It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall…
I never thought I would be the person who saw someone's life, or at least the parts I was witness to, flash like a feature film before his eyes when he saw them for the last time ever. I never thought I was capable of silently watching something completely different from the present obscure my perception of the moment I was in. But when I saw him falling, it was like that particular reaction that the scientists talked about started occurring in my body firsthand. I held someone who needed holding while I disappeared from reality, as the world started moving in slow motion. For some odd reason that the effect of the moment rendered me incapable of deciphering, I ended up in 1971.
"Sirius Orion Black, at your service," chimes a cheeky fellow first-year as I take my seat at the Gryffindor table, legs still feeling rubbery, hands still shaking, heart still beating erratically fast and loud, because no Sirius Orion Black at my service can work to make me forget that the Hat knew. It literally just knew.
I am a werewolf, allowed to pursue my education simply because Albus Dumbledore believes I deserve it, but if news were to start to circulate so fast that even a non-living thing could guess, then I guess I am done for. No one can keep a secret for seven long years. I am going back, that is it. And anyway, the full is on the 5th.
I don't realize I'm hyperventilating until someone pokes my shoulder.
I look to my left at the cheeky boy who introduced himself as Sirius Black. He's got a grin as wide as a sequoia tree trunk plastered to his face, and his hair matches his last name.
"I'm Remus Lupin," I say quietly, wishing I were anything but.
"Well, do you want to go by first name or last name? Actually, you know what? Let's go by first name, my mother hates to hear people exchanging first names when they first meet, she'll hate this, so here goes. Hello, Remus, pleasure to meet you," he rambles.
I don't reply, only settling for a weak smile, because I am positive that if I were to say a single word, I would start saying many words, and that simply would not do.
"Say something, Remus. Or are you… unable to speak for some reason? Oh, did your mother perform a silencio on you, for life? Please don't let my mother know that, she'll use it on me. Okay, that was unintentional, but really, do you know how to talk? Or is it a different language? Maybe Gaelic? Welsh?"
"I… am… perfectly capable… of speaking, and in English no less. And no, my mother didn't perform a life-long silencing charm on me. What sort of mother does that?" I try making the conversation about him, which helps, because my heart has stopped beating as fast, and my blurred vision has become significantly more focused. As I take a better look at him, I notice he has sharp blue-gray eyes, and aristocratic features that would look completely out of place in 1971, except he wears them so well. He has the look of someone with a posh background, but negligent parenting. And the way he addressed me really doesn't sit well with the face I see before me. But on second thought, the way he spoke was slightly foreign-sounding, the concern and well-intentioned banter to divert my attention cautious, like he has never been able to show kindness, even if he has felt it.
"Well, that makes it everyone on the train!" Sirius says happily, as a short, slightly pudgy boy with a watery smile and a tall boy with glasses and a goofy grin joins our table. "Well, everyone who should've been here, anyway. I'm glad that Snivellus isn't here, I would've drowned myself in the soup bowl!"
"What can he have done, for you to be so inimical?" I ask, trying to show off my reading in the face of all these boys who look very posh and probably pureblood fifteen generations back.
"Inimical? Is that even in use anymore? Even my mother doesn't use it, and let me tell you, she's got ancient words at her disposal," Sirius replies, laughing hard.
"Where did you learn that even?" The boy with glasses says, banging his fist on the table.
"Ummm…. My mother and I read lots of books." I feel slightly shy and out of breath now. They think I'm a smartmouth. Bad first impressions, I guess.
"Well, Remus, your mother must be even worse off than mine then, if that's how far back her vocabulary goes, eh James?" He prods the Glasses Boy on the ribs, who laughs. They make quite the Not-Even-Remotely-Funny duo.
"My mum's a gem, we both love books. I feel sorry for your taste if you're not into books." I sound more rude than anything I am at home, probably because I've hardly been around anyone my age. That's also why I sound like an old lady in terms of my vocabulary.
"Calm down, Lupin! Sorry for offending your royal mother. It's just, I don't have the best one there is," Sirius laughs. The boy with the watery smile looks at me.
"Hello," I say, remembering my manners this time.
"I'm Peter Pettigrew," he says, in a small voice.
"Nice to meet you," I say with a smile. I mean it too; he looks like the only person with a brain, or at least a few braincells, that got into Gryffindor this year, except maybe the Muggleborn, Lily Evans.
"All that love for Petey only, eh Re?" Sirius teases. How dare he call me nicknames without my permission? Only Mum can call me Cub and only because she's Mum; no one else reserves the right to nicknaming me. I fight the urge to flip him off desperately, trying to keep the oncoming monster at bay.
