Perpetual Motion

Perpetual Motion

I

Here he sat, one leg thrown across the other, half-lying down, propped up on his elbows. He was in that state of not-quite-dry, lake water dribbling very, very slowly down his torso and shins, where his shirt hadn't stuck or the carpet wasn't absorbing it. His hair was sticky and hung in heavy locks off his skull.

He had horrible sunburn.

The yellow light of the electric lamps swam in his eyes, and made strange patterns on his skin. He licked his lips slowly, slipping a red tongue over chapped flesh. The lips were thin, but vivid and animated. If it weren't for the attitude of their possessor, they may have been inviting.

"So, what are we up to for the rest of the night?" he said, indicating clearly that he demanded entertainment more scintillating than what the current company could offer.

"I'm knackered," was the simple reply of his first companion, but this statement, too, offered more than its actual words belied--the speaker was not going to participate in any further activity, and he'd be damned if anyone else would.

"Me too," chirped the third one.

"Come on, Moony. Think of something to do," drawled the first.

"Nghmph," responded Moony, the fourth boy.

"Just as I thought," huffed Sirius, flopping backwards so that he lay sprawled at length on the floor. "Prats," he added under his breath.

"I heard that."

"As if I cared, Prongs."

"I gather the distinct impression that you wanted him to hear," was the softly-spoken reply from the prone figure hanging off the loveseat.

"Wasn't talkin' to you, Moony."

Silence wound torpidly around the foursome as they lay in contemplation, or lack thereof. The muffled rush of underwater-sound still echoed in Sirius' ears, and he rubbed them against his hunched shoulders irritably as he folded his arms under his head. The ceiling, in the oozing yellow light of the lamps, looked like the smooth, muckish bottom of the lake through water. Several mosquitoes rapped on the flimsy window screens.

"We could go see one of those Muggle 'films.' I heard they're alright."

"That would be something to write home about. 'Dear Mum, spent this summer in a Mudblood's house with a werewolf and went to go see a Muggle film. Send my least respect to Dad, and tell him the Black name is being upheld.'"

"There's no need for that, Sirius. Peter's suggestion was perfectly valid."

"Oh, I think it's fantastic. It's a wonder we don't listen to Wormtail more."

"Enough of that, Sirius," spoke Remus, sitting up and placing his hands on his knees. "I, for one, am going to turn in early, rather than lie around and listen to you sods bicker like two-year-olds."

"No 'not while you're a guest in my house' speech, eh, Moony?"

"I wouldn't lecture you while you're a guest in my house, Pads," responded Remus as he rose. The slightly damp imprint of his body remained on the faded loveseat.

"Don't go, Moony. We'll think of something."

Remus turned at Peter's words, and stopped in the doorway. Just to save face, he leaned casually on the frame, and did not return to his previous seat, so it did not seem like such an easy reversal.

"Fine, then, any more bright ideas, Wormtail?"

"Sirius..." warned Remus.

James sat up from where he had slumped in an armchair, and stretched, languorously. He had an air like he was practising the show for an instance when he could better employ it, such as in front of assorted females.

"I feel up for a nice midnight dip."

"You great wanker, you just said you were too tired."

"I'm feeling better now. Come on, let's go."

And so they did, though Sirius only went sullenly, because it had not been his idea. Oddly, he shivered in the night air despite the previous day's heat, and curled his toes in the mucky sand at the edge of the lake, yanking up a small clump of grass with his foot. The other boys splashed in.

"C'mon, Pads, don't spoil it."

"I'm coming, in my own good time."

He watched them descend, in their own manners. Wormtail went cautiously, as the water was beginning to chill, and tried to hide his gasp when Moony splashed him. Prongs took a few steps and then dove right in, flailing and grinning. He stood once again to peel off his sopping shirt and toss it ashore. The other boys followed suit.

Moony, for his part, didn't show much difference between earth-walking and wading.

Sirius removed his shirt and started after them. The water felt soft, he thought curiously. Like bath-water that had sat for a while and gone tepid. He didn't understand what Wormtail was so afraid of.

The pebbles were sharp under his feet, but his soles were toughened after two months of summer lakes and running. The other boys were far ahead of him now, treading water near the middle of the lake. It really was barely a lake. Sirius watched them, not knowing why he was so entranced. The crescent moonlight on water and wet torsos and gleaming hair made unusual patterns that were nearly terrifying.

He shook himself out of his daze and swam fast to catch up. He was a good swimmer. He surfaced beside James and tumbled the other boy under the water with him. They tussled for a while, Remus and Peter watching sedately. James reached out and pulled Peter under, and all three wrestled in the water, James and Sirius holding Peter below the surface while he thrashed and kicked, then letting him bob back up to splash each in turn, half-heartedly.

