Work Text:
The block was silent. Still. Nobody roamed the street. The sheer quiet of it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
The shutters of each home remained firmly shut. As if it was any other day in the war.
As if the world hadn’t changed overnight.
The sky was overcast, but no wind blew, and every step echoed with the crunch of the leaves underfoot. It seemed to Remus that it was as if the street itself mourned. As if the very air knew the loss that happened here.
His arms prickled with gooseflesh
Suddenly, there it was.
Godric’s Hollow stood as picturesque as ever from the outside. Covered by the anti-muggle wards that masked the house as a typical suburban home. And yet... Remus feared what he might find if he dared to walk past the gate. Surely the building would bear some scar underneath the protective guise set to fool any passing strangers. Surely, there must be some mark of what they told him had happened here. Surely, it couldn’t still be the same place he always knew.
Then again, maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe nothing had happened at all and the rumors were unfounded. After all, gossip traveled fast in times of darkness. And rumors of change were always plentiful. Fervent dreams of those who wished to return to a time before. They were only all the more insidious for being unfounded. And yet, for the first time since his school years, Remus fervently hoped that this would be one of those times. After all, the notion of Lord Voldemort being defeated by a child was preposterous. The entirety of the Order of the Phoenix hadn’t made progress in years, why would one more night make any difference. One more far fetched tale of hope would be as inconsequential as all those before it.
Maybe he would walk through this gate, knock on the door, and be welcomed inside just like any other day. Just the normal routine for when the Marauders managed to get away from Order duties. A place to escape from the horrors of the war, even if just for a night.
He would take his shoes off at the door, setting them next to Pete’s, balanced precariously atop the haphazard pile of wayward belongings and footwear. The smell of spices waft towards him, followed by the sound of Lily’s laughter as James scolded Peter. Honestly, Wormtail should know better than to try and to steal food before dinner by now. James had always been a bloody nightmare about making sure all his friends were well fed. You eat what he gives you, when he gives it, and you accept the mothering with grace.
Not a moment later, a black blur comes careening down the hall and straight into him, a madly giggling Harry on its back to welcome him home. With the combined weight of Harry and Padfoot knocking into him, before he could blink, Remus would find himself flat on the floor, held down by the sprawling mass of fur and child. His fingers tread through unruly curls and soft fur. Taking comfort in the fact that he could hold them, even for just a moment, and everything would be at peace. Everything would make sense, even if just for right now, everyone is safe and happy.
And, in that moment, like so many others over the years, that little house feels like home. Safety. Warmth. Laughter. Family.
Love.
This is what that cozy house in Godric’s Hollow is for him. For all of them. It always has been. A haven for their little family. A promise of a future, together, for each other and for little Harry. A promise that they would make sure he grows up safe, and happy, and loved.
So very loved.
He knows this house better than his own. From the moment he was born, and James named Sirius his godfather, Remus had known that he and his partner would be spending a lot less time in their flat. And, like usual, he had been correct. Date nights became Bambi-sitting nights, and if Remus had thought he knew the Potter house well before, well, he and Sirius soon gained a whole new level of awareness. It wasn’t long before they all realized exactly how many sharp corners and hard edges were at the perfect height for a curious baby to haphazardly endanger themself.
Although, to be fair, they should have realized a decent amount of the hazards earlier, given how often Padfoot had made the same mistakes. In his defense, the lack of carpet made breaking a rather difficult endeavor for a dog running at full speed. And it was easy to forget such simple everyday things as distance when you're all riled up and your depth perception is not quite at your usual level of operation.
In Remus’ defense, watching Padfoot repeatedly run into the same wall every time would never fail to be hilarious.
No matter how he tried to scorn his family, Sirius in his human form never could fully get rid of the pureblood grace and poise that had been drilled into him as a child. But crashing into walls and furniture? Suffice it to say, they all quickly learned Padfoot did not have the same problem. Plus, Sirius was always just the smallest bit more clingy and affectionate when he was feeling a bit embarrassed, and who was he to deny his partner (or himself) the opportunity for physical comfort?
