Work Text:
I know if destiny's kind, I've got the rest on my mind
Well, my heart, it don't beat, it don't beat the way it used to
And my eyes, they don't see you no more
The Lupin Cottage living situation is this: Remus sleeps on the couch in the sitting room while Sirius sleeps in his old room. It works perfectly fine until mid-July, when Sirius begins to have nightmares.
It’s blood-curdling to hear his screams and cries of terror and then waking him up just to be met with nothing behind his eyes.
Remus frantically soothes him every time, murmurs sweet nothings into his hair as he holds him, long after Sirius has fallen back asleep in his arms.
“I don’t know what to think,” he tells Molly despairingly, sitting at her kitchen table. “I don’t. When he wakes up it’s back to the general dissociation but he sounds so alive, Molly, like he’s still—” he breaks off and rubs his stubbled chin with a shaky sigh. “I can’t do anything, and it’s— it’s awful.”
Molly pushes a cup of tea in his direction and he takes it automatically, clutches it with the desperation of a scared child clinging onto their mother’s arm.
“Holding him helps, right?”
“I think so. He’s clearly agitated when he wakes up, but when I hold him he quiets. As usual. Touch always grounds him.”
Molly nods, pursing her lips. “What if you slept next to him?”
“I thought of that. I just—” he shakes his head. “It feels like taking advantage,” he whispers.
“Is it taking advantage? You’ve done everything in your power to treat him well, and not once has the thought of abusing his current state passed your mind, has it?”
“Of course not,” he bristles.
“So why do you act like being near him at night equates to taking advantage of him?” she asks sharply. “You’re doing it to help him, Remus. Don’t wrap yourself up in misplaced guilt. What would he tell you right now, if he could?”
“You’re being ridiculous, Moons! It’s okay. I have nightmares too. What Jamie and Peter don’t know won’t hurt em, eh? I’m always here, no matter how late at night it is.”
The following night, Remus shares the bed with him. Sirius inevitably wakes up to hands wiping his tears away and affirmations in his ear that he can’t quite understand so he settles quickly. You are safe, Remus says. Safe .
He is too late, but he says it all the same.
Harry visits near the end of the summer.
He’d come to the Weasleys to see the Quidditch World Cup with them, but it was postponed due to Death Eater activity, much to his and Ron’s disappointment.
Molly writes that she thinks it would be good for the boy to come, and at first, Remus resolutely disagrees. Sirius is haunting to the strongest of adults, and Harry’s only thirteen. Exposing him to the horrors of dementors— it’s not smart.
And Sirius has been waking up. Slowly but surely, he reacts more to Remus. There’s light in his eyes, and Remus can’t help but selfishly think that seeing Harry might make him retreat back into himself again.
Molly calls him foolish, and he supposes he is. Harry could also help Sirius, bring him further out.
And honestly, he does want to see Harry. He enjoyed the Patronus lessons, enjoyed teaching in general, but particularly him. In another life, maybe, he wouldn’t have been just a stranger on the train.
In another life, maybe, he wouldn’t have to help Sirius with every basic function.
Sirius hates getting shaved. Remus tries it once, holds his chin as gently as he can as he runs the razor along the skin, but Sirius tenses up and his empty eyes shift from side to side. It’s clearly distressing and Remus can’t continue, just washes the beard and cuts it as close as he can. (Sirius had always thought beards were hot, used to tease Remus for his obsessive shaving to rid the hints of lycanthropy.)
Settling him for naps proves harder as time goes on. He grows restless, learns how to cry out in protest and Remus is rarely, rarely, able to make him do something he doesn’t want to. He can only stand against resistance when it comes to basic living functions like the nutrient potions and bathing.
After a particularly tiring struggle to get Sirius to take a nap, Remus emerges from the bedroom with a sigh and sets out to write to Molly and accept. Harry deserves to be able to see his godfather.
When he returns an hour later, Sirius’ eyes are open, though he’s still curled under the covers.
“Hello, how did we sleep?” Remus asks as he runs his hand through Sirius’ hair. “Peacefully, I hope.”
Sirius presses his head into Remus’ fingers in answer.
“Mmm.” Remus takes Sirius’ hands in his and runs his fingers over the tense knuckles. “Harry’s coming to visit, love,” he says, and swallows down a sudden lump of grief. “Your godson.”
Sirius doesn’t react to him speaking, rarely does. Remus isn’t actually sure if he understands a word.
“Thought you should know.”
Silence.
“Time to eat, then,” Remus murmurs half to himself. “Alright, up we go, darling,” he says, and goes to grab the potions.
The pet names have always been Sirius’ language of affection, but Remus has found himself saying them more and more recently in an effort to further comfort Sirius (and maybe himself, as well.)
Molly writes back to confirm Harry's visit, and the next day, Remus finds himself waiting in the sitting room with a cold mug of tea clutched in his hands. He jumps up to steady Harry when he stumbles through the floo.
“Thanks,” Harry says, then pulls away to look around the small room and the disarray of books and records.
“It’s not much,” Remus says with a shrug. “It belonged to my parents.”
“I like it,” Harry says, fidgeting with his shirt.
They stare at each other for a moment.
“Hot chocolate?” Remus offers, just like he did when he tutored Harry on his Patronus.
Harry smiles. “Oh, sure.”
He walks them into the little kitchen and sets some water to boil. “What do you know about Sirius?” he asks, his back to Harry so he doesn’t have to meet his eyes and display the pain in his own. Cowardice.
