[Bad username or site: ”ceredwensirius” @ livejournal.com]Title: Come Home To Me Weary Traveler
Rating: R (light)
Warnings: drunkenness and SLASH
Genre(s): Angst/bit of Fluff
Word Count: 6120
Summary: Sirius needs serenity, Remus is his guide.
Prompt: Indigo: Poem (title taken from poem)
Author's Note: Thank you so much to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whitmans_kiss for the excellent beta work. This was written for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rs_games Team Canon!!
Rating: R (light)
Warnings: drunkenness and SLASH
Genre(s): Angst/bit of Fluff
Word Count: 6120
Summary: Sirius needs serenity, Remus is his guide.
Prompt: Indigo: Poem (title taken from poem)
Author's Note: Thank you so much to
whitmans_kiss for the excellent beta work. This was written for the rs_games Team Canon!![Bad username or site: ”ceredwensirius” @ livejournal.com]1.
Bright summer sunshine leaks in through clean but threadbare bedroom curtains that are unequal to the sun’s cheery intrusion. The dusky-blue gloom of the night darkened bedroom is slowly forced into the corners. Asleep in the bed is a dreamer made restless by the dawn in his window. A favored dream is playing out, where a boy with long ebony locks lets another boy, this one with short mousy brown hair, shyly take hold of his hand. A new element is introduced to the dream just as the boy with brown hair screws up his courage to give the other boy a peck on the cheek.
“What’s that sound?” asks Ebony Locks.
“Dunno,” replies Short Brown.
It is a tapping sound. It irritates the dreamer who can never quite make the two boys kiss.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Oi! Remus! Are you in there?”
The dreamer awakens and sits bolt upright in bed. It can’t be the voice he thinks it is. Sirius is in Hogsmeade with Harry, isn’t he? Thin and cream in color, the cotton sheet twists in his fingers as he listens. Silence.
He starts to ease himself back down in bed. Pulling the sheet over his head to block out the sunlight, he closes his eyes.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Remus screams a rather unmanly sound as he leaps out of his bed. His wand finds its way into his hand instinctively. He releases a long breath when he locates the source of the disturbance. A grinning fool is standing outside the bedroom window.
2.
Sirius is much unchanged at the core, thinks Remus. He is still loud, still talks with food in his mouth, and possesses an air that he owns whatever space he happens to occupy. He is comfortable in his skin, just like always.
It’s almost as though he doesn’t realize his hair is matted and tangled, that he is too thin. Dirty. Of course, that can only mean other things as well. Remus curses Dumbledore for sending Sirius to him.
“Why don’t you take a shower, Sirius,” says Remus. The other man looks up, surprised. A drop of milk drips from his beard into his bowl of cereal.
“Yeah, alright. Thanks,” says Sirius after a moment’s pause. Then it is back to chomping down the rest of his breakfast.
Sirius hides behind his usual personality. Remus can see right through it. The sadness, the horror, it is there if you know what you are looking for.
“And get rid of that beard. It looks horrendous,” says Remus firmly. Sirius just grins in response.
3.
It was a mistake, Remus realizes, to get Sirius cleaned up. How is it possible that he escaped Azkaban with not one gray hair? Remus’ own is shot through with the whitish stuff.
The man in question sits across from him absently reading a letter from Dumbledore. There is a hollow, ghostly look about him when he doesn’t realize it. Other than that, though, he is just as handsome as he was in school. Perhaps it is just him seeing through the mask of waste; he really isn’t sure. What he is sure of is that he is just as much in love with Sirius as he ever was.
It isn’t a happy thought. Sirius plays the scoundrel well. It is a persona much appreciated by the local barflies. Remus works as a bartender at the diviest of these establishments, and is forced to watch his friend work his magic night after night.
They have settled into a pattern that is reminiscent of school. Remus constantly has to remind Sirius to wash his clothes, pick up after himself, put the dishes in the sink, and on it goes.
He is disgusted with himself when he realizes he enjoys it. He tries to convince himself that it is simply nice to not be alone any longer, that having Sirius there with him like this is better than not having him at all. This isn’t healthy, and Remus knows it.
“I’m going to offer my parents’ home as a hide out for the Order,” says Sirius one night between bites of his crispy fried fish.
Oh, damn, thinks Remus, and is instantly angry with himself. It is better this way. He can nurse his broken heart back to a dull ache that is more bearable, easier to live with.
“I’d like you to come with me. You only rent this place right?” continues Sirius. A crunchy potato is popped into his succulent mouth.
“Yes, of course,” Remus hears himself say. He is horrified by his willingness to subject himself to more torture.
He tries to convince himself it is because Sirius has been such a help to him. He owes Sirius. Yes, he rather prefers the sound of that in his head.
“I’d be happy to help as long as you need me,” says Remus as he only picks at his own meal.
“Don’t be daft,” replies Sirius. “I want you around.”
Remus would very much like to hit something.
4.
They are only portraits, Remus wants to say. Don’t let them wind you up. He doesn’t. He tries to tell himself that this is because there is some cathartic value to waging war on the painted faces of long dead Blacks.
Sirius’ bitch mother won’t come off the wall and now he is in a towering rage. The solution to not getting her portrait off the wall, apparently, is to destroy all of the others. He can hear his friend’s anguished bellow from somewhere above him.
“Merlin, I hope he doesn’t hurt himself,” says Remus to the empty basement kitchen.
“Are you just going to let him destroy the house?” asks Molly disagreeably. Her voice startles him into turning around in his chair. She is standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Yes,” replies Remus dryly. “Though do try your hand at it if you like.” He smirks when she joins him at the table.
“Better he has it out of his system before Harry gets here,” she says. Remus sips his tea.
5.
The first Order meeting in the wretched old house is the worst. This has nothing to do with the house itself. This is about Hestia Jones, the trollop.
All through the meeting she has been making cow eyes at Sirius. Though he acts oblivious, he is not. It’s all part of his strategy, thinks Remus bitterly. Hestia was two years behind them in school, a Ravenclaw. Back then she knew better than to tangle with a skirt chaser like Sirius.
That bit of wisdom seems to have been lost with the passing of the years. Hestia is still unmarried, though Merlin knows why. She is an attractive witch, though somewhat bookish in school. Sirius’ type was rather in line with James’, he likes them hard to get, and Hestia is playing anything but. This gives Remus hope.
After the meeting is over he would dearly love to move on to the next thing, whatever that might be. Unfortunately he is rooted to the spot, surreptitiously observing Hestia wait for the others to empty out.
Sirius makes a show of wanting to leave the meeting, but has run up against the misfortune of being caught in a discussion with Bill and Kingsley. They are talking about nothing. If Sirius wanted to go, he would have gone.
He is giving the rest of the Order members a chance to clear out before releasing Kingsley and Bill. The two men are props, though they didn’t know it. Or maybe they did and this is one of those ‘guy’ things that Remus doesn’t get. He never has quite understood this sort of behavior.
“What are you reading so intently?” Remus looks up, confused. What does Tonks care?
“Nothing really, Dora,” he replies, “Just going over these lists.” Go away, he thinks, so I can enjoy my pain in private.
“Oh,” she says. “What do you think about this old house? A bit creepy, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” he replies wearily. He looks up to see Sirius and Hestia in quiet conversation. Jealousy boils up inside of him.
“Hmm,” she hums, and then whispers, “Why are you staring at Sirius and Hestia?”
