I can't face the dark without you

Remus

Remus kept living his life on autopilot. He didn’t even find in him the strength to cry anymore. His grief was so deep that he felt like it had rearranged his insides to leave a Sirius-shaped hole in the very core of his being. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation, after all, it wasn’t the first time he’d lost Sirius, but he found himself even less prepared than the first one. At least when he was in Azkaban Remus knew Sirius was still alive. Back then he could pretend he hated him more than he hated himself for still loving him. Now Sirius was just…. gone. Vanished from the earth. From Remus’ life.

And all Remus was left with were the regrets and the things he’d never get to tell Sirius again. That he was sorry, so fucking sorry, for believing that he could have been the spy. Sirius, who would’ve rather taken his own heart out of his chest and tore it to shreds than seeing James hurt. Sirius, who had given James’ son all the love he had lacked growing up. What they had been, James and Sirius, what they were, wherever they both were now, was way beyond friendship. James and Sirius had loved each other fiercely, brothers beyond blood and family, and still Remus had believed that Sirius, loyal and honest Sirius, could’ve killed him. How Sirius had managed to look at him in the face after Azkaban, let alone act like he’d forgiven him, was beyond Remus. Nowadays Remus could barely stand looking at himself.

He kept living in Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go and, considering Sirius was the last of his bloodline, he was pretty sure no one would kick him out of it anytime soon. It also kept him informed enough about the Order’s members’ whereabouts. That wasn’t the only reason, though. Even knowing that Sirius had hated that house with his whole being, it was also the last place he’d lived at. His room was still messy, a mug sitting on the bedside table, a full ashtray on the windowsill and the door of the closet partially opened as if Sirius would just walk out of the shower and start rummaging through it.

He wouldn’t, and Remus could do nothing but spend his days grieving his absence, haunting the house like a ghost. He barely ate, drank only when he had to, and refused to go outside if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Remus felt like the half of his heart, of his very own soul, he had given Sirius all those years ago had disappeared alongside him and he would never be complete again.

It had been exactly thirteen days with their thirteen nights, and even though he knew that Sirius wouldn’t come back, it still felt like it was only yesterday that Remus would go down to the kitchen to find him already there, a coffee already in his hand and a mug of tea waiting for Remus on the counter. An attempt at a smile when he saw Remus, coming easier to his lips the more time he’d been out of that hell. Sirius had had very few things to smile about lately.

Sirius hadn’t been great, at the beginning. But that felt like the understatement of the century. He’d had to take more medical draughts than Remus thought existed and more often than not he seemed to go somewhere far away in his mind. Remus knew for a fact that he had trouble sleeping at night and that he kept accidentally turning into Padfoot when he did manage to catch some hours of rest. But he had also been… good. More rational than anyone gave him credit for and, with the right incentive, more present than anyone had any right to expect him to be. Sirius had been impossibly sane for someone that had just spent twelve years locked in a place that drove anyone mad in a matter of weeks. And that scared people. No one had really known how to speak to him. Not even Remus. What do you talk about with someone that just spent twelve years in literal hell on earth because of you?

Remus still felt guilt threaten to swallow him whole every time he thought about it, which was pretty much all the time, no matter how many times Sirius had acted like there was nothing to forgive, trying to bridge the gap between them with small talk neither of them were actually interested in. Sirius might have forgiven him, but he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forgive himself.

And now it was too late to ask for forgiveness. Too late to tell him that he was sorry for not believing in him before, yes, but also for not knowing how to act in front of him after he got out of Azkaban. Too deep in his own guilt to be brave enough to face Sirius and tell him that he loved him, that he still loved him. That he had loved him every second of every day that they’d spent apart. That he still felt the last kiss they had shared, full of their particular brand of mistrust but so entangled with love that they hadn’t known how to separate the two anymore. It was barely a couple days before all hell broke loose, when Remus had had to leave for a mission and Sirius had held him tighter and longer than usual as if something deep inside him knew it would be the last time.

Now Remus knew for sure that it would be.

Sirius was dead and he didn’t even have a corpse to grieve over. He had just vanished from the earth as if the last good thing Remus had in his life had never even existed to begin with.

It had been thirteen days and thirteen nights and, for the first time in his life, Remus looked forward to the full moon, hoping that turning into the wolf would make him forget, at least for a night.

Still curled in his bed the morning after, he thought himself a fool for expecting it. Even the wolf seemed to be mourning Padfoot; he’d spent the whole night howling for his lost companion, too sad to even cause any serious harm to himself, which, Remus supposed, he should feel happy about. He didn’t. He didn’t really care anymore about much of anything. He got used to feeling an empty sort apathy and more guilt than he knew what to do with.

