Before the Breach

Before the Breach

(Little Weasel Pants' "Before I tell", Remixed)

"People are what we remember about them. What we call life is in the end a patchwork of someone else's recollections. With death, it gets unstitched, and one ends up with random disjointed fragments."

--Joseph Brodsky

He'd always hated this house. Blank walls created more for security than for appearance, barred windows casting prison shadows on the late afternoon ground. Those familiar shadows, once hated simply because he was young and rebellious and bars were a natural enemy of such youth, now brought memories of Dementor's kisses and desperate sobs in endless darkness. He shuddered and looked away.

The shed in back came into grim focus. It squatted, palpable and menacing. Sharp canine senses could make out the faint scent of old blood and pain that permeated the stale building. Windowless and iron-enforced, silver laced in the metal door: a werewolf's prison. He remembered conversations from years long since passed into memory.

"They locked you up, Remus. They let you bleed and scream and just shut the door and went in for tea."

"Padfoot, they had no choice."

"Yeah, they did. They could have kept trying to find a way. Instead they just locked you up once a month till Dumbledore came and took you away."

"He didn't find a cure either, Sirius."

"No. But he kept trying. He still is."

The memory faded and he sighed, the mournful sound odd coming from the chest of the massive black dog. He'd never forgiven Moony's parents for that. He'd always been a bit ashamed that he couldn't forgive them when Moony did. But then, Remus was like that. He'd always been better than Sirius, in many ways.

It saddened him that Remus lived here now, the one place he'd never wanted to. He had probably sunk into solitude, avoiding the townsfolk who averted their eyes and pulled their children away when he came near. Not because it hurt him - though it did - but because he didn't want to distress the ignorant, superstitious morons in town.

The black dog was growling now. When he realized it, he stopped. He could smell Remus. He smelled of wolfsbane, sadness, and old books. The wolfsbane was new - likely because of the potion Harry had told him about - but the rest was familiar. It was comforting how it hadn't changed, the way he smelled.

He slunk through shadows to the door, twisting it open with his teeth. It was unlocked, of course. After all, who would dare enter a werewolf's home uninvited? His paws rattled on the uncovered wood floors as he stepped inside. Remus met him in the doorway to the kitchen. His long fingered hands gripped a mug almost hard enough to shatter it. He was pale and thin - thinner even than he'd been when Sirius had last seen him. He never did take well to being alone.

And then he smiled. It was nervous and ashamed - the smile of a friend who was happy to see him, but uncertain whether the feeling would be returned - but it still took years from his face, making him so close to the boy Sirius had grown up beside. "Well, are you housebroken? You're far too big to clean up after all day long, you know."

A deep, rumbling bark became a man's deep throated laugh as Sirius changed. "I was paper trained as a pup."

Remus nodded gravely. "Of course, I should have remembered. I was the one who trained you after all. MONTHS of losing the headlines of the Daily Prophet to a puddle every morning." He smiled again and stepped forward, arms opening in welcome. Then he stopped, hesitated, and let them fall to his side. It hurt Sirius to see that uncertainty in their relationship. It was natural, of course. But still, it hurt to see. Remus settled for a clap to the shoulder, vaguely masculine and impersonal. "It's good to see you again Padfoot. You look . . . . well you'd probably look better than you did, but it's hard to tell beneath the eight inches of dirt."

Sirius grinned, the expression wide and guileless and vaguely doglike in its eagerness. Had it not been for his eyes - the haunted eyes that had seen Azkaban at its most gruesome - it would almost have been believable. "Baths are hard to come by when you're living life in caves with a hippogryph, Moony."

"So I'd imagine. Though I'd think the hippogryph would complain after a time. They are quite fastidious with their feathers, and have sensitive noses. And you smell like the backend of a troll."

Sirius looked deeply affronted. "You wouldn't even KNOW what the back of a troll smelled like if James and I hadn't dragged you and Peter on that little excursion in London."

"Very true. I never did properly thank you for that. What says gratitude more? Basilisk eggs for breakfast or Fried Indigo Lice for lunch?"

"That sad thing is, after the food I've had lately, both of those sound tempting."

Remus' face fell. "I'm so sorry, Padfoot. It must be awful. Let me fix you something to eat and drink. And you can use my bath. I'm sure you remember where it is."

