Casualties of War

Silence lay heavy over the Farmhouse. It saturated the air. It suffocated the lowing of the Dingwall Gins, Sirius' absent singing. When Harry had followed Remus numbly back inside, he had thought that something was wrong with his hearing. That it was because his own head was abuzz with what he had done, the look on Malfoy's face, that everything seemed muted. But as hours wore on and Malfoy came back and wouldn't speak to Remus or even look at Harry, he began to realize that it was all of them: weighted down by things they wouldn't say. Sirius and Harry drifted in and out of each other's orbit, casting sympathetic glances and then turning away. Harry realized that he hadn't told Sirius anything of how he had been feeling, his suspicions of what had happened to Malfoy. Remus was almost worse, wrapped in a tangible air of misery and silence. Even Malfoy stayed away, stayed inside when he had always gone wandering before, to get away when tensions ran too high. Harry sat in Remus' living room silently, his arms wrapped around his knees, and looked at treasures that might or might not have come from his parents until it was too much and he went to bed.

He was still awake when Malfoy came upstairs, undressing in the darkness without a sound and slipping into his own bed, as though Harry wasn't in the room at all. Harry stared at the outline of Malfoy's body, slivers of moonlight leaching the colour out of his hair and thought he could feel Malfoy staring back. Malfoy turned away before any words could come to his lips, and so Harry turned away as well. He stared at the wall and told himself he didn't want to roll back around, kick off his covers and crawl into Malfoy's bed and make Malfoy talk to him.

Eventually he heard Malfoy's breathing slow. Harry didn't turn around. He watched the moonlight travel across their walls and up the ceiling. He matched his breathing to Malfoy's soft snores. He rolled over and back again just as quickly, furious with himself that he had rolled over first. He watched the deepest shadows in the room slowly lighten.

A knock at the door startled him. His first thought - irrational, paranoid - was that it was Malfoy; that the other boy had somehow snuck out of his bed without Harry noticing - and he rolled over to look. Disappointingly, Malfoy was still asleep, his back to Harry, and so, when Harry looked up, it was to see Remus staring at him curiously from the doorway.

"I thought I heard you awake up here," Remus whispered. Harry blinked. "Would you like to come with me to the shoreline to collect murtlap?"

Harry swallowed and nodded, throwing off his blankets and reaching for his glasses. "I'll meet you downstairs," Remus said. Harry nodded again, feeling uncertain.

Dressed and bundled up against the cold of the approaching autumn, they made their way down to the shore, a mile or so through the woods on Remus' property. It was raining, faintly but persistantly, in a way that Harry had always hated: when it rained hard enough to fog his glasses but not enough to justify staying inside. Fog hung low through the treeline, shifting as they walked over leaves too damp to mumble beneath their feet. Remus hummed quietly and lead the way, Harry trailing behind and feeling guilty without knowing quite why. He watched Remus limp through the underbrush and tried to forget the look on his former teacher's face when he had seen Harry crouched over Malfoy, fist pulled back.

They stood at the top of the cliffs, and Harry stared at his feet and the sandy earth beneath his trainers. He was painfully aware of Remus' gaze upon him, and could imagine the disappointment in them.

He was quite shocked when Remus sighed heavily and said, "Harry, I am so sorry about what happened yesterday. I had no idea that it would turn out that way."

Harry's head shot up. "What?" he said blankly.

Remus' face was lined with guilt. "I hope you can forgive me. I ... honestly didn't think that things would get so out of hand."

Harry looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Draco decided yesterday that he was going to be as ... antagonistic as he could to you," Remus said softly. "I didn't try to dissuade him. To be honest, I encouraged it."

"Oh." Harry blinked. His stomach twisted a bit, uncertain. "Why?"

Remus turned to face him fully, looking unhappy. "I - I thought that there were ... some issues between the two of you, that needed resolution, and that I could help bring things to the boiling point and clear the air, so to speak." He sighed. "But I'm afraid I was merely meddling, wasn't I?" He started down the slope, moving sideways to help him keep his balance. Harry followed, sending showers of pebbles down onto Remus' shoes as he scrambled, less graceful in his descent than his former professor.

"Why didn't anyone tell me about Malfoy?" Harry said. He tried to keep the anger and confusion out of his voice and failed. Remus paused and Harry nearly ran into him, grabbing onto one of the shrubs that dotted the pathway at the last moment.

