Black Days

A week has passed since Sirius appeared in Remus' front room, ash on his clothes and bearing the word of Voldemort's return. The first days of living together are awkward. Their behavioural patterns are so different that it is tricky to grow accustomed to one another's routines; the old habits that they'd let slip from their memories during their time apart, the new ones that they have acquired from the experiences of their respective lives.

It's impossible for Sirius to fall asleep. In Azkaban, the screams of the other prisoners punctuated the air from dusk until dawn, bad thoughts stirred up by the Dementors driving them to insanity. Sirius preferred to be a dog as often as he could, instincts developing more into those of an animal, helping him deal with the constant presence of the guards outside his cell. He rarely spoke. He hardly ate. He had wasted away to nothing more than bones. Sleep was unreachable.

On the run, he never relaxed, it never let up, and as a result Sirius had taken to trying to sleep in the day. It was only a little better but he found he could drift off easier when he was surrounded by brightness, when it was as far from the memories of the darkness of Azkaban as possible.

Here though, in Remus' rural home, it is too quiet. It was something Sirius had longed for in the wizarding prison, to be able to rest without shrieks and noise around him but now that he has it, it is unnerving. He is suspicious of it, the peacefulness, because surely there is something out there sneaking up on him, lulling him into a false state of security.

The first night, he had lapsed only briefly into a hard-won sleep before jerking back into consciousness, a sound not dissimilar to breathing air after nearly drowning rasping from his mouth. Remus had flown down the stairs, a hastily pulled on shirt hanging open against his chest, eyes bulging and wand in hand, to find Sirius dripping with sweat and trembling as if left in the cold.

"SIRIUS - Sirius, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Remus had demanded, half shaking his friend in earnestness, wiping the perspiration from Sirius' eyes with the tail-end of his shirt.

Sirius had pressed his hands into his face, the world swimming around him, voice breaking as he tried to put words into a coherent sentence. "Nightmare. A nightmare about the night. Would you say that's irony, Moony? I'd call it unoriginal if anything - now, it'd be ironic if I were having nightmares about the day."

"What? You - what?! Are you joking about this? YOU SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH!"

The whole affair had been tremendously embarrassing for Sirius but Remus had insisted on staying with him for the duration of the night, producing an unopened bottle of firewhiskey found in the kitchen cupboard to pass between one another until their nerves had dissipated and the room grew grey as morning approached.

The ability to only fall asleep in the daytime is an inconvenience, particularly considering Remus' own custom. Sirius had forgotten that Remus likes to wake up at the crack of dawn, to watch the sun rise above the Yorkshire countryside and chase away the impugning thoughts of the night. He had jolted awake in the arm chair one morning with forty minutes sleep, the moth eaten blanket slipping from his lap, to find Remus nursing a cup of tea at the window, hair still mussed from slumber, the tips illuminated in the weak light of the sun. He had turned to Sirius with a warm smile, invigorated by the new day, offering a mug of tea and a bundle of fresh clothes he had sorted out from his own wardrobe.

Despite Sirius' protests, Remus had been firm, "How long have you been wearing that shirt, Sirius? Those trousers? It looks as if you haven't changed clothes in about a year."

It wasn't that Sirius was ungrateful to Remus for putting him up for the unforeseeable future, it was just Sirius didn't want to take any more from him than he had to. The fact of the matter is, Remus' cottage is a crumbling, semi-derelict building, held together by his own ingenuitive spellcasting. Sirius had to contain his surprise at his initial impression of it - the cottage is only a slight improvement upon Sirius' own living prospects in the cave - and had kept quiet to spare Remus' feelings. He could see Remus was embarrassed by the state of his living and had made fast work of trying to put him at ease.

"It's not perfect - " Remus mumbled, staring determinedly at the ceiling mere inches above his head.

"It's fine, really."

"Oh, there's no need to lie. We both know that this is a ramshackle."

"I didn't know it was so bad for you. Forgive me, Moony. I didn't realise, when James died - you had no one to help you. I should have done something." Sirius had stressed, helpless that he couldn't do more for him.

"Yes, well, Dolores Umbridge's anti-werewolf legislation act has made it damnable for me to find employment. It's not your burden, Sirius. You have enough of your own."

