Legacy

Legacy

He comes home at dawn to find Sirius standing by the bed, like a father keeping watch over the empty crib of a dead son. Nothing else ever moves in the room, except for the shadows that turn themselves into the swirl of Remus' footsteps. He puts his hands on Sirius' shoulders, rests his forehead lightly against the top of his lover's back. Sirius always jumps, surprised at the touch of calloused human skin, even though they do this every time.

"Come to bed?" Remus says every time, trying to remember the old leer that used to turn his features from gentle to sexy, Sirius always says. Or rather, Sirius used to say. He doesn't talk much now. He just shakes his head in answer to Remus' question, so quietly that the only sound is the brush of his long ragged hair against the collar of his robe.

Sometimes it still surprises Remus, that Sirius doesn't talk much. Such a change from the laughing, flying boy who always had a complimentary word about himself and occasionally, if he remembered, one for his friends to share among the rest of them. He never hesitated to tell them, between gulps of pumpkin juice at breakfast or when flying above Hogwarts on broomsticks or over the roar of water when he and Remus stood in adjacent showers, exactly how very desirable he was. Remus usually bit hard into the soft, wet skin of his arm so he wouldn't agree out loud, wouldn't say that yes, Sirius was very desirable. Lily was the one who usually bandaged those marks, always assuming that they were from the wolf's teeth and not Remus'.

Remus' chest still tightens, thinking of Lily. Lily and James. He wonders sometimes, with the feral mind of a wolf, what their deaths sounded like. Did they scream? Were they quiet, already deathly quiet, like Sirius? He thinks Harry might know, but damned if he's going to ask him. Damned if he's going to ask his (son? step-godson? friend? defender?) what it sounds like in his nightmares when the Dementors, who are everywhere now, get too close.

Sirius steps forward, away from Remus' hands, and the gap between them feels like the yawn of a canyon.

* * *

Remus usually gets to bed around six, when the birds are beginning to chirp tentatively, uncaring of the Dark Lord or the fact that, for fun, he has poisoned all the worms, so their stomachs gurgle and fizz and they die mid-note. Remus realizes that it's a strange life, a strange sleep cycle, but it's safer for him to go out at night. This is what they have decided, Dumbledore and the other members of the Order, although they could be fooling themselves. The Dark Lord can cast Imperio as easily in the dark as in the flood of sunlight.

Sirius has more freedom. He can go out at day or at night, often in the form of a big shaggy black dog. Most members of the Order have made their homes unplottable and unowlable, so all the owls trying to reach Arabella Figg or Mundungus Fletcher come to their house. Sirius then relays messages between members of the Order, organizes the factions who will stay behind in innocuous places to give shelter to their allies and those who will go to the front lines. He alerts the Aurors who are chosen to go undercover, to track Voldemort in stealth. They are never seen again. Remus is so proud of Sirius, but he doesn't say so anymore because when he does, Sirius rolls away from his long gentle fingers.

Tonight (day?) Remus sleeps uneasily, making small whimpering sounds in the back of his throat and clawing at the air in his sleep. When Sirius finally joins him in bed, the mattress sinks in, waking Remus with a start. Light watery eyes blink up at the ceiling in the darkness. "Are you okay?"

He knows that Sirius is nodding because his pillow is moving against Remus'. "Are you worried about Harry?"

The pillow moves again.

"He'll be here soon," Remus suggests rather than reminds Sirius. The truth is that they don't know when they'll see Harry. He turns up unannounced at four in the morning, Apparating under his father's Invisibility Cloak straight to the bed where Sirius keeps vigil every night. Sometimes they don't even know he's there until he's gone, which is the point, of course. If no one knows where he is, then no one can betray him, even inadvertently. It occurs to Remus, for the first time, that maybe this is why Sirius doesn't talk anymore.

"D'you remember - the box of Every Flavour Beans I had in sixth year?"

Remus jumps at the sound of Sirius' voice, hoarse from disuse. He concentrates on the familiar cadences, the rises and falls of a voice he's loved for more than twenty years, and not the triviality of the words. Instead he thinks about all the boxes of Every Flavour Beans he's shared with Sirius over the years. "Yes, I remember," he says gently, which he probably does, even if he doesn't know which specific box Sirius means.

"No you don't," Sirius replies with certainty. "It was the time you kept wanting good beans, and I kept turning the tripe and sardine ones different colours so you bit into them expecting strawberry or something ..."

"Oh, that time." Remus smiles in the dark. Of course he remembers that time. "Yes, well, I hope you enjoyed the taste of half-chewed vomit bean."

"Worse kiss I've ever had, Moony."

Remus should be chuckling, but instead all he wants to do is cry. A lump the size of a tumor lodges itself next to the warmth of his heart. "I love you, Padfoot."

