Reviews are like crack, laced with... crack.
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There are innumerable threads, Remus thinks. Paths and back roads and 'could haves' they might have taken along the way, but in the end, all the rivers merge into one: one man, one house, one useless, endless life.
The wind and dust seep through the window, left cracked in the dead of winter, a lasting testament to the house's last, stir-crazed occupant. A memorial. An open window and a stinging wind and one more thing to cloud Remus's vision. Yes, a fitting memorial indeed.
To say it's unfair is an understatement bordering on an insult. Of course it's not fair. None of it is. But an injured sense of justice and ample cynicism will not turn one into two, nor will they grant second chances or reprieves. That doesn't stop Remus from embracing them both like long lost friends.
---
"Sirius, what—how…"
"See? Now when you change, I change."
"You… you're…"
"James and Pete are working on theirs too. I think James's nearly managed it, as well. In the meantime though, it's just you and me, old man."
"Sirius, I—I don't know- know what to-- This is… I…"
"Oh would you shut it? It's brilliant fun, this is. Just think of all the mayhem I can unleash with four legs and a tail! Besides, this is what mates do, yeah?"
---
Remus listens to the roar of the fire, light and bright and warm in the dingy bowels of Grimmauld Place, just as Sirius was, he thinks. Sirius was, always. Always alive and roaring and barging and burning, until he wasn't.
A vacuum, left in his place.
Remus braces himself against the chair, but knows it will suck him in. Something must fill the void, and he knows he is not enough. He knows this the same way he knows that he is truly alone now, and the same way he knows that there is nothing left for him. But knowing does not stop him glancing up each time the wind makes an odd sound, and it does not stop him breathing on and on into the night. Another sip of firewhiskey, another silent prayer, and perhaps he can stave off being sucked in long enough to die properly. Anything must be better than this sick, stagnant existence that no one would dare call living.
---
"Come off it Moony, it's only a party."
"I don't care! Honestly, James I'd have thought you would support me on this, what with Evans being a Prefect."
"Sorry mate, this is Sirius's bag."
"James Potter, come back here!"
"Calm down, Remus. Listen, what if I get you that box of Swiss truffley thingies you're always swooning over at Honeyduke's?"
"Sirius Black, you will not buy me with chocolates!"
"Oh don't make it sound so tawdry. Unless you want it to be tawdry… I mean, I'll clean up after, I swear."
"You'd best do that anyway!"
"Come on Moony, I'll even be your date for the evening."
"My date?"
"Yeah, fetch your drinks and everything! You'll be the envy of all the girls."
"…You said it was just a few people, right?"
"Most certainly."
"And you'll tidy it all and no one will ever know? And I do mean ever ever, Sirius."
"Of course! I swear it on my honor. I swear it on the Ancient and Most Noble—"
"—Don't start... Alright, alright, have your bloody party."
"Pick you up around eight?"
"Wha—err… Oh, right. Yeah, alright then."
"Brilliant! You're brilliant, Moony, you know that? Radiantly and mind-bogglingly brilliant! And hansom! And don't worry your pretty little head, it'll all be over in the morning."
"Yes… Yes, of course…"
---
It's not that Remuswants to die. He has The Order and The Cause to live for, to fight for. He should think of Harry now (Sirius always did), seeing as he's the only mate of James' left alive with soul-in-tact. Yes, he should think of these things, these reasons—no, responsibilities—that he has to live for. He should, but he doesn't. Instead he thinks of Sirius and veils and red flashes, and at night he dreams in stormy grey eyes and barking laughter and shaggy black hair and every moment he feels himself growing a bit more mad. He feels his sanity slipping out the window as the cold creeps in.
He should shut it, but he doesn't.
---
"Would you quitarguing with me, Remus? It's all settled, you've nothing to worry about, you nervous old maid!"
"No, Pads, it isn'tall settled, you know I can't afford this—any of this—and you know I won't let you pay for it all. I'm sorry but I—"
"Enough! I don't care, Moony, I don't give a damn! I want this flat, and I want you living here, and you want to live here too, so stop being so bloody stubborn and we'll get your things!"
"Sirius…"
"Don't 'Sirius' me! Blimey, have you ever thought of being a professor?"
"A what?"
"Because your teachery voice could give McGonagall a run for her lacy knickers."
"I won't even pretend that was a compliment. Look, Pads, I don't want to be putting you out, and you've got to let me make it up to you somehow."
"Fine, you can do all the cooking."
"Given the choice between that and eating your culinary assassination attempts, gladly."
"And you can tidy, if you'd like."
"Absolutely. Been doing that for seven years anyway. Honestly, you and James would wallow in your own filth if I let you."
"And laundry."
"Seems sensible, seeing as I've watched you shrink your robes about a dozen times trying to iron them. What else?"
"I dunno, I can't think of anything."
"That's not enough! That's all housework and shite I'd do anyway."
"Well I can't bloody think of anything else you'll do!"
"Come on, Pads, let me make this fair, please? I'll do whatever you'd like."
"Whatever I like?"
"Yeah. Anything, honest. I really do want to live with you—I mean… here."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"I suppose I might could think of something."
"Padfoot… I don't like that look. That's the I've Got A Brilliant Idea That's Going to Make Remus Wish He Were in Ravenclaw look."
