Paper Wings

Laughter and Forgetting

The Aethononian horses took off in a flurry of feathers and clatter of spinning wheels. The front step of the cottage was bare; Remus had taken the mat inside before he'd left. The knob was cold under his fingers as he opened the door.

Sirius had never been here before. Remus heard him take a deep, wheezing breath as he walked inside.

They walked slowly into the little den. It smelled clean and unused. Remus exhaled. After three long months of travel and the final, silent discomfort of the carriage ride, it was good to be home again. He was surprised to find that he so naturally considered the cottage home, but with Sirius here it really could be.

"You must be tired," he volunteered, closing the door.

"No," Sirius whispered, his voice no more than a rough breath.

Silence enveloped them once more. It had been this way since they'd left the island: questions from Remus, monosyllabic answers, then silence. Remus swallowed, trying to read gaps between words. Once, a silent Sirius had meant trouble, meant a plot or plan he would figure out in due course, meant a possible detention or a hidden nest of Death Eaters.

He had no idea what it meant anymore.

Five months of dementors with no hope of escape. Was that enough to--

He'll be fine.

"Hungry? I'll make dinner then, shall I?" Remus asked nervously.

Remus had been many things around Sirius in the past. Giddy, angry, ecstatic, confident, furious or completely relaxed. He'd even been nervous on more than one occasion, but today's unease was something new.

Sirius didn't reply. He walked slowly around the room, almost touching everything within reach -- book bindings, chair backs, lampshades, tabletops -- but always drawing his hand away just before it made contact. He lifted a tea cup from the service in the corner and examined it in the afternoon light. Grey, spidery hands brought the cup carefully to his lips; he closed his eyes as though he actually felt warm steam rising. Remus quietly removed himself from this bizarre mime and walked into the kitchen. He'll be fine.

"Oh, bollocks!" he announced into the echoing silence.

Sirius was instantly at his side, hands curled in tight fists, body tensed for a fight. "What? What is it?" he asked quickly.

Remus blushed guiltily at his outburst. "Nothing, I'm sorry. I'd forgotten. I... haven't been here in a while, and there's no food." He held out his hands in a gesture of resignation.

Sirius looked at him for a moment then burst out laughing. But the sound sent chills down Remus' spine. Sirius' pale eyes were distant, focused somewhere over Remus' head. He wasn't smiling. His mouth was open, and his teeth were bared more like a jackal than a human. A dry bark escaped his lips.

Sirius doubled over, gasping for air. Then he stood up. The laughter ended as suddenly as it began. For a moment they simply stood awkwardly in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Remus finally said.

Unblinking, Sirius countered, "You always were a lousy host."

Remus couldn't tell if he was serious or not.

***

The kettle whistled, shattering the afternoon silence.

Remus leapt up from the table to yank the water off the stove.

After the disturbing laugh, Sirius had sunk to the floor of the kitchen, back against the wall, nose between his knees and hands folded behind his head. The rags hung loosely over his frame. He did not move except for the rise and fall of his shoulders with each breath.

Remus had decided to make tea. He sat at the kitchen table, sipping quietly.

When that cup was empty, he swirled the dregs, dumped them out, and brewed another one.

"Darling?" a female voice asked cautiously from the next room.

Both men looked up quickly. Remus felt something relax between his shoulder blades.

"Mum?" he asked, walking out to greet her.

"Hang on a moment. I'm coming through." His mother stepped from the fireplace; she was one of the few witches he had ever seen manage to do so without a spec of ash on her clothing. Her arms were laden with several large shopping bags.

"Remus," she said brightly, though her eyes were worried. "Be a doll?" She held out several bags out full of food. He looked at her enquiringly as he took them from her.

"I read the paper," she said by way of explanation. "And read what they didn't say. Also, Headmaster Dumbledore sent an owl this afternoon to tell me where you'd gone. I knew you hadn't been home in months, and boys don't often stop to consider the important things, so I've brought dinner, some food for your pantry, and some clothing for Sirius."

"But, Mum--" Remus protested hesitantly.

She stopped and looked him directly in the eyes, a bulldog in petite witch's clothing. "Darling," she put a hand to his cheek and spoke affectionately. "Relax and let me fix you dinner." She walked purposefully to the kitchen.