Remus back-stroked a lazy circle around the other three, before Sirius grabbed his ankle and drew him, spluttering and gasping, into the fray. They waged a war with no sides, sometimes ganging up on one marauder, most often just attacking anyone in reach. There were a few minor bruises, and a little wounded pride, and much water inhaled, but nothing distressing.

When they began to drift toward shore, and their feet touched the pebbles and sand once more, Sirius jumped up on James' shoulders, and was carried back to land like a king. Remus and Peter, the weaker swimmers, followed as the royal retinue, and when they were out of the water for good, James shrugged Sirius off and Sirius tumbled from his high seat, his crown of weeds sliding off his heavy hair.

It was a good night.

The days were long, and it did not seem as though Sirius had been asleep for any length before golden sunlight burned on his eyelids and he turned over on his cot, away from the window. He heard voices outside, talking softly; Moony and Wormtail. Sirius Black had no use for mornings, so he dozed off again. He had strange waking dreams, of water and searches and being lost. He dreamed of wet skin and hot nights under an August moon and friends hiding behind trees, unseen. When he awoke for good, he did not remember these things. He swung to his feet, stretched, and went down to join the others for lunch.

II

Peter still alive. Know that.

Remus still alive. Must be.

James dead. Lily dead. Harry dead?

Harry still alive. Harry, be still alive. Please.

Peter, be still alive, until I can find you. Be still alive. Will find you.

Will kill you.

They can't take that from me.

There is a phoenix on my back. Its wings spread from shoulder to shoulder. Its head dips and its beak sharpens along my upper spine. Its tail curls around the small of my back. My phoenix. It's always there.

Peter still alive.

James dead.

Lily dead.

Peter still alive.

Moony has one, too. And Prongs. Wormtail was afraid his mum would find out and cut his allowance.

Blood. I want his blood. On my hands. So beautiful. Blood.

Can't sleep.

Haven't dreamt in years.

Peter. Still alive.

My phoenix dreams for me, while I am human. My phoenix dreams.

I tell my phoenix about the lake.

I tell him. He listens. I tell him about the water. How the water looked so strange. And riding in to shore on Prongs' back. And Moony back-stroking in circles. And wet hair. And Wormtail, under water, thrashing and flailing. I spend too long on that part, but it feels good. The sort of good they can't steal. In my story, we hold Wormtail down until he doesn't thrash anymore, and we bring him down, deeper, deeper, until his eyes are glassy like the water, and leave him.

I remember that night. I remember bitterness.

Prongs was being spiteful. Stupid Prongs. Prongs was always spiteful.

Moony was a pushover. He didn't turn in until well past midnight, that night. He lectured me about playing nice. He wouldn't play. He didn't help us hold down Wormtail. He just watched. He always watched.

Wormtail irritated us all. No one liked Wormtail. Why did we always have to bring him along? Why did Moony invite him?

I was so bored that night.

I tell my phoenix everything, and he listens. He always has.

It was so long ago.

Did it happen?

III

Summer before seventh year, Sirius read some books that he found in SoHo when he was prowling, free of his family, free of anyone. That's what he told himself. He told himself he was prowling. And he always believed himself.

There were books about girls, and there were books about boys.

They were in his trunk. Not hidden. Sirius Black never hid anything because it was scandalous. He barely hid things that could get him expelled, and really just so that when he revealed them, it would make a bigger splash.

Sirius liked parting the seas.

Sirius knew things, too. He knew things that people hid, and usually he used their secrets for his own fun. Nothing serious, nothing against anyone who had never done him wrong. He saw a weakness, and he needled. It was part of being a Marauder. Not everything was grand raids and epic adventure. Some things were simple retaliation, simple revenge.

Sirius knew that Moony liked boys. It was an instinct. He was uncomfortable when he realised it. He wouldn't sit near Moony, wouldn't go near enough to touch. He tried to remember every look that Moony had given him, and tried to analyse each for signs of the inevitable perversion.

But Sirius was not one for analysis, and he gave up eventually, and sooner than he thought, it was all fine with him. Moony was Moony. He wasn't some sort of a monster.

Well, not most of the time, anyway.

These revelations were in sixth year. In seventh year, Sirius had the books, and he was interested. In experimentation.

It was almost spontaneous, until he didn't do it. The night he thought of it, his heart hammered when his feet swung out of the bed, and the curtains rustling were a sound that brought him back down to earth from some cloud in his fantasy. It would be much more difficult than he had assumed.

He remembered Moony's voice, on a morning ages ago in his seventeen-year-old memory. At the lake, Moony was wide awake before any of them, though he stayed up just as late. Moony was Moony. He was a Marauder. The moonlight had tattooed his shoulders and bare skin, marking him a part of their cult as he lapped circles around their play.

