Scant Comfort

Scant Comfort

I still can't believe you're gone, Sirius. After so long wanting to be with you, those few months we had together are my most precious memories. It's enough to destroy what little faith I had left in a higher power, to be given such happiness and then to have it ripped away. In my nightmares I still see you falling, still see the darkness swallow you. I miss you so much, Sirius. I know you'll never read this, but I need to tell you anyway. I need to confess.

I didn't mean to betray you, love.

It all started innocently, as most things do. Last Christmas, when Arthur was in hospital and we went to visit him, I met someone on the ward. As soon as I walked in I was aware of him; I didn't need Arthur to tell us all in whispers what had happened to him. He was a newly-made werewolf and he was all alone, watching us with a terrible hunger. He was lonely Sirius, as lonely as I had been.

I went over to speak to him and we spoke lightly, of this and that. His name is Merrick Bleiddwn and he is Welsh - from Brecon, actually, I think quite close to where we went hiking with James that summer. He was afraid and angry, for when he was attacked his friends had left him for dead, and now refused to acknowledge that he was alive.

You would like him, though he is little like us. He is strange in that he wears his emotions for all to see. Every thought, every feeling can be read in his face, and he will tell his innermost fears and dreams to anyone he meets. I cannot understand it, even now, but it is just part of who he is and nothing can change it. He is young, only mid-twenties, though sometimes he seems still a child. He has not lived through what we lived through and so he still has some innocence - although the curse has killed much of that. There is no bitterness in him, despite the unfairness of his situation, and he is kind and sweet. He has none of your fire, love, but he is steady and the very epitome of a 'nice guy'.

I went back the next day with some of my books, ones which I hoped would help him understand what had happened. I am always at a loss with my own kind, but he had no-one to turn to, no-one to ask for help. At least in my youth I had my family, and then you and Prongs; this poor boy is alone in the world. I answered all that I could of his questions and then left, but not before giving him my address that he might owl me. I have drunk too deep of the cup of loneliness to be willing to pass it to another.

I forgot all about him in the New Year, my head and heart being filled with you and only you.

But then you left me.

You promised me, Sirius, you swore that I would not have to be alone again. The pain broke me, shattered me into mere pieces of a man, unable to do anything but grieve. I never told them about you and I, so it took some time for them to notice how badly affected I was. They sent my away from your house and its darkness, sent me back to my own ramshackle home, to mourn you in silence and stillness.

I have been lonely too often in my life, Sirius, but this was the worst yet. Worse than when I first lost you and James and Wormtail, for now I had lost my best friends and my true love, and I knew I'd never find anyone else like you. Most days I couldn't even get out of bed, and I hated myself for such weaknesses, but oh, God, I just wanted you back. I swung from cold numbness to agonising loss and cried as I've never cried before. I thought, once or twice, of trying to join you, but that is true cowardice and I am not that wilfully selfish.

It wasn't until the autumn that I noticed the mound of letters, mostly from the Order, but also one from Harry. He is nearly as shattered as I am, though he has youth on his side to give him hope, and he wrote to me, asking about you. I am the only Marauder left, you see, and I am the only one with the answers to his questions about you and James. I will answer him, but at the time I couldn't bear to drag up the memories, and so I left the letter alone.

This will surprise you Sirius, but Snape wrote to me as well. A brief note, with just a few words scribbled in harsh, jagged lettering: I am sorry for your pain. James' death could not dispel his bitterness, but perhaps yours will.

I would prefer the bitterness and your life, but it is not my choice.

Amidst all those letters of sympathy that I could not stand, was one, short message in unfamiliar handwriting.

Annwyl Remus,

I will understand if you don't respond, but please, I need someone, I need somewhere to be. I can't bear it anymore.

Merrick.

Hastily written and hard to read, I recognised a pain in it not too far from my own. He knew nothing of you, nothing of what had happened. I responded and told him he could come and stay with me.

They had stoned him out of the village, Sirius. Can you believe such Medieval cruelty? He couldn't hide what he was and they tried to destroy him. I couldn't turn him away. He needed a friend, needed just to have someone who wouldn't despise him. He had always been popular, if not a leader, and he couldn't accept that now he was a monster. So, in our loneliness, we turned to each other, grasping for a light in the shadows.

You can guess what followed, can't you? Perhaps it will help you to understand if I told you that for months we were just friends, that for months I was too wrapped up in my grief for you to notice how close I had become to him. I told him everything in the end, and it was a relief to share it, to hear my dearest secret spoken aloud. It meant little to him of course, he only knew your name from the papers but was happy to believe that you were innocent. It is amazing, how he cares so much for such little things and is so indifferent to everything else. The Order means nothing to him; he does not want to have anything to do with it. He means to spend this war inside, alone, far from any choices or battles. I call this cowardice and see pain in his face, but it is his way.

It will never be mine, Sirius. I will keep on fighting, for you.

But, as I was saying, he was there, quiet and caring, making food for me and ensuring that I ate, reminding me about the Wolfsbane potion, and a million other tiny details that kept me going. All that time I remained oblivious to the light in his eyes, the touch of his skin. I lived in a grey world, haunted by your absence.

I never thought about it before, but living with another werewolf has its advantages. We understand each other and as we always take the potion, we can run together during our changes, the way that I used to run with you.

He is not handsome, not like you, but he makes a fine wolf, strong and athletic, much more solid than my own, fragile form. As a man he is fairly tall and fairly slender, with deep chocolate brown hair and eyes, with the familiar golden tint. His nose is broken and he is scarred over his right eye, from a rugby match in his youth. That will mean little to you, but it is a Muggle sport which involves considerable violence. He grew up in a small wizarding village that had close links to a larger Muggle settlement nearby, so he although he is pureblood, he is scathing of those who dismiss Muggle-borns.

I don't know why I am telling you this, but I want you to know him. I want you to understand.

It was three a.m. in the morning, the hour of the wolf and the loneliest part of the night. You told me about it once, told me how, in the depth of the darkness, all your demons flock around you and you'd give anything, anything to make them go away. I was swamped by demons and in my misery I let a soft voice and warm arms into my bed, that I would not be alone.

He cares for me Sirius, and he is undemanding with me. There is no passion between us, but I rest in his arms and for a few moments I can forget my pain.

I cannot forget you.

I will not let him call me Moony, for that name belonged only to you and James - never truly to that scum, Wormtail - so he calls me Cariad, and he says it in a voice that promises I will not be left again. His own nickname is Gwyl - short for Gwylligi. The story is unimportant, but the name is. The Gwylligi is the Dog of Doom, the Welsh version of the Grim.

The irony is not lost on me, Padfoot.

We both had many lovers in our past, Sirius, and none touched my love for you. I do not love this gentle boy and he knows it. He looks at me and smiles, telling me that it is fine, that he does not love me either, but that if we can find comfort in each other, why worry about it? I know he is telling me the truth but I still feel this guilt, still feel as I am betraying you, and in a way betraying him, for I am only using him as a shield against the darkness.

I will return to the Order and my work soon, but he will remain here. I imagine that he will remain here for the whole of the war, and if fate permits, will remain here for all of my days. He is scant comfort compared to the weight of my grief for you, but he is all I have and I cling to him in the storm of my pain.

I didn't want this, Sirius. I wanted to build a home with you and live the latter half of my life safe with the one I love.

But I cannot bear to be lonely again.

Forgive me, love. I miss you.