Then stopped at the doorway, gaping.

In an instant, she regained her trademark composure.

"Sirius," she said quietly.

He stood against the countertop, staring resolutely at the lintel over her head. She walked around the table towards him. "I've brought you fresh clothing, just some shirts, jumpers, trousers, oh and socks. I wouldn't... I wouldn't have guessed that you'd fit into Remus' things. Oh my." Her voice finally broke as the smell hit her nose. She looked up and tentatively raised one birdlike hand to touch his cheek. He looked down at her but did not flinch. "I'm so sorry," she said. "At least these will be the right length. There's a belt in there somewhere." She placed the handle of the old Flourish and Blotts bag into his hand.

Without taking her eyes off Sirius, she continued. "Remus, put those bags down over there. And you boys go wash up for dinner. I'll call you when it's ready."

As she shooed them out of the kitchen, Remus whispered, "Thanks, Mum."

***

Up the stairs to the bedroom, Remus almost ran into Sirius, who was standing still at the top, staring at the low, sloping roof. Remus stepped carefully around him and gestured for Sirius to come in. Waiting for a Response, Remus began to play with the chain around his neck. Eventually, he tore his eyes away from Sirius' lost gaze and looked around his room as though for the first time: the rustic wood, the bed occupying most of the floor space, the multi-coloured quilt and blue pillows, desk tucked up against the window, the walls and sloping ceiling lined with bookshelves.

Sirius walked in and was slowly absorbing the room, brushing his fingertips lightly along the bindings of books that covered every available surface. Remus had charmed the shelves overhead to hold them, and leather-bound literature looked down impassively from overhead. It was all a bit dusty from disuse, as his cleaning charms had dissipated over the months of absence.

He fetched a fresh towel from the linen cabinet and handed it to Sirius.

"I didn't keep much from the old flat," Remus offered, "Books, mostly, and music: the things I took with me when--"

I left.

"The bathroom is through there." He pointed at the only door in the room. "Anything you need should be in the shelves by the sink. Oh, and the hot water tap leaks a little. You know me and household charmwork..." His voice trailed off.

Wordlessly, Sirius walked into the bathroom, gripping the shopping bag and towel, peering warily into the corners as he passed. He closed the door quietly behind him and slid the lock into place with a sharp click.

"I'll be right out here if you need anything," Remus said to the unresponsive wood surface.

Beyond the door, there were a few small noises, objects being lifted, set down again, tap water ran briefly, then silence. Remus paced, tidied his desk, arranged a few quills, opened and re-corked the bottle of ink, refolded several of his shirts, and looked blindly over the shelves of books. Every few seconds, he glanced over at the door of the bathroom. It had been quiet in there for far too long.

There were razors in there, behind the mirror, and several extremely potent Numbing Potions under the sink...

Sirius wouldn't.

Would he?

In a step, Remus was at the door, turning the knob, rapping his knuckles against the wood. "Sirius?" he asked, trying to hide the panic from his voice. "Sirius? Is everything alright?"

"'Course," a gruff voice snapped from behind the door. "I'm not crazy."

Remus exhaled slowly. Of course everything was alright.

He'll be fine. Stupid to worry, you bloody great ponce.

He forced himself to select a book from the shelf, something worn, dog-eared, and comforting. Thumbing idly through the pages, he lay down on the bed. The shower turned on in the next room. Unable to focus on the words, he sat up and walked around the bed again, set the book on a pillow, opened the window, and closed it almost immediately. He ran a hand over his face and began to rub his jaw.

Savoury smells from his mother's cooking drifted up the staircase; steam and bright green soap bubbles seeped around the bathroom door. Remus closed his eyes, turned his head toward the book-lined ceiling, and allowed the comfortably domestic smells and sounds to wash over him.

He could almost forget that his mother had nearly choked up at the sight of Sirius. He could almost pretended that the bathroom door would creak open and admit him into a steamy embrace, into arms that were full, smooth, and his. Everything felt almost right.

Almost.