A hand trailing along his back as he walked by, or catching into his belt loop, stabilizing Sirius as he rose up just enough to...
Smiling, he shifted slightly forward, so small, and subconscious that it was really more of a lean, as if into a phantom touch. But it was enough to step him past the wards.
And the sight that assaulted him….
Well, that was more than enough to shock him out of his reverie. It took only a glance for him to catch sight of the gaping hole in the second floor roof.
But in that moment, his world imploded.
Remus tried to find his footing after the rather jaring apparition landing, but as soon as he landed, his ears were assaulted by a wall of noise as someone pushed into his back, forcing him sideways and into another figure.
He managed to catch snatches of the conversations around him. Unfamiliar voices cast out like nets into the air, forming familiar names, but his mind couldn’t catch them. It all slipped right through the holes. As if he had never heard them before. And in a moment, he was lost. Adrift in the push and pull of the sound, like a wave drawn back into the tide.
“Can you believe it?”
“...little Harry Potter…”
A sharp heel dug into his foot. Red lipstick on a lined face came into focus, “Sorry dearie… bit much … celebrate myself” A cold liquid seeped through his sleeve, coating his arm in an unnatural coolness. Then the face was gone, but the chill remained.
The tide continued to swell.
“ He-Who Must-Not-Be …”
“ -rry Potter lived ... “
“Little Harr- “
A dull stab in his side propelled him forward again. Again into another body. Again and again.
“was their own friend-”
“shame about parents”
“ …. I heard…”
“... distant relative you know ...”
The voices roared onward, the rise of a tidal surge. As if any minute it would come crashing down atop his head and drag him under.
“-Boy-Who-Lived…”
“shame bout”
“ that James lad”
He was jolted forward again, crashing listlessly to the side against the crowd as the words floated around him.
“ Evans I think her name was”
“. . shame about …. “
“ … raise a glass to …”
“ that Sirius Black”
“ … to Harry James Potte-”
The crowd pushed in on him from all sides. No matter where or how he turned, the bodies stretched on and on. Packing the streets. Voices building on one another into a wild cacophony of color and sound.
Until all he could register was his own halting steps. The pressure on his chest as his chest seized. And the ever present press of bodies around him.
So many bodies.
So many people.
When the Death Eaters arrived, how many would be trapped, unable to get away? Sentenced by their own glee. There was no such thing as crowds these days.
It wasn’t safe.
He had to warn them. They had to get out. He had to find Sirius. And James. God what if Peter was underfoot, or had he been able to get out. They couldn’t stay here. Why had any of them left? How did they get here? He had to-
Hands were grasping at his cloak. Arms and shoulder pressed against his back.
What were they doing? He did his best to shake them off, but the touches kept coming.
Where’s Sirius? Find Sirius.
Too many faces. Too many hands. And smiles.
Everyone was smiling.
Why were they smiling? Didn’t they know how much danger they were in? How vulnerable they had made themselves?
The rancid warmth of a drunkard’s breath slid past his ear, then his cheek. His mind swirled with it. Nothing made sense.
Where are-
Why would-
Harry. Where’s Harry?
Suddenly the bodies were gone. That heat faded as he collapsed forward onto the ground. His hands stung, the stabbing of needles against his palms pressing down into rough gravel.
Remus pushed down harder, closing his eyes, finally able to focus on something besides the roar and movements of the crowd. As the pressure in his hands increased, he breathed in and out deeply, counting with each breath until he could no longer feel his own pulse pounding in his chest. His heartbeats evening out as the whirling thoughts in his mind coalesced into one voice.
Find Sirius.
Find Harry.
Keep them safe.
He stayed there, crumbled on the ground for a few more moments before finally trusting his legs underneath his as he rose to stand, every limb feeling heavy, as if weighed down by an unknown force. Keeping his eyes closed, he turned sharply, apparating again.
Thankfully, this time, with his head a little less muddled and a clear mission, he actually managed to land at his flat. Stooping down briefly to pick up the paper on the mat, Remus unlocks the door with a quick flick of his wand and staggers inside, tossing the paper on the coffee table next to the sofa as he kicks off his shoes. Walking forward, he spots Sirius’ jacket hanging over the back of the couch where he had left it two days ago.
