Chapter Text
29/10/80
Sirius,
Thank you so much again for coming up to see me—it meant the world and Mum was glad to see you too.
Bad news, I’m afraid. I won’t be making it to London for your birthday. I’ve tried everything, but she won’t let me escape, even for something small and quiet (I don’t think she believes we’re capable of either of those things—ha!). More bad news, did you hear that RAID has shut down? It had a good run, I think, though I wish we had another night there. They were such fun.
My patrols are going well. Still nothing to tell Moody about. It’s all a bit bleak and hopeless, isn’t it? How are things with Remus? Have you spoken to him yet? Please, keep me posted. There’s not much to look forward to any more.
Sorry again. We’ll have fun when all this is over, I promise.
Love you always,
Marlene xx
PS
Don’t drink it all at once!
PPS
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
~
Sirius tried not to cry when he received Marlene’s letter. He still had a shred of hope that she would come and see him; that he wouldn’t be alone on his birthday. Though he laughed at the sight of the shrunken bottle of tequila attached to the owl’s leg along with the letter, and he remembered as he so often did nowadays, that there was nothing—no one—around to stop him getting pissed, even if an epic night out couldn’t accompany it. He returned the bottle to its original size with a flick of his wand and took a much-needed swig.
Sirius’ solar system had crumbled when he realised they couldn’t celebrate anything like he wanted to.
They were getting older. This war was so much darker, much to Sirius’ dismay, and they couldn’t be as wild and reckless as he wanted to be. As he knew they should have been, as they entered their early twenties. The good times he was desperately trying to grip onto were slipping away from him, like ink in water.
Sirius penned Marlene a response, trying not to let his tears stain the parchment as he wrote:
Yes, I spoke to him. You won’t believe it. He agreed to be my boyfriend—how I managed that I’ll never know.
Though he omitted the details of their fight. That Remus had left without a word and Sirius had no clue when he would return. If he would return.
On Halloween, Sirius ate sweets and watched muggle horror films with the Potters and Peter. He desperately wanted to beg James, Lily, and Pete to come out with him, come celebrate twenty-one with him, but he held this desire back and tried to enjoy Harry’s giggles as he and James dressed him in a deer baby-grow and charmed toy skeletons to laugh and wave at him. As he knew how much of a risk it was for them all to be there together, celebrating Harry’s first Halloween, and didn’t want to ruin that.
Sirius didn’t do anything special for his twenty-first. He awoke, alone. Had a cigarette, alone. Poured himself a shot of tequila, alone, though he felt Marlene there in spirit. He twiddled his ring, thought of Remus, wondered if he was thinking of him too.
Christmas and the New Year passed much the same: Sirius was alone in the flat, drinking, surrounded by deafening and oppressive silence. The only time he left was when the Order required him to, and even that was few and far between these days, with the stress of the spy keeping everyone apart and Sirius’ obvious downward spiral. So he busied himself with buying gifts for his friends (his proudest was a new stuffed dog for Harry), and putting up pathetic decorations: a cheap, plastic tree with no lights or presents underneath and making brandy-spiked hot chocolates with his deer mug (he often forgot it was supposed to be Rudolph—he always looked at it and saw Prongs.)
The days blurred into one. He hadn’t even realised the New Year had ticked over–Sirius was usually too inebriated to pay any mind to the passing of time—until he glimpsed the date at the top of the Prophet one morning: 5th February 1981. Shit—he missed Lily’s birthday. Sirius discarded the paper and rushed to write her a letter at once.
It was the third month Remus had been gone. With each full moon, he thought of him, the bitter fight they had ended on, the regret simmering up in Sirius’ chest, burning like stomach acid as he remembered his twisted thought of Remus being the spy. He picked at the skin of his fingers and twiddled his thick titanium band on the days when he had the strength to even wear it, and prayed that Remus would be home soon, that he was safe, that he missed Sirius as much as he missed him.
~
Thursday 19th February 1981
As February stretched on, Sirius was still alone. The month’s full moon passed with more guilt, more dark thoughts of Remus, and more alcohol, and he spent today like all the others, waiting, perhaps praying, for a mission, drinking, smoking. For a change, he sat at the dining table—his bed was filthy, and he didn’t remember the last time he had changed or cleaned the sheets and now couldn’t bare the smell. His pyjamas were even worse: small cigarette buns dusted the front of his Queen t-shirt and the shorts were sweaty from years of Quidditch and months of constant wear, and they were too long for him, hanging low on his hips and dragging past his knees.
