Author’s Notes: So, after spending six months of my life making fun of Harry Potter slash, my muses rabidly attacked me. My muses have a really sick sense of humor. So, please, no one make fun of me for writing this . . . I already feel like enough of a loser.
Warnings: This *is* slash, but there’s no action beyond some kisses. However, if you don’t like that, don’t read this. Also some major league angst.
Spoilers: Throughout all four books. This would actually take place right after the end of the fourth book. Actually, maybe before that, because Sirius goes straight to Lupin’s but the book doesn’t end for like another month... I dunno.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling is way cooler than I could ever hope to be. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin (as well as the other characters mentioned) are way cooler than any character I could ever hope to create. The Harry Potter series has made way more money than I will ever make. No lawsuits, please.
Amends
“Sirius.” Remus Lupin stood back to let his old friend in through the door. “It’s good to see you. How was your trip?”
“Not bad.” Sirius took off his cloak, which was soaked from the pouring rain. “I take it Dumbledore let you know I was coming?”
Remus nodded. “And he let me know that you were bringing a crowd with you. Though I don’t suppose any of them will arrive until tomorrow.” He glanced around his house. “Don’t know where I’m going to put any of you,” he said, half to himself.
Sirius followed his gaze and realized that the room he was standing in, barely ten feet by twelve feet, was the only one in the small cabin. He looked around more carefully and corrected himself; there were two doors on the wall opposite from the door. One of them, he assumed, was a bathroom, but the other was surely a bedroom of some sort.
Then he noticed the nest of blankets in the corner closest to the fire. The door was not a bedroom. Nor was it a kitchen, evidenced by the old refrigerator leaned against one wall and the kettle on the fireplace.
Remus caught his curious gaze towards the door and gave it a nudge as he walked by on the way to the fireplace. Sirius glanced inside to see it was little more than a glorified cage.
“For ‘that time of the month’,” Remus said, a half-smile twisting his lips. “Now that I’m no longer at Hogwarts, I can’t get the Wolfsbane Potion, and I live too close to the village to risk wandering around. Tea?”
“Please,” Sirius said.
“I’ve got a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey,” Remus said, heading for the fireplace. There was a battered old cabinet next to it, which he opened and drew a chipped tea set out of. “I’ve been saving it for years, for a special occasion. Obviously, I don’t have those very often, so it’s actually quite old by now. But that can wait until later.”
All Sirius wanted after going so far in the rain was a hot cup of tea and dry clothes. Remus, as usual, was dressed in his tattered robes. Sirius wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his friend in anything else. Even his school robes had been secondhand. “Do you have anything dry I can wear?” he asked.
Remus gave him a glance and waved his wand in Sirius’ direction. “Aqueous finite,” he said offhandedly, and Sirius felt a momentary burning sensation before his clothes dried. Remus grinned wearily at him. “Lost your touch, Padfoot?”
Sirius rolled his eyes. “Fourteen years without a wand will do that to you.”
Remus laughed and poured water into two of the cups, then handed one of them to Sirius. “You didn’t buy a new one?”
“I can’t just walk into Ollivander’s, you know. And good wands don’t grow on trees.”
“Good point. Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” Sirius admitted.
“Let me see what I can find.” Remus opened the fridge and rummaged around while Sirius further examined his friend’s ‘house.’ The cabinet and refrigerator were the only furniture. There was no bed, only the nest of blankets. There was neither a table nor any sort of chair. There were two oil lamps in the corners of the room furthest from the fire, but that was the only additional lighting. Given that it was night, the house was quite dim. “Sorry about the lack of furnishing,” Remus said, as if he was reading Sirius’ thoughts. “They don’t pay werewolves very much these days.”
“You’re not working?” Sirius guessed, accepting the plate of chicken and bread that Remus was holding out.
“It’s a bit old,” Remus said apologetically. “But it’s the best I can do. No, I’m not working. Haven’t worked since I left Hogwarts last year. Anyone who didn’t know I was a werewolf before certainly knows now.”