They had fallen into an uneasy silence then, Remus hurrying into the kitchen to prepare some scrambled eggs as Sirius lingered in the front room, his head ducked at an agonising angle to avoid bumping his head off the superfluous lampshade, something Sirius still cannot see the point of when Remus uses gas lamps and candles.

"It's decorative." Remus insisted as Sirius shook his head.

Five rooms make up the cottage: a tiny kitchen, crammed with brass pots and pans, the ceiling so low that Sirius has to stoop when he's in there, often having to wedge himself between the stove and the sink if Remus happens to be in there too. There's the front room, containing only the beaten up armchair and a new spindly chair complete with squashy cushion which Remus had magicked up - "I've never had a reason for more furniture, I'm usually here alone." - as well as a scrubby wooden table that holds Remus' treasured gramophone and records, which he plays every night before bed.

The foot of the carpeted stairs start right in the living room beside the fireplace, leading up to a dingy bathroom, cracked tiles and mildew, hot water coming on sporadically so that they have to heat up a bath with their wands. Sirius only got a quick glimpse into the bedroom, only just bigger than the bathroom, the edges of the bed resting against both sides of the room, no space available for anything else besides the wardrobe crammed into the corner - "I considered making it larger, an Undetectable Extension Charm, but the building wouldn't be able to take it. All I can do is cast spells to strengthen the foundations and the walls." - and then there's the cellar, a room which Sirius is only just discovering.

"I - I need to show you something." Remus says one day, beckoning Sirius to follow him. "You probably know...my cycle, it's coming up."

They don't wander too far, just a few small steps across the kitchen to a door which Sirius had presumed led to a room that was in disrepair and unfit for use.

"...I have this room, the cellar - not like that!" Remus sighs, catching sight of Sirius' eyebrows shooting up. "It's not some kind of torture chamber. It's for when - for when the full moon comes about. Ideally, I'd prefer to have Wolfsbane potion but you know how terrible I am with that sort of thing, so I have to lock myself in until morning."

Remus rests a palm lightly against the door, eyes downcast.

"I've reinforced it with magic, it's the most stable room in the house. It's probably more difficult to break out of than Azkaban - " his voice dies, shooting a fearful look at Sirius, who is at pains to keep his expression clear.

"Er, yes, well - what I'm trying to say is, you don't have to worry about me getting out and hurting you." Remus finishes lamely, moving away from the door and back to the front room to sag into his armchair.

Sirius' hesitates by the door and peers in through the crack. There aren't many stairs leading down into the cellar, few enough for Sirius to see right into the room; inside, it is bare, empty of any furniture. The walls are criss-crossed with claw marks, every inch of the wallpaper is ragged and torn, the marks of an animal desperate to escape its prison. The bottom step has a chunk missing from it, all splintered and chewed up.

Sirius silently wonders how Remus has possibly managed this by himself, all these years. How does he cope with his transformations, completely alone, without the help of James, or himself, or Peter, without his friends to guide him and keep him company? The last scrap of his humanity and consciousness that he could retain whilst with them at school is now surely lost until the sun rises.

It has never been easy for Remus. He is filled with a deep shame when he returns once again into his human state, naked and cold and uncertain of what the night has brought, distraught over every scratch and scar that marks his skin; this is something which Sirius absolutely knows but doesn't understand. He doesn't see a creature to be frightened of, something to be hunted down and sneered at. He sees his friend, Remus John Lupin, a man with a kind heart, a man who could be so many great things if only he were allowed to pursue them.

Even when they were boys at Hogwarts, Remus would recoil from his own reflection in mirrors and windows, and would take to using any excuse not to go into the bathrooms with them, keen to keep his aversion to seeing himself hidden. He was constantly petrified, thinking that if he finally acknowledged his condition to himself, then it would be plainly written on his face for the world to see - that they would judge him, shun him. Remus has always felt like a pariah in society, even when the people around him were ignorant to the secret he was harbouring.

There was progress made, Remus had eventually learnt to laugh, even joke about being a werewolf, helped along by the other Marauder's openness. It has all been undone though, those few short years were not enough to cure his hatred for the other side of himself.