“Sirius?” he calls out into the apartment as he picks the jacket up. Running his hand along the cool smoothness of the cracked leather, he wandered into the bedroom.
There is no response. Sirius’ side of the bed is cold and untouched. He had never come home.
Remus makes his way back to the couch, collapsing onto it.
Sirius knew before I did. Everyone knows James made him the secret keeper, he would have felt the wards break. He knew and never came home.
Why wouldn’t he tell me? I would have gone with him.
Some dark, insidious part of him whispered back. That’s why. He didn’t want you to come with him.
You’ve had your doubts. He hasn’t exactly been acting normal lately.
He hadn’t. But then again none of them had. The desperation was getting to them all recently. With Dumbledore repeatedly sending Remus out to attempt to gather intel or allies from Britain’s packs of dark creatures and Sirius taking an increasing amount of Auror missions, despite his best partner stuck homebound inside the Fidelius, they hadn’t seen much of one another recently. When they did, they were both exhausted, moody, and reticent.
Sirius had slowly stopped touching him. Stopped surprising him with warm teasing pressure on his back and shoulders as he passed by. Stopped lightly brushing his hands with his own as he grabbed something that Remus handed to him. The short absentminded kisses became few and far between.
They still had sex from time to time, but something about the atmosphere seemed more rushed, less intimate, less trusting. And the cuddling afterwards had also begun to disappear. Sirius no longer wrapping around him like an octopus with too many limbs in his sleep.
In fact, Remus had been lucky these past few weeks if Sirius stayed in bed all night. All too often he woke up to him leaving and coming back at all hours of the night, if he came back at all. He had thought that last night was just more of the same.
He had become quieter too, more snappish. They had been having fights over the simplest of things. Especially on nights when Sirius came back from a mission. Remus knew on some level that he hadn’t been helping.
He knew he always returned from his own excursions feeling just this side of wild. Like a feral thing that could snap if you get too close. Doubting his own humanity all over again, despite all the works his friends had put into building his sense of self over the years.
He knew that the insecurities and hurt feelings caused him to tense up, to move away from foreign or unexpected touches, even Sirius’s. That Sirius’s lack of physical closeness might have been an innate response to his own distancing.
That his own prodding and questions could dig into sore spots if he wasn’t careful. That they were in a war, and secrets had to be kept. Some things you couldn’t tell anyone, even those closest.
But he couldn’t help but wonder.
Do I even have the right to call us close anymore? We’ve been dancing around each other for weeks now, both too scared to look closer, fear that I’ll misstep into some hidden pitfall with no way out. Too scared to let go, even if sometimes he feels more like a stranger than my boyfriend.
He starts to bury his face into the jacket before movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention. It’s the photographs on the newspaper. As he reaches over to pick up the prophet, his breath catches.
There he is. Sirius. Front and center on the Daily Prophet.
Except, he doesn’t look like Remus has ever seen him before. His eyes are wide and manic and his head is thrown back in a twisted laugh as his eyes glare into Remus’s own trapping him in their gaze. The face of his lover no longer recognizable to his own. The headline boldly proclaims:
Sirius Black Sentenced for Murder and Connection to Potter Deaths
The paper slips out of his hand and he falls forward into the soft coolness of Sirius’ jacket, closing his eyes and trying desperately to catch his breath. Suddenly he knew. It was real. All of it. These last few days weren’t a terrible unfathomable nightmare. The months of distance clicked together like jagged puzzle pieces in his mind.
In that moment he let go of everything he had come to accept as truth. Everything his friends had told him for years. They weren’t here after all. He was once again alone in the world with nothing to trust. Nothing they had said made sense to him anyway.
He opened his eyes, the world finally making sense after all these years. The same way it had when he was just a child. The first time his world had burnt down, forcing him to drag himself from its ashes through sheer willpower.
He had thought he knew him. Maybe he had. After all, who could ever stand to love a monster like him, to touch one so cursed?
Who, except another monster?