Fic: Kisses (8/8)
Title: Kisses (8/8)
Author: Me a.k.a kuro_nyoko
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Genre: Romance/Fluff
Rating: PG-13 for professor/convict kissing.
Era: Switching to PoA (Between Harry handing over the map and The Shack scenes.)
Summary: Few and far between, but never unwelcome.
Notes: Oh, goodness! It's over! I actually hate how I ended this. It's too abrupt or something, but that's what inspiration gave me. I might revamp it if inspiration comes back, though. Also, it might not totally sync with the PoA time line, because I forgot to check PoA after I wrote it. :/ Sorry.
Disclaimer: Hahahahaha, I wish.
Feedback: Is my anti-drug. Okay, so it's actually Remus, but still.
“Padfoot,” a rough, low voice says. “Padfoot, your nails are too long. I can hear you walking around. Come out.”
A skinny, messy, black dog steps out from behind a door frame, it’s head lowered.
“Padfoot,” A graying Remus begins as the dog turns seamlessly back to his skinny, messy, human counterpart. “Sirius…”
“You could always hear a pin drop in here.” His first words to Remus in twelve long years. Sirius places a hand on a gash in the wall of the Shrieking Shack. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill them.”
“Sirius,” Remus begins.
“Remus,” Sirius cuts him off, almost forgetting what he is about to say. The sound of him saying Remus’ name and Remus hearing it--the sound of Remus saying his own name. They are mere names, words, but it is almost too much to take. Eventually he finds his words. “Hear me out, Remus. I know you probably hate me. Probably… I know you hate me. I don‘t blame you at all. I… it wasn‘t me. I wasn‘t the one who killed them.”
‘Them,’ Remus knows he’s talking about James and Lily. Something in his heart hurts terribly.
“Sirius,” Remus tries to begin, again.
“Just, hear me out, okay?”
“SIRIUS!” Remus yells to make Sirius listen to what he has to say. “Sirius. I know. Peter is here. Harry discovered him on the map. I didn‘t believe my eyes at first, but our map doesn‘t lie, does it? You‘re innocent. I know it. We‘ll make the world know it.”
“Harry?” Sirius has apparently stopped listening after hearing the boy’s name.
“Yes.”
“He‘s here? Of course he's here. What…?”
“Yes. Third year, Gryffindor.”
“Does he play…?”
“The youngest seeker in one hundred years.”
“He has our…?”
“Yes, I think he may have gotten it from the Weasley boys. He has the cloak, too.”
“Does he still look…?”
“Just like James. Eyes are green as ever. About this high, I'd say.”
“Does he still…” Sirius gestures a finger toward his forehead.
“Yes. You know about the scar?”
“Who doesn‘t? The first year… in Azkaban… all the new inmates… it‘s all they talked about. ‘The boy who lived,’ they called him.” Sirius leans against the door frame and slides down to the floor. Tears twelve years in the making burn his cheeks as he realizes just how much of his life has been ripped away from him. He thinks of how much has been taken away from his innocent godson. He wants to put all the blame on Voldemort for killing his best friend. He wants even more to blame Peter for everything; for betraying them. He wants to blame the bystanders for standing so close. He wants to blame Dumbledore somehow. He could put the blame on the stupid Order who all turned on him, refusing to even hear his story. He wants to blame the night, the place, the time, the weather, even Snape just because he never washed his hair, the big nosed git, because he’s sure they were all factors somehow, but he winds up where he always does--clinging to his innocence, yet placing the blame wholly on himself.
Remus leans down in front of him, putting a hand gently on his shoulder.
“If I had been there,” Sirius says quietly. “If I hadn‘t insisted on Peter… I should have killed the rat bastard when I had the chance. Then James and Lily would still be--”
“Sirius,” Remus says quickly and sternly. “Don‘t you dare talk like that. I reasoned this all out when I saw Peter‘s name on that map. It wasn‘t your fault.”
“But it,”
“Shut up, Sirius. I don’t want to hear that talk from you! Don‘t be daft, Sirius, it wasn‘t your fault. Peter is the one who betrayed us. You didn‘t know about his dedication to Voldemort--none of us did. And I know that if you did, you wouldn‘t have insisted on him. You would have rather stood outside their door all day, everyday guarding them yourself before putting them in danger like that intentionally.”
“Peter. He got away. I let him get away.” Sirius looks down.
Remus lifts up his chin. “You didn‘t let him. He ran. He transformed and ran because he‘s a coward. It wasn’t your fault he got away. You know how fast Wormtail is. He ran to some small space and hid so no one could find him. You couldn‘t find him, and neither cold anyone else. It‘s not your fault, Sirius. You‘re innocent, and we‘re going to find Peter, and we will clear your name.”
