Highway to Nowhere

Sirius hated that he couldn’t let it go.

There were so many things he could ignore. He’d had to, growing up. His mother’s constant berating, the tension at Grimmauld Place, the endless parade of pureblood society’s expectations. He could ignore all of that. He could ignore the stupid rumors, the prying eyes, the things he didn’t want to think about. But Remus? Remus wasn’t one of those things.

And lately? Lately, Sirius couldn’t ignore Remus’ sudden shift. He couldn’t ignore the way he’d been acting around Florence Prewett, or how he’d been acting like he didn’t even see how much it bothered Sirius.

But it was the Grant thing that made his stomach twist.

Grant Chapman was a name that hadn’t been mentioned in their circle before that week. He wasn’t someone Sirius knew. He wasn’t someone he could immediately understand. And that—that was what pissed him off the most. He’d always been able to understand the people Remus gravitated toward. James, Lily, even Peter—those were people Sirius could picture, could place. They were comfortable in Remus’ world. But this Grant—Grant was different.

The worst part was that Remus wasn’t talking.

So, here they were. Remus had barely uttered a word about the guy, but Sirius could tell. Could feel it. He could see it in the way Remus’ hands hovered over his letters, the way he ran a hand through his hair like he was trying to keep the thoughts from spilling out. Remus wasn’t just bothered by the letter from Grant—there was something else there, something more complicated.

And Sirius was aching to understand it.

It was the second day after breakfast that Sirius had finally had enough of the silence. The corridors of Hogwarts were quiet, the kind of quiet that always made him feel like he was in some sort of dream, when the noise of the world seemed to pause for a moment. They were alone, walking back from Transfiguration, and Remus was dragging his feet in that way he did when he was thinking too hard about something.

“You’re doing it again,” Sirius said, his voice gruff as he matched Remus’ pace.

Remus blinked, glancing up at him. “Doing what?”

“Being distant,” Sirius muttered, his hands shoved in his pockets. “You’ve barely said two words all day.”

Remus didn’t answer immediately, his expression a mixture of confusion and something else—something unreadable. Sirius hated it.

“I’m not distant,” Remus replied eventually, his tone cool, but the hint of something darker laced beneath it. “I just don’t feel like talking much today.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You’ve been ‘not feeling like talking’ for the last week.”

Remus shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at his shoes. “It’s nothing, Pads. Really.”

Sirius couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t nothing. That Remus was hiding something.

“You know, you’ve been acting odd lately.” Sirius leaned a bit closer, watching him intently. “Not like your usual brooding self.”

Remus stiffened slightly at the mention of “brooding,” his lips pressing together. “I’m not brooding.”

Sirius laughed under his breath. “You’re the definition of brooding, Moony.”

“I’m not—” Remus’ voice trailed off, and he stopped walking, letting out a small sigh. “Fine. Maybe I am.”

Sirius stopped too, turning to face him, trying not to show how much he was feeling in this moment—how hurt he was by the distance that had been growing between them, how confused he felt about it all.

“Remus—what’s going on? Why are you acting so weird?”

Remus hesitated, then, before Sirius could say another word, Remus’ eyes met his. For a moment, Sirius felt like he might drown in those amber eyes. There was so much inside them—so much unspoken, so much that Remus was holding back.

It wasn’t until then that it hit him.

“Oh,” Sirius said quietly. “Is it about Grant?”

Remus froze. His mouth opened, then closed. For a moment, it felt like the world had narrowed down to the two of them standing there, the air thick with something neither of them wanted to say.

“Grant?” Remus asked in a voice that was just a bit too sharp. “Why would it be about him?”

Sirius couldn’t quite meet his eyes now, focusing instead on the corner of the hallway, suddenly too aware of everything—the sound of footsteps echoing from the distance, the way his heart seemed to beat a little faster than it should. “I don’t know, Moony. You’ve been weird since you got that letter. And it’s not like you’ve been eager to talk about him or anything.”

Remus looked at the floor, his throat working as if he was trying to find the right words. “It’s not that simple.”

Sirius frowned. “It’s not?”

Remus shook his head slowly. “It’s just…” He sighed, then took a step back, his shoulders tense. “Grant isn’t just some random person from my past, Padfoot.”

The words stung, but Sirius managed to keep his face neutral. “Then who is he?”