Sirius comes over to where Remus is slumped in the chair and kneels on the floor before him, "Remus, my friend, I have never been afraid that you'll hurt me."

Remus' face screws up and his eyes look wild, misplaced in his usually collected demeanour.

"Don't think like that. As long as I'm alive, I'm capable of hurting anyone."

There's the rub. Remus will never accept himself, and as a rule finds it hard to believe that anyone else is able to. At school, every day he had expected James or Sirius or Peter to come up to him and demand for him to be removed from the dormitory, from Gryffindor, from the school. He couldn't deny that his friends were good people - Peter was, after all, still innocent and eager to please James at this point - but he found himself preparing for it from the moment he woke up, anxiously analysing their laughs and expressions, waiting for the moment where they would give themselves away and declare their disgust at knowing such a boy.

He would never have blamed them if they had.

"That day James died - " Remus starts quite unexpectedly, his voice soft. Sirius stiffens, his head perking up, like that of a dog. "You know I was away on a mission for the Order? I got the news by - by Dumbledore's Patronus. He told me James and Lily had been betrayed and - and I thought it was you. I thought YOU were their Secret Keeper. You hadn't told me that you'd swapped with Peter because you didn't trust me, you suspected me - I've made my peace with that, Sirius." he adds gently when Sirius flinches.

"I should have trusted you - "

"No, you were right to be on your guard. None of us would have guessed it was Peter. I'd made plans, all kinds of foolhardy plans that you would have delighted over if it were some other person - some other situation, to travel back and confront you. Then I heard that Peter had beaten me to it, that you'd blown him to bits in a street full of muggles. It was ridiculous, really, that my first thought of you upon hearing that was - was, how idiotic. How extraordinarily idiotic and clumsy of you. The idea alone that you were found laughing your head off amidst broken bits of bodies, sewage water flooding the streets - it was so very you and yet...and yet nothing like you at all."

"You can imagine how distressed I was - not only had I lost James, but also you and Peter. I began to wonder what would have happened if I WERE there - would I too have joined my comrades in death? Would I have managed to talk sense into you, appealed to that seventeen year old boy who I knew was still in there, albeit deep down? It had happened so fast, my three best friends all gone from me within hours and there had been nothing I could do about it. I was supposed to be the one who kept you all out of trouble and I had failed, on such a grand scale that I didn't even know where to begin to understand how it went wrong. I was inconsolable, Mundungus didn't know what to do with me."

Sirius attempts to speak but his mouth is dry. He swallows hard and tries again, "Mundungus?"

Remus nods bleakly, "Yes. He was my partner on the mission. The downfall of Voldemort meant the Order was no longer needed, it disbanded shortly after you were sent to Azkaban. We tied up a few loose ends, helped round up what Death Eaters we could and that was it. I had no purpose, no life to go to, no job that I could hold onto because my coworkers grew suspicious that I would vanish every month..."

"Remus, " Sirius whispers, reaching up to rest a tentative hand on Remus' arm.

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad, Sirius. My point is, I thought I'd lost everything that day. I wouldn't go to my family to be their burden, at twenty-one I was as isolated as I could ever be, I got used to it." Remus explains matter-of-factly, staring out the window to watch the setting sun. "Then, two years ago, I saw Peter's name on the Marauder's Map - you know the map never lies, we designed it that way - and I found out that you were not as gone as I thought you were. I got you back. You never handed James and Lily to their doomed fate and you were once again the Sirius I thought I knew - ostensibly reckless, throwing yourself into things headfirst with abandonment even with a price on your head. But we were changed, I didn't know if we could - could get back to the way we were. I've always been bracing myself for the day where you don't want to know me anymore. Since that night, since Peter escaped - well, it hasn't been easy to hear nothing from you."

"Moony." Sirius says firmly. "I want you to know this: I will never abandon you again."

"I can't believe that. I'm a danger, you shouldn't want to be near me."

Sirius jumps to his feet, towering over Remus' hunched figure in the chair, suddenly very exasperated with the whole thing.

"Enough. I'm telling you, I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I have something to ask you. I wasn't going to mention it until after the full moon but, well - come live with me, Remus."

