Three Weeks Outside Time

Chapter Three

Remus was absolutely arse at cards, a fact Sirius usually found uproarious, if a little tedious, since it meant he had to pretend not to be losing on purpose a quarter of the time. Today, however, he did not mind in the slightest. He'd have been perfectly happy to slip twos and threes up his sleeves all afternoon if it had meant he could spend the time watching Remus' beautiful hands and fingers. Shuffling and dealing. Fanning his cards. Drumming the table lightly while he waited for Sirius to make his move. Stroking his chin or tugging at a lock of hair while he contemplated his own. He asked Sirius a few times if he was bored and wanted to do something else, but Sirius always shook his head and pointed to the window, outside of which the rain was, as Remus had predicted earlier, falling sideways.

At any rate, he had no desire to get up. The Lupins had a pleasant living room, if a small one, and on a cold, rainy day it was particularly cosy. Quaint, his mother would probably have pronounced it, her nose in the air, if she'd bothered to cross the threshold at all. In all likelihood, she would not have, and that made Sirius like it all the more. The couch and chairs were obviously old and quite worn, but they were comfortable. The rug was a little threadbare, but still managed to cover a good portion of the wood floor. There were pictures on the walls, mostly photographs of Remus and his parents, though there were some of people Sirius did not recognise. They looked like nice people, though. He assumed they were Sylvie Lupin's French relatives, since most of them had large intelligent brown eyes, and thin, gently smiling lips.

Sylvie herself was curled up in a patched and overstuffed armchair by the fireplace, a blanket of green and blue tartan (the Lupins had distant ties to the Henderson clan) draped loosely about her shoulders. She seemed engrossed in a copy of La Presse Magique, though every now and then one slender hand (like Remus', Sirius tried not to think) would extend and stroke the tawny fur of the plump cat Merry, who sprawled beside her.

Remus' father, Nicholas, was in the kitchen, making good his cock-a-leekie threat. The smells wafting into the living room were pleasant enough.

"Dad's not a bad cook," Remus said when, looking up from his cards, he caught Sirius sniffing the air in a very Padfoot-like manner.

"Can't be, can he?" said Sirius, grinning. "He's got a Frenchwoman to impress."

Mrs Lupin gave a delicate snort, but did not glance up from her newspaper.

"And I've got an Englishman to conquer," Remus said. "Sassenach."

"You watch your tongue, mate," said Sirius, hoping his lofty tone would distract the other boy from his sudden flush. "I might stop letting you win."

"Oh, is that what you've been doing?"

"Not at all," Sirius said and glanced down at his deliberately pitiful hand. "What's in cock-a-leekie soup, anyway?" he asked as he pretended to study his cards.

"What do you think?"

"You know what I think. I just can't say it in front of your mum."

"Well, if you can't say it, I certainly can't."

"There aren't any cocks in cock-a-leekie soup," Sylvie Lupin declared, and with a loud sigh, turned her page.

"I love your mum," Sirius muttered, and grinned again at Remus, who was avoiding his eyes and swiftly turning scarlet. "Both your parents."

"You would," he mumbled, so low his mother could not possibly have overheard. "They're bloody nice to you."

"Pretty damn nice to you, too, they are," Sirius whispered back, over his cards. "That's one of the reasons I like them. I like people who are nice to my Moony." My Moony. He'd dared to say it. But of course the other boy took no notice. He was scowling down at his own cards, his brows drawn together. Sirius found himself staring at the little worried crease between them and addressing it, instead of trying to capture Remus' gaze: "Compare them to my parents, anyway. You've never met them, but I've told you enough horror stories, haven't I? You think my mum would say a word like 'cock'? You think she even knows that word? My mum and dad had sex exactly three times, I've come to realise. You're sitting opposite the result of their second go."

"Shh," Remus pleaded. "We can talk about it later."