He shook his head. "Later. First I - "He stopped. He knew why he was here; war and pain, danger and despair lurking around corners, just waiting to begin again. Time to fight the good fight, protect the innocent, and round up the dissenters; it felt . . . familiar. Horribly familiar, even after all these years. They would fight, and some of them would lose in the process. Friends would betray them, loved ones would die, and sunlit days would turn dark with sorrow. He'd seen it when he was young and strong. He wasn't either anymore. And yet he was supposed to do it again.

Remus always could read him. He'd always said Sirius was the easiest of them to decipher, his moods clear as glass. James had squashed his emotions beneath a smiling façade, and Peter had always tried to feel what everyone around him thought he should. Sirius was simpler. His emotions ran hot and variable, but they were simple, straightforward, and easily seen. Anger, joy, grief, mischievousness - he wondered if it was harder now, with all the time and horror he'd seen.

Apparently it wasn't. "What is it, Padfoot? What do you have to say? Dumbledore sent you, didn't he?" The gentle, deceptively strong hand touched his arm. It felt foreign. It had been so long since someone touched him easily. The four of them hadn't even thought of it when they were young. Hugs, slaps, wrestling matches, and casual gestures had come without a thought, their edges blending and overlapping when they sat grouped together, shoulders or thighs touching in simple compatibility.

"It's . . . Not now alright? I'll tell you later. After."

He frowned, the wolf in him growling softly in frustration. "After what? Is it Harry? Do we need to-"

Sirius kissed him. It was soft and sweet and sincere. Remus didn't protest or move, though he didn't return it. He tasted like lost time and sweet tea. Sirius loathed sugar in his tea - it defeated the purpose - but on Remus it tasted perfect. He broke it with a deep regret, missing the contact even before it was entirely finished.

Remus just looked at him. "Sirius I, I mean we -"

He shook his head. "Do you remember in school? In the tower, when James was tutoring Peter? We were sitting there doing potions homework, and you leaned over and I kissed you."

Moony smiled. "Of course I remember. He teased us for hours, and then suddenly decided it might be something he shouldn't mention and never brought it up again." The distance faded from his eyes with the memories as his smile became a frown. "Sirius, we were just kids. It didn't mean -"

"It felt right then, didn't it? You didn't date anyone for months after that. Neither did I, though I did try. Bloody Amber Passen wasn't having any of it, silly bint."

He sighed. "You're not gay, Padfoot. And I'm not -"

"Human?" Sirius finished. He laughed bitterly. "You're more human than me now, Moony. Maybe you always were. I would have ripped Peter apart a year ago. You know that? If I'd known . . . I might have done what I went to Azkaban for, Remus. I might have blown up an alley to kill him, taken out the people around me just so he'd die for what he did to James. I never did think things through." He looked away. "Sometimes, I hate how angry I am."

"Padfoot, you wouldn't have. The alley, Peter . . . you wouldn't. You would want to, but you wouldn't. I KNOW you. Or I did before -"

"Have I changed that much?"

Remus shook his head. "No. Yes. I don't know. I haven't seen you much Sirius. And when I have you -"

"Were a raving lunatic." He finished again. He leaned against a wall, sighing, arms crossed over his chest in an unconsciously defensive posture. "I don't want to be this, Moony."

"You're still you, Sirius. You just need time. To be around people again."

He laughed bitterly. "I'm a MURDERER, Moony. They hate me. And if I clear my name, they'll still hate me. I'll walk down streets and they'll shrink away, warn their children not to go near the crazy man." He looked up at me the werewolf's eyes. "I'll be just like you."

Remus flinched. "They don't - not anymore."

"Yes they do, Moony. They always will. People are sheep. And you're a wolf. And so am I, now. Or close enough." He smiled again, the wide Padfoot smile Remus had seen since they were at Hogwarts. "Wolves spend their lives alone, Moony. But they're not meant to. Pack hunters. We knew that, way back when we were kids. It's why we did it. Why we became animagi. So we could be your pack. Now there's just us left."

He moved forward, and Remus recognized the movement. A predatory move. He'd seen Sirius use it on fawning girls while James rolled his eyes in the background, and Lily yelled out half-serious warnings to the girl he was currently stalking. "Stop that." He ordered.

