Broken Things

Remus hasn't always been so frightened of how easily things are broken,

It's not his greatest fear; he wouldn't see a shattered mirror or cracked bone hovering in front of him should he ever come face-to-face with a boggart. No, an omnipresent satellite with power over the tides and the madness of men is what he fears most. He has to think of it largely and descriptively so that he doesn't laugh himself sick thinking of how unbelievably stupid it is to be afraid of the moon, werewolf or not.

It also seems a little silly to be afraid of more than one thing, and not just because he's in Gryffindor. It just seems like wasted space, filling up with fear after fear until there's no room for anything else, which is a bit frightening to think of in and of itself. But, Remus surmises, fear of the moon and fear of broken things are entirely different. After all, he's afraid of other things in different, superficial ways. He's afraid of Filch finally catching the four of them sneaking around beneath James's cloak. He's afraid of poor marks and getting thrown out of school. He's afraid of the look Sirius gets in his eyes sometimes because he knows all the way down to his blood that the consequences of that look are going to land him in detention or somewhere a lot worse. Being frightened of broken things is just like that.

(except that it isn't)

He supposes it's a werewolf thing, or as James would say, it's a consequence of his furry little problem. He doesn't quite understand but remains constantly aware of others' fragility. He's careful of his friends during transformations. Even though Prongs looks unbelievably solid and even though Padfoot looks like he can roll with any blow and even though Wormtail is usually too fast for him to catch, he knows he can break them. He knows because he's seen boys broken by falling off broomsticks or blowing up potions or by getting drunk on the Astronomy Tower and pitching forward, hurtling to the ground so fast that when the Earth does reappear, it shatters every bone in the human body beyond repair. And if just living can snap legs in half or send blood spurting out of a nose or kill the Hufflepuff keeper, a werewolf is a very dangerous thing indeed.

This is what Remus ponders after the funeral, standing outside and staring at the ground with Sirius by his side. Well, sometimes Sirius is at his side and other times he's six paces away, but he always comes back. It's the nature of pacing.

Remus wonders if maybe he should have directed James to come out with Sirius instead. They are best friends after all. But if Remus can't understand how people can be broken, James can't understand how to fix them. He thinks he does. He thinks he knows that when Sirius rages like a dragon in heat, he needs to be distracted with laughter. But all James really does is keep Sirius from noticing the blood in his mouth; he doesn't heal the cut that's causing it. And if James can't do it, Peter certainly can't do it, although Remus knows he'd give everything for the ability. And so the task falls to Remus who (he hopes) will be able to heal the cut.

But damned if he can understand what caused it in the first place.

"Fuck," Sirius says with feeling. It's the seventh time in an hour. His hands are wound into his hair, and for a minute he almost resembles James. But this is only because Remus has neglected to blink and his eyesight's going blurry. Open-and-shut and Sirius is Sirius again, his hair slightly mussed.

"Sirius," Remus responds, hoping that, eventually, Sirius will remember how to carry on a conversation.

He shakes his head wildly. "Fuck, Moony."

Well, it's an improvement. He opens his mouth to comment on how open the area is and that fucking as such would be ill-advised, but then he remembers that he's here to be Remus, not James. Not that James would ever say "ill-advised."

"Sirius," Remus starts because he doesn't know where else to start. "It's--"

"If you say it's going to be all right, Moony, I swear to God," Sirius nearly shouts, not trailing off for Remus to wonder what exactly he was about to threaten. He doesn't bother because Remus knows Sirius doesn't need to think before acting. He'll be able to come up with something horrible impromptu.

This would have bothered Remus if he had actually been about to say that.

"I was actually going to say it's bollocks," Remus responds smoothly, pitching his voice low. "I know you better."

Sirius looks slightly chagrined, but Remus knows he's too worked up to apologize, so he takes it in stride when Sirius doesn't say he's sorry. "Too right it's bollocks," Sirius grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets with enough force that Remus half-expects to hear the fabric tear. "Whole fucking business... Bollocks."

"Funerals are like that," Remus advises, even though he's almost certain Sirius isn't talking about the funeral.

"When I die," Sirius says a bit too loudly, "I want you to promise me that there will be no funeral."

Remus raises an eyebrow. "Really? You don't want your thousands of adoring fans to pay tribute to the great Sirius Black?"

