Darling I’d Wait For You

“Where do you slip away to?”

The drawing room had been silent for hours after Harry had been tucked in and Remus had claimed fatigue. He hadn’t noticed the lanky figure leaning patiently against the frame, watching him. Sirius blinked, running his hands through his hair. He looked around for a clock, leaning into the sofa in an attempt to seem casual, but he soon realized that he had not yet changed into his sleeping attire. Sirius slinked down into the cushioned seat and let the facade wash away just as easily as it had appeared.

“What?”

Remus took steps into the room, arms crossed over his chest in a relaxed manner. He wore simple cotton trousers and an old white sleeping vest that hugged his frame and tugged at the corners when he raised his arms. Thankfully, Sirius had seen him plenty of times dressed in more revealing things in their teenage years, and he did not find himself blushing like a fool at the sight.

“Where do you slip away to,” he repeated just as patiently as before. Remus eased himself down onto the sofa across from him, tracing circles on the fabric with his index finger. “When your eyes glaze over and you only wake from your trance when someone calls your name?”

“Oh,” he said dumbly, eyes a little too wide set for his liking. He quickly schooled his expression, rubbing his hands over his goose puckered skin. “Well- I dunno. Depends, I guess.”

Remus leaned in, resting his head in his hands. “Can you give me an example?”

“Hey, I thought you were going to sleep. What happened to that?”

He shrugged easily. “Couldn’t sleep. Seems like you couldn’t either.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but soon shut it when he realized that he had no rebuttal. Sirius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His voice was heavy with exhaustion that he didn’t bother to mask. By the looks of Remus’s dark crescent moons, he supposed that he was feeling the same way, so why did it matter if he knew?

“No, I couldn’t.”

Remus eyed him. “Well? Are you going to answer my question?”

Sirius grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“You don’t, but…” Remus paused, and his ears grew suddenly pink, his voice soft. “Just because it’s been awhile since we’ve talked doesn’t mean you can’t still trust me. I won’t tell.”

Sirius replied, almost instinctively, “Not like there’s anyone else left to tell anyway.”

Remus faltered, suddenly stiff, the fabric of his trousers bunched in his hands. Guilt spread through Sirius’s body like water in a rushing stream, from his fingertips to his aching heart. Sirius cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered, but he didn’t seem to believe himself.

Sirius sighed heavily. “I don’t realize when I’m doing it. Going into a trance, I mean. I just start thinking about the past, and- Well I dunno, I guess I get stuck. This house has so many memories… I suppose I didn’t realize how often it was happening until just now.”

Remus’s mouth fell into a grim line. “In the kitchen earlier. In the parlor last night before you drifted off, in the drawing room now, even on the street.”

“I didn’t realize you’d been counting.”

He nodded once, stiff, like a machine. “It’s crossed my mind, I can’t lie. And after it’s happened so many times I suppose I started keeping track. But Padfoot, I know you don’t want to believe it, but- It seems like these memories don’t just follow you around the house. On the street…” 

Sirius sucked in a breath. “I know. I used to have nightmares all the time when I was home for the summer. They followed me to Hogwarts too, so I guess I just got used to them, but now it’s like…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s like they’re real, Remus. They stand right in front of me, and talk to me when I’m awake. And earlier today… That was the first time I’d ever seen one of- one of them- outside of Grimmauld’s Place.”

The man watched him for a long moment as if he were trying to examine a particularly complicated puzzle, then he sighed and reclined into his sofa, massaging his temples, but he didn’t seem irritated with Sirius, simply concerned. “That’s the price of war, I suppose. Moody called it ‘PTSD.’”

“Post traumatic stress disorder,” Sirius parroted through a husky scoff. He was shaking his head before Remus could interject. “No, it’s not that. I’ll be fine. I’m not- I’ve dealt with this all of my life, I probably just never noticed it.”

Besides, it’s not like he’d seen James and Lily’s death, so why were his old friends haunting him? Remus was being stupid. It was just a trick of the light. There was no doubt about it.

But Remus was staring at him with crippling pity and Sirius found himself watching his shoes in shame. 

“Sirius.” Remus said his name with soft clarity. “It’s okay- to be hurting. To be wounded.”