"What about him?" Remus asked blandly.

Harry hesitated. "Was he raped like Pansy Parkinson was?"

Remus blinked twice, rapidly. "Well," he said, and paused. "What makes you think that?" He turned down the path and started walking again, his back straight. Harry winced. He didn't want to remember that look on Malfoy's face, the blood.

"He - he froze when I said something about him having - begged for what happened to him," Harry admitted, slowly. He heard Remus draw in a sharp breath.

"Ah," was all that Remus said.

They reached the beach in uncomfortable silence, and Remus strode off purposefully to the left. Harry followed grimly, his trainers sinking into the sand.

"Well? Was he?" Harry asked, when he could stand it no longer.

Remus turned to face him. "Yes," he said quietly. "Draco was raped. We didn't tell you because it is his decision to let people know, not ours. The only people that he has told directly is Professor Snape and myself, although Albus and Madam Pomfrey know as well. They witnessed it when they put his memories of the ... event into the Pensieve."

"Oh," Harry said softly. "Do they know who did it?"

Remus' face was hard. "They were all masked."

They. Harry's heart felt as though someone had cast a Diffindo Charm on it. "I've been horrible to him," Harry said, his eyes widening as he tried to absorb it all.

Remus hesitated, and then laid a cautious hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry tensed, a little startled; it was rare for Remus to touch any of them, even Sirius. Remus brought his other hand up and laid it on Harry's other shoulder. "Harry," he said, "You didn't know. Considering what sort of history there is between the two of you, I could hardly expect anything more of you than what you've given. Draco doesn't want your pity, he wants to be your friend."

"Not anymore," Harry muttered. He looked away, embarassed by the flush on his cheeks.

"You might be surprised," Remus said, smiling a bit.

"I said he was a bad person," Harry said stubbornly. "That he didn't have friends, he had minions."

Remus laughed aloud. "Did you really?"

Harry nodded, shame-faced, and Remus shook him gently. "In normal circumstances, I'm sure that Draco would consider that a compliment."

Harry surprised himself by laughing. "That was what made him hit me."

Remus shrugged, still smiling, as if to say 'oh well.' He stepped away from Harry and they began their trek down the shoreline again, this time walking side by side.

"I don't normally meddle," Remus said thoughtfully. "I'm not sure why I did. I'm sure I have plenty of excuses, but very few reasons. I'm terribly sorry about all of this, Harry."

Harry smiled, looking up at Remus. "That's the third time you've said that. It's ok, Remus. I was never mad at you anyway."

A rather foolish smile spread slowly over Remus' face. "Thank you, Harry," he said solemnly.

They trudged on in comfortable silence. Harry had been down to the shore three times since he and Malfoy had arrived at the Farmhouse; twice with Sirius and once with Malfoy. Harry had never been allowed to go to the seashore with the Dursleys when he was small, and it was his first real experience at a beach. He had always been foisted off on Mrs. Figg or some other neighbor when Dudley and his parents had gone on holiday. An odd thought struck him - who was taking care of Mrs. Figg's many cats now? He hoped vaguely that it was someone nice.

Harry liked the sound the waves made, crashing on the shore. It wasn't properly described in books, he had decided; the way that the quiet rush of water made all of his troubles seem quite far away. The smell of the salt on the rocks made him feel like he was on another planet entirely. Even Remus' voice felt muted, coloured grey like the sky.

"Murtlap are interesting little creatures," Remus was saying. "They're more closely related, evolutionarily speaking, to the rock crab than the rats they actually resemble. Their exact origin is unknown, but it's theorised that Idylwilde the Inquisitive created them in 1759. Because it was widely believed at the time that they were completely useless, they were one of the wizard-created species, along with the Acromantula, that lead to the banning of cross-breeding magical creatures. As, indeed, you might recall from your History of Magic class," he grinned, "if Binns has become any more interesting than when I was at Hogwarts. Never could stay awake, personally. It was a miracle that I passed the class each year ... Sirius is likely the only reason I did. He took excellent notes."

They were approaching a large outcropping of rock that jutted some distance into the water. Harry could see a number of spiny, rat-like creatures crawling about on it, playing and wrestling.

