Of The

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and universe are property of JKR, Scholastic & other assorted publishers, and the WB.
Notes: Summary is a Winston Churchill quote. This is being written for the BlanketForts challenge at the LiveJournal Community of the same name. While some parts are not R or NC-17, overall the story is rated NC-17. The story will be updated regularly throughout the month, as this is a daily challenge lasting the month of January. The story begins at the end and will end at the beginning. Along the way, we'll be jumping back and forth in time. There are 31 parts in this story. The Roman Numerals at the beginning of each section give you an indication of 'when' in the course of Remus's and Sirius's history together these things happen.

xvi.

"Ah, here we are," says Remus, so full of cheer and broad smiles and excitement that it's a wonder he can contain it all. Sirius wouldn't be surprised if his head pops right off and splatters all about the welcome mat right here and now in front of his new flat.

"You sure this is the place, Moony?" Remus certainly has talked this place up, but...there has to be some sort of mistake. The paint on the door is chipped and peeling, the knocker is askew, the windows are grimy, and the location itself is decidedly Muggle.

"Of course I'm sure." Sirius watches as he digs a key out of his pocket. It's big and brass, with a skull on the end, and Sirius thinks that Muggles just might be more cracked than he'd previously figured. A turn of the key, a twist of the knob, and the door swings inward. Remus waves him inside wearing a more subdued, shyly anxious expression.

Reminding himself that he's not going to be an arse and ruin today, Remus's day, Sirius offers him a grin and starts through the door.

"Wait!"

Remus's fingers curl around his bicep and Sirius stops, halfway through the threshold, looking at him questioningly.

"Wellies off." Remus gestures toward the welcoming mat with a sheepish smile. "If you don't mind...."

Sirius returns the smile, stepping back out onto the stoop to pull off his wellies. As soon as they're in a heap on the mat, melting snow slips down along the rubber, over the heel, over the vamp, over the toe box, a puddle forming under them. "Better here than all over your new carpet, eh?" Sirius says lightly, clapping a hand on Remus's shoulder before making his way inside. He doesn't get very far before he stops and his heart sinks.

The entrance hall is a disaster. That's the only way to describe it, really. Wallpaper is torn and hanging off the walls in some places, the carpet is threadbare, and in spots where the carpet is particularly nonexistent Sirius can see rotting floorboards.

Oh, Moony.

Remus's hand is at the small of his back suddenly, a light, familiar presence, and he presses slightly, urging Sirius forward. While Sirius doesn't want to see more, he knows he must, he has to for Remus's sake, and he ought to put on his most pleasant mask this very second before Remus suspects something is amiss.

They turn to the left, entering the drawing room, and Sirius can't do this. It's fucking demeaning for Remus have to live here, that's what it is. Judging from the exterior, the entrance hall, and this drawing room, Sirius discerns that the rest looks just as good, which is to say really fucking awful, thanks.

Yes, Remus won't really be able to find steady work on account of that pesky little once a month bloodthirsty creature of doom thing and will be living on a shoestring budget, but bloody Christing hell! This flat isn't good enough for a doxie to infest, that's how dreadful it is!

The walls aren't just losing bits of paper in here; they're losing plaster as well. There are holes in the walls, paper and glue and plaster completely worn away, the wooden structure underneath completely visible. In the places where the paper is still afixed to plaster run many long cracks, a good number of them with thin, miniscule spidery veins moving out, seeking to round the circumference of the room. The floor was a tad better than it was in the entrance hall, but the furniture is so very atrocious that Sirius barely makes note of it. Settee threadbare with stuffing leaking out at the seams, table with mismatched (and wobbly) legs, bookshelf with shelves that bow in the middle.... This isn't any place for Remus. Sirius doesn't give a flying shrivelfig if it's economical or not for Remus to live here; it's a fucking shit hole and Remus is better than this.

There is a dull ache in his chest and, when Remus removes his hand from the small of Sirius's back, he has to grit his teeth to deter himself from ranting and railing at Remus regarding his crummy flat.

"I know it isn't much," Remus starts, clasping his hands in front of himself. He ducks his head and a shock of brown hair, mousy and dull and perfect, falls in his eyes. "But it's a start, Sirius. A real start."

"It's...something," Sirius allows, leaning over, twisting to peer up into Remus's eyes. "Did your mum and da help you pick it out?"

Remus freezes for the briefest of moments, then crosses to the window, fingers curling over the sill. "No. I did it on my own - searched, toured, signed the paperwork, paid for it. Everything."

Remus has paid for his own flat without the help of his parents.

That's the most important thing Sirius takes away from this little exchange and the ache in his chest isn't dull anymore. It's sharp and searing and severe. Remus, who barely has two sickles to rub together, is paying for this flat on his own. Remus, who doesn't know when or where or even if he'll ever get a job, is paying for this flat on his own. Remus, who is wise and gentle and decent, is paying for this shit hole flat on his own. Dear God.

"So," Remus says, his smile wavering. "What do you think, Padfoot?"

I think it's crap. You deserve better. Is this the best you could find? Why don't you move in with James? With Peter? For fuck's sakes, why don't you move in with me? Why here? Why with Muggles?

Sirius knows that even if Remus could afford a better place he would still have chosen this flat. Ever since they met, Remus has been the different one, unlike the rest of the Marauders. This is his way of remaining different, but Sirius thinks it's also his way of holding himself back. Always afraid - or unwilling - to feel touch taste be live, Remus. Unwilling.

That is Remus. Unwilling.

Unwilling to see, to believe, to trust. To trust in himself.

Sirius trusts in Remus enough for the both of them, but that isn't the point.

He cannot lie to Remus. He never could. He cannot lie, so he answers Remus's question with his own earlier statement. "It's a start."

While Remus is starting, Sirius will keep on trusting.

He'll keep on believing.