Remus blinks, confused at the turn in conversation. "...live with you?"

"I know, how very forward of me - I should have asked for your hand in marriage first."

"You know what I meant. Live with you, where?"

Sirius grins and pulls out a thick, yellowing envelope from his pocket. He waves it about in a flourish before handing it to Remus, who curiously scans through the letter it contains. The sloping, elegant writing is definitely familiar...

"Dumbledore replied just this morning. I offered my services - more specifically, my rotten ancestral home, for the use of the Order. Dumbledore is going to be Secret Keeper and I'm to head there in a few week's time, to prepare. I want you to come with me."

Remus fidgets, messing with a mark on the arm rest, rubbing his thumb over it. He doesn't look up when he speaks, "Are you quite sure you want that?"

Sirius groans, "Ugh, absolutely. You'll probably be sent out on stuff for the Order all the time but when you're not, you can stay with me. You don't have to be alone anymore, Remus. Besides...I want you to come live with me."

When he doesn't respond, Sirius smacks Remus on the side of his head, harder than he intends.

"Ow! Why did you do that?!" Remus cries, eyes watering, glaring up at his friend.

"For being a complete dolt. So will you? Live with me, that is?"

Remus stares at Sirius, noting the stubborn jut of his chin, his perceptibly narrowed eyes watching him, daring him to accept - wanting him to, then back to the letter in his own scarred hands. Sirius will never give this up and Remus knows it.

He sighs, actually quite thankful for Sirius' bullheadedness.

"Fine. As long as you promise never to do that again."



"You're always so antsy close to the full moon."

Sirius is spread-eagled on the floor, flicking the bottom of Remus' boot with a finger while he tries to read the newspaper. Remus has endured it for as long as he can before dropping the Daily Prophet onto the floor, turning his uncharacteristic rage onto Sirius. He's lost interest in the news anyway; there are too many snide remarks on Harry Potter, too many hints that suggest the return of Voldemort is a figment of imagination. He hasn't shown Sirius the article yet but he knows he can't hide it for long.

"It's my cycle, isn't it." Remus says testily, yanking his foot away from Sirius' hand. "Maybe if you stopped doing that, I wouldn't be so crabby!"

Sirius grins lazily at Remus, "You're always crabby - okay, that's a lie, sorry Moony." he surrenders, dodging a biscuit that Remus has thrown at him.

"Honestly. How old are you, Sirius?"

"Alas, I'm thirty-five."

"Then why do you insist on behaving like a child?"

"Because my prime years were taken from me. I'm making up for it. You could say neither of us had an especially great start to adulthood."

Remus has nothing to say to that. Abruptly, he moves to his feet and crosses the room, peering out from behind the netting to check the progress of the day, dreading the moon that night. The sky is lit up the way it only does in summer, splashes of orange and red and pink as the sun sets.

Sirius watches him from the floor, propped up on an elbow.

"Let me help you, the way I used to. I'll go canine, keep you safe."

Temptation flits across Remus' scarred face but he chases it away before it can fully manifest.

"I don't think so, Sirius."

"I've done it a million times before."

"And you're sorely out of practice! You don't know how you'll cope with me now. Besides, you can't do it alone, not without James. The stupidity would be paramount, even for you. Just do this one thing for me. Please."

They look fixedly at each other, the clock in the kitchen ticking an ominous countdown, reminding them that they're on a curbed schedule. Sirius can't abide knowing that he will have to pass the night away as Remus suffers and he has made up his mind that he's going with him despite his orders, but the glean in Remus' eyes tells him that he's treading a precarious line, that if he disobeys him then whatever they've rebuilt between them could all be for nothing.

Sirius drops his head back onto the floor and squeezes his eyes shut for a second. "All right. Whatever."

"Thank you." Remus mutters appreciatively, pulling his jumper over his head. He folds it up and places it on the table. "Don't want to ruin it..."

As the world outside the window grows darker and the shadows creep into the room, Remus becomes increasingly jittery, unable to stay in one place for long. He paces through the house, checking and rechecking inconsequential things; the milk in the fridge, the worn out soles of his shoes, his dwindling supply of teabags.