“Oh.” Sirius paused. “I suppose that’s technically my fault.”
Remus shrugged. “It certainly could have happened anyway. I’m not bitter. Eat your food.”
“Aren’t you going to have dinner?” Sirius asked, picking up one of the pieces of bread.
“I’ll be fine,” Remus said. “I’m used to not eating.”
“So am I,” Sirius said, pausing with the bread halfway to his mouth.
Remus rolled his eyes. “Let’s see which one of us can be more self-sacrificing? I know you; you’ve been living in a cave outside Hogsmeade eating rats. That’s chicken, and you can have it.”
“I’m not eating unless you have some too,” Sirius said, shoving the plate a few inches closer to Remus.
His friend looked at him for a long second, then sighed and began to eat. “Stubborn bastard,” he remarked.
“Always,” Sirius said.
The two of them cleaned the plate within minutes.
“So,” Remus said. “Is it true? About Voldemort?”
Sirius nodded.
Remus tapped the edge of his tea mug a few times. “Is Harry all right?”
“I’m not sure if that’s exactly the way I would put it,” Sirius said dryly. “But he’s alive, and with Dumbledore nearby, I think he’ll be safe. He was very . . . shaken.”
“I’m not surprised,” Remus said. “That’s four times now he’s survived against Voldemort. I’m beginning to think he leads a charmed life.”
“Or a cursed one,” Sirius said, sipping his tea.
“How did it happen?” Remus asked.
Sirius told him the whole story, while Remus listened silently. A few times he seemed like he was about to speak, but in the end he said nothing, simply sitting there and drinking his tea. “And Dumbledore told me to gather the old crowd and lie low here until he contacted us,” he finished. “I don’t know what he’s got planned.”
Remus glanced around. “I don’t think he knows exactly how small my house is.”
Sirius laughed a little. “So,” he finally said, after a brief silence. The only noise was the crackling of the fire and the drumming of the rain on the roof. “We have a lot of catching up to do, I suppose.”
They regarded each other for a minute.
“I’ll get the whiskey,” Remus said.
“Good thinking,” Sirius replied.
Remus retrieved the bottle and two glasses from the cabinet. Sirius glanced over and was slightly amused and slightly horrified to see that the cabinet contained not only Remus’ dishes, but also his few sets of spare robes and his books. The fact that Remus could fit all his belongings into one rather small cabinet made Sirius shudder. Remus sat down again and poured them both a glass; the two of them settled in front of the fire.
“Sirius . . .” Remus said after a long pause and a few sips of the whiskey, “why didn’t you ever tell them you were innocent?”
Sirius sighed. “You think I didn’t try? But what was I going to say? Peter was the only one besides me who knew I had switched places with him, and he certainly wasn’t going to give himself up. There was no evidence in my favor. The blast pattern had come from my direction, because Peter’s wand had been behind his back. Even Dumbledore said I had been James and Lily’s Secret-Keeper. Who would have believed me?” Sirius gave Remus a look. “You?”
“I would have at least heard you out,” Remus said, refilling his glass. Sirius noted that his hands were trembling.
“It’s not like I had a chance to go to you,” Sirius said with a shrug. “The place was swarming with Ministry officials before I could even fully realize what Peter had just done. There wasn’t much I could do. I tried to tell them I was innocent, but it isn’t as if they believed me. And Crouch had me sent to Azkaban without so much as a fare-thee-well, let alone any semblance of a trial.”
Remus noticed that Sirius’ voice trembled slightly when he said the name of the Wizard Prison. “I can’t imagine what it’s like there,” he said quietly.
Sirius refilled his glass. “No,” he replied. “You can’t.” His voice was harsh and closed-off.
Remus hastily changed the subject. “You should have come to see me last year.”
“I almost did,” Sirius said. “The two times I was in the castle, I was sorely tempted. I knew you were there; the cat told me.” His lips quirked. “He said all the students adored you.”
Remus sighed. “Then why didn’t you?”