Remus looked away, biting his lip for a moment before speaking again. “He was the only person who ever really understood me—before Hogwarts.”

Sirius blinked. That was unexpected. “What do you mean ‘before Hogwarts’?”

Remus hesitated again, then spoke more quietly. “Grant and I grew up together. In a children’s home. St. Edmund’s.”

Sirius blinked, the words catching him off guard. “Wait, what? You grew up in a children’s home?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah. I never told you about it. I never told anyone.”

Sirius felt his chest tighten, the weight of Remus’ words sinking in. He was starting to realize just how little he really knew about Remus’ past—the things that had shaped him, the things he’d kept hidden behind that calm, composed mask.

“Wait,” Sirius said, his thoughts racing. “Does he know about you—you? The… werewolf thing?”

Remus gave him a small, almost rueful smile. “Yeah. He knew. He’s known for years. We were in the same place together. He had to know.”

Sirius suddenly felt a surge of something—jealousy, maybe? It was a weird feeling, completely new to him. “And you’re waiting for his letter?” he asked before he could stop himself, his voice sharper than intended.

Remus stiffened. “What’s wrong with that?”

Sirius hesitated, unsure of his own reaction. “Nothing. I just—I don’t get it. He’s a muggle, right? So why does it bother you so much if he doesn’t respond?”

Remus’ jaw tightened. “It’s not about that.”

Sirius frowned. “Then what is it about?”

Remus took a deep breath and looked at Sirius, his eyes filled with something unreadable. “Grant was the first person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t broken, Sirius. Like I wasn’t some freak. I needed that, alright? I needed him to see me. To accept me.”

Sirius froze. It hit him all at once—the depth of the relationship between Remus and Grant. It wasn’t just some childhood friend; it was the person who had been there for Remus when no one else had.

And Sirius… he didn’t like it.

He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of Remus relying on someone else so completely—especially someone who wasn’t a wizard, someone who couldn’t truly understand what Remus was—suddenly felt like a threat. A small, unreasonable threat.

But before he could figure it all out, Remus spoke again, quieter now. “It’s just… complicated, Pads. He was the one person who never judged me. Who saw me for me. And now he’s probably forgotten about me.”

Sirius swallowed, his throat tight. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

Remus gave a half-hearted shrug, his voice distant again. “I don’t know. I’ll just wait and see. But it doesn’t make sense. It’s been too long. And I don’t know if he’s going to write back.”

Sirius didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what he felt anymore.

But he knew one thing for certain.

He hated feeling like he was losing Remus, even to a muggle

Sirius stared at Remus, trying desperately to keep his emotions under control, but it was getting harder with every passing second. He didn’t know why he had to keep pretending like it didn’t bother him—the way Remus was acting so easy with Florence Prewett, laughing like there was nothing more to it, his smile so effortless, so natural.

He wanted to hate it. He wanted to shout at the pair of them, demand that Remus stop being so charming, so damn irresistible. But instead, he was left standing here, his throat tight and his palms clammy. He hated the way his heart stuttered every time he saw that easy smile on Remus’ face when he wasn’t around.

And now, here they were, standing in the corridor just beyond the Great Hall, and Remus was looking at him with that raised eyebrow, that knowing look on his face that made Sirius' stomach twist into knots. He hated that Remus knew exactly what was going on in his head. Hated that Remus could read him like an open book, even when Sirius tried his hardest to keep his thoughts locked away.

He couldn’t stop himself from snapping. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Prewett lately,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. His voice came out sharper than he intended.

Remus blinked, clearly surprised by the sudden attack. “And?” he asked, his voice still so calm, so unbothered, while Sirius’ heart was practically in his throat.

“Just—just notice how you’re acting,” Sirius muttered, stepping closer, his chest tight. “You’re—well, you’re acting like a bloody Casanova, mate.”

Remus chuckled, a soft, almost dismissive sound that made Sirius want to throw his hands in the air and scream. It was the way Remus was always so calm, so collected. Like he had everything figured out. “I’m just being friendly,” Remus said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

Sirius scoffed, trying his hardest not to let his feelings take over. “Friendly?” he repeated, his voice thick with irritation. “It’s like you’re playing everyone for a fool, Remus. First you’re all quiet, serious, and broody—and then you’re this flirt.”