When the time comes, he's as pale as parchment. Sirius walks with him to the door to the cellar, the only show of support he can provide for now, and drifts beside the stove. Remus is breathing like he's freezing to death.

He closes a hand around the doorknob, knuckles white. "Whatever happens, don't come down there. Just wait for the spell on the door to run its course."

When Sirius maintains a determined silence, Remus grabs his shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise.

"Sirius!"

"Fine!" he concedes, although in his head he is making no promises.

Remus calms again, "Right. I'll - I'll see you in the morning then."

When the door swings shut behind him, it glows blue, the magic sealing it until the next day. Sirius strains his ears to hear the light footsteps of Remus as he walks down the stairs, then the almost inaudible scuffling as he awaits the moon. Unwillingly, Sirius leaves the kitchen, choosing to settle in the armchair for the hours ahead.

He stays up all night, listening. He hates himself when Remus' yells of agony signal the start of his transformation, at the unrelenting cries and pleading for help as Remus' bones snap and morph, the garble as his mind disintegrates into something simpler, more singularly focused. He almost approaches the door when the clawing starts, when he hears the inquisitive snuffling at the gap in the door frame. The howling that lasts throughout most of the night, interjected only by guttural snarls of white hot fury and thuds as he tries to break out.

And then comes the whining. As soft as a dog whimpering, the desolate sound of an animal yearning for freedom. Mournful keening, drawn out and melancholic so that it makes Sirius' eyes burn and chest ache.

He has never felt so worthless.

He tries everything to distract himself from the noises; reading the Daily Prophet and scanning it for Harry's name, making a conscious effort to tidy up the front room as best he can for when Remus changes back, testing out the few cleaning spells he knows on the mould in the bathroom, even listening to Remus' records but nothing can divert his attention away from the door to the cellar.

When morning comes and the first rays of sun burst through the grime-streaked window, he dashes to the door, grabbing a few items he thinks will be handy for Remus and presses an ear against the wood. He can hear nothing. Ignoring Remus' instructions to wait for the spell to fade away, he taps his wand against the door knob and the door springs open, granting him entrance.
Perhaps it is feckless, he should be more cautious but Sirius has seen Remus transform more times than he can remember, he's ready to turn into the dog in an instant, at any sign of aggression. All he wants is to be with Remus, to make up for every single full moon he has missed.

He waits on the top step, listening. It's the crying he hears first.

Treading carefully on the stairs and skipping over the final, mangled step, he edges towards Remus. He's curled up in a ball in the corner, new scratches inscribed onto the skin of his back, red and angry and dribbling blood. When there are no humans to attack, werewolves turn on themselves.

"Remus?"

Sirius steps closer, close enough to hear the harsh breathing of Remus, the persistent sniffling of a man trying to gain control of his own emotions. He unfolds the blanket in his arms and drapes it over his friend's trembling body, startled when Remus jumps at the slide of material on his shoulders.

"Remus?" he murmurs again, laying splayed fingers on Remus' lower back, taking care to avoid the wounds. "Remus, you need to heal these cuts."

When Remus replies after a long minute, his voice is high and faltering, "I-I will. Just give me a - a minute. What time is it?"

"Sun has just risen."

"You sh-should go, I'm still n-not myself."

"Don't be an idiot." Sirius rebukes but his heart isn't in it.

He waits. He waits for Remus to fully come back to himself, resting on the balls of his feet, his fingers spread on Remus' back. He waits for the shuddering to stop, for the hushed sobbing to subside, until they're still and huddled in the corner of the room, for when Remus delicately pushes himself up onto his knees, holding the blanket tighter around him. Sirius' toes and legs are numb but he doesn't care a bit.

Crouched beside him, Sirius offers a bar of Honeydukes chocolate, a little melted from the heat of his hand but still perfectly edible. He speaks low, encouragingly, "Here. It'll help."

Remus' red-rimmed eyes stare at the chocolate held out for him.

"I mean, you don't - I just thought you might like it, after..." Sirius babbles, beginning to withdraw the confectionery.

Slowly, Remus raises his hand and reaches out for the chocolate, pinching it between his bloodied thumb and forefinger. He slides it from Sirius' grasp and cradles it in his palms, looking down at it in wonderment.

