Spoiler Fic: Estates and Trust (Remus, PG)
Title: Estates and Trust
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,337
Summary: I was your friend, and I loved you. And I'm not sure, now, if you ever loved me--or if you simply thought all that I did was merely your due.
Author's Note: Yes, it's spoilery. And thank you to underlucius for beta-ing and Brit-picking.
***
"To Harry--Everything."
Odd how three ordinary words can scald so much.
He tries to ignore the pitying glances of Albus, who has come to the office of Jasper Peabody, barrister-at-law, as Harry's representative. The office is a bit shabby--actually, dodgy would be a better word--but Sirius had been a fugitive when he made this will, not the eccentric and rebellious scion of an ancient and terrible house. It's a sign of how far Sirius had fallen that he had been willing to have a barrister who had repeatedly defended Mundungus Fletcher on petty larceny charges make his will.
It's not a simple will, for all that there's only one beneficiary. Sirius was careful. Dark spells, investing Harry as the rightful Heir of the House of Black, intertwine throughout the will, gifting Harry with authority, power, control beyond that of conventional wealth. For all that Harry is a minor, this will gives him the rights and responsibilities of a man.
This is not the problem.
Or at least, Remus thinks, correcting himself, not all of the problem. He would not have said no to a bit of money. He has been poor all his life and is growing poorer, for, thanks to the Restrictions on Werewolves that Umbridge implemented, he cannot find a job--not even among those sympathetic to his plight. If a single non-werewolf exists who can do a job requested by an employer, the employer is obligated to hire him--no matter that Remus might be able to do the job better than the other wizard. And working for the Order, however laudable and essential it may be, does not pay the rent or put food on the table.
Sirius certainly knew that he was having financial problems--or should have, unless he was utterly blind. Prematurely greying hair, pallor, scars and thinness are not signs of ruddy good health. And in no society is wearing patched and threadbare clothing considered high fashion.
So yes, money would have been helpful, even welcome. He cannot deny that.
But more than that, more troubling and galling than that, is the fact that Sirius forgot him.
How many times, he wonders, did we live together? Seven years at Hogwarts, of course, then three years after in the house Sirius had bought with his inheritance from his Uncle Alphard. Twelve years of solitary confinement, each in his private hell. Several months of "lying low at Lupin's." A year at Twelve Grimmauld Place.
He remembers a hideous but immensely comfortable orange armchair that Sirius had purchased for their post-Hogwarts home; an extremely rare grimoire (leather-bound, with black pages and gold ink) that Sirius had given him for his twenty-first birthday; a Honeydukes tin which was supposed to be enchanted with everlasting chocolate. Silly things, little things that had told him that Sirius had thought of him. Had wanted to make his friend happy.
And now..."To Harry--Everything."
All of the birthday and Yuletide gifts he'd given to Sirius, the ones he hadn't been able to afford. All of the things they'd bought, separately and jointly, for various housewarmings. All of the silly, coarse, stupid things they'd found so humorous as boys. All gone. Everything that had once been part of their lives, part of good and happy memories, was now part of the meaningless clutter that belonged to Harry.
No joking reference in the will to some long-ago jest or prank that Sirius might have wanted him to recall. No When you read this book (or get yourself a set of decent robes, or look at this dumb pewter hippogriff) think of me, Moony.
I thought we were friends.
It seemed that they had not been.
But we would have done anything for each other. We were closer than most brothers!
And yet...did brothers betray each other into the hands of their enemies? Did brothers play jokes that might result in their brothers' deaths?
It was like the Prank all over again--an expression of utter contempt for him as a person, a kick in the teeth from someone whom, he would have sworn, would never do such a thing.
After the Prank, Sirius had begged forgiveness for months. He'd beseeched and wheedled and cozened and grovelled, until Remus had given in, less from conviction than from exhaustion.
Sirius would not be begging for forgiveness this time. There would be no excuses, no Moony, I thought you understood or I wanted to make sure that the Order was protected as well as Harry--and the Order includes you, too or Remus, you know we were friends, why does this make so much difference?
Because I trusted you, Sirius. Because you broke my heart years ago when you refused to trust me, and decided I was a traitor, even though I'd trusted you after you had committed the ultimate betrayal. Because I trusted you again at first glance. Because I considered you a friend once more, and gave you my time and a place to stay. Because I tried to help you recall the good times, the memories that the Dementors buried or stole.
