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Fic! "Requiem"
Title: Requiem
Rating: PG
Pairing: RL/SB
Summary: Nov 1, 1981. Remus gets an owl asking him to come see Dumbledore immediately.
Warnings: Angst. Like whoa.
Notes: My undying gratitude to Blue Spoon for going above and beyond the call of beta with this story.
Remus is sitting by the window, reading, when Dumbledore's owl taps on the glass.
Sitting in the Headmaster's office an hour later, he's hit by a sudden flashback to another day when he sat in just this spot, feeling the same trepidation in the pit of his stomach. The day that Sirius nearly ruined everything with his impetuousness and his love of pranks. He wonders, uneasily, why this meeting fills him with that same, sick sense of dread. He tries to tell himself that he's just been called here on some piece of Order business, but even while Dumbledore is performing his legerdemain with sweets and tea, Remus can tell by his face that something is very wrong. He refuses Dumbledore's ministrations and just sits, waiting for the old wizard to tell him why he's been summoned.
And then he does, but Remus can't hear it because his ears are full of a roaring white noise, and his stomach is tight and churning and his blood is thudding in his temples. He can only shake his head in disbelief or denial, because it's too much, it can't be, all his friends at once, James and Lily and Peter, and it was Sirius all along –
Dumbledore is still talking, but Remus can only make out a word here and there over the thunder in his ears. Something about Azkaban, and an Order of Merlin – he tells himself he knows what that word, posthumous, means, if he could only remember – and James' and Lily's son, but it's all jumbled together, it doesn't make any sense, none of it makes any sense.
Remus squeezes his eyes shut and supposes he should be crying – there are tears on Dumbledore's cheeks, dripping into his tea, as the Headmaster blames himself – but he's numb. He can only sit there, frozen, and that's a good metaphor, because he's cold, too, like he's been buried in ice, and it burns, but he can only feel it dimly because he's so numb. He hunches into himself and tries to understand how this could be happening. He thinks that it must be a dream, and in a minute he'll wake up and roll over and Sirius will be there, sprawled on his back with his mouth hanging open and his hair falling into his eyes. He wills himself to wake up, but when he opens his eyes nothing's changed.
Or maybe it's a prank. Yes, it must be some colossal, cruel joke his friends have thought up - one last hurrah for the Marauders - and somehow they've gotten Dumbledore to go along with it. They're probably standing in that corner over there, under James' cloak, and in a minute they'll throw it off and they'll laugh at him, Sirius will laugh at him and give him that smug look that Remus hates, and then he and James will grin and slap each other on the back and then Remus and Sirius will go home, even though Remus is never going to speak to Sirius again for scaring him like that –
That thought snaps him back to reality again. Dumbledore has stopped talking and is just looking at him. His eyes are full of sorrow and a terrible sympathy, the twinkle utterly gone, and suddenly Remus wants to be anywhere but here, anywhere but sitting in this office where it isn't a dream, and it isn't a prank, and he isn't ever going to speak to Sirius again, or James, or Lily, or even Peter, because he's all alone now, they've all left him, even Sirius who promised he never would.
What he did yesterday broke worse things than that promise, Remus reminds himself, even though he can't quite believe yet that Sirius did do it. Not Sirius, not Sirius. It isn't possible.
But you thought it was possible, didn't you? his brain presses on. Or else why didn't you tell him about your last meeting with Dumbledore? Why didn't you talk to him about the spy, or ask him why he was acting so secretive? And it turns out you were right.
Shut up! he tells himself. Shut up, shut up, shut up. He wasn't right, he couldn't have been right, he hadn't really thought that anyway, he hadn't, not Sirius, and this is all wrong and if he could only think over the static in his ears he might figure it out, find some way to make it all a mistake.
He realizes that he's been staring dumbly at Dumbledore for some time, and that the Headmaster is starting to look worried, and suddenly he has to get out of this office where everything is too real and too impossible at the same time. He stands up, feeling vaguely surprised that his legs will support him.
"Thank you for telling me, Headmaster," he says, and his voice is calm and does not shake, although it sounds strange and distant, even to his own ears.
Dumbledore stands, too, and looks even more worried. "Remus – my boy –" he says, and reaches out a hand as if to lay it on his arm.
Remus jerks back as though he expected the old man to slap him. "I – I have to go," he says in a rush. "I have to…" His voice trails off as he realizes he doesn't know what it is he has to do. Instead of finishing the sentence he turns, blindly, and leaves the office, stumbling slightly as the door closes behind him.
