Blood is Thicker Than Fear

Remus sat before the hearth at twelve, Grimauld place. All the Weasleys had remained at the burrow, as well as Harry and Hermione. Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts along with the rest of the professors, after offering him (rather, re-offered him) the job as DADA professor. Life suddenly seemed worth living again. Fudge had been sacked, and a woman from NY was now serving as Minister of Magic. She was meant to be very, very good. She had attended Hogwarts around the same time as Voldemort, but left when a job had been offered to her as head of magical security at the Pentagon. Apparently, Americans were much more trusting of wizards….at least in the government. He had even heard that it was illegal to discriminate against werewolves. Until Sirius had returned, he was about ready to leave…one way or the other.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as a silent tear escaped him. Yes, he had tried to commit suicide. He had fifteen years ago…but was miraculously “saved” by Snape. But until today, there just seemed no reason for him to stick around. Without any one around him that seemed truly worth it…he tried again.

***

Rain lashed on the window pains of his run-down apartment. He had been drinking again. Not anything great—he couldn’t afford it. He had been crying for three days without end. No food, no water—a few pints and whatever else he could get his hands on; solace. That’s what it was. Being wrapped in Sirius’ strong, warm arms used to release him from the perils of being a werewolf in modern-day England…but Sirius was gone—forever. He was dead. He was standing right there, not six feet from him…and he died. He should have intercepted the curse—pushed him out of the way…but he didn’t.

The thunder clashed in surrender outside as he tried to cry, but found he had no tears left. He didn’t have anything left. He glanced over his bedside table to see a photo of him and Sirius—Sirius with his arm wrapped around him and planting an affectionate kiss on his cheek as he blushed furiously. Remus closed his eyes as tightly as he could to stop the overwhelming stinging sensation in his throat. With effort, he wrenched them open, grabbed the framed picture and threw it at the wall opposite him with a huge CLASH of shattered glass and memories.

“no…” he mumbled to himself. That was the only picture he had left of Sirius. He gave the rest to Dumbledore years ago, after Sirius had been arrested, and asked him never to allow him to look at them again—it was too painful.

But that was his last picture.

He ran over to the shattered pieces, stumbling, and hopelessly attempted to pick them all up. He winced and brought his hand to his mouth as a shard of glass cut into his skin. He pulled it away, and looked at it for a moment. It hurt—it had really hurt. He watched, spellbound, as the blood pooled down his hand.

Solace…like when I was wrapped in Sirius’ strong, warm arms.

His hand shaking, Remus picked up the largest shard of glass and dragged it slowly, carefully across his wrist. The blood surged through the crevice, and he smiled. “I’m coming, Sirius…”



That’s all he could remember. He awoke in the Hogwarts infirmary with Harry standing over him, glaring daggers. He crossed his arms and walked closer to him. “What gives you the right?”

He was still dizzy from blood loss, but he knew what he meant.

“Well? What gives YOU the right to escape? Don’t you think that I might like it to end too? Don’t you think that I’ve wanted to just die one HUNDRED times over? But I didn’t. Because people needed me. So I stayed. Well now, I need you! I needed you, and you just left me!” he broke down and became a hysterically sobbing heap, with his head tucked under his folded arms on Remus’ infirmary bed.

Remus sighed and laid a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Harry…” Harry looked up for a moment. “Do you—do you really mean that?”

Remus closed his eyes and sighed, “Yes…” he opened them and looked determinedly at his godson. “But I do not regret it.”

***

He hated himself for that—for being weak. He had always been weak…but abandoning the ones he loved when they needed him most made him no better that Pettigrew. And he hated it.



Sirius sat in the Hogwarts infirmary, being inspected by Madame Pomfrey. He had a substantial amount of injuries, none too serious though, and was getting them fixed up. “Just to think…” the fussy nurse began; “If Remus had only known that you were coming back…” she trailed off. Snape coughed pointedly, and Pomfrey blushed, “oh…right.”

“What?” Sirius began, “What do you mean—why is Snape acting funny—why are you actually being nice to me?”

Madame Pomfrey suddenly had to relieve herself, and ran to the little girls’ room. Snape, however, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “He slit his wrists.”

“…”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Lupin tried to commit suicide, you dolt!”

Sirius stood up to face Snape. “You’re lying,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not—ask anyone. I found him—in his shabby old apartment (which reeked of cheap rum, by the way) and found him lying on the floor on a pile of shattered glass, surrounded by a pool of blood at least three feet wide.”

“Why are you so calm about this.” He whispered, unable to raise his voice as he normally would have when having a conversation with Snape.

“Well, it’s not as though it’s the first time, is it?”

Sirius just gawked at him.

Remus?

The most stable person he knew—the man he cherished more than anyone in the world…attempted suicide; twice—and he didn’t know….



He fainted.



Sirius awoke to the mid-day sun, once again, in the infirmary. He glanced over toward the window, and saw Remus sitting beside him, and he noticed that Remus was rubbing his right wrist nervously—much in the same way Snape always rubbed his Dark Mark when the subject of his being a death-eater was brought up.

“Remus…I never—“

“Please, don’t speak—just listen.”

Sirius pursed hi lips like a small child who was being scolded. Remus sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well…I suppose it began in third year. I was always really depressed, generally anti-social—except for you, of course,” he smiled affectionately at Sirius, and he returned it, placing a comforting hand on his lap. “I had it implanted in my mind that I was useless; I suppose I got that from my parents; you know how they were—if I wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t their son. Being bit didn’t exactly help, either. You were always the one thing that ever made me feel…worthwhile. When I was with you, I felt like I wasn’t a waste of space. When you looked at me, I was special. I was important. I was perfect. But then…then you were gone. I thought you had left me. I know now that you didn’t, but then I was told by Dumbledore that you had abandoned me. You see, I refused to believe that you did that to James and Lily. I didn’t know who did, or how it could have been anyone else—I just knew it wasn’t you. I thought that maybe in a fit of rage or something, you had killed those people—I’m sorry I believed you a murderer.” He looked over at Sirius, but he said nothing. He had, after all, never seemed to have a care for human-life if it wasn’t one that he loved. He motioned for Remus to continue.

“I guess the reason Dumbledore made up the story about you leaving me, was because he knew that I would have done everything in my power to get you out of Azkaban—which as he knew, was quite a bit of power.” Sirius smiled knowingly as he remembered the incident with him, Remus, and the unfortunate pack of death-eaters who were torturing him for information. If he had ever been at the receiving end of Remus’ wrath…he would have wet himself.

“I believed you abandoned me. Then…whatever confidence I had developed, whatever will to live I had gained from “us”…I lost in one instant. I wanted to end my life…and for a moment, I did. I stole some poison from Snape’s laboratory, and drank it. He found me only a few minutes later, and gave me an antidote. It’s actually rather ironic, because he found me the second time too. I’m sure you can figure out why I did it last week by yourself.”

Sirius stared blankly at Remus. He wasn’t sure what to think…he motioned for Remus to hand him his hand, and he obliged. He gently turned over his wrist, and saw the gleaming white scar. He ran his finger down the line as though trying to absorb Remus’ pain. He clasped his had protectively to his chest and said, “Remus—whatever you may think—whatever anyone else tells you, no matter what happens—I will always, always be here for you.”

Remus closed his eyes to fight back the brim of tears welling over his eyelids, and threw his arms around Sirius.

From the infirmary door, Harry stood, crying, as he watched two of the people he loved most in the world embrace—wishing he could join them. But he wanted to leave them be. And they stayed like that until sunset—seeking solace in each other’s warm, strong arms.