Moony was untouchable, covered in that moonlight, perfect and far-away. In Griffindor Tower, as he lay in bed, Sirius felt a gnawing, aching need for the unattainable, for everything that he couldn't have.

Two weeks later, he finally did it. He slid out of his four-poster, swearing softly at the noises the action incited--the fabric noises of friction and static, the pad of his bare feet on the cold stone floor, when he reached the edge of one carpet. The jangle of curtain rod and hooks when he broke through the hangings of Moony's bed and crept under the covers next to the other boy.

Sirius found it hard to breathe, and his stomach flipped, so that he thought he might vomit. His hands were clammy when he thought of touching another boy, but he wanted it, wanted it so much he was sick. It was Moony there, looking at him fuzzily.

Moony was Moony.

Sirius said, "I'd like to try a few things."

IV

Lupin put out the last candles and the remains of the fire in the hearth with a wave of his wand and a few murmured words. His office was dim and shadow-filled, but already familiar. He checked the lock on the door, and the charms on the lock and windows. Security.

Then, he removed his robe and underthings. He had precious few presentable clothes to begin with; no need to go ruining them needlessly. He folded them carefully, shivering, and placed them on the mantle. He sat, gingerly, on the chill stone floor and waited.

Think warm thoughts, his mother had always told him. It was a very motherly thing to say.

He thought of the lake.

The amber sunrise the next morning. He had watched it with Peter.

Peter, who was gone now. Peter, who met a death he didn't deserve. That night, there was too much death.

Remus was prone to remember Halloween and November that way. A series of nights when his brothers lost their lives. He rarely saw it as the night he lost his brothers.

But at the lake, they all had each other, even Sirius. Sirius couldn't have turned on them already, could he?

Go to a warm place.

The water was chilling, but it had still held a little warmth, and it had felt good swirling around him. The air was sticky, sleeping was impossible, movement on dry land was impossible. Remus grasped at the warmth as he lay on the cold, cold stone floor of his office and waited. The intense, humid heat seemed impossible now. All he could remember was the slicing coolness of the water, which got chillier each time he recalled it.

He thought about faces, instead. Peter's round face in the yellow sunrise. James' intelligent, arrogant face in the rippling reflected moonlight. Sirius' sharp angles in the oozing light of the electric lamps, looking up from the floor.

Lupin could easily have stepped on that face, in memory. He could have erased it, stomped it out. Remus did not dwell on this, however. He would not have lost any of his brothers if it had been his choice. They were brothers, then.

Before Pads became Black, feared Azkaban prisoner, escaped madman.

It must have been very cold in Azkaban.

At this thought, the moon rose and the change overtook him, violently. He had no peace for reflection after that.

V

When James was engaged, they got together for drinks, which usually meant they crashed at James' place with a few too many bottles of something they couldn't read the label of (it could have been French or German or Italian, a point of much dispute).

That night, however, they did not go to James'. They ended up meeting at an old house, practically abandoned, on the shore of an exceptionally small lake. It really wasn't much of a lake, after all.

But the family name was on the door in flaking green paint, and the owner of that name opened the door solemnly with the ancient key before the whole thing simply fell in, and they stepped over the cracked panels and commented on how there ought to be some fixing-up around here.

Moony said sure, it was prime property. Right on the shores of Lake Whatsit with the mosquitoes, the mosquitoes that used to drum on the window screens.

The night was very blurry after that. Promises were made, promises of eternal devotion that may have been more grave than those that were to be said before a certified wizard in two months' time. They talked about children who could never leave each others' sides. Their children.

They named godfathers.

And Moony didn't say anything about having children, but Peter brought it up, and everything was arranged. They would all have boys, and all the boys would be the kings of the corridors, heirs to the title.

Later, James went out to skip stones in the moonlight, and Peter drifted off on a loveseat, because he had never been able to hold his drink well. Moony and Pads sat on the floor.

Moony said something about love, and godfathers, and he said something about a night in confused, close darkness, and he asked Sirius a question.

Sirius said no.

Some things were not made to be spoken of afterward.

VI

It was starting again, and the knowledge brought exhilaration and fear.

Sirius was still in hiding, but he had managed to make it to the house on the lake, along with the surviving members of the old Order. He would stay for a few days only; it would not do to remain in one place too long.

It was hectic. No one knew what was going on; no one knew exactly what had happened. Dumbledore was to arrive within a day. Old familiar faces were streaming in constantly, and there wasn't much food or room in the house. Each member did what they could to help; some brought food to share, some left again to purchase more amenities, and no one mentioned their host's inability to provide these things himself.

Sirius stayed in a locked room upstairs until everyone had arrived. The lock on the door was not to keep him in, but to keep others out. Lupin and Dumbledore would detail his story in front of the collected Order before they let Sirius show himself. They did not want his unexplained presence to cause any more fear or confusion. Sirius saw the logic in this argument, and remained in his room, and tried not to feel like a prisoner again.

