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Sirius mentions it in passing, one day. They’re sitting at the table, the silence weighing down on them as they try to pretend that they’re not worlds apart. Remus is old and tired, and his back aches in ways that it never did when he was seventeen. He’s going grey, which seems to be of great amusement to Sirius. He watches Sirius, the ghost of the boy he loved, and sees that he’s changed too. Sirius, whose hands shake too much to hold a teacup; who is now too claustrophobic to sit in a room that doesn’t have all the windows and doors open; who jumps at every chair scraping, every tap dripping. The first war broke them, and Azkaban did the rest.
‘You know,’ Sirius begins. His voice is gravelly and weak from disuse. ‘Back then – I thought it was you.’
Remus makes a quiet noise of confusion, taking another sip of tea. Sirius has an odd look on his face – is it an odd look, or has Remus forgotten how to read him? – and he feels suddenly wary.
'Toward the end, I thought you were the spy.’
The news should not hurt him: toward the end of the war, there were no allies in the Order. Everyone was working independently, hiding their motives. Remus knows that people suspected him; the way conversations would die out as he entered a room; the way they would look at him after the moon, fearful. Some of the Order members used silver cutlery during dinner meetings, while shooting him wary glances. He pretended not to notice.
And, besides – hasn’t he, for the last twelve years, thought Sirius to be the traitor? Hasn’t he cursed the name Sirius Black time and time again, the boy with the silver tongue, who fooled them all? The boy who was just like the rest of his family?
The news should not hurt him. The first war is over, and they are too old for this. It should not hurt him – but oh, it does.
'I see.’ Remus says, and falls silent. Sirius looks at him like he’s about to apologise, but he says nothing.
He’s gone the next morning without a goodbye, but there is an opened letter from Harry sitting on the table. Harry has been chosen for the Triwizard Tournament – and Sirius, stupid, reckless Sirius, has obviously gone to see him. Remus will have to go and track him down.
Tomorrow, Remus thinks. I’ll find him tomorrow.
For now, he thinks back to the first war, digging up every painful memory he’s fought to repress. He remembers sharing a flat with Sirius, freshly graduated and drunk on the idea of freedom. It had been one of the happiest times of his life; waking up in a small flat (it was cheap and dingy and falling apart around their ears; Sirius could have afforded a mansion, but Remus had insisted that the flat was more romantic; Sirius had laughed and bought them the flat, because he could never say no to him) with sunlight in their eyes, the mattress creaking as they tried to avoid the sun. He remembers the domesticity: trying to teach Sirius to use kitchen appliances; cooking together; curled up on the couch together, watching bad Muggle films that Sirius pretended to dislike. He remembers the affection – and for the first time, thinks, was any of it real?
The next day, he goes to hunt Sirius down. Instead, he finds Padfoot in a cave outside of Hogsmeade. The dog is far too skinny. There is no meat on his body, and he looks as if he can barely stand. His fur is matted and dirty. For a moment, Remus is sure that it isn’t Padfoot - that it’s just a stray dog eating dead rats. He remembers the Sirius he knew; handsome and energetic as both man and dog, with the most intelligent eyes he’s ever seen. When this dog looks at him, it just looks tired and sad. There’s no way it’s the same person.
But then the dog is changing, and Sirius – clothes hanging off him like rags – offers him a weak smile. He shifts, trying to hide the rats, and he realises that Sirius is ashamed. Remus’ heart breaks, and he sits down next to Sirius. They say nothing.
The silence between them is heavy; in it, Remus can feel every unspoken word; everything that needs to be said, that neither of them have the courage to say. There are so many I’m sorry’s and I missed you’s and please don’t leave me again’s that occasionally being around Sirius makes him feel like he can’t breathe. At some point, Sirius shifts back into Padfoot and rests his head on Remus’ leg. He pets the top of the dog’s head, feeling the matted, rough fur. In their youth, it was wonderfully soft; he could pet Padfoot for hours. Occasionally, he’d fall asleep against Padfoot and wake to Sirius holding him. He remembers it now, and withdraws his hand, thinking, did you mean any of it?
Remus wonders, not for the first time, where that boy has gone. The man he knows now can’t be Sirius Black. The Sirius Black that Remus knows is reckless, and stupid, and funny, and loving, and loyal to a fault – in Remus’ eyes, he’d been untouchable; a god. There is an odd sense of confusion and disappointment when he looks at Sirius now; this ghoul with dark, hooded eyes and sallow skin; his bones protrude and he walks like an old man. Many times, Remus will look at him and think,you are not the man I loved. Whenever they lock eyes, Remus wants to grab this impostor – wants to shake him and yell Where have you taken Sirius?!. But sometimes Sirius looks at him the same way, so he holds his tongue.
