He trekked across the familiar landscape. Dark shadows loomed over his emaciated body as he grew closer and closer to his childhood home. Number twelve Grimmauld Place was on the opposing side of London from Remus’ house.
Stopping far from the long forgotten residence, Padfoot plopped onto the ground, lying his head down with defeat. He thought he would never return to this house. The dark staircases, the elves’ severed heads, and the blasted family tree were all just reminders of a life he was not part of. Staying recumbent, he didn’t once remove his dark eyes from the small gap between number eleven and number thirteen.
*
Dark shadows were expanding across the far wall of the kitchen. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the bright fire. A wrinkled head was floating in the flames, the tongues absently licking the sides of the face. A small group of people was gathered around the fire, their attention was rapt. Silence covered the room after the old man’s ringing voice went quiet.
The two people looked at each other. Worry and fright were not evident in their eyes; they trusted the man in front of them. They had been warned of this already, they just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.
When Molly Weasley had found out the truth about Sirius Black a few weeks before in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, she had been shocked, but she was taking him in with an open mind; Dumbledore always trusted for a reason.
They should be expecting him soon, Dumbledore said, within the next few hours. He would probably arrive in the form of a large, shaggy, black mutt, as it was his Animagus form. Unable to believe that the notorious mass murderer was about to sit down for dinner with her and her husband, she stood up slowly and walked over to the faded counter.
Placing her hands slowly on the rotten wood, she waited. Ears perked for the dull scratch on the door that she was impatiently anticipating, she waited. Arthur stood up and moved toward her to help with the dinner, and still, she waited.
Finally, it came.
Scratch. Scratch, scratch. The sound of trailing dog claws against old, blackened wood. Jumping slightly as her husband touched her shoulder, she said, “He’s here.” Immediately moving from her spot in the kitchen, she briskly walked to the front door and threw it open.
Patiently waiting on the front steps of the rotten house was the dog, ears drooping, tongue lolling.
“Hello,” she said almost too loudly as she gestured for the dog to enter. Once she had thrust the heavy door shut behind her, she turned around. The dog was still sitting there, tongue lazily hanging out of its mouth, slow drops of slobber rolling off of it. It’s eyebrows twitched back and forth between the two adults before it moved into a side room.
Molly and Arthur stared at each other. “What is he playing at?” Molly whispered urgently to her husband.
“I’m sure it’s going to be””
“Hello, I’m Sirius Black, nice to meet you.” Molly jumped as the man slid out of a side room, throwing out his weathered hand.
“Pleasure. Arthur Weasley. This is my wife, Molly,” he said through a warm smile as he shot Molly a sideways glance.
“Yes, yes. We met! However abruptly. Don’t mind if I take my things to my room, do you?” Sirius said with a bright smile after he nodded politely at both adults. “It’s my old place, no need for a tour,” he added quickly.
“Oh, yes of course. That would be perfect,” Molly finally managed to say after a few moments of tense silence. As he turned to lug his small bag up the staircase, she called after him, “Dinner’s at seven!”
*
Staring into the marbled glass of the bottle, Remus tried to focus on how much was left, but he couldn’t get his eyes to stop looking at the glass. It was swirling in his eyes; he lowered his face to get a closer look. The distorted images behind the bottle were dancing back and forth as he moved his head around. He clumsily thrust his hand around the other side of the dark glass. Closing one of his eyes in attempt to focus on the disfigured member of his body, he jerked his hand around to get different perspectives.
Suddenly standing up from his games, he swayed. Deciding it was a poor choice to stand up so suddenly, he slowly sat back down and laid his head on the cool surface of the table.
“Gnagh,” He moaned to himself as he numbly banged his forehead on the rough wood. Allowing his head to rest, a dull ache throbbing through the dazedness, Remus paused. The room went still, his breathing the only sound.
His arms were hanging heavily by his sides and his mouth was sagging drunkenly open. Placing his hands on the table on either side of his body for support, he slowly lifted his body, allowing his head to roll up last.
“Got to”to go to Sirius. Sirius is at Grimmauld Place,” Remus mumbled through tingly lips as he turned to the back door. “No, I need to lie down before I’m off,” he corrected as his spun in search of comfortable accomadations.
Through hazy eyes, he spotted his favourite chair and directed his feet in its direction. Not realising that he had reached his destination, his shins thudded against the front of the seat. Looking down in surprise, he shrugged, and turned around, slowly lowering himself into the chair.
“Yes, just a quick rest, and then I’ll be off.” His head leaned back against the old leather of the seat and his eyes instantly drooped into sleep.