He feels the pillow move.

* * *

Remus is in their bedroom, tearing apart closets and shelves and old cloaks in a frantic display of spring cleaning, even though it is either six months too early or too late. There isn't much else he can do in the days, except wait for Sirius to come home and wait for night to fall. His hands yank down photo albums, old Transfiguration books, glass tanks that once held grindylows. He is so focused on brushing his thumb over the corner of one moving photograph that he barely hears the small pop in the quiet air next to him, and he looks up, startled, to see a silvery-blue hood being pushed away from tousled brown hair. "Who - " he begins, and then stops. "Hermione! What are doing here?"

She bows her head, and the usual curls don't fall in front of her haggard cheeks. Her hair is clipped short, soft and close to her head like a boy's. "I'm sorry. I know I can't just Apparate here to talk - "

"No, you bloody well can't! What are you trying to do, put Harry in danger?" Remus stands up quickly, and a pile of violet dress robes that Sirius outgrew about ten years ago goes tumbling to the floor. "Do you have any idea - "

"Have you seen Harry lately?" Hermione interrupts him with a rustling wave of one invisible hand. Her eyes are soft with worry, and even the scissors taken to her now-boyish hair cannot conceal the look of feminine fear and pain on her gentle face. "Because no one can find him anywhere, and I've got urgent news - no one can find Hedwig, either ..."

"He's in hiding, Hermione, that's what hiding means." Remus sets down the old photo album, with a picture of James and Lily waving on the cover, and shakes his head in equal parts exasperation and concern. "Well, you're here now, you might as well come have a cup of tea. Why is it so urgent that you get in touch with Harry, anyway?"

"I've been working as an undercover Auror," Hermione explains quietly, following Remus to the kitchen and leaning her invisible body against the doorframe. She looks uneasy. "Dumbledore started me with special training back in fifth year, a bunch of us - Harry and Ron and Padma Patil and Ginny and oh, who else? Cho Chang. Susan Bones, and ..."

"Hermione, get to the point." Remus fills the kettle with water and then pokes once with his wand, lighting the flame underneath the burner. "You've been working as an Auror, then."

"Yes. And I've found something that I think might be able to help him."

"Help Harry?" Remus glances curiously at her before taking two mugs and teabags from the cabinet. "How?"

He puts a comforting hand on Hermione's invisible shoulder and hopes she doesn't notice that it's shaking. "Hey. It's okay." Which it's not. "It's going to be all right." Which it isn't. "I understand how you're feeling."

She laughs tonelessly at his platitudes. "Figures, huh? We spend five years hating Snape, and now ..."

"I know," Remus says with more sincerity this time, but doesn't know how to explain how intimately he knows, that even though he and Sirius and Snape and oh God, yes, James and Lily, even though they've been through one war already, this one is so different. It is more honest, they are supposed to trust each other this time, and yet how can they trust anyone? Snape is spying for the Order - right? Hermione and Harry are working as Aurors - right? In the last war they trusted no one. In this one they are asked to trust some.

Yes, it is harder.

He opens his mouth to try to explain, but she shakes her head, reaching up to tuck her curls behind her ears. Of course there are no long locks of hair hanging in her face, and her thin, trembling fingers brush through the air. Remus watches her in the silence as the teakettle shrieks and he flicks the boiling water into the mugs. "So tell me about the spell," he says finally, when he has moved the cups over to the table with Wingardium Leviosa, spilling only a few drops on the kitchen table.

Hermione nods briskly, and Remus can see her slipping back into her element, her face changing from contemplative to composed. "Yes. I haven't found too much information yet, but apparently it's an ancient spell, based on blood. It's been well documented in twins."

"Twins," Remus repeats, raising a soft brown eyebrow as he takes a sip of tea. "And, uh, how is this supposed to help Harry?"

"It's about the blood." Hermione's hand appears in mid-air out the sleeve of the Invisibility Cloak, and she waves her wand briefly to call some sugar and a spoon over to the table. "Twins have the same blood." She watches his face for a moment while she dumps an exorbitant amount of sugar into her tea, then sighs impatiently. "Don't you understand? You-Know-Who took Harry's blood to come back to life. If Harry took some of his as well, they'd share the same blood."

"I'm still not quite following you, Hermione."

"Well, this is the part I'm not so sure about, but apparently when people share the same blood, a spell can ... induce a disease in them."

style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; "> "A disease," Remus repeats, and his slender jaw drops open slowly. "You mean that we could give the Dark Lord - "

"Yes. I think so."

"You think so?" Remus' voice rose suspiciously.