“Well, I thought it was a tad more important to find Peter and secure my innocence before visiting old school-friends,” Sirius said. “Even very close school-friends.”
“I could have helped you,” Remus protested.
“Would you have?” Sirius asked quietly.
Remus turned away, gazing into the fire as if the answers would appear. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’d like to think that I would have at least listened.”
“You say that now,” Sirius replied, “because now you know I’m innocent.”
Remus said nothing.
“I know,” Sirius said, “because I remember the look you gave me before I was taken away to Azkaban. I saw you in the crowd. The look on your face . . . was just . . . complete revulsion. You hated me.”
“I thought you had killed James and Peter,” Remus whispered.
“I don’t blame you for hating me, Remus,” Sirius said. “But I couldn’t trust you.”
“I’m sorry,” Remus said. “I didn’t want you to die. When I heard they had authorized the Kiss . . . for a few minutes, I was terrified. Whether or not you were innocent, you were still the only one alive from the four of us, besides me. I tried to hate you.” He laughed softly. “But I wasn’t really good at it.”
There was a long silence while both of them finished off their whiskey and Remus poured them both a third cup.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Sirius said. “You know my story. What have you been doing?”
“It’s not cheerful, and it isn’t long,” Remus replied dryly. “I’ve been bouncing from job to job, operating on the principle that if the application doesn’t say ‘are you a werewolf’ I don’t have to tell them, and then getting fired when they find out. Hence this sad excuse for a house.” He waved at their surroundings.
“That’s it?” Sirius asked.
“Unless you want the gory details.”
“Try me.”
Remus gulped down the rest of his cup and looked pensively into the empty glass. The liquor was relaxing him, loosening his tongue. “Actually, there pretty much are no gory details, unless you count the month of complete unemployment in which I nearly starved to death.”
“See, that’s a gory detail,” Sirius remarked. He shifted so he was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, facing his friend. “When was that?”
“The month after you got taken to Azkaban,” Remus replied quietly. “But never mind. It’s an awful story.”
“I want to hear it anyway,” Sirius said firmly.
Remus said nothing for a long minute, staring into the fire. The rain was starting to slacken; the drumming noise had reduced. “I remember when I found out,” he said. “That James and Lily were dead. I had moved back in with my parents after school . . . my mother got the owl, and she came in to tell me . . .”
He poured himself another shot of whiskey and downed it, then poured a fifth without waiting and began to sip again. “Then, God, only the next day, another to tell me about you and Peter . . . and the very next, one saying that you were going straight to Azkaban without a trial . . .”
“What did you do?” Sirius asked quietly, when he saw that Remus wasn’t going to continue without prompting.
“Left home. Came to see you off. Tried to hate you.” Remus downed his shot and poured both himself and Sirius another. “Found this place. It was deserted, so I don’t have to pay rent. Moved in, crawled into a bottle of whiskey, and stayed there.”
Sirius looked down at the shot of whiskey in his hands.
“Yes, it’s leftover from then,” Remus said, trying to keep his voice light. “It’s the only bottle I didn’t drink. Of course, spending all that money on whiskey, I hardly had enough for food. But I didn’t care. Six days like that. I didn’t eat. I only slept when I passed out from all the liquor. I just drank. That was good enough for me.”
He trailed off into silence again. “And?” Sirius prompted.
“And I probably would’ve managed to die, if Dumbledore hadn’t sent me an owl saying he needed to see me, and it was urgent. I still had some shreds of dignity and duty, so I gathered myself together and took Floo powder to the castle. Passed out in the staff room fireplace as I arrived and nearly died there. I think Snape found me. That has to list as one of the most embarrassing moments of my life; I’m glad I wasn’t conscious to be humiliated. Anyway, I woke up three days later in the hospital wing. And you know Madame Pomfrey, she wouldn’t let anyone see me. I had to have -- ”
“Absolute quiet,” Sirius said with him, and they both laughed. Sirius finished his cup of whiskey and poured himself another.
“But of course, she couldn’t just wave her wand and heal me.”