*
The setting sun glinted into his eyes, forcing them open. Looking around, he noticed not only the setting sun, but also the old clock ticking on the wall. He’d slept for two hours. Pushing himself up from the comfortable indention his body had made, his head began to swim with remaining inebriation. He walked about some, and the swimming in his head intensifying, but his thoughts remained coherent.
Moving towards his cloak, he stumbled, but shook off the momentary lapse in coordination. The nap had helped; it had to, because he needed to go to Grimmauld Place now. Reaching his cloak, his fingers numbly grasped at the scratchy fabric, his thoughts more prevalent to him than his actions. He finally snatched up the garment and threw it around his shoulders. The swift movement caused him to sway, but he was fine”he had to get to Sirius. Grabbing up his wand and walking out his back door, he made his way beyond the barrier and Apparated not seconds after he let out a soft hiccough.
*
Sirius stood on the threshold of his childhood bedroom, unable to walk into a room that fostered such unwelcome memories. When he had first arrived, he had merely thrown his tattered bag onto the bed from the hallway, and then walked down to the kitchen.
The Weasleys had been very kind, yet strained. It was as much as he had expected. He was, after all, a long thought mass murderer. Dinner had been quaint; he had loquaciously told vivid stories of his travels abroad for the past year, just to see the reaction. He received a white-faced woman and a man who asked many questions about the different types of Muggles he ran into.
Staring at the peeling posters, Sirius made his first step into the small room. Downstairs a shrill doorbell sounded. Moments after his ears were filled with the most unwelcome part of returning to this house: his mother’s voice. Skipping every other step on his way down the steps, he rushed into the candle-lit hallway to see what had stirred up the commotion. Stuffing his palms over his ears he looked around for the source of the shrieking.
“BLOOD TRAITOR! CONTAMINATING MY HOUSEHOLD! GET THE FILTH OFF THE RUG! DISGRACE TO THE FAMILY!”
Recognising the dark hair and pale skin of his late mother, Sirius rushed over to the screaming portrait. Grasping the billowing curtains, he yelled, “Shut up, Mother!” roughly before shoving them together. The hallway was now blanketed in silence. Ears ringing, Sirius turned toward the doorway.
“What’s this all about?” he asked nonchalantly. A bubble of laughter answered him from the shadows. Molly and Arthur glanced at each other before she stepped forward.
In a quiet voice she said, “Remus is here.” She glanced back at her husband before motioning for Sirius to move closer. “He’s in a right state, Sirius, do take care of him.”
Sirius glanced up at Remus who was swaying slightly on the spot, intermittently shaking himself as if trying to wake himself up from a bad dream. He looked briefly back down at Molly, before rushing over to his side. Sirius threw his arm over Remus’ shoulders and awkwardly began to walk him up to his room.
“First time I’ve ever met your mum, y’know that?” Remus said, as he attempted to straighten himself, shaking his shoulders.
“Lovely lady, isn’t she?”
“Voice. Lovely voice,” Remus said as his head slumped sideways onto his shoulders. Sirius faltered slightly as he began walking, but he led Remus to his old bedroom, finally crossing the imminent division. All the while, Remus was mumbling and laughing under his potent breath.
Sirius turned down the sheets for him, but after lying down, Remus slowly pushed himself back up as if he had forgotten to stay upright.
“Wait, Padfoot. Hello,” Remus announced as he attempted to steady himself with one hand on the soft mattress, his arm shaking precariously.
Sirius raised his eyebrows at his friend and replied, “Yes of course, hello darling, but you are lying down now.” Placing his hand on Remus’ shoulder, he firmly pushed the man down on the mattress.
“No! I came ‘ere with a reason! Even took a nap before.” He paused, attempting to send a wink in Sirius’ direction, but all he achieved was scrunching up his face. “Why did you wait so long to come back?” Neither man had moved from the pinned position; Sirius’ eyes were burning into the hazy ones of Remus. “T’was thirteen long years, then you’re gone again. I missed the MoonyPad times and the Marauders, Padfoot! Wha’s ‘appened to us all…” Remus shook his head and rubbed his eyes.
Sirius remained quiet, but he could tell Remus noticed that the odd glare had taken residence in his normally jovial eyes because his eyes were now reflecting back at him.
“Padfoot, I’m all right. Would you stop looking at me that way?”
Finally submitting to the hard push of his friend’s hand, Remus’ arm crumbled beneath him, and his eyes fluttered heavily closed.