Oh, for the love of…
“I wasn’t,” he replies, carefully keeping the snap out of his tone. “I’m just tired is all.”
“Oh, good,” she continues. “For a minute there I thought maybe you had a thing for her, or maybe him.”
Remus is now upset, though he carefully hides this behind a controlled expression of disinterest. If this slip of a girl can see it so clearly, can anyone else? Can Sirius? In his surprise over the rude question, the list in his fingers drops to the floor. The joints in his back crack loudly as he leans over to retrieve it.
“Good night, Nymphadora,” he says brusquely, getting to his feet. The chair legs grind against the stone floor. As he leaves, he thinks he hears her say ‘call me, Tonks,’ though he isn’t really paying attention.
6.
Shortly after that night, the thumping and moaning begins from Sirius’ room. Not long after that, it ceases. It seems that even good sex can’t outweigh the caustic bitterness that comes with Sirius. The break-up with Hestia, if it can even be called that, causes Sirius very little consternation. If anything, he seems unsurprised, which bothers Remus, though he isn’t sure why.
Remus finds out very quickly that living here with Sirius is really far worse than sharing a dorm. In their school days he had never shared with his friends anything about his sexual leanings, even going so far as to date a few girls. He had certainly never told Sirius how he felt about him.
There was a lot of freedom in being a member of a pack of boys almost as wild as Jack’s tribe. They imposed few rules on each other, and the ones they did were all unspoken. You simply knew how to remain in good standing, and the most important of these, the golden rule really, was don’t be queer. This was sacrosanct and inviolate; to tread on this ground was to invite disaster and cause a ripple that would send everything out of balance. James would have adjusted, but it would have taken time. Sirius however, armed with the information of Remus’ affections, would have beaten him within an inch of his life and never spoken to him again.
Or so he had believed at the time.
Sirius reveals to him over a few glasses of firewhisky that both he and James were convinced that Peter had feelings for James. That neither of them allowed this to trouble them overmuch was interesting. It both gives him a ridiculous feeling of hope (which he immediately tamps down), and a large sense of sadness that he hadn’t trusted his friends enough.
The difficulty, of course, is that as a man now, who had had several short relationships with a variety of men, he knows what he wants with Sirius, understands it completely. He wants to suck his cock until Sirius spills wet and warm down his eager throat, wants to feel Sirius move within him, wants to lay naked with him for hours and talk about nothing and everything.
Sirius needs someone who could and would accept him completely, flaws and all; someone who would let him rage when he needed to and put him back together when he was all done. The list of volunteers for this task was rather short. Sirius is a mess, and in the few weeks he had been there, everyone could see it.
7.
In the days leading up to Harry’s arrival, Sirius is more animated which Remus is thankful for. With the exception of Lily, Sirius has always preferred the company of other men. He likes to talk Quidditch scores and make crude jokes that earn him sharp glances from Molly.
Sirius is careless with his speech around her, and though he is oblivious, Remus can see how it bothers Molly. The night Harry arrives, Molly and Sirius get into a tremendous row that takes them days to get over. They pretend at false politeness when the kids are around, though it is barely convincing. It makes Remus want to strangle them both.
Remus can see that Harry sees the problem with Sirius, the internal damage for which there might be no repair. Harry would like nothing better than to fix his godfather, but this is a job for a peer, not his son. With all Sirius had been through, he certainly couldn’t do it himself.
Once Harry’s name is cleared Sirius seems to recede into the house. He disappears for hours on end, brooding and probably drinking, though he certainly appears sober whenever Harry is around. When the kids are gone, all pretenses are dropped and Sirius goes on bender. Remus questions what it is in him that makes him love a man like this.
8.
There really doesn’t seem to be a point where Sirius is willing to say ‘I’m done raging at a machine that doesn’t give a fuck, or at the silent walls, or the less silent portraits. I’ll be quiet and still now; I’m going to be alright.’ He takes it in turns, sometimes loosing his ire at Kreacher or less seldom at Remus himself, and at other times locking himself away to brood for hours on end.
When Remus has to go away to work with the pack, the Sirius he comes home to is hard to predict. Sometimes he is so grateful for the company that he has every gesture of a good host, more often he is sullen and spoiling for a row over nothing. Remus learns quickly how to test the air before speaking his first word. The wrong inflection in his ‘hello, how are you’ can result in Sirius dashing his elf-cut crystal against the stone walls of the underground kitchen and storming out without another word.
There are times, many times, when Remus wonders if Sirius will ever achieve a balance. He has days where he is hopeful, when despite his unhappiness, Sirius can pull it together. He always manages it for Order meetings. This is because after every single one, with hope burning in his eyes, he asks Dumbledore for a mission, something to do. Each time the answer is the same, with Dumbledore’s voice going sharper and shorter with each repeated answer.
“I’m sorry, Sirius. You just need to be patient for a little while longer.”
No longer does Sirius make an effort at hiding his contempt. Instead of slinking away quietly, resignedly, as he had the first few times, Remus now has to deal with a usually drunken, and most assuredly raging version of his friend.
It was agonizing. Even though he is frustrated with Sirius, the other man’s despair shakes him to his very foundation. He loves Sirius, and to see him in pain was to be hurting as well.
Sirius greatly needs something he can anchor himself with, something to steady him. Remus wished so desperately, ached that this thing could be him.
9.
There has been nothing to set Sirius off. Remus can’t understand why the man is swearing and tearing his room apart. Remus stands in the doorway; placid smiles from bikini clad Muggle girls seem to mock him.
“What is this madness?” asks Remus. Sirius has dragged a large trunk from the closet and is now throwing items out in an apparent search.
“I don’t know what to give Harry for Christmas,” is the answer he gets. Remus feels his stomach sink like a stone thrown to a turbulent ocean.
“Oh.”
Between babysitting this one and working for the pack, Remus hasn’t any steady work. Not that holding jobs is something he excels at. He’s barely got two knuts to rub together and is suddenly faced with Christmas, that foul bitch.
“What’s wrong?”
Remus sighs, realizing something on his face must have shown. He has learned to hate Christmas, always receiving from cheery, kind-hearted souls with nothing to return in kind.
“Nothing… you’ve made a mess,” he says lamely, stating the obvious.
Sirius stops and stands. Something flickers across his expression, but Remus can’t name it. The other’s gaze turns worried, but the paleness of Sirius’ eyes always makes them seem so intense. Remus watches him cross the room before Sirius reaches him and lays a hand on his shoulder. It is almost intimate, and Remus hates him just a little for it.
“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”
Remus doesn’t answer, but looks away to escape the gaze as he tries to ignore the proximity and the hand burning like lava on his shoulder.
“It vexes me as well,” continues Sirius. “I’ve already given him my knife and the mirror I was planning for Christmas, but decided Molly oughtn’t to know about it.”
“Is that what this is all about?” asks Remus. He steps into the room; the hand thankfully falls from his shoulder, brushing down his side as it goes. It is an accident, Remus knows, but he shivers minutely all the same.
Drawers are opened with a variety of colors and fabrics spilling over the edges. He remembers hearing that Sirius’ belongings were shipped to Walburga Black after his incarceration. He marvels for a moment that she didn’t simply incinerate the lot, but family ties are complicated. The portrait is merely an echo, not the woman herself, who probably didn’t find it so easy to let go of her eldest, no matter the impression she may have given him.