“Why not?” Sirius asked.
“She said it was because the damage had taken place over the course of six days, the healing would have to as well. Really, I think she was just trying to teach me a lesson. One I deserved, no doubt about it.”
“So what then?” Sirius asked.
“Then McGonagall came to see me. And you know McGonagall, all stern and ‘you could have died’ and on and on. I think I stopped her dead in her tracks when I said I wish I’d managed it. She just kind of . . . looked at me for a while.” Remus stared into the fireplace, avoiding Sirius’ eyes. “I said I wanted to tell her a story. I still remember this by heart . . . it’s as if the words just burned into me.”
“Can I hear it?” Sirius asked quietly.
Remus cleared his throat and took another swig of whiskey, forgoing the glass and drinking straight from the bottle. “Once upon a time, there was a boy named Remus Lupin. Remus Lupin was a werewolf, so he didn’t have any friends, because no one else wanted to be around him. Then Remus went to school and for the first time in his life, he had friends. He had three wonderful friends, and he cared for them very much. Then, after school, one of the friends caused the deaths of the other two friends and was sent to prison forever. Then there was just a man named Remus Lupin, and he was alone again, and since he remembered what it was like to be alone and didn’t like it, he decided that he would finish the job for his good friend Sirius and kill himself.”
Remus fell silent.
Sirius leaned over and put a hand on Remus’ shoulder, wavering a little in an attempt to keep his balance. “I never would have hurt you.”
“I know that,” Remus replied. He started at Sirius’ touch, then shrugged out from underneath it. “Now. But I didn’t know it then. And I might not have cared. All I cared about was the fact that I was alone . . . again.”
“What did McGonagall say?” Sirius asked.
A tiny smile crossed Remus’ lips. “Nothing. I stunned her speechless. She just . . . hugged me. If you can picture McGonagall hugging anyone, let alone me, you have quite an imagination. But she did. And I . . . I suppose the word for it would be ‘small-scale nervous breakdown.’” Remus shrugged. “Maybe it’s unmanly to cry, but I did. I cried and cried for what seemed like hours while McGonagall held me. She cried too. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her cry.”
“I don’t think it’s unmanly,” Sirius said, stealing the bottle from Remus’ hands and taking a swig. He reflected that perhaps they should lay off the liquor; Remus’ eyes were starting to look a little glassy. Also, he kept dividing and spinning around the room in Sirius’ vision, which really couldn’t be good. “Believe me, I cried plenty in Azkaban.”
“Yeah, well, dementors,” Remus said, as if that explained everything. “After that, I slept for another day and felt better. Madame Pomfrey started letting visitors come in. We had only graduated . . . what, three or four years before that? So the older kids remembered me. I got a lot of visitors. It . . . helped. It let me know that just because the three of you were gone, didn’t mean I was completely alone.”
He paused. “Dumbledore came to see me on the last day I was there, before Madame Pomfrey said I could go. I asked why he had needed to see me, and he just smiled and said because he thought I needed to see them.” He took the bottle of whiskey and took a long drink. “So that’s my story. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, right? Anything’s better than where you were.”
Sirius shrugged.
“Don’t know how you survived,” Remus said, looking away.
“I don’t know how I did either,” Sirius replied.
“You ever wonder if it was for the best?” Remus asked slowly. “James and Lily, I mean. Because . . . if Voldemort hadn’t tried to kill Harry . . .”
“I don’t know,” Sirius said with a sigh. “I do think that sometimes. I don’t like the idea, of course. But if they had to die, I’m sure they’re glad that they took down Voldemort doing it.”
Remus nodded a little.
“Let’s think of something more cheerful,” Sirius said, taking a large swig of the whiskey. The room was looking very fuzzy.
“Like what?” Remus asked dryly.
“I don’t know,” Sirius said. “Peter spending twelve years as a rat, maybe?”
The two of them looked at each other for a long minute, then they both started to laugh. They laughed until they cried, leaning on each other for support. Finally, Remus managed to catch his breath. “We . . . are so drunk.”
