Better Here

"Better Here"

The Muggle alarm cloak invaded Remus's dreams. With one flat, impatient hand he hits the snooze button and rolls back into his original position. Legs and arms entangled with Sirius's. His nose nuzzling in the crook of his love's neck. Sirius lets out a sleepy moan.

"You should get up, Moony," he mumbles.

"No, today's not a good day, if I wake up it will be disastrous. Safer here," Remus says looking at Sirius with half-lidded eyes.

The alarm buzzes again and Remus, again, shuts it up with a heavy hand.

"Remus, this is very irresponsible of you. Are you starting to be like me?"

"I'm nothing like you," Remus snaps suddenly. He sighs and pulls himself closer to Sirius. "Shut up or you'll wake me up. Best to stay like this today."

He runs a hand through Sirius's long, ebony hair, silently noting it was in desperate need of a shampoo. He inhales Sirius's familiar scent of forests, grass, sweat, and the clinging, ever-present hint of tobacco. Remus hated cigarettes, hated the smell and how no matter how many times he'd wash the sheets it was forever embedded there. But he did love how Sirius smelled. He knew it was irrational and nonsensical, but he didn't care.

The alarm blared again.

"Moony, just wake up," Sirius groans.

"Bad day out there. Better here."

"Don't you have a funeral to go to?"

Remus's eyes flew open. His hand clenching the pillow next to his. His legs entangled in nothing but those smoky sheets. Remus shakes his hand and runs a hand through his hair as he stands on unstable legs.

He slowly makes his way to the shower and allows the warm water to hit his scarred, worn-out body. He wishes that the water would wash away his dream, his memories, his emotions that still hung on, making no sense. He tries to get Sirius's image out of his mind, but like the smoke in his sheets, he's forever there.

He dries off and wraps a towel around his much too thin waist. He stands in front of the mirror and wipes away the condensation, making his image streaky and still fogged. He stares into his red-rimmed eyes and becomes disgusted with himself. He shouldn't be dreaming of Sirius, it will drive him mad.

He leaves the bathroom and dresses automatically in the black suit he'd laid out the night before. He notices he's outgrown it, and remembers the last time he'd worn it. He shakes his head bitterly and pulls on his patched and faded cloak. His fingers flinch as he reaches for a simple bouquet, English violets that grew in a nearby garden. He'd grown brave and reckless the night before and he pilfered as much as he could dare to. It seemed oddly fitting.

He walked to the funeral home, it was far, but he wanted to drag the time out as long as he could. But his legs were long, and so are his strides and he is there much sooner than he had wished.

He entered the cold formal room and sits in the back row, wanting to be as far from the caskets as humanly possible and still be in the room. He didn't wish to remember James and Lily lying in boxes.

He didn't want to remember Sirius as a murdering traitor either, but that was unavoidable.

He sat in rigid silence as the service went on. He wondered if he should stand and say something about his two brave friends, about their little son who lived through the horrible night. But he knew he wouldn't be able to.

The service concluded and Remus watches as the two coffins were floated down the aisle. He sniffs into a threadbare hankie and follows behind.

In the graveyard, he stands back, among all the other graves. Far too many fresh ones, far too many gray stones with names of people Remus knew well. The crowd of mourners all in black slowly walks away. Some spot him and give mixed looks of pity and blame. He refuses to meet their eyes.

Remus is the last one, again, fitting he supposes.

He steps up to the gravesite and traces each name and date with a long finger.

"Too soon... too late," he says in a thick whisper before his tears can engulf him.

He places the simple, modest bouquet among the grander, fancier displays.

"Violets or Lily, stolen for James," he says with a quirk of a smile playing against his lips.

There's so much he wants to say, but he just cannot bring himself to say them.

He wants to apologize for not being smarter, for being too lovesick to not see the signs. He wants to say so much, but words lodge in his throat and threaten to choke him.

All he can get out is a quiet, pained, "I'm so sorry."

He turned away from the graves and passes through the gates of the cemetery.

He feels drops of rain hit his face, but he doesn't really take any notice. He barely registers the need to close his cloak against the November cold and wet. The rain quickly picks up and before long he is soaked through. But he doesn't think of Disapparating or even conjuring an umbrella to shield out the rain. He continued to walk, unhurried and alone. Hoping, that somehow, the rain will clean his guilt away.

His mind wondered to his dream and to the many other dreams he had had in the past few weeks. He knows he shouldn't wish for Sirius. He knows he shouldn't hold his breath when he hears a canine bark or see a particularly shaggy black dog bound down the street. He knows he shouldn't long to hold the man who killed his two - three - friends. But it's hopeless.

'I'm hopeless.'

Sirius wasn't the traitor type. It didn't make sense. But there was the famous Shrieking Shack incident in school. Perhaps it was a prank, perhaps an early sign. But Sirius loved James and Lily, and adored Harry. But, then, there was the bickering between the two friends and Sirius's constant feelings of being dwarfed by James, in school, in Quidditch, in Order matters, in family, in pretty much everything.

Remus sighs. It's too much to think about, too depressing and much too much.

He doesn't know where he's walked to and soon realizes he's passed his flat. He turns and soon arrives wet and cold on his doorstep.

He opens the door and is bombarded by the cigarette smoke. He walks in and closes the door behind him. He walks to the bedroom, shedding the horrible black clothing as he does. He crawls into the bed and sinks into the sheets.

"Bad day?" a heavy voice asks.

"Yes, but it's better here. Don't let me leave, all right?"

Sirius reaches over and brushes Remus's hair out of his face. "It's not real you know?"

"Nothing is now-a-days," Remus replays lightly. "You weren't when you were really here, why change it now? Just shut up, will you?"

Sirius does as he's told and kisses Remus gently on the temple.

"Better here," Remus murmurs in his sleep.

~THE END~

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