Trying

Thirteen days.

Remus Lupin checked his calendar once more, just to be sure. But there it was: he had written Harry the day after the last full moon, which was exactly two weeks ago. And he had yet to receive a reply.

Sighing, he sank into the tattered old armchair next to his window. He gazed outdoors, to the singing birds and green grass and blooming flowers, the life and vitality, that were summer.

They brought him no pleasure.

Things were hard without Sirius. It still hurt him even to think the words, and sometimes he even forced himself to say them out loud, just to make sure he understood them: "Sirius is dead." The past weeks had been trying for Remus, to say the least. He had chosen to return to the small cottage he had been renting two summers previous, rather then face Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place and all its ghosts--literal and metaphorical. He still returned for meetings of the Order, of course, and anytime he was needed there. But it was easier here for Remus to work through the terrifying swirl of thoughts and accusations that filled his mind, easier here to transform peacefully (as peacefully as is possible for a full-grown, grief-stricken werewolf), easier here to grieve.

The empty hours had allowed his mind to wander back to the first time he'd lost Sirius, almost fifteen years ago. He could still feel so acutely, so distinctly the pain that filled his chest with a physical ache, the loneliness he, as an outcast, could not quell, the furious, ferocious anger the werewolf converted into pure hunger and desire. He remembered closing his eyes every night only to find them filling with tears and silently pleading into the darkness for answers. It had been twelve long years before Remus got the answers he craved, (thought he doubted Wormtail could ever give a satisfying reason for his cowardly acts of betrayal and distrust) but now he doubted he would ever have an answer. It was a sickening act of destiny, a twisted, unmerited end to a life that was one-third agony in prison and two-thirds confusion and fear.

Remus closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his forehead against the cool glass. Things were hard without Sirius. He missed Sirius, and he didn't think he'd ever stop. Actually, he didn't think he'd ever stopped missing Sirius since the day Remus had realized Sirius suspected him of being a traitor. The Sirius he'd known in the weeks after that, and the Sirius he'd known after he escaped from Azkaban, the Sirius who lived for only two reasons--revenge and Harry--that was not the Sirius Remus missed. He missed his schoolboy friend, who told loud, raucous jokes, and who laughed at them in the same manner. The passionate, midnight-haired twelve-year-old boy who cornered him one evening with James and Peter and made his blood run cold when he told Remus that they knew his secret and they weren't going to let things stay this way much longer. The jubilant, cocky fifteen-year-old who'd confessed that he and James and Peter had a surprise for Remus, that they had a wonderful surprise and then dragged him off to an abandoned classroom where Moony had met Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs for the first time. The happy-go-lucky and reckless young man who'd toasted Lily and James at their wedding and proceeded to get so falling-down drunk that Peter and Remus had had to wrestle his wand away from him halfway through the night, lest he "accidentally" hex Lily's sister Petunia and her less-than-agreeable husband Vernon.

But if he wanted to be truthful with himself, it didn't really matter. He would have gladly had the Sirius that gave him suspicious looks if he was late to a meeting of the Order, or the Sirius with that deadened look in his eyes and an unquenchable thirst for justice. It didn't matter which Sirius, he just wanted his friend back with him. He'd been alone for twelve years, followed by two years that dangled the happiness he'd once enjoyed in front of his face, only to snatch it away again. It made Remus feel like a damn cat. And he didn't like cats.

He liked dogs.

Oh, Snuffles...

Feeling what was sure to be an uncontrollable spell of sobbing and self-pity rise in his throat, Remus wiped his face sloppily with the back of his arm and stood up resolutely. He couldn't let himself wallow in his pity anymore. Grief was one thing; all-consuming obsession was another.

Dumbledore hadn't asked much of Remus in the weeks previous and he couldn't decide whether or not to be grateful or angry for this reprieve. On the one hand, he was irritated that Dumbledore found him so useless when he was depressed. He'd gotten through the fiasco that was Halloween of 1981 (mostly) unscathed and with virtually no help or support and he'd lost four friends then, as opposed to one now. But then again, he couldn't figure out why losing Sirius again felt like losing four hundred friends.

