Air in my lungs 'til the road begins,
As the last of the bugs leave their homes again.
And I'm splitting the road down the middle;
For a minute the world seems so simple.
1994
Remus hadn't been angry when he had left Hogwarts. He hadn't been angry when he packed up his things, when he said goodbye, or for his entire drive home.
He hadn't felt angry for a while. Not since everything fell apart, and he nursed himself back together with drugs and alcohol and women.
But now, here he was, waiting outside of what was once his home, and was later his own personal hell.
Waiting for what - Remus wasn't quite sure - but there he sat, too tall for his small yellow car, as the memories came flooding back.
The car itself made him feel lots of conflicting things, having bought it in memory of Lily, actually. When times had got particularly hard, and the substances were starting to lose their effects - perhaps around 1984 - Remus wasn't able to do much magic anymore. He had fallen out of touch with the wizarding world, unable to picture a world where magic and Sirius Black didn't coincide. With his lack of practicing, and his numbed emotions, any form of magic that truly came from within was almost impossible for Remus. But he had needed to get around somehow, so he had taken Muggle driving lessons, and he had weaned himself off of varying substances, and he had passed his test.
When Sirius had left, his Gringotts vault had been left to Remus, as his 'next of kin', they called him. Remus, too sick, had not dealt with any of the money in there, choosing instead to only spend when he had to, using up the last of his inheritance from his parents once they had died. He had felt so strangely, though, when he had passed his driving test, like he was possessed by some otherworldly spirit, and had used Sirius' money to buy the car.
It was a small, second-hand, run-down yellow bug car. He was reminded of Lily, when they were out in Muggle London and she would pinch him, babbling on about 'banana cars' when a similar car would pass by them, and he knew that he had to buy it, for her.
He took it home, and he sat in the driver's seat for 4 hours sobbing uncontrollably.
Now, it was mid-afternoon, and he wasn't quite sure what he was doing.
He took a large breath in, and stepped out of the car, now standing tall as he faced his old home.
Feel the rush of my blood, I'm 17 again.
I am not scared of death, I've got dreams again.
It's just me in the curve of the valley,
And there is meaning on Earth, I am happy.
It was a small house. A white cottage with green moss all over, patterned window frames, and a black thatched roof. It was his home.
At that moment, if Remus could open his mouth to say anything, he would swear he had been taken back in time.
He could plainly see Sirius, 18 years old and full of life, dragging him by the arm to displayt the home he had carefully picked out for them.
He could see himself, 18 years old and completely head over heels, hiding a smile as he let Sirius give him a 'tour' of the house they had visited together.
Remus, now 34 years old, let the sadness seep into his bones, feeling a sorrowful anger cloud his mind a little more than he had before.
Past Alger Brook Road, I'm over the bridge.
A minute from home but I feel so far from it.
The death of my dog, the stretch of my skin,
It's all washing over me, I'm angry again.
Remus allowed a few tears to roll down his cheeks, before he furiously wiped them away and took a few approaching steps towards the house.
When he opened the door, it was like nothing and everything had changed all at once. He had that feeling a lot, desperately trying to connect himself to the life he had before. To the people he had known before. To the joy he had once held.
The familiar scent of vanilla and a less familiar scent of fig hit his nose as he parked his suitcase down next to him. He closed the front door tight, trapping himself in the pain of the past.
He looked around him, re-familiarising himself with the house he had only been away from for a year, yet everything felt sort of out of place. Remus moved further into the house, apprehensively - as if he could predict what would be waiting for him.
Seeing Sirius again was something Remus would never ever be able to put into words.
Sure, he had seen him back in the Shack, on that awful awful moon, but that had been brief and it had been busy and it hadn't actually been Sirius - not really. It had been a Sirius that was plagued by pain and anger, not his Sirius who had been so full of love, his Sirius who had so much love to give.
But now, here, interrupting Sirius making his Yorkshire tea as if it were just a regular Tuesday, this was his Sirius.
It was like he had been blinded by the brightest star, like the sun was emerging after years and years of rain and clouds and storms.
Remus dropped his arms to his side, feeling a bit like nothing was real, or that somehow everything was too real, and all Sirius did was just stare back at him.
The things that I've lost here, the people I knew,
They've got me surrounded for a mile or two.
Remus felt the tears flood down his face again, this time with no hope of wiping them away, and choked out a small laugh in disbelief. That was all it took, apparently, for Sirius to be back in his arms, for the two to be wrapped in each other as if they had never known a life without one another.
"Moony, Moony, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I missed you so much, I'm sorry," Sirius wept, voice muffled from being pressed against Remus' chest.
All Remus could think to do was rub his hand in small circles against Sirius' back, shaking his head and whispering incomprehensible apologies back at the other man, both so fragile and struck by pain.
Sirius looked up at him, then, and their eyes spoke words for the first time in 13 years.
"I love you, Sirius, I mean it," Remus whispered, so softly as if trying not to spook him.
"I love you, Remus, please let me love you, let me stay," Sirius begged, like it was all he needed now in life.
Remus just nodded, basking in the love of the man before him, as he felt a wave of grief for the life he had lived, grief for James, and for Lily, and even for sweet young Peter, who he could not correctly correlate with the rat-like man he owed all his pain to.
The two men stood there like that for a while, weeping and embracing and sharing the loss of their boyhood together, feeling all the pain of 13 years apart come to them now, in this moment, in their home.
The car's in reverse, I'm gripping the wheel.
I'm back between villages, and everything's still.