Chapter Text
A cure I know that soothes
The soul, the soul impossibly
A moment's silence when
My baby puts her mouth on me
Moment's Silence, Hozier
Grimmauld Place was as it had always been: dark and eerie, with a deafening silence hanging in the air. Well, not quite always. It had been that way when he was a child and now was again, but there had been a time in between when the walls were filled with laughter. Now the walls were coated with dust, as were the floor and the ceiling, and even the windows were coated with a thick layer preventing any light from getting in. Dust floated in the surrounding air, but he barely felt the tickle in his throat as he breathed it in. It had never been this way before from what Sirius could remember, though his memories felt hazy in his drunken state.
When he was a child, the house was spotless. He could still feel the chill of his bare feet touching glistening marble — cold but beautiful. Hear the shrill shrieks of his mother when he dared touch anything without washing his hands. Kreature polished the silverware until it shone, reflecting the facets of darkness that lay within all the people who used it.
Then it had been abandoned for years and the dust grew. Perhaps it had been like this before, Sirius mused, or had Kreature stayed to clean it? He couldn’t remember. Everything felt fuzzy, and he reached for the firewhisky to take another long swig. He was too far gone to taste the burn. Shame, he quite liked how strong it tasted. An indication that he would soon not feel a thing. But he wasn’t there yet. Thoughts of Remus still swam to the surface through the clutter of his mind.
After Azkaban, the Order had made it their headquarters. It had infuriated Remus that Sirius hadn’t been able to escape the house he’d always hated, but no one else seemed to care. They couldn’t see the way the light left Sirius’ eyes when he stepped through the door coated in peeling paint and entered the house he’d returned to every summer while at Hogwarts. Summers spent hiding in his room while his family raved about dark magic.
Remus had said that Grimmauld sounded like grim old, which he thought were pretty apt descriptions of the building. Sirius had laughed, but he didn’t find it funny anymore. It really was grim; there was no other way to describe it.
Then the house had changed again. Not back to the way it was, but something different. The dust coated marble became carpeted floorboards, the walls brightened slightly in colour and the windows seemed to let in more light.
The magic of Grimmauld Place had always been tied to its inhabitants, or rather, its Black family inhabitants. But in reality, it was Remus who caused the change in the house, not Sirius. Remus peeled back at the layers of pain Sirius encased himself in until the blinding light of stars Sirius contained within him shone through. Shadows of Azkaban lingered in the darkened corners and silver fixtures, but perhaps with time Remus could have changed that — he would never know.
Without Remus, the house fell into disrepair, far worse than it had ever been. Sirius was sure that never in the long history of Grimmauld Place it had been like this. The Order had had to move headquarters immediately. They had returned from the Ministry hastily and the second Sirius stepped through the door the house fell like it was built of playing cards that had been balancing precariously on top of one another just waiting for a gust of wind to send it toppling to the floor and Remus’ death might as well have been a hurricane.
The lights went out, and a feeling of dread was palpable in the air. Walburga’s portrait shrieked in horror as the house seemed to crumble around her. The banister toppled, crashing into the stairs, which cracked and splintered. Paint seemed to rot away, revealing the plaster beneath. Mirrors cracked shattering glass on the floor. Everyone stared in shock but Sirius ignored it venturing into the house.
Sirius stepped over the fallen banister and made his way up the ancient staircase. He heard people calling for him to wait, but took no notice. He almost ran up to his room, the room he and Remus had shared. The door was blown in, so he needn’t even open it. Rubble surrounded the bed and in its center was a sweater on the bedcovers, seemingly unaffected. Remus had left it there that morning after getting dressed.
He’d slept in it, the house too cold for only pyjamas. Sirius loved how soft it was when he clung to Remus at night like he was the only thing left in the world. It reminded him of their Hogwarts years, of sneaking into each other’s beds, hidden by red curtains, and the way Remus’ body had felt against his own. He’d never wanted anyone but him.
Sirius grabbed the sweater and buried his face in the wool — it smelled like him. The primal part of him almost growled as if padfoot wanted to track Remus down by scent alone.
The fabric grew wet where he held it to his face and he realised he was crying. Sirius rarely allowed himself to cry. His father had ingrained in him from a young age that boys didn’t cry. Not pureblooded boys from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He hadn’t cried when his mother crucioed him, or when he ran to the Potter’s, or even when he’d discovered James was dead — he’d laughed manically but not shed a tear.
But with the scent of Remus, of old books and chocolate and tea and autumn rain, that he knew he’d now only find in amortentia, he let the tears collect in the corners of his eyes and spill over onto the fabric.
Within days, the Order had moved out, and Sirius was left alone. No one thought to stay with him; no one who was left cared enough. It was what he deserved; he knew that. If it wasn’t for him, all the people who he’d lost would still be alive.
They left him with nothing but memories...
