All These Things (Come To Pass) (R/S, NC-17)
All These Things (Come To Pass)
Author: Regala Electra
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Their relationship was never as simple as either of them hoped it would be. Scenes of two men: friendship, love, betrayal, despair, and hope. I will tell you the stories, one of them true, one of them real, one a lie, and one dream. The other, that is for you to decide.
Author's Notes: Probably my longest R/S fic to date (over 8,300 words). This is a slightly unusual piece for me, because about 2/3 of it is pretty funny and sweet. Of course, there’s that 1/3 to watch out for. ;-) Thank you, jazzypom for the beta and insightful comments. Oh, and the fourth scene contains quotes from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land.
*
I will tell you the stories, one of them true, one of them real, one a lie, and one dream. The other, that is for you to decide.
And if you don't want to hear them, you should wait until dark. There's a full moon rising and red blood will be spilled this very night.
Do you understand the price?
Yes.
*
There is a pattern of freckles on one of his shoulder blades, like dark gold dust that once fell onto the skin and refuses to break contact. His other shoulder is fair and clear from any markings. One day, being extraordinarily bored, Sirius picks up a quill and after filling it with vivid scarlet ink, begins connecting the dots.
Remus, who'd taken off his shirt in protest against the stuffy heat of the dormitory, sits on his bed, attempting to finish an essay due in Potions. He is miserable at the finer points of the art and wants to write in joking asides as to his practical experiences in making the potion, but he'd like passing marks on the essay, so he refrains from writing them.
"I hope that'll come off," he murmurs, scratching the side of his nose with the feathery edge of his quill.
"Never will. Also, it'll stain all of your jumpers when you get dressed. You'll have to go around half-naked. But it's okay," Sirius says this very sincerely, his quill looping back on a line he'd already sketched. "I'm drawing your personal constellation. Now everyone will be able to use your back as a reference map."
"Except I won't ever see it."
Sirius makes an inverted cross, then begins a diamond pattern. Not liking it, he wets one finger and rubs at the skin. Remus is very careful not to make a sound. Sirius's finger is cool against his back. "Don't worry," Sirius promises, "I'll draw you a picture."
"Oh, wonderful. You're drawing an informal tattoo on my back and I'll have a lovely drawing for posterity's sake." Remus considers crossing out his last sentence, it makes no bloody sense and he thinks if a person were to follow his instructions, their hands might swell up to the size of hubcaps.
"Almost done. Too bad you don't have any more freckles, I could draw some smiling faces like those mad Muggle shirts. You know, those yellow ones with the frightening soulless smiles of the damned?"
"Smiley faces," Remus corrects. He can feel the wet ink on his back, the pleasant scratch of the quill against a slightly ticklish spot. "Haven't you gotten past the point of defacing fellow friends?"
"Never." Sirius finishes with a flourish, a long, smooth upsweep of quill, an artistic touch that is surprisingly fluid. "I'd hex handlebar moustaches and goatees on James all day if I could."
"Hmm, tired of his counter hexes that leave you with that great silver beard?"
Sirius sniffs at the insult. "I look even better than Dumbledore. Could pass for his strikingly handsome, younger brother."
Remus cannot help himself, making sure to have his wand at the ready should Sirius retaliate. "Dunno, what sort of fancy do you have towards nimble, four-legged creatures?"
"Moony, you old bastard," Sirius laughs, clearly impressed. "Didn't know you had it in you."
"Oh, must be that new constellation on my shoulder. Freed me from any typical reserves."
Sirius groans, getting off of Remus's bed and throwing himself on his own. "It's bloody boring now that you're all inked up."
"Well, I could fail Potions just for your amusement. In fact, I'm dangerously close to doing just that. Perhaps next time Professor McGonagall will kindly make sure you and James always share detention, even when she only catches one of you in the act."
Scowling, Sirius insists, "If James had only used the other corridor, we'd be knee-deep in a spot of trouble at this very moment. You know, I bet there's a way we could figure out a way of charming an object, like a Portkey, only we'd be able to use it as a way of communication in case McGonagall insists on separating us for detention. Maybe a mirror would do the trick."
"Mmm," Remus answers noncommittally. Sirius tended to be impossible to talk to when he's plotting future exploits.
Finally, he's nearing the end of the essay. He sees a vision of 7 out of 10, because he's a realist, and honestly, that's what it deserves. It'll be good enough to keep him hovering above failing marks.
"You know," Sirius says, while attempting to float his pillows midway in the air, so far, he's only managed to hover them just above his nose, "I finished that essay ages ago-"
"Of course you did," Remus cuts in, but Sirius pays no attention to it.
"So if you want my help-"
"I believe last time, you insisted a certain ingredient did exactly the opposite and I was scolded and nearly given a detention for what again? Ah yes, my 'thick-headed ignorance and pervading obliviousness to the most subtle and fantastic of all magical arts.'"
"God," Sirius says, his eyes shining bright. "That speech was almost more terrifying that McGonagall's daily rants about how there's never been another student to bring so much shame to the name of Gryffindor as James and me."
"And yet," Remus dryly replies, "I am still as thick-headed in Potions and you and James remain steadfast in breaking all the records ever made for lost points and detentions."
"Soon, no one will ever come close," Sirius agrees, his pride always on display. He doesn't go on, as his spell ends and the pillow falls on his face.
Remus shakes his head, rolling up the parchment. "I should say something now about how you'll never make anything of yourself if you don't act more responsible."
He barely ducks the thrown pillow.
"Moony, just by reminding me to be good and by looking so stodgy like, well, that," Sirius says, waving a hand in Remus's direction, "you've redeemed me. I'm a reformed man. Let's go about the world, giving pies to needy, orphaned children and bring rainbows in our wake."
"Ah yes, it's pies they need, not homes."
"I think that there might be a smidge of sarcasm on your person somewhere. Perhaps contraband." He smiles then. Remus barely registers the look as he carefully puts his essay away. "Maybe I'd better-"
He pounces before Remus can prepare himself.
"GET IT OFF!!!"
It's a full-blown wrestling match by now, and Sirius, once he gets the upper hand, does not lose it easily. He's excelled in these scuffles, always able to win within moments. He has all the advantages, and Remus can do nothing but attempt not to get crushed or - hello, that's Sirius's hipbone against his head. He barely registers the strange feeling surging through his mind. Something changes, an unperceivable switch, a light coming on without any warning. There's a tense, static charge in the air, like someone's just been meddling in heavy magic.
Suddenly, he wants more than anything for Sirius to be off of him.
This is nothing like any of their other fights, half-hearted attempts, no one planning for any real harm to come of it, just an innocent tussle.
No, this is different, charged with some heavy implication that Remus does not want to understand - and then, Sirius is halfway off of him, nearly losing his advantage. His pelvis bumps into the side of Remus's head. Remus has managed to pull Sirius's crotch away from his face, pushing him away, but Sirius is faster than that. He heaves up and over Remus, straddling Remus, and - what is that, hard, pressing against his leg? - and then, Remus remembers himself, grabs his wand and -
He has no idea what spell he tried, but Sirius is off of him, licking his wounds (actually licking them, sucking on a slightly bloodied knuckle). Remus feels only the mild throbbing pain of bruises just waiting to bloom. He brings his hand to his neck, touching wetness, and stares stupidly at the red staining his fingers.
"You bit me?"
"It's ink," Sirius explains, getting up to root around for a makeshift bandage for his hand.
Remus absentmindedly produces bandages; he maintains a fresh supply so that he can redress his wounds without having to go to the hospital wing.
"Thanks." Sirius isn't looking at him. "Bit of a trick move, there. Where'd you learn it?"
"Always have to be on the defensive around you and Prongs." Sirius doesn't crack a smile and Remus doesn't know what to say next. You don't apologize to one of your mates for something like defending yourself in a scuffle. Nor do you ask what's the problem, well unless you're insanely rude and careless, and as Remus isn't Sirius, he doesn't give voice to his questions. "You okay?"
"Fine. I'm fine." Sirius forces an easy smile on his face, it looks ghastly, there's a bit of blood around his mouth. He's pacing the room, as though he'd rather be anywhere but here.
"I better see if James has finally been freed from cleaning the corridors with his tongue. Oh, that McGonangall, always coming up with fresh torments especially for us. Maybe visit the kitchens and grab some butterbeers. See you later, then?"
"Er, fine then," Remus answers, completely mystified.
Remus takes a shower, watching red (not blood) ink mix with the water, going down the drain.
*
That is true, but is not real.
It happened. It's real then.
Of course it is. Keep telling yourself that.
*
"I want to get very drunk, very often, and never wind in bed with the same person. Why James has decided against this brilliant plan is beyond me. However, Lily is a wonderful, wonderful woman, with terrible taste in men. Now let's all drink our senses away and someone strike up some bloody music!"
With that, Sirius climbs down from the table, not dropping a single drop of his pint. It's one of his many skills, but Sirius is inordinately proud about this talent.
"You'd better have a different speech at our wedding, Padfoot," James warns, before downing the rather large tankard in front of him.
"I'll be going word-for-word," Sirius insists. He downs a shot of firewhiskey before adding, "I could be convinced to get nostalgic and speak about that time you and that bird from Ravenclaw - now what was her name? Well, I'll just have to give a description of her attributes."
"You bloody prat," James laughs, full-bodied, as though he's either lost his mind or he's too far-gone in love to know the difference. "When you get married, I'll do the same in kind. Although I'll bring up all the witnesses to offer their version of events."
"You'll be wanting a damn long time for that then, old mate. I'm not the marrying kind."
"God have mercy on the future Mrs. Black," James adds. He punctuates this by swiping one of Sirius's shots, neatly lined up in front of him.
"Now, now," Sirius says, wagging a finger, knowing the movement makes James dizzy, "You and Remus and Peter can bugger off with wives and nice country houses teeming with unruly whelps and leave me with having a fantastic, irresponsible and decadent life."
"Didn't know we were all so invested in breeding dogs, Sirius," James bites out, grimacing while in the middle of a firewhiskey shot. He always fell for staring at things that moved too swiftly and it never agrees with him.
They'd all said more than once how lucky it was that vehicles never went into the Forbidden Forest, or Prongs would have been stuffed and mounted on a wall ages ago.