“Yes,” replies Sirius. He has gone back to the trunk, back to rummaging. “I thought I had… a… few… more…” He trails off, pulling his hand out of the trunk. It is holding a long thin ribbon of deepest indigo blue. “I’d forgotten I kept this around,” he says with a little smile. That same emotion that Remus can’t place flickers across his thin face.
Remus remembers the ribbon well. It had adorned a gift; Remus cannot now remember what, that he had given Sirius after he’d left home. Remus’ head is full of symbolism. He had hoped, a silly hope he realizes on reflection, that Sirius would find some serenity. Perhaps not in the ribbon, or even the color itself, but find it nonetheless.
“Right,” says Sirius, uncertain, like he knows ‘right’ is the wrong word but it’s all he could come up with. “So as I was saying, I’m not sure what to get for Harry. Fat lot of good it does me to have all this gold if I can’t walk into to a shop to select a gift.”
Remus tries to find words of comfort, but everything that comes to mind is cheap and hollow, not nearly equal to the task. He hasn’t been in this room before, this shrine to the Sirius that was, and with nothing to add he walks in and sits on the edge of the bed, recognizing his masochism for what it is.
“I don’t suppose you would be interested in going in on a gift jointly, do you?”
“Why would I do that?” asks Remus. “I didn’t get him one last year, or the year I met him.”
“Well,” says Sirius, “the year you met him you were his professor so it might not have been appropriate, and last year had no contact, but this year you’re around him more.”
“I just don’t think–”
“You were a friend of James,” says Sirius earnestly. “And it will help me quite a bit, so please? I’ll pay for it if you’ll just select it.”
Remus nods silently and rises. He needs his space, and presently finds this gesture a casual cruelty. Before he leaves, Sirius chucks him a small bag with some gold. In the days that follow, there isn’t much contact between them. Remus assumes this is because the other is brooding again. The mention of James often brings this about so he leaves him be with his black thoughts and foul mood.
Sirius pulls himself together briefly for Christmas, for Harry, and probably for Arthur as well. By the time his godson is readying himself for the off though, Sirius is back to brooding and drinking.
For a few nights after the children’s departure for Hogwarts, Remus catches Sirius talking to someone in the drawing room that isn’t there. The first of these nights he stands outside the door, the low flickering light of the fire revealing only the vague outline of Sirius in a chair, whisky in hand. He hears the names ‘James’ and ‘Lily’ and then ‘you would be so proud of Harry’ and he wants to cry. His heart nearly bursts through his chest with the pain that this quietly snatched conversation reveals. He wants to rush in and pull Sirius to him, kiss him all over his face, and make everything better. Instead, he closes the door, goes to the kitchen and pours himself three fingers.
10.
Remus spends the next few months considering this idea. The idea being that he could make Sirius better. When it is unwittingly revealed that Kingsley is queer, Sirius jokes about taking him to a gay discothèque once he is freed, like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Hope, however, is not a friend of Remus Lupin. Hope is for men with dreams and his were all sold many years prior. He should have known better, does know better, and like a fool, hopes anyway.
Sirius, despite his moods and general appearance, has attracted the attention of the elusive, statuesque Vance. Emmeline barely has any more tolerance for Sirius’ strangeness than Hestia had, and soon that too is over. Once again, Sirius doesn’t seem surprised or overly troubled. When Remus asks, the answer is heartbreaking.
“Can’t really expect them to keep me around, now can I Moony? Damaged goods, that’s all I really am. Just counting myself lucky for a little affection where I can find it.” The words are stark, made even more so by the lack of self pity in Sirius’ tone.
Remus could weep, some for Sirius of course, but mostly for himself because he understood perfectly, and has nothing with which to refute his self-assessment. They were both very damaged goods.
11.
Not all Gryffindors possess bravery in equal measure. Peter is proof of this. Some, like Sirius and James, have it to the point of stupidity. Other still are like Remus and find themselves somewhere between the two.
It is selective bravery, he decides, which is a probably the third cousin to selective memory, and a buck-toothed ginger with poorly placed freckles to boot. He cannot simply say, “I love you, let’s shag,” because that isn’t all there is to it. He wants to say, “I love you, I can make it better if you’d only let me,” but the words refuse to form in his mouth. For this his bravery fails him utterly.
What his bravery does allow him to do, though he wonders if it is bravery and not merely indulgence, the thing he is able to manage, is a series of longer than necessary touches throughout the day. In the newness of the morn, when they pass each other in the kitchen, Remus lays a hand on Sirius’ shoulder and murmurs a soft, weightless ‘good morning’ close to Sirius’ ear. On the stairwell arms brush because Remus makes it happen that way. In the evening, the seat he takes next to Sirius in the drawing room is close enough that their thighs are touching. None of these actions are particularly telling in their own right, and the big surprise, the real surprise, is that Sirius’ physical boundaries easily realign and soon he is responding in kind.
It is heady, and a little like falling in love all over again. Nothing is ever outside propriety, never passes into anything more than platonic brotherhood, but it is deliriously nice nonetheless. It has a positive effect on Sirius too, who is now a little less likely to rage or even drink. He seeks out Remus’ company more often and something in him does finally seem to say, ‘I’m ready to be still. I’m going to be alright.’
12.
Once again, hope has mercilessly buggered Remus without his consent. Despite the progress, after Harry visits from the drawing room fireplace, the conversation about James brings the demons out of their corners.
It is different this time though, because while he is certainly melancholy, Sirius isn’t drunk or raging, nor is he hiding. He is weeping. As he weeps, he babbles, staring off into space, going on in fragmented sentences about James and how he let him down by going after Peter. If he hadn’t been so rash, if he’d just gone to Dumbledore instead and explained, he could have been there for Harry. If he had encouraged James and Lily to do the logical thing and let Dumbledore act as Secret Keeper, they might still be alive. So many what ifs that had haunted him for a decade and a half.
And then finally, finally, Remus’ courage takes a dance card.
“Stop this,” he says firmly but kindly, turning into Sirius on the sofa they are sharing. With two fingers under Sirius’ chin, he reaches up with his thumb to rub away the wet under one eye.
There is a look in Sirius’ gaze like he is lost, like he’s gotten stuck somewhere and can’t navigate his way out. It is as though he is in a labyrinth, or perhaps an oubliette, all of his own making. He looks for a moment like he has forgotten who he is, or perhaps that is just what Remus wants to believe. Who better than he to remind him, bring him back to himself than he? Who remembers, no knows, who Sirius is? Who better to drop him a ladder?
With careful slowness, so that Sirius might flee if he needs to, Remus leans in and ever so softly puts his lips to the other man’s.
“Remus, what are you doing?” asks the other. There is something tired and weary in his voice, and also something surprised and uncertain. Though he is taken off his guard, to his credit he doesn’t jerk away as Remus half expected. He merely mumbles against the mouth pressed to his. The lips touching his own are lightly chapped and a little dry, but it feels nice just to feel them.
“I would think that was obvious,” murmurs Remus softly back. Both of them are holding their position, lips still held lightly together, which to Remus, is almost funny.
“Why?”
“Also obvious.”
Sirius seems to come back to his senses and pulls back a little, breaking their not-quite-actual-kiss so that he can fix Remus with a gentle look.
“Remus, you know what I mess I am, you better than anyone.”