The shower shut off and, several minutes later, Sirius emerged. The difference was startling. He had shaved and cut his hair -- unevenly but so close to his head that it almost didn't matter -- and it was ruffled from a quick towelling off. His cheeks were flushed from the heat, and the grime was gone from his skin. The scent of Remus' soap lingered all around him. The shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, and the belt alone held the trousers around his waist, but the clothes were clean and pressed, and in another lifetime would have fit him flawlessly. Helen Lupin had always lamented that Remus did not share Sirius' sense of style.

Remus felt a powerful ache rise up in his chest. This was Sirius. Here. In front of him. Safe and home at last.

Only his pale grey eyes, looking everywhere but at Remus, still reflected the fortress of Azkaban.

"Dinner's ready!" his mum called from downstairs.

"Go on," said Remus. "I'll be down in a moment."

Sirius nodded, arms wrapped around his body, and walked downstairs.

Remus washed up quickly, changed his shirt, and went to meet them.

***

"There you are," Helen said, smiling as he sat down. "We almost started without you."

The food was wonderful, warm and wholesome, though Remus might have been eating parchment for all that he tasted. He asked his mother about her work and allowed her to carry the conversation through dinner, hmm-ing and nodding in the appropriate places, watching Sirius eat.

"Professor Tofty -- you remember him from your examinations? -- he brought up a fascinating point the other day..."

Sirius' eyes opened and closed as he looked at the meat and vegetables before him, then at his hands on the table and the cutlery beside the plate. Remus' mum didn't even pause as she placed the fork between the fingers of his right hand. He stabbed at the food and considered it carefully before placing it on his tongue. After chewing for an absurdly long time -- Remus couldn't help but think that the food was adequately pulverised for a baby bird -- he swallowed and looked back at the plate.

"... that the difference between the transfigurative properties of a material and its structural integrity is related by..."

Several small, stabbed bites later, Sirius seemed to decide that more food could fit onto the utensil and that less chewing was required. Fork held tightly, he ate faster and faster, finishing before either of the Lupins, then sat perfectly still, staring at his empty plate.

"... and you can imagine the implications for the dynamics of-- Would you like more?" she asked.

Remus watched worriedly as Sirius devoured two more plates of food then sat, breathing heavily and grimacing with his arms crossed over his stomach. His mum began to clear the dishes, and had just turned on the tap when Sirius first doubled over.

Remus, without thinking, leapt up, dashed around the table, grabbed Sirius' wrists, and pulled him out the back door.

Where he was promptly, violently, ill.

Remus wrapped an arm around his shuddering shoulders and guided him upstairs to clean up.

***

"I'm sorry," his mum said when Remus returned to the kitchen. She had finished the dishes from dinner and stored away all the food. She was giving the table a final wipe with the dishrag as Remus sat down.

Remus waved her apology away with a tired hand.

"Is he sleeping?" She slid on to the bench beside him.

"Just sitting and staring."

They were silent for a moment.

"Mum," Remus said quietly. "I'm a little scared."

"Shhh," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I know."

"Why are you doing all this?"

She just smiled at him quietly.

Remus protested, "You don't even like Sirius."

"You do, and that's enough for me." She idly wiped the table. "You know, the tree for this table came from the forest out back?" Night had long since fallen beyond the small kitchen window, and she took a deep breath before going on. "I may not approve of the way he was raised, but I can't imagine what he's been through. I knew you boys would need some looking-after. That's all." She shrugged.

They sat quietly for a minute before she stood and gathered her things. "I should be going. You should probably be upstairs. I've left food in your cupboards. Eggs and bacon are in the fridge."

"But mum, what if I can't..."

"You'll have to," she answered simply.

She kissed him once on the cheek and stood looking at him. "I've never been more proud of you," she said, beaming, "and I know you'll do the right thing."

He listened to her retreating footsteps and wanted nothing more than to be five years old again, to call her back and ask her to make it stop hurting.

"You know where I am if you need anything," she called before tossing some Floo powder on the fire and disappearing in a whirl of green flame.

Remus sighed and walked back upstairs.

***

Sirius, scrubbed and dressed in warm flannels, was sitting with his back against the centre of the headboard, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes wide and focussed straight ahead, as if he were determined to stay awake.