Remus’ eyes softened a little, his lips quirking into a small, half-amused smile. “It’s just how I am, Pads. You know that.” There was an edge to his voice now, though—like maybe he was getting tired of the game, too. “Besides, it’s not like you’re the one who’s going to complain about me getting attention, are you?”

The words hit him harder than he expected. Sirius felt his breath catch in his throat, a mixture of guilt and frustration mixing into a strange, uncomfortable lump in his stomach.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, though the words sounded hollow even to him. “I just—I just don’t like seeing you with other people like that. It’s weird.”

For a long moment, Remus didn’t say anything. He just looked at him, and it felt like the world was narrowing down to just the two of them standing in that quiet corridor. The other students had long since filed away, and they were left alone with the growing tension.

“I’m not going to lie,” Remus finally spoke again, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “You do seem a little jealous. You’ve been acting strange lately, Pads.”

Strange. That word hit Sirius like a physical blow. Was he acting strange? Was he really? He couldn’t tell anymore. Remus had this way of making him second-guess himself, making him question every word that came out of his mouth, every thought that ran through his head.

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He was about to say something to brush it off, make another joke, like he always did—but Remus wasn’t buying it. Not this time.

And neither was he.

“I’m not acting strange,” Sirius muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He could feel his heart beating harder, like it was trying to burst out of his chest. “I just—I just don’t like the way you’re looking at her.”

“Looking at her?” Remus repeated, raising an eyebrow in confusion. “I’m just being kind.”

“You’re kind to everyone, but it’s different with her, Remus,” Sirius pressed, stepping even closer now, the frustration building in his chest like a pressure cooker. “Why is it different?”

Remus didn’t seem fazed by his proximity—he never did—but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Something that made Sirius’ breath hitch. Was that... was that amusement?

“Pads…” Remus’ voice softened, but there was something almost teasing in it now. “It’s just how I am. I’ve always been like this, you know that.”

Sirius could feel his insides churning, but he couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let Remus just dismantle him like this, not when it was all making him feel like he was going mad.

“Well, maybe you’re seeing something you didn’t want to see, Pads.”

Remus’ voice dropped into something quieter, something that made the tension between them feel real. He’d said it so casually, like it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but to Sirius, it felt like the walls were closing in.

“What does that mean?” Sirius demanded, a sudden surge of frustration filling him. He wasn’t ready for the confession he could feel was coming, but it was already too late to back out.

“It means,” Remus said, leaning just a little closer, his voice low but clear, “maybe you’re not the only one who’s jealous, yeah?”

The words hit Sirius like a slap.

Jealous? Of what? Remus couldn’t possibly—No. He couldn’t—

But the look in Remus’ eyes told a different story.

It was all wrong. Too much too soon. And yet, the heat in Sirius’ chest flared up again, stronger now, more insistent. What was this? What were they doing? Remus couldn’t be…

Could he?

Sirius could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He was barely breathing now, his thoughts scrambled, none of it making sense. Remus—Remus had just said that he was jealous. Jealous of who? Of what?

It felt like the world was spinning, and for the first time, Sirius didn’t know where he stood. Remus was still standing there, looking at him, not with the teasing glint that usually accompanied their banter, but with something deeper. Something Sirius didn’t know how to name. It was almost as though Remus had just cracked open a door that had always been closed, and Sirius was staring through it, his pulse quickening as he tried to piece together what lay on the other side.

Remus was still looking at him, watching him in that way that made Sirius feel both exposed and caught in the act, like he’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But instead of the usual mischievous smile that would follow, there was only silence between them.

“You’re jealous?” Sirius repeated, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. His mouth felt dry, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or scream. Maybe both.

Remus let out a soft breath, looking down at the floor for a moment. “I didn’t want to admit it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “But yeah. I am.”

Sirius’ heart skipped a beat. “Jealous of her?” he asked, pointing vaguely in the direction where Florence Prewett had been earlier.

“No,” Remus answered quickly, the word coming out almost like a rush of air. “Not her. I’m not jealous of her.” He looked up at Sirius now, eyes intense, unreadable. “I’m jealous of… what you’ve got. What you’ve always had. What you’ve always been able to do without even thinking about it.”

Sirius blinked, taken aback by the raw honesty in Remus’ voice. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice quieter now, uncertain.