"Well, it's not like I've had much time to do research," Hermione retorts defensively, taking a fast gulp of tea. "They burned the Hogwarts library to the ground, you know. I've been running around in this stupid Invisibility Cloak night and day, dressing like a boy so they won't suspect, and trying to keep my best friend alive. I haven't seen Ron or Ginny for weeks, for all I know they're dead or - or worse. And you - you're just sitting at home because they'd kill a werewolf faster than a Muggle, and you have no idea what the hell it's like out there!"

She ends her outburst with a sudden slam of one unseen hand. The cups shudder and leap off the table, spilling tea over the sides, and Remus feels the acid of guilt burn its way through his body again. "Hermione."

She jerks away from the stretch of his gentle fingers. "Professor Lupin, I'm so sorry."

"Remus," he corrects her automatically, although it seems foolish to him, that they are wasting their time on these things when Muggles are screaming and wizards are dying outside, their bodies fallen and Transfigured into sticks and stones that the Death Eaters hurl into a lake without a second thought. "Hermione - "

"Remus," she replies pointedly, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that at all. Look, if I were doing what you do - if it was Ron out there, doing what Sirius does - I don't think I'd survive."

"You don't need to apologize," Remus says gently, though of course her anger has started to make his blood creep and burn like venom. "I understand. Sometimes I wonder the same ting. Sirius is the brave one, you know. He's the one fighting the real war."

She shakes her head. "No," she replies softly. "You are too. If Sirius weren't here you'd still find a way to be brave on your own."

He tries a weak smile. It doesn't feel like a smile to him. "These are hard times. There are a lot of emotions."

Hermione nods, looking very serious and collected, just like a young man should, and then her composure slides off her face like water and she looks young, so young - how old is she? She was just seventeen at the beginning of this year - so very feminine. "Oh, Remus," she whispers as her invisible body and pale outstretched arms fall across the table, upsetting tea mugs and spoons and a bowl of pure white sugar, "I'm so scared."

He flicks his wand briefly, to clean up the mess clinging to the table and her cloak, and puts his arms around her, smoothing her short hair wordlessly. He refuses to tell her that he's as scared as she is.

* * *

Remus leaves the house that night before Sirius gets home. He has to sneak his way through the deadened streets, which are quiet because neither Muggle nor wizard wants to be caught alone in the middle of the night, using Avada Kedavra on two young Death Eaters and narrowly missing the same curse from another. The Ministry has authorized the use of Unforgivable Curses, though Remus doesn't care much about what the so-called government says. More importantly, Dumbledore has given reluctant permission to kill rather than capture. Still, Remus feels inordinately sad about the teenagers who lie dead from bolts of green light. When he steps over their bodies he estimates they must be no more than fifteen.

Arabella Figg has a tiny red light in the window for him. With great bounding strides he moves to the door and knocks sharply, four times to alert them that the door is opening, then murmurs "Alohomora maxima" at the lock. It springs open and he places his hand on the doorknob, which glows warm as it recognizes him as a friend. Remus steps inside the darkened shack quickly, turning to close the door. "Remus," Dumbledore says, and the relief is evident in his soft voice. "You're late. We were expecting you."

"I had to come on foot," Remus explains apologetically, pushing back the hood of his cloak. "It's too close to the full moon." For some reason it's hard to Apparate closer to the full moon, something about the way his body is getting ready to change. Brooms are out of the question right now. The Dark Lord has put too many spells on different brooms to trust any brand, any maker, any merchant. Quidditch is a thing of the past. The babies who have been born in the past year, and who will be born before the war is over, will grow up hearing of the evils of broomsticks, never knowing the exhilaration of flight.

Dumbledore nods slightly, and his long silvery beard moves slightly against his robes. "The time has come for some decisions," he says quietly. "It has become obvious that Lord Voldemort's supporters have spread far and wide, and we must rise to meet that challenge. Right now our priority is to protect each other, and to stop any additional killing."

"Hogwash," Snape mutters from his position at Dumbledore's right elbow. The silver head turns briefly in his direction, and Snape closes his mouth in a grim line against any more mutterings of what they already know: that there will still be more killing.

"We have the assistance of many young Aurors here in Hogsmeade and in Scotland," Dumbledore continues. "Several students from Hogwarts have proudly volunteered themselves for our case. Now we ask, as hard as it is for us to do so, that the older members of the Order be the ones to pursue Lord Voldemort and his followers beyond Scotland. If Lord Voldemort is prepared to expand, we must be prepared as well."

Looking around the room that is lit by only the glow of candles that are red like blood, Remus can see the streaks of tears on more than one face. Fear. Pride.

"We are in the height of a great war," Dumbledore reminds everyone. As if they need reminding. As if they could ever once forget. "We have never seen war like this before. Not even twenty-five years ago. War means sacrifice, this we know. And I trust hat you are all ready to face the possibility of great sacrifice. I take great pride in that."

Remus bows his head and wonders what he would sacrifice.