“Maybe so,” he replies, “But you need to be loved Sirius, loved by someone who isn’t afraid of the dark, someone that will love you despite your many flaws, who will accept all of you, let you fall apart and when you’re done, put you back together.”
“And you think that’s you?” asks Sirius quietly. His soft grey eyes are intent upon Remus.
“Considering I’ve been doing so since I arrived, yes Sirius, I think that’s me,” he replies. Hope, oh hope, that constant in his life that never lets him down in that it always lets him down, spins violently like a large wind turbine in his gut. Oh, please, thinks Remus, just this once don’t fail me.
Sirius drops his gaze, focusing on Remus’ other hand which has somehow found its way to one of Sirius’ and is holding on tightly. As Remus follows Sirius’ eye he realizes he is squeezing rather too tightly, all of the tension he is feeling is being channeled into this one small gesture. Though he would like to, he cannot seem to loosen his grip.
“I suppose that’s true,” says Sirius quietly. “I am sorry to be so much trouble.”
“I don’t mind,” says Remus quickly. He can feel it, that hope once again intends to abandon him, leave him weak and beaten like a traveler met with highway robbers. Whatever damage that has been done, has in fact been done. If they need to renegotiate the boundaries of their friendship, that’s already on the table. There is no coming back from this moment as they once were, and for this reason Remus rallies his courage once more. “I love you, you see. So I don’t mind.”
The stillness in the air between them is charged with uncertainty as Remus waits, waits, waits for Sirius to speak. He is still holding the other’s hand, their faces are close but not touching and Sirius is motionless. It is a strange thing to see, a motionless Sirius Black. The seconds on the clock tick, each small sound like a clap of thunder and still, Remus waits.
“I never thought I would hear anyone say those words to me again.”
“Oh, Sirius,” he breathes. “I could tell you daily and never tire from it.”
Sirius purses his lips before licking them in what would be a nervous gesture on anyone else, but couldn’t be on him because he never bloody well gets nervous. “I mean,” he says with hesitancy, “I suppose... it’s you, and really… haven’t we been dancing around this for months, years even?”
Remus suddenly realizes what that flicker in Sirius’ face had been, something he wouldn’t let himself recognize. He feels as though he has fallen into his dream. Sirius, not being much for hesitation, has leaned in, their lips meeting finally in a real kiss.
“Come on,” says Sirius, muttering against Remus’ mouth. “We’ll use my room, beds bigger.” He breaks the kiss to stand and offers his hand to Remus. For his part, Remus can only stare at it, uncomprehending that this is really real. He took the risk, tried to kiss but didn’t expect much to come of it. Hoped, yes, expected? Never.
Sirius tugs him to his feet, and dumbly, Remus follows. This is what he has wanted for years; why isn’t he responding like it? He looks up at Sirius, who is now wearing a wise little smile, like he is waiting for Remus to get it, or perhaps can’t wait for Remus to get it.
Lurching ungainly, Remus reaches for him suddenly as it all snaps into place. He could kick himself for his hesitation, but it hardly matters as they struggle passionately with each other up the stairs in the empty house. Articles of clothing decorate the steps as they make their way up. Hands are reaching everywhere, tongue and lips experimenting delightfully. Their breaths mingle as they murmur each others name between kisses.
When they reach the bedroom they are both nude and Remus sees for the first time just how thin and wasted Sirius really is. He gives the other man a long appraising look. He’s still too thin, the ribs stand out far too well, and those hips bones could cut diamonds. Remus gazes at him mournfully, the strong strapping lad from his youth has been defeated. An uncharacteristic self consciousness seems to cross Sirius’ features, and there is an apology in his expression.
Remus shakes his head. “You need to eat better, Sirius,” he says. “You’re absolutely beautiful, but much too thin.” This will all get better; together they will both get better.
When he finally falls asleep, many hours later after much exhaustive and painstaking exploration, Remus becomes the dreamer once again. This time Short Brown manages that elusive kiss with the handsome Ebony Locks.
13.
Hope, Remus realizes, was never his enemy. He was just too blind, too ready to count himself unworthy to accept that Sirius wanted him as well. They both feel that, a fact which should have been obvious to him.
In the weeks that follow there is a real change in Sirius, making Remus feel smug each time an Order member comments on it. There is a light in his eyes like he had as a youth. He smiles more, and his laughter isn’t bitter. Remus is a willing distraction for his skilled lover. For the first time in his life Remus knows what it is to love and be loved in return.
A serenity descends upon Grimmauld Place despite the gloom and the disrepair. Sirius is more animated, less depressed, restricting his troubles to the nightmares that Remus is there to soothe and kiss away. Will be there, Remus knows, for the rest of Sirius’ life.
They have a lot of time alone together and Remus soon discovers that a moment not spent on making love is one wasted in Sirius’ estimation. The felon and he have pressed together passionately in practically every quarter of the old manor. The only portrait they haven’t scandalized is Sirius’ mother. They are having fun.
Remus feels young, less weary and so too does Sirius seem to be. Neither man will ever truly be at peace. Not so long as Harry is in danger, Remus remains a werewolf, and Sirius is wanted for murder.
14.
On a night in May, curled up in the drawing room, Remus and Sirius are making quiet plans to get away once Harry is safely tucked away at his Aunt’s. They will travel from Apparition point to Apparition point so that they might sip margaritas by the blue of the pacific and earn decadent tans under a friendly Mexican sun.
It is far enough away and in a country that will hardly notice it has gained a werewolf and a felon. It will only be for a few weeks and once Harry arrives they will have returned, smugly sporting brown skin and deciding how best to tell Harry.
Sirius has his concerns but not Remus. If it would make Sirius happy, Harry would serve Remus to Sirius for dinner. He would probably appreciate being spared the details, but then those aren’t on offer.
The Floo activates to reveal Snape stepping through, rivaling the house’s gloom with his imperious stare. The warmth of Sirius’ new personality seems to hibernate. Remus nearly feels stung by the chill.
“That fool, your godson, has gotten himself into a spot of danger,” says Snape. “Unsurprisingly.” The silky smoothness of his tone does not belie the fact that he enjoys every word. Remus rather wishes these two would grow up in this respect.”Have you alerted the rest of the Order?” asks Remus quickly, before Sirius can jump in like it’s a sign of weakness to remain calm. He squeezes Sirius hand, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Snape, and the knowing curl to his lip.
“Naturally,” replies Snape. “Dumbledore says you are to remain put, Sirius. We can’t risk putting such a valued member in danger, can we?”
If it would do any good at all, Remus would hex Snape. Unfortunately, he rather depends on the man for the wolfsbane potion every month. It is no matter; Sirius is already on his feet.
“Like hell,” he says. “Where?” demands Sirius.
“Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries; Dumbledore is lifting the anti-Apparition wards as we speak.” Snape lays a small device on the low table. It has a dark round base with what appears to be a blue tinged bulb. “When that lights up you may Apparate in.”
“Thank you, Severus,” says Remus. He tries to ignore Sirius’ frantic pacing.
“Good luck,” says the other without any enthusiasm, the words dripping with sarcasm. No sooner does Snape leave than the device activates, casting an eerie glow on the room.
When they arrive it is helter skelter, and Sirius and Remus separated. In the heat of battle Remus cannot consider Sirius’ welfare. He is well able to look after himself, having been a rather adept dueler at one time.
