Of The
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Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Remus/Sirius
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
1,573
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Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Remus/Sirius
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
9
Views:
1,573
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Of The, 8/31
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and universe are property of JKR, Scholastic & other assorted publishers, and the WB.
xxv.
Everything is nothing and nothing is what it seems and seemingly everything is bollocks. Bollixed up.
Fuck, but Sirius can't take this.
Sirius can't take this 'is it or isn't it' - And what the hell is It anymore? - one more day. He cannot do it and he will - will battle of the wills will not - not.
He hasn't come to this decision lightly. This is Moony. But this is also James and Lily and wee little Harry, and Sirius can't--
This is agony, pure primitive pain, in its rawest form. To essentially choose between his friends, to choose between his best mate and his lover--
Sirius is broken inside. Shattered. Shattered into shards that aren't quite sharp enough, that won't quite cut through the ache to stiffle it, and God how he wants to be stiffled.
Or saved.
Or both.
He had thought once that Remus was like Messiah, like Savior.
He isn't so sure anymore.
Remus is gone for long stretches at a time these days and no one - not anyone in the Order, not Peter or James or Lily, not Remus's parents, not the bloke at that second-hand bookshop in Soho Remus frequents - can vouch for him. No one knows where he goes, what he does.
Sirius doesn't even know what he thinks or feels these days, not even when their bodies are joined and they're One. He merges with a soul sewn up with secrets never to be told. Never to be thought on.
But Sirius does think on them.
He hasn't ever done well with secrets, because secrets walk arm-in-arm with lies and Sirius hasn't any time for keeping up appearances and deceit and sin.
All he has time for these days is fighting. Fighting for the Order, fighting against Voldemort's sodding Death Eaters, fighting the memory of the last time he'd seen Regulus alive - "I know what I'm doing." "So do it." Death sentence given by his own mouth to his flesh and blood. Fighting himself - mind versus heart versus every single sodding breath he takes because he does it, he does everything, for family. For James and Lily and Harry and Peter and Remus. Especially for Remus.
Oh, but how Sirius loves him.
It isn't enough, though. Love isn't fucking enough anymore. Not when lives are at stake and Sirius is responsible for them.
James, Lily, and Peter don't know what Sirius suspects about Remus, but soon enough they will.
As soon as Sirius himself can determine - bide decide finalise - what he fucking thinks, they will know.
He stands outside the flat - Remus's and his - and looks at the barren, still trees framing the building. Void of life and full limb, hiding the promise of fresh starts and new beginnings. They remind Sirius of Remus, of how he longs to some day belong, to begin anew. Sirius never agreed with that sentiment of Remus's. Remus does belong. To him.
Or maybe he did.
Here and now, Remus could very well belong to someone else - Voldemort - or something else - the Death Eaters, Voldemort's sodding stupid cause.
Mistrust is a slippery slushy slope and Sirius hates that he's being forced to take this path, to be given the task of climbing this fucking hill, to be the one to right everything before it has the chance to be wronged.
Candlelight flickers in the window, flame calling beckoning urging Sirius inside, home, to him.
He ignores the summons and turns round to walk along the blackened concrete. There are cracks, deep and wide and far-reaching.
Sirius doesn't bother trying to avoid stepping on them. He'd rather break his mother's back than Remus's spirit, or James's and Lily's hearts.
Everything is too close right now.
Sirius needs to get away, to find a time and place to cope with this, with everything.
His own heart breaking and spirit shattering, he runs. Birds screech overhead, wind roars, and Sirius screams, falling apart from the inside out.
Time and a place. Anywhere.
He stops beneath an old oak tree, pounding at his chest, hatred and confusion washing over him. He hadn't helped Regulus, but maybe he could do something right this time, something he should have done from the fucking start.
Regulus.
Anywhere.
"Reg," he chokes.
Then, he Apparates.
xxv.
Everything is nothing and nothing is what it seems and seemingly everything is bollocks. Bollixed up.
Fuck, but Sirius can't take this.
Sirius can't take this 'is it or isn't it' - And what the hell is It anymore? - one more day. He cannot do it and he will - will battle of the wills will not - not.
He hasn't come to this decision lightly. This is Moony. But this is also James and Lily and wee little Harry, and Sirius can't--
This is agony, pure primitive pain, in its rawest form. To essentially choose between his friends, to choose between his best mate and his lover--
Sirius is broken inside. Shattered. Shattered into shards that aren't quite sharp enough, that won't quite cut through the ache to stiffle it, and God how he wants to be stiffled.
Or saved.
Or both.
He had thought once that Remus was like Messiah, like Savior.
He isn't so sure anymore.
Remus is gone for long stretches at a time these days and no one - not anyone in the Order, not Peter or James or Lily, not Remus's parents, not the bloke at that second-hand bookshop in Soho Remus frequents - can vouch for him. No one knows where he goes, what he does.
Sirius doesn't even know what he thinks or feels these days, not even when their bodies are joined and they're One. He merges with a soul sewn up with secrets never to be told. Never to be thought on.
But Sirius does think on them.
He hasn't ever done well with secrets, because secrets walk arm-in-arm with lies and Sirius hasn't any time for keeping up appearances and deceit and sin.
All he has time for these days is fighting. Fighting for the Order, fighting against Voldemort's sodding Death Eaters, fighting the memory of the last time he'd seen Regulus alive - "I know what I'm doing." "So do it." Death sentence given by his own mouth to his flesh and blood. Fighting himself - mind versus heart versus every single sodding breath he takes because he does it, he does everything, for family. For James and Lily and Harry and Peter and Remus. Especially for Remus.
Oh, but how Sirius loves him.
It isn't enough, though. Love isn't fucking enough anymore. Not when lives are at stake and Sirius is responsible for them.
James, Lily, and Peter don't know what Sirius suspects about Remus, but soon enough they will.
As soon as Sirius himself can determine - bide decide finalise - what he fucking thinks, they will know.
He stands outside the flat - Remus's and his - and looks at the barren, still trees framing the building. Void of life and full limb, hiding the promise of fresh starts and new beginnings. They remind Sirius of Remus, of how he longs to some day belong, to begin anew. Sirius never agreed with that sentiment of Remus's. Remus does belong. To him.
Or maybe he did.
Here and now, Remus could very well belong to someone else - Voldemort - or something else - the Death Eaters, Voldemort's sodding stupid cause.
Mistrust is a slippery slushy slope and Sirius hates that he's being forced to take this path, to be given the task of climbing this fucking hill, to be the one to right everything before it has the chance to be wronged.
Candlelight flickers in the window, flame calling beckoning urging Sirius inside, home, to him.
He ignores the summons and turns round to walk along the blackened concrete. There are cracks, deep and wide and far-reaching.
Sirius doesn't bother trying to avoid stepping on them. He'd rather break his mother's back than Remus's spirit, or James's and Lily's hearts.
Everything is too close right now.
Sirius needs to get away, to find a time and place to cope with this, with everything.
His own heart breaking and spirit shattering, he runs. Birds screech overhead, wind roars, and Sirius screams, falling apart from the inside out.
Time and a place. Anywhere.
He stops beneath an old oak tree, pounding at his chest, hatred and confusion washing over him. He hadn't helped Regulus, but maybe he could do something right this time, something he should have done from the fucking start.
Regulus.
Anywhere.
"Reg," he chokes.
Then, he Apparates.