“I know,” Sirius said, taking another swig from the bottle. “It’s great. I haven’t been drunk in years.”
There was a moment of silence. The rain had stopped; the only noise was the crackling of the fire.
“Why did you think I was the spy, Sirius?” Remus asked quietly.
Sirius nearly choked. “You sure know how to kill a good mood, Remus.”
Remus said nothing. Just looked at him.
Sirius sighed. “Come on, Remus. You were acting weird. You were moody and secretive every time I saw you. It didn’t fit in with the person I knew. Something was going on.”
It was Remus’ turn to nearly choke. “You thought I was the spy because of that?”
Sirius blinked. “Well . . . yes.”
“Sirius, don’t you think I have an ounce of intelligence?” Remus asked. “If I was a spy, I certainly wouldn’t act secretive!”
“Then why were you?” Sirius asked.
Remus closed his eyes, rubbing his temples as if he had a sudden headache. “Sirius, I had stuff going on. It was fourteen years ago and I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sirius looked frustrated. “You don’t think you can tell me?”
“If I thought I could tell you, I would have told you then,” Remus replied.
“Did anyone else know?”
“James did,” Remus said, looking away. “But he was the only one I ever told.”
“Why don’t you trust me?” Sirius asked, frowning. “You’ve trusted me with everything else.”
“There are reasons, okay?” Remus asked irritably.
Sirius said nothing. For a while, they drank in silence.
“I’m getting sleepy,” Remus said, flopping over sideways so he was half in his pile of blankets. He waved vaguely at the other side of the room and the oil lamps went out.
“Don’t you get cold?” Sirius asked. “At nights?”
Remus yawned. “It’s summer. And I leave the fire going all night. There’s an Unburnable Charm on the area around it, so I don’t need to worry about setting the house on fire. Don’t know where everyone else is going to sleep, though. Fact, I don’t know where you’re going to sleep tonight.”
“I’m fine here,” Sirius said, also yawning.
“You won’t be cold?” Remus asked.
“If I get cold, I’ll just transform. Dogs have fur.”
“True. Well. G’night.”
“Night,” Sirius replied.
There was silence for a few minutes.
“Sirius?” Remus said quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I missed you.”
Sirius paused. “Thank you,” he said.
“I didn’t want to admit that I missed you,” Remus said. “But I did. More than I missed Peter. More than I even missed James. And I hated myself for missing you, because that was like admitting that I still cared for you after the evil things you had done. Well. That I thought you had done.” He paused. “Did you miss me?”
“I would have,” Sirius said, “if I’d been capable of it. But . . . the dementors . . . suck out all the good memories. Three months in and I barely remembered you existed. It wasn’t until I got out that it all came back to me. I remembered some things. The guilt . . . the anger . . . but nothing good.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself for James and Lily,” Remus said quietly.
Sirius moved over so they were closer. He could see Remus’ face in the firelight. “I wish I had trusted you.”
“We should have seen it was Peter,” Remus said gloomily. “We both should have realized. When didn’t Peter want to be in the care of someone powerful? We should have kept better track of him after school. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone to Voldemort. We should have seen it. We should have -- ”
“Stop it,” Sirius said, placing his hand over Remus’ mouth to silence him. “That doesn’t help.”
Remus stared up at him, wide-eyed.
Sirius took his hand away and plopped down again. “If I can’t blame myself, you shouldn’t either.”
“I suppose not,” Remus said.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” Sirius said.
Remus chuckled. “Even with all that whiskey?”
Sirius shook his head. “I’m worried about what tomorrow will bring.”
“Me too,” Remus said. “But it’s better if we meet it well-rested.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow at him. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to end the conversation. But as I do know you better, I know you’re trying to end the conversation.”
Remus shrugged.
“Come on, talk to me. Please?” Sirius wheedled, putting on his best innocent smile. “Please?”
Remus sat up abruptly, picked up his pillow, and whacked Sirius in the face with it. Sirius went sprawling backwards, a rather surprised look on his face.