“Um. He got the Kiss. Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t let me see him at the end of the year. Mrs. Weasley said he can’t do a lot of stuff on his… own.”
“No, he can’t,” Remus says, scraping Honeydukes chocolate Molly sent over into two mugs. His hands tremble ever so slightly. “He’s not… there. Not really. I’m not sure how much exactly the Dementors took, but he doesn’t respond to much stimuli.” He bites his lip. “He may fully recover, unlikely, or he may never improve further than how he is now.”
“Is he in pain?” Harry asks quietly.
Remus finally turns around. “I don’t think so. I… I try to give him as much warmth and comfort as I can. I just don’t know how aware he is of his surroundings.” He leans on the wooden table with a quiet sigh. “I implore you not to… think of him as if he’s less than.”
Harry makes an indignant noise. “I would never!”
“I know, I know,” Remus says quickly. “I just… want you to understand. That he can’t do much, but he’s still your godfather.”
“Yeah,” Harry says quietly. “He told me… he told me I could come live with him when his name was freed.”
Remus’ face contorts in grief. “I’m sorry, but—”
“I know, I can’t, of course. But I just— he wanted me,” Harry says, sounding lost. “And he got hurt. Trying to protect me.”
From you.
Remus stares at a knot in the table.
“I don’t blame you. It’s not your fault,” Harry says.
“I blame myself,” Remus says. “I likely always will. There’s nothing to be done about it.”
Harry frowns. “I don’t blame you, but I forgive you. If you want that.”
Remus laughs humorlessly, forgetting that he is showing his jagged edges to the person who’d only ever seen him as his calm and kind professor. “I don’t want forgiveness, Harry. It won’t help Sirius.”
Harry stares at him.
The kettle goes off and both of them jump. Remus turns and fills both mugs and mixes it in. He hands one of the mugs to Harry, who holds it and stares at the settled brown liquid as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. “He’s alive. That’s— Mrs. Weasley said maybe he can get better. Right?”
Remus is silent for a moment, staring at the centre table. “He is getting better, but I don’t think he’ll ever be who he was, even who he was after Azkaban. The dementors did take so much from him…” he trails off.
“Is he stuck? Like, in… in his body? Or is he just— is his mind also kind of gone, too?”
“I don’t know,” Remus answers quietly. “I strongly suspect the latter. Dementor effects don’t particularly trap, they just take.”
Harry is quiet, his tea untouched. “What was his patronus?” Harry asks.
Remus swallows, knows there’s a good chance he’ll never see it again. “His animagus form. Padfoot.”
“Oh.”
“Yes.” After a moment, “Would you like to see him?”
(Neither of them are drinking the hot chocolate anyway.)
Harry nods and follows him down the hallway and into the bedroom, where Sirius is curled up. Remus gently wakes him up.
While Sirius blinks away sleep, Remus looks up at a tentative Harry and nods to him. Harry walks forwards and sits on the edge of the bed as Remus helps Sirius sit up.
“Hey, Sirius,” Harry says quietly.
Sirius doesn’t make any move to acknowledge him, just moves his hand back and forth on the blanket.
“He looks healthier,” Harry says to Sirius. “It’s good. That’s good.”
Sirius makes a soft noise. Remus holds him a little tighter.
“Really,” Harry says softly, then exhales. “We never really met. I know you met me as a baby, but I don’t really remember it. So— I’m Harry, your godson. I’m a Gryffindor, like you and dad and mum and Prof— I mean, Remus.”
Harry launches into stories of his time at Hogwarts so far, rivalling even the most daring of the Marauders’ adventures, and Sirius slowly relaxes against Remus. The evening is spent like this, nearly content, broken but growing something from the cracks.
That night, Sirius wakes up from a nightmare and promptly vomits.
Remus startles awake and whispers frantically to him as he wandlessly vanishes the sick. Sirius whines uncomfortably and shuts his eyes tightly, tears already spilling over.
“It’s okay, it’s out of your system, it’s okay,” Remus murmurs as he rubs little circles into his palm with one hand and gently cradles his head with the other. After Sirius calms down a bit, sniffling softly into his shoulder, Remus gently moves him to sit against the headboard as he stifles a yawn.
He reaches for the cup of water and spoon always ready on the nightstand and helps a distressed Sirius drink a few spoonfuls until Remus is satisfied that he’s not dehydrated from throwing up.
He kisses Sirius’ forehead and wipes away the tear tracks as he hears rustling in the hallway. A few seconds later, Harry opens the door softly, yellow light spilling into the room.
“Sorry,” Harry whispers, his eyes wide. “Is he okay?”
Remus hesitates, then nods. “I’m sorry we woke you.”
“That’s okay. I couldn’t sleep,” Harry mumbles, still perched in the doorway.
Sirius makes a little noise behind Remus, who turns to look at Sirius and finds that he’s reaching for Harry weakly while gripping the blankets with his other hand. His eyes are shadowed and dull but his body language is screaming for his godson.
Remus opens his mouth to say something but Harry’s already flicking on the light and moving towards Sirius. He sits hesitantly on the side of the bed, and Sirius wraps thin arms around him. Harry immediately hugs him back tightly, his glasses knocked askew when he pushes his face into Sirius’ shoulder.
Remus inhales raggedly and stares at them.
Harry opens his eyes and meets Remus’ almost defiantly, as if daring him to tell Harry to stop. Remus just smiles and gives him a tight nod, barely trusting himself not to break down crying.
They stay there like that for a very long time.