"Would you help me Stun a few, Harry?" Remus asked. "It's best to get as many as possible, as quickly as possible, before they realise what's going on and hide. They're devilishly hard to dig out of the rocks." Harry nodded and they stopped some meters away from the murtlap, who didn't seem too alarmed at their approach.

"On three," Remus said, and Harry got his wand ready. "One, two ..."

"Stupefy!" they shouted together. Two of the murtlap froze, and the rest scattered. They picked a few more off before going forward to collect their bounty. Remus produced a thin knife and a small vial from a pocket in his robes, and, kneeling, set to work deftly prying off the crusty formations from the murtlap's back.

"Now, Harry," Remus said as he worked. "What is going on between you and Draco?"

Harry felt his face grow hot. "Er," he said lamely. "Dunno."

Remus paused and looked up at him, his mouth quirked. "I know you better than that."

Harry moved away, gathering up the murtlap that lay scattered on the sand and laying them carefully in a small pile next to Remus. "It's stupid," he said.

Remus looked at him shrewdly. "You know, Harry, that Sirius and I were involved when we were about your age."

"You've been together that long?" Harry exclaimed, and then blushed.

Remus grimaced and shook his head, a blush of his own darkening his face. "Not exactly together," he said delicately. "Let me just refer to it as a long-standing flirtation and an occasional .... liason. But it was a very confusing thing, especially for Sirius, to realise that he wasn't attracted to, well, the gender that he felt he was supposed to be attracted to."

Harry ducked his head. "It's not even really that," he said plaintively. "I don't mind that stuff, I guess. But ... it's Draco Malfoy, Remus. It doesn't get any worse than that."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Imagine being attracted to Severus Snape," Remus said, with a bit of a grin on his face. Harry made a noise of absolute horror, and Remus laughed. "Anyway, it doesn't make you ... well, bad or -"

"Stupid?" Harry suggested forlornly, sitting down on the rock next to Remus.

Remus laughed. "Or stupid. Or disgusting."

Harry smiled at him shyly, and felt the knots in his chest loosen a little bit. "Actually," he said after a long pause, watching Remus work in silence. "I had sort of thought you had been in love with my mom ... it sounded that way sometimes, when you talked about her with me, back when you were our professor."

Remus stared at him, his eyes almost comically wide. "Oh good lord, Harry, no. I was never in love with your mother. She was just a very good friend to me. To be honest, I found her a little bit too ... overwhelming, at times, to consider in a - a romantic sort of way. She had a scowl that could kill a man at ten paces."

Harry smothered a giggle behind his hand. "I never thought anyone could consider Malfoy in a 'romantic way' - especially me. He's horrid and mean and he never makes any sense at all."

Remus hmm-ed in agreement. "Life is full of surprises. Even now it can surprise me, how swiftly one's best laid plans can vanish."

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Yeah, but - I'm glad that it - it did. I'm glad that I'm here with you and Sirius and sometimes Malfoy."

"Me too," Remus said softly. "Even though I wish the ... circumstances that lead to it could have been different, I would not change these last few months of my life for anything."

Harry didn't notice the tremor in his voice, the way he stumbled over the last few words. Remus handed him the thin knife to give shelling the murtlap a try. He poked it gently with the tip of the blade, a little alarmed at the possibility of cutting it too deeply.

"So what's going on with you and Sirius?" Harry asked, imitating Remus' casual tone. Remus sighed and folded his long legs underneath him, a wry smile on his face.

"Is it that obvious?"

Harry rolled his eyes and said nothing. A barnacle popped off the murtlap's back suddenly, and Harry grabbed it in mid-air. Remus whistled appreciatively.

"You're getting the hang of that ... just don't push the knife in quite so deeply at first. Work it in gently until you get a feel for it ... exactly, good job." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry that Sirius and I have been fighting. I hadn't really thought of how disruptive it must be for you and Draco."

"But, why are you fighting?" Harry asked. A large formation came off neatly in his hand, and he made a pleased sound. "It's only," he continued, moving on to the next prone murtlap. "That Malfoy and me don't ever figure out what it is you argue about."

"Malfoy and I, Harry," Remus said vaguely. He stared into the mist, his eyes tracking the swell of water before it formed a wave and crashed onto the shore, vanishing into the sand. He seemed to be considering the question carefully.

"There's too much time between us," he said finally. "We don't understand each other anymore - I'm not sure if we ever did."

Harry looked up and then back at the knife, working another spiney formation off of the murtlap. "Weren't you best friends?"