* * *

When he comes home at dawn, Sirius is not standing by Harry's bed, and at first Remus thinks that might be a good sign. Unconsciously he brushes his fingers across the warm Gryffindor-red blanket, making sure that no invisible boy is taking refuge on the bed. His fingers touch air and he moves to their bedroom.

Sirius is lying in bed, his arms flung out in front of him and one ruddy cheek resting on his wrist, like a dog. Remus assumes he's asleep and tries to be quiet as he changes and smoothes the sweat from his clammy skin. The sleek cotton sheets make him shiver. It isn't until Remus is sliding into bed, his back facing Sirius' chest, that his lover moves, the deliberate, conscious movement of someone who has been awake the whole time. Remus glances briefly over his shoulder, then leaps against the headboard. "Great Merlin, you scared me! I thought you were asleep."

Sirius glances at him with liquid brown eyes that blink, round and solemn. Remus sighs and rests his hand in the long dark hair that has become matted over the days and nights of hard running and harder travel.It seems like a long time ago that Sirius used to insist on washing his hair at least once a day with special shampoo, which James and Peter teased him about no end, comparing him to that pompous seventh-year, Gil Lockhart. Remus leans forward and touches his lips to the crown of Sirius' dark head. "How was your day?"

His lover leans back and nestles his head in the pillow, blinking trustfully up at Remus. The pillow moves with his nodding. Remus nods too. "Hermione was here today. Shh, Sirius! Don't look at me like that." The dark eyebrows have crashed together in a solid V of anger. "She knows she's not supposed to come here, but she needed to talk to someone. She's found a spell that might be promising, but it sounds like a last resort."

Sirius' eyes wander from Remus' face, and he takes that as a hint that Sirius isn't especially interested in hearing the details, or Remus' misgivings, about the spell. He goes on as if he were actually holding a normal conversation with his partner. "The meeting was pretty tense tonight. Dumbledore thinks we need to fan out of Scotland." He pauses to trace the line of a strand of Sirius' hair. "I'm not sure what he plans for me. The full moon is in two nights."

The pillow moves again. Remus looks down on bold brown eyes that are now weary with war and hates that this is pillow talk, this is all he has left to say. "Padfoot … what do you remember?

The room is so quiet. Outside a far-off owl hoots mournfully, probably searching for the now-dead recipient of a letter. Remus struggles for good memories of owls, of packages and love notes and the time Sirius slipped some Butterbeer into his pumpkin juice and the brown barn owl that drank it flew around in dizzy circles for an hour. "Do you remember the time we locked James and Lily in the prefects' bathroom for an hour and took bets on when they'd actually come out?" Pale eyelids cover shiny brown eyes once, momentarily. "And how about teaching Peter how to do a Banishing charm, but he kept wanting to go for people instead of objects, and I kept getting thrown against the wall?"

He watches those familiar lips quirk into a faint smile above familiar white teeth. He smiles ruefully, brushing his hand over Sirius' cheek. "Do you remember running with me on the full moons? The four of us? Poor Lily, we should have let her in on it, but then I was selfish. It was always the one thing that we had, just the four of us." A drop of acidic water falls onto the pillow. "Do you remember?"

The pillow moves, and the drop of water spreads and sizzles through the cloth. Remus tries another smile. "I love you."

"I love you too," Sirius says softly, his voice as quiet as Dumbledore's. "Moony ..." He rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "I have to leave today."

Remus knows it before he says it. He's known it since the Order meeting last night and now that he hears it, he doesn't know what to do. "Where are you going?"

His bottom lip is trapped briefly between even white teeth. Remus watches him for a moment. "Albania? To find Him?" He doesn't wait for the nod. "How long?"

Sirius shrugs. Remus expected that too. He doesn't know what else to say. "Just come home soon, okay?"

In answer, Sirius wraps his arms around him, pressing his chin into Remus' neck, holding on so tight that Remus can't breathe, feeling the warmth and sweat and sorrow trapped between their bodies. Sirius' breathing is so soft, so quiet, that Remus would swear he's dead. The rattle of his chest is what reminds him that Sirius is still there. When he slides from their bed a few hours later Remus keeps his eyes closed and wishes him a good journey in his heart.

He feels the pillow move in the dark.

He never sees him again.

* * *

Later, he will receive a letter saying that the body of Sirius Black was discovered and identified along with sixty-seven others in a mass grave on the outskirts of Little Hangleton, England, but he won't believe it. The Ministry is no longer infallible.

He will keep watch by his bedside, running his hands over the empty space to see if Sirius has come home yet, if he has Apparated straight into bed under an Invisibility Cloak.

He will become silent.

And Harry will watch his (father? step-godfather? friend? protector?) and wonder if he is destined to take on a legacy.

finis