The Fool

No one had ever promised him life would be fair, and, frankly, Remus was glad no one had even tried. Long ago, he'd decided life was some sort of tricky card game or Russian roulette, and somehow he'd come out the loser.

Remus carefully slipped into the old porcelain claw foot tub Sirius had insisted on putting in when the house was still new--or at least new to them. That had been almost twenty years ago. Remus sighed and laid his head back as he let the warm water caress his skin. He closed his eyes, thinking of Sirius.

Twice he'd lost him and twice he'd been left alone as the last Marauder. Remus reached for the whiskey he'd brought into the bathroom with him and drained the glass. He winced as the fiery liquid trickled down his throat, but he welcomed the burning sensation--it let him know he could still feel.

Remus drew in a shuddering breath and listened to the rain gently falling outside the open bathroom window, the scent of the rhododendrons wafting up from the garden mingling with that of fresh rainfall. The soft pitter-patter and the refreshing breeze helped to relax him, but he still felt heartbroken. Remus remembered his mum telling him the first time Sirius was stolen from him everything heals with time; he'd been naïve enough to believe her.

'Funny,' he thought, 'how the man who could make me so stupidly happy can make me hurt this bad.'

Remus suddenly felt guilty for his bitter thoughts. It wasn't really Sirius' fault he felt this way--fate had simply dealt them all a cruel hand from a stacked deck. As thunder rumbled in the distance, a storm threatening on the dark horizon, Remus took a deep breath and slid beneath the water's surface and let the memories take him.

******

Remus had stumbled in sometime around four that morning and promptly collapsed onto the old battered couch. His fitful dreams had been filled with werewolves, blood, and blinding green light in spades. He awoke to a pounding at the door.

With a groan, Remus clambered to his feet, noting that the fog hadn't yet lifted from the Welsh countryside as he passed the picture window on his way to the door. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and threw open the door. When Remus saw who was waiting on the stoop, their hand raised mid-knock, his blood run cold.

"Good morning, Remus," Dumbledore said, his face grim and the twinkle gone from his eye. "May I come in?"

Remus muttered a quick apology and showed his former headmaster into the den.

"Tea?" he asked.

"That would be nice, thank you," Dumbledore said absentmindedly as he inspected a curio on the table beside the sofa.

Remus bit back a smile as he disappeared into the kitchen and quickly fixed two cups of tea. Walking back into the den, he stifled a yawn as he handed Dumbledore his cuppa. Remus took a seat in the overstuffed armchair across from Dumbledore and sipped his Earl Grey. The room was eerily silent, and Remus, expecting bad news, struggled to keep his hands from shaking.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, startling Remus. "I'm sure you've heard about the Potters?"

The bile rose in his throat. "Of course I heard. How could I not have?"

"And about Sirius?"

Remus blanched; his heart was threatening to break free of his ribcage. The china tea cup clattered against its saucer in his hands. He croaked, "What happened?"

Dumbledore shot him a pitiful glance and patted Remus' shoulder as he flicked on Sirius' prized Muggle television set.

"I'm sorry, Remus," the old man said as he flipped to the news channel.

Remus' cup and saucer shattered when they hit the floor. The overly blond reporter was speaking loudly into her microphone about some kind of explosion that had killed thirteen.

"He wasn't there was he?" Remus said somewhat hysterically and jumped to his feet. "It's miles away from where he was supposed to be! What--"

"Remus," Dumbledore said calmly, "he was there, but you haven't heard the rest of the story."

"Well then fucking tell me! Where's Sirius? What happened?"

"Remus, I think you'd better sit down." Dumbledore sat down on the coffee table across from him and put a hand on the man's shoulder. He gave Remus a barebones overview: "Sirius was the spy. He handed over Lily and James to Voldemort and then went after Peter. That silly newscast on the telly there is a cover. Sirius killed Pettigrew and twelve Muggles in the process. He's been taken to Azkaban."

Remus' suddenly sombre countenance did little to reveal the flurry of emotions dueling for control. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure this wasn't a nightmare. Sirius couldn't.... He wouldn't.... However, Dumbledore squeezing his shoulder told him that this was really happening.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Dumbledore said. "I truly am."

They sat in silence, unmoving, for a moment longer before Dumbledore collected himself and started towards the door. Remus followed him on unsteady legs. Once the pair reached the door, the old man laid one hand on the knob and turned back to his former student.