"Oh," Remus says, who'd been observing the amusing duo act, sitting down next to the groom and the best man, "I suppose that since we've all become accustomed to Sirius's fleas, now we're all fans of the canine species. Especially great slobbery black dogs."
Sirius glares at Remus then. "First of all, I do not slobber. Those who are in-between flats and staying at the homes of generous, thoughtful, and generally benevolent friends, should be careful with their comments. Don't you agree, Prongs?"
James attempts a serious look, which only makes him look incredibly and stupidly drunk. "I'm sorry, Moony. I'll have to agree with the daft gentleman on my right. Both of them."
Sirius smirks, but before he can gloat, Peter whistles across the room, urging James to join him at the bar. James, sensing a free round of drinks, slaps Sirius on the shoulder, departing by saying, "Absolutely dreadful speech. Worst ever. Horrid best man."
"He says it because he's so impressed, he cannot quite grasp its power." Two shots are drained with little pause between either.
"Yes. Keep on telling yourself that. Might be true someday." Remus takes a sip and adds, as an afterthought, "No, I'm afraid it never will be true."
"I wasn't joking about the flat, old friend." There's a dangerous look in Sirius's grey eyes. "Keep it up and you can warm my welcome mat. I'm sure it'll be very cozy."
Remus downs his drink with some distaste. He could never keep up with Sirius and James, mostly because he'd never wanted to become as intimate with a toilet as they have. His tongue stings slightly from the alcohol, but if he pulls a face, Sirius will just order more drinks and try to start a drinking contest.
Remus remains the only Marauder to never officially compete in a drinking contest.
"Then, in lieu of having a nice warm bed, I shall have to just spend a wild night of passionate lovemaking with that lovely girl I met at work. I'm sure we'll be quite happy against your doorway."
There are many things Remus has seen while being a Marauder; most of them he would have thought were merely impossible or completely ridiculous. One he had never seen before, until this night, is a person doing a spit-take. Not only does Sirius cross that off Remus's mental list, he also spits half a pint directly on Remus.
"You - a date - you?" Sirius sputters, not even bothering to act chagrined for cloaking Remus in eau du bubbly alcohol.
With futile effort, Remus tries to soak up the beer with paper napkins. "Oh yes, I forgot, I'm the monk of the group. You're the Walrus and James is the - one dancing on top of the bar, hmm, someone better stop him. Might break his neck and Lily's promised to hex us all if any harm comes to James."
Sirius glances briefly at James, helpfully shouting that someone ought to put some Sickles downs his trousers. Turning back to Remus, he says, "I mean, it's not that I expected you to remain single for the rest of your life, blokes gotta eat, fish gotta swim, yeah?"
"I'm going to ignore what you're implying blokes eat and cautiously agree with you."
He shrugs, barely paying attention. "It's just that you're Moony, you know? Moony."
"Erm."
"Moony," Sirius adds with extra emphasis, as though that makes any sense.
"And you're smashed. Smashed," Remus answers, feeling as though a response is required to the insistence that he is indeed Moony.
"Half out my mind, the rest of it swimmingly plastered," Sirius agrees, with a solemn nod. "Stupid as ever."
"Floo you home before you join James up there?"
Sirius considers. "Good idea." There's a long pause and Remus fears he's going to have to forcibly remove Sirius before he starts ripping off clothes. "Home has better drinks than the piss vinegar here."
"Ah, so that's what it is. And here I was, just thinking alcohol tastes awful on its own accord."
He'll have to hope Peter will have enough sense to remember to free James from his routine (which now involves slow dancing to some horrific dance music with a thump-thump beat). He'll tell Lily he was saving the best man from making an ass of himself.
Of course, Lily will respond, "More than usual?" But it might give him enough time to escape one of her (fairly accurate) hexes.
He has to half-drag Sirius to the fireplace, and along the way, Sirius manages to have several shots from people more than willing to give their regards to the best man. "The very best," Sirius hollers, winking famously at one wizard. "Do not worry lads, wherever there are drunken idiots making sport of themselves, there I will be, laughing! Onward, Moony!"
He even yanks at Remus's hair, as though mushing on a beast.
Sighing, Remus tosses Sirius in the bright flames. It is incredible, a stroke of fortune, which always seems to be in Sirius's favor, that Sirius manages his address correctly. Remus follows suit.
"I should leave you on the welcome mat," Remus says to the sprawled figure of Sirius.
"You'd never do that," Sirius says in a pleasant tone, his voice soft and merry. "You love me too much to do that."
"I think I'm more accustomed to you, Padfoot," Remus says, attempting to step over Sirius.
Sirius has other plans, tripping Remus halfway, causing Remus to fall quite hard, slapping his knees on the bare wooden floors. Remus groans, lying on his back, cursing all the trees that made up Sirius's floor. Sirius always had intentions toward buying carpets, but he tends to forget those intentions as soon as he steps out of his flat.
He laughs in Remus's face. "Fancy seeing you down here."
"Mmmph." He tries very not to punch Sirius in the face, so that he might feel some small measure of the pain shooting in Remus's knees. "Must have gotten lost along the way."
Sirius's face turns grave, a line of worry between his eyebrows. "Admit it, Remus."
Rolling his eyes, because he expects this will be one of Sirius's drunken lectures on some important matter of life, he says, "Admit what then?"
"You love me."
It's said very soft. Remus is aware that he's incredibly close, in fact uncomfortably close. Sirius does not smell like he's downed half a bar's worth of liquor, he smells like Sirius, clean and scented with all this interesting bits of Sirius's life. There's the motorcycle, the musty scent that comes from sorting through a record collection, and the slight aftershave still clinging to his jaw.
Remus smells like he was born in a bar and has lived most of his life squeezed into a bottle of cheep booze. The front of his shirt is damp and clings oddly to his stomach. His back aches and he feels a headache coming on and Sirius is still staring at him, that fine line still prominent between his brows.
He does not know what to say. There's an ill feeling knotted somewhere deep, but it isn't his stomach, so he can't blame it on something not agreeing with him. In fact, what worries him is that this request does agree with him, he feels oddly light-headed, despite his head being firmly on the floor.
If he closes his eyes, the moment will pass forever, a dark shadow always in his memory. Sirius is likely not to remember this.
That's the excuse. He's going to run with it if he has to, damn the consequences.
"I might." He watches a beatific smile form on Sirius's face. Remus gets swept away in his gratitude and adds more, "I love you, Sirius. I love you and James and Peter and Lily. You're all family to me, Sirius, dear friends. I do love you greatly, Pads."
The smile fades. Sirius shoves off the ground, as though he's suddenly figured out a way for instant sobriety, and will never tell its secret to anyone else. "Fucking liar that you are, Moony."
He doesn't offer a hand to Remus.
Remus lies on the ground, considering sleeping on the welcome mat, but his back starts acting up and he goes into the spare room, his temporary bedroom.
He starts looking for his own flat the next morning.
Sirius doesn't say anything to him except to ask what he wants for breakfast.
*
It was an honest moment, then.
The lie would have been better.
Perhaps.
*
"I'm not gay," Remus insists, tearing off his jumper, a fresh network of scars across his torso. No one has any time to spare, especially with regards to looking after a werewolf and Remus needs to believe he can look after himself.
"I believe you," Sirius says, one hand inside Remus's trousers, the other unbuckling his belt. "We just need a fuck, yeah? Two bodies, nothing more."
"Right."
"Right."
They both pause at the same moment, unsure of what they've just agreed to. Remus wants to laugh; it's ridiculous, really.
Sirius swallows, his lips are full and so ready, Remus has to avert his eyes, which is even more ridiculous, the man does have his hands on his crotch, they've passed the point of being shy.
Remus stares at Sirius's trousers. "I actually haven't done this before, you know."
"Well," Sirius grins wickedly, "Just think of it as out-of-body masturbation."
Remus wrinkles his nose distastefully. "That's a horrible way of looking at it."
"Okay, so it's a race then. Only it doesn't matter who gets there first, yeah? Just that you get there," Sirius punctuates this with a stroke and Remus very quickly gets it.
It's really easy to strip off clothes, and in between, experiment with touch, hands finding places all over that provoke reactions, good reactions. Hands making explorations, which feel as though they've never been done before, so wrong and so perfect.
Sirius's mouth is somewhere exploring the new set of scars, his fingers scratching the sides of Remus's torso. Remus can feel this pressure building in his body and he has no idea why he hasn't ever tried this before. "This feels bloody fantastic," he manages. Sirius looks up, his cheek resting on Remus's stomach.
"It does get better, you know," Sirius drawls. He kisses somewhere just above Remus's navel.
"I know that," Remus says, suddenly realizing an implication to that statement. "This isn't the first time I've-"
"Well good then," Sirius cuts in, irritated, for no apparent reason. "Won't be so stunned when I do-"
But he never has to say this, because he does that, God, his mouth over and down his cock before Remus has any expectation of it happening.
This is impossible, this bursting sensation coursing through his veins, the pull of it, how can a person not want this done to them every single moment of every day for the rest of their lives?
There are noises too, but Remus pays them no heed, too caught up in the awareness of Sirius's mouth on him.
Fuck, Sirius is good at this, and wait, when did it become about Sirius?
No, no, he isn't, this isn't, no. It's not about Sirius, it's about sex, good sex, mindless sex, but now his mind isn't too far gone and now he knows, this isn't just about a good shag. This is-
Remus comes in Sirius's mouth, horror creeping past the post-bliss. This is about Sirius.
No, he refuses for that to be true. Brings Sirius back up and kisses him, open-mouthed, tongues dueling, reveling in the glory of the violent motion, their teeth bump and at one point clack, and he doesn't care.
He cannot care.
Sirius is so hard against him, his erection pressing against Remus's thigh. His body is perfect, it's always been perfect, but only now is Remus conscious of the fact that this is a body built for sin, for depravity, for full-out, complete and utter rutting. Sirius is greedy in his touches, in his kisses, as though he can never get enough and Remus is made greedy by proxy.
A hand manages to get a hold on Sirius's cock, testing all the ways to make Sirius moan and whimper, and other interesting noises. Then a pace is set, but as soon as it's set, it's made faster, reckless, careless, and Sirius stares straight into Remus's eyes and it unnerves him.