Sirius tapped off the ash in the small, glass tray and brought the cigarette back to his lips. Sucked in and blew out, pat down his shorts for his wand, and summoned over another bottle. It whizzed across the room but missed his hand, smashing into the wall instead.
“Shit,” Sirius hissed under his breath. His wand work was always sloppy when he was tipsy. He stood, padded across the room in his few-day-old socks and grabbed another firewhiskey the muggle way.
Sirius returned to his seat at the dining table, gulped straight from the bottle and smacked his lips as the familiar burn and tang trickled down his throat. Sirius sighed, body melting into the wood, when blinding light appeared before him. He jumped, squinting. Was it a ghost? A hallucination because he’d finally snapped and completely lost his mind?
Then it spoke.
“We—under attack—”
A Patronus. A dog similar to his own, speaking, panicked and panting, with Gideon’s voice. Sirius stood. The chair clattered to the floor.
“Safehouse compromised. We need backup. I repeat—we need—”
The message ended, and the golden retriever fizzled out.
Shit.
Sirius looked down at himself, in his raggedy pyjamas, tipsy and stumbling around the kitchen, unable to simply summon a firewhiskey bottle. He knew he shouldn’t fight, he couldn’t. But he had treated Gideon so awfully, and he needed help, he needed back up, and Sirius needed to do this.
He stumbled into his Docs, running down the stairs two at a time before he tumbled into the back alley, bitter air whipping his cheeks and bare legs, rushing through the holes in his top. Panting, he tried to disapparate, through the scrambled mess in his mind. Focus, you idiot, focus. He scrunched his eyes closed and thought of Gideon, the safehouse, and his stomach swirled. As he landed, Sirius’ knees buckled, and he fell forward, mud gritting across his teeth. He coughed and spluttered and pushed himself to standing with shivering arms.
The safehouse burned; thick plumes of smoke arose from it, clogging the air and Sirius’ lungs. The rolling hills of field were ablaze with cracking spells; flying screams. Sirius’ eyes darted. Kingsley, Dorcas, Moody. Gideon. He and his brother were back to back, fighting at least five of them at once. The Death Eaters, cocky bastards, were maskless and Sirius recognised too many of them. Dolohov, Rosier, Nott, Malfoy.
Bellatrix.
She held Dorcas at wand-point, cackling, hair flailing like medusa. Sirius sprinted to her, but he crashed into someone on the way, sending them both tumbling onto the grass. Sirius fumbled to sit up, desperately pawing for his wand and pointing it at the other person.
“Merlin, Pete, watch where you’re going!.” Air gushed from his lungs, and he tried to still the shaking of his forearm. It’s just Peter. It’s just Wormtail. Sirius offered him a hand and hauled them both to standing. “You alright?”
Peter stared at him, face sweaty, mouth quivering, wand gripped in a fist. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “Oh, Sirius. I’m sorry. I really am.”
Sirius waved a dismissive hand, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s fine mate, let’s just get ‘em. Alright? Get behind me.” Peter’s nod was jerky, though he followed Sirius’ instructions.
Sirius turned back to his cousin, caught in a wild duel with Dorcas, both equally skilled, though a spell hit Dorcas in the chest, and she stuttered backwards and fell.
Sirius’ gut twisted. “Bellatrix!” he yelled. Bellatrix turned from Dorcas, vulnerable, and whipped to face Sirius and Peter. Her face was wide with black family mania; eyes bulging, smile like the blade of a scythe as she waved, cackling.
“Cousin! And… and itty bitty Worm…tail.” Her tone was bright and mocking and her smile widened. Sirius held a hand up in front of Peter, urging him further behind him. “How good to see you again,” she flicked a red curse at him, and he blocked it, though the force of it sent him staggering back. “Sad about poor little Reggie, wasn’t it? Your mother hasn’t been quite the same.”
Bellatrix lunged forward, biting, her jaw a bear trap. “Don’t speak his name!” Sirius fired back another curse, but it bounded off her wand with ease and she cackled again.
“The perfect heir dead, while the blood traitor lives.” Bellatrix’s glare flicked Sirius up and down and her nose curled up into a snarl. “Look at you. You are sloppy, cousin,” she gestures wildly at him, wand flailing. “The state of you would finish poor Auntie Walburga off.”
“Diffindo!” Sirius charged towards her; she blocked his sloppy spell with ease. “Shut up! Don’t speak of her to me—”
“You are vermin, Sirius.” Her smile was wide, but eyes viperous. So much like his mother’s. Like his own. “A stain. A disgrace.” She stormed closer, reaching out with a claw-nailed hand to grab his throat and squeeze. Sirius scratched at her, arms flailing, but her grip didn’t loosen. Her breath was cold and musty, and she raised her wand and dug it into the Sirius’ cheek, laughing as he hissed in pain as the flesh sliced open. “Blinded by the company you keep.”