"Nothing…"
"It's never 'nothing'."
"Of course not... Let's get your things."
"Oh gods…"
---
He wonders how long he has been there—there in the heart of the house that was once a home. More importantly, he wonders how long he can stay before someone arrives to clean the place out. To gut it. And then there will be practical matters to worry with: Remus's specialty. Always the industrious one. Never sentimental. Never emotional. Always reliable. But this is not the same. This is not a chore to be managed— this is everything, only no one seems to realize it. They all talk like it's just this great inconvenience, and Remus wants nothing more than to rage and rant and scream and scream and scream that none of it matters anymore and that nothing will ever be ok again and why can't they see when it's all he ever sees, everywhere he looks, in every dusty corner. And he wants to destroy every bloody thing that reminds him of Sirius, even if it means destroying himself.
But he doesn't.
---
"Oh gods—Ohhh Ohhh Ohhh gods…"
"Fuck—Moony, I—Ahh…"
"Sirius…"
"I think… Going to—"
"Bloodyfuckinghell!"
"…"
"Ow, you're hurting my back."
"Tosser… Com'ere."
"Am I sleeping he—er… shouldn't I be going umm—"
"Oh will you shut it? And move your elbow, it's stabbing liver."
"And god knows your liver can't afford any more abuse."
"Fuck right off… G'night, Moony."
"Goodnight, Padfoot."
---
In and out. Remus as to remind himself. In and out. One more thing to remember that he'd rather just forget.
Every breath feels like an insult. He wonders what right he has to keep breathing, keep living, when Sirius doesn't get to breathe. When Sirius doesn't get to—
No. Another sip. Another breath.
Out and in, out and in, out and—
---
"It's nothing to do with us, Moony!"
"Like hell it isn't! You're perfectly fine sleeping with the enemy, just so long as it doesn't put James at risk."
"What am I supposed to do? We can't take any chances, James is my best mate!"
"And what am I?"
"You're… you're… I don't know."
"Well. Let me make it easier for you. I am just another former fling."
"Former? Moony, what are you—you can't possibly be serious!"
"Enough is enough."
"Remus!"
---
Enough was never enough. There was always more to be had, more fire and fury beneath the surface. Every moment with Sirius, every moment alone or alone in a room full of people was more intense than a thousand faceless fucks. More perfect than any high, more scarring than any cut. But they had to learn the hard way. How many days was it? How many hours and minutes and moments had they wasted? What new, incredible things could they have discovered if they'd had those seconds?
This thought alone would drive Remus mad, but he knows that even those extra instants could not help him now. Like sand into a bottomless pit, a few more grains would hardly make a difference.
---
"What do you want, Sirius?"
"It was James."
"What was James?"
"The—the murders last night. I know you still hear about these things. It was James."
"What? What on earth are you on about? James and Lily are in hiding—"
"James and Lily aredead. I saw them, Remus… I saw… I saw them. Lying there. Stupid fucking glasses all covered in grime. Cleaned them every five goddamned minutes his whole life. Heh, rather be caught dead than with dirty—"
"Don't say that! What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Plenty."
"What about the baby, where's Harry? Oh gods… Just tell me James Potter's bloody son is alright."
"He's fine, he's… alive. Hagrid took him. Dumbledore won't tell me where."
"Security reas-"
"Wormtail. Where would he go? Who would he run to?"
"Sirius, calm down. What's Wormtail hiding from, I thought—"
"It was him. Peter. He betrayed them… He killed them. After seven fucking years of swinging from James' shirttails, worshipping his every move, the little bastard finally did something on his own."
"Oh gods… I think I'm going to be ill."
"I'm going to kill him."
"Sirius, I… Thank you for telling me. I don't know when I would have heard, it could have been weeks."
"You deserved to know. You're a Marauder, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes, last of a dying breed."
"Remus… Can I stay? I know you have every right to hate me, and I was wrong. Fuck I was so wrong, but I… I just don't want to go. I can't. I can't think and swear to god I haven't breathed since last night, until now, but I'm afraid if I leave it'll all start over—"
"Stay. Please, stay."
---
"Stay, Padfoot. You know Dumbledore doesn't want you to leave the house!"
"I'm not a dog, Moony, I'm coming with you."
"Of course you're not, but you're not being reasonable either—"
"Reasonable? You want reason? He has Harry, Remus— James and Lily's bloody son. My godson. What other reason is there?"
"You can't just go traipsing into the Ministry and expect not to be caught! James wouldn't want you to go back to Azkaban—I don't want you to go back."
"Moony. Listen to me—I'm not going to be caught, you understand? But I have to find Harry. You know that. But no matter what happens, I'm not going to leave you, not this time, not ever. Come pain of death or dark of night or any other damned thing You Know Who or the bloody Ministry can throw at me, I will never leave you again. And I think you know that, too."
"…Right. Alright."
"And Remus?"
"Yes?"
"You're not allowed to leave me again either."
---
At night, Remus wishes he could leave. But Sirius didn't break his promise: he hangs about in shadows and nightmares and hasn't left Remus alone for one fucking second. It's only at night that Remus wishes he would--just go, that is-- and he hates himself for it, because more than anything, Remus is afraid he will get his wish.