Stormy Weather

Stormy Weather

Dusk.

A soft wind carrying the rich scent of blooming roses was blowing in his greying hair as he watched the sun go down on yet another mid-summer day.

Remus raised his eyes and sighed. The teenage boy famous throughout the Wizarding World was in the air, soaring through the sky on his broomstick.

When Harry had taken up flying again so soon after Sirius' death, Remus had at first thought this was a good sign. Sure, Harry was still grieving, but flying had always been his way to escape reality, fame and everyday life. It was his way to be happy, his way to feel.

However, Remus had been shocked to realise that Harry had begun to fly only so he could escape him; escape the never-talking, never-sleeping werewolf that he had become.

When the boy was in the air, he didn't have to stand the sight of a man who only reminded him of whom he had lost. The burning fire that glowed in his eyes turned to ash whenever they met Remus' own.

Suddenly, Remus noticed that the wind wasn't so soft anymore. A sharp breeze was bringing dark clouds from the north. His werewolf instincts told him that a storm wasn't far off. He remembered that Harry had played an awful Quidditch match in the rain, back when Remus was teaching at Hogwarts. Harry had even produced his first Patronus on that day, when Lucius Malfoy's son had tried to trick him with a Dementor disguise. Remus had learned months later that Sirius had also been there, as Padfoot.

Remus shivered and looked up again. Rain was definitely coming, so he had to get Harry inside. He tightened his robes around him and walked towards the garden, his eyes set on Harry.

Harry was going through fairly complicated Quidditch moves and spectacular dives - he flew fast, effortlessly, eagle-like, with a look of intense concentration on his face, oblivious to Remus' scrutinising wolf-eyes for just a moment.

"So different from James, yet so alike," he mused out loud.

Harry had refused to go to the Burrow when asked by the Weasleys, afraid that his presence would only put them in danger. So Remus had taken in him on Dumbledore's request. The old headmaster felt that the boy needed a break from his Muggle relatives.

Remus would never forget the raw pain he felt when he first saw the blank, haunted look of Harry's eyes. "Such a terrifying stare on his young face," thought Remus. A stare that, sadly, matched his own. The boy was a ghost of his former self, an empty shell. Remus often wished he could have refused Albus' request; he had tried, pathetically, implying that he planned to curl up on his bed and lick his wounds until he was so tired that he would drift into sleep, uneasy, blissful and eternal.

But he couldn't fail Harry; not when everybody else had. So he took him in.

Remus had learnt to conceal his ever-growing pain during those dreadful years when Sirius was away in Azkaban, grieving alone over the loss of James and Lily and Peter, and over Sirius' apparent betrayal. Time helped, and Remus had become used to his new life as a lone wolf, refusing to associate with anybody so as not to expose himself to even more pain.

He still couldn't believe that he had spent almost twelve years hidden from the rest of the world, Wizarding and Muggle, studying Defence so he take sinful revenge on Sirius when the chance came. He had not told anyone about that.

The only people he had agreed to meet during those years were members of the Hogwarts staff. In fact, he had only gone to Hogwarts to see Severus Snape, who back then had been working on a potion to lessen the 'crisis' werewolves go through every time the full moon shines high in the sky.

As he had no income and his savings were almost reduced to scratch, he had agreed to be Snape's testing subject. When the Wolfsbane potion proved itself as effective as the Potion Master could get it to be, Remus had wondered why he should keep coming.

But he did, out of habit, and had never stopped coming for his bi-annual visit.

Coming to Hogwarts was hard, a real trial. As a child, he would never have believed that the place he loved so dearly, and even called home, would someday become such a painful sight. Every single room was full of fading memories and hushed laughs, and the whole castle wrenched his heart.

First, there was Hogsmeade. Every time he Apparated there he couldn't stop himself looking up at the Shrieking Shack, standing high on the hill, beaten by the weather and the years, but never really different.

In his mind's eye, he could still see the dusty rooms inside; the upstairs bedroom where he used to chain himself to the bed, so that he wouldn't bite himself during his transformations. Sirius had always joked about that, saying that if Remus was to bring any girl here, the chains and manacles could have a rather kinky use. The joke had become more and more below the waist as Sirius and his hormones grew up.

Remus chuckled half-heartedly as he remembered a very naughty one.

He had often wondered if the names of the four Marauders were still carved in the wood of the third stair. He cursed himself for not showing the carving to Harry the night Sirius came back.

Remus knew the school grounds by heart, Forbidden Forest included. However, the hardest sight to withstand was not the Whomping Willow, nor anything to do with their roaming the grounds at night. No, what never failed to break his heart a bit more was the old beech tree near the lake, under which the four boys would sit in the sun, friends for the whole world to see.

The tree had grown since the time James was sitting with his back to the trunk, playing with that damned snitch he had stolen from his latest game. He suddenly remembered a warm June afternoon when James had been showing off shirtless, trying with all his might to impress his new love-interest, a bitchy, red-haired beauty called Lily.

Meanwhile, Peter had been standing on the banks of the lake, throwing rocks at the giant squid, taunting it while it sunbathed peacefully under the warm spring sun. It had finally grown angry and splashed the plump blond boy with a nasty looking tentacle. Peter had let out a girly shriek that had woken Sirius, who was dozing on the grass. Their black-haired friend had jumped to his feet saying 'Where's the damsel in distress?', ready to play knight in shining armour and save her.

This particular sentence had sent Remus into fits of laughter that had lasted for over twenty minutes, and that had only grown louder as Sirius became even more cross with him than with Peter for disturbing his 'beauty-sleep'

James had been oblivious, too busy watching Lily and her friends enchanting a paper-plane and flying it around, giggling, their cheeks pink from the rush of the magic.