“Shut…” He wheezed for air. “Up.”
“How is the Potter baby? Ready to die?”
Sirius’ leg jerked, and he kicked her, with all the strength her could muster. Her hand slipped from his throat and he doubled over, gasping as air rushed into his lungs, not before Bellatrix’s shrieked, “Crucio!”
Sirius collapsed. It was like each of the scars left by his mother were reopening, fresh blood dripping from them. Like his limbs were ripped off and stitched back on, over and over. He screamed his throat raw, tasted copper in his mouth. He saw white; flashes of green. Bellatrix’s cackles were distant; her hatred was raw and throbbing and iron, like a burning metal rod slashing at him.
Then it stopped.
Sirius panted, breaths desperate and ragged. He couldn’t see. His limbs buzzed.
“Sirius?” Peter’s worried face appeared above him. “Are you… are you ok?”
Sirius waved him away. He pushed himself up on shaking elbows before crumbling back down. He couldn’t move; his limbs seized, pain fizzling through him. Lying in the grass, Sirius stared up as the Dark Mark cracked in the sky. No. No, no, no.
Sirius closed his eyes; he couldn’t bear to look at it. To think who was gone now. Tears leaked out from behind his closed eyelids, trickling down the sides of Sirius’ face. He couldn't move his hands to wipe them away. He should’ve stayed at home… he should have thought before running to into battle drunk…
Specs of light shot across his closed eyelids. Sirius turned his head (pain shooting down his neck) and looked towards the collected Order members, huddled in a circle. The Death Eaters were gone; the safehouse was no longer ablaze, but black and ashen, the smell abrasive against Sirius’ nose.
Their wands were raised to the sky, shooting light up, like stars.
Peter knelt beside him, and Sirius tried to speak, but a squealing puff of air formed instead of words, so he reached out with a shaking hand, pawing at his knee by way of asking for help. Peter grasped his palm, and Sirius tried to sit up again, this time managing to make it to his knees, and they sank into the fresh mud. He stood on shaking legs, stumbling forward towards the huddle, Peter’s arm anchored on his lower back, his other hand shaky, gripping his wand before he raising it as well, providing just enough light so that Sirius could see who everyone was huddled around.
Gideon and Fabian.
Crumpled in a bloody heap. Eyes open, mouths agape. Bile trickled up Sirius’ throat, stomach acid burning his mouth as he vomited. He collapsed into it, hyperventilating in the wet grass, Peter’s words inaudible. Just like Regulus, this was his fault; he was a mess; he wasn’t in his right mind; he hadn’t done anything to save them.
Just like when he was sixteen and escaping home, he thought of James, of how desperately he needed him and disapparated. Sirius landed on gravel, scraping his cheeks. He laid unmoving for a while, gasping for air as he stared up at the dark blanket of the night sky. Sirius groaned and heaved himself onto his front, then onto his hands and knees. With trembling fingers, he grasped at the latch of the wooden gate and when it clattered open, Sirius dragged himself down the path, smearing vomit and mud and gravel along his front and collapsed against the door with a thud. He leant against it, banging with a weak fist until it opened, and he fell in with it, smacking his head on the floor. He saw blinding white, then it all went dark.
~
Friday 23rd February 1981
A baby’s cries shot through Sirius’ head. He blinked his eyes open, taking in the Potter’s living room. The fire burned and Sirius was lying in a bed—likely a transfigured sofa. The room was empty.
“James?” he called out, heart throbbing in his head. His voice came out dry, scratching his throat. “Lily?”
Footsteps thudded down the stairs and James appeared, baby Harry squirming in his arms. Sirius smiled at the pair; almost seven months and he looked so much like his father.
“Hey, Pads,” James said. He looked exhausted: red rimmed his eyes, his hair lay flat, and his t-shirt was stained and wrinkled. Fatherhood, Sirius supposed. “How are you feeling?”
There was a dull thunk in his head, and a slight tingling in his limbs. “Good.”
James smiled. “Lils is still brewing you a blood replenishing potion, but I have this for now,” he said, handing over a small vial of orange liquid. “For any remaining pain.”
Sirius smiled in thanks. He uncorked it and held his nose as he downed it in one. The thunk subsided, and the tingling calmed. “Thank you.”
“Any time, mate. You’ve been asleep a few days… delirious when you woke up.”