On the other hand, it gave him plenty of time to mourn and sort out his feelings, which ranged from anger to happiness--what could be better for Padfoot then to see his old friend Prongs again and finally understand that he'd done nothing wrong? Remus could think of quite a few things. But he wasn't sure whether they were better for himself--or for Harry.

Harry...

Remus thought back to the night in the Department of Mysteries, the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched the scene he was too late to prevent play out and he lost his last and best friend, and Harry...the sound of the absolute panic and fear in Harry's voice, the despair and disbelief, the feeling of Harry fighting against Remus's grip on him and Remus's certainty that Harry would have followed his godfather right through veil, if he'd been allowed. The idea hadn't seemed so bad to Remus at the time, either.

But if it was unfair for he, Remus, to lose his best friend, it was a true crime for Harry to lose his godfather, the closest thing he'd had to a parent since he was an infant. Despite his all-consuming and burdening sorrow, Remus had felt an insidious need to be there for Harry. He'd known Sirius for less then two years when he lost him, and Remus himself would have died a thousand times over if he could give Harry and Sirius each other. People liked to talk of how like James Harry was, but--besides their appearance--Remus was sure that the one identical trait they shared was their need for Sirius. And now Harry had lost Sirius without so much as a warning...

Remus's eyes drifted back over to his calendar. Thirteen days. That was about twelve days too many. After the scene with the Dursleys' at King's Cross, he was quite sure they weren't stopping Harry from using Hedwig. He had reasoned that of course Hedwig could be out delivering a letter to the Weasleys, or Hermione, but thirteen days was still too many. The replies he'd received from Harry previously had always been prompt. Short, succinct and almost pointless, yes, but prompt. And they weren't pointless to Remus. They were his connection to the last link he had to what he had come, many years ago, to refer to as his "previous life". And now that Sirius was gone, they were all he had left.

Quickly making a choice, Remus Lupin promptly Disapparated.

*

Harry Potter was leaning against the side of his bed, eyes closed behind his glasses, knees pulled up to his chest with his hands resting on top of them when he heard the doorbell ring downstairs. He opened his eyes and turned his head curiously in the direction of the sound. He was alone in the Dursleys' house, as he had been often since he returned home (could he really call it home?) from his fifth year at Hogwarts. The incident the previous summer in which Harry had saved his massive cousin Dudley from an unsightly existence as a soulless being had caused the Dursleys to give Harry privileges such as he had never known while living in their company. He could come and go as he pleased, eat whatever was available whenever he pleased, (as long as it wasn't when Dudley pleased...Dudley, however, had once again taken to running quickly out of a room when Harry entered), use his snowy owl Hedwig to deliver letters to his friends (though they insisted that he do this only after dark), keep all of his magical belongings in his possession (as long as they stayed in his bedroom) and the three Muggles even allowed Harry to stay alone in the house when they were out. He wasn't sure, but his relatives' confrontation (which was rather one-sided) with members of the Order of the Phoenix at King's Cross station had struck even more fear into the hearts of his hopelessly non-magic family, and they seemed content to allow him as wide a berth as he had every enjoyed from them and let him be, besides the occasional requirement of "Trim the hedges, boy!" or "Do the dishes now!" But Harry didn't mind much, not now. The familiarity of the monotonous tasks kept his mind off the events of the past year and the big empty space that his godfather had left in his life.

Several times already this summer, Harry had found himself beginning a letter to Sirius. It was most often right after he would wake up from a nightmare, or when he would find himself rubbing at a twinge in his infamous scar. But when he got past Dear Snuffles, How are you? and readied himself to detail his nightmare, he found that he was detailing none other than Sirius's own death. Then, more often then not, Harry found himself replying to Remus's letters with miniscule details of his life, often including an incident in which Dudley would fall all over himself trying to get out of Harry's way.