“But why only now,” he said with surprising heat, pulse thrumming under his skin, blood rushing in his ears. His counterpart did not flinch. Sirius flew to his feet, hands flying around wildly, uncontrollably, rabid. “Why just now, Remus? Why am I seeing James and Lily on the street? Why is my father staring at me in dark corners? Why is my mother screaming at me in my head? It’s not like they didn’t torture me long enough when they were alive! I have the scars to prove it!”

Without thinking, Sirius lifted his shirt to his midriff, revealing overlapping scars across the lower half of his back, red burn scars that twisted up his ribcage to his collarbones from years of painful curses thrown at him. And he yelled to the ceiling, eyes blown wide and hair in his face, “You see this? That’s not even half of it! Torturing your son like the great Blacks you are, you fucking demented bastards! The noble heir of Black applauds you!”

Sirius was left gasping for breath, his throat ripped raw and his hands trembling. He had not noticed when Moony had stood, but there he was beside him, standing with his hands at his sides, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch him or not.

“Some Black son you are,” Walburga Black hissed in his ear, “You are a disgrace to our family. How dare you speak to us in such a way you ungrateful child! All we asked of you was to follow the path we’d so perfectly carved! Are you that stupid, boy?”

Sirius’s eyes darted around the drawing room, to the shadows where his mother might be lurking, but Remus was blocking his way, standing in front of him with his hands on his shoulders. Sirius tried to shrug him off, but his nails dug into his skin and routed him to his place.

“Padfoot, stop. It’s really alright,” he assured but his voice was distorted, like the static coming from those stupid muggle televisions Remus had so adored. “They’re gone. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Walburga laughed wickedly. “You stupid, pathetic child. Will you never learn? You were destined for greatness and you threw everything away for that immature prat you call a Potter and that disgraceful werewolf!”

“Shut up,” he growled, “Shut up!”

“Sirius, what are you talking about? I’m only trying to help.”

“Who decided it would be a great idea to let a werewolf into the school, anyway? Oh, that’s right, that Dumbledore. That man was nothing but a witless coward, and the werewolf filth should’ve been locked away with the rest of them to rot!”

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”

Harry began to wail down the hall, screaming at the top of his little lungs. Remus pulled away fast, already turning towards the hall when Sirius finally pulled himself back to his senses, and his mother’s voice fell flat. She did not speak again, seemingly satisfied.

Sirius ran his hands through his hair with a frustrated groan. “Shit,” he mumbled and started after him.

Remus had, at some point in the night, converted the guest bedroom on that floor into a sort of makeshift nursery in the corner of the room. He’d set up the crib where a dresser had once been, now pushed to the opposite end of the room. The double bed was a little rumpled, as if he had attempted to sleep and failed. Sirius felt a stab of guilt that he was upstairs, sleeping in the master bedroom while Remus was downstairs tucked into a bed far too small for him, caring for Harry.

Remus picked Harry up from his crib and began to bounce him in his arms, shushing the little baby soothingly. Sirius waited until Harry had calmed down a bit, then said shyly, “I wasn’t yelling at you.”

Remus turned, still rocking Harry, who looked close to falling back asleep. He nodded once. “I know.”

“No,” Sirius answered immediately, kicking his foot back and forth, feeling suddenly like a lurker in the doorway. 

He was intruding. Remus knew what he was doing. He should just go back to drinking and wallowing in his own pathetic self pity. After all, that was all he seemed to be good at.

Sirius shook his head solemnly, downcast. “Please don’t act like it’s nothing, it wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have- Well, I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“Padfoot,” Remus whispered, “It’s fine. Truly.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, Harry bundled in one of his long arms. The young boy had latched his little hand around Remus’s thumb, holding on with a grip that only a baby could, like if he let go Remus would drift away, never to return.

Remus patted the empty seat beside him, still rumpled from the werewolf’s poor sleep. With his hands shoved in his pockets, Sirius strolled over to him and sat down on the very edge of the bed. 

“Padfoot.” 