This isn't the same as a distraction. It's a momentary diversion, making light of subjects that are making Sirius so dark. This is what Remus tells himself.

Sirius's shoulders straighten a bit, his mouth sliding to the left in consideration of this. "Well, I suppose I can't disappoint the mourners from bidding one last farewell to my devastatingly attractive corpse."

Remus bites his tongue.

"But I refuse to be buried underground," Sirius concludes. "You know I get claustrophobic."

Remus does not miss the waver in his friend's voice. Remus has always suspected things about Sirius's childhood that involve being locked in the closet with all the Black skeletons, but this is not the time to see if he's right. "I expect we'll have no choice but to set you on fire." He sees Sirius open his mouth, his eyes taking on a sudden, wicked gleam, childhood memories lingering but no longer the focus of the conversation. "And no, I will not let James and Peter throw firecrackers in at the last moment, don't even ask me."

"Not even one?"

"Sirius," Remus repeats.

"Don't use the Prefect voice on me, Remus," Sirius snaps, a tad too harshly. He pulls a cigarette out from behind his ear and moves it to his mouth. "I hate it when you do that." Sirius pulls his left hand out of his pocket and his lighter with it. The usual flame doesn't appear, however. Just quick sparks that vanish the second they appear.

Remus reaches forward before the cursing can start, wrapping his fingers around Sirius's wrist. It stops his movements as suddenly as flying into a wall. He gently removes the lighter and ignites it easily, stepping forward and holding the flame until the cigarette starts smoking.

"Thanks," Sirius mumbles. He takes a drag, turning his face to exhale. He knows Remus can't abide the smell in his jumpers.

Remus just nods. He doesn't say anything for a moment, letting the wind whistle and whisper between them. He glances up at the moon, noting how it's just begun to wax. He suppresses his shudder. One at a time.

"I'm not quite sure how to do this, Sirius," Remus finally admits.

For a moment, Sirius looks bemused. But only for a moment. He snorts and flicks ashes into the air. "Shouldn't have come, then."

Remus really ought to know better than to let that sting, but it does anyway. He imagines a puppy licking the wounds its master gave him in a shadowy corner. Or maybe it's a wolf-cub. "Don't be an arse," Remus mutters with far less force than he intended.

It's like he's whipped a wild stallion. "Don't tell me what to do!" Sirius shouts, seething. "Don't you stand there with your proper tie and your eyes looking at me like I'm a rotten brat and tell me what to do!"

"He died."

Remus finds himself surprised that such a simple statement has halted the tirade before it had a chance to begin.

He continues.

"He died, and it's bollocks." He swallows. "However, and I'm sorry if this is too like a Prefect for you, Sirius, that's no reason to go all dark on us."

"Why not?" Sirius growls. For a moment, Remus thinks his shadow looks more like Padfoot than a gangly boy.

"You didn't know him, Sirius," Remus points out reasonably.

Sirius's eyes flash. "He was on Quidditch, wasn't he?"

"You conveniently forget Slytherin also has a team. I somehow doubt you'd get all twisted if one of them up and died."

Sirius at least has the grace not to deny this. "'S different."

"Yes, because you've been so involved with Hufflepuff house up until this moment," Remus muttered, shutting his eyes tightly. He feels a migraine coming on. He wonders if this is what McGonagall feels every time she deals with Sirius, and he vows then and there that he will never be a professor. "I wish you'd talk to me."

Sirius laughs. It is possibly the most disturbing sound Remus has ever heard, to hear Sirius's bright laughter reduced to something shadowed and hollow. Something that sounds more like he's gasping for air. "Right. Talking about my feelings is really going to do me a lick of good." He takes a final drag from the cigarette and then throws it on the ground, crushing it under his heel.

Remus breathes. "Sirius, I am not asking for a miracle. I just think you'd feel better if--"

"Doing it again, Moony," Sirius interrupts, but he sounds less cruel. He looks no less wild. "You can't dictate this. I'm not a bloody firstie who thinks that badge means anything."

Remus feels a vein in his throat pulse. He wants to argue that the badge does mean something, even to Sirius, or else he wouldn't keep bringing it up. He wants to say this, but he doesn't, because it's a distraction Remus can now ill afford.

He's also not sure he wants to go there.

"How can I make this right?" Remus asks.

"Magic we don't have."

