Miss Me

Miss me

I wish he had come home earlier. I think he's hurt that I didn't offer
sooner but I didn't think he would stay. I feel quite stupid about it
actually. I mean he was in Azkaban for thirteen years and on the run for a
year after that- why would he refuse a roof over his head and warm food to
eat? To tell the truth, I was frightened. I know that sounds a like an excuse,
but I really was. We're older now- what if he'd forgotten about what we had?

He sits and stares at the fire. He smiles at me when he catches me looking
but there is little happiness in it. I put down the book I'm reading and
come over to him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask. Azkaban is a horrific place in
itself but how much worse must it have been for him. He was always so full
of energy, full of life. Now he looks like a ghost, a withered reflection of
the man I once knew.

"No, just leave it, Moony," he says sharply. His face is too lined and his
eyes are too raw, bloodshot, like he's never seen the sun. I guess you could
say that he hasn't really. He told me he slept during the day while he was
on the run. You can travel further by cover of darkness.

I'm hurt by his response, but I understand. How can I ask him anything so
personal? I have no right to anymore.

He turns and looks me straight in the eye - searching my face for
something. "Did you miss me?" he asks suddenly.

I wonder how to answer that. Of course I missed him, everyday his absence
was like a constant ache, but I thought he was a murderer. I have cuts all
over my body that I inflicted on myself when I was in my werewolf form and
none the wiser. Self-harm, that's what they call it. It's easier to say the
wolf did it. I don't need any more stigma. I was ashamed that I loved the
man that I believed murdered my best friends.

I was ashamed, but I still missed him.

He's looking at me and I know he's expecting an answer. I lay a hand on his
shoulder. "Of course I missed you, you're my Padfoot," I say, as if it
explains everything.

He looks doubtful. "Prove it Moony," he whispers, standing up and cupping
my face in his hands.

And he's kissing me now, his tongue in my mouth and his breath hot against
my skin. I wrap my arms around his too skinny frame, brushing his tongue
with mine. We kiss with desperation. Years of neglect, of pain, of waking up
in the morning and realizing that you might not speak to anyone that day, or
the next, or the next. We pour our lost hopes and broken dreams into that
kiss. He's clutching me and I pant against his mouth as we break apart.

I smile at him and for the first time since I discovered he was innocent. I
dare to hope that he will forgive me for doubting him.

He smiles back. "I knew you missed me," he says simply and we lean in
again.