Walking the Hogwarts corridors and entering the classrooms was even worse. Every single stone in the walls held a cherished memory of happier times.

The werewolf had confided a little to Albus during their afternoon tea and scones that took place twice a year in the headmaster's office. He told Albus about his personal studies and knowledge of Defence Against the Dark Arts, but always kept the original motivation for his research secret.

One thing had led to another, and Albus had begun offering him the DADA position every summer. He must have anticipated his former student's refusal each year, but never forgot to ask.

Therefore, it had been very much a surprise for the ageless wizard when Remus had accepted the position after twelve years, in Harry's third year at school, despite his worry about his lycanthropy and the reaction it might cause among the staff and students. He never doubted that the headmaster knew his sudden acceptance was linked to Sirius being on the run and after his godson.

Remus had wanted to kill the bastard before he made his move on the last Potter alive.

'He's already got James,' Remus recalled himself thinking. 'He won't get Harry'.

Then he had met Harry, a worried and too thin boy who had his father's smile and his mother's eyes.

James and Lily were no longer only a memory, as so much of what they had been showed up in their son. Remus' apprehension soon developed into a genuine fatherly liking of the boy.

Those long evenings when he taught Harry how to repel Dementors with the Patronus Charm had been reminiscent of his old days. He had found out that he genuinely liked being a teacher and had watched Harry during the school year. Back then, Harry had been a child, very much alive and distressed, yearning for the love of his dead parents.

Then Sirius happened.

He had finally got the chance of which he had dreamt, the chance to confront Sirius on that dreadful night in the Shack. What had once been pure love for the man was burning hatred on that day. But then everything had been clear.

Sirius was innocent and Remus had felt whole again.

All these years of loneliness were a very low price to pay to have his friend back. No longer authorised to teach, Remus had become involved in the secret search for Wormtail in order to prove Sirius' innocence. But the rat had been, and still was, well hidden by his master and Sirius had been forced to be away again.

They had met a few times over the next year; Sirius stayed with Remus every chance he got. They were uneasy around each other. Unable to touch, they basked in each other's presence all the same.

Besides, they spent a lot of time arguing about that damn hippogriff, which couldn't stand Remus. 'Must be the wolf smell,' Sirius had told him.

When Sirius had come back to Grimmauld Place the summer before, he had asked Remus to move in with him, unable to bear the silence, the memories and the guilt. They were both emotionally wounded and in need of comfort, but never went back to the same relationship they had had before all hell had broken loose in their lives.

Not that they could.

For Sirius and Remus had been lovers a long time ago. Sirius had loved men as much as women since he was a teenager and Remus... well, Remus just loved Sirius.

Neither had made a move on the other. Sirius' soul was deeply scarred from his long stay in Azkaban and Remus could almost see pain leaking from his skin.

Remus cared deeply and suffered along with him, offering to share his pain when it became unbearable. So they talked and cuddled up close, letting their barriers down, just letting go.

No one knew about their once not-so-platonic friendship and they both agreed that no one ever would. In a world were everything sacred could be brutally ripped away, they would rather keep their love in the shadows of the past, than risk that the blissful memories of freer times be taken away.

Remus still held to that promise, and would never speak of it to anyone. Sirius would never have the chance.

Because Sirius was now dead, and gone forever.

Sirius died a month and fourteen days ago, falling behind that stupid veil, the laughter turning to surprise. He died feeling useful for the first time in too long.

Remus had held onto Harry, dying at the same time as he stood, horrified, watching Sirius disappear. He felt as though a part of his soul was being ripped from him, and he was bleeding inside. Remus felt like a wounded animal but stopped the cry of anguish that wanted to escape. He had held dearly onto the boy, whose body had gone rigid from shock, except for the shouts that echoed in the room and shook the both of them.

During those few timeless moments, they had stood together, their hearts aching in the same way. One for the closest thing he had to a father, the other for the closest thing he had to a lover.

Through the haze, Remus had been very much aware, and guiltily so, that he wouldn't let go of Harry more for his own salvation, than to actually prevent Harry from going under the arch after Sirius.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry-" he had said then.

And there was nothing he could have done either, he tried to convince himself. As Harry's shoulders had slumped down in realisation, his sobs now turning into tears and moans, Remus had been unable to breathe. He had felt as though he had been stuck by grief, as he would have been by lightening.

He was raw, he was hurting, he was bleeding, and he was dying.

Sirius was gone. He was alone.

Remus snapped out of his thoughts when Harry, who had just landed, put a trembling hand on his shoulder. He looked up into the boy's green eyes and gasped when he saw a single tear making its way down Harry's face.

A tear mirroring the one running down his own cheek.

They locked eyes for a short while and Harry's hand pressed Remus' shoulder before he let go and made his way towards the house, never turning back.

Remus looked up at the stars. They were half hidden by the clouds and the moon was nowhere to be seen. The birds had stopped singing. The still young man sighed and tore his gaze away from the bright constellations. He had never believed in astronomy: it was too much of a centaur thing.

And centaurs were not known for their ability to raise the dead. They even said that death was like reaching higher ground, finally communing with the stars that had guided them through this life and told them about their future ones.

Centaurs lived very long lives... and they were supposed to have a lot of them - even more than cats, and that was saying something.

How could anyone even pretend to live so long when Sirius' life had been so short?

That was just plain wrong.

Sirius was gone.

Suddenly the wind blew harder and dark clouds covered the stars, the birds were now quiet. His werewolf instincts told him that a storm wasn't far off. As much as he would have liked to wash his pain away, Remus hurried up to the front door under the first heavy drops of rain so they could see out the storm together.

*~*~*~*~*