Such occurrences didn't bring him laughter anymore.

He remembered telling Sirius about such things and watching his godfather throw his head back and shake with laughter. He remembered laughing along with him and feelings so needed, so belonging. Being with Sirius had given him one of the first--and only--true feelings of belonging he'd ever had. Mrs. Weasley considered him a son, he knew, but without flaming red hair and a face full of freckles--neither of which Harry had--it was hard to feel unexceptional. Ron and Hermione were the best friends Harry could have asked for, but they had their own lives to deal with. They had their own problems and their own worries and their own families, which Harry would never be a part of. His family was dead.

But then there was Sirius. In his third year, when he found out the truth about Sirius, Harry was nothing short of ecstatic. He might not have been his blood relative, but his godfather was the next best thing. He was the only person Harry had ever met who seemed to care about nothing but Harry himself. He sent Harry letters constantly and risked his own life and freedom when he heard that Harry was in danger during his fourth year. And while Harry often complained about Sirius giving him advice that Sirius himself would never follow and worrying unfoundedly about him, Harry would have given all the gold in his Gringotts vault for Hedwig to fly in his window that second and deliver a letter reprimanding Harry to be careful and don't walk around alone like that, Harry!

He missed Sirius so much that he hardly ate anymore. He'd found, upon arriving again at Number Four, Privet Drive, and discovering his new privileges, that they were an empty victory. Food was no longer a luxury, but a necessity. Harry ate only when he realized that he hadn't all day. He missed Sirius so much that it was hard for him to fall asleep at night. He would lie on his back in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind enveloped by an eerie blankness and emptiness. But then he would roll on his side and find himself looking out the window and immediately finding Canis Major, just like he'd learned in Astronomy his first year. Before he knew Sirius...before Sirius died that terrible night in the Department of Mysteries that Harry blamed himself for no matter how hard he tried...before Voldemort was back...before looking out the window on a starry night made him cry...

The doorbell rang again, cutting through Harry's thoughts. I should answer that, he thought woodenly, standing up and stretching his long limbs out slowly. He reached the door and opened without a second thought about who might be behind it.

"Ah--Harry," a familiar voice greeted him. "You know you should have at least asked who was there, right?" Shell shocked, it took Harry a moment to reply with a question of his own.

"Prof--I mean, Remus. Wh-what are you doing here?" Lupin raised a questioning eyebrow at the younger man that obviously said, "Won't your relatives mind if we stand here and talk on their doorstep?" He was dressed in Muggle clothing, but the stories he'd heard about the Dursleys suggested to him that that did not necessarily matter much.

"They're not here." Harry answered the unspoken question easily. "They stopped believing I was going to blow up their house or something. You can come in," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Thank you," Lupin said, stepping inside so Harry could close the door behind him.

"I was just, uhm, going to get something to eat," Harry said clumsily, avoiding Lupin's eyes and quickly turning to lead the way into the kitchen. Remus nodded slightly at Harry's back. He had either abandoned his first question, or he already knew the answer. Lupin suspected it was the latter.

In the kitchen, Harry sat down at one of the chairs at the small table in the room and made absolutely no effort to procure any kind of food. Instead, he placed his head in one of his hands and traced the pattern of the wood grain on the table with the other.

"That's alright, I wasn't hungry anyway," Lupin said amicably, a trace of a smile creeping into his voice. Harry looked up, startled.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry--," he started to get up.

"Harry, don't," Lupin said, holding out one palm. Harry sank back into his chair and Lupin mimicked him across the table. "I was just kidding."

"Oh." The younger man focused his attention back on the tabletop and Remus found himself wondering what on earth had possessed him to come here in the first place. Thirteen days. The image of his calendar crept back into his mind uninvited along with his next thought; Sirius wouldn't have let three go by. Remus looked up at Harry, who had bags under his eyes and looked as though he hadn't been "about to get something to eat" for days. His brow was furrowed and his eyes unfocused. Sirius is dead, Remus reminded himself once more with a jolt, that's why you're here.