Remus looked at him sharply, but his mild tone belied his expression. "Your father was Sirius' best friend."

Harry shrugged. "But you're friends - or something - now, right? Ron and I fought a lot last term. He didn't speak to me for weeks over the stupid Triwizard Tournament." He scowled in rememberance.

Remus studied him. "You're right, Harry," he said softly. "Sirius deserves better than the way I've been treating him. Thank you."

Harry coloured. "Er. You're welcome, I guess."

Remus stood, balancing the Enlarged vial under his arm. "How about we make a deal?" he asked, extending an arm to Harry. "If you will talk with Draco about what you told me, I will talk with Sirius and promise not to pick fights with him anymore."

Harry smiled nervously. "Alright." They shook on it.

Remus smiled back. He looked anxious as well. "In that case, let's go face the firing squad."

-------------------------------------------

"Malfoy?"

The room was quiet when Harry pushed open the door, hesitating before he could summon up the courage to step inside and close the door behind himself. The outline of Malfoy's body was hazy and indistinct, washed out against the walls and the pale light that leaked inside from their shuttered window. Malfoy stirred, mumbling indistinctly. He rolled over and opened his eyes, frowning slightly. Harry moved to stand between their beds, looking down at Malfoy, whose eyes tracked him across the room.

"I know what happened," Harry said. It felt impossible to catch his breath. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I said all of that. I didn't know ... I'm sorry."

Malfoy blinked at him slowly. His eyes were shuttered, cast to one side. He rubbed at his neck with three fingers of his left hand absently. "I never took the Dark Mark," he said. "I made that up to scare you. I didn't even know where we were going that night. My father told me we were going to dinner with the Notts."

Harry sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, encouraged when Malfoy didn't move away. Malfoy sat up, his expression wary. They stared at each other silently, appraisingly. "Did Remus tell you?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shook his head. "I figured it out. I asked him about it though, and he said yes." He waited for Malfoy to tell him that he was an arsehole, that he never wanted to talk to Harry again. Malfoy only nodded, his eyes slowly gaining animation.

"I'm only admitting this because I am exhausted, Potter. I haven't been able to sleep properly for days. It feels like my whole body hurts all the time. I am tired of ... of everything. So you can't ever tell Granger or any of your friends this, alright? I won't say a word if you don't promise."

"I promise," Harry said solemnly. He shifted closer to Malfoy, who pulled back only a little. "I wouldn't tell anybody any way."

Malfoy's mouth twisted into a wry smile, and something in his eyes reminded Harry obscurely of Sirius. "I don't think you're dumb, Potter. Well, alright, sometimes I do. I've gotten the strange impression over the last few months, that you used to reguard me as a sort of ... barometer of evil when we were younger, which I just don't understand. I know you're not a complete idiot. But then what was it? Did you just ... not want to see it at all?"

"See what?" Harry asked. "The part about ..."

"You can say it," Malfoy said, his voice hard. "Sticks and stones, after all. But yes, that and everything else. Me. Did you not want to see me, or did you not even realise that you weren't?"

Harry shook his head. "Dunno," he said after a pause. "Both, maybe. You just - were always so awful, you made it - I guess it was just easier to hate you."

Unexpectedly, Draco grinned, rather lop-sidedly. "I felt the same way. You are so arrogant - you've had so many rules broken for you that you expect it. You didn't care that you were the youngest Seeker in a century. You never pay attention to anybody who isn't worshipping you ... you've been in the same classes with the same people for four years now, and you still don't know the names of anybody outside your house."

Harry stared at his hands. It was difficult to find a response; he couldn't very well deny the last part. "I never thought of it that way," he admitted, grudgingly.

"Of course you wouldn't," Malfoy said, almost kindly. "Thinking is for lesser mortals, not Harry Potter."

"You're an arsehole," Harry said, and moved closer.

"No," Malfoy replied, and moved closer as well. "I just have more imagination than is good for me." They were sitting side by side now. Malfoy's leg was pressed against Harry's own, as warm as the blush that was beginning to form on Harry's face. They sat in contemplative silence.

"Don't you dare tell anyone about me - being raped," Malfoy said suddenly.

Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't, but - why not? Why does it matter who knows?"