“That,” Remus said smugly, “was for being a jerk.”
Sirius sat up again and grabbed for the pillow. Remus yanked it out of his reach, but Sirius kept trying, leaning over him and losing his balance. Remuse went sprawling, and Sirius fell on top of him, both of them laughing, able to be seventeen again for just a few moments.
“Get off, you’re heavy,” Remus muttered once they had calmed down, pushing at Sirius.
“Not really,” Sirius mumbled. “As you said, I’ve been living off rats in Hogsmeade.” He tried to shift, but the blankets tangled around him. “Bloody hell,” he said, trying to kick his way out of them and only entangling himself worse.
“Bet Harry doesn’t know what a klutz you are,” Remus remarked.
“Oh, shut up.” Sirius hauled himself upwards. One of the blankets was trapped under Remus, and when he tried to pull his way out of it, he ended up falling down again, this time directly on top of his friend. “Oh, I give up.”
“You can’t give up,” Remus said. “You’re lying on top of me and I want to sleep.”
“But I’m lazy and drunk and -- ” Sirius eyed Remus’ hand, which was lying on the floor next to his head. “And you’re shaking.”
“It’s from lack of blood flow. Get off.”
“Why are you shaking?” Sirius asked, for some reason fascinated by this. “Are you cold?”
“No, I’m just . . .” Remus’ voice trailed off. “Will you just get up?”
Sirius examined the situation. “I’m not sure I can,” he finally admitted.
Remus sighed. “How did you manage to get so tangled?”
“Well, your blankets are lying every which-way,” Sirius defended himself.
“Look, at least move over,” Remus snapped.
“You’re surprisingly comfortable,” Sirius said. “And I’m very drunk.”
“I noticed,” Remus replied.
“All right, I’ll get up,” Sirius grumbled. He pushed himself a few inches up, then stopped.
“What is it now?” Remus asked. “Are you tangled again?”
“No, I just . . . don’t want to get up,” Sirius said, not moving from where he was. “You just looked so lonely for a minute . . .”
“You always were the smartest out of the four of us, Sirius,” Remus said, a hint of an edge in his voice.
“Makes me wonder why I never came to visit you,” Sirius said thoughtfully.
Remus sighed. “You’re drunk, Sirius, and you need to go to sleep.”
“I’m very drunk,” Sirius agreed, and kissed him. Remus’ eyes opened wide with shock, then closed. For just a second, he began to kiss back, then he shoved Sirius off him abruptly, with enough force that his friend went tumbling backwards.
Remus sat up, collecting himself. Sirius was sitting among the blankets, blinking, apparently quite surprised himself at what had just happened. Remus opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
“Sorry,” Sirius said softly, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I did that. Guess I’m more drunk than I thought . . .” He looked at Remus closely. He had expected his friend to look relieved or even happy at those words. But the look on Remus’ face was nothing of the sort. The only word Sirius could think of to describe it was heartbroken.
“Don’t worry about it,” Remus said, his voice not quite steady. “That whiskey is pretty potent stuff.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sirius asked. His alcohol-marinated brain was not quite up to dealing with this situation.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re a lost puppy and I just kicked you in the face,” Sirius said.
Remus shrugged.
The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute. Then Remus picked up his wand, pointed it at Sirius, and said, “Alcoholus clerificas.”
Sirius blinked as his mind suddenly felt wonderfully clear. The slightly queasy feeling left his stomach, and he was able to open his eyes all the way again. “There’s a Sobering Charm?” he asked.
Remus nodded and performed it upon himself. “It’s fairly new. They only came up with it a few years ago.”
“Waste of all that whiskey,” Sirius said thoughtfully.
“Not really,” Remus said. “We had gotten past the fun part of being drunk anyway.”
“True.”
More uncomfortable silence.
