the wolves (iii)
October 1981
Don't you know the wolves around, I think I'm coming back to life (I think I'm coming back to life)
I didn't know what to do, didn't matter 'cause I had you ('Cause I had you)
When everybody ran away, I thought you'd be the one to stay (I thought you'd be the one to stay)
Don't you know the wolves around, and everyone was right about you
Everyone was right
Remus was with the pack for three and a half months this time. It had never been this long, but at least they trusted him now. After his third full moon with them though he began to seriously worry. An additional full moon later and there was still no signal from Dumbledore. That night when he turned, he had clawed at his hands in panic, something that hadn’t happened since his friends had become animagus. A girl, younger than him, far too young to be so adapted to such a lifetime, cleaned him up, bandaging them for him. By Halloween he was completely healed, and he spend the night with the pack around a large campfire; staring as the firelight made his new scars look as if they were dancing. He had plenty of scars already, but he cringed at the thought of Sirius seeing him for the first time in such a long time looking like this.
He had no idea what was going on elsewhere. In fact, the news of Voldemort’s defeat that broke its way into the pack’s gossip filled him with hope, though he daren’t put too much belief in the rumours. It was not until the morning of November ninth, by which time Remus had accepted he would be with the pack for the next full moon on the eleventh, that Remus heard anything from the Order.
Unlike Dumbledore’s normal protocol of sending Remus a message of select codewords, through his patronus, so Remus knew how to proceed, it was the man himself who told Remus the truth of the whispers.
He ruined Remus’ life that day, and he did it so calmly. Walking towards him, the sunlight escaping through the forest branches, as he ignored the looks the rest of the pack were sending his way, to spill the truth, packaged up in a in slow calm tone.
*
Sirius had not thought he was the traitor, Remus thought over and over again as he lay in the bed in their flat. He hadn’t left the house in a week since the eleventh.
Sirius was, had been, a spy. There had been rumours there could be spies among them in the Order since he, Sirius, James, and Peter had got involved, and apart from the stigma that arrived alongside his condition and Sirius’ name, nothing came out of it, and Remus had always thought if there was a spy it would be one of the older figures who drifted around them in the background.
How had they got to him, Remus thought? Had he known how it would have all ended with the deaths of James and Lily? Remus couldn’t accept that he would have. Yes, maybe, someone in his family finally getting to him, worming their way under his skin until he was somehow passing on information, but there was no way Sirius could have sat down somewhere and planned to hurt James. Yet, all the same James was dead. Lily with him, and Harry god knows where. Remus had not thought to inquire when Dumbledore had dragged him back to his and Sirius’ flat and promised Remus that if he needed work he would help. Remus had laughed in his face and told him to get out, and he had, leaving Remus alone. Nobody else had made an attempt at company all week.
He swung from the bottle of alcohol in his hand. It burned in his throat different to the firewhiskey he had become accustomed to. He looked at the bottle. Vodka. A sudden memory of Lily gifting it to Sirius and him erupted in his mind, and he threw the bottle hard against the wall. The strong scent of it mixed with the stench that had already build up in the flat after a week of self-loathing. Remus let out a sharp laugh, as he thought about how Sirius, who had never been able to fully shred his pureblood training, always so neat and tidy, would have been revolted at the state Remus had created.
But Sirius was not here.
Sirius had betrayed them all.
Sirius had been a spy. He was a stranger. A Black, no matter if he was blasted of the tapestry or not.
Remus hated that he preferred this narrative, but it kept him sane. He needed to believe that Sirius had never taken him for a traitor, even as this turn of events clouded any memory of Sirius with the bitter aftertaste of what had come.
It was this narrative that allowed him to keep one foot in the wizarding world, and this narrative that allowed Dumbledore to find him in the summer of 1993 and ask for his help; this narrative in which Remus had been so wrong in his judgement, and everybody else had been right.
June 1994
(Ayy, hey-hey, ayy, hey-hey)
You know it will haunt you in the night (Ayy, hey-hey, ayy, hey-hey), all the pretty lies
Hit me, hold me tight (Ayy, hey-hey, ayy, hey-hey)
After his quick retreat from Hogwarts Remus felt as though he was living in a bubble. It was like November 1981 all over again, but at least this time he kept himself fed and watered with something besides firewhiskey – at least before midday hit.
Remus’ self-made bubble however was promptly burst on the morning of the seventeenth. He was sat, forcing himself to eat the cooling porridge in front of himself, when there was a whine at the front door. The sun peeked through a gap in the closed curtains of the kitchen window. It made a change from the endless leaks that had stretched out across the cottage from the past few days rain, and Remus couldn’t breathe.