"Remus Lupin, haven't I proved enough that I am not my family? You're a fucking perfect person and the only reason I would ever feel threatened around you is because you're academically furlongs ahead, not because of something you have to have no say in, dammit. If I thought you were a monster, don't you think I would've given some indication? I've known since first year, and I haven't changed, have I?"
"I… am… a… monster, Sirius!" I say through clenched teeth. He counters fiercely, voice rising. He has moved so close to me, I can see every flare in his blue-grey eyes.
"Do you know what monsters are, Remus? Do you? Monsters are people who decide to be arseholes despite being completely able to not be arseholes. Monsters are my parents, who have no reason to be such complete bastards. You, on the other hand, have every right to be resentful toward wizardkind. You have been tortured by the pain of your affliction. And yet you are damn near perfect, Re. You are, in fact, two attributes short of perfect. One, your stubborn talking-to's and two, your drowning self-esteem. In every other respect you… are… perfect." He is gesticulating so much I can get sidetracked with laughter without much difficulty.
"Okay, Sirius. Take it easy. I get it, you're very taken with me." I hold his shoulders, and use them as support to get up. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Anytime, Moon-boy," he returns. He has a look that means he wants to say something more; maybe I imagined it, because it's gone in mere seconds. I take my hands off his shoulders, and he puts his hand on mine. I give him a withered smile, and get up to leave. He keeps holding on, just a four-second interval, until he lets go, not meeting my eyes.
"Actually, Moony works fine," I laugh, to decompress the air just indented by the awkwardness of Sirius' gesture.
He just smiles. I don't put more thought into it; tonight I'm just relieved that these people don't hate me.
When it happened, neither of us was really, truly aware. It went from casual skin-brushing to casual hand-holding, to very much non-casual kissing that we weren't aware it had progressed to, until this one night, December 1974, we were practically close enough to be one body in order to be warm. We were sitting at James' feet near the fire, Sirius' cheeks filled with blood so red it was maroon. The literal heat of the moment. I don't even recall who leaned in first. I just recall after. The kiss, the taste of my cigarettes on both of our mouths, the specific feel of Sirius' lips on mine, like the leaf of a desert plant, perfect soft, yet thirsty. And in the heat of the Gryffindor fire, we didn't care that James and Peter saw; it was too late for anyone else to be awake, as James was completing a two-weeks-overdue essay. Our first kiss was warmer than anything I've ever felt in my life. It went on for an indefinite period of time, as far as I can remember; that's how I wish I remembered it, at any rate, that it went on for fucking ever. It didn't.
The bad times pass my brain like they should; unimposing. He deserves to be remembered untainted. I remember the bad times; it's not like I don't. I just feel like there is only one right I can do by him. He just doubted me for a mere five months; I did it for twelve years. Twelve years I could have helped him out of.
The past couple of years. I have to pay, of course; I am Remus Lupin, the man whose life never ceases to disappoint him. Seven years in heaven, all the time we were in love and acting on it. For that, I didn't even pay badly enough, not physically anyway. Sirius, he had to spend double his free life's worth in prison, a prison that was the equivalent of hell on earth.
And now, for the sort of limbo heaven of the past two years, Sirius pays. With his fucking life. I am a fucking curse.
On the way to the childhood nightmare of the love of my life, the current headquarters of the Light, I curse myself. Sirius deserved better. Sirius deserves better. Wherever he goes next, he should be as happy as he made me, with just being.
At the send-off ceremony, his godson, and my student, is the worst example of depression. I can't say I can mourn him properly enough, or mourn him enough. Or mourn him at all. Ironically, I think of what this would be in Sirius' opinion, and I can hardly refrain from having a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
"Siriusly, and no, Moony, I don't say this self-indulgently, just that old habits die hard, this looks like a funeral," he would say, holding a wineglass.
"Because that's what we're aiming for here, old Padfoot," I would remind him, winding an arm around his shoulder.
"Well, if this is for me, it ought to be more sex, drinks, drugs, partying, whooping, the whole deal," he would tell me with that signature Sirius Black madness in his eyes.
"Well, don't die often, then, you really love parties, and death isn't celebrated here. We're not in Mexico, I'm sorry to inform you," I would respond in my deadpan manner.
"This is why I love you. You know about Mexico too, Moony. Impulsive decision, I know, but that's me, deal with it: next destination, Mexico, 'kay Moony?" He would press a kiss to the scar on my cheek, just above the right corner of my mouth, and teasing, would move down slowly to my mouth, not giving a fuck that we were in a courtyard full of Order members and Ministry officials. All he would say is, "Eyes off my Moony. I know he's sexy, but he's mine."
I would tell him, "Everybody fucking knows about the Day of the Dead in Mexico, you've set the bar too low," and then continue to kiss him.
Sometimes, Sirius would've been right, old habits die hard. All I see is him, without even consciously doing it.