“What’s funny, is that I know I’m innocent. I know it was Peter, but I just don‘t feel it. From day one I knew that, but I didn‘t feel it. I felt guilty every single day. I still feel guilty. Damn it! Harry would still have his parents if I hadn‘t…”
“Sirius, shut up. That‘s the Dementors talking. The Dementors confused you and put those wretched thoughts in your head.” Remus brings a hand up and moves it along the side of Sirius’ head as he looks into his sunken, dark gray eyes. His hair, once blacker than coal, softer than a cloud, and as shiny as the brightest star in the sky, was still just as black as it had always been, but it had a rougher texture and dulled quite a bit. Remus hopes that after a few showers and a few good meals he will begin looking more and more like the boy he fell in love with all those years ago. “Don‘t let them do this to you,” he adds softly, stroking his long lost friend’s arm.
“I… I don‘t know how.” Sirius barely finishes.
Remus pulls his now sobbing friend to his chest, making a personal note that after all these years, they still fit together perfectly, just as they had when they were seventeen. He sifts quickly through his expansive vocabulary but comes up with nothing he could say to make Sirius feel better at this moment. All he can do is hold him while he cries, trying not to cry himself.
After a few minutes, Sirius breaks the silence, “Remus,” he sniffs. “Moony, what’s going to happen?”
“Well,” Remus starts softly and quietly. “first we‘re going to get a good nights sleep tonight. I‘ll be right next to you for each nightmare you have. I hear they're common after one gets out of Azkaban. Then, in the morning, I‘ll get you cleaned up: bathed, clothed, fed, and all that. I‘ll put every locking charm I know on the doors and windows before I head down to Dumbledore‘s office with the Map and explain everything to him. He‘ll believe us.”
“No,” Sirius whines as he tugs on the fabric covering Remus‘ shoulders. “Don’t leave,” he nuzzles his nose into Remus’ collarbone, trying to drink in the scent he forgot he loved so much.
“I‘ll owl him then? Soon as I can. I’ll tell him it’s important. Is that alright?”
Sirius nods in response. “After that?”
“Well,” Remus thinks while stroking flat, stringy black hair “After that, Dumbledore will help us catch Peter, and he will talk to Fudge at the Ministry, and he will go around and convince the right people of your innocence… then the world. You'll be safe then. You won't have to hide.”
They sit in silence once more.
“Remus?”
“Sirius?”
Sirius pulls himself away from the comfortable spot on Remus’ chest and looks into his aged, but still twinkling amber eyes. “Do you still…” he stops, unsure if he wants to continue with his question.
Remus’ lips find one of Sirius’ dirty, tear-stained cheeks, and then the other in an attempt to calm Sirius‘ nerves somehow. Sirius winces a little at the gesture, having not had such intimate contact in so long. Remus persists. His lips find their way slowly to a spot just above Sirius’ ear. They brush against an eyelid as they reach his slender nose. “Yes?” Remus asks Sirius, who has forgot he even began a sentence, who has forgotten everything but the feel of Remus’ arms around him and his lips moving about on his skin. Remus draws one of Sirius’ hands to his lips. “Do I still what?”
Sirius shuts his eyes tight as Remus pushed his lips firmly to his forehead. “Moony, do you still love me?”
Remus pulls his lips away from Sirius’ forehead and looks into his eyes for a moment, saying nothing. Remus kisses Sirius on the mouth. Sirius doesn’t kiss back. Neither question why. Remus resolves that maybe he forgot how, remembering the way he staggered as he walked, as if he had just learned. Sirius knows that it is a mixture of, unfortunately, forgetting how to respond, and also of pure surprise that someone as kind and warm and gentle and ‘so perfect’ he thinks, could want to hold and kiss the old, filthy, cold shell of a man he had become. A shell with another man‘s misplaced guilty conscience hovering over head. A shell whose only occupants the past twelve years have been countless screaming nightmares, one sliver of hope and one large, whimpering dog.
Remus pulls away and looks into Sirius‘ eyes once more. “From the moment I met you, I never stopped.”
Sirius smiles his first real smile in years. It is not very wide, not toothy, but it’s the best he can do. He is not worried about it, or self-conscious, or anything like that because he knows that he will have plenty of practice in this, and all the other things he’s forgotten to do in the coming days.
They spend the next few hours of the night against the wall in the Shack. Sirius falls asleep in Remus’ arms and as promised, Remus is there to calm him down from every painful nightmare.