“Remus, I really am sorry,” Sirius said, not looking at his friend. “I don’t know what got into me. Starved for human affection, I suppose.” He had the distinct feeling that his words were making things worse, not better, and risked a glance at Remus. As he’d half-expected, the kicked puppy look was back. Sirius had a sudden feeling that he was going about this the entire wrong way, and the pieces started to fall into place. “Don’t tell me.”
Remus nodded miserably.
“That’s why you were so moody and closed-off?” Sirius asked. “Because you were falling in love with me?”
“Why don’t you announce it to the whole world?” Remus asked bitterly, then flopped back down and pulled the pillow over his head. “If you say it a little louder, they might be able to hear you at Hogwarts.”
Sirius examined the situation and decided to ask an unimportant question first. “James knew?”
Remus nodded and moved the pillow, speaking to the ceiling. “I told him. I think he had already realized, though, or else he wouldn’t have cornered me on the subject.” He sat up again and glanced at his friend. “James is the one who told me not to tell you.”
“Really?” Sirius blinked. “Why?”
“Because we were friends, Sirius. I didn’t want to risk ruining that. I’d rather have you as a friend than not at all. And James said he was pretty sure you weren’t . . . like that . . . so I didn’t tell you. And I tried to act normal, but I obviously wasn’t very good at it, and now I think if I’d told you, perhaps we might have realized Peter was the spy because you wouldn’t suspect me anymore, and . . . I’m rambling.”
“To begin with,” Sirius said, holding up his hand, “there’s certainly no use hindsighting about spies and Peter. Secondly, if I wasn’t ashamed of having a werewolf for a friend, why would that have made any difference?”
“It’s different,” Remus said firmly, sitting up again and looking into the fire. “If I had fallen in love with James, then I probably would have told you and not him. It wasn’t a matter of who would be ashamed. It was a matter of not wanting to ruin friendship by forcing it to be more.”
Sirius swore under his breath. Now that he looked back, it was rather obvious, and he felt like a complete idiot.
“That’s why . . . your betrayal hurt more than anyone else’s could have,” Remus said, still staring into the fire. “It was like the person I knew . . . the person I . . . loved . . . didn’t even exist.”
Sirius didn’t know what he could say to that.
Remus shook his head. “When I looked at the map and saw Peter’s name . . . knew he wasn’t dead . . . knew some big mistake had been made . . . it was like finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. To be able to hope that you might be innocent, that I might be able to be your friend again . . .” He laughed softly. “Then you left, of course. We hadn’t been able to prove your innocence, and you had to leave without so much as a word. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I got the message you sent me, I’ve gotten your owls over this year, but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. I knew that. We had been apart for so long . . .”
“I’m still the same person,” Sirius said quietly.
Remus laughed shortly. “Sure. And so am I. The fourteen years of loneliness and pain didn’t change either of us a bit, I’m sure.”
Sirius sighed. “Remus, when I look at you, you look different. You look . . . old.” He reached out and touched one of the streaks of grey that ran through his friend’s hair. Remus flinched away. “But I can also still see the boy I knew when I first came to Hogwarts. I can still see Moony.”
“I always had the grey hair,” Remus said, not looking at him. “It’s a werewolf thing.”
“But you didn’t always have those lines around your eyes,” Sirius said. “Tell me, Remus, do you even remember how to smile?”
“Smiling is easy,” Remus said. “The hard part is meaning it.”
Sirius closed his eyes for a long second. “Look, I don’t pretend to be an expert in the field of relationships. I’ve spent the past fourteen years with almost no human contact. Twelve years in Azkaban is enough to make anyone forget what love is. Then a year lurking outside Hogwarts, occasionally talking to a cat. Two hours with human company, then I’m off again for another year, this time with nothing but a hippogriff for company.” He paused. “Not talktive creatures, hippogriffs.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “You certainly didn’t love me before.”
“No,” Sirius said. “And I won’t lie and say I did just to make you feel better. I never thought of you like that, Remus. You were a good friend and I cared for you as much as anyone else.”
“Then why are we even having this conversation?” Remus asked, frustration evident in his voice. “Why don’t you just drop it and let’s get some sleep.”