The other member s of the Order are there and proving quite a match for their opponents. Soon it is down to only two. It is Bellatrix and Sirius and both are holding their own.
But Sirius, being Sirius, turns cocky. Remus knows what is about to happen before it does. He rushes forward to help, but it is already too late. As Sirius sails into indigo, graceful and beautiful and his, he realizes that he hoped for the wrong thing. In him Sirius found the love and acceptance and peace that getting lost in another can bring. But Remus never needed hope, Sirius was always his. What he needed was more time.
~The End
Bright summer sunshine leaks in through clean but threadbare bedroom curtains that are unequal to the sun’s cheery intrusion. The dusky-blue gloom of the night darkened bedroom is slowly forced into the corners. Asleep in the bed is a dreamer made restless by the dawn in his window. A favored dream is playing out, where a boy with long ebony locks lets another boy, this one with short mousy brown hair, shyly take hold of his hand. A new element is introduced to the dream just as the boy with brown hair screws up his courage to give the other boy a peck on the cheek.
“What’s that sound?” asks Ebony Locks.
“Dunno,” replies Short Brown.
It is a tapping sound. It irritates the dreamer who can never quite make the two boys kiss.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Oi! Remus! Are you in there?”
The dreamer awakens and sits bolt upright in bed. It can’t be the voice he thinks it is. Sirius is in Hogsmeade with Harry, isn’t he? Thin and cream in color, the cotton sheet twists in his fingers as he listens. Silence.
He starts to ease himself back down in bed. Pulling the sheet over his head to block out the sunlight, he closes his eyes.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Remus screams a rather unmanly sound as he leaps out of his bed. His wand finds its way into his hand instinctively. He releases a long breath when he locates the source of the disturbance. A grinning fool is standing outside the bedroom window.
2.
Sirius is much unchanged at the core, thinks Remus. He is still loud, still talks with food in his mouth, and possesses an air that he owns whatever space he happens to occupy. He is comfortable in his skin, just like always.
It’s almost as though he doesn’t realize his hair is matted and tangled, that he is too thin. Dirty. Of course, that can only mean other things as well. Remus curses Dumbledore for sending Sirius to him.
“Why don’t you take a shower, Sirius,” says Remus. The other man looks up, surprised. A drop of milk drips from his beard into his bowl of cereal.
“Yeah, alright. Thanks,” says Sirius after a moment’s pause. Then it is back to chomping down the rest of his breakfast.
Sirius hides behind his usual personality. Remus can see right through it. The sadness, the horror, it is there if you know what you are looking for.
“And get rid of that beard. It looks horrendous,” says Remus firmly. Sirius just grins in response.
3.
It was a mistake, Remus realizes, to get Sirius cleaned up. How is it possible that he escaped Azkaban with not one gray hair? Remus’ own is shot through with the whitish stuff.
The man in question sits across from him absently reading a letter from Dumbledore. There is a hollow, ghostly look about him when he doesn’t realize it. Other than that, though, he is just as handsome as he was in school. Perhaps it is just him seeing through the mask of waste; he really isn’t sure. What he is sure of is that he is just as much in love with Sirius as he ever was.
It isn’t a happy thought. Sirius plays the scoundrel well. It is a persona much appreciated by the local barflies. Remus works as a bartender at the diviest of these establishments, and is forced to watch his friend work his magic night after night.
They have settled into a pattern that is reminiscent of school. Remus constantly has to remind Sirius to wash his clothes, pick up after himself, put the dishes in the sink, and on it goes.
He is disgusted with himself when he realizes he enjoys it. He tries to convince himself that it is simply nice to not be alone any longer, that having Sirius there with him like this is better than not having him at all. This isn’t healthy, and Remus knows it.
“I’m going to offer my parents’ home as a hide out for the Order,” says Sirius one night between bites of his crispy fried fish.
Oh, damn, thinks Remus, and is instantly angry with himself. It is better this way. He can nurse his broken heart back to a dull ache that is more bearable, easier to live with.
“I’d like you to come with me. You only rent this place right?” continues Sirius. A crunchy potato is popped into his succulent mouth.
“Yes, of course,” Remus hears himself say. He is horrified by his willingness to subject himself to more torture.
He tries to convince himself it is because Sirius has been such a help to him. He owes Sirius. Yes, he rather prefers the sound of that in his head.
“I’d be happy to help as long as you need me,” says Remus as he only picks at his own meal.
“Don’t be daft,” replies Sirius. “I want you around.”
Remus would very much like to hit something.
4.
They are only portraits, Remus wants to say. Don’t let them wind you up. He doesn’t. He tries to tell himself that this is because there is some cathartic value to waging war on the painted faces of long dead Blacks.
Sirius’ bitch mother won’t come off the wall and now he is in a towering rage. The solution to not getting her portrait off the wall, apparently, is to destroy all of the others. He can hear his friend’s anguished bellow from somewhere above him.
“Merlin, I hope he doesn’t hurt himself,” says Remus to the empty basement kitchen.
“Are you just going to let him destroy the house?” asks Molly disagreeably. Her voice startles him into turning around in his chair. She is standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Yes,” replies Remus dryly. “Though do try your hand at it if you like.” He smirks when she joins him at the table.
“Better he has it out of his system before Harry gets here,” she says. Remus sips his tea.
5.
The first Order meeting in the wretched old house is the worst. This has nothing to do with the house itself. This is about Hestia Jones, the trollop.
All through the meeting she has been making cow eyes at Sirius. Though he acts oblivious, he is not. It’s all part of his strategy, thinks Remus bitterly. Hestia was two years behind them in school, a Ravenclaw. Back then she knew better than to tangle with a skirt chaser like Sirius.
That bit of wisdom seems to have been lost with the passing of the years. Hestia is still unmarried, though Merlin knows why. She is an attractive witch, though somewhat bookish in school. Sirius’ type was rather in line with James’, he likes them hard to get, and Hestia is playing anything but. This gives Remus hope.
After the meeting is over he would dearly love to move on to the next thing, whatever that might be. Unfortunately he is rooted to the spot, surreptitiously observing Hestia wait for the others to empty out.
Sirius makes a show of wanting to leave the meeting, but has run up against the misfortune of being caught in a discussion with Bill and Kingsley. They are talking about nothing. If Sirius wanted to go, he would have gone.
He is giving the rest of the Order members a chance to clear out before releasing Kingsley and Bill. The two men are props, though they didn’t know it. Or maybe they did and this is one of those ‘guy’ things that Remus doesn’t get. He never has quite understood this sort of behavior.
“What are you reading so intently?” Remus looks up, confused. What does Tonks care?
“Nothing really, Dora,” he replies, “Just going over these lists.” Go away, he thinks, so I can enjoy my pain in private.
“Oh,” she says. “What do you think about this old house? A bit creepy, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” he replies wearily. He looks up to see Sirius and Hestia in quiet conversation. Jealousy boils up inside of him.
“Hmm,” she hums, and then whispers, “Why are you staring at Sirius and Hestia?”
Oh, for the love of…
“I wasn’t,” he replies, carefully keeping the snap out of his tone. “I’m just tired is all.”
“Oh, good,” she continues. “For a minute there I thought maybe you had a thing for her, or maybe him.”
Remus is now upset, though he carefully hides this behind a controlled expression of disinterest. If this slip of a girl can see it so clearly, can anyone else? Can Sirius? In his surprise over the rude question, the list in his fingers drops to the floor. The joints in his back crack loudly as he leans over to retrieve it.