There's too much emotion in Sirius's stare and Remus can barely understand it.
Sirius comes, panting, his body collapses with great movement, lying on top of Remus. His skin is slick, but cool, it's too damn cool, and he's too damn sure of himself.
Remus breathes for a few moments, trying not to think. He fails miserably.
When Sirius moves, attempting to steal a kiss, Remus turns his face away. It lands squarely on his jaw.
"Hey," Sirius says, bringing Remus's face back with his hand. "What's the problem? I thought that went smashingly well."
"No problem." Remus concentrates on a point just above Sirius's eyes. He doesn't want to get lost in that mess again. "I have to be getting home."
It's a lame finish, but Sirius rolls off of him, stretching, completely comfortable in his nudity.
Which a person shouldn’t be - comfortable that is, nakedness is all fine and good, but there’s a time and place for it, so Remus gets off the bed, hunting for stray clothing gone missing.
"Same time next week?" There's a tinge of hope that Sirius isn't able to fully smother.
Remus is startled by it, pausing as he's pulling his jumper over his head. He buckles his trousers slowly, making sure the belt's not too tight, looking down, as though he's very invested in making sure that everything's been arranged just so. "Yeah. All right then. Dunno if it can be exact, schedules are-"
Sirius lights a cigarette, not feeling a need to get dressed, which makes looking at him all the more difficult. "Schedules are the devil. Yeah, I know that one for certain."
Remus cannot, for the life of him, find his right shoe. Sirius watches him with vague amusement but offers no help. "You find pleasure in me looking like a prat, don't you, Sirius?"
It is the memory of too many things, now all gone confused and he doesn't understand, why this began, why this now feels as though it was inevitable, a moment that has been building for far too long. He remembers their fights, he remembers the last time Sirius had physically gotten into a scuffle with him, it had been back at Hogwarts, hadn't it?
And Sirius had made no mention of their discussion the night before he moved out of Sirius's flat, something he had attributed to fortune of being exceptionally drunk. So many little things, making too much sense. It would be better to ignore it.
Yet this all changes everything and Remus doesn't want it to have changed. This shouldn't be so. Normally, he would have said, You find pleasure in me looking like a prat, don't you, Pads, yet he hasn't said that, not at all.
Now is not a time to call him Pads. At least, Remus doesn't think it is.
Sirius stubs his cigarette in an ashtray. "I find pleasure in loads of things. You should be honored you're in the top ten."
Remus frowns. It's said delicately, but the implication is all too clear. He forces his concerns out his mind; he'll deal with them another day.
"Made a list, then," Remus grumbles, his hand groping blindly under Sirius's bed, hoping it'll resurface with at least his arm intact. Sirius has a wicked sense of humor when it comes to the old fable about monsters under the bed.
"Checked it twice," Sirius replies. He nudges Remus's shoulder with his bare foot. "It's under my pants."
"Your pants?" Remus cannot help the little squeak of fear. That means it's in the forbidden place, where no sane person dares to tread.
Sirius points to a corner of his room, which he uses as an impromptu laundry basket, because amongst the things that Sirius always intends for his flat, but never actually purchases, a laundry basket is one of those vital items still absent. There's all sorts of clothes arranged in a messy pile and indeed, sticking out of it, is Remus's other shoe.
Remus moans, a noise of pain and great sorrow. "If only you took to regularly washing your clothes instead of just buying new ones."
"I'll have you know that it's under brand new clothing," Sirius says, insulted. "I just bought it yesterday. And you ripped an enormous hole in my trousers when you tried to get them off. You owe me."
"I'll make it up to you." He pulls the shoe out by the heel, holding it with distaste. "Honestly."
Sirius stands up, smiling a grand smile. "Deal, then."
Before Remus can leave, Sirius kisses him, completely and utterly. This is not a kiss that leads to sex, this is not a kiss between friends, this is a kiss. Smoky (because of the cigarette) and rich and full and it's all for Remus.
When Sirius breaks away, Remus is rather stunned. So he pats Sirius on the back, politely, and says, "Thanks. Erm, see you next week."
"Tomorrow, actually," Sirius says, looking confused. "We have the, uh, group picture."
"Right." Remus has no idea what he's talking about.
"For you know," Sirius makes an exaggerated face, hands forming a sign that looks oddly like a flying bird, "The Group?"
"Oh," Remus says, "The Group. Yes, yes, I completely remember-"
"You completely forget."
"I just ah, have so many engagements," he finishes lamely.
Sirius shakes his head. "This is the day that I, Sirius Black, actually remember an appointment, and you, Remus Lupin, forget it. I should make a mark on my calendar. If I had a calendar."
"I lost my calendar." This is actually true, but Remus feels like an idiot for stating it. He's always been aware of what day it is, he has to be, and he only keeps a calendar because he feels it's one of the essential parts of a home. Unlike Sirius, he likes to make sure his residence is furnished to the best of his abilities.
"Pity. If I had a calendar, I'd mark it as a day of mourning, the day Remus told me he lost his very own calendar."
"Why are we talking about calendars?"
Sirius shrugs.
"Well, I better be off." He goes to leave, but stops. "So what time do we have to-"
"Bright and early," Sirius says, without needing him to finish his question.
"Right. 'Bye." Remus doesn't know what else to do or say, so he edges out of the room.
Sirius waves a half-hearted goodbye, a frown playing at his lips.
The next morning, when everyone begins to arrive, Sirius originally stands right next to Remus, not noticing the slight look of embarrassment on Remus's face. But others wizards and witches came, late because they too apparently forgot the time, and Remus moves away, so as to ensure that everyone will get into the shot, he says.
Before Sirius can rectify the matter, there's a flash and whirl, and the picture's taken.
*
That's the greatest lie.
That was no lie. I remember it, all of it. I was there.
You were there, but you lied. You lied splendidly. Shall we stop?
What's left?
A dream. A terrible, terrible dream.
*
"I dreamed a dream that you were all alone and walked down alleys on our lost bones."
"Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door? Reading too much Eliot, perhaps?"
Sirius has a fondness for Eliot, The Waste Land especially. He'd taken (borrowed in his definition of the word, stolen in Remus's definition) Remus's copy when they'd briefly lived together, reading it so much that the pages threatened to fall out, not too surprising considering Remus could only afford a cheap copy. Sirius had once tried to get away with answering a Divination test on Tarot cards by writing "Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, / Had a bad cold, nevertheless / Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, / With a wicked pack of cards" as the opener on his short answer.
That was the worst grade Sirius ever received in all his classes at Hogwarts.
"Moony, let me in."
A loud sigh emits through the door. A hoarse, muffled voice sadly responds. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, Pads."
"For fuck's sake, what's the matter with you?"
Sirius doesn't bang his fist against the door and Remus is grateful for that small consideration.
"All of this, this war, all this bloody-" his voice hitches. He will not tell Sirius what he saw. It is barely a glimmer on a shadow of the worst Voldemort can do, and yet it's the final straw, the one that Remus knows will always haunt him. "I cannot let you in."
"Damn you, Remus."
And there's the pounding, right against his ear, as though Sirius knows exactly where Remus is. Sirius is frantic now - he will not go away easily.
"Open the fucking door!"
"Go back to your flat, Sirius," Remus commands, but it's weak even to Remus's ears. He's never been good at ordering Sirius around. Not when Sirius is like this.
But the things he has seen.
Last night, the moon was full and time was dwindling before Remus was ready. He almost missed the sign - the smoke above a little cottage. He shouldn't have entered it, he knew how little time he had left, and yet he did.
All he could be grateful for was that they were dead before he got there.
"There was more to my dream." Sirius's voice is muffled as though his mouth is pressed against the wood. Remus can still pick out the notes of hysteria. "I saw you teaming up with them, I saw the wreckage of a house. I saw you exiting a house with smoke trailing after you. I saw your clothes, tattered, didn't get them off in time, huh? I saw the bodies, Remus. Or what was left of them."
Something closes tight in Remus's throat.
"You saw that in your dream?"
The voice is shaky, but clear. "I saw a werewolf howling at the moon, he was indoors, inside the home of innocents. And I saw the smoke did not fade away until hours passed, much longer than I've ever seen before. I didn't see how the werewolf killed them-"
"Perhaps he didn't-"
"If he didn't, then what was he doing there?"
"Perhaps he forgot the time and sought to imprison himself somewhere safe."
"It's not his nature to forget such things." There's a tinge of acidic bitterness, a faint hint of regret. "I dreamed of James and Lily having a child. She's expecting you know."
"Mmm." He hasn't spoken to James and Lily in a few weeks. It might be true. It's safer to keep all contact between Order members few and far between. And James and Lily have become very important and there are dark rumors growing, someone has been passing secrets.
Someone desperate enough to either end this war or someone is vengeful enough to bring an end just for fuck's sake.
"I dreamed that I was dead, or that I'd gone mad, and no one mourned me and I was just the wasted blight my dear old Mum's always said I was. I dreamed that my mates abandoned me and I was trapped in Padfoot's body and I'd have made a better dog than a wizard, wouldn't I?"
Remus does not answer.
"I dreamed I could blow this door apart, only it'll fall right on top of you-"
"You said you dreamed this-"
"I did."
"Then why the future tense?"
A long pause. Remus can feel Sirius against the door, testing all his knowledge, trying to figure out the one that will open the lock.
Remus has learned better spells and declined to share them with Sirius in this regard.
"I dreamed the future was blank as a mad hatter's sense of sanity, and I was locked away, cackling that everything falls apart, so why shouldn't the future? I dreamt a visit. You came to mourn me, even though I was still there, still waiting for you. I dreamt that this is bloody useless and that you'd forgive me, and that you'd understand and that you wouldn't be an insufferable prat, fearful that even your shadow is cursed."
"All these dreams sound too fantastical, Sirius. When was the last time you remembered to sleep?"
"I loved you once, fucking Moony, you hear that?" Sirius slaps the door, actually slaps it, open-handed and weak. There's a half-sob buried in the screaming. "You're not going to open the goddamn door, are you, ever? Just going to lock everything away like you always fucking do, can't let anyone get too close. I should have convinced James and Peter to shun you once we found out, you bastard. Let you keep on pitying yourself."