He doesn't remember the trip home, although he must have walked out to the gates and Apparated into the bedroom. There's just one minute where he's standing outside Dumbledore's office, leaning on the door a little, still reeling with shock, and then another where he's sitting on their bed, staring at his hands, his mind filled with a chorus of no, no, no, trying to comprehend the enormity of never again.
Everything in the flat reminds him of Sirius. There's Sirius' broom, leaning up against the wall. Sirius' clothes are scattered all over the floor, because he grew up with house elves, and he never remembers to pick them up. That chair, where Sirius had been sitting just last night, taking off his boots. Sirius' pillow, still indented with the shape of his head. Absentmindedly, Remus picks a few black strands off the pillow and toys with them, pulling them through his fingers.
Moony! Hey, Moony, let's go meet Prongs at the Leaky Cauldron. He's got some kind of big news for us.
Moony, put that book down and come talk to me. You've got your whole life to sit around reading.
"I thought I had my whole life to talk to you, too, Padfoot," he murmurs to himself. He can't help but think that he has all the time he could want to read now, with no one to interrupt him. Somehow, reading seems like the last thing in the world he wants to do.
Moony! Moony-Moony-Moony! Look at me, Moony. Come talk to me, Moony. Come and howl at the moon. Scratch my ears. Pay attention to me, Moony!
"I always paid attention to you, Sirius," he says to the empty flat. "I couldn't not pay attention to you." I guess I just wasn't paying attention to the right things.
Tears finally begin to prick at his eyelids. All of his friends, gone. He's all alone now, the last of the Marauders. He wonders how in Merlin's name he's supposed to do this, how he's expected to just go on without them. James, Lily, Peter, and...and Sirius...
Suddenly he can't stay in the flat anymore, either. There's too much of Sirius here, and he keeps expecting that the door will open and Sirius will be standing there with a smile on his face and his hair falling in his eyes and it will all be not true... He throws himself out the door and sets off down the street, not knowing or caring where his feet are taking him.
Moony...
"Shut up!" He almost yells it, doesn't notice or care that people are looking at him, crossing the street to avoid him. "Shut up, don't you call me that! Don't you talk to me, Sirius Black!"
Moony... The voice in his head is fainter this time, as if it's coming from a long way away. He realizes that he is crying in earnest, now, and dashes tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. He tells himself he is crying for James and Lily, and their son, who will never know his parents, whose godfather is going to rot in Azkaban for destroying his family. And for Peter, who finally displayed some Gryffindor bravery and died for it. He tells himself that he can't possibly be crying for Sirius.
He isn't terribly surprised when, in another strange, seemingly timeless transition, he finds himself back on Hogwarts' grounds, standing before the Whomping Willow. He uses a long branch to still the flailing branches and slips down the tunnel into the Shrieking Shack. The Shack isn't a place that holds good memories for him; it's a place where he convulsed and screamed and changed and threw himself at the walls, the furniture, the door. A place where he came back to himself covered in long, shallow gashes and other wounds with causes he could never remember, pale and sick, with the taste of blood in his mouth.
But it's also a place where they had all been together, where he had been as happy as he could be with the beast inside him clawing its way out into the world. It's a place where nobody will think to look for him, except maybe Dumbledore, and he'll surely give Remus this piece of time to himself.
He throws himself on the bed, breathing shakily for a minute. He can still smell them all in here, faintly, dog and stag and rat and boys, and if he closes his eyes and just inhales he can pretend they're all sixteen again and he's just waiting for the change to take him and then they'll be there, his friends, keeping him sane, keeping him safe, and all of the intervening years will just disappear, and he won't know about the war, about the fear, about the betrayal, he'll just be a teenaged werewolf with the very best friends he could have found, taking care of him in a way he'd never thought anyone could or would, and Sirius...
He allows himself to think the name again, accepting the wrenching pain that comes with it, and the voice is back in his head, as if summoned.
Remus... It's still soft, and far away, but it demands an answer, and he gives it the only one he has to give. "Go away, Sirius," he mutters. "You're not here."
I love you, Moony.
Remus rubs his face roughly on the tattered pillow, inhaling the scent of his friends again. "I love you too, Padfoot," he whispers to the silence around him. "I wish I could stop. I don't know how I still can, but I do."
He is still for a long time after that, remembering the moon and the past and a tall, beautiful boy with dark hair falling in his eyes.