It makes a difference, because I was your friend, and I loved you. And I'm not sure, now, if you ever loved me--or if you simply thought all that I did was merely your due.
He resists the temptation to bury his head in his hands. He cannot reconcile the boy who had befriended him and who had taken an insane risk to become an Animagus with the man who had not cared to remember his existence.
Unless, of course, that boy had never existed at all.
No! Remus screams mentally, but it is as if a pitiless eye has opened inside his mind, forcing him to look at Sirius coldly and without a scrap of sentiment. He flinches, but he has to acknowledge that yes, Sirius, after learning of his lycanthropy, could have chosen to remain his friend out of pure rebellion; yes, Sirius could have wanted to become an Animagus purely because it was an all-but-impossible challenge, and illegal as well; yes, he could have aimed Snape in Remus's direction simply because it wouldn't matter what happened to either monster.
It's not true, he tells the Eye. It can't be true.
It may be true, answers a voice within him that is older and wearier than worlds. But you will never know. The question is, can you live with the possibility that it may be true? Can you concede that, and still consider him a friend?
No. He cannot. Perhaps it is wrong and unforgiving and cruel, but he cannot help it. He cannot will himself to believe in a friendship that has been betrayed so often by action and inaction...and now, by omission.
All of us, he thinks bitterly. All of us betrayed the others. Peter betrayed us by turning, and Sirius betrayed me by doubting me, and I betrayed him by doubting him as well. And James betrayed us all by dying.
And the betrayals are still going on.
Is it a betrayal of Sirius to doubt him now, as Remus had doubted him before?
Or will he be betraying himself if he doesn't doubt?
He doesn't know. He only knows that he can't believe as he had before. He would give anything to be able to do so, but that is no longer possible.
It is rather like losing a tooth. Something that has been rooted in him--something that has been part of him for years--is gone. And the absence hurts.
"Remus." Albus Dumbledore's voice slices through his thoughts. "Are you quite all right?"
He glanced over at Dumbledore's paternally concerned expression, and then at the sallow, poker-faced barrister who had paused in the middle of a word.
"Yes," he says, nodding mechanically as he attempts to paste an outworn smile on his face. "Everything is...fine.
"Just fine," he repeats, and wonders if anyone else can hear the emptiness in those hollowed out words.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,337
Summary: I was your friend, and I loved you. And I'm not sure, now, if you ever loved me--or if you simply thought all that I did was merely your due.
Author's Note: Yes, it's spoilery. And thank you to underlucius for beta-ing and Brit-picking.
***
"To Harry--Everything."
Odd how three ordinary words can scald so much.
He tries to ignore the pitying glances of Albus, who has come to the office of Jasper Peabody, barrister-at-law, as Harry's representative. The office is a bit shabby--actually, dodgy would be a better word--but Sirius had been a fugitive when he made this will, not the eccentric and rebellious scion of an ancient and terrible house. It's a sign of how far Sirius had fallen that he had been willing to have a barrister who had repeatedly defended Mundungus Fletcher on petty larceny charges make his will.
It's not a simple will, for all that there's only one beneficiary. Sirius was careful. Dark spells, investing Harry as the rightful Heir of the House of Black, intertwine throughout the will, gifting Harry with authority, power, control beyond that of conventional wealth. For all that Harry is a minor, this will gives him the rights and responsibilities of a man.
This is not the problem.
Or at least, Remus thinks, correcting himself, not all of the problem. He would not have said no to a bit of money. He has been poor all his life and is growing poorer, for, thanks to the Restrictions on Werewolves that Umbridge implemented, he cannot find a job--not even among those sympathetic to his plight. If a single non-werewolf exists who can do a job requested by an employer, the employer is obligated to hire him--no matter that Remus might be able to do the job better than the other wizard. And working for the Order, however laudable and essential it may be, does not pay the rent or put food on the table.
Sirius certainly knew that he was having financial problems--or should have, unless he was utterly blind. Prematurely greying hair, pallor, scars and thinness are not signs of ruddy good health. And in no society is wearing patched and threadbare clothing considered high fashion.
So yes, money would have been helpful, even welcome. He cannot deny that.
But more than that, more troubling and galling than that, is the fact that Sirius forgot him.
How many times, he wonders, did we live together? Seven years at Hogwarts, of course, then three years after in the house Sirius had bought with his inheritance from his Uncle Alphard. Twelve years of solitary confinement, each in his private hell. Several months of "lying low at Lupin's." A year at Twelve Grimmauld Place.