“Good night, Nymphadora,” he says brusquely, getting to his feet. The chair legs grind against the stone floor. As he leaves, he thinks he hears her say ‘call me, Tonks,’ though he isn’t really paying attention.
6.
Shortly after that night, the thumping and moaning begins from Sirius’ room. Not long after that, it ceases. It seems that even good sex can’t outweigh the caustic bitterness that comes with Sirius. The break-up with Hestia, if it can even be called that, causes Sirius very little consternation. If anything, he seems unsurprised, which bothers Remus, though he isn’t sure why.
Remus finds out very quickly that living here with Sirius is really far worse than sharing a dorm. In their school days he had never shared with his friends anything about his sexual leanings, even going so far as to date a few girls. He had certainly never told Sirius how he felt about him.
There was a lot of freedom in being a member of a pack of boys almost as wild as Jack’s tribe. They imposed few rules on each other, and the ones they did were all unspoken. You simply knew how to remain in good standing, and the most important of these, the golden rule really, was don’t be queer. This was sacrosanct and inviolate; to tread on this ground was to invite disaster and cause a ripple that would send everything out of balance. James would have adjusted, but it would have taken time. Sirius however, armed with the information of Remus’ affections, would have beaten him within an inch of his life and never spoken to him again.
Or so he had believed at the time.
Sirius reveals to him over a few glasses of firewhisky that both he and James were convinced that Peter had feelings for James. That neither of them allowed this to trouble them overmuch was interesting. It both gives him a ridiculous feeling of hope (which he immediately tamps down), and a large sense of sadness that he hadn’t trusted his friends enough.
The difficulty, of course, is that as a man now, who had had several short relationships with a variety of men, he knows what he wants with Sirius, understands it completely. He wants to suck his cock until Sirius spills wet and warm down his eager throat, wants to feel Sirius move within him, wants to lay naked with him for hours and talk about nothing and everything.
Sirius needs someone who could and would accept him completely, flaws and all; someone who would let him rage when he needed to and put him back together when he was all done. The list of volunteers for this task was rather short. Sirius is a mess, and in the few weeks he had been there, everyone could see it.
7.
In the days leading up to Harry’s arrival, Sirius is more animated which Remus is thankful for. With the exception of Lily, Sirius has always preferred the company of other men. He likes to talk Quidditch scores and make crude jokes that earn him sharp glances from Molly.
Sirius is careless with his speech around her, and though he is oblivious, Remus can see how it bothers Molly. The night Harry arrives, Molly and Sirius get into a tremendous row that takes them days to get over. They pretend at false politeness when the kids are around, though it is barely convincing. It makes Remus want to strangle them both.
Remus can see that Harry sees the problem with Sirius, the internal damage for which there might be no repair. Harry would like nothing better than to fix his godfather, but this is a job for a peer, not his son. With all Sirius had been through, he certainly couldn’t do it himself.
Once Harry’s name is cleared Sirius seems to recede into the house. He disappears for hours on end, brooding and probably drinking, though he certainly appears sober whenever Harry is around. When the kids are gone, all pretenses are dropped and Sirius goes on bender. Remus questions what it is in him that makes him love a man like this.
8.
There really doesn’t seem to be a point where Sirius is willing to say ‘I’m done raging at a machine that doesn’t give a fuck, or at the silent walls, or the less silent portraits. I’ll be quiet and still now; I’m going to be alright.’ He takes it in turns, sometimes loosing his ire at Kreacher or less seldom at Remus himself, and at other times locking himself away to brood for hours on end.
When Remus has to go away to work with the pack, the Sirius he comes home to is hard to predict. Sometimes he is so grateful for the company that he has every gesture of a good host, more often he is sullen and spoiling for a row over nothing. Remus learns quickly how to test the air before speaking his first word. The wrong inflection in his ‘hello, how are you’ can result in Sirius dashing his elf-cut crystal against the stone walls of the underground kitchen and storming out without another word.
There are times, many times, when Remus wonders if Sirius will ever achieve a balance. He has days where he is hopeful, when despite his unhappiness, Sirius can pull it together. He always manages it for Order meetings. This is because after every single one, with hope burning in his eyes, he asks Dumbledore for a mission, something to do. Each time the answer is the same, with Dumbledore’s voice going sharper and shorter with each repeated answer.
“I’m sorry, Sirius. You just need to be patient for a little while longer.”
No longer does Sirius make an effort at hiding his contempt. Instead of slinking away quietly, resignedly, as he had the first few times, Remus now has to deal with a usually drunken, and most assuredly raging version of his friend.
It was agonizing. Even though he is frustrated with Sirius, the other man’s despair shakes him to his very foundation. He loves Sirius, and to see him in pain was to be hurting as well.
Sirius greatly needs something he can anchor himself with, something to steady him. Remus wished so desperately, ached that this thing could be him.
9.
There has been nothing to set Sirius off. Remus can’t understand why the man is swearing and tearing his room apart. Remus stands in the doorway; placid smiles from bikini clad Muggle girls seem to mock him.
“What is this madness?” asks Remus. Sirius has dragged a large trunk from the closet and is now throwing items out in an apparent search.
“I don’t know what to give Harry for Christmas,” is the answer he gets. Remus feels his stomach sink like a stone thrown to a turbulent ocean.
“Oh.”
Between babysitting this one and working for the pack, Remus hasn’t any steady work. Not that holding jobs is something he excels at. He’s barely got two knuts to rub together and is suddenly faced with Christmas, that foul bitch.
“What’s wrong?”
Remus sighs, realizing something on his face must have shown. He has learned to hate Christmas, always receiving from cheery, kind-hearted souls with nothing to return in kind.
“Nothing… you’ve made a mess,” he says lamely, stating the obvious.
Sirius stops and stands. Something flickers across his expression, but Remus can’t name it. The other’s gaze turns worried, but the paleness of Sirius’ eyes always makes them seem so intense. Remus watches him cross the room before Sirius reaches him and lays a hand on his shoulder. It is almost intimate, and Remus hates him just a little for it.
“It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”
Remus doesn’t answer, but looks away to escape the gaze as he tries to ignore the proximity and the hand burning like lava on his shoulder.
“It vexes me as well,” continues Sirius. “I’ve already given him my knife and the mirror I was planning for Christmas, but decided Molly oughtn’t to know about it.”
“Is that what this is all about?” asks Remus. He steps into the room; the hand thankfully falls from his shoulder, brushing down his side as it goes. It is an accident, Remus knows, but he shivers minutely all the same.
Drawers are opened with a variety of colors and fabrics spilling over the edges. He remembers hearing that Sirius’ belongings were shipped to Walburga Black after his incarceration. He marvels for a moment that she didn’t simply incinerate the lot, but family ties are complicated. The portrait is merely an echo, not the woman herself, who probably didn’t find it so easy to let go of her eldest, no matter the impression she may have given him.
“Yes,” replies Sirius. He has gone back to the trunk, back to rummaging. “I thought I had… a… few… more…” He trails off, pulling his hand out of the trunk. It is holding a long thin ribbon of deepest indigo blue. “I’d forgotten I kept this around,” he says with a little smile. That same emotion that Remus can’t place flickers across his thin face.