“We’re having the conversation because I kissed you,” Sirius reminded him.
“Yes. Because you were lonely and drunk. Let’s just forget about it.”
“You’re awfully anxious to forget about it,” Sirius remarked. “It almost makes me think you didn’t want it to happen.”
Remus pushed his hair out of his face. “Sirius . . . nothing could make me happier than you returning my feelings. But it’s not going to happen, and that’s something I came to grips with a long time ago. Even before James died. I had accepted that. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to agonize over this, all right?”
“If that was accepting it, I’d hate to see what you would have acted like if you hadn’t accepted it,” Sirius said dryly.
“Shut up,” Remus snapped. “You think it was easy? Is that what you think? Easy to pretend that you were no more than a good friend, easy to keep my mouth shut and not tell anyone after I thought you had betrayed us? I never breathed a word of it to anyone except James, and that was hard enough; I’m sorry if I acted strange and made you think I was a bloody spy!” Remus was outright yelling at this point. “If you had trusted me, you might have figured it out, but no -- Remus doesn’t act strange because he’s having a rough time, he acts strange because he’s being Voldemort’s slave! It’s good to know that you had such a high opinion of me!”
“Remus, that wasn’t what I meant,” Sirius said quickly.
“I don’t care what you meant!” Remus shouted. “What matters is that you didn’t think for one second that maybe I was having problems, maybe you should talk to me. All that occurred to you was that I might be a spy!”
“At least I didn’t accuse you,” Sirius retorted. “Or go around telling everyone else!”
“For Christ’s bloody sake, Sirius, if you’d just told James, he would’ve been able to tell you that you were wrong and you wouldn’t have had to spend twelve years in Azkaban for such a stupid mistake! It’s your own damn fault!”
Sirius blinked at him, apparently shocked into silence.
“Oh God.” Remus hid his face in his hands. “Sirius, I’m sorry. I had no right to say that.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“Sirius, I . . . I don’t blame you for Lily and James. You know that, right?”
Sirius nodded. It was his turn to stare into the fire, avoiding his friend’s eyes.
“I don’t think it’s your fault that you went to Azkaban either,” Remus said in a small voice. “I’m willing to blame that all on Peter.”
Sirius nodded again, still steadfastly looking into the fire.
“Say something,” Remus said. “Please.”
“What do you want me to say?” Sirius asked quietly.
“That you’re not mad at me for saying something so monumentally stupid?” Remus tried.
“I’m not mad at you, Remus.” Sirius fell silent again.
“But . . .”
“But you’re right,” Sirius said. “I should have seen it. I should have realized you cared far too much for James and I to ever betray us. Voldemort couldn’t offer you anything. You never wanted anything. I don’t know how I could have been so blind . . .”
“As you said,” Remus said softly, “‘should haves’ don’t help anything.”
Sirius looked at him for a long minute. “Maybe I can still make amends?”
“Maybe . . .” Remus said, barely breathing.
Sirius moved closer, slowly, careful not to take his friend by surprise this time. Remus closed his eyes and let Sirius kiss him without reacting.
“Why . . .?” he asked, when Sirius pulled away.
“I don’t know,” Sirius admitted. “It just seems like a good idea.”
“If you’re doing it just to make me happy -- ” Remus began.
“No, it’s not that,” Sirius said. “I mean, I want you to be happy, but . . . that’s not why.”
“You can’t just kiss me and not know why,” Remus said.
“I don’t, though,” Sirius said. “I just . . . wanted to.” He paused. “I don’t know if I love you, Remus. I don’t even know what love really is. And if you don’t want me to do anything, I’ll understand.”
“No . . . it’s okay.” Remus managed a smile. “I don’t mind. I don’t want to be lonely anymore . . .”
“No matter what happens, I’ll always be your friend,” Sirius promised.
“I know,” Remus said. “I know that now. Maybe . . . ” He looked away shyly. “Maybe I can teach you . . . what love is.”
“I hope so.”