Of Breath And Bone

Part III: Awakenings and Realisations

Sirius had barely been awake long enough to move himself into a seated position and form a sarcastic response to Harry's worried expression before his godson had strode across the room and pulled him into his arms. After a moment, he realised Harry was crying, and tightened the hold he had around his godson. Questions swirled through his mind: how long had it been since the battle, how long had he been unconscious, and the one that he didn't want to think about.

What had happened to Remus?

The questions only ceased their manic run through his mind when Harry pulled away from him. He studied him for a moment before he said, "Sirius, I thought you were going to die. Forget that! There were moments where I thought you already were. You *looked* dead, lying there."

"I couldn't do that to you, Harry."

"Oh no? It looked pretty convincing for a while, and with the situation with..." Harry stopped, then muttered, "Never mind."

"What, Harry? I know you feel the need to protect people -- me -- from what you think will cause them pain, but I need for you to *not* do that now. What's going on?"

"It's Remus, Sirius."

He tried not to let it show how much he froze, hearing that. Memories of what happened during that battle flooded his mind: hearing Remus call after him when he didn't show up right away, worried for his safety; seeing him charge Peter to protect him; the burning that tore through him when the silver claw had broken through the skin. Then, when his mind sought after the constant presence that had been there since he was fifteen, he found only a terrifying empty space that reminded him so much of that period right before James and Lily died, and Azkaban afterwards. He struggled to swallow enough to ask a question of his godson.

"He's dead, isn't he? The silver..."

"He appears to be alive, based upon what they've shown me, but other than that, I don't know, Sirius! They're not really telling me anything. Then again," Harry sounded resentful, "they didn't tell me anything about you and when you'd regain consciousness, either, and it was starting to look like you wouldn't."

"How long has it been?"

"A week."

A week. A week with no word on either him or Remus, with all the people who had died. No wonder he had been so worried. Sirius moved over on the bed, and Harry crawled on the bed beside him. He rested his head on Sirius' lap, and Sirius ran his hands through his godson's hair. He wished that he knew more the right things to say, instead of what struck him to be most ridiculous and would lighten the tension. That was always his talent, that and his bravado.

"Harry? When did you sleep last?"

"Really sleep, you mean?" Harry asked, looking up at him. It appeared that the shock of having him awake and talking to him was starting to wear off a bit.

"Yes."

"It's been over a week. I don't remember. It was before the battle at Hogwarts. What are they going to do now, with Dumbledore gone? How did they kill him? I thought it was impossible to kill him."

"It's not easy. He bound himself to the castle and its protection when he became Headmaster. Not all of them do, but he did. He thought it necessary. It's in some book, some history book about Hogwarts somewhere."

"I'll have to ask Hermione. It was probably in 'Hogwarts, A History', and she had it memorised before we even started. By Merlin, it seems impossible that we were so young once."

"Maybe war does that. Maybe it steals the innocence that was once so prevalent in us. Sometimes I found myself clinging to all that I held the most dear, and other times, I was shoving it away as far as I could from myself."

"Yeah."

Silence settled between them then, as he and Harry got lost in thought. Finally, Sirius could feel Harry's curious eyes on him for long moments, and out of irritation, commented, "You know, Harry, I can only read one person's mind, and not all the time. And it's not you, Harry."

"What?"

"Don't think I can't feel you thinking at me, Harry. I can, but that doesn't mean I know what you want to know, so you might as well come out and ask me."

"But..."

"Remember what I told you earlier."

"Why did you suspect Remus of being the spy?" Harry blurted out.

Sirius stared at Harry for a moment, who was cringing under the weight of the question he had just asked. The grief and the worry all crashed down on him under that question, and with a low growl, he closed his eyes. Memories of his and Remus' younger years flashed before his eyes, followed by that painful period that Harry wanted to know about, the years in Azkaban where the worst times of his life mixed with the knowledge of his innocence and the need for vengeance. Then there was the healing times, the times that even in the midst of a growing war, they found time to be with each other. In love, in comfort, in everything good that had existed between them since the beginning of their friendship.

Then there was the final battle, where they had lost so much, and where Remus might still be lost. He shook his head, diverting his mind from that line of thought and opening his eyes to look into the worried face of his godson, "Harry, I might love you, but *gods* you have the worst timing."

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but when you started talking about shoving things away, I started wondering for what must have been the thousandth time what could have caused that. You love each other *so* much; even I can see that. So I didn't understand and I never had the opportunity to ask."

"You want to know this?"

"I do."

"Then know to never fall silent from your friends, or your lovers. Silence breeds doubt and fear. It *murders* trust, Harry. The love might remain, but the trust is never quite the same again. *That* is what happened between Remus and myself. We fell silent between each other at the same time the link between us did, as though the link was the only thing that kept us talking to each other, despite knowing and being friends with each other for *years* before the link even started developing.

