four tequilas down
5th May 1981
It was rare for a word to be spoken anymore.
Sirius would return from a mission and drown himself in firewhiskey until he fell asleep.
Remus would return from a mission and refuse to leave their bed for a week.
They didn’t communicate through words; words only confirmed the horrors of the moment. It was easier to grasp each other's hands when they were scared: cling to each other as the stars shone above them when they were sad: press kisses against each other’s foreheads, temples and cheeks to show they still cared for them above anything.
They didn’t fight, not now. It never seemed right to fight when every time they saw each other might be the last. When they looked back, they knew that was why betrayal seemed so easy to believe. They’d blurred the line between right and wrong so easily on missions that it spilled into who they were, making trust the one thing they couldn’t communicate.
Remus wondered if Sirius saw him as the next Regulus.
Sirius wondered if Remus saw him as the next Regulus.
Pretending everything was okay, was not okay. It was brutally painful and left them with a strange taste in the back of their mouths.
This time, Sirius stumbled through the door, his legs unwilling to carry him much further. Remus rushed to his side, carrying him to the sofa where Sirius began to cry, and cry, and cry. He clung to Remus, sobbing into his shirt and Remus knew this meant only one thing.
Death.
He pulled Sirius close to him, running his fingers through Sirius’ hair. He didn’t want to ask who, because asking who would mean confirming it. “Who?” he asked, his voice hitching as he prepared for the answer.
Sirius shook his head. “Mar -” he began, and Remus felt his heart drop. “Marlene,” he choked, digging his nails into Remus’ arm, though he barely felt it. “Dorcas,” he added.
Remus went cold.
It wasn’t possible.
Not both of them.
He never got to thank Dorcas for her scarf.
He never got to tell Marlene about this bakery he found.
It seemed weird, that those were his first thoughts.
He couldn’t help it.
Pulling Sirius closer, Remus felt a burning at the back of his eyes and scrunched them shut. They didn’t move, they didn’t say anything else to each other. They clung to each other as if they were upon a sinking ship, with moments to live, or as if they could see the oncoming storm and knew they wouldn’t be able to get to safety. Remus wanted to leave, live abroad somewhere, but he also knew that as a werewolf, he was as welcome as a Death Eater. Sirius didn’t want to leave, but he also didn’t wish to stay anymore - staying led to death and he wasn’t sure he could lose anyone else.
Instead, Remus pressed a kiss onto Sirius’ forehead, and Sirius twisted his head, pressing one onto Remus’ cheek. The unspoken ‘I love you’ lingering in the air like perfume. Remus wondered if they’d ever say the words aloud, or if it was too close to a goodbye.
Everything was wrong. It all felt corrupt and unclean and muffled. Neither was sure what seemed to say it was okay for them to wish they hadn’t joined the war, but it was there.
The thought that snaked its way into their minds almost as quickly as the Potters had gone into hiding.
It refused to leave.
The small hope of life after the war was the only thing keeping them going.