It's something in his voice. Something about the hoarse gravel or the tiniest tremble. Something about the way he has to lick the top of his mouth before he speaks. Something about his eyes, his hands, the twitch in his shoulder he gets when he's nervous.

Remus has Sirius by the shoulders before he's even registered the movement. Sirius's suit coat (he refuses to wear the Black dress robes) is rough and scratchy beneath his palms. Their foreheads crash together roughly, and the skin slides a bit. Sirius is sweating.

He lets out another 'fuck,' and he struggles, but Remus will always be stronger than him, although he'll never look it, and Remus doesn't want him to move.

"Padfoot," Remus whispers for the first time that evening. "Tell me."

Sirius has been cracked the whole day, precarious and fragile, like a porcelain dancing figurine that doesn't feel the black spiderwebs spreading. Remus has seen this, has known this even before James saw it because he knows when things aren't right. He knows how to avoid the things he's afraid of.

And right there, right before Remus's eyes, Sirius splits wide open. Something in his gaze breaks, and he looks ashamed of it. It strikes Remus as oddly terrifying that Sirius has to shatter before he can really be fixed. It's unsettling, seeing a man fall apart.

Remus struggles to hold on.

"Death," Sirius croaks. "It's bollocks, and I... I don't want it."

Finally, Remus understands. He feels a fool for not having figured it out before.

"The war," Remus murmurs in response.

Sirius nods against his flesh. "It's all coming up fast, innit it? Feels like just the other day... didn't have to worry about this shit. Just biding my time in school, making my mother turn blue, figuring out pranks." He swallows. "Now we're almost out of here, and I'm not welcome in my own home."

And things aren't very funny any more.

Remus takes a deep breath. Sirius smells of smoke and desperation. Remus hates it. For once, he doesn't think Sirius is so fond of it either.

"I can't say we'll make it out alive, you know," Remus mutters.

"Too right," Sirius answers, sounding very tired all of a sudden. "I'd be bloody pissed if I went and died after you'd told me I wouldn't. Haunt you for the rest of your life, dog-earring all the pages in your books."

Remus forces a smile even though it's hard to look at him now. "Or I could haunt you. Correct your grammar and clean up your room when you're not around."

Sirius makes an effort to look stricken, but stops just short of actually managing it. "Worse than the Bloody Baron, that's what kind of ghost you'd be."

Remus licks his lips. Sirius isn't really in danger of exploding anymore, but he's in danger of so much more now. They all are, and there's been something he's been wanting to say. He's just been too scared to, and the moment hasn't ever been this right.

"I won't let you."

Sirius blinks as if he doesn't understand the significance of this moment. His bewilderment is brief and his blue eyes widen.

"I won't let you," Remus repeats. "If I can... I won't let it."

Sirius swallows. "Promise?"

He sounds so very young then, after so many years of trying to be older. Remus knows how he feels.

He nods. "Promise."

Sirius seems to grow firmer, more solid beneath Remus's gaze. "I promise too. I'll... I'll look after you, Moony. James and Pete as well." His jaw becomes sharp enough to have corners. "You're my family now."

For just a moment, Remus thinks of Regulus, who is annoying but lacks Sirius's original thinking. Remus thinks of the side Regulus is bound to end up on during the war, and he thinks of how the younger boy will fall to pieces the first time he sees anyone cast an Unforgivable. He thinks of Regulus, Sirius's real family, and suddenly Remus is very glad to be a member of Sirius's new family instead of his old.

"Go back inside?"

Sirius nods. "Yeah."

They move away from each other, and not surprisingly, Sirius is the one to start back for the tower first. Remus has made him stand still for too long, and now he's restless. It gives Remus the opportunity to stare after him, the boy the werewolf glued back together. He can still see the fault-lines of trauma, the cracks in Sirius's youth, and he realizes something.

He wanted to fix it, but there's nothing to fix. Sirius is broken, just like all of them (even Remus) is broken now. Growing up isn't about evolving; it's about childhood and all the hopes and naiveté that come with it shattering. Sirius holds on to it, just like they all do, but it won't last much longer.

Remus wonders if it will turn to dust when they have to kill someone.

"Oi, Moony."

"Hm?"

"You coming?"

Remus hesitates. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

Remus Lupin is afraid of the moon. Remus Lupin is afraid of broken things. And now, Remus Lupin is afraid of something else.

Losing.