A Deal with God

It doesn't hurt me

You want to feel how it feels?

You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me?

You wanna hear about the deal I'm making?

You, you and me

***

There was something intimidating about the stack of trunks that stood before me on my bedroom floor, but if both Fate and Grace were on my side tonight, the trunks would be out of here as quickly and as smoothly as possible, and me along with them.

In my hand was the parchment on which I'd made an inventory of all my belongings. I mentally went through the list, making certain I'd packed it all: Eleven pairs of pants--four khaki, two blue, three black, two denim; seven sweaters; ten dress shirts; six robes--four casual, one double-layered for the cold, one dress; numerous pairs of assorted briefs and shorts; plenty of socks; six pairs of shoes--two black formal, two brown formal, boots, and Muggle trainers (a gift from Harry that had proved quite comfortable in battle); one wand; two Remembralls; one Sneakoscope; and finally the box of pictures I took from the attic.

I was the last of the Order left here at Grimmauld Place, as all had cleared out almost immediately following the end of the war, which had come only two weeks prior. Voldemort's defeat might have been the cause of much celebration for most of the wizarding world, but for those of us who had fought, who had witnessed the endless battles and the deaths of too many loved ones, it was time finally to mourn and to rest.

For a moment, my heart ceased to beat as I recognized the heavy footsteps traveling down the hall outside my room. Only Harry Potter would stomp about as if he owned the place, which, I reminded myself, he now did. Along with a number of other possessions, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had been bequeathed to Harry in Sirius' will three years ago.

"What are you doing, Remus?" I heard him ask in a frantic voice behind me.

"Packing," I answered softly. I didn't want to turn around, didn't want to look at him, because I knew what I would find. It would be that face, those glistening green eyes, half-parted lips, black hair mussed atop it all. If it had been a particularly hectic day, chances were that he'd now be down to only an undershirt, Quidditch-and-battle-toned muscles struggling against the flimsy cotton, sleeves rolled up over strong, tanned arms. And Merlin only knew what I might do...what I might say....

Bloody hell, I had to get out of there.

"You aren't leaving," he growled. There was nothing pleading in his tone; it was a command.

Instantly, as if my emotions were a match to be stricken at any given moment by Harry, fury flooded over me. Such was the fate I had suffered of late. It was as though my mind had engaged in a violent struggle with itself that might never end. There was a part of me that wanted nothing more than to turn on my heels and bombard Harry with a deluge of kisses, although I had no idea when this feeling had come on or where it had come from, and I was becoming utterly disgusted with myself on account of it. And then, another part of me wanted to shake Harry hard by the shoulders and to tell him he was not, in fact, the king of all he surveyed, no matter how valiantly he had fought in the war or how loudly the crowds in Diagon Alley had cheered for him.

I was beginning to despise both parts of me equally.

"I have to," I whispered, turning finally to face him. He appeared before me just as I'd expected to find him--glistening eyes, parted lips, enticing view of tan and muscle--only the real Harry was donning a furrowed brow. Angry, I thought to myself. As if that were anything new.

"What do you people think I'm made of?" he asked, his voice surprisingly devoid of emotion. With languid steps he entered the room proper, moving toward me. "Everyone's gone--the Weasleys, Hermione, Tonks. Hell, I would've even settled for Snape's company! And now you, Remus?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," I said, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from him. The war between the two halves of my brain seemed to be reaching a fever pitch. What did he think, that this didn't hurt me just as much as it hurt him? Did he honestly want to feel what I was feeling? Because this was torture, sheer and absolute torture. This went far beyond grief, far beyond the restlessness and exhaustion I knew we all were feeling, because coupled with all of that, I was dealing with a terrifying brew of emotions that I had no right whatsoever to feel.

I forced a smile, hoping like hell it would be enough to bring Harry out of his embittered and furious state. "I've got to go, Harry. Will you please help me with these trunks?"

Harry didn't bother glancing at the oppressive pile of luggage to his left. "I most certainly will not," he hissed.

So much for smiling, I thought to myself. "Very well," I sighed, trying my damnedest to maintain composure when all I wanted to do was rant and rail against him and all his arrogant demands. "Then I will take them down by myself."

And with that, I yanked the first enormous trunk off the stack and, sporting something that felt more like a grimace now rather than a smile, dragged it toward the bedroom door.

***

And if I only could

Make a deal with God,

And get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill,

Be running up that building

If I only could...

***

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Harry roared, throwing himself between me and the door.

I don't know if I intended for my trunk to slam to the ground as heavily as it did, but at this point I was finished with tact and civility.

"Just who the hell do you think you are?" I barked. I could feel the wolf rising within; the full moon was only nights away now. Had it been any nearer, instinct might very well have lead me to pouncing, a thought that excited a rather sizeable part of me. "I'm not one of your little army squadrons to command, Harry! I'm Remus! I'm your friend!"

"Some friend," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"C'mon, Harry," I snorted. "This little childish pouting act was endearing the first hundred times, but now it's bordering on downright annoying."