Remus remembers the ribbon well. It had adorned a gift; Remus cannot now remember what, that he had given Sirius after he’d left home. Remus’ head is full of symbolism. He had hoped, a silly hope he realizes on reflection, that Sirius would find some serenity. Perhaps not in the ribbon, or even the color itself, but find it nonetheless.
“Right,” says Sirius, uncertain, like he knows ‘right’ is the wrong word but it’s all he could come up with. “So as I was saying, I’m not sure what to get for Harry. Fat lot of good it does me to have all this gold if I can’t walk into to a shop to select a gift.”
Remus tries to find words of comfort, but everything that comes to mind is cheap and hollow, not nearly equal to the task. He hasn’t been in this room before, this shrine to the Sirius that was, and with nothing to add he walks in and sits on the edge of the bed, recognizing his masochism for what it is.
“I don’t suppose you would be interested in going in on a gift jointly, do you?”
“Why would I do that?” asks Remus. “I didn’t get him one last year, or the year I met him.”
“Well,” says Sirius, “the year you met him you were his professor so it might not have been appropriate, and last year had no contact, but this year you’re around him more.”
“I just don’t think–”
“You were a friend of James,” says Sirius earnestly. “And it will help me quite a bit, so please? I’ll pay for it if you’ll just select it.”
Remus nods silently and rises. He needs his space, and presently finds this gesture a casual cruelty. Before he leaves, Sirius chucks him a small bag with some gold. In the days that follow, there isn’t much contact between them. Remus assumes this is because the other is brooding again. The mention of James often brings this about so he leaves him be with his black thoughts and foul mood.
Sirius pulls himself together briefly for Christmas, for Harry, and probably for Arthur as well. By the time his godson is readying himself for the off though, Sirius is back to brooding and drinking.
For a few nights after the children’s departure for Hogwarts, Remus catches Sirius talking to someone in the drawing room that isn’t there. The first of these nights he stands outside the door, the low flickering light of the fire revealing only the vague outline of Sirius in a chair, whisky in hand. He hears the names ‘James’ and ‘Lily’ and then ‘you would be so proud of Harry’ and he wants to cry. His heart nearly bursts through his chest with the pain that this quietly snatched conversation reveals. He wants to rush in and pull Sirius to him, kiss him all over his face, and make everything better. Instead, he closes the door, goes to the kitchen and pours himself three fingers.
10.
Remus spends the next few months considering this idea. The idea being that he could make Sirius better. When it is unwittingly revealed that Kingsley is queer, Sirius jokes about taking him to a gay discothèque once he is freed, like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Hope, however, is not a friend of Remus Lupin. Hope is for men with dreams and his were all sold many years prior. He should have known better, does know better, and like a fool, hopes anyway.
Sirius, despite his moods and general appearance, has attracted the attention of the elusive, statuesque Vance. Emmeline barely has any more tolerance for Sirius’ strangeness than Hestia had, and soon that too is over. Once again, Sirius doesn’t seem surprised or overly troubled. When Remus asks, the answer is heartbreaking.
“Can’t really expect them to keep me around, now can I Moony? Damaged goods, that’s all I really am. Just counting myself lucky for a little affection where I can find it.” The words are stark, made even more so by the lack of self pity in Sirius’ tone.
Remus could weep, some for Sirius of course, but mostly for himself because he understood perfectly, and has nothing with which to refute his self-assessment. They were both very damaged goods.
11.
Not all Gryffindors possess bravery in equal measure. Peter is proof of this. Some, like Sirius and James, have it to the point of stupidity. Other still are like Remus and find themselves somewhere between the two.
It is selective bravery, he decides, which is a probably the third cousin to selective memory, and a buck-toothed ginger with poorly placed freckles to boot. He cannot simply say, “I love you, let’s shag,” because that isn’t all there is to it. He wants to say, “I love you, I can make it better if you’d only let me,” but the words refuse to form in his mouth. For this his bravery fails him utterly.
What his bravery does allow him to do, though he wonders if it is bravery and not merely indulgence, the thing he is able to manage, is a series of longer than necessary touches throughout the day. In the newness of the morn, when they pass each other in the kitchen, Remus lays a hand on Sirius’ shoulder and murmurs a soft, weightless ‘good morning’ close to Sirius’ ear. On the stairwell arms brush because Remus makes it happen that way. In the evening, the seat he takes next to Sirius in the drawing room is close enough that their thighs are touching. None of these actions are particularly telling in their own right, and the big surprise, the real surprise, is that Sirius’ physical boundaries easily realign and soon he is responding in kind.
It is heady, and a little like falling in love all over again. Nothing is ever outside propriety, never passes into anything more than platonic brotherhood, but it is deliriously nice nonetheless. It has a positive effect on Sirius too, who is now a little less likely to rage or even drink. He seeks out Remus’ company more often and something in him does finally seem to say, ‘I’m ready to be still. I’m going to be alright.’
12.
Once again, hope has mercilessly buggered Remus without his consent. Despite the progress, after Harry visits from the drawing room fireplace, the conversation about James brings the demons out of their corners.
It is different this time though, because while he is certainly melancholy, Sirius isn’t drunk or raging, nor is he hiding. He is weeping. As he weeps, he babbles, staring off into space, going on in fragmented sentences about James and how he let him down by going after Peter. If he hadn’t been so rash, if he’d just gone to Dumbledore instead and explained, he could have been there for Harry. If he had encouraged James and Lily to do the logical thing and let Dumbledore act as Secret Keeper, they might still be alive. So many what ifs that had haunted him for a decade and a half.
And then finally, finally, Remus’ courage takes a dance card.
“Stop this,” he says firmly but kindly, turning into Sirius on the sofa they are sharing. With two fingers under Sirius’ chin, he reaches up with his thumb to rub away the wet under one eye.
There is a look in Sirius’ gaze like he is lost, like he’s gotten stuck somewhere and can’t navigate his way out. It is as though he is in a labyrinth, or perhaps an oubliette, all of his own making. He looks for a moment like he has forgotten who he is, or perhaps that is just what Remus wants to believe. Who better than he to remind him, bring him back to himself than he? Who remembers, no knows, who Sirius is? Who better to drop him a ladder?
With careful slowness, so that Sirius might flee if he needs to, Remus leans in and ever so softly puts his lips to the other man’s.
“Remus, what are you doing?” asks the other. There is something tired and weary in his voice, and also something surprised and uncertain. Though he is taken off his guard, to his credit he doesn’t jerk away as Remus half expected. He merely mumbles against the mouth pressed to his. The lips touching his own are lightly chapped and a little dry, but it feels nice just to feel them.
“I would think that was obvious,” murmurs Remus softly back. Both of them are holding their position, lips still held lightly together, which to Remus, is almost funny.
“Why?”
“Also obvious.”
Sirius seems to come back to his senses and pulls back a little, breaking their not-quite-actual-kiss so that he can fix Remus with a gentle look.
“Remus, you know what I mess I am, you better than anyone.”
“Maybe so,” he replies, “But you need to be loved Sirius, loved by someone who isn’t afraid of the dark, someone that will love you despite your many flaws, who will accept all of you, let you fall apart and when you’re done, put you back together.”
“And you think that’s you?” asks Sirius quietly. His soft grey eyes are intent upon Remus.
“Considering I’ve been doing so since I arrived, yes Sirius, I think that’s me,” he replies. Hope, oh hope, that constant in his life that never lets him down in that it always lets him down, spins violently like a large wind turbine in his gut. Oh, please, thinks Remus, just this once don’t fail me.