"We started wondering about each other and grew distant. We didn't trust each other as much anymore. The love remained, but the trust was faltering. Then your parents were murdered, and I went to kill who I knew to be responsible, and all Remus knew was what he had heard. I knew at the end, but it was nearly 13 years before I could let Remus know. The only reason it didn't kill me was because I knew I had to let him know before I died. And I had to kill that dirty rat."

"And you did."

"But at what cost? And what did it take to get me to kill him?"

"The fact is you killed him," Harry reminded him firmly, then a smile touched his lips. "Although, that reminds me of something."

"What's that?"

"This Muggle film..."

"Oh!" Sirius found that he could still grin as the memory struck him. A smirk crossed his face as he leaned in and murmured in a bad imitation of the actor, "'You dirty rat. You killed my brother.'"

Harry snickered and leaned against him.

"How'd you find out about that, anyway?"

"Before they died, Hermione convinced her parents to give Ron and me a crash course in Muggle culture. Although I doubt they knew they were doing that at the time. I miss them, although nowhere near as much as she does. I didn't know them for very long when..."

Sirius nodded, and sighed, "There's not a lot of comfort that can be given over that, for you or her either. And really, Harry, I'm not sure I would call *that* culture..."

"I'm not sure I would either, but it certainly had Ron entranced."

They had been sitting in companionable silence for a few moments when the door flew open and a group of mediwizards were standing there along with Ron and Hermione. They all looked amazed that he was awake, and that was when Sirius remembered that he had apparently been unconscious for a week before he had awakened today. For no apparent reason. He groaned as Harry slid off the edge of the bed where he had been sitting for the last several moments.

"Mr. Potter, you could have let us know that he was awake."

"I was rather shocked myself," Harry told the young mediwizard. "It took me a few moments. Besides, isn't that sort of information you're supposed to know about beforehand?"

"Another patient had been maintaining our attention."

"Remus?" Sirius ignored the swarm of wizards, running all sort of medical charms and spells over him to make certain that he was really as fine as he seemed to be. He swatted them away, "I'm fine, I'm fine. I just rested for a while. I need to know how Remus is!"

"Mr. Lupin is still unconscious, Mr. Black, and we have no real information as to how he's doing," the young man spoke, and Sirius' heart cringed at the unspoken but equally loud 'we don't even know why he's alive at this point'.

Sirius closed his eyes and tried to keep his impatience, worry, and temper in check. When he was fairly certain of his calm, he looked back at the mediwizard as his assistants fled the room. Slowly rising, he crossed the room, looked the wizard in the eye, and asked, "May I see his chart for a moment? I might be able to give a more knowledgable opinion, having lived around the man for most of his life, than your charms and spells can."

The wizard in front of him looked insulted, but passed the chart to Sirius. He skimmed through the information that he already knew, to look at the readings on his health. First the regular vitals seemed normal, and even his brain was active, which left Sirius frustrated. He knew his bondmate was at home, then, so why couldn't he reach him?

Then he reached the lycanthrophy readings, and he found himself puzzled as he looked at the readings that seemed to flicker upwards and then down even while he watched them. They seemed to be on a more downward appearance than the checks he had had done before the last several full moons. He frowned, shook his head, and handed the chart back.

"Just a bit of wishful thinking on the part of an old man," Sirius told him with a wistful smile on his face. "Or even a not-so-old one."

"Thank you, sir. You can go as soon as you feel ready to leave. The clothing you were wearing, if you wish to put it back on, is in the top drawer of the table beside your bed."

"I have a request to make of you, though."

"And that would be, Mr. Black?"

"Where is Remus Lupin's room? I'd like to sit with him for a while."

Sirius let his eyes pin the man frozen to the spot. He could almost hear Remus laughing; he had told him that he'd done that so many times to so many people that he had lost count over the years. It was true that he could have the most intense eyes when he so chose. And in this moment, when he depended upon the mediwizard in front of him for information, he so chose.

"Not a problem. He's just around the corner, second door to the left. Room number A45."

Sirius graced the man with a smile, "Thank you."

After the man left, he turned and made his way back to the bed.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Sirius?"

"Yeah, I mean, he's just going to be lying there..."

Harry and Hermione turned as one to glance at Ron, who quieted almost immediately. Sirius smiled; he had known about the blow that he had been dealt, so it was nice to hear that he was feeling a little more normal. He spared a glance at Ron and Hermione, and shook away the suggestion that had occurred to him. Even if it was true, he'd have more time to contemplate it later, when both he and Remus were out of the hospital, and they were all were on their way to reclaiming their normal lives.

"Sirius..." Harry called to him, his tone noticably flat. "Those are some things that I picked up for you from your and Remus' flat. I had those other robes burned."

"Why?"