Eventually, he falls asleep, and Remus takes it as his cue to leave. His Sirius or not, he still finds it impossible to say goodbye.
That night, he dreams.
It’s going on five in the morning and he’s forcing himself up the stairs, cursing his desire for a small, cheap flat. He’d been young and stupid, focused on the romance of it – focused on the idea of a cramped and broken-down abode that they could fix up and name theirs. There aren’t even lifts in this place, and since they’ve set up the wards he can’t Apparate directly in. So he’s forced to take the stairs, and his body burns in protest; his legs shake and he sways as he walks, eyes closing involuntarily. He has to stop every few steps, his breathing ragged. He groans, and forces himself the rest of the way, before the Muggles see him.
He eases his way into the flat, expecting Sirius to be gone or asleep. But Sirius is on the couch, already waking up. He stares, unfocused, at Remus’ figure, hastily reaching for his wand. Remus takes a few more steps forward; enough for Sirius to see him and relax.
And then Sirius notices the blood.
Sirius is up in an instant, fretting and undressing him – checking for injuries, casting simple Healing spells where he can. He allows Sirius to care for him, taking the time to space out and recuperate mentally.
He’s not sure how it happens, but eventually Remus is bathed, changed and pushed into bed with a warm cup of tea. A pale-faced Sirius follows him, curling up at his side, an arm tentatively stroking his. Remus stares straight ahead, exhausted.
'I know you can’t tell me what you’re doing,’ Sirius’ voice is hesitant and small in a way that Remus has never heard before; he looks over to ascertain that yes, it is Sirius Black he’s in bed with, 'But – Merlin, Remus. I love you. I can’t lose you. Don’t scare me like that again!’
Remus wakes up with an ache in his chest, and thinks, did you mean it when you said that?
Weeks go by, and Remus settles into somewhat of a routine. Every few days, he visits Sirius and brings what little food he has. They never speak, except to talk about Harry. Sirius always changes into Padfoot and falls asleep. During one of the visits, Remus remembers how, during the first war, Sirius would always make sure that Remus fell asleep first.
He wants to ask. He so desperately wants to know if any of it was real; if Sirius ever loved him. But then he looks down at Padfoot – who sometimes looks dead when he’s only sleeping – and thinks about the fact that, for weeks, he’s been living off dead rats simply to be closer to Harry, and his resolve falters.
I’ll ask him later, Remus thinks, and stays until Sirius wakes up.
But later has to wait, because Voldemort is back and the Order has had to reassemble. There are a few weeks in which they meet in Dumbledore’s office, unable to decide where to hold the new headquarters. Dumbledore is infuriatingly calm, as always, while Moody roars and slams his fist on the desk, borderline hysterical because of the time they’re losing.
Remus finally takes Sirius along to one of the meetings, and when Moody brings up the fact that they still don’t have a fucking base, Dumbledore!, he clears his throat meekly. They all turn to look at him.
'I have a suggestion.’ Sirius begins, looking hesitant.
By the end of the meeting, Moody is much happier, and Remus has an odd, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s not sure if it’s because he feels guilty or because he cares, but he offers to move into Grimmauld Place as well. He notices the hopeful look on Sirius’ face; the way Sirius stands close enough for their shoulders to brush, and regrets it.
Months pass, and suddenly they are on the brink of another war. The Order has reassembled, but they all look older and more tired, and Remus has to wonder whether they have any chance of winning. But then he’ll look at Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and the other children, and his heart will break because they’re going to grow up too fast; they’ll see death before their time, and he knows that they have no other choice but to win this.
12 Grimmauld Place is every bit the nightmare Sirius insisted it was in school. Sirius is different, here – less a pitiful stray and more a caged animal. He paces constantly, an odd mix of guilt and fury on his face, an impatience building in him; evident through the way he snaps at everyone that isn’t Harry or Remus. He destroys old, priceless artefacts, hurls abuse at the paintings that try to talk to him. In the quiet moments, he doesn’t stop fidgeting until Remus is there to speak to him. Eventually, he realises that the house is driving Sirius mad.
Suddenly, he hates Moody for pressuring them into finding a safe house, and he hates Dumbledore for agreeing to this. He hates himself for not thinking to find an alternative.
He finds photos of the old Order one day. He and Sirius look so young, and so happy; so hopeful, that for a moment he is surprised, because he can’t remember what it’s like to feel that way. He looks at the smiling faces of James and Lily and thinks, did you ever think this would happen to us?
