed to be laundered. He took his seat at the table again, and lifted the teacup to his lips. He pulled a face, but continued to drink the tea down to the dregs. It was lukewarm and absolutely disgusting, but he thought that perhaps this would be the cup of tea to make the pain go away. Perhaps this cup of tea would wash away his sorrow.
Remus tilted the cup forward and peered at the dregs, suddenly reminded of how worried Harry and Ron had been when Sybill, as per usual, announced that she had seen the Grim in Harry’s leaves.
*****
“What do you think, Moony? Impressive, no?” Sirius was grinning from ear to ear, his grey eyes shining with laughter. He had just transformed from a giant, shaggy, black dog into human form, and he was standing in the shadows, leaning up against a tree with his hands behind his head.
“Oh, yes. Most impressive,” Remus replied casually. He was also camouflaged in the darkness, and a cool breeze whipped at his hair, ruffling it slightly. “It figures that your animagus form is an omen of death.” He shook his head slowly, snorting with amusement.
They were out on the grounds past curfew, near the edge of the forbidden forest. Sirius had been the first one to master transforming into animal form, and immediately dragged Remus out at the first available opportunity to show it off. Now, he was holding his chin high, his dark fringe falling into his eyes with a casual elegance, waiting expectantly for more praise. “You look exactly like a Grim, you realize,” Remus added, smiling.
“Absolutely brilliant, isn’t it? Can you imagine what I can do to Snivelly now? I’ll follow that beaky bastard around until he’s convinced that he’s going to keel over. It’ll drive him mad.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Remus replied dryly, but he didn’t discourage Sirius. Snape had been awfully curious as to where Remus was disappearing to every month, and convincing Snape that he was dying could prove to be a useful distraction. “Once he’s died of fright and realized what you’ve done, I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Sirius shrugged. “Let him,” he replied haughtily. “I’ve dealt with enough ghosts in my day that one more will hardly have much of an outcome. Besides, in ghost form, he won’t be leaving a grease trail everywhere.” He barked out a quick laugh, and Remus quickly realized that there was more to Sirius’s dog form than he he'd previously thought.
“Bloody hell, Sirius,” Remus said suddenly. “I should have known it would be a dog. You never could pass an opportunity to take a piss on a tree.”
Sirius’s eyes glittered mischievously. “Just marking my territory, Moony.”
Moony. It was what James and Sirius had started calling Remus this year. At first he was worried that the nickname would give way to his secret, but the boys called him Moony with such affection that he hadn’t the heart to tell them to stop. To be completely honest, the name was growing on him. “Ah, yes. I think you deserve a nickname now, too, Sirius.” The corners of Remus’s mouth twitched as he gazed at his friend, feigning deep thought. “My grandmother had a poodle named Snuffles, what do you think?”
“Snuffles?” Sirius growled incredulously. "Do I really strike you as a Snuffles?" He dropped his arms down, hunching over until he was on all fours as the black dog once more. The dog bounded towards Remus, its gigantic paws catching him squarely in the chest and tackling him to the ground. The dog nipped at his shoulder playfully, nuzzling Remus in the neck with its cold, wet nose.
Remus shrank away, laughing quietly. “Geroff, you great oaf,” he protested, lightly cuffing the dog. “Shouldn’t you be chasing your tail or something, Snuffles?”
In reply, the dog immediately backed off, standing on his hind legs and hopping around in a circle. Remus groaned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Sirius dropped back to all fours, his large black eyes fixated on Remus, tail thumping on the ground, waiting for praise. Remus tried hard to keep a straight face. “Show off. You’re worse than James.”
The giant dog then rolled over onto his back, his great padded feet sticking into the air. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he stopped panting. He was obviously playing dead. “Oh, you think you’re really cute, don’t you?” The dog twitched, and it was all Remus needed to see. He doubled over, howling with laughter. After a few moments, he crawled over to the dog, rubbing him on the belly. “Oy, Padfoot. You’re something else.”