Of the abuse he’d endured within the walls of Grimmauld Place. The feeling of the laceration spells his mother cast digging into his skin as his father stood complicity by because that was what it was to be a Black. That was the punishment for befriending ‘mudbloods and blood traitors’, for refusing the dark mark being branded onto his skin.
Yet the memories of pain had nothing on the transient glimpses of joy. Remus’ hands in his hair. Remus’ body curled beside his. His head tucked into Remus’ shoulder as they sat side by side in front of the fire at Grimmauld Place, shivers wracking his frail body. He was sitting in front of that same fire now and he’d never felt cold quite like it.
Even in the depths of Azkaban, with the wind whipping his face and dementors overhead, he hadn’t felt like this. Nothing compared to a world without Remus. He felt it deep in his chest, where a piece of his soul had been ripped viciously from his body without warning.
“Are you sure?” Remus whispered, his breath brushing against the skin of Sirius’ ear. His voice was deep and rough with longing. Sirius could have sworn he felt the way the words raced down his spine with how perfectly preserved the memory was.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. He wasn’t sure whether he repeated the word out loud now but it would hardly matter. There was nobody there to hear him.
Remus moved his head to the crook of Sirius’ shoulder and his teeth brushed against his skin. Sirius moaned, but Remus hadn’t pressed nearly hard enough to draw blood.
“Come on Moony,” he almost begged. “What are you waiting for?” Remus said nothing and after a few seconds, he felt as he pulled away. Sirius opened his eyes to look at Remus above him and saw the lust had left his face, pupils barely dilated, replaced by uncertainty.
Sirius opened his mouth to speak, not knowing what he planned to say, but Remus beat him to it. “I can’t do this.”
Sirius suspected his face portrayed the way his stomach had just dropped and Remus scrambled off of him. Sirius sat up and pulled the covers over his bare chest self consciously.
“I thought you wanted me?” Sirius said, unable to keep the slight shake from his voice as his mind played over all the reasons Remus had to change his mind. He couldn’t blame Remus if he didn’t trust him enough to commit to this. There was no going back, for Sirius maybe, but not for Remus.
“I do, Sirius,” Remus said, not meeting his gaze.
“Then what’s stopping you?” He reached out to take Remus’ hand and he let him, but didn’t turn his head. Sirius squeezed his hand reassuringly and after a prolonged silence spoke again.
“Remus, look at me,” he did, and their eyes met. “We don’t have to if you’ve changed your mind. I’ll understand if you think you need better than what I can give you.” His fingers brushed along one of the more prominent scars on Remus’ hand. Remus ripped his hand away and seemed to curl in on himself.
“Why Sirius?” He asked, which didn’t seem to be a response to what he had said.
“What do you mean why?” He questioned, sure his confusion must be written all over his face.
“Why me? Why promise yourself to me when you could have anyone? You’re beautiful, and brave and...” his voice wobbled as the words rushed out of him. “...perfect and kind and so full of life, so why would you choose me, a scarred werewolf with no future? I can’t help but think you’ll regret it and want to leave me. Then hate me when you realise you can’t.”
Sirius can’t even enjoy the compliments he knows he doesn’t deserve because the look on Remus’ face guts him. He would never leave Remus — never want to. He stayed silent for a moment, unable to speak, before he merely said.
“I have scars too, Remus.” He didn’t bother pointing them out; Remus knew where they were, knew every inch of him. It was enough. Remus brought his head back down to Sirius’. He rested his forehead against his and their breaths mingled in the air between them.
“You want me forever?” The words were barely a breath, only audible due to their closeness, and filled with hopeful longing.
“You know I could live a thousand lifetimes with you Moony, and it still wouldn’t be enough for me.” Remus’ face lit up, his smile radiant, and Sirius returned it. How could he not see it? How could Remus not know that smile was his reason for living? The way it warmed him from the inside out, heating his blood, then his skin. The scar that ran across his mouth stretched, making it more pronounced and so irresistibly kissable.
No more words were exchanged between them. Sirius bared his throat and closed his eyes. He felt the air shift between them as Remus moved to press his lips against his skin. They were soft and Sirius sucked in a breath as Remus’ tongue brushed against him and his canines elongated, lightly scraping the delicate skin of his neck. Then he bit down hard enough to draw blood, and the slight pain Sirius felt was overpowered by the sheer euphoria that washed over him as he felt their souls merge. It was single-handedly the best feeling he’d ever experienced. Even sex couldn’t compare to this. This was forever.
Until it wasn’t.
Remus’ death had stolen a part of his soul away and left only a remnant of Remus’ in his mind. Just enough to haunt him. Sirius could feel the last shred of Remus within him and it tore him to pieces.
Life without Remus was far worse than any other punishment he’d lived through. Even James’ death hadn’t hit him nearly this hard. He wanted nothing more than to let go, leave everything behind because what was life without his Moony? But he couldn’t do that, no matter how much it hurt. Remus hadn’t died for him, so he could watch his life fade away like ashes tossed into the wind.