Malfoy snorted and pulled away, reaching for his quilt and pulling it around himself tightly. Harry fidgeted as he arranged it carefully with his one good hand.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. "That was a stupid thing to ask."

Malfoy shrugged, not looking at him. "You wouldn't understand."

"I want to," Harry said.

Malfoy's head dropped. His hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it back irritably. He seemed to be considering something deeply. When he spoke, his voice was rough and halting.

"I - they - they did it to her first. They were still - hitting me and at first, I didn't even see it. She had been screaming the whole time anyway. And - I was too. I screamed too. It was different than being, you know, Cursed ... being hit with just their fists, or a - a cane. But it was so much more - awful, when they - get that stupid look off your face, Potter, I'm alright -" He paused, blinking rapidly, and visibly got hold of himself. "There wasn't any way to get away - there wasn't."

"I know," Harry said, when Malfoy didn't continue. "Nobody thinks you could have done differently. Nobody blames you."

"They should," Malfoy said sullenly. "I didn't try to run. I didn't protect Pansy. It should have been me that died."

"McGonagall said that you defended her."

"Not well enough, obviously," Malfoy replied, his mouth twisting. "She's still dead. It didn't make any difference, what I did."

Harry shook his head again. "You did better than most people would've." Malfoy said nothing. Harry pressed on. "Voldemort killed loads of people - even now most people are too scared to even say his name. Remember the World Quidditch Cup? Everyone was running away in a panic because your dad and his friends were torturing Muggles. Wizards weren't even the ones in danger and still everyone ran."

"I didn't," Malfoy said bitterly. "I never thought I'd have anything to fear from them. I knew most of them since I was a baby. And that's exactly why I'm such an idiot. I thought I was special - that I was one of them, maybe. And I didn't matter to them at all. That's how useless I am, Potter. I didn't matter even to my own father."

Malfoy was shaking. Harry put a careful hand on his shoulder, feeling helpless. "It wasn't your fault," he said.

Malfoy sneered at him and shook off Harry's hand. "That's easy for you to say, isn't it? You have no idea what it was like."

Harry put his hand back onto Malfoy's shoulder and squeezed hard. "It wasn't your fault," he said again. He didn't know what else to say.

Malfoy stared at him increduously. "Are you daft, Potter? Of course it bloody was! She was my friend, I should have protected her! What sort of - of weak, stupid person lets themselves be raped? I should have - I didn't want to - "

"It wasn't your fault," Harry said firmly, cutting him off. Malfoy went on, heedless, colour blossoming in his face. The sight of those hectic spots made Harry feel almost relieved.

"Shut up! You don't know anything about it! You'll never know what it felt like - my father sat over me the entire time they did it, just looked right into my face the entire time - I - oh god - " His breath was short and rapid, his eyes wide and fearful.

Harry put his other hand on Malfoy's shoulder, turning the other boy to face him. He could almost feel Malfoy breaking to pieces under his hand. "It wasn't your fault."

"Stop it, Potter," Malfoy whispered harshly. "Just leave me alone."

"It wasn't your fault," Harry said, and pulled Malfoy closer. "It wasn't your fault."

"No," Malfoy moaned. "Stop it. Fine. Say what you like. Fine. It wasn't my fault. I get it."

Harry wrapped his arms around Malfoy and drew him forward, until he was holding Malfoy close. He bent his head to Malfoy's ear and whispered softly, one final time, "It wasn't your fault."

A low sob escaped Malfoy, choked off as he flung a hand over his mouth. He sagged forward, and Harry caught him easily.

"But," he whispered. "Do you - do you promise?"

"I promise," Harry said, and Malfoy began to cry.

His whole body shook, great gulping sobs racking his thin frame. Fat, embarassing tears rolled down his face and fell onto Harry's socks and the bedspread underneath them. Harry held on helplessly, cradling Malfoy gingerly and not knowing what else to do. He rubbed Malfoy's back, cautiously, as he had seen Sirius do to Remus sometimes, when they sat together. Malfoy was still speaking, his words incoherent between harsh breaths. Harry listened hard, but couldn't understand a single word.

After a long time, Malfoy's tears slowed, and his breathing became more regular. Both hands gripped Harry's shoulders fiercely, which had surprised Harry; he hadn't seen Malfoy use his injured hand in weeks. The crown of Malfoy's skull was braced against Harry's collarbone, his face hidden behind his hair. Harry kept rubbing Malfoy's back, slowly, uncertain whether he should say anything else. He couldn't recall any other person, in all his life, crying on him or letting him comfort them. It was disconcerting, but obscurely, he felt a little proud: he had known what to say. He had helped Malfoy.