Sirius drops his gaze, focusing on Remus’ other hand which has somehow found its way to one of Sirius’ and is holding on tightly. As Remus follows Sirius’ eye he realizes he is squeezing rather too tightly, all of the tension he is feeling is being channeled into this one small gesture. Though he would like to, he cannot seem to loosen his grip.
“I suppose that’s true,” says Sirius quietly. “I am sorry to be so much trouble.”
“I don’t mind,” says Remus quickly. He can feel it, that hope once again intends to abandon him, leave him weak and beaten like a traveler met with highway robbers. Whatever damage that has been done, has in fact been done. If they need to renegotiate the boundaries of their friendship, that’s already on the table. There is no coming back from this moment as they once were, and for this reason Remus rallies his courage once more. “I love you, you see. So I don’t mind.”
The stillness in the air between them is charged with uncertainty as Remus waits, waits, waits for Sirius to speak. He is still holding the other’s hand, their faces are close but not touching and Sirius is motionless. It is a strange thing to see, a motionless Sirius Black. The seconds on the clock tick, each small sound like a clap of thunder and still, Remus waits.
“I never thought I would hear anyone say those words to me again.”
“Oh, Sirius,” he breathes. “I could tell you daily and never tire from it.”
Sirius purses his lips before licking them in what would be a nervous gesture on anyone else, but couldn’t be on him because he never bloody well gets nervous. “I mean,” he says with hesitancy, “I suppose... it’s you, and really… haven’t we been dancing around this for months, years even?”
Remus suddenly realizes what that flicker in Sirius’ face had been, something he wouldn’t let himself recognize. He feels as though he has fallen into his dream. Sirius, not being much for hesitation, has leaned in, their lips meeting finally in a real kiss.
“Come on,” says Sirius, muttering against Remus’ mouth. “We’ll use my room, beds bigger.” He breaks the kiss to stand and offers his hand to Remus. For his part, Remus can only stare at it, uncomprehending that this is really real. He took the risk, tried to kiss but didn’t expect much to come of it. Hoped, yes, expected? Never.
Sirius tugs him to his feet, and dumbly, Remus follows. This is what he has wanted for years; why isn’t he responding like it? He looks up at Sirius, who is now wearing a wise little smile, like he is waiting for Remus to get it, or perhaps can’t wait for Remus to get it.
Lurching ungainly, Remus reaches for him suddenly as it all snaps into place. He could kick himself for his hesitation, but it hardly matters as they struggle passionately with each other up the stairs in the empty house. Articles of clothing decorate the steps as they make their way up. Hands are reaching everywhere, tongue and lips experimenting delightfully. Their breaths mingle as they murmur each others name between kisses.
When they reach the bedroom they are both nude and Remus sees for the first time just how thin and wasted Sirius really is. He gives the other man a long appraising look. He’s still too thin, the ribs stand out far too well, and those hips bones could cut diamonds. Remus gazes at him mournfully, the strong strapping lad from his youth has been defeated. An uncharacteristic self consciousness seems to cross Sirius’ features, and there is an apology in his expression.
Remus shakes his head. “You need to eat better, Sirius,” he says. “You’re absolutely beautiful, but much too thin.” This will all get better; together they will both get better.
When he finally falls asleep, many hours later after much exhaustive and painstaking exploration, Remus becomes the dreamer once again. This time Short Brown manages that elusive kiss with the handsome Ebony Locks.
13.
Hope, Remus realizes, was never his enemy. He was just too blind, too ready to count himself unworthy to accept that Sirius wanted him as well. They both feel that, a fact which should have been obvious to him.
In the weeks that follow there is a real change in Sirius, making Remus feel smug each time an Order member comments on it. There is a light in his eyes like he had as a youth. He smiles more, and his laughter isn’t bitter. Remus is a willing distraction for his skilled lover. For the first time in his life Remus knows what it is to love and be loved in return.
A serenity descends upon Grimmauld Place despite the gloom and the disrepair. Sirius is more animated, less depressed, restricting his troubles to the nightmares that Remus is there to soothe and kiss away. Will be there, Remus knows, for the rest of Sirius’ life.
They have a lot of time alone together and Remus soon discovers that a moment not spent on making love is one wasted in Sirius’ estimation. The felon and he have pressed together passionately in practically every quarter of the old manor. The only portrait they haven’t scandalized is Sirius’ mother. They are having fun.
Remus feels young, less weary and so too does Sirius seem to be. Neither man will ever truly be at peace. Not so long as Harry is in danger, Remus remains a werewolf, and Sirius is wanted for murder.
14.
On a night in May, curled up in the drawing room, Remus and Sirius are making quiet plans to get away once Harry is safely tucked away at his Aunt’s. They will travel from Apparition point to Apparition point so that they might sip margaritas by the blue of the pacific and earn decadent tans under a friendly Mexican sun.
It is far enough away and in a country that will hardly notice it has gained a werewolf and a felon. It will only be for a few weeks and once Harry arrives they will have returned, smugly sporting brown skin and deciding how best to tell Harry.
Sirius has his concerns but not Remus. If it would make Sirius happy, Harry would serve Remus to Sirius for dinner. He would probably appreciate being spared the details, but then those aren’t on offer.
The Floo activates to reveal Snape stepping through, rivaling the house’s gloom with his imperious stare. The warmth of Sirius’ new personality seems to hibernate. Remus nearly feels stung by the chill.
“That fool, your godson, has gotten himself into a spot of danger,” says Snape. “Unsurprisingly.” The silky smoothness of his tone does not belie the fact that he enjoys every word. Remus rather wishes these two would grow up in this respect.”Have you alerted the rest of the Order?” asks Remus quickly, before Sirius can jump in like it’s a sign of weakness to remain calm. He squeezes Sirius hand, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Snape, and the knowing curl to his lip.
“Naturally,” replies Snape. “Dumbledore says you are to remain put, Sirius. We can’t risk putting such a valued member in danger, can we?”
If it would do any good at all, Remus would hex Snape. Unfortunately, he rather depends on the man for the wolfsbane potion every month. It is no matter; Sirius is already on his feet.
“Like hell,” he says. “Where?” demands Sirius.
“Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries; Dumbledore is lifting the anti-Apparition wards as we speak.” Snape lays a small device on the low table. It has a dark round base with what appears to be a blue tinged bulb. “When that lights up you may Apparate in.”
“Thank you, Severus,” says Remus. He tries to ignore Sirius’ frantic pacing.
“Good luck,” says the other without any enthusiasm, the words dripping with sarcasm. No sooner does Snape leave than the device activates, casting an eerie glow on the room.
When they arrive it is helter skelter, and Sirius and Remus separated. In the heat of battle Remus cannot consider Sirius’ welfare. He is well able to look after himself, having been a rather adept dueler at one time.
The other member s of the Order are there and proving quite a match for their opponents. Soon it is down to only two. It is Bellatrix and Sirius and both are holding their own.
But Sirius, being Sirius, turns cocky. Remus knows what is about to happen before it does. He rushes forward to help, but it is already too late. As Sirius sails into indigo, graceful and beautiful and his, he realizes that he hoped for the wrong thing. In him Sirius found the love and acceptance and peace that getting lost in another can bring. But Remus never needed hope, Sirius was always his. What he needed was more time.
~The End
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