“You don’t even notice it, do you?” Remus asked, his lips curling into a half-smile. “How you can just walk into a room and be Sirius Black. You know people gravitate toward you. You know how to talk to them, how to make them laugh, how to make them feel something. It’s easy for you. And it’s never been easy for me.”

Sirius’ throat tightened, and his words caught in his chest. “Remus…” He shook his head. “That’s not—" He didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.

He wanted to say that Remus was wrong. That it wasn’t easy for him either, that being Sirius Black had its own set of struggles, its own burdens. But the truth was, he couldn’t deny that what Remus said was true in a way.

People did gravitate toward him. He did have this strange, magnetic pull that seemed to draw others in. It was effortless, like a natural skill he didn’t even know he had. It was different for Remus, though. Remus had always been the quiet one, the one who seemed to sit on the edges of things, watching rather than participating. It wasn’t a bad thing—it was just... different.

But Remus had always had a quiet kind of charm, a depth that Sirius had admired in him, even if he didn’t understand it. It wasn’t that Remus didn’t have the ability to make people laugh or be noticed—it was just that he’d never seemed to try. And that was part of what made Remus so Remus.

“I don’t get it,” Sirius said, voice strained. “You’re amazing, Moony. You don’t need to be like me. Hell, you don’t need to be anyone but you.”

“But I do,” Remus said, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes still locked on Sirius. “I do need it. I want it. I want to be able to walk into a room and just be. I want people to notice me, not just because of... of what I am, but because of who I am.” He took a step closer, his gaze never faltering. “I’m not asking for pity, Sirius. But I’m tired of feeling invisible. I’m tired of pretending like it doesn’t bother me that people only know the werewolf and not the person underneath. And it’s not your fault.”

Sirius’ heart ached as Remus spoke. It hurt in a way that he couldn’t explain—he had always known there was more to Remus than anyone ever realized, but hearing him lay it all out so plainly, so vulnerably... it felt like the ground beneath him was shifting.

“I never knew it bothered you that much,” Sirius admitted, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Remus gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “I’ve been hiding it for years.” His eyes softened, and he let out a long sigh. “It’s why I don’t like talking about it. It’s why I don’t like drawing attention to it. The more I let people in, the more they’ll know. And the more they know... the more they see. And I’ve never wanted anyone to see all of it. Not like that.”

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say. It was like he had no words, no way to comfort Remus in the way he deserved. But he had to try.

“You don’t need to hide from me, Moony.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You don’t need to hide from anyone. Not anymore.”

Remus looked at him, his gaze shifting from guarded to something else—something softer. “It’s just not that simple, Pads.” He shook his head, his hand lightly brushing Sirius’ arm in a motion that felt too intimate for something so casual.

“I know it’s not,” Sirius said quietly. “But I’ll be here, alright? You don’t have to hide. Not with me.”

And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, Remus smiled—genuinely smiled, like he was letting something go. Like he believed it.

Sirius felt a weight lift from his chest at that smile, but it was quickly replaced by the unsettling ache in his heart. Because no matter how much he wanted to believe it, no matter how much he needed to believe it, he couldn’t shake the gnawing suspicion that there were things Remus would never say—things that would remain hidden, just out of reach, locked away behind those amber eyes.

And for some reason, that was the part that scared Sirius the most.

The air between them felt thick, electric, as though it was about to snap. Sirius’ gaze never wavered from Remus, whose posture had softened, but the tension in the room still clung to them both like a thick fog. The moment stretched out, and Sirius found himself at a loss for words again, unsure of how to break the heavy silence. He wanted to reach out to Remus, to pull him closer, to assure him that it didn’t matter—that none of this mattered.

But Remus had already given him too much to handle all at once. Remus had just exposed a part of himself that Sirius hadn’t realized was so buried, and that truth was hard to come to terms with. It was more than just the jealousy, more than just Remus’ complicated feelings about his place in the world. It was everything—the quiet hurt Remus wore like a second skin, the fear of not being good enough, of never being seen for who he truly was. Remus had always been so fiercely protective of his emotions, keeping them locked behind an unyielding wall. To have him be so open now, to show Sirius a sliver of the man behind the mask, was almost too much to process.

The silence dragged on until Sirius couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to say something, anything, to fill the space between them. But he didn’t know where to start.

“Moony…” His voice cracked, and he winced, immediately wishing he hadn’t spoken. But Remus’ gaze softened as he lifted his head to meet Sirius’ eyes. There was something almost patient in his expression, as though he knew that this moment would be messy. That they both needed time to figure out what this was between them.