Confidence regained, Remus took a breath and said, "You never wrote back."

Harry looked up, startled once again. He seemed to have almost forgotten the other man was there. "Oh," he said again. "Oh, didn't I?"

Lupin shook his head. "Nope. That was almost two weeks ago, Harry."

"Sorry," Harry said contritely, leaning back in his chair. "I-I thought I--well you can see there's not much to write about around here." He gestured around the kitchen, consciously avoiding Lupin's eyes.

"You can't do this, Harry," Lupin said after a moment's pause.

"What?" Harry looked the older man straight in the eye for the first time. "Do what?"

"Pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," Lupin replied evenly, not breaking his eye contact with Harry. Silence reigned in the room. Harry swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lupin cut him off.

"Sirius is dead, Harry."

"I know," Harry replied angrily, his voice thick with emotion, "I was there."

"You can't keep acting like it never happened."

"I'm not!" Harry's voice was rising.

"You are, Harry," Lupin replied patiently, "in your letters and here..."

"I'm not!" Harry cried again, on his feet now. "I'm not! I have dreams about it, y'know! I have to see it happen again every night and then I wake up and I can't go back to sleep because I know I'll just have that stupid dream again! And then it's morning and I'm supposed to eat, and I can, because the Dursleys, they leave me alone now. They let me do what I want. But now that I can finally do whatever I want, I don't care! It doesn't matter anymore! And this whole stupid war that I'm supposed to win doesn't matter anymore either! He's the only one who would even tell me what's going on or listen to me and now he's gone and he's never coming back and there's nothing I can do! But if I just would've used that mirror I would have known that Kreacher lied and I never would have gone to the Ministry that day and then he never would have come and he never would have died!" Deflated, Harry collapsed back into his chair, dropping his head into his hands.

Lupin let the emotions brought into the open by Harry's words recede a little before speaking.

"Feel better now?" Lupin asked gently. It was quiet for a few minutes.

"Yeah," Harry said, sitting up a little, "Yeah, I do." He looked up at Lupin and sniffed. There were red rings around his eyes. He swiped at the tears threatening to trickle from the corners of his eyes. He wouldn't look Remus in the eye again. "I'm-I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's quite alright Harry," Lupin replied kindly, gazing steadily across the table at him. "I expected you'd need a bit of a outlet. It's...difficult to lose someone we care about." Harry looked Remus in the eye and then dropped his gaze back to the table. He nodded faintly and sniffed again.

"I-I just don't really know what to do, Remus," Harry confessed finally, still avoiding the other man's stare.

"That's how death is, Harry," Lupin replied softly. "We're not supposed to understand it. Not here. Not now. But we will someday." Harry said nothing and kept his head down, examining the table. Reaching across the table, Remus placed a gentle hand over Harry's.

"Promise me one thing," he whispered. Harry looked up and for once, took the full force of Remus's gaze. "Promise me that you won't give up," he said. "Promise me you'll try, Harry." There was silence as Harry sorted through all the connotations of those few sentences. Remus was asking him not to let Sirius's death destroy him. He was asking him to keep fighting. He was telling him that giving in to Voldemort and grief was futile and that letting this take the fight out of him was letting Voldemort win before the war'd even really begun. He was asking him to write letters that consisted of more then I'm okay and maybe even hinted that Sirius's death still hurt. He was asking him to keep living. He was asking him to keep working for what was right, what they both knew would win out in the end. He was asking him not to make Remus do this alone. Harry understood all of this and the million other implications of Remus's requests. And he had only one condition.

"I promise," he said, his voice only slightly shaky, "but only if you promise too." Remus was silent for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes unreadable, and then he grinned at Harry.

"I'll try," he managed, "I promise I'll try, Harry."

And he reached across the table and gave Harry an awkward, one-armed hug.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked his approval.