Remus began to unpack the case that had travelled with him for so many months. It smelled of the smoke at the Nesting Dragon, the crisp snow of Alaska, and the thriving mildews of the jungle. The dirty clothing he tossed into a hamper, Whirling's papers in a drawer. Alim's map he opened carefully and laid on his desk; Roaming Roffense's and The Prankster's Guide he put lovingly back on a shelf. The old travelling cloak he hung on a peg downstairs, the three-inch canoe he left out to be returned to its rightful owner, and he stared at the pentogram of silver chains, unsure what to do with them. Eventually he slipped them into the bottom of his old school trunk. The bag was empty now, save for some stores of dry porridge, rice, and marmite that he had not eaten and a small parcel wrapped in red and gold cloth. Remus lifted it curiously and read the attached note: "That you may find you happiness, and remember you once brought it here. -- Kamilah."

Remus knew what was in the package. He grinned.

"I'll be right back," he said quickly. Sirius did not respond.

He returned several minutes later with a warm mug of melted chocolate and milk cupped in his hands. The aroma filled the house, reminding Remus of camels and sand, firelight, dancing, and veils fluttering in the breeze. "Here," he said, climbing on to the bed and handing the mug to Sirius. "Drink this."

After shaking his head and trying to push the chocolate away, Sirius acquiesced. His nostrils flared as the scent hit them. He looked at Remus, and gingerly took the warm cup. For a moment, he simply cradled it in his hands, letting the steam waft up to his face. Then, sitting up cross-legged, he began to slowly drink.

Remus watched the glow spread until it had suffused his entire body; briefly, a hint of the old troublemaker shone from his eyes. When it was finished, Sirius handed the mug back to Remus and smiled, licking his lips, visibly relaxed. He yawned and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Remus recalled the silver Patronus dashing over desert sand and knew exactly how he felt.

"Good stuff, eh?" Remus asked.

Sirius nodded. He stretched his arms over his head, stifling another yawn. His shoulders sagged and, as he finally lay down on his side, his outline blurred, shifting seamlessly into that of an enormous black dog.

He looked up at Remus with pale, puppy eyes.

"It's okay," Remus said, reaching over to scratch behind his ear. "You can sleep. I'll be here."

The dog huffed, laid his head between his gigantic paws, and closed his eyes.

Remus dimmed the lights with a flick of his wand and lay down beside him, tentatively resting one arm on the great, shaggy neck.

He must have fallen asleep, because his eyes shot open when the body beside his shifted slightly. He woke immediately, heart pounding, fingers twined in long black fur.

Sirius whimpered, short, high moans in his sleep, paws paddling.

"Sirius," Remus whispered. "Sirius? Pads, wake up." He shook the hunched shoulders gently and Sirius went rigid, growling low in his throat, kicking at the sheets that covered them. He snapped once at Remus' hand, then whined again, burying his face in the pillow.

Remus swallowed and wrapped his arms around the dog's neck, pressing his face in the thick ruff until Sirius stopped shuddering and fell silent.

Remus lay half-awake, holding Sirius until morning dawned grey and rainy.

Appropriate, he thought.

The huge black dog was sleeping quietly, no sign of the nightmares that had visited him in the dark. He was curled sideways on the bed, nose tucked under one massive paw, breathing steadily. Remus swallowed his jaw clenched.

Tomorrow, he promised. Tomorrow he would do more.

For now, he would ensure that Sirius woke to a safe place and a hearty breakfast. He went quietly downstairs.

***

Sirius woke to an empty bed and the smell of bacon and eggs. He gripped the sheets, wrapping them in his hands and looking around frantically.

Wrong. The smells, the room, the feelings -- they were all wrong. The blankets were too soft; he kicked them away and rolled off the bed. He stumbled into the bathroom and leaned heavily against the sink. His feet were bare on the floor, but it was too warm, too squishy, too soft. He looked for something firm to hold him up. There were no bars, just shafts of sunlight. He touched the tap, and ice-cold water, fresh from the well, issued forth. The water ran over his fingers, dripping off the end of each nail until he began to shiver. Then he lowered his lips under the small stream. Bitter cold liquid snaked down his throat and into his stomach. His stomach clenched in shock, and he smiled mirthlessly. He stood and looked at the face staring back at him from the mirror, icy droplets clinging to its lips, then shuddered and turned away. The cold water sat like a rock inside him.