"Fuck you!" Harry hissed, his jaw clenched, casting his gaze downward. "You don't know what it's like, Remus. You don't know how it feels to be abandoned, to be left all on your own in this kind of pain!"

A fleeting thought passed through my mind--sixteen years prior, James and Lily dead, Sirius in Azkaban, Peter gone--but it didn't take long to realize that Harry was too wrapped up in himself for the moment to even consider another human being's experience.

"You're being selfish, Harry," I told him in the most condescending tone I could muster. "Do you really believe you're the only one feeling pain? I hurt, too, Harry! I swear, if I could make a deal with God and get him to swap our places, I'd be running up the road to Heaven as fast as I could!"

Baring teeth, more vehement than I'd ever seen him in all the years I'd known him, Harry lifted one arm to the sky and whispered the words "Be my guest."

***

You don't wanna hurt me,

Let's see how deep the bullet lies

Unaware that I'm tearing you asunder

And there's a thunder in our hearts, baby

***

I couldn't help wincing at his cruel mockery. What would it take to get through to him? I was beginning to no longer care. All I really wanted was to leave, to get away from him before my heart was torn in two by the warring factions of love and anger.

"Tell me, Harry," I said softly, hoping perhaps that indulgence might be the key to communication, "what is it that hurts so much about being on your own?"

His eyes, glazed over with the promise of fresh tears, rose slowly to meet mine. "This house," he said. "I can't be alone here. There are too many memories, too many ghosts."

"Sirius?" I whispered.

Harry winced and nodded slowly. "Others, too. Ron as well, and Neville...but yes, it's mainly Sirius. It's been, what? Almost three years since he died? But everywhere I look in this house, I see him. I'd give anything for him to still be alive, and the fact that I'll never have that...I don't think I can handle that on my own."

"You aren't the only one who misses Sirius," I reminded him.

A bitter smile overtook Harry's face. "Oh, yes," he sighed, turning away from me. "I'm sure you do miss him, don't you?"

I peered perplexedly at the back of his head. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Harry."

Suddenly, Harry spun on his heels and rounded on me. "Oh, don't pretend to be so daft, Remus!" he shouted. "Everybody knows you two were shagging!"

My eyes grew wide with the realization of the words he'd just spoken. "How dare you make a mockery of your godfather!"

"Then you weren't?" he asked sardonically, pursing his lips in an annoyingly melodramatic fashion.

I couldn't help but scoff. "Certainly not! Sorry to burst your bubble, but Sirius Black was the most incurably heterosexual man on the planet! He was my best friend, Harry. That was all. I think that's enough to give me the right to mourn him, don't you?"

My heart thundered for a moment with rage at the words Harry had spoken. Of course there had never been anything between Sirius and me. Where on earth had that notion come from? That wasn't to say I hadn't fancied Sirius in moments of weakness or drunken stupor, moments when it was all too easy to forget that Sirius was in fact completely...oh, bloody hell!

Why was I even thinking of this? Sirius was dead, and Harry...Merlin, but Harry was very much alive, wasn't he? I was only half aware of the fact that I was gawking at him as he sauntered toward me, grinning crookedly. For all his self-assured swagger, I couldn't help but recognize something uncertain about the way he moved.

"And what about you?" he asked in a low voice.

"Pardon?"

He stopped abruptly and took a moment to study me. "You said Sirius was the most incurably heterosexual man on the planet. What about you?"

My hands were shaking visibly, but Harry's eyes were thankfully fixed on my face. "That's none of your business, Harry," I quipped, "and I can't see what it has to do with anything."

Harry's face lit up with a small smile of satisfaction.

"I thought so," he said very matter-of-factly.

"You thought what, exactly?" I snapped. Something about his smug turn of phrase, and the way his face was flushed with rage and a small glint of triumph, was making me feel things I shouldn't have been feeling, making think thoughts I shouldn't have been thinking.

"Well," he sighed, pacing in front of me at a painfully slow pace, "I mean, if you were straight, why would you be so reluctant to answer the question?"

I rolled my eyes and forced an unnecessary guffaw. "You are insufferable!"

"Why?" he hissed, coming to a halt to stare daggers at me. "Because I'm right? Sorry, Remus. You may be able to play your games and hide your hundreds of little secrets from the rest of the world, but I can read you like a book!"

That was it. That was all I could take. I thought of counting to ten, but by the time I'd reached two, it was all I could do to keep from strangling Harry. Instead, I burst through the bedroom door, slamming it behind me, and gripped the banister railing hard, half wanting to throw myself over.

"Fine, then!" I heard Harry shout as his footsteps thundered toward me. "If you're so keen on leaving, just get out! This is my house, remember? So go find somewhere else to do your mourning, since you've obviously got no use for my company!"

Before I realized what I was doing, I pushed hard off the railing and spun on my heels. "You thick-headed, self-absorbed prat!" I growled, rounding on him. Had it really come to this, childish name-calling? I thought nothing of it. "Do you honestly think that's why I'm leaving, because I don't want to be around you?"

"Isn't it?"