The weight of his grief threatened to crush him every time he opened his eyes, every time he went to sleep he prayed he wouldn’t wake up so this nightmare would end, and every time he thought about it, he felt guilty afterwards. Sirius hadn’t had a choice and here Remus was, wasting his life away.

After recovering from the full moon, Remus started trying to go out more. He ran short errands for the Order, visited the Weasleys, and invited Harry over to Grimmauld Place for tea now that the school year was officially over. Anything to keep his mind occupied. He even tried to argue with Dumbledore that Harry should move in with him, but he wasn’t his legal guardian, and the fight was more of a lost cause than anything else. Dumbledore wouldn’t bulge, and Remus himself didn’t feel confident in him being the best option to take care of Harry.

The boy was back at her aunt’s place after Dumbledore’s orders, but Remus could tell he really liked spending some afternoons at Grimmauld Place, where the few possessions Sirius still had were still kept. He hadn’t had the heart to throw them away for a second time in his life. Remus knew he would never be able to replace Sirius in Harry’s life, but he would make sure he never forgot that he was not alone. He owed James and Lily that much.

He also helped clear Sirius name, not only because he deserved it more than anyone else, but also, selfishly, because he needed to do something for him. The last and only good thing he could do for Sirius. Turns out, with Voldemort back and Sirius dead, it was a way easier task than he’d expected, and he soon found himself stuck in Grimmauld place with nothing to do once again.

Most of the time, when Harry was over, they would just sit down in the library.  Sometimes they talked, about life and school. Other times about Sirius. Harry missed him painfully, and was eager for any story about him and James that Remus could provide.

Those were the hardest days for Remus, forced to confront the memories of the man he had loved during most of his life and had missed for half as much.

They were usually cradling mugs of tea, Harry bundled up in a dark sweater Remus was sure he’d stolen from Sirius closet, it still smelled faintly like him. He never mentioned it, after all, Remus had been doing the same thing. Other times they listened to music on the old record player. He would insist Harry chose a record himself, if the boy let the decision in his hands they would just end up listening to The Smiths again. Every time, Harry let him choose anyway.

Nowadays, Remus couldn’t listen to Bob Dylan without bursting into tears, and there wasn’t a single Led Zeppelin song that didn’t remind him of Sirius with such force that he felt like throwing up, but The Smiths were his favorite companion to misery, as Sirius used to say. If their songs made him feel better or worse was still up for debate, but they held a familiarity Remus couldn’t find anywhere else.

Those days, after Harry left, Remus would stay a bit longer, sometimes waiting for the record to finish, sometimes playing it from the beginning again.

That’s exactly what he was doing, curled on the couch listening to Morrissey, still slightly sore after his second full moon without Sirius, when it happened. He had ignored the front door opening, assuming it was just another member of the Order dropping by as they usually did. The house was guarded enough that no one outside the members of the Order and a few trusted exceptions would be allowed to make it inside, so Remus never bothered checking who came and went. He was set on ignoring whoever it was until he heard it. His name. The name no one else called him. Not anymore.

“Moony?”

Remus closed his eyes tightly. He was used to it by now, hearing Sirius in every empty room. Thinking he saw him in every crowd. He knew it was all a product of his mind. Sirius was dead and there was no coming back from that. Knowing it didn’t make it any less painful. It also didn’t stop his heart from jumping with hope every time it happened, even though he ought to be immune to it by now. He didn’t think he’d ever be.

The voice kept calling his name, getting louder and clearer every time until it sounded so real that Remus couldn’t ignore it anymore. Every nerve of his body felt tense.

Almost reluctantly, not ready to break the illusion yet again, he opened his eyes and slowly looked around.

And then there he was, leaning carelessly against the doorway in a way Remus never thought he’d ever get to see again. Eyes impossibly silver, hair somehow perfectly styled. Remus was pretty sure he stopped breathing. There was no way his heart hadn’t given out right then and there.

The thing is, Remus was used to hearing Sirius, or thinking he’d heard him, but he never got to see him. Not properly, not fully, never anything more than a shadow lurking in the corner of his eye that disappeared as soon as he turned his head. But now this improved version of Sirius his mind had conjured was walking slowly towards the couch and Remus scrambled as far as he could go, until his back touched the armrest.

When he said his name again, voice softer than the blanket he had been surrounded with, Remus found himself closing his eyes again, fighting against every cell in his being to stop hoping. It would only make the crash all that worse.