“I don’t know how to… help you, Remus,” Sirius admitted, his voice low and steady despite the turmoil in his chest. “I don’t know how to make it better.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. “But I’m not going anywhere. I can’t... I don’t want to.”

Remus inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening slightly around the sleeve of his own jumper as he slowly stepped closer to Sirius. The small, hesitant movement was enough to make Sirius’ heart rate quicken, to make him feel like he was walking on the edge of something dangerous. Something real.

“I don’t need you to fix it, Pads,” Remus said, voice just above a whisper. “I just need you to be here. Not for me to explain, not for you to solve it all. Just for... this.” His eyes flickered to Sirius' hand, hovering between them, and it was as if he was silently asking for something more. Something more than words. Something that couldn’t be said.

Sirius swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat as he finally dared to reach out, his fingers brushing against Remus’ in a tentative, almost shy motion. Remus’ hand hesitated, but then, almost as if it had been waiting for the contact, he let his fingers interlace with Sirius’—soft, slow, and certain.

Neither of them moved, their hands entwined, the connection more electric than anything Sirius had ever felt before. His skin tingled at the touch, his pulse racing as though it were the first time he had ever truly felt anything. It was the kind of feeling that made everything else fade into the background, and suddenly, there was only Remus—right in front of him, in his touch, in his heartbeat.

“I’m not going anywhere either,” Sirius said, the words coming out with a new kind of finality. There was no uncertainty now, only an overwhelming certainty that he could never turn away from this. From him. Remus was right in front of him, so real and present, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Sirius wasn’t afraid to acknowledge the truth he had been avoiding for so long.

“Good,” Remus breathed, squeezing Sirius’ hand tightly. “Because I need you here, Pads. More than you know.”

Sirius’ chest tightened at the weight of those words. The sincerity in them hit him like a wave crashing against the shore, and in that moment, he realized how much Remus truly depended on him. But it was more than that—Remus was trusting him with something he had never trusted anyone else with. His self. And Sirius knew, then, that he would never let Remus go. Not now. Not after everything they had been through. Not after everything that had led them to this point.

They stayed like that for a while, their hands entwined, both of them lost in the comfort of simply being together, unspoken words passing between them as they quietly waited for the storm to pass. The room felt less heavy now, the air easier to breathe, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they were going to be okay.

But then, of course, something had to disrupt the fragile peace.

A voice rang out from the doorway, shattering the stillness between them.

“Oi, what’s going on in here?” James’ voice was teasing, but there was a certain edge of concern there too. Sirius and Remus both jumped, pulling their hands apart quickly, as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t have.

Sirius turned to face James, forcing a smile onto his lips. “Nothing, Prongs. Just... talking.” His voice was a bit too casual, his heart still racing from the unexpected moment of closeness with Remus.

James raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Talking. Sure. Talking.” He stepped into the room fully, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them. “You know, you two aren’t the best at hiding things. Don’t think I didn’t notice how close you two were just now. What’s going on?”

Remus, ever the master of deflection, quickly stepped away from Sirius, running a hand through his hair as he gave a small, awkward laugh. “It’s nothing, really,” he said, his voice slightly strained. “Just talking about the full moon, and, uh… other things.”

James didn’t seem convinced. He gave Sirius a long look, his expression thoughtful. “Right,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Other things. You two have been awfully cozy lately.”

Sirius could feel his cheeks flush, his gaze flickering to Remus, whose face was just as red. “There’s nothing to talk about, James,” Sirius said, a bit too quickly. “We’re fine.”

James was clearly skeptical, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he shot them both a sly smile. “Well, alright then. Just don’t be too obvious about it, yeah? We’re all friends here.”

Remus let out a long breath, clearly relieved, and Sirius’ shoulders relaxed just slightly. It was strange—James had always been able to read them, but this time, there was something different in the air. Something that didn’t feel quite as... friendly.

“Yeah, Prongs,” Sirius muttered. “We’ll keep it subtle. Don’t worry about it.”

But James was already distracted by something else, his attention drifting to the papers on the desk beside Remus. And for a moment, there was a brief, fleeting silence, before the air seemed to settle again, and Remus and Sirius shared one last, lingering glance before the facade slipped back into place.