Sirius was staring at his friend with an odd look on his face, one of confusion and sorrow. The tense shoulders had relaxed under his firm hands and the eyes had fallen heavily shut. Staring down at him, he sighed, shoulders slumping with defeat. He fell with a heavy thud down onto his knees, and rested his head on Remus’ steadily rising and falling chest.
“It’s just beginning, Moony. It’s just bloody beginning.”
*
He found the small woman humming happily in the dark kitchen as the dishes magically scrubbed themselves in the sink. Celestina Warbeck was playing softly in the background as she danced about directing a knife above a pile of washed carrots. Kicking aside the stool, Sirius sat down to an empty bowl that was moments later filled with steaming soup.
Silence between the two persisted as Molly continued to cook the rest of the meal, and Sirius slowly sipped the hot concoction. He could feel eyes glance over the back of his tangled head every so often, but still no words were spoken.
As his tarnished spoon clanged against the bottom of the bowl, he heard the voice very close behind him. “I’ve never seen Remus like that before. I’ve known the boy for quite a while, and never once…”
Sirius stayed hunched over his bowl; he had seen Remus in that state many times before. When they were in school, he, James, Remus, and Peter always used to sneak down to Hogsmeade and steal Firewhiskey from Madame Rosmerta; she would knowingly turn her back every time.
“I don’t know what it could be. Maybe it’s You-Know-Who, or Harry almost getting killed,” she said softly as she settled in next to him. “He’s taken quite a bit of responsibility for Harry, and I’m worried, Sirius. I might not know you, and I don’t quite know if I should trust you yet, but Remus does, so take good care of him?”
Sirius moved his eyes from the murky liquid to look at her; she had worry etched in the lines that creased over her face, but her eyes still shone with warmth. Her rosy cheeks were smudged with flour, and her apron was frayed at the edges. A burn hole was splashed in the middle of the thin bit of cloth, but she didn’t mind. She was worried about Remus.
“He takes responsibility for a lot of people,” Sirius said in a low voice, “but he’ll be all right. He’ll be fine.” A smooth grin formed on his lips as he looked reassuringly at Molly. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
She patted his arm kindly before taking his empty bowl to the sink. He stayed seated for a few moments before slowly standing up.
“Thanks for the soup, it was delicious.” He shut the kitchen door behind him before moving swiftly up the stairs.
The only source of light into his room was the cracked window in the corner. A harsh glow of the setting sun was cast across the still form lying on the bed. Sirius sat down underneath the window, resting his head against the cold wall, and bent his legs in front of him. He could see the dark, hot glow of the room through his closed lids. The dull thump of his heart beat against his ribs as he thought of the man lying ten feet from him.
He had missed him for thirteen years. Sitting alone in a cell allowed one to think, however morosely, a lot. As a dog he could block the creeping feeling of failure, the coldness would seep out of his bones for those few fleeting moments. He had always thought that Remus would never forgive him, that he had lost everything that night, but now he was able to grow again, to feel, and think, and love.
His head pounded as he thought of the night. Everything had gone amiss in a few short moments. When it was over, all he could do was laugh; Peter had outsmarted them. Peter.
Staring hard at the heavily breathing lump in the old bed, he thought of how his friend had changed. It must have been drastic for Molly to be so worried about a drunk Remus. So many years ago, the four boys had been carefree and alive; they had no restrictions or boundaries. Now, it seemed as if all Remus had done was set up a large barrier between himself and the rest of the world. He was darker and reserved, no longer a Marauder.
Sirius allowed a small grimace to slide over his lips as he slowly stood up from his position against the wall. He walked to the bed, the floorboards creaking underneath his worn shoes, and slid in next to Remus. He pulled the broken man close to him and breathed in deep the rotten stench of Firewhiskey. He laid with his head tucked into the crevasse of Remus’ neck for the hours that he slept, never moving nor falling victim to exhaustion.
He’d forgotten the smell of utter fatigue that lingered on Remus’ skin and in his bones. The feeling of his skin and body next to his took him back to carefree days by the lake and starry nights on the rooftops of the castle. He had never forgotten what this teenage boy had felt many years ago, and putting himself in this position was making it difficult to ward off the rush of dormant emotions. He knew that when Remus woke up, he would be less than comfortable with the situation, but it was something that Sirius was willing to risk.
Broken Hearts, Unlike Broken Quills, Are Not Easily Mended by Mistletoe
Chapter Notes: Thanks to The Marauding Cupcake [Michelle] for helping me bunches with this chapter! *loves her*