I was terrified of what I might say in response. What purpose did cluelessness serve in possessing Harry on a regular basis? Where was his intuition? Where was the innate ability to pick up on subtleties? Did he not possess such qualities?

I supposed it didn't matter, really, because the heart I wanted so desperately to remain hidden had already taken a flying leap onto my sleeve.

"It's the very opposite," I said to him, wrenching my eyes shut against any response. Why did Gryffindor bravery so often translate into stupidity? Because that's what this was, stupid. Plain and simple. Stupid.

"I know I shouldn't be saying this," I continued, "but it's the truth, and I owe that to you, I think. I'm...I love you, Harry, more than I should and not in the way that I should. And if I stayed here, half of me believes I'd only be staying for my own selfish reasons and not because I thought you needed me. I can't--"

"Remus," he interrupted, his voice only a breath above a whisper.

I opened my eyes and met his somber gaze. "What is it?"

"Don't go," he said, this time with obvious pleading. "I don't care what your reasons are. I do need you!"

I shook my head slowly. "I'm sorry," I whispered, half embarrassed. I needed to get away, needed to get out of here. Now. I turned to go, hoping to God that Harry would let me make the swift departure I was longing for.

He did not.

***

So much hate for the ones we love

Tell me, we both matter, don't we?

You, you and me

You and me won't be unhappy

***

"Remus...." He called out my name like a long-unspoken prayer. The hand that clutched my shoulder was tight, forceful, wholly contrary to the fragility of his voice when he spoke.

"What is it, Harry?"

When Harry didn't reply, I turned to look at him over my shoulder. The clutching fingers pulled me the rest of the way around, then slid down the length of my arm until they intertwined with my own fingers. There were tears on his face, tears I would have given anything to kiss away, if only I'd had the right to do something so bold.

"So much hate," I muttered, not knowing, really, what I was saying. "Please don't hate me, Harry."

His glittering eyes scanned the length of my body, taking their time to warm every cell with their raw and burning emotion.

"I could never," he whispered, shaking his head. He lifted his free hand to my cheek, using the pad of his thumb to trace the line of my jaw, my brow, and then finally my lips before the hand swept lower to rest against my chest. Time seemed to have come to a standstill as he lifted his face toward mine, as his eyelids fluttered shut.

His mouth was soft and pliant against mine. I yielded to the kiss only for a moment, then pulled away gently. "Please don't do this out of pity," I whispered, letting my eyes shut. "Don't do this just to keep me here."

"Don't be foolish, Remus," he said, this time without any hint of condescension. His breath was sweet-smelling...butterbeer, probably. "I'm not doing this out of pity. I'm doing it out of love. I want this, Remus."

His lips brushed mine again, teasingly. I couldn't hold back a soft moan.

"I love you, Remus. I love you so much. And I want to be happy. I don't want this pain. I don't to be angry. I don't want it to hurt anymore."

"Hush, Harry," I whispered, pulling him tightly to me. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and clung to me as if the world would unravel by a thread were he to let go. "It doesn't have to hurt anymore, Harry. It doesn't have to."

***

C'mon, baby, c'mon darling,

Let me steal this moment from you now

C'mon, angel, c'mon, c'mon, darling,

Let's exchange the experience

***

"Remus...Remus...."

My eyelids fluttered at the sound of my name. For a moment, I wasn't sure where I was, until I felt a tender warmth was moving up and down the length of my arm--Harry's fingers. I smiled into my pillow and sighed, then rolled over to face him.

"Mmm...what is it, love?"

Even in the darkened bedroom, I could tell that there was something slightly apologetic about his expression. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't have woken you. It's not even morning yet. I just...I wanted you to be with me."

"Silly boy," I whispered, laughing as I shook my head. I planted a reassuring kiss on the top of his head. "I'm right here."

Harry's eyes, shimmering as his face moved out of the shadows and into the light, peered pleadingly into mine. "But for how long?"

"As long as you'll have me," I whispered.

"How about forever?"

I sighed and let my eyes drift shut. "Forever's a long time, Harry."

"I know," he whispered. His lips rested against mine for a moment in something that was more of a caress than an actual kiss but was nevertheless just as sustaining and pleasurable as any kiss could have been. "And I want you around for a long time."

I smiled against his cheek and then kissed it. "'Forever' it is, then."

"Does that mean you aren't leaving?"

I shook my head. "No," I sighed. "I am not leaving."

Harry released my hand and wrapped his arm around my waist, pressing his warm body flush against mine. Merlin, I'd meant what I'd said. I never wanted to leave this bed, not as long as Harry was here. This was enough, this closeness, this complete connection to another human being. It wasn't wrong. It wasn't anything to be ashamed of. How could I have ever thought otherwise? It seemed a crime to never have realized how deeply I loved him.

"You're staying," I heard him breathe in my ear as I was nodding off. It wasn't a question, just the mere statement of a fact that seemed to comfort Harry just as much as it comforted me. He sighed and kissed the side of my face so tenderly I thought I might melt into him.

"Oh, yes," I whispered. "Forever."

***

And if I only could

Make a deal with God,

And get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,

Be running up that hill

With no problems.

***

FIN