*****
Remus sighed once more, rubbing at his temples as if the motion would wipe away his memories. It seemed that everything was reminding him of Sirius nowadays, and he could hardly stand the heartache of it all. He quickly dumped the last dregs of the tea leaves into the rubbish bin and meticulously washed away the gentle brown stains from the inside of the cup.
A loud shriek echoed from upstairs, and he could hear claws scraping across the floor. Remus set the cup down gently and tilted his head up towards the ceiling. “Buckbeak’s up,” he murmured to himself. He dried his hands unceremoniously with the front of his robes, and went down to the basement in search of some food for the hippogriff.
The basement of Grimmauld place was damp and musty, a soft layer of cobwebs hanging delicately from the ceiling, like low-hanging clouds. Remus ducked his head under a hanging beam and passed a long, dusty table that was scattered with the remains of old potions ingredients and a large rusted cauldron marked with the initials ROB. He realized that it must have been Regulus'. Both heirs to Grimmauld place dead and gone.
There was a narrow corridor to his right, and a small door led to a primitive root cellar of sorts. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, adorned with spider webs and the dirt and dust that had settled upon them. Remus’s eyes drifted to the corner, spotting three ferrets hanging by their tails. He pulled one down and turned to leave. Quietly stepping forward, his foot came into contact with something on the ground, resulting in a loud, clanking sound. His gaze flickered to the floor, where a bottle of brandy had rolled away from the end of his boot. Ah, he thought, the family stores. He paused, then picked up the bottle and tucked it into his pocket. He didn’t drink all that often. When he was a teenager, it had been quite a feat to keep up with James and Sirius, and when he did, it usually resulted in the most awful hangover.
Still, the idea of the alcohol numbing him from his emotions was almost comforting.
Remus climbed up the stairs quietly so as not to disturb Mrs. Black’s portrait. After Kreacher had informed her that Sirius was dead, she had been screaming about her son’s stupidity at getting mixed up with the traitors in the first place. Her wailing and cursing became something of a mourning process that Remus loathed. He found that it was very hard to keep his cool when she hurled verbal abuse at the house, and had been diligently searching the library for a countercharm. He wasn’t sure of what sort of sticking device she’d used, but continued to search fervently, desperate to take her down and throw her out.
He passed the kitchen and turned the corner to make his way to the second floor, toward Buckbeak’s room. With his free hand, he pushed the door open and stepped forward, maintaining eye contact with Buckbeak. He bent down, offering Buckbeak a half-hearted smile. Another pang of sorrow resounded inside him as the image of Sirius, sweeping himself into a low, cultivated bow fit for the Queen herself, came to mind. Buckbeak dropped to his knee, tilting his head questionably at Remus.
“’Lo, Buckbeack,” he greeted quietly, tossing over the ferret. Buckbeak snapped and caught it, dangling the ferret from his beak, eyes fixated on Remus. Then, the hippogriff’s large eyes looked past Remus, scanning the room and out into the hall as if he was looking for his companion for the last two years. It nearly tore Remus to pieces, but instead, he stepped forward and stroked Buckbeak’s neck gently. “I miss him, too,” he replied, softly. “I miss him too.”
Buckbeak bobbed his head, giving Remus a quick nuzzle before devouring his ferret.
*****
Remus was living in a small, rundown flat when he had received his first letter from Sirius in more than twelve years. A large black-winged stilt, not the usual owl, delivered the letter, and Remus had untied it hastily, knowing the only person that it could have been from. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Padfoot,” he muttered, smiling.
Moony, my old friend,
Yes, the pun was fully intended. You couldn’t imagine my horror when I caught my reflection for the first time in years. When did we become so old, Remus? It feels like only yesterday that we were turning Snape on his head and glimpsing his unmentionables (ones that were mentioned by Bertha so much after that episode). But perhaps that’s because I’ve only just gotten those memories back…
…That’s not why I’m writing you, however.
I thought I’d let you know that I’m in Majorca with Buckbeak. We decided it would be the perfect place for two outlaws to reside-the sun is always shining, and the water is clear and gorgeous. So we’ve been feasting on almonds and ferrets (Actually, only Beaky is feasting on the latter) and basking in the sun. It’s much better than my last vacation in Azkaban.