"Go. Home."
"You were never bloody honest about anything, were you? Always lying, always trying to find the middle ground, how about some fucking honesty? You went in there knowing there were bodies and you liked it. You are a dangerous beast, admit it."
So rudely forc'd, Remus cannot help but whisper, barely audible. "Fine then. But I have to be going shortly, so it had better be brief."
"Hurry up, please," Sirius says as Remus begins the spell to unlock the door, "it's time."
Sirius is all disheveled glory, still reveling in his youthful handsomeness. He doesn’t have to deal with premature grey hairs and lines etching across his hair. He is dressed fully in Muggle clothes, dark trousers and black shirt, and no jacket. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned. There is a wild, frenzied air to him and he nearly tackles Remus, shutting the door behind him, then pressing his mouth to Remus's.
"I was so worried. There's been reports - another wizard going to join the Death Eaters. I thought-"
"The worst of me?"
"When I saw you last night-"
"You'd believe-"
"The things I've seen. I thought it would be easy. I thought we'd win. We're going to win, I mean, I just thought-"
Sirius though it would be easy, because that's how Sirius thinks, he jumps ahead without thinking of the consequences, that's for lesser mortals, Remus knows all that. He's experienced it personally, and while it's a trait that must be forgiven, he wonders now.
Sirius is panicked and greedy, and he doesn't care that Remus experienced a transformation less than twenty-four hours ago. He is wild and pulls at Remus's jumper, expecting him to acquiesce immediately.
"I dreamed such things," Sirius murmurs, no longer even pretending to make sense. "The things I've seen."
"Always selfish. You think you're the only one," Remus does not mean to say that out loud, but he does. Sirius stops, staring at him with a mingled look of shock and fury. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Yeah, you did. You finally mean something for once." Sirius smiles, but it not a smile, not at all, it is more a grimace, an expression of disbelief. Baring perfect white teeth. "Fine then. Rot if it comes to that. Peter's got you covered during the full moon now, okay? Of course, that's only if you need it, since you've been doing such a fantastic job without the lot of us."
The energy that came in with Sirius vanishes, leaving only a hollow vacuum.
Remus opens the door, not even bothering to look at Sirius. "Goodbye."
"Goodnight, Remus." He stops just at the door's entrance, leaning over to whisper in Remus's ear, "I had a real dream. In it, we were all happy and there was no war and I didn't have to spend days identifying bodies and trying to gather intelligence about the bastards who did this. Then, then there was the most horrid bit. I woke up."
There is nothing left to say, but Remus offers, "Goodnight."
"Good night."
If they see each other again after that night, they are more like vague acquaintances than friends; each firmly resolute, convinced the other is hiding something.
Someone's the spy, that's what the whispering is saying, but they shall not know. They cannot know. Until it is too late. Until it is all lost.
*
A dream, if it is to be believed, must thrive past the waking, even if it must sacrifice the more beautiful, idealistic elements to exist in that world. Not even you had power enough to see some small part live, it was a dream of death.
You've given me nothing but what I already remember.
I have given you insight. Never before were you given such a gift. If you choose to throw it away, like so many things, indeed, like everything precious to you, so be it. I have but one thing left, and it is up to you to decide.
I do not want your stories.
Then they shall not be given. Tell me the lessons you have learned.
I've learned how to walk out of this world with a heavy heart.
Name your final reward.
Regret.
*
It does no good to recount all the little things he remembers, because he has lost more than half of them to stubbornness, a conviction that he would be a better person by not remembering.
He's sat at this desk, writing and rewriting the same letter for several hours. So far, he only has the address down to his satisfaction.
What can he say? Sorry Harry, Sirius and I never realized how stupid it is to fuck your friend when you both have too many misgivings because we didn't really trust each other where it mattered the most?
No, he's sworn to secrecy by his own intentions, he will not breathe a word of what little affection he and Sirius shared, such a brief time. He hadn't even broached the subject when Sirius had shown up on his doorstep, bringing the awful news that He's back and that the Order would be reinstated.
Not even when they shared close quarters at Grimmauld Place, falling into a mutual relationship, did neither feel the need to 'explain' what their past had meant.
Sorry, Harry. We're nothing like James, nothing like him at all. James was brave, brave enough to stand down Voldemort even though he knew he'd die that very moment. We're cowards when it comes down to it, fatalistic, bloody cowards, always carrying on with noble intentions and then buggering things beyond belief.
I loved him, Harry. Believe me I did. And I never said it, not really and Sirius did once, he did and I didn't believe it. You had his love, you had it unconditionally and you will always have - you'll always have that at least. I know that isn't comforting. Of course it isn't. But that's the truth.
The truth. The truth that I feared the most, the fear of being exposed for what I am, for having to consider that maybe I could be loved. Liked, yes. I could be liked, I even think you like me, though I should warn you against that. I held you back from going up on the dais because you had to know that he's gone. He's gone, Harry, he's gone.
No, such things are better left unsaid. They died with Sirius.
He writes a brief, anonymous letter inquiring as to Harry's health, perfectly reasonable. But he sketches a small image of a black dog, more blotting the parchment with ink than actually drawing it.
He will go out today, looking for the old favorite haunts of Sirius when he was in London. He will remember Sirius.
Then he will find a way to forgive Sirius and himself for all of it.
*
Such letters are a waste of time. The dead cannot answer the call of the living.
I will find a way.
You echo him.
I've found a way, haven't ?
Reflections stolen in a glance. The whispers of death. You dreamed well, when it mattered.
None of that happened, did it?
No. A thousand universes touching each other, some words real and true, others not. Such things you are, such things you never were. Did you love well? Perhaps. Or perhaps you never spoke it, never gave into the pull. I gave you one thing true, one real, one a lie, a dream, and one that is not Named, until you named it. You longed to see Regret and so it was. Such things, you cannot pick and choose, you may have whatever your heart desires.
I want it all.
So selfish. So beautifully selfish. You cannot have his thoughts. You cannot have his feelings. You can only have yourself and this is all you have ever had..
Life then.
So be it.
*
A full moon rising.
Sirius can hardly remember legs, so he doesn't remember that if he transforms, he'd go faster. He doesn't remember breathe, so he stumbles, until he forces air into his lungs. He doesn't remember patience, remember warnings, or remember pain. He remembers living, being alive, he remembers that he must go on, because there is so much more.
A full moon, rising. He doesn't remember locations, so he runs down the street, mindless of where he's going.
A full moon, just over the hill, he goes heedless of direction. He wears ragged clothes, and doesn't notice that the colors have been muted, stripped from the world. There are only the faint, eerie colors above in the sky, too distant for him to worry over them. They are but small dots of impassive beauty, meaningless.
He sees the home, knows where he is, he waves frantically, but does not remember speak.
Stumbling home, yes, that's what he's doing. Yes.
Yes.
Home.
He doesn't remember knock, but the door is open. Brilliant green-eyed child, black haired, his mother close behind him, "Harry, wait."
Harry, yes. More things. Better things. Things worth dying for.
Yes.
"Sirius!" Shock, he remembers that, and he remembers. Red-haired woman - Lily - sinks to her knees, grabbing Harry, and hugging him close. "You died. The battle - with Peter at the Department of Mysteries - you pulled him over with you-"
"He betrayed us." Yes, those words, he knows those words. And another. "Mirror. Give me - I need - a mirror."
Completely mystified, Lily lets Sirius in, still holding young Harry tight against her body. "There's one in the parlor."
He sees it. He is but a few years older than twenty. He had never seen himself at this age; there'd been no way to see his visage in Azkaban. He stands close to the mirror, whispers an incantation. The pull is very weak, too weak.
But it is there.
"Remus, old friend," he whispers, disconcerted by his youthful appearance. "If you ever hear this, I'm sorry, Moony. I'm damn selfish. And Harry. Harry, if you're listening, remember to hold on. There's life to be lived."
It is advice that Sirius will be taking as well. He turns to Lily, who has watched this all with a stunned look upon her face. But Lily is smart - every Lily, in every possible unheard of reality, is always smart.
"You're not our Sirius, are you?"
"No," he answers grimly. "Close enough, perhaps. Is Moony - Remus - here?"
"Yes. He's out with James now, they offered to pick up groceries."
Sirius breathes a sigh of relief. "That's all I need to know then."
The rest of it, that's just a lie, a dream, a truth, and part of reality. But Remus is alive. That's important.
One day, perhaps he'll find a way back, really back. But for now, this place, this dream, this alternative, he can live with it.
He notices he has at one point scraped his knuckles. He mindlessly puts it to his mouth, tasting the sharp tang of coppery living blood. Then he remembers that it's a full moon. "Remus is not a werewolf, then?"
Lily walks over, taking his hand away from his mouth, checking the wound. "They found a cure three years ago. You, I mean, Sirius, our Sirius, paid a fortune for Remus to be one of the first treated."
She puts down Harry, fondly stroking his hair, and goes off for a moment, coming back with bandages. "Please sit down." She says it formally, as a person would to a complete stranger. Which, technically speaking, he is.
Her fingers are deft; he thinks the same was true in his own place and time.
"Will they accept me as an imposter? As someone who is Sirius, but not their Sirius?"
It is only to Lily that he can ask such a question. Only she will consider it honestly. "No. They won't." She sighs. "James will be devastated."
"James is long since dead from where I came." He says this heavily and she recognizes that if James is gone, she has likely followed.
"Harry?" This is asked very quietly.
"Alive and brilliant. Strong. Too old for his age."
"That's why you said that." She looks very sad at the thought of Harry being alone. "The message, I mean."
Sirius nods.
Lily finishes and his hand feels better already. "Amnesia, then?"
He smiles in gratitude. "The most important details make a lie most convincing."
They go put Harry to bed, Lily informing him of a better world, a happier world. A world that Sirius does not recognize - a world he has not failed.
With every word, he is swept away, falling faster and farther away from the world he left so long ago.
He once dreamt of a world without Voldemort, a world where everyone was alive and safe and that things would be all for better.
Standing there, with a full moon rising and red staining an expertly tied white bandage, Sirius lives such a dream.
