Man's Best Friend

Man's Best Friend

"Please, Sirius."

The words were spoken softly, yet resounded through the room. Sirius stared at Remus, hating the suffering on his face, and reached out to brush the hair from his eyes. His hand froze, trembling, mere inches from his once-lover's skin but as good as thousand miles away.

"I - I can't," Sirius said brokenly, rising from the bed and retreating to the other end of the room. Remus closed his eyes but the tears fell away and Sirius bolted through the door, unable to stand his pain. He exhaled raggedly in the corridor and slumped to his knees.

It had been almost a year since his escape from Azkaban and reconciliation with Remus, yet since their first, chaste embrace in the Shack he had been unable to even touch him. He wanted to, so badly, yet whenever Remus reached out to him the touch burned and he twisted away. Remus had tried to be understanding, tried to give him time, but after so long he was desperate - not so much the lust, but with the need to prove that Sirius was here, that he was real. He was desperate simply to connect to the man he loved but Sirius still could not bear it.

He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he could untangle his mind so easily. He still loved Remus, but after so many years with the Dementors he barely recognised the feeling. All his love and joy had been taken, leaving only his vengeance, his guilt and his shame. He had worried so much for Remus, left all alone; he had cursed himself for rushing off after Peter before even telling his lover what had happened. To be with Remus brought a flood of emotion too strong for him to cope with, and some twisted part of his psyche was bringing this forth as an inability to bear Remus' touch.

He leant back against the wall and heard the faint sounds of someone trying to hide the fact that their heart is breaking. Fresh guilt was now added, for the misery he was causing Remus in his continued rejection of every loving gesture. But how to get round this - how to sort out the mangled remains of his heart?

Sirius sighed. It was all so much easier as Padfoot, for the dog had no sense of shame or guilt. Dogs see the world devoid of colour, as shades of grey; likewise Padfoot only knew emotions as shades of that-which-is-pleasant and that-which-is-painful. While Sirius and Padfoot were one, the dog mind could not hold the complexities of the human mentality, and so Padfoot saw the world in a very different way to the man, while retaining his consciousness and self. It was a much simpler world, with a much clearer sense of how to behave. Sirius straightened suddenly as an epiphany took hold; there was a surge of magic and the great black dog padded back into the room and over to the bed.

Padfoot sniffed at the weeping figure, recognising the scent. He had no names as Sirius used them; he recognised Remus as an individual with associating a sound with him. Yet the Remus-scent prompted a range of feelings and impressions: love-mate-wolf-warmth-safe-joy and a range of other concepts that were vague promptings to Padfoot's mind. The dog leaped onto the bed and sniffed Remus' face more closely, the canine mind searching for the concept that best fit and finally settling on Home. Yes, Padfoot understood Home and would always search for it, no matter how far he was taken from it. It had only been Sirius' need for vengeance that had driven the hound from finding the path to Home.

Padfoot also understood human tears as an expression of pain and so felt pain himself. To the dog, it was wrong for his mate to feel such pain and Padfoot whined to attract his attention. There was a gasp as Remus opened his eyes and was met with Padfoot's nose, but he quickly sat up and regarded the dog thoughtfully. Padfoot, unencumbered with Sirius' emotional baggage, still smelt misery and so pushed his head against Remus' chest in the way of all canine comfort. Stroke me and all will be well was the only therapy Padfoot understood and so he butted Remus, whining again to make his point.

Hesitantly, Remus raised his hand to silky black fur and lightly ran his fingers through the thick pelt. Padfoot thumped his tail in encouragement; tongue running out as he grinned happily. Remus shifted closer, resting his head against the scruff of Padfoot's neck and using his free hand to scratch behind one pricked ear, which caused the tail wagging to double in intensity. Padfoot was dimly aware of more tears soaking into his fur, but his nose told him that his Home was near-ecstatic and so he ignored it.

A while later, Padfoot yawned and threw himself down on the bed, Remus still running his fingers through his fur. Remus lay next to the huge dog and curled himself around Padfoot's body, now resting his face against Padfoot's cheek. His fingers remained twisted in dark fur as his breathing slowed and the exhausted werewolf fell into sleep.

In the morning, Remus woke to still-twisted fingers - but a noticeable absence of fur.

Sometimes a dog really is a man's best friend.