He did however, somehow, make it to the front door, pulling it open with more force them necessary, and the already crumbling red paint on the front door, cracked further, separating from itself, as it made lines run down the wood like serpents.
Padfoot sat staring at him, panting heavily, and Remus looked around, before quickly grabbing him by the neck and with a tug pulled him inside.
‘What are you doing? Are you stupid?’, he said, before he could help himself, and Sirius quickly transformed, his face hollow and blank.
‘Sorry’, he croaked, ‘I didn’t know where else to go. I can go’.
‘Sirius’, Remus said, with a sigh, ‘I don’t mind you coming here, I mean why didn’t you just come straight inside? Anybody could have seen you out there!’
Sirius mouth opened up to make a small o shape, and Remus pulled at his hair. He was suddenly conscious of how he must look, which was stupid really when the years in Azakban were startlingly obvious on Sirius’ face. He hasn’t gone nearly grey by thirty-three though has he, Remus thought bitterly. And at least he has an excuse for the state of his clothes, the voice in his head continued, as he looked down at his shabby pyjama bottoms and holey jumper.
‘Sorry, I’ve not long been up’, he explained to Sirius, and was embarrassed at how warm he felt, when Sirius let out a short sincere laugh.
‘That’s okay, I’m guessing you weren’t expecting company’. It was Remus’ turn to laugh.
‘I guess that’s true’ he said with a shrug, and they lapsed into an awkward silence.
Sirius looked around the open-plan room that made up the living room and kitchen area of the cottage. It was cold Remus knew, he just had never cared enough to deal with it. The several buckets he had magically taught the house to make appear anytime rain was likely, were also stood there, full of yesterday’s rainwater. Alongside, the lingering smell of damp from the mould that been let loose in the year Remus had been at Hogwarts. He had quickly charmed the mould itself away on the first night he came back, but it had been a weak spell, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until it returned in full force. He hadn’t been able to think about anything that made him picture further than a day into the future.
‘How is this place standing?’, Sirius said.
‘Magic,’ Remus said, letting out another small laugh. It was one that Sirius didn’t return though, and Remus was reminded of shoes laid out in a neat line, a bed made in an almost militant fashion, and of Sirius’, singing loudly and off-key, every Saturday morning, letting loose cleaning charms when they had first moved into their flat after Hogwarts.
The Sirius that stood in front of him now however, looked much more similar to the house he was stood in. His hair was still matted in large clumps, and his face caked with dirt.
‘Do you want something to drink?’, Remus said, not knowing what else to say.
‘Not firewhiskey’, Sirius said too quickly, his eyes darting quickly to the pile of bottles Remus had been building in the kitchen. Remus felt himself turn red.
‘Tea?’ he asked.
‘Sure’.
Remus moved to the kettle. He wanted an excuse to turn away from Sirius, and so decided to make tea the muggle way, taking his time. He however, with a quick mumble, transfigured away the bottles of firewhiskey.
The kettle however seemed to be much quicker than normal, and Remus had the teas made and put on the kitchen bench before he had decided what would be his next course of action. Sirius was still observing the room, and Remus shrunk further into himself. He then looked at Sirius and realised how uncomfortable Sirius must feel dressed in all that filth.
‘Do you want a shower?’, he asked, and Sirius’ eyes moved from inspecting the room to inspecting himself.
‘Sorry. I don’t even notice it anymore, I must stink’. Oh, Remus thought, maybe not then.
‘No, you don’t’, Remus said, letting the lie settle between them, ‘And you don’t have to, you can do whatever you want’.
‘Can I touch you?’, Sirius said, and then his eyes went wide, ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said. It’s just it’s hard to know what’s real or not sometimes.’ Remus looked at him, his eyes soft.
‘You can touch me’, he said.
Mid-July 1994
Don't you know the wolves around, I think I'm coming back to life (I think I'm coming back to life)
I didn't know what to do, didn't matter 'cause I had you ('Cause I had you)
When everybody ran away, I thought you'd be the one to stay (I thought you'd be the one to stay)
Don't you know the wolves around, and everyone was right about you
Everyone was right
‘You’re leaving?’, Remus said, hating the way his voice instantly croaked up.
‘It’s what Dumbledore thinks is best’, Sirius said, his chin stuck up in the air like a perpetual child. Not like a man who had spent twelve years wrongly behind bars because Dumbledore had argued against a trial. Not like a man who had only just got back. Not like a man who had left Remus long before Halloween 1981.
‘Oh well, if it’s what Dumbledore thinks is best’, Remus said with a humourless laugh. ‘Then, of course, go ahead. Leave’.
Sirius’ sunken eyes stared back at Remus.
‘Aren’t you going to come with me?’, he asked, and the numbness that had been holding Remus together broke.