End.
Author: Regala Electra
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: Their relationship was never as simple as either of them hoped it would be. Scenes of two men: friendship, love, betrayal, despair, and hope. I will tell you the stories, one of them true, one of them real, one a lie, and one dream. The other, that is for you to decide.
Author's Notes: Probably my longest R/S fic to date (over 8,300 words). This is a slightly unusual piece for me, because about 2/3 of it is pretty funny and sweet. Of course, there’s that 1/3 to watch out for. ;-) Thank you, jazzypom for the beta and insightful comments. Oh, and the fourth scene contains quotes from T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land.
*
I will tell you the stories, one of them true, one of them real, one a lie, and one dream. The other, that is for you to decide.
And if you don't want to hear them, you should wait until dark. There's a full moon rising and red blood will be spilled this very night.
Do you understand the price?
Yes.
*
There is a pattern of freckles on one of his shoulder blades, like dark gold dust that once fell onto the skin and refuses to break contact. His other shoulder is fair and clear from any markings. One day, being extraordinarily bored, Sirius picks up a quill and after filling it with vivid scarlet ink, begins connecting the dots.
Remus, who'd taken off his shirt in protest against the stuffy heat of the dormitory, sits on his bed, attempting to finish an essay due in Potions. He is miserable at the finer points of the art and wants to write in joking asides as to his practical experiences in making the potion, but he'd like passing marks on the essay, so he refrains from writing them.
"I hope that'll come off," he murmurs, scratching the side of his nose with the feathery edge of his quill.
"Never will. Also, it'll stain all of your jumpers when you get dressed. You'll have to go around half-naked. But it's okay," Sirius says this very sincerely, his quill looping back on a line he'd already sketched. "I'm drawing your personal constellation. Now everyone will be able to use your back as a reference map."
"Except I won't ever see it."
Sirius makes an inverted cross, then begins a diamond pattern. Not liking it, he wets one finger and rubs at the skin. Remus is very careful not to make a sound. Sirius's finger is cool against his back. "Don't worry," Sirius promises, "I'll draw you a picture."
"Oh, wonderful. You're drawing an informal tattoo on my back and I'll have a lovely drawing for posterity's sake." Remus considers crossing out his last sentence, it makes no bloody sense and he thinks if a person were to follow his instructions, their hands might swell up to the size of hubcaps.
"Almost done. Too bad you don't have any more freckles, I could draw some smiling faces like those mad Muggle shirts. You know, those yellow ones with the frightening soulless smiles of the damned?"
"Smiley faces," Remus corrects. He can feel the wet ink on his back, the pleasant scratch of the quill against a slightly ticklish spot. "Haven't you gotten past the point of defacing fellow friends?"
"Never." Sirius finishes with a flourish, a long, smooth upsweep of quill, an artistic touch that is surprisingly fluid. "I'd hex handlebar moustaches and goatees on James all day if I could."
"Hmm, tired of his counter hexes that leave you with that great silver beard?"
Sirius sniffs at the insult. "I look even better than Dumbledore. Could pass for his strikingly handsome, younger brother."
Remus cannot help himself, making sure to have his wand at the ready should Sirius retaliate. "Dunno, what sort of fancy do you have towards nimble, four-legged creatures?"
"Moony, you old bastard," Sirius laughs, clearly impressed. "Didn't know you had it in you."
"Oh, must be that new constellation on my shoulder. Freed me from any typical reserves."
Sirius groans, getting off of Remus's bed and throwing himself on his own. "It's bloody boring now that you're all inked up."
"Well, I could fail Potions just for your amusement. In fact, I'm dangerously close to doing just that. Perhaps next time Professor McGonagall will kindly make sure you and James always share detention, even when she only catches one of you in the act."
Scowling, Sirius insists, "If James had only used the other corridor, we'd be knee-deep in a spot of trouble at this very moment. You know, I bet there's a way we could figure out a way of charming an object, like a Portkey, only we'd be able to use it as a way of communication in case McGonagall insists on separating us for detention. Maybe a mirror would do the trick."
"Mmm," Remus answers noncommittally. Sirius tended to be impossible to talk to when he's plotting future exploits.
Finally, he's nearing the end of the essay. He sees a vision of 7 out of 10, because he's a realist, and honestly, that's what it deserves. It'll be good enough to keep him hovering above failing marks.
"You know," Sirius says, while attempting to float his pillows midway in the air, so far, he's only managed to hover them just above his nose, "I finished that essay ages ago-"
"Of course you did," Remus cuts in, but Sirius pays no attention to it.
"So if you want my help-"
"I believe last time, you insisted a certain ingredient did exactly the opposite and I was scolded and nearly given a detention for what again? Ah yes, my 'thick-headed ignorance and pervading obliviousness to the most subtle and fantastic of all magical arts.'"
"God," Sirius says, his eyes shining bright. "That speech was almost more terrifying that McGonagall's daily rants about how there's never been another student to bring so much shame to the name of Gryffindor as James and me."
"And yet," Remus dryly replies, "I am still as thick-headed in Potions and you and James remain steadfast in breaking all the records ever made for lost points and detentions."
"Soon, no one will ever come close," Sirius agrees, his pride always on display. He doesn't go on, as his spell ends and the pillow falls on his face.
Remus shakes his head, rolling up the parchment. "I should say something now about how you'll never make anything of yourself if you don't act more responsible."
He barely ducks the thrown pillow.
"Moony, just by reminding me to be good and by looking so stodgy like, well, that," Sirius says, waving a hand in Remus's direction, "you've redeemed me. I'm a reformed man. Let's go about the world, giving pies to needy, orphaned children and bring rainbows in our wake."
"Ah yes, it's pies they need, not homes."
"I think that there might be a smidge of sarcasm on your person somewhere. Perhaps contraband." He smiles then. Remus barely registers the look as he carefully puts his essay away. "Maybe I'd better-"
He pounces before Remus can prepare himself.
"GET IT OFF!!!"
It's a full-blown wrestling match by now, and Sirius, once he gets the upper hand, does not lose it easily. He's excelled in these scuffles, always able to win within moments. He has all the advantages, and Remus can do nothing but attempt not to get crushed or - hello, that's Sirius's hipbone against his head. He barely registers the strange feeling surging through his mind. Something changes, an unperceivable switch, a light coming on without any warning. There's a tense, static charge in the air, like someone's just been meddling in heavy magic.
Suddenly, he wants more than anything for Sirius to be off of him.
This is nothing like any of their other fights, half-hearted attempts, no one planning for any real harm to come of it, just an innocent tussle.
No, this is different, charged with some heavy implication that Remus does not want to understand - and then, Sirius is halfway off of him, nearly losing his advantage. His pelvis bumps into the side of Remus's head. Remus has managed to pull Sirius's crotch away from his face, pushing him away, but Sirius is faster than that. He heaves up and over Remus, straddling Remus, and - what is that, hard, pressing against his leg? - and then, Remus remembers himself, grabs his wand and -
He has no idea what spell he tried, but Sirius is off of him, licking his wounds (actually licking them, sucking on a slightly bloodied knuckle). Remus feels only the mild throbbing pain of bruises just waiting to bloom. He brings his hand to his neck, touching wetness, and stares stupidly at the red staining his fingers.
"You bit me?"
"It's ink," Sirius explains, getting up to root around for a makeshift bandage for his hand.
Remus absentmindedly produces bandages; he maintains a fresh supply so that he can redress his wounds without having to go to the hospital wing.
"Thanks." Sirius isn't looking at him. "Bit of a trick move, there. Where'd you learn it?"
"Always have to be on the defensive around you and Prongs." Sirius doesn't crack a smile and Remus doesn't know what to say next. You don't apologize to one of your mates for something like defending yourself in a scuffle. Nor do you ask what's the problem, well unless you're insanely rude and careless, and as Remus isn't Sirius, he doesn't give voice to his questions. "You okay?"
"Fine. I'm fine." Sirius forces an easy smile on his face, it looks ghastly, there's a bit of blood around his mouth. He's pacing the room, as though he'd rather be anywhere but here.
"I better see if James has finally been freed from cleaning the corridors with his tongue. Oh, that McGonangall, always coming up with fresh torments especially for us. Maybe visit the kitchens and grab some butterbeers. See you later, then?"
"Er, fine then," Remus answers, completely mystified.
Remus takes a shower, watching red (not blood) ink mix with the water, going down the drain.
*
That is true, but is not real.
It happened. It's real then.
Of course it is. Keep telling yourself that.
*
"I want to get very drunk, very often, and never wind in bed with the same person. Why James has decided against this brilliant plan is beyond me. However, Lily is a wonderful, wonderful woman, with terrible taste in men. Now let's all drink our senses away and someone strike up some bloody music!"
With that, Sirius climbs down from the table, not dropping a single drop of his pint. It's one of his many skills, but Sirius is inordinately proud about this talent.
"You'd better have a different speech at our wedding, Padfoot," James warns, before downing the rather large tankard in front of him.
"I'll be going word-for-word," Sirius insists. He downs a shot of firewhiskey before adding, "I could be convinced to get nostalgic and speak about that time you and that bird from Ravenclaw - now what was her name? Well, I'll just have to give a description of her attributes."
"You bloody prat," James laughs, full-bodied, as though he's either lost his mind or he's too far-gone in love to know the difference. "When you get married, I'll do the same in kind. Although I'll bring up all the witnesses to offer their version of events."
"You'll be wanting a damn long time for that then, old mate. I'm not the marrying kind."
"God have mercy on the future Mrs. Black," James adds. He punctuates this by swiping one of Sirius's shots, neatly lined up in front of him.
"Now, now," Sirius says, wagging a finger, knowing the movement makes James dizzy, "You and Remus and Peter can bugger off with wives and nice country houses teeming with unruly whelps and leave me with having a fantastic, irresponsible and decadent life."
"Didn't know we were all so invested in breeding dogs, Sirius," James bites out, grimacing while in the middle of a firewhiskey shot. He always fell for staring at things that moved too swiftly and it never agrees with him.
They'd all said more than once how lucky it was that vehicles never went into the Forbidden Forest, or Prongs would have been stuffed and mounted on a wall ages ago.