Remus grinned. Sirius had always been a warm weather fanatic. Though he was one of the best people to have on your team during a snowball fight, he really was in his element in the spring and summertime. He’d been talking about taking a holiday to Majorca after they had finished their seventh year. Remus was glad he’d finally gotten there.
It was so good to see you, Remus. You have no idea how much I wish that I could talk to you or find out what you were doing. Harry-he looks so much like James, doesn’t he? He’s already a good boy-an intelligent boy. Is he much like James, do you know? Would you mind, Moony, catching me up on the past twelve years? I’d like at least two scrolls worth, and don’t try to argue with me, I remember seeing your History of Magic essays, they could stretch across the Great Hall.
I’d like to talk with you in person, but at the moment, I don’t want to risk it. You wouldn’t like Azkaban. It's hard to find quality chocolate there.
I wish you were here, really I do. Take care my friend, and please write to me. (Two scrolls!)
Yours,
Padfoot
Remus replied to Sirius almost immediately, and although it was not two scrolls, it was lengthy enough to give Sirius an idea of what had happened while he was gone. It was enough. It was enough until they could meet again and talk about it in person.
*****
After Buckbeak finished his meal and settled down into the corner, (Sirius had made a nest out of his mother’s bed sheets,) Remus escaped out the door quietly. He walked down the hall and entered a bedroom door on the left side, inhaling deeply. It smelled like him still. Of course, the house didn’t have the air circulation to keep the air fresh-something Molly constantly complained about. He scanned the room, noting a few empty bottles of brandy hidden behind one of the bedposts, and various articles of clothing strewn across the floor. Sirius had been hasty in getting ready to save his Godson.
Remus hadn’t been able to talk him out of it, hadn’t had the heart to force him to stay. He cursed himself for being such a coward every day since.
He walked over and sat down on the bed, eyes unusually bright. On the bed stand was a small, framed picture of Majorca, with turquoise water and white sand. A few birds flew across the water, dipping down and skimming the tops of the waves. He could practically hear the waves crashing into the shoreline. “Oh, Sirius,” he muttered quietly, voice tight and strangled.
Remus took the bottle of brandy out of his pocket and unscrewed the cap, tilting it to his lips. He winced slightly--it wasn't sweet enough for his liking--but continued to drink from the bottle.
*****
He spun around in time to see them duelling, Bellatrix’s black hair flying out behind her in a wild tangle, Sirius’s face glowing with excitement and anticipation. Dumbledore was there, taking care of the rest of the Death Eaters, and Remus stepped forward with his wand ready, anxious to help his friend. A hex was just on the tip of the tongue when Bellatrix shot a spell at Sirius, knocking him directly into the veil.
The world froze, and Sirius fell.
He fell, and he was gone.
Remus felt the colour draining away from his face, and he stared at the veil in disbelief, not hearing Bellatrix’s triumphant scream. He only came to as Harry rushed towards the veil, crying out Sirius’s name, and grabbed the boy around his chest, pulling him back. Harry struggled against him, but Remus held him tight, focusing his energy on keeping Harry still. The world around them was still moving in slow motion, and the voices were merely echoes inside his head.
Remus argued with Harry, trying to convince him that there was nothing that they could do, but in the end, he didn’t even realize what was coming out of his mouth. The shock was too much, too much. His voice cracked, and he forced down the cry of anguish that was crawling up his throat. He dragged his gaze away from the veil, unable to look at it any longer.
It was time for him to be the sensible one, the responsible one. It was not time for him to mourn his own loss. He held his breath. He had to be strong for Harry. He should be strong for Sirius.
But it was hard. So hard.
*****
Long after the candle in the kitchen had burnt out and the sun had risen, Remus slept. He was nestled in Sirius’s bed, half a bottle of brandy sitting on the nightstand, carefully capped. His breathing was steady and slow, the rise and fall of his chest just visible under the blankets in which he was curled up.
He dreamed of Majorca.
If you should die before me, ask if you could bring a friend. Stone Temple Pilots, Still Remains