"They were unwearable, basically. They looked worse than those other robes you burned when you were cleared."

"Unless you want to show your arse to the world," Ron piped in.

Sirius snickered, "As tempting as that might be, for the moment, I think not."

"Why are you going to sit by his side?"

"Maybe, Hermione, my presence will help," he told her as he pulled the clothes out of the drawer. "I can always hope. I have to help in any way I can, and since I haven't been able to crawl inside his head--" he saw them all cringe at his use of terminology "--I honestly don't know how else I can help other than to sit at his side and talk to him."

//You always did like when I talked to you, lover,// he thought to himself with some dim hope that whereever Remus was, he'd be able to hear him.

"You three could head out and get some sleep. I know you probably haven't had much since..."

"I just wanted to drop in and see you before we flew out," Hermione told him, crossing the room and gracing him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad to see you awake, Sirius."

"Me too," he admitted. "And Harry?"

"Yes, Sirius?"

"No flying out. You're too tired to keep control of the Firebolt."

"But..." Harry started, blinked, then grinned and told him, "Yes, Dad."

Sirius watched him in shock for a moment, then they were gone as swiftly as though they had actually Apparated out of his room. He sighed and smiled all at once at Harry calling him 'Dad'. He would definitely be no James Potter, but he had always been glad to have been one of the acting guardians. The other was the focal point of his worry at the moment, and he hurried in getting dressed.

Finally, he was able to swing the dark cloak around his shoulders and look at the room he was leaving behind, knowing that he wouldn't miss it. He strode out of the room, and made his way in the direction the young mediwizard had directed him. He had not been out of the room for more than five minutes before the sound of someone behind him caught his attention. He turned in time to see Dariele Sanchez racing down the hall and throwing herself into his arms.

"Whoa! Hi, Dariele..."

"Sirius, you git, I thought you were dead!"

"I don't think so," he told her, looking down at the top of her head. For that, he got hit.

"And here I thought you were going to keep your promise after all, and haunt Hope and I after you passed."

"I might still. So she's okay?"

"Yeah," she sighed, hugging him tight. "Do you know she ended up having the time of her life during that battle, throwing curses at Lucius Malfoy and cackling because he was trying to get to her and couldn't?"

"I don't know about having the time of her life, but I believe the rest of it. She *is* your Ravenclaw, after all."

"Indeed. Going to see Remus, I assume."

"I have to," Sirius said, all the fear he was feeling seeping through his voice. "Dari, what if he...?"

"He won't. Because he's Remus, he's stubborn, and he wouldn't do that to you. Come on, you daft git, and I'll sit with you for a while."

"You won't let that rest, will you," Sirius said, trying to relax into the old teasing and experiencing some measure of success. "And if you don't mind, Dari, I need to do this alone. I want it to be just me and him."

She looked at him for a moment, and hugged him tight again, "All right, Sirius. I just came to check on you, really, and him. If he wakes up, kiss me for him."

"You are Dariele, right, and not Hope?"

She laughed, and pulled away, leaving him alone and without an answer. He sighed and made his way to the room.

He opened the door enough to allow him entrance and slipped into the room. He stared at the unmoving body of his friend and bondmate for long moments before crossing the room to him. Sirius let out a low sigh before crossing to his bedside, and running a hand across the palm of his hand.

He let out a sigh, and pulled the hand between both of his and laid it against his cheek, "Gods, love, you're so cold. You've never been cold in the entire time I've known you. You always ran hot. Hot and wild and mischievous and gods, you were everything. Everything but cold. I have to warm you."

There was no answer to his call, and Sirius closed his eyes, seeking out Remus with his mind. He got further, but only hit a brick wall, and nearly whimpered as his eyes flew open.

"What's going on with you love? Why won't you let me in? Why won't you let me help you the only way I know *how*?"

Silence reigned as he sat there, and the old fear from the last time there had been silence between them seeped in. He sat and thought for a long time about the variety of experiences their relationship had taken them through. Then his mind sat and rested on the readings on the chart that he had been reading, and now that he had the time to contemplate it, he did. It was almost as though he was on the Wolfsbane potion, but it wasn't yet time for the potion to be administered, and the only person they knew who could *make* the potion was dead.

He gave a wry smile, //Turns out Snape *did* turn out to have a use, after all. Too bad he's gone now, or I think I'd tell him thanks.//

Then again, those readings weren't exactly the same as Wolfsbane. At least, the notations at the side of the chart had said that there was a different signature than Wolfsbane, but that his exposure to the Wolfsbane potion might possibly be effecting what was going on with him. Several moments later, a thought occurred to him, and he looked at his comatose love and murmured a question in surprise.

"Gods, love, is it possible? Is it possible that your exposure to Wolfsbane actually is allowing your body to cure the lycanthropy, after all these years?"