Rating: PG
Pairing: RL/SB
Summary: Nov 1, 1981. Remus gets an owl asking him to come see Dumbledore immediately.
Warnings: Angst. Like whoa.
Notes: My undying gratitude to Blue Spoon for going above and beyond the call of beta with this story.
Remus is sitting by the window, reading, when Dumbledore's owl taps on the glass.
Sitting in the Headmaster's office an hour later, he's hit by a sudden flashback to another day when he sat in just this spot, feeling the same trepidation in the pit of his stomach. The day that Sirius nearly ruined everything with his impetuousness and his love of pranks. He wonders, uneasily, why this meeting fills him with that same, sick sense of dread. He tries to tell himself that he's just been called here on some piece of Order business, but even while Dumbledore is performing his legerdemain with sweets and tea, Remus can tell by his face that something is very wrong. He refuses Dumbledore's ministrations and just sits, waiting for the old wizard to tell him why he's been summoned.
And then he does, but Remus can't hear it because his ears are full of a roaring white noise, and his stomach is tight and churning and his blood is thudding in his temples. He can only shake his head in disbelief or denial, because it's too much, it can't be, all his friends at once, James and Lily and Peter, and it was Sirius all along –
Dumbledore is still talking, but Remus can only make out a word here and there over the thunder in his ears. Something about Azkaban, and an Order of Merlin – he tells himself he knows what that word, posthumous, means, if he could only remember – and James' and Lily's son, but it's all jumbled together, it doesn't make any sense, none of it makes any sense.
Remus squeezes his eyes shut and supposes he should be crying – there are tears on Dumbledore's cheeks, dripping into his tea, as the Headmaster blames himself – but he's numb. He can only sit there, frozen, and that's a good metaphor, because he's cold, too, like he's been buried in ice, and it burns, but he can only feel it dimly because he's so numb. He hunches into himself and tries to understand how this could be happening. He thinks that it must be a dream, and in a minute he'll wake up and roll over and Sirius will be there, sprawled on his back with his mouth hanging open and his hair falling into his eyes. He wills himself to wake up, but when he opens his eyes nothing's changed.
Or maybe it's a prank. Yes, it must be some colossal, cruel joke his friends have thought up - one last hurrah for the Marauders - and somehow they've gotten Dumbledore to go along with it. They're probably standing in that corner over there, under James' cloak, and in a minute they'll throw it off and they'll laugh at him, Sirius will laugh at him and give him that smug look that Remus hates, and then he and James will grin and slap each other on the back and then Remus and Sirius will go home, even though Remus is never going to speak to Sirius again for scaring him like that –
That thought snaps him back to reality again. Dumbledore has stopped talking and is just looking at him. His eyes are full of sorrow and a terrible sympathy, the twinkle utterly gone, and suddenly Remus wants to be anywhere but here, anywhere but sitting in this office where it isn't a dream, and it isn't a prank, and he isn't ever going to speak to Sirius again, or James, or Lily, or even Peter, because he's all alone now, they've all left him, even Sirius who promised he never would.
What he did yesterday broke worse things than that promise, Remus reminds himself, even though he can't quite believe yet that Sirius did do it. Not Sirius, not Sirius. It isn't possible.
But you thought it was possible, didn't you? his brain presses on. Or else why didn't you tell him about your last meeting with Dumbledore? Why didn't you talk to him about the spy, or ask him why he was acting so secretive? And it turns out you were right.
Shut up! he tells himself. Shut up, shut up, shut up. He wasn't right, he couldn't have been right, he hadn't really thought that anyway, he hadn't, not Sirius, and this is all wrong and if he could only think over the static in his ears he might figure it out, find some way to make it all a mistake.
He realizes that he's been staring dumbly at Dumbledore for some time, and that the Headmaster is starting to look worried, and suddenly he has to get out of this office where everything is too real and too impossible at the same time. He stands up, feeling vaguely surprised that his legs will support him.
"Thank you for telling me, Headmaster," he says, and his voice is calm and does not shake, although it sounds strange and distant, even to his own ears.
Dumbledore stands, too, and looks even more worried. "Remus – my boy –" he says, and reaches out a hand as if to lay it on his arm.
Remus jerks back as though he expected the old man to slap him. "I – I have to go," he says in a rush. "I have to…" His voice trails off as he realizes he doesn't know what it is he has to do. Instead of finishing the sentence he turns, blindly, and leaves the office, stumbling slightly as the door closes behind him.