‘Come with you?’, he said, his voice rising, ‘I can’t just come with you Sirius’.
‘Why not? What do you have to stay for?’.
An image of Lily stamping her foot in his and Sirius’ bedroom in London flooded into mind.
‘Those fucking boys! Sometimes you think they’re fully grown out of their entitled little games, but then…’
‘Because Sirius, you are no longer the be end and end all of my pathetic little life. How do you know I haven’t got anything to say for?’. Since, after all hadn’t that been their problem after Hogwarts? When Sirius said jump, Remus said how high. At Hogwarts Remus could happily disagree with Sirius, bicker, argue, fight about anything. He’d fought him furiously actually back then. But afterwards when his head was spinning with the weight of the reality that he was no longer safe, hidden away in Scotland with his best friends, he had become so afraid of losing it, losing Sirius, that he let him get his own way with any big decision. So big things, joining the order, living in London away from his mother, accepting that Sirius thought he was a spy and so whilst he was wrong, justifying his behaviour, had all been building up into a bigger and bigger hurdle that no matter how high Remus jumped Sirius got left on the other side. It had not been healthy. And even if Sirius had never expected any of these things from Remus, Remus had still done then; done then willingly and with such ease he guessed he would never know what Sirius would have done otherwise. ‘I’m not your pet project anymore Sirius’.
‘My pet project?’ Sirius said, his face still just as blank.
‘Yes Sirius. You know? Poor little Remus who doesn’t share with you in the dorms, poor werewolf Remus who needs looking after, and looking after, again and again. Poor werewolf Remus who can’t get a job and needs somewhere to live. You and James nearly wet yourselves with glee the minute I let you in. Especially when I bought Peter around to mould to your commands as well’.
‘Fuck you’, Sirius whispered, and Remus suddenly realised he had taken it too far. He probably should never have bought James into this. And definitely not Peter.
‘Sirius’ Remus began, but he didn’t know how to continue.
‘I’m sorry for thinking you would want to come with me’, Sirius replied, ‘I’ll be gone in the morning’. He turned and left, disappearing into the spare bedroom he had slept in for the past two nights.
Remus walked to his own room and laid down fully clothed. He stared at the ceiling, making patterns from the Artex. He heard a loud thump through the wall, and then a small cry of pain, and he knew Sirius had likely punched or kicked something in anger. He couldn’t understand how this older Sirius could impossibly be exactly the same and the complete opposite of twenty-one-year-old Sirius. Of course, he would expect Remus to just pick up from where they had been, but there was none of the emotion on his face that had always captured Remus into his plans. There was also the undeniable fact Remus was hurting, no matter how much he tried to push past this fact to think about Sirius sufferings over the last decade. Sirius had thought he was a spy. The new personality that Remus that carved out for himself since 1981 had been build around the whole notion of that fact not being true. It was a difficult thing to shake off in only a week.
At around two in the morning, Remus was still laid on top of the covers, not even having made an attempt at sleep. Sirius had stopped moving around next door, and all he could heard was the wind whistling down the length of the chimney. With a heavy sigh, Remus pulled himself from his sheets. He knew that couldn’t be their last conversation if Sirius really was going to leave. His feet hit the cold wooden floor, and he went out into the corridor and knocked softly on Sirius’ door, but there was no response.
‘Sirius’, he said, knocking again a little harder. Still there was no response. ‘I’m going to come in’, he said hoping his tone was consoling, but when he opened the door slowly, he was met with an empty room.
‘Shit,’ Remus said, his disbelief making him go in to check, even though there was little room for Sirius to be hidden. The room was barely big enough for the bed and bookcase Remus had crammed in. He rushed outside to the large green house which had been under a disillusionment charm to hide the fact a great big hippogriff had been residing in it. The green house, however, was also empty. It looked the same as it had for years, abandoned, with overgrown weeds peaking through the flagstones that made up its floor. It was only a large grey feather laid out besides the weeds that indicated anything had disrupted Remus’ pattern of ignoring the building. He picked up the feather, twisting the quill of it between his thumb and index finger, before dropping it the ground when he could feel there was no hidden message encrypted amongst the vane.
He stumbled back into the cottage, checking the spare room again, then each of the cottage’s other rooms. When he found nothing, he did it again, and then again, before accepting defeat. There was no trace of Sirius. He had left no message, nothing for Remus to find, and for the first time ever, he wanted to go up into the attic and set fire to all of Sirius’ stuff. Even in those dark days when he was fully convinced Sirius was a traitor, the thought of destroying Sirius’ things had been criminal. But now, now he wanted them all gone. They had all been wrong about Sirius being a murderer, but they were right Remus thought, bitterly, in thinking of him as a traitor.