To his surprise, Sirius did. He pushed the filthy black hair back and looked at Remus. "I can't do this again, Remus. Not alone." He opened his arms and waited.

He didn't ask. He was afraid he already knew. Instead Remus hesitated. "It's been years Sirius. We haven't seen each other for more than a few minutes since -"

"The first time I slept with a girl, all I thought about was you. Not because I wanted it to be you, but because I wanted to tell you about it. Share it with you. Then I got to your bed, and you were lying there reading in the middle of the night. It was two nights before the full moon, and you looked like your bones would pop through your skin at any moment. And I couldn't tell you. Because I didn't know if you'd ever be able to find someone of your own. So I went to bed and cried."

Remus grunted. "Bollocks. You don't cry."

"Do so. Remember third year? On the Quidditch field?"

"Doesn't count. You took a shot to the crotch."

"Still. Cried then. And cried that night I told you about, too."

Remus sighed and looked away. "I can't just . . . pick this up Sirius. I can't be your . . . only option."

"But you are. And I'm yours. It's just lucky that we both want it."

"You're not bloody gay, Sirius!"

"So? I love you. That's enough. And maybe I am. Can't say those kisses of ours left me cold, and I passed a neighbor of yours sunbathing in nothing but a towel and a postage stamp and didn't even stop to sniff her. I may even only be attracted to dogs now. I've spent a lot of time as Padfoot."

Remus' mouth twitched despite his efforts to control it. "So you'll leave me for some bitch?"

"Only if she's a nice piece of tail."

Remus laughed. "You're an idiot, you know. And that was a HORRIBLE line."

"I know." Sirius watched him. He was fairly certain that Remus pretended not to notice that the smile never reached his eyes, or that the man looking back at him suddenly looked very little like the boy he'd been. He was almost surprised when Remus suddenly stepped into his still open arms. He felt frail and thin, but the hands that gripped his shoulders were iron strong, and the mouth that pressed against his had surprising skill for someone as antisocial as Moony had always been.

Remus broke it this time. Pulling away and yanking on Sirius' wrist, dragging him forward. "Alright. Bathnow. Go. You stink."

He went obediently, listening to Remus clattering in the kitchen as he luxuriated in the heat and cleansing of the bath. Remus didn't have any bubbles - much to his dismay - so he had to settle for some suspicious looking gel product that turned the water purple and smelled vaguely grapeish.

Remus left clothes for him on the counter. They were a bit too small, though not terribly so. Better than the rags he'd been wearing. He met Remus in the kitchen, where he was presiding over a veritable army of food that stared menacingly at Sirius, daring him to try to eat it all. "Remus . . . this would feed a family of ogres for a week."

"Then it ought to hold you for a day or so."

"At least. Maybe even two." By some unspoken agreement, they were silent as they ate. There was an awkwardness in the silence, but not an uncomfortable one.

They cleared the dishes together, and Sirius reveled in the simple domestic chore that had been denied him for so long. He let his mind wander down paths he usually forced it away from; a house in the country with Harry and Remus, the Dark Lord dead and gone, the days warm and bright. Remus' voice broke into the reverie. "Padfoot, you came here to tell me something. What?"

He sighed. "Later. Tomorrow. Before I do, I want . . ."

"What?"

"Talk to me, Moony. Tell me about what it's been like out here. Tell me about Harry. Tell me about James. Just . . . tell me. Please?"

Remus nodded. "Alright."

The curled onto the sofa, their voices low murmurs. Remus did most of the talking, save occasional exasperated instances where Sirius' habit of interrupting with questions drove him to reach for a pillow. Remus fell asleep first, leaning against Sirius with his entire body, head against his shoulder. He was warm and solid and Sirius slept better than he had since before Azkaban because of the simple contact.

Tomorrow he would tell him. He would wake up and make tea and tell Moony how they had to fight again. How the world would turn mad, and nothing would make sense, and people they loved would leave and never come back. But before that, he would sleep. And when it was done, he'd tell Remus that neither of them had to do it alone, at least.

He slept and dreamed of endless schooldays and romps in the woods where a black dog watched rats, wolves, and deer play. Sometime - he couldn't be sure when - the deer disappeared, the rat after him. And then the wolf lay quiet and alone beside the dog. They were both bruised and broken beasts, but they leaned together, black pelt meshing with brown until they couldn't be separated.

And then he woke up.