"I'm an utter idiot," Malfoy muttered. His voice was muffled against Harry's chest.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, thoughtfully passing him a bit of sheet to wipe his face with. "I think I like you anyway."

Malfoy lifted his head at that. They looked at each other in thoughtful silence. Malfoy rubbed a fist over his reddened eyes. Harry reached forward and wiped away a stray tear on Malfoy's cheek, and was pleased when Malfoy didn't move away. He stayed perfectly still as Harry's fingers skated over his skin, and simply stared at Harry. And so Harry stared back.

Harry wasn't used to looking at boys. Hell, he wasn't used to looking at girls yet; everytime he had tried to talk to Cho last year, his stomach had gone queasy and his tongue had tripped all over itself. He had been miserable, confused and more than a little jealous at the Yule Ball, and had wished more than once that night that he could have spent the time in bed.

Malfoy's nose was too long and he was too pale and his chin was sharp and his cheeks a little hollow, but sometimes when he smiled it was a sort of lopsided smile and his teeth showed too much, and his eyes creased in a way that made him look a little daft but also weirdly endearing, and even though he was a prat and had made the last four years of Harry's life hell and the last few months the most confusing of his entire life ... Harry felt alright with that.

Because when he talked to Malfoy, or even when he thought of that particularly soft-looking stretch of skin right above Malfoy's hips, he was confused and annoyed, and sometimes Malfoy made him feel like the clumsiest, stupidest person alive and sometimes he made Harry feel like a king, and even though sometimes he wanted to hit Malfoy simply for existing ... he sort of liked it all. No - he liked it alot.

Malfoy was biting his lip, studying Harry's face with a rather intense expression that Harry was sure was mirrored on his own face. Malfoy's face was still red and blotchy from crying, and his hair was mussed from sleep. For his own part, Harry's eyes felt bloodshot and heavy, his hands were grimy from handling the murtlap, and he was sure that there was sand on him in places he didn't want to think about. They were both embarassed and exhausted, but when Malfoy leaned forward and kissed Harry on the mouth, Harry wasn't a bit surprised.

It wasn't what he had expected his first kiss to be like. Dean had had his first kiss at the end of third year, with an experienced Hufflepuff a year their senior. Seamus, Neville, Ron and Harry had listened jealously to Dean's description of the event, and all of them had snuck seperate peeks at the battered copy of Sweaty Ball's Every-Flavour Fuck that Seamus had smuggled into school at the beginning of their fourth year. Harry's first kiss didn't make his huge member throb with desire, like the porno mag had so luridly described, and it didn't make him suddenly understand the world's beauty a bit better, as Dean claimed. It made him feel dazed and warm all over and slightly tingly in his fingers.

Malfoy pulled away, and Harry flexed his fingers surreptitiously at his sides. "Do that again," he said.

It was neater the second time, though they still bumped noses a bit. Malfoy's mouth was warm and a little wet and a little harder against his own than he had expected.

Malfoy opened his mouth first, tentatively running the tip of his tongue over Harry's bottom lip. Harry laughed, nervously, and was relieved when Malfoy laughed as well, and took his hand. They kissed with too much spit and clumsy teeth and Harry had to shut his eyes when Malfoy kissed the corner of his mouth, for fear that the strange little bubbles that had started just below his bellybutton would come leaping up from inside him and all the air in his lungs would go with it in a tremendous rush out of his body. Malfoy's hand was on his neck, and Harry's fingers were stroking that little bit of skin right above Malfoy's hips, and it was strange and scary and somehow, against everything he'd ever thought possible, totally and completely right.

------------------------------------------------

It was almost too much to go inside the room where Sirius waited. Too much to mount the stairs, his feet of clay dragging after Harry's spry, apologetic stride. The air inside the house was nearly suffocating after the clean wind of the beach, the salt spray that felt as though it was scouring his sickness away. He wanted to shed his clothes, piece by piece as he moved through the house after Harry, go to Sirius naked and vulnerable, and hope that maybe that way, he'd be able to tear down his walls and open his mouth to tell the truth. Remus stood for what felt like ages with a palm pressed flat against the doorframe of his bedroom, listening with one ear as Harry began his apology, and wondering how the hell he could explain what he had hidden.