"Will you be alright?"

Remus nodded and tried to speak but couldn't find the words. Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic smile before leaving. Remus barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up. He heaved into the porcelain bowl of the toilet and leaned against the tub as he cried for his lost friends and the man he had only thought he knew.

******

Years later a much happier day started with a similar visit from Dumbledore. The Headmaster had showed up to tell him Sirius would be arriving soon and wanted to make sure everything was in order. Again, Remus' hands had shook as they took tea, this time from pent up excitement and emotions he hadn't allowed his self to feel for more than a decade.

He had hurried Dumbledore out the door, assuring him everything was indeed in place. The old man had chuckled as he left and Remus commenced waiting for Sirius' arrival. He waited. And waited. And waited. Remus was dozing in his favourite chair when he heard scratching at the front door. He all but ran to the door and threw it open to reveal a big, black, sopping wet dog.

"Hullo, Padfoot," he said and stepped aside for the dog to enter. "Come in out of the rain."

The big dog lumbered past him and shook the water from himself. In a flurry of movement, Remus found himself face-to-face with Sirius Black, more gaunt and ragged than ever. Remus uttered a quick drying spell and stared at his shoes as an awkward silence fell over them.

"You got old, Moony," Sirius tried to joke as he took in Remus' greying hair.

"You're forgetting who's older," Remus said with a half smile.

"Four months, Moony. Four months."

They were silent again, neither knowing what to say. Sirius suddenly found the rug interesting--he couldn't remember if it had been there before he went to Azkaban. Remus cleared his throat, snapping the dark-haired man from his reverie.

"What happened to your hand, Sirius?"

Sirius lifted his hand palm up between them. "Dunno. Padfoot must have stepped on something."

Remus frowned at the angry gash. "Let me put something on it so it doesn't get infected."

Remus carefully took the injured hand in his own and led Sirius upstairs to the bathroom. He instructed Sirius to wash the cut while he rummaged through the medicine cabinet. Once Sirius' hands were dry and Remus had found what he was looking for, Remus flipped the cover down over the toilet and Sirius obediently sat down.

"This may hurt a bit," Remus said and kneeled in front of his friend. He opened the bottle of peroxide he had took from the medicine chest and poured a little on a cotton ball.

Remus gently took Sirius' hand and dabbed at the wound; the man barely flinched as the liquid stung at his flesh. Remus, once done cleaning the wound, gently wrapped a strip of gauze across Sirius' hand and tied it off snugly. He recapped the peroxide and made to get up.

"I'm sorry, Remus," Sirius suddenly said. His voice was little more than a whisper.

Remus deadpanned. "What ever for? What's done is done."

Sirius couldn't look him in the eye. "For hurting you."

Remus smiled and couldn't help the tears that flooded his eyes. "Don't worry about it for a minute."

Sirius shifted. "How can I not worry about it when I still love you?"

Remus didn't know what to say. He took Sirius' injured hand and kissed the top of the gauze bandage. "I never stopped loving you, you know."

"Shite, Remus." Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Thirteen years? I thought you'd move on, not become a monk."

Remus smiled bitterly and ran his thumb over top of the gauze. "I always ended up comparing casual fucks to you, Sirius, and I hated you for it."

They were quiet for a moment, neither wanting to move or say the wrong thing.

"Hold me, Moony," he said in a broken whisper and sank to the floor.

Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius, pulling him close and burying his face in Sirius' hair while the darker man held him in a death grip, unwilling to let go. Remus didn't know how long they sat like that, but the grey dawn was creeping in through the small bathroom window when Sirius finally pulled away.

*****

Remus broke the surface of the water and gasped in air as he wiped the water from his eyes. Laying back, he gripped the tub's porcelain sides, his tears mingling with the rivulets of water that ran from his drenched hair. Life, he concluded, is like a deck of cards: there are Kings and Queens of Hearts, deathly Aces of Spades lurking where you least expected them, and the Joker. The Fool. Removed and cast aside from the rest of the deck during every game Remus could think of, the Fool's role was a tragic one. With two friends dead, one a traitor, and a lover fallen to darkness, Remus felt alone and cast aside--the last Marauder. The Fool.

29 March 2007

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