"Oh," Remus says, who'd been observing the amusing duo act, sitting down next to the groom and the best man, "I suppose that since we've all become accustomed to Sirius's fleas, now we're all fans of the canine species. Especially great slobbery black dogs."
Sirius glares at Remus then. "First of all, I do not slobber. Those who are in-between flats and staying at the homes of generous, thoughtful, and generally benevolent friends, should be careful with their comments. Don't you agree, Prongs?"
James attempts a serious look, which only makes him look incredibly and stupidly drunk. "I'm sorry, Moony. I'll have to agree with the daft gentleman on my right. Both of them."
Sirius smirks, but before he can gloat, Peter whistles across the room, urging James to join him at the bar. James, sensing a free round of drinks, slaps Sirius on the shoulder, departing by saying, "Absolutely dreadful speech. Worst ever. Horrid best man."
"He says it because he's so impressed, he cannot quite grasp its power." Two shots are drained with little pause between either.
"Yes. Keep on telling yourself that. Might be true someday." Remus takes a sip and adds, as an afterthought, "No, I'm afraid it never will be true."
"I wasn't joking about the flat, old friend." There's a dangerous look in Sirius's grey eyes. "Keep it up and you can warm my welcome mat. I'm sure it'll be very cozy."
Remus downs his drink with some distaste. He could never keep up with Sirius and James, mostly because he'd never wanted to become as intimate with a toilet as they have. His tongue stings slightly from the alcohol, but if he pulls a face, Sirius will just order more drinks and try to start a drinking contest.
Remus remains the only Marauder to never officially compete in a drinking contest.
"Then, in lieu of having a nice warm bed, I shall have to just spend a wild night of passionate lovemaking with that lovely girl I met at work. I'm sure we'll be quite happy against your doorway."
There are many things Remus has seen while being a Marauder; most of them he would have thought were merely impossible or completely ridiculous. One he had never seen before, until this night, is a person doing a spit-take. Not only does Sirius cross that off Remus's mental list, he also spits half a pint directly on Remus.
"You - a date - you?" Sirius sputters, not even bothering to act chagrined for cloaking Remus in eau du bubbly alcohol.
With futile effort, Remus tries to soak up the beer with paper napkins. "Oh yes, I forgot, I'm the monk of the group. You're the Walrus and James is the - one dancing on top of the bar, hmm, someone better stop him. Might break his neck and Lily's promised to hex us all if any harm comes to James."
Sirius glances briefly at James, helpfully shouting that someone ought to put some Sickles downs his trousers. Turning back to Remus, he says, "I mean, it's not that I expected you to remain single for the rest of your life, blokes gotta eat, fish gotta swim, yeah?"
"I'm going to ignore what you're implying blokes eat and cautiously agree with you."
He shrugs, barely paying attention. "It's just that you're Moony, you know? Moony."
"Erm."
"Moony," Sirius adds with extra emphasis, as though that makes any sense.
"And you're smashed. Smashed," Remus answers, feeling as though a response is required to the insistence that he is indeed Moony.
"Half out my mind, the rest of it swimmingly plastered," Sirius agrees, with a solemn nod. "Stupid as ever."
"Floo you home before you join James up there?"
Sirius considers. "Good idea." There's a long pause and Remus fears he's going to have to forcibly remove Sirius before he starts ripping off clothes. "Home has better drinks than the piss vinegar here."
"Ah, so that's what it is. And here I was, just thinking alcohol tastes awful on its own accord."
He'll have to hope Peter will have enough sense to remember to free James from his routine (which now involves slow dancing to some horrific dance music with a thump-thump beat). He'll tell Lily he was saving the best man from making an ass of himself.
Of course, Lily will respond, "More than usual?" But it might give him enough time to escape one of her (fairly accurate) hexes.
He has to half-drag Sirius to the fireplace, and along the way, Sirius manages to have several shots from people more than willing to give their regards to the best man. "The very best," Sirius hollers, winking famously at one wizard. "Do not worry lads, wherever there are drunken idiots making sport of themselves, there I will be, laughing! Onward, Moony!"
He even yanks at Remus's hair, as though mushing on a beast.
Sighing, Remus tosses Sirius in the bright flames. It is incredible, a stroke of fortune, which always seems to be in Sirius's favor, that Sirius manages his address correctly. Remus follows suit.
"I should leave you on the welcome mat," Remus says to the sprawled figure of Sirius.
"You'd never do that," Sirius says in a pleasant tone, his voice soft and merry. "You love me too much to do that."
"I think I'm more accustomed to you, Padfoot," Remus says, attempting to step over Sirius.
Sirius has other plans, tripping Remus halfway, causing Remus to fall quite hard, slapping his knees on the bare wooden floors. Remus groans, lying on his back, cursing all the trees that made up Sirius's floor. Sirius always had intentions toward buying carpets, but he tends to forget those intentions as soon as he steps out of his flat.
He laughs in Remus's face. "Fancy seeing you down here."
"Mmmph." He tries very not to punch Sirius in the face, so that he might feel some small measure of the pain shooting in Remus's knees. "Must have gotten lost along the way."
Sirius's face turns grave, a line of worry between his eyebrows. "Admit it, Remus."
Rolling his eyes, because he expects this will be one of Sirius's drunken lectures on some important matter of life, he says, "Admit what then?"
"You love me."
It's said very soft. Remus is aware that he's incredibly close, in fact uncomfortably close. Sirius does not smell like he's downed half a bar's worth of liquor, he smells like Sirius, clean and scented with all this interesting bits of Sirius's life. There's the motorcycle, the musty scent that comes from sorting through a record collection, and the slight aftershave still clinging to his jaw.
Remus smells like he was born in a bar and has lived most of his life squeezed into a bottle of cheep booze. The front of his shirt is damp and clings oddly to his stomach. His back aches and he feels a headache coming on and Sirius is still staring at him, that fine line still prominent between his brows.
He does not know what to say. There's an ill feeling knotted somewhere deep, but it isn't his stomach, so he can't blame it on something not agreeing with him. In fact, what worries him is that this request does agree with him, he feels oddly light-headed, despite his head being firmly on the floor.
If he closes his eyes, the moment will pass forever, a dark shadow always in his memory. Sirius is likely not to remember this.
That's the excuse. He's going to run with it if he has to, damn the consequences.
"I might." He watches a beatific smile form on Sirius's face. Remus gets swept away in his gratitude and adds more, "I love you, Sirius. I love you and James and Peter and Lily. You're all family to me, Sirius, dear friends. I do love you greatly, Pads."
The smile fades. Sirius shoves off the ground, as though he's suddenly figured out a way for instant sobriety, and will never tell its secret to anyone else. "Fucking liar that you are, Moony."
He doesn't offer a hand to Remus.
Remus lies on the ground, considering sleeping on the welcome mat, but his back starts acting up and he goes into the spare room, his temporary bedroom.
He starts looking for his own flat the next morning.
Sirius doesn't say anything to him except to ask what he wants for breakfast.
*
It was an honest moment, then.
The lie would have been better.
Perhaps.
*
"I'm not gay," Remus insists, tearing off his jumper, a fresh network of scars across his torso. No one has any time to spare, especially with regards to looking after a werewolf and Remus needs to believe he can look after himself.
"I believe you," Sirius says, one hand inside Remus's trousers, the other unbuckling his belt. "We just need a fuck, yeah? Two bodies, nothing more."
"Right."
"Right."
They both pause at the same moment, unsure of what they've just agreed to. Remus wants to laugh; it's ridiculous, really.
Sirius swallows, his lips are full and so ready, Remus has to avert his eyes, which is even more ridiculous, the man does have his hands on his crotch, they've passed the point of being shy.
Remus stares at Sirius's trousers. "I actually haven't done this before, you know."
"Well," Sirius grins wickedly, "Just think of it as out-of-body masturbation."
Remus wrinkles his nose distastefully. "That's a horrible way of looking at it."
"Okay, so it's a race then. Only it doesn't matter who gets there first, yeah? Just that you get there," Sirius punctuates this with a stroke and Remus very quickly gets it.
It's really easy to strip off clothes, and in between, experiment with touch, hands finding places all over that provoke reactions, good reactions. Hands making explorations, which feel as though they've never been done before, so wrong and so perfect.
Sirius's mouth is somewhere exploring the new set of scars, his fingers scratching the sides of Remus's torso. Remus can feel this pressure building in his body and he has no idea why he hasn't ever tried this before. "This feels bloody fantastic," he manages. Sirius looks up, his cheek resting on Remus's stomach.
"It does get better, you know," Sirius drawls. He kisses somewhere just above Remus's navel.
"I know that," Remus says, suddenly realizing an implication to that statement. "This isn't the first time I've-"
"Well good then," Sirius cuts in, irritated, for no apparent reason. "Won't be so stunned when I do-"
But he never has to say this, because he does that, God, his mouth over and down his cock before Remus has any expectation of it happening.
This is impossible, this bursting sensation coursing through his veins, the pull of it, how can a person not want this done to them every single moment of every day for the rest of their lives?
There are noises too, but Remus pays them no heed, too caught up in the awareness of Sirius's mouth on him.
Fuck, Sirius is good at this, and wait, when did it become about Sirius?
No, no, he isn't, this isn't, no. It's not about Sirius, it's about sex, good sex, mindless sex, but now his mind isn't too far gone and now he knows, this isn't just about a good shag. This is-
Remus comes in Sirius's mouth, horror creeping past the post-bliss. This is about Sirius.
No, he refuses for that to be true. Brings Sirius back up and kisses him, open-mouthed, tongues dueling, reveling in the glory of the violent motion, their teeth bump and at one point clack, and he doesn't care.
He cannot care.
Sirius is so hard against him, his erection pressing against Remus's thigh. His body is perfect, it's always been perfect, but only now is Remus conscious of the fact that this is a body built for sin, for depravity, for full-out, complete and utter rutting. Sirius is greedy in his touches, in his kisses, as though he can never get enough and Remus is made greedy by proxy.
A hand manages to get a hold on Sirius's cock, testing all the ways to make Sirius moan and whimper, and other interesting noises. Then a pace is set, but as soon as it's set, it's made faster, reckless, careless, and Sirius stares straight into Remus's eyes and it unnerves him.