Sirius was awake when he finally opened the door. Remus eased himself into the room and closed the door behind softly him, bracing himself on its comforting surface. The sound of Sirius' breathing erased the world outside the room.

"I heard you leave," Sirius said, his voice as hoarse as it was that night when they'd met in the Shrieking Shack, after so many years. Remus slid forward, not trying to attempt a reply, words forming in his mind as he folded his body onto the bed, crawling on hands and knees until he reached Sirius' side. Sirius watched him wordlessly, expressionlessly as he settled, tucking his legs underneath his body unconsciously, as he had done as a teenager. Remus stared at his hands.

"I lost everything I had ever known in one night," Remus said softly. "You left me all alone. I hadn't had much, before that, but ... I didn't leave my flat for almost a month. I couldn't go anywhere. I couldn't function. I didn't even recognise myself anymore. And instead of healing, instead of dealing with my inability to cope with things that I couldn't change, I moved to Hong Kong and ignored everything."

Sirius shifted uneasily on the bed, moving a hand up to scratch his chest.

"I moved two or three times a year. I had friends, once in a while, but never for very long." Remus paused, smiling bitterly. "You see, Sirius, I've never grown up. I was already more grown-up when we were at school, and I just pretended that my experiences - the places I had lived in, the things I had seen - gave me wisdom, made me a more mature person. But that wasn't the case, was it? I've been passive-aggressive with you, manipulative of two boys who were entrusted to us, and ... I've been lying to you."

Remus hesitated, counting breaths. He could feel Sirius' gaze boring into him. He was shaking, bracing himself for whatever Remus was about to say. Remus ducked his head, his throat closing.

"I can't say it," he whispered. "Padfoot - I thought that if maybe nobody said it aloud, then I could pretend it wasn't true - I've had nothing for so long and suddenly I have a family and a home and you - "

Sirius lunged forward, cutting him off and pulling him off-balance into a breathless embrace. Remus let himself be lowered to the bed, pressed full length against the other man, knowing that he didn't deserve it.

"Just say it, Moony," Sirius whispered. His hand caressed Remus' cheek. "Whatever it is - we can beat it."

And Remus believed him.

And Remus' mouth was open, and he was speaking, before he realized that he could, after all, tear down his walls.

"I'm dying, Padfoot. Not - abstractly. But soon. They couldn't heal all of the damage that my body took during ... when I was captured. And it's only grown worse. I thought - I thought that I'd have more time ... I'm sorry," Remus whispered. He reached up and tangled his fingers in Sirius' hair, noting distantly that his hands were shaking. "Sirius - I am ... I'm so sorry ..."

"How - how long?" Sirius asked, his voice thick. Remus pressed his lips to Sirius' cheek and said nothing. He felt Sirius nod, slowly, absorbing. "Love you, Moony," he whispered.

Remus' vision stung. "Love you too, Padfoot. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for."

Sirius' skin was warm against his own where Remus' shirt had pulled up from his waist. Heat from Sirius' body leached into his own, surrounding him with a scent that went so far back in his memory it was like coming home. He could breathe again in the close air of his home, in the arms of his best friend.

"I am, regardless," Remus whispered. "Let me be indulgent in this, at least."

He felt something like a laugh shiver through Sirius' voice. "When have I ever let you get away with that?"

"Never," Remus replied, and held Sirius tight.

"Damn right," Sirius said. "Never. So don't think for a minute that you have to do this on your own, you stubborn idiot. When I said we were going to beat it, I meant it - and I meant that we'd do it together. So stop being silly. We'll get through this - put Snape on the case or something. And don't say anything because I'm not crying anymore so it doesn't matter. Oh look now, don't you cry either. It will be fine. I promise."

Remus had always hated promises. He had promised himself many things over the years, and seemed to always let himself down. He had thought he'd stopped relying on other peoples' promises long ago, but was still getting hurt, still expecting so much more than he'd gotten in years. But as he buried his nose in Sirius' hair and Sirius' hands moved comfortingly over his face, he felt almost as though he had been washed away, carried adrift his vulnerability, the wounds that he had carelessly torn open in Sirius and himself slowly knitting back together as they held each other.

The sun rose, and the house slept, and so it goes.