Shrike
Sirius pads across the drawing room’s weathered hardwood on bare, pale feet. The house is drafty with December’s icy breath. Sirius had always loved winter when he was young. There was something about the exhilarating rush of cold air in his lungs, the warm steam billowing from his lips along with his laughter, and launching snowballs with raw, red hands that had always thrilled him.
Now, he’s been cold for so long, he almost doesn’t notice winter’s arrival. But the frost on the window is mesmerizing none the less, and he approaches the window with curiosity. The creaking house sounds like a ship at sea, and the wind aches through the warped wood of the sill. He places his fingers to the cool glass, and feels a current of something ripple through his stomach. Is it excitement? Anxiety? Is it the telltale shiver that means they’re coming, that death is coming, with their scabbed hands and fetid breath that issues from decaying mouths?
He shakes himself from this train of thought, and pulls on a pair of wool socks from a basket of laundry on the old, sunken sofa.
They’re a mottled green and blue that reminds him immediately of Moony’s eyes, and the endless woods and sunlight and river water hidden within them. He bites his bottom lip, chewing at it thoughtfully. It’s only been four days since Moony left, and though Sirius already misses him, he’ll be back before Christmas. Sirius is trying desperately to reform himself in the meantime. If he fucks up Christmas for Harry, he’ll never forgive himself, not to mention he secretly, selfishly, wants to enjoy the holiday like he might have a long, long time ago. And he wants Remus to see him doing better- or at least trying to be better. So that maybe, just maybe, they can talk and be close again.
Still, there’s a gnawing feeling in his gut that he thinks he would’ve been able to recognize with ease as a twenty year old, but is foreign to him now. It’s as if he’s falling into one of his usual dark moods, but there’s something else there, some softness to it. It’s rounded at the edges and warm and honey smooth. It invades his chest like sweet incense smoke, and pulls at him like a soft, insistent tide.
There’s something about the absence of Remus that feels… not good per-say, certainly not good. But… it’s as if Sirius is swimming in pitch blackness, surrounded by warm water. There’s tension there, anticipating what lurks beneath the surface, but it also feels so right, so soothing, so cloying. He wants to dive in.
Uneasy, he hugs himself around the middle and finds that he likes the feeling, the compression of hands against his sides, but his own hands are too cold and too sharp. He thinks of Moony’s strong arms, his hot, calloused hands and rough fingertips. Something about Remus makes a bit of heat return to the room, and Sirius breathes deeply, trying to clear his head.
Longing. He’s feeling longing. For Remus. And that fucking complicates things.
Because they kissed just once, softly and quietly in the small hours of the night, when Sirius was a mess and Remus was probably just out of his head with exhaustion. Sirius can still feel the warm bath water run down his cheek where Moony had touched it to pull him in closer.
And since? Nothing. Remus will hardly look at him, much less risk touching him. And Sirius knows he has bigger problems to worry about than romance, he really fucking does. There’s Voldemort for one, and his relentless self-destruction for another, and Christmas for Harry’s sake- dammit, he’s supposed to be getting things ready for the holidays, and here he is, fantasizing about Remus Lupin’s hands on his hips, a phenomenon he can almost, almost remember occurring once or twice in the distant past. He can’t separate what he hopes had happened from what had actually occurred all those years ago. The memories are a dense thicket, and no path has revealed itself, especially where Remus is concerned.
It makes him want to drink in a different way than usual. He doesn’t want to black out and forget he’s alive; What he wants is to down a few glasses of something warm to loosen himself up and find Remus (bloody brilliant, and strong, and measured animal that he is) and do something he would almost certainly end up regretting.
But Remus isn’t here to be found. Who the fuck knows where Remus is. He’s not here, and he most certainly doesn’t belong to Sirius (if he ever did. Did he?). The golden image collapses like the dusty ruin that it is, in the house that is certainly still cold, not warming up like he thought it might be moments ago. Even so, it’s only the daydream that fades away, not any of the desire accumulating in the pit of Sirius’ stomach.