There's too much emotion in Sirius's stare and Remus can barely understand it.
Sirius comes, panting, his body collapses with great movement, lying on top of Remus. His skin is slick, but cool, it's too damn cool, and he's too damn sure of himself.
Remus breathes for a few moments, trying not to think. He fails miserably.
When Sirius moves, attempting to steal a kiss, Remus turns his face away. It lands squarely on his jaw.
"Hey," Sirius says, bringing Remus's face back with his hand. "What's the problem? I thought that went smashingly well."
"No problem." Remus concentrates on a point just above Sirius's eyes. He doesn't want to get lost in that mess again. "I have to be getting home."
It's a lame finish, but Sirius rolls off of him, stretching, completely comfortable in his nudity.
Which a person shouldn’t be - comfortable that is, nakedness is all fine and good, but there’s a time and place for it, so Remus gets off the bed, hunting for stray clothing gone missing.
"Same time next week?" There's a tinge of hope that Sirius isn't able to fully smother.
Remus is startled by it, pausing as he's pulling his jumper over his head. He buckles his trousers slowly, making sure the belt's not too tight, looking down, as though he's very invested in making sure that everything's been arranged just so. "Yeah. All right then. Dunno if it can be exact, schedules are-"
Sirius lights a cigarette, not feeling a need to get dressed, which makes looking at him all the more difficult. "Schedules are the devil. Yeah, I know that one for certain."
Remus cannot, for the life of him, find his right shoe. Sirius watches him with vague amusement but offers no help. "You find pleasure in me looking like a prat, don't you, Sirius?"
It is the memory of too many things, now all gone confused and he doesn't understand, why this began, why this now feels as though it was inevitable, a moment that has been building for far too long. He remembers their fights, he remembers the last time Sirius had physically gotten into a scuffle with him, it had been back at Hogwarts, hadn't it?
And Sirius had made no mention of their discussion the night before he moved out of Sirius's flat, something he had attributed to fortune of being exceptionally drunk. So many little things, making too much sense. It would be better to ignore it.
Yet this all changes everything and Remus doesn't want it to have changed. This shouldn't be so. Normally, he would have said, You find pleasure in me looking like a prat, don't you, Pads, yet he hasn't said that, not at all.
Now is not a time to call him Pads. At least, Remus doesn't think it is.
Sirius stubs his cigarette in an ashtray. "I find pleasure in loads of things. You should be honored you're in the top ten."
Remus frowns. It's said delicately, but the implication is all too clear. He forces his concerns out his mind; he'll deal with them another day.
"Made a list, then," Remus grumbles, his hand groping blindly under Sirius's bed, hoping it'll resurface with at least his arm intact. Sirius has a wicked sense of humor when it comes to the old fable about monsters under the bed.
"Checked it twice," Sirius replies. He nudges Remus's shoulder with his bare foot. "It's under my pants."
"Your pants?" Remus cannot help the little squeak of fear. That means it's in the forbidden place, where no sane person dares to tread.
Sirius points to a corner of his room, which he uses as an impromptu laundry basket, because amongst the things that Sirius always intends for his flat, but never actually purchases, a laundry basket is one of those vital items still absent. There's all sorts of clothes arranged in a messy pile and indeed, sticking out of it, is Remus's other shoe.
Remus moans, a noise of pain and great sorrow. "If only you took to regularly washing your clothes instead of just buying new ones."
"I'll have you know that it's under brand new clothing," Sirius says, insulted. "I just bought it yesterday. And you ripped an enormous hole in my trousers when you tried to get them off. You owe me."
"I'll make it up to you." He pulls the shoe out by the heel, holding it with distaste. "Honestly."
Sirius stands up, smiling a grand smile. "Deal, then."
Before Remus can leave, Sirius kisses him, completely and utterly. This is not a kiss that leads to sex, this is not a kiss between friends, this is a kiss. Smoky (because of the cigarette) and rich and full and it's all for Remus.
When Sirius breaks away, Remus is rather stunned. So he pats Sirius on the back, politely, and says, "Thanks. Erm, see you next week."
"Tomorrow, actually," Sirius says, looking confused. "We have the, uh, group picture."
"Right." Remus has no idea what he's talking about.
"For you know," Sirius makes an exaggerated face, hands forming a sign that looks oddly like a flying bird, "The Group?"
"Oh," Remus says, "The Group. Yes, yes, I completely remember-"
"You completely forget."
"I just ah, have so many engagements," he finishes lamely.
Sirius shakes his head. "This is the day that I, Sirius Black, actually remember an appointment, and you, Remus Lupin, forget it. I should make a mark on my calendar. If I had a calendar."
"I lost my calendar." This is actually true, but Remus feels like an idiot for stating it. He's always been aware of what day it is, he has to be, and he only keeps a calendar because he feels it's one of the essential parts of a home. Unlike Sirius, he likes to make sure his residence is furnished to the best of his abilities.
"Pity. If I had a calendar, I'd mark it as a day of mourning, the day Remus told me he lost his very own calendar."
"Why are we talking about calendars?"
Sirius shrugs.
"Well, I better be off." He goes to leave, but stops. "So what time do we have to-"
"Bright and early," Sirius says, without needing him to finish his question.
"Right. 'Bye." Remus doesn't know what else to do or say, so he edges out of the room.
Sirius waves a half-hearted goodbye, a frown playing at his lips.
The next morning, when everyone begins to arrive, Sirius originally stands right next to Remus, not noticing the slight look of embarrassment on Remus's face. But others wizards and witches came, late because they too apparently forgot the time, and Remus moves away, so as to ensure that everyone will get into the shot, he says.
Before Sirius can rectify the matter, there's a flash and whirl, and the picture's taken.
*
That's the greatest lie.
That was no lie. I remember it, all of it. I was there.
You were there, but you lied. You lied splendidly. Shall we stop?
What's left?
A dream. A terrible, terrible dream.
*
"I dreamed a dream that you were all alone and walked down alleys on our lost bones."
"Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door? Reading too much Eliot, perhaps?"
Sirius has a fondness for Eliot, The Waste Land especially. He'd taken (borrowed in his definition of the word, stolen in Remus's definition) Remus's copy when they'd briefly lived together, reading it so much that the pages threatened to fall out, not too surprising considering Remus could only afford a cheap copy. Sirius had once tried to get away with answering a Divination test on Tarot cards by writing "Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, / Had a bad cold, nevertheless / Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, / With a wicked pack of cards" as the opener on his short answer.
That was the worst grade Sirius ever received in all his classes at Hogwarts.
"Moony, let me in."
A loud sigh emits through the door. A hoarse, muffled voice sadly responds. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, Pads."
"For fuck's sake, what's the matter with you?"
Sirius doesn't bang his fist against the door and Remus is grateful for that small consideration.
"All of this, this war, all this bloody-" his voice hitches. He will not tell Sirius what he saw. It is barely a glimmer on a shadow of the worst Voldemort can do, and yet it's the final straw, the one that Remus knows will always haunt him. "I cannot let you in."
"Damn you, Remus."
And there's the pounding, right against his ear, as though Sirius knows exactly where Remus is. Sirius is frantic now - he will not go away easily.
"Open the fucking door!"
"Go back to your flat, Sirius," Remus commands, but it's weak even to Remus's ears. He's never been good at ordering Sirius around. Not when Sirius is like this.
But the things he has seen.
Last night, the moon was full and time was dwindling before Remus was ready. He almost missed the sign - the smoke above a little cottage. He shouldn't have entered it, he knew how little time he had left, and yet he did.
All he could be grateful for was that they were dead before he got there.
"There was more to my dream." Sirius's voice is muffled as though his mouth is pressed against the wood. Remus can still pick out the notes of hysteria. "I saw you teaming up with them, I saw the wreckage of a house. I saw you exiting a house with smoke trailing after you. I saw your clothes, tattered, didn't get them off in time, huh? I saw the bodies, Remus. Or what was left of them."
Something closes tight in Remus's throat.
"You saw that in your dream?"
The voice is shaky, but clear. "I saw a werewolf howling at the moon, he was indoors, inside the home of innocents. And I saw the smoke did not fade away until hours passed, much longer than I've ever seen before. I didn't see how the werewolf killed them-"
"Perhaps he didn't-"
"If he didn't, then what was he doing there?"
"Perhaps he forgot the time and sought to imprison himself somewhere safe."
"It's not his nature to forget such things." There's a tinge of acidic bitterness, a faint hint of regret. "I dreamed of James and Lily having a child. She's expecting you know."
"Mmm." He hasn't spoken to James and Lily in a few weeks. It might be true. It's safer to keep all contact between Order members few and far between. And James and Lily have become very important and there are dark rumors growing, someone has been passing secrets.
Someone desperate enough to either end this war or someone is vengeful enough to bring an end just for fuck's sake.
"I dreamed that I was dead, or that I'd gone mad, and no one mourned me and I was just the wasted blight my dear old Mum's always said I was. I dreamed that my mates abandoned me and I was trapped in Padfoot's body and I'd have made a better dog than a wizard, wouldn't I?"
Remus does not answer.
"I dreamed I could blow this door apart, only it'll fall right on top of you-"
"You said you dreamed this-"
"I did."
"Then why the future tense?"
A long pause. Remus can feel Sirius against the door, testing all his knowledge, trying to figure out the one that will open the lock.
Remus has learned better spells and declined to share them with Sirius in this regard.
"I dreamed the future was blank as a mad hatter's sense of sanity, and I was locked away, cackling that everything falls apart, so why shouldn't the future? I dreamt a visit. You came to mourn me, even though I was still there, still waiting for you. I dreamt that this is bloody useless and that you'd forgive me, and that you'd understand and that you wouldn't be an insufferable prat, fearful that even your shadow is cursed."
"All these dreams sound too fantastical, Sirius. When was the last time you remembered to sleep?"
"I loved you once, fucking Moony, you hear that?" Sirius slaps the door, actually slaps it, open-handed and weak. There's a half-sob buried in the screaming. "You're not going to open the goddamn door, are you, ever? Just going to lock everything away like you always fucking do, can't let anyone get too close. I should have convinced James and Peter to shun you once we found out, you bastard. Let you keep on pitying yourself."