Shuffling downstairs, he hugged the wall without feeling the wood beneath his shoulder or the banister digging into his side.

For several minutes, he stood in the doorway of the small kitchen, simply watching Remus cook. The food smelled like food. The shirt and flannel trousers were almost soft against his skin, the saliva wet in his mouth, but he couldn't shake the wrongness of it all, as though he'd accidentally drank one of Remus' Numbing Potions.

"Morning," he croaked.

Remus whirled around, hand to his chest in surprise, eyes smiling as he caught his breath.

"I didn't hear you come down. I was going to bring you breakfast."

Sirius looked away and picked through the fruit in a bowl on the table, lifting each piece and studying its shape before replacing it carefully.

There was a scratching outside the back door. Remus moved towards it tentatively, fears of reporters and flashbulbs rising to his mind. One hand on the knob, the other gripping his wand, he flung it open.

But the garden was empty. There, on the stoop, was the morning milk.

Remus smiled. Over the sudden burst of song from a steaming kettle, he explained, "Mum must've arranged to have the milk delivered."

He bent down to bring the cold bottles inside, and noticed that a note had been left on top of them. Remus put the milk on the table and opened the letter, addressed in his mother's handwriting.

Dear Remus,

I hope all is well. You might be interested to know that I spoke to Mr. Blythe who owns the farm down the road, the one with all the sheep. We knew each other years ago, when my brother lived here. He mentioned that he was in need of help, what with lambing and shearing this season, and I told him I knew a strapping young lad who might be interested in the work. He knows you have a 'trip' planned in a few weeks, and says that it won't be a problem. If you're interested, you should see him sometime today.

And no jokes about sending a wolf to the sheep farm, thank you.

Wipe that silly grin off your face, young man, and go back to breakfast.

Love,

Mum

Remus laughed aloud and felt himself relax just a little. Then he passed the note across the table. Sirius read it, grunted, and let the parchment fall, but Remus noticed that as he looked down on his breakfast -- eating, this morning, like a man who was raised knowing which of four forks to use first at the Queen Mother's table -- that the corners of his mouth curved slightly up.

They finished the rest of the meal in silence, the kitchen filled with the sound of chewing and smell of bacon.

Remus stood and began to clear the dishes.

"Let me help?" Sirius asked.

Remus nodded and began to show him where things were kept.

"It's different," Sirius said.

"Than the flat?" Remus blurted, then cringed.

Sirius' face fell, and silence descended as they worked.

Remus recalled the smile that used to light their old flat. Sirius would whirl the blue ceramic plates in the air, sending them neatly to their shelves with a flick of his wand. He would laugh with the photographs on the walls, pictures of their friends toasting and dancing and wrestling in the street. He would leap over the haphazard piles of books, magazines, furniture, and clothing to wrap Remus in a smothering embrace...

The windows had rattled with his shouts the night Remus left. The sky-blue bowl had fallen from the counter and shattered on the floor. Remus had stood, arms crossed over his chest, silent in the face of Sirius' storm. When Remus had returned the following day to collect his things, the flat was empty.

But the sky-blue shards were still there, jagged in the afternoon sun.

"A new start," he said finally, lifting a glass and placing it on the shelf.

Sirius grunted in response, leaning on the counter. "The job. Will you?"

"Mmm. Don't think so. I have things to do here."

"What?"

"Just things," Remus was cadging. Truth was, his Gringotts vault was all but drained from the recent travels. He needed the job, but he needed time, too. Sirius needed his time.

Sirius snorted. After a moment he turned back, looking fierce, defiant. "I don't need you to mind me."

"I--" Remus swallowed softly.

"You need it, so take the job!"

"I know, but--"

"I don't think you do." Sirius' voice, painfully harsh, swelled to fill the room. "I'm twenty-two years old. I don't need a nursemaid." His fist landed on the table with a thud.

Remus stared at him.

"What?" Sirius snapped back.

"Alright." Remus shrugged. "I'll take the job. But Sirius--" He paused. "You had a birthday last December. You're twenty-three."

Sirius sank onto a chair, jaw clenched, shaking with anger. Then he stood and walked into the next room.

***

Sirius did not look back.