He remembers a hideous but immensely comfortable orange armchair that Sirius had purchased for their post-Hogwarts home; an extremely rare grimoire (leather-bound, with black pages and gold ink) that Sirius had given him for his twenty-first birthday; a Honeydukes tin which was supposed to be enchanted with everlasting chocolate. Silly things, little things that had told him that Sirius had thought of him. Had wanted to make his friend happy.
And now..."To Harry--Everything."
All of the birthday and Yuletide gifts he'd given to Sirius, the ones he hadn't been able to afford. All of the things they'd bought, separately and jointly, for various housewarmings. All of the silly, coarse, stupid things they'd found so humorous as boys. All gone. Everything that had once been part of their lives, part of good and happy memories, was now part of the meaningless clutter that belonged to Harry.
No joking reference in the will to some long-ago jest or prank that Sirius might have wanted him to recall. No When you read this book (or get yourself a set of decent robes, or look at this dumb pewter hippogriff) think of me, Moony.
I thought we were friends.
It seemed that they had not been.
But we would have done anything for each other. We were closer than most brothers!
And yet...did brothers betray each other into the hands of their enemies? Did brothers play jokes that might result in their brothers' deaths?
It was like the Prank all over again--an expression of utter contempt for him as a person, a kick in the teeth from someone whom, he would have sworn, would never do such a thing.
After the Prank, Sirius had begged forgiveness for months. He'd beseeched and wheedled and cozened and grovelled, until Remus had given in, less from conviction than from exhaustion.
Sirius would not be begging for forgiveness this time. There would be no excuses, no Moony, I thought you understood or I wanted to make sure that the Order was protected as well as Harry--and the Order includes you, too or Remus, you know we were friends, why does this make so much difference?
Because I trusted you, Sirius. Because you broke my heart years ago when you refused to trust me, and decided I was a traitor, even though I'd trusted you after you had committed the ultimate betrayal. Because I trusted you again at first glance. Because I considered you a friend once more, and gave you my time and a place to stay. Because I tried to help you recall the good times, the memories that the Dementors buried or stole.
It makes a difference, because I was your friend, and I loved you. And I'm not sure, now, if you ever loved me--or if you simply thought all that I did was merely your due.
He resists the temptation to bury his head in his hands. He cannot reconcile the boy who had befriended him and who had taken an insane risk to become an Animagus with the man who had not cared to remember his existence.
Unless, of course, that boy had never existed at all.
No! Remus screams mentally, but it is as if a pitiless eye has opened inside his mind, forcing him to look at Sirius coldly and without a scrap of sentiment. He flinches, but he has to acknowledge that yes, Sirius, after learning of his lycanthropy, could have chosen to remain his friend out of pure rebellion; yes, Sirius could have wanted to become an Animagus purely because it was an all-but-impossible challenge, and illegal as well; yes, he could have aimed Snape in Remus's direction simply because it wouldn't matter what happened to either monster.
It's not true, he tells the Eye. It can't be true.
It may be true, answers a voice within him that is older and wearier than worlds. But you will never know. The question is, can you live with the possibility that it may be true? Can you concede that, and still consider him a friend?
No. He cannot. Perhaps it is wrong and unforgiving and cruel, but he cannot help it. He cannot will himself to believe in a friendship that has been betrayed so often by action and inaction...and now, by omission.
All of us, he thinks bitterly. All of us betrayed the others. Peter betrayed us by turning, and Sirius betrayed me by doubting me, and I betrayed him by doubting him as well. And James betrayed us all by dying.
And the betrayals are still going on.
Is it a betrayal of Sirius to doubt him now, as Remus had doubted him before?
Or will he be betraying himself if he doesn't doubt?
He doesn't know. He only knows that he can't believe as he had before. He would give anything to be able to do so, but that is no longer possible.
It is rather like losing a tooth. Something that has been rooted in him--something that has been part of him for years--is gone. And the absence hurts.
"Remus." Albus Dumbledore's voice slices through his thoughts. "Are you quite all right?"
He glanced over at Dumbledore's paternally concerned expression, and then at the sallow, poker-faced barrister who had paused in the middle of a word.
"Yes," he says, nodding mechanically as he attempts to paste an outworn smile on his face. "Everything is...fine.
"Just fine," he repeats, and wonders if anyone else can hear the emptiness in those hollowed out words.