He doesn't remember the trip home, although he must have walked out to the gates and Apparated into the bedroom. There's just one minute where he's standing outside Dumbledore's office, leaning on the door a little, still reeling with shock, and then another where he's sitting on their bed, staring at his hands, his mind filled with a chorus of no, no, no, trying to comprehend the enormity of never again.
Everything in the flat reminds him of Sirius. There's Sirius' broom, leaning up against the wall. Sirius' clothes are scattered all over the floor, because he grew up with house elves, and he never remembers to pick them up. That chair, where Sirius had been sitting just last night, taking off his boots. Sirius' pillow, still indented with the shape of his head. Absentmindedly, Remus picks a few black strands off the pillow and toys with them, pulling them through his fingers.
Moony! Hey, Moony, let's go meet Prongs at the Leaky Cauldron. He's got some kind of big news for us.
Moony, put that book down and come talk to me. You've got your whole life to sit around reading.
"I thought I had my whole life to talk to you, too, Padfoot," he murmurs to himself. He can't help but think that he has all the time he could want to read now, with no one to interrupt him. Somehow, reading seems like the last thing in the world he wants to do.
Moony! Moony-Moony-Moony! Look at me, Moony. Come talk to me, Moony. Come and howl at the moon. Scratch my ears. Pay attention to me, Moony!
"I always paid attention to you, Sirius," he says to the empty flat. "I couldn't not pay attention to you." I guess I just wasn't paying attention to the right things.
Tears finally begin to prick at his eyelids. All of his friends, gone. He's all alone now, the last of the Marauders. He wonders how in Merlin's name he's supposed to do this, how he's expected to just go on without them. James, Lily, Peter, and...and Sirius...
Suddenly he can't stay in the flat anymore, either. There's too much of Sirius here, and he keeps expecting that the door will open and Sirius will be standing there with a smile on his face and his hair falling in his eyes and it will all be not true... He throws himself out the door and sets off down the street, not knowing or caring where his feet are taking him.
Moony...
"Shut up!" He almost yells it, doesn't notice or care that people are looking at him, crossing the street to avoid him. "Shut up, don't you call me that! Don't you talk to me, Sirius Black!"
Moony... The voice in his head is fainter this time, as if it's coming from a long way away. He realizes that he is crying in earnest, now, and dashes tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. He tells himself he is crying for James and Lily, and their son, who will never know his parents, whose godfather is going to rot in Azkaban for destroying his family. And for Peter, who finally displayed some Gryffindor bravery and died for it. He tells himself that he can't possibly be crying for Sirius.
He isn't terribly surprised when, in another strange, seemingly timeless transition, he finds himself back on Hogwarts' grounds, standing before the Whomping Willow. He uses a long branch to still the flailing branches and slips down the tunnel into the Shrieking Shack. The Shack isn't a place that holds good memories for him; it's a place where he convulsed and screamed and changed and threw himself at the walls, the furniture, the door. A place where he came back to himself covered in long, shallow gashes and other wounds with causes he could never remember, pale and sick, with the taste of blood in his mouth.
But it's also a place where they had all been together, where he had been as happy as he could be with the beast inside him clawing its way out into the world. It's a place where nobody will think to look for him, except maybe Dumbledore, and he'll surely give Remus this piece of time to himself.
He throws himself on the bed, breathing shakily for a minute. He can still smell them all in here, faintly, dog and stag and rat and boys, and if he closes his eyes and just inhales he can pretend they're all sixteen again and he's just waiting for the change to take him and then they'll be there, his friends, keeping him sane, keeping him safe, and all of the intervening years will just disappear, and he won't know about the war, about the fear, about the betrayal, he'll just be a teenaged werewolf with the very best friends he could have found, taking care of him in a way he'd never thought anyone could or would, and Sirius...
He allows himself to think the name again, accepting the wrenching pain that comes with it, and the voice is back in his head, as if summoned.
Remus... It's still soft, and far away, but it demands an answer, and he gives it the only one he has to give. "Go away, Sirius," he mutters. "You're not here."
I love you, Moony.
Remus rubs his face roughly on the tattered pillow, inhaling the scent of his friends again. "I love you too, Padfoot," he whispers to the silence around him. "I wish I could stop. I don't know how I still can, but I do."
He is still for a long time after that, remembering the moon and the past and a tall, beautiful boy with dark hair falling in his eyes.