He knew that Remus watched him go.

He looked desperately around the den for something, anything that could explain what he was missing.

Shaking his head, he walked back into the kitchen; Remus hadn't moved.

"Paper," Sirius finally said. "I need to see the paper."

"I don't get it here. Besides, you don't want to see what they're--"

"How can you not get the bloody paper?" Sirius railed, turning furious eyes on Remus. "Gods, Remus. How will you know who--" He stopped abruptly.

"Know who, what?" Remus asked cautiously.

"Know who he... Fuck, Moony." Sirius threw his hands in a futile gesture and walked out of the room once more.

Remus followed this time.

Sirius paced across the room like the caged tiger he'd seen once at the London Zoo. Then he just stood, staring out the window over the rolling hills, trembling. "He's really gone then, isn't he?"

"Who?" Remus asked warily.

"Voldemort."

Remus exhaled. "Yes. As far as we can tell."

"And--" Sirius swallowed the next words, shuddering violently.

"James, too," Remus whispered, "and Lily." He walked over to rest a hand on Sirius' shoulder.

Sirius brushed it aside.

"Harry is with his Aunt and Uncle... Oh, Pads, I'm so sorry."

Sirius did not turn away from the window. "No, I'm fine," he said firmly. "I just... just thought... forgot." He could feel a growl rising from deep in his chest. "Forget it."

Remus reached, this time for Sirius' hand, and he felt the warm, calloused fingers curl around his.

"Come," Remus said softly, and led Sirius back into the kitchen.

Forget it. He couldn't forget. They wouldn't let him. Dark cloaks floating by, the acrid smell of burning ruins, James--

James lying twisted on the ground

Broken glasses fallen beside him.

Lily's hair, still fiery red, spread around her face over the scorched plaster and wood.

A baby crying.

And they locked him away forever.

He couldn't forget. He couldn't explain. He couldn't meet Remus' eyes. I just thought-- I just "thought that maybe, if I really was-- if this is real, then maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

Sirius shrugged uselessly and ran a hand through his hair, feeling naked when he found so little there. "It really happened?"

Remus nodded and began to fix them tea.

Water in the kettle, kettle on the stove; these things, at least, were familiar. Whether the best of times or the worst, Remus made tea. Sirius looked down at his hands.

He did not look up until Remus reached over with a mug. "What's that?"

"Tea," Remus replied uncertainly.

"No." Sirius pointed at Remus' wrist.

Remus pulled it away, hiding the pink skin poking out from under his cuff. His nostrils flared. "Just... it's nothing."

Sirius clenched his teeth. He recognised a silver burn when he saw one. But he made no reply and sipped his tea in silence.

***

That afternoon, Remus walked home from Blythe Farm along the side of the road, avoiding the mud in the wheel-ruts and looking up at the sky. The clouds had parted and the rain passed. He inhaled the fresh, damp air; little green buds grew on the bare trees overhead. He could smell spring waiting to burst forth.

At the front door, he wiped his feet on the mat and took a deep breath.

Then his eyes widened.

His stomach turned. He stared at the deep impressions in the thawing earth outside his door, impressions left by huge, padded feet.

Inside, he walked from the den into the kitchen. "Sirius? Sirius! Pads?" he called.

His words fell dead in the air. There was no reply. No one was there. The mug was sitting on the table, cold. He pounded up the steps, breath quick and shallow.

"Sirius?"

The bedroom was deserted. The pyjamas were folded on the bed, and the bag of clothes was empty. He ran back downstairs and opened the front door, glancing at the rack beside it. Sirius hadn't even taken a key.

Remus' heart beat erratically as he scanned the sparse woods and distant fields, looking for a shaggy black form. He gritted his teeth. Gone.

Arms wrapped around his body, he leaned against the doorframe and looked up at the sky. He's gone.

He considered following, finding some other tracking spell, a Remembrall, a map. He considered calling Magical Law Enforcement, but there was no sign of struggle, no mysterious footprints on the path. Sirius wasn't stolen. He left.

Remus' bottom lip quivered and hot tears burned his eyes. He's gone. Remus growled and shook his head. Merlin, he wanted to hit something.

Instead, he went inside and shut the door quietly behind him.