"This is exactly what I need. Thank you, Sirius." he whispers, touched that he had thought of it, tracing the corners of the bar.

"Yeah, well, you were always shoving the stuff at me in school. See? I did learn a thing or two from you." Sirius says, managing a smile, pleased that he has impressed Remus. "Come on, I'll help you up the stairs. Eat that now." he instructs, pointing at the chocolate.

Remus painfully lifts his arm onto Sirius' shoulders, wincing at the ache in his joints, the newly reformed human bones. Sirius is attentive, holding him as gently as he can, winding an arm around his waist to carry the most weight.

"Merlin's Beard, Moony, would you just lean on me."

Remus is tired, his brain foggy from a night of being something other, at his most susceptible to spouting out the first thing that comes to mind. "I'm all embarrassed. When I asked you to - to stay the night, I never anticipated that you'd...stick around to see me in the morning. You seemed like the love and leave type."

Sirius' laugh bounces off the walls and shakes the inside of Remus' skull. "Why, Moony! Was that a joke?"

"I think so," he realises, slightly stunned, nose wrinkling. "Don't get used to it."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Together, they make their steady ascent up the stairs, the bottom step proving more trouble than they allowed. It takes a full five minutes for Sirius to hoist the weak Remus over its mauled threshold but he's patient, thoughtful, mindful to not rush him.

"Did you get any sleep? I should have thought of soundproofing the room." Remus pants when they finally get past the step, his hangdog expression making Sirius' stomach twist. He breaks off a square from the last piece of chocolate and hands it to him.

"Yep, " Sirius lies swiftly, cramming the morsel into his mouth, praying Remus is too exhausted to note the bags under his eyes. "Like a Flobberworm. I got a full three hours, its a new record."

Remus is oblivious, "That's - that's good then. Really...good."

When they reach the top of the stairs, Sirius is painfully aware that he's all but carrying his friend - he suggests a break but Remus waves him off.

"Nonsense. Just a few more steps and we're there."

They scuttle through the kitchen, knocking the stack of brass pans from the kitchen counter - "Let me just get that - " "For heaven's sake, Sirius, leave it." - and there's a sticky moment where they nearly crumple into a heap upon entering the living room. It's a relief when Sirius at last guides Remus to his chair.

Remus blows out a huff of air when he collapses into it, his face turning white at the rub of the blanket on his injuries. When his eyes pop and he's all puzzlement, Sirius hovers over him in a panic.

"Are you all right?"

Remus gazes at Sirius while he scratches at the smudge of stubble on his jaw, picking off flakes of dried blood. He's working through the mental image in his head, trying to make sense of it. His tone is so awestruck that Sirius has to laugh.

"Sirius...you cleaned?"

The next hours are dedicated to Sirius helping Remus seal up the fresh wounds, coating them in powdered silver and dittany. They are both used to the routine, working together silently, Sirius applying the mixture to the places that Remus cannot reach. When he brushes a glob of it onto the cut along Remus' back, Sirius hears a sharp gasp and feels the wiry muscles beneath his hand wind tight.

"Did I hurt you?!"

"No," Remus breathes, head stooped. "Actually, it's good - well, no, not good. Better. It's better."

Sirius relaxes and pats more powdered silver and dittany onto Remus' skin, "I don't know how you've done this alone for so long, Moony."

"I'm not so sure myself. Sirius - thank you. For not charging in last night and, and for this."

"What are friends who happen to be falsely convicted killers for, if not to help their werewolf chums?"

Remus chuckles and he's glad of it, that they can look back at their lives and find humour within, "What a pair we make."

It's a lengthy operation, imperative to stop Remus bleeding to death, and when they finish the two men droop with weariness. Sirius has a smear of silver on his forehead and blood under his finger nails but he doesn't seem to care. He yawns, stretching his arms out to his sides, eyelids heavy.

"You know, I think I might just...lie down...here...a little..."

"Mmm." Remus murmurs in incoherent agreement, still swathed up in the blanket.

For the first time since before he was sent to Azkaban, Sirius falls into a dreamless sleep, not a sound to be heard besides the tranquil snoring of Remus in his chair, both bathed in the golden sunlight that they have come to depend on.