He presses at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and produces his wand from his back pocket. The little metal statuettes on the mantle start to hover and chime. Scales, to take the measure of a wizard, horses, to indicate good breeding, and other objects all symbolic of the pure Black family blood. They start to stretch and twist, like liquid silver, into a new shape. Sirius’ magic has been improving, but it’s still so volatile. It’s power is one thing, it’s obedience to his conscious will another altogether. Sirius can perform just about any spell, even the extremely complicated or taxing- but he can’t control them. So, regardless of whatever Christmas trinket he had intended to create (a reindeer perhaps, or a spruce tree), the silver convalesces into a single form; that of a radiant wolf, which refuses to be transformed again. He stares at it, throat tightening, before abandoning the room in search of something else to make ready.
…
“You look a little better,” says Tonks one afternoon, a few days later. He blinks, looking up from the narrow book in his hands. They’ve been shaking with the effort to avoid alcohol, and it helps to have something to hold, even if he keeps losing his place.
“Yeah?” He says, feeling strangely exposed.
“I mean, still kind of like death warmed over,” Tonks says with an evil grin. Sirius rolls his eyes.
“Thanks, Nymphs, what a remarkable improvement.”
“I mean it. I just… I’m not daft, I know you haven’t been well. And I thought with Remus away it might get worse. But you seem alright. I’m relieved is all.”
Sirius stares at her owlishly, bemused and momentarily lost for words.
“You’ve inherited your mother’s brutal vulnerability, you know that? And here I remember you being a snot-nosed little shit. I had to look out for you, not the other way around.”
Tonks smile sheepishly, but Sirius can tell that she’s proud to be likened to her mother. “What must that feel like?” he thinks.
He shrugs.
“I’ve been keeping busy. And I’m terrified to know what Molly does to people who don’t finish her cooking, so I manage as much of it as I can.” He grimaces a bit. After so long surviving on scraps, he still sometimes ends up heaving up large meals on his hands and knees.
“Awwww, handsome, dignified Sirius Black, doing his own housework and not pushing his food around on his plate. Who would’ve thought!”
He scoffs and lightly bops her on the forehead.
“Fuck off. Little monster,” he mutters. She shrugs playfully, unbothered.
“You love me though.”
“Unfortunately.”
“And you love Harry.”
“Of course I do. Lot easier than loving you.”
“And you love Lupin.”
His eyes flash with surprise and he arrests her with his alarmed gaze. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. His face goes hard and he glances at his book, trying to look anywhere, god, anywhere, but at his cousin.
“Oh my GOD,” breathes Tonks, covering her mouth. Sirius sighs, with every intention of telling her she’s being ridiculous and to fuck off, for real this time. The words don’t come out. All that he can do is meet her eyes with an exasperated look that comes across more so as pining and miserable.
“Can we not, Nymphs?” He asks. There’s a bit of amusement in her eyes, but it fades at the request. Her gaze softens.
“Does he know?” She asks very solemnly. Sirius feels a worm of shame and irritation climbing in his chest.
“The fuck does it matter if he knows?” He snaps. He’d really like to leave this room, but the problem is that Sirius does in fact love Tonks. She’s the little sister he never had, and has no desire to argue with her, especially not when she’s the only person who doesn’t treat him like glass. He takes a steadying breath and attempts a less hostile tone.
“You don’t think that ship has sort of sailed?” He asks rhetorically.
“No, actually, I don’t,” Tonks says quietly, fixing him with a very genuine gaze.
Sirius massages his forehead, which has begun to throb. He can clearly see the small kitchen stockpile of liquor bottles in his mind’s eye, much more effective painkillers than any potion he’s ever brewed up. He mentally swats the thought away like a cloud of gnats, and turns sideways on the couch, crossing his legs beneath him, so that he’s facing her directly.
“Nymphado-“
“Beeeep, wrong. Try again.”
“Fine, Tonks. Hush up and listen. Before-. Before I-. Look, alright, I can’t remember shit. I have about forty percent of my memories, and even those are shaky. I could probably… I don’t know, write a very factual report on my life and get full marks, but that’s not the same as actually remembering it. Not at all. Understand?”