Sirius cringed. “God. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. We just want you to be alright.”
Harry squirmed in James’ arms, reaching a small hand out to Sirius. James shushed him gently, rocking him close to his chest. “Shh, shh. It’s ok, Harry. Uncle Pads is ok.”
Sirius sat up with a grunt and stuck out his tongue at the small baby, and Harry laughed; an infectious sound. “I’m ok, Haz,” Sirius said. He blew a raspberry and Harry giggled again. “I’m all ok.”
James smiled down at his son as they fell into silence. He opened his mouth and Sirius looked into his curious eyes. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
Sirius shook his head. “Safehouse was compromised. It must have been the spy—the dirty rat—who gave away the location. I responded to a Patronus from…” Gideon’s name caught in his throat as a flash of his body pierced Sirius’ mind. “I shouldn’t have. I was in such a state, but I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.”
“Were… were you attacked?”
Sirius scoffed. “By my favourite cousin, of course.”
“Merlin. They still haven’t arrested her?”
Sirius shook his head. “She’s a snake. Slippery. They all are.”
James’ face was dark. “And… any casualties?” Harry grabbed his glasses, and James let him play with them.
Sirius clenched his jaw. He didn’t know if he had the strength to say it. James reached out a hand, found Sirius’ under the covers, and squeezed.
“The twins.”
James blanched, and he gasped, “Oh, Sirius. I’m so sorry.”
Sirius shook his head, swallowing back the lump in his throat. “It’s ok. I’m ok. We were never a thing, right?” He laughed pitifully.
“That doesn’t matter. You cared for each other… at one point.”
Sirius shrugged. That was true, though he had never appreciated Gid when he had him. And he had never apologised for the way he brushed Gideon’s feelings under the carpet, why he couldn’t look past his fear of commitment and give him what he truly deserved. Then, perhaps a proper relationship. Now, an apology.
More footsteps thudded down the stairs. Lily appeared, a small basket with clinking glass bottles in her arms. She smiled, small and sad at Sirius’ tears. “Hey,” she said. She put the basket on the bed beside him. “I brewed a few extra—I know how lax you and Moony are at keeping your potions stocked.”
Sirius chuckled. He supposed that was true. “Thank you. Thank you both. I’m sorry for dropping in on you like this.”
“Nonsense,” James said. “Besides, Harry’s always happy to see his favourite uncle, aren’t you, Prongslet?”
He nudged Harry, who had his glasses in his mouth, and Sirius laughed as Lily pried them from him. Harry frowned, such a big expression on such a small face.
“And I’m always happy to see my favourite godson.”
“Favourite and only godson,” James laughed. “Stay as long as you need, we insist.”
“Oh, no,” Sirius said. “You’ve already done too much—I’ll head off home soon.”
The Potters shared a glance, so quick Sirius barely caught it. “Alright,” James said. “Make sure Moony looks after you when you get back.”
Sirius grimaced. “He’s not home yet.”
James’ eyes widened. “Still?”
Sirius nodded. “Month…” he counted from October. “Four I think.” He couldn’t stop his voice from coming out bitterly. “I’ll be fine,” he said, to appease their sad faces. “You’re the best at potions I know, Evans.”
Lily smiled. “You said it, not me.”
Sirius collected his basket of potions and put his boots back on. He gave James his pyjamas back, donning his raggedy, and now vomit-stained, Queen T-shirt and Quidditch shorts once more.
“Write when you can?” James asked, as Sirius stood in the open front door.
“Yes, always.” He planted a kiss on Harry’s head, and he babbled, grabbing at Sirius’ hair. “Love you too, Harry.”
“And you’re sure you’re safe to apparate?” James asked.
“Yes, mum. I feel loads better, thanks to you both.”
He hugged them in turn, and walked the short distance down the front garden to exit the safety wards of the small house to apparate home.
~
Whatever strength Sirius had regained in front of the Potters disintegrated the moment he slumped against the brick wall of his block of flats. He clawed his keys from his pocket and dragged himself inside and up the many flights of stairs. When he got the door open, he slumped into the still empty flat, letting Lily’s potions fall onto the floor, collapsing onto the sofa.
He already missed the warmth of Godric’s hollow, of James and Lily’s presence, as he now confronted the freezing emptiness surrounding him. Sirius’ vision blurred with tears, and he did nothing to hold them back, allowing his body to shake with open-mouthed, silent sobs, splitting his temples in two. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and saw a flashing white.
“Sirius?”