The moons come and go; it is easier now, because of the Wolfsbane. But every month, Sirius lets himself into the cellar, and Padfoot curls up next to him. It is not the same; it is empty and lonely without James and Peter (though he feels guilty thinking of the latter). Sirius’ determination to stick by him during the moons is such a blatant show of support, of affection – so much so that it makes Remus ill. It makes him realise that he doesn’t trust Sirius anymore.
I have to talk to him, Remus thinks. I’ll ask him. I need to know, for both of us.
He finds Sirius in the drawing room, looking at the family tree. Gently, he brings a hand up to touch a scorch mark in the tapestry. Next to it, he can see the name REGULUS BLACK.
When Sirius looks at him, he looks young and lost; there is a grief on his face that takes Remus by surprise, and the words die in his throat.
Later, Remus thinks, as he pulls Sirius into a hug. He strokes Sirius’ hair, ignoring the fact that his shoulder feels somewhat damp. I’ll ask him later.
Time passes, and Remus builds up the strength to ask Sirius again. They’ve been getting closer; Sirius is somewhat returning to himself – but it is wilder now, more feral. He is unpredictable and dangerous, but Remus finds that he doesn’t mind. The longer Remus is around, the happier Sirius is becoming – and sometimes, it’s almost like they’re back in their shabby flat. It’s almost like the world isn’t ending.
By the New Year, Remus has realised that he’s still in love with Sirius Black.
I’ll ask him soon, Remus promises himself. But months come and go, full of tentative smiles and fleeting, almost-accidental touches. June comes around, and Remus has still not asked whether Sirius has ever loved him.
One night, they are sitting together at the table, sharing a pot of tea. Sirius touches his arm and smiles at him, and Remus is taken off guard by the warmth of it – he hasn’t seen that kind of smile since their time at Hogwarts.
Now, Remus thinks. I need to ask him now. He clears his throat –
– But now has to wait, because the Order is rushing in through the fireplace. There is a battle on; there are Death Eaters in the Ministry, and Harry is in danger. Remus looks over at Sirius, who looks incensed at the fact that he is expected to stay at home. Their eyes meet, and in that moment he knows that Sirius will be sneaking into the Ministry after them.
I’ll keep him safe, Remus thinks to himself. I’ll keep him safe, and when we get back, I’ll ask him.
He tries to stick by Sirius during the battle, but he is older and out of practise; they separate at one point, and Remus panics when he sees him duelling his cousin. And then Dumbledore is there, and the battle has almost stopped – except, of course, for Sirius and Bellatrix, uncontrollable in their ongoing blood feud. He puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other hand reaching for his wand. It would be more honourable to let Sirius defeat Bellatrix, but he hasn’t got the time –
And then there is a curse, a flash of green light, and Sirius is falling.
Remus has heard the words Avada Kedavra many times, in theory and in battles against Death Eaters. He knows it means instant death. Logically, part of him knows that he’s just watched the last of his brothers die.
He can’t be dead, Remus thinks, stupidly. He can’t die yet – I haven’t asked him if he loves me.
But then Harry is screaming and trying to run after Sirius. He grabs him, thinking, I can’t lose James again, and shouting. ’He’s dead, Harry! Sirius is dead!’
He’s not sure if it’s for Harry’s benefit, or his own.
After that, it is a blur. There is some kind of memorial, and he moves back into his little shack in the countryside that feels so much emptier than he remembers. Order members drop by to check on him, offering sympathy and companionship and all sorts of things that he doesn’t want.
He sits at the kitchen table, drinking tea, and imagines Sirius sitting across from him. It’s not hard to do, because Sirius is all he’s been thinking about for months. The man takes shape easily: gaunt and unhappy, haunted by his time in Azkaban. He’s heard the others talking, telling the children how Sirius was handsome, once. Remus thinks it’s ridiculous. To him, Sirius has always been handsome.
'You know,’ Sirius says. 'Back then – I thought it was you.’
Remus makes a quiet noise, taking another sip of tea. Across from him, Sirius tilts his head.
'Toward the end, I thought you were the spy.’
'I know.’ Remus says, putting the teacup down. He stares at his teacup, and the chip in the side. 'I don’t blame you. But – I need to know, Sirius. Back then… did I mean anything to you? Did you love me?’
When he looks up, Sirius isn’t there anymore, and he doesn’t know why it hurts so much. Logically, he knows Sirius was never there to begin with.
He sits at the table until his tea goes cold.