There’s a flash of concern in Tonks eyes but she masters it quickly. Sirius had always been her childhood confidant, and she leans forward conspiratorially, to show him that she’s on his team and not here to coddle him.
“Remus… Remus especially. It’s like he’s just gone. There are Remus shaped holes. Because he… because he meant so much to me I think? Because I was so happy with him?”
He pauses, but Tonks lets him take a breath and finish.
“But I can’t. I can’t for the life of me. I don’t know if he and I were-. I can’t remember if-. I don’t even know if he’s-.”
Sirius waves his hands before him in irritation, as if presenting the problem on an invisible table. His leg is jogging and tapping the whole time he speaks and finally he shoots up from his seat and begins to pace the room, frenzied, despairing, and agitated. Tonks raises a penciled eyebrow.
“You need to get laid,” she points out. He shoots her an embarrassed glare that reminds her to be gentle around this new Sirius. She sighs deeply.
“Honestly, Si, I’m not at all sure what it was like between you two. You lived together, after school, you know that much?”
Sirius nods and continues pacing.
“Well, you were always so close. Everyone kind of suspected it was something like that. But you two were- are- so intensely private. As a pair and as individuals. Sirius, I’m sorry, I really don’t know.”
Sirius stops before the bookshelf behind the sofa. His hands flex into balls and then relax several times. Tonks can’t see his face, but she can tell from the stoop of his shoulders that he feels defeated.
“Sirius, what I do know is the way he looks at you,” she says gently but confidently.
“Believe me, I’d love to be on the other end of that look, but you, you gorgeous bastard, you beat me to it,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. Sirius turns a little to face her, the faintest shred of hope in his broken eyes, but he’s facing the floor with one hand encircling his upper arm, like he’s protecting himself from heartbreak.
“You should try with him,” he says, sounding devastated.
“What? No! That’s not what I was-.”
“Tonks, look at me! I am never going to be relationship material!” He throws his arms up in frustration and with an uncomfortable feeling, Tonks wonders if it’s true. Sirius’ eyes are red and violet rimmed from shit sleep, and he’s shaking and sweating from two days without a single drink. His hair is clean, but not well taken care of, just tangled into a bun on the back of his head. He does look better, really, but he doesn’t look whole. He’s looks so impossibly thin and old, yet so young at the same time, like this is his first heartbreak. “He’s known Lupin since he was eleven,” she thinks. “Maybe it is.”
“Do you suppose he might be thinking that very same thing right now? He’s a werewolf who can’t hold down a job and spent twelve years in an apathetic stupor because he couldn’t get over losing his friends- couldn’t get over losing you, Sirius- not just Lily and James and Peter. I saw him a couple of times over the years. And I kept waiting for him, thinking maybe he might… might have feelings for me too… but he didn’t. Because firstly, I think he’s madly in love with you, and secondly, he looked about as big of hot mess as you do now.”
Tonks is afraid to see her cousin like this, her rebel teenage role-model, so near to tears. She’s not afraid of him, but for him. She stand and grasps his hands tightly.
“Si. We. Are all. Broken.” She feels unbidden tears in her own eyes.
“And we are all terrified of imposing that brokenness on the people we love. We are so terrified of that dependence that we don’t realize we are supposed to carry each other. Not all the way, not all the time- but you two need each other! That’s love, Sirius. Picking up one another’s broken, shitty pieces. It’s messy, and it fucking sucks, and you may never feel worthy of it, believe me,” Tonks begs, openly weeping now. She grasps his gaunt, haunted face and feels the same dampness on his cheeks. How could he cry so silently?
“But worthy doesn’t come into it. Not a bit. You’re enough for him, so long as you’ll have each other.”
Sirius gives a sad, pained smile, and swallows hard, nodding. Tonks can’t help but grin through her tears.
“And I wish you every happiness.”
She embraces him tightly and lets Remus go.