Remus spoke his nickname like it was something holy, as if saying it wrong would be blasphemous. They were so close Sirius was sure if he leaned in just close enough he could fill the gap where their lips used to touch, but Remus was not looking at him the way that he once did. No, he couldn’t kiss him when Remus was looking at him like he was a child that needed to be pitied. He couldn’t bear the thought.

Sirius found himself turning away. “Moony.”

There was a long, long pause, where Remus watched Sirius but he could not return his gaze, and finally the werewolf stood with a sigh and walked away. Once he was certain the baby was asleep, he placed Harry down in his crib with the nature of a gentle giant and sat back down next to Sirius. 

The space between them had grown.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Remus,” he said, voice low, as if they were swapping secrets in the dark, “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat… Hell, I can barely stay sober long enough to remember what I had for breakfast. I see dead people when I’m awake. I mean, am I losing it? Am I really losing my mind?”

“Shhh, Sirius,” Remus soothed, and although his voice was as sweet as honey, Sirius did not feel calm. How could he feel calm when Remus didn’t love him anymore? “You’re not going mad. I promise you.”

“Maybe you should just drop me off at Mungo’s. That’s where I really belong.”

“And I’ll be signing in right alongside you,” he vowed, and Sirius believed him. Remus sighed, eyes trained on him again. Still, he could not meet his gaze. “I know you think that this is the end of the world, but it will get better. We’ll be better. At least, that’s what Moody keeps telling me. War hardens the mind, but not the heart.”

Sirius snorted. “That doesn’t sound like Moody at all.”

“No, it doesn’t… I guess that’s because it’s not but he did say something along those lines. He said that war hardens the heart, but… I can’t say that I believe that.”

“Why not?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus’s face grew grim. “Because the mind is a fragile thing. It can be warped and manipulated, persuaded by the littlest memory or inconvenience. But the heart- The heart will always remember. It remembers how it felt during your first heartbreak, your biggest accomplishment, your first loss and your biggest laughs… It remembers how it felt to take a person’s life, who you knew might have a family and a job not so unlike yours before life was ripped from his lungs. Well, I guess my point is that even though the mind may harden from the effects of war, the heart will never forget the pain. But it will also remember how it feels to heal. And Sirius, you will heal. With time.”

Sirius lifted his head for the first time in ages and stared into the werewolf’s honey brown eyes. And Remus watched him just the same, only the sound of their breaths to fill the room. Walburga did not shout at him in the corner. Orion Black did not snap his belt, and James did not smile at him over his shoulder like Sirius was the only light in the world.

The dead did not cry, and though he knew the peace would not last, Sirius rejoiced.

“Why don’t you love me anymore?”

Remus looked as if he had been shot. Then, he swiped a hand over his face with a tired sigh. “Oh, Sirius.”

“No,” Sirius interrupted, shaking his head, “No, please don’t talk to me as if I’m stupid. I’m broken, not daft. And I know you said you needed time and space, and I understand why, but… Why are you still here if you don’t love me anymore?”

“Because I care about Harry and you two are all I have left and I’ll be damned if I lose both of you too,” Remus snapped, and Sirius startled.

Moony’s gaze did not break as he tried to catch his breath, fingernails digging into the blankets and his jaw set, but it wasn’t until Harry stirred that the two turned away from each other, waiting until they were certain the boy was asleep again before they released their bated breath. 

Remus buried his head in his hands, shoulders drawn tight, tense as the nights he’d spend in the hospital wing after a full moon. “It’s late, Sirius. You need to rest.”

“I’m alright. You’re exhausted, Moony. Go take the master bedroom and I’ll sleep in here tonight. You might sleep better in a bed you actually fit in.”

Remus chuckled halfheartedly, and a smile ghosted Sirius’s lips. He continued, “Please, Remus. This won’t work if you won’t let me help.”

Moony thought for a long moment, honey brown eyes darting between Harry and the door, until finally he rose to his feet with a groan and muttered, “Fine. But please come and get me if you need anything.”

Sirius nodded once. “I will. I can do this, Remus. Trust me.”

There wasn’t a split second of hesitation before Remus answered, “I trust you, Padfoot. That never changed. Goodnight.”

Then he closed the door behind him, leaving Sirius dumbfounded. 

But the smile that spread across his face was genuine.