Sirius jumped and grabbed his wand. He held it aloft and blinked back tears, making out Remus’ dark figure standing in the hallway.
“What did James get me for my nineteenth?” Sirius demanded.
“Your deer mug.” Remus’ voice was clipped. Sirius lowered his wand and slumped back into the sofa.
“You fucking worried me,” Remus said. “Where were you?”
Sirius scoffed. His anger was reserved at the Potters, but now it poured out of him. “Where was I? Remus, where were you?”
Remus recoiled in on himself at Sirius’ harsh tone. He crossed the room in three swift strides and knelt before him. He looked at Sirius’ chest, a clawed thumb coming up to brush an angry scar peaking through one of the larger holes in his top. Sirius batted him away. “Sirius, what happened?”
“Where were you, Remus?” Sirius repeated. “A–a few days ago? What were you doing? Where were you?”
“Sirius, I’ve only just returned…. I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
“You leave for months, and you come back just days the morning after—” Sirius gulped the words down and rubbed furiously at his eyes.
“After what? Sirius, love, what happened? Are you alright? James and Lily—”
“They’re fine.”
Remus released a breath. He was waiting now, fingers twitching, for Sirius to continue.
“The safehouse was compromised,” he admitted. “I went to help… where were you?”
“Here, Sirius. I was here. And before that, you know I can’t say.”
Nasty silence hung between them as Remus straightened up and looked down at him. “What are you insinuating?”
Sirius didn’t dare vocalise it; his destructive thoughts that tainted the perfect image of Moony in his mind. Though from the glossy sheen that took over his eyes, and the steps backwards he tumbled, Remus likely knew what Sirius was thinking.
“Sirius… you don’t really think—”
Remus stopped himself, and Sirius hung his head.
“I don’t know what to think, Remus.”
Remus sank down at the dining table, head in his hands. His hair was overgrown, hanging down over his ears, his eyes, and it stuck up wildly as he groaned into his hands. Sirius stood, not knowing what to do with his limbs.
“They’re dead,” he said. “Remus, they’re fucking dead.”
Remus pealed his head out of his hands, and stared with unblinking, steely eyes at him. “Who?”
Sirius’ lip trembled. Tears and snot dribbled down his face. “Fabian… Gideon… You weren’t there. You hated him.”
“I never hated him,” Remus said. Sirius scoffed. Because that just wasn’t fucking true, was it? “I’m sorry, Sirius. I know you cared about him, but I didn’t plan on getting him killed.”
Sirius remained quiet. Remus laughed, a strained, manic sound. “I can’t believe I thought you were different.”
The words pierced Sirius’ chest like a poison-tipped arrow.
“But you’re not,” Remus ploughed on. “You’re the same, the exact same as them. As everyone who looks at me like I’m lesser. Like an untrustworthy dark creature.”
“No, Remus—”
“Yes, you are. You were raised like that, Sirius.”
Sirius stormed across the room and stared down at him, their faces inches apart. “Don’t you dare.”
“It’s the truth,” Remus spat. “An ideology instilled from birth is a hard habit to kick—”
“I don’t share a single ideology with my family, and you know that. It’s just—” Remus raised an eyebrow; urging him to go on, to explain himself. “You’ve been gone, for months, you’re keeping secrets, and now Gideon—” Sirius choked up on his name. “It’s suspicious.”
“I’m not the spy, Sirius.”
There it was. One of them had finally said it.
“I don’t want you to be…”
Remus looked at him, shoulders sagged, unkempt beard drooping with his frown. Sirius shouldn’t have said anything. He should have seen Remus alive and well and collapsed with relief, scooping him into his arms, snogging the breath out of him.
“But you think I am.”
Sirius didn’t say anything. Remus growled, shifting to stare down at the wood. He slipped off his titanium band, and it clattered to the table and as he stood, Sirius grabbed him by the forearms.
“Moony, don’t—”
Remus yanked his arms free and glared. “Please, don’t call me that.”
He unhooked his tweed jacket and shrugged it on. Not knowing what else to do, Sirius held his cheeks, hands trembling, and kissed him. Remus pushed him away. “Get off.”
He yanked the door open.
“Remus, I’m sorry,” Sirius pleased. “I don’t think you’re the spy. I don’t.”
“I’ll be back.” Remus slammed the door shut behind him.
Sirius was alone—exactly what he didn’t need. The ringing in his ears was loud now, and the tears came flooding out. He picked up Remus’ ring, thumbed over the engraving. Moony. Sirius held it as he cried. He had lost him again. Betrayed his trust, again. Though this time, Sirius had no idea how he could win it back.