He paced, looked out the window, but more often stared at the door. He could have been nervous, but Sirius Black was never nervous, so Lupin simply told Dumbledore by owl, "Sirius is here, and he appears as healthy as he could be, given the circumstances, though a bit irritable, which is forgivable."

Lupin wasn't available to talk to Sirius as much as either man would have liked; Lupin had to organise the reception of the Order and oversee communication between key members who had not yet arrived. Lupin had to find a way to accommodate guests he hadn't seen in years; he had to feed unexpected mouths, and transfigure bric-a-brac into squishy (if threadbare) armchairs for those who were getting too old for the long broom-ride. There was alcohol downstairs, as well, but only to ease travel-stiff backs.

Lupin brought up a diminutive glass of the cognac Elphias had brought. Sirius said he was pleased to hear Elphias wasn't dead yet.

Sirius tried to detain Lupin. He talked about the day at the lake. He gestured toward the window, and told Lupin, for the first time, about how he listened to him and Peter when the sun rose. Sirius lied a little; he had heard their voices, but hadn't cared at the time.

There was nothing in his story but events. It was a device to keep Lupin in his company, but Lupin had to attend to current matters, and couldn't reminisce properly. Lupin was gentle and polite, as always. He nodded, and smiled, and chimed in at the correct intervals to reconfirm what Sirius remembered. It was like reading a book that had been reread so many times that it lost all meaning. It was just words.

When Lupin left again, taking the empty glass, Sirius sat on his old cot and listened to the lock click. He would have rolled the glass between his fingers if Lupin had left it; instead, he folded his hands, then unfolded them, then twined them over his knees as he looked out the window at the trees.

The room was dark, as it was late afternoon, and the window faced the east. Sirius thought he must be called downstairs soon. He sat, and waited until that time when anybody would need him.

VII

Lupin fixed the black ribbon on Harry's robe. Harry sullenly shrugged the older man's hands away as soon as the pin was secure.

"I could have done it myself."

"Now you don't have to."

"I don't need anyone doing things for me."

"It's just a ribbon, Harry."

Harry slumped down in an armchair and glowered at his shoes. He was there early, because Dumbledore had directed him to go, and Lupin was there as well, because it was where he lived. The house on the lake had been sold shortly after the reforming of the Order, to pay the last debts of Lupin's search for employment. Lupin needed neither the house nor the debts.

"You had so much more time with him."

Lupin looked up.

"You two," Harry continued. "You were both living here."

"I was gone on missions a lot of the time, Harry. But yes, I did see him when I came back, most of the time."

"Were you two always...like that? Always close?"

"What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged irritably.

"You know. Ja...my dad was the one who made him godfather."

"I never had any children, Harry. Sirius, as well. Your father was the only one of us who could have named anyone a godfather."

"I know. But, everyone's always talked so much about how Sirius and my dad were great friends, Sirius too. They don't talk as much about being friends with you."

"They became animagi for me, at enormous personal risk. It was one of the greatest things anyone's ever done for me."

Harry was silent for a space, suddenly uncomfortable, as if he had been prying into matters where he didn't belong. Lupin waited, then began to speak again.

"We had the whole thing figured out. We came up with it when James told us about Lily being pregnant with you, and they became engaged. James said he wanted Sirius to be the godfather. We were all drinking a bit, because it was a happy occasion, and we decided to work everything out, 'in case of future complications,' Sirius had said. To make sure we all had a hand in the development of future marauders." Lupin took a breath. "Sirius was your godfather. If Sirius ever had children, I would be their godfather. James had Peter's children, because Peter asked him first, and I...if I had children, Peter would have been their godfather."

"You agreed to that?"

"We didn't know about Peter then. I still thought--he was like a little brother. We thought we were looking out for him, a bit."

"Is that why you never had children?"

"Harry, you are well aware of the reasons. And I wouldn't let Peter keep me from having children if I were able to find a partner and a home. Things change. Do you think I would still name him godfather after all that's happened?"

"I don't know. I don't...I didn't really know anything about him. Sirius. About you. About any of them. And now...now you're all dying. Were you really friends with Peter?"

"Yes. It was different. When James and Sirius were off doing something only the two of them could, there wasn't always room for us, so Peter and I--we were close then. Circumstances. We grow closer to those we are near due to the circumstances of a time. Sometimes it lasts, and sometimes it doesn't mean anything. One morning, Peter and I watched the sunrise together, while Sirius and James were still asleep, at my old house on the lake..."

The evening was in his memory again, and he gave it to Harry, and he wondered, as the old, dead night unwound, if stories told to phoenixes could be born again.