"Go. Home."
"You were never bloody honest about anything, were you? Always lying, always trying to find the middle ground, how about some fucking honesty? You went in there knowing there were bodies and you liked it. You are a dangerous beast, admit it."
So rudely forc'd, Remus cannot help but whisper, barely audible. "Fine then. But I have to be going shortly, so it had better be brief."
"Hurry up, please," Sirius says as Remus begins the spell to unlock the door, "it's time."
Sirius is all disheveled glory, still reveling in his youthful handsomeness. He doesn’t have to deal with premature grey hairs and lines etching across his hair. He is dressed fully in Muggle clothes, dark trousers and black shirt, and no jacket. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned. There is a wild, frenzied air to him and he nearly tackles Remus, shutting the door behind him, then pressing his mouth to Remus's.
"I was so worried. There's been reports - another wizard going to join the Death Eaters. I thought-"
"The worst of me?"
"When I saw you last night-"
"You'd believe-"
"The things I've seen. I thought it would be easy. I thought we'd win. We're going to win, I mean, I just thought-"
Sirius though it would be easy, because that's how Sirius thinks, he jumps ahead without thinking of the consequences, that's for lesser mortals, Remus knows all that. He's experienced it personally, and while it's a trait that must be forgiven, he wonders now.
Sirius is panicked and greedy, and he doesn't care that Remus experienced a transformation less than twenty-four hours ago. He is wild and pulls at Remus's jumper, expecting him to acquiesce immediately.
"I dreamed such things," Sirius murmurs, no longer even pretending to make sense. "The things I've seen."
"Always selfish. You think you're the only one," Remus does not mean to say that out loud, but he does. Sirius stops, staring at him with a mingled look of shock and fury. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Yeah, you did. You finally mean something for once." Sirius smiles, but it not a smile, not at all, it is more a grimace, an expression of disbelief. Baring perfect white teeth. "Fine then. Rot if it comes to that. Peter's got you covered during the full moon now, okay? Of course, that's only if you need it, since you've been doing such a fantastic job without the lot of us."
The energy that came in with Sirius vanishes, leaving only a hollow vacuum.
Remus opens the door, not even bothering to look at Sirius. "Goodbye."
"Goodnight, Remus." He stops just at the door's entrance, leaning over to whisper in Remus's ear, "I had a real dream. In it, we were all happy and there was no war and I didn't have to spend days identifying bodies and trying to gather intelligence about the bastards who did this. Then, then there was the most horrid bit. I woke up."
There is nothing left to say, but Remus offers, "Goodnight."
"Good night."
If they see each other again after that night, they are more like vague acquaintances than friends; each firmly resolute, convinced the other is hiding something.
Someone's the spy, that's what the whispering is saying, but they shall not know. They cannot know. Until it is too late. Until it is all lost.
*
A dream, if it is to be believed, must thrive past the waking, even if it must sacrifice the more beautiful, idealistic elements to exist in that world. Not even you had power enough to see some small part live, it was a dream of death.
You've given me nothing but what I already remember.
I have given you insight. Never before were you given such a gift. If you choose to throw it away, like so many things, indeed, like everything precious to you, so be it. I have but one thing left, and it is up to you to decide.
I do not want your stories.
Then they shall not be given. Tell me the lessons you have learned.
I've learned how to walk out of this world with a heavy heart.
Name your final reward.
Regret.
*
It does no good to recount all the little things he remembers, because he has lost more than half of them to stubbornness, a conviction that he would be a better person by not remembering.
He's sat at this desk, writing and rewriting the same letter for several hours. So far, he only has the address down to his satisfaction.
What can he say? Sorry Harry, Sirius and I never realized how stupid it is to fuck your friend when you both have too many misgivings because we didn't really trust each other where it mattered the most?
No, he's sworn to secrecy by his own intentions, he will not breathe a word of what little affection he and Sirius shared, such a brief time. He hadn't even broached the subject when Sirius had shown up on his doorstep, bringing the awful news that He's back and that the Order would be reinstated.
Not even when they shared close quarters at Grimmauld Place, falling into a mutual relationship, did neither feel the need to 'explain' what their past had meant.
Sorry, Harry. We're nothing like James, nothing like him at all. James was brave, brave enough to stand down Voldemort even though he knew he'd die that very moment. We're cowards when it comes down to it, fatalistic, bloody cowards, always carrying on with noble intentions and then buggering things beyond belief.
I loved him, Harry. Believe me I did. And I never said it, not really and Sirius did once, he did and I didn't believe it. You had his love, you had it unconditionally and you will always have - you'll always have that at least. I know that isn't comforting. Of course it isn't. But that's the truth.
The truth. The truth that I feared the most, the fear of being exposed for what I am, for having to consider that maybe I could be loved. Liked, yes. I could be liked, I even think you like me, though I should warn you against that. I held you back from going up on the dais because you had to know that he's gone. He's gone, Harry, he's gone.
No, such things are better left unsaid. They died with Sirius.
He writes a brief, anonymous letter inquiring as to Harry's health, perfectly reasonable. But he sketches a small image of a black dog, more blotting the parchment with ink than actually drawing it.
He will go out today, looking for the old favorite haunts of Sirius when he was in London. He will remember Sirius.
Then he will find a way to forgive Sirius and himself for all of it.
*
Such letters are a waste of time. The dead cannot answer the call of the living.
I will find a way.
You echo him.
I've found a way, haven't ?
Reflections stolen in a glance. The whispers of death. You dreamed well, when it mattered.
None of that happened, did it?
No. A thousand universes touching each other, some words real and true, others not. Such things you are, such things you never were. Did you love well? Perhaps. Or perhaps you never spoke it, never gave into the pull. I gave you one thing true, one real, one a lie, a dream, and one that is not Named, until you named it. You longed to see Regret and so it was. Such things, you cannot pick and choose, you may have whatever your heart desires.
I want it all.
So selfish. So beautifully selfish. You cannot have his thoughts. You cannot have his feelings. You can only have yourself and this is all you have ever had..
Life then.
So be it.
*
A full moon rising.
Sirius can hardly remember legs, so he doesn't remember that if he transforms, he'd go faster. He doesn't remember breathe, so he stumbles, until he forces air into his lungs. He doesn't remember patience, remember warnings, or remember pain. He remembers living, being alive, he remembers that he must go on, because there is so much more.
A full moon, rising. He doesn't remember locations, so he runs down the street, mindless of where he's going.
A full moon, just over the hill, he goes heedless of direction. He wears ragged clothes, and doesn't notice that the colors have been muted, stripped from the world. There are only the faint, eerie colors above in the sky, too distant for him to worry over them. They are but small dots of impassive beauty, meaningless.
He sees the home, knows where he is, he waves frantically, but does not remember speak.
Stumbling home, yes, that's what he's doing. Yes.
Yes.
Home.
He doesn't remember knock, but the door is open. Brilliant green-eyed child, black haired, his mother close behind him, "Harry, wait."
Harry, yes. More things. Better things. Things worth dying for.
Yes.
"Sirius!" Shock, he remembers that, and he remembers. Red-haired woman - Lily - sinks to her knees, grabbing Harry, and hugging him close. "You died. The battle - with Peter at the Department of Mysteries - you pulled him over with you-"
"He betrayed us." Yes, those words, he knows those words. And another. "Mirror. Give me - I need - a mirror."
Completely mystified, Lily lets Sirius in, still holding young Harry tight against her body. "There's one in the parlor."
He sees it. He is but a few years older than twenty. He had never seen himself at this age; there'd been no way to see his visage in Azkaban. He stands close to the mirror, whispers an incantation. The pull is very weak, too weak.
But it is there.
"Remus, old friend," he whispers, disconcerted by his youthful appearance. "If you ever hear this, I'm sorry, Moony. I'm damn selfish. And Harry. Harry, if you're listening, remember to hold on. There's life to be lived."
It is advice that Sirius will be taking as well. He turns to Lily, who has watched this all with a stunned look upon her face. But Lily is smart - every Lily, in every possible unheard of reality, is always smart.
"You're not our Sirius, are you?"
"No," he answers grimly. "Close enough, perhaps. Is Moony - Remus - here?"
"Yes. He's out with James now, they offered to pick up groceries."
Sirius breathes a sigh of relief. "That's all I need to know then."
The rest of it, that's just a lie, a dream, a truth, and part of reality. But Remus is alive. That's important.
One day, perhaps he'll find a way back, really back. But for now, this place, this dream, this alternative, he can live with it.
He notices he has at one point scraped his knuckles. He mindlessly puts it to his mouth, tasting the sharp tang of coppery living blood. Then he remembers that it's a full moon. "Remus is not a werewolf, then?"
Lily walks over, taking his hand away from his mouth, checking the wound. "They found a cure three years ago. You, I mean, Sirius, our Sirius, paid a fortune for Remus to be one of the first treated."
She puts down Harry, fondly stroking his hair, and goes off for a moment, coming back with bandages. "Please sit down." She says it formally, as a person would to a complete stranger. Which, technically speaking, he is.
Her fingers are deft; he thinks the same was true in his own place and time.
"Will they accept me as an imposter? As someone who is Sirius, but not their Sirius?"
It is only to Lily that he can ask such a question. Only she will consider it honestly. "No. They won't." She sighs. "James will be devastated."
"James is long since dead from where I came." He says this heavily and she recognizes that if James is gone, she has likely followed.
"Harry?" This is asked very quietly.
"Alive and brilliant. Strong. Too old for his age."
"That's why you said that." She looks very sad at the thought of Harry being alone. "The message, I mean."
Sirius nods.
Lily finishes and his hand feels better already. "Amnesia, then?"
He smiles in gratitude. "The most important details make a lie most convincing."
They go put Harry to bed, Lily informing him of a better world, a happier world. A world that Sirius does not recognize - a world he has not failed.
With every word, he is swept away, falling faster and farther away from the world he left so long ago.
He once dreamt of a world without Voldemort, a world where everyone was alive and safe and that things would be all for better.
Standing there, with a full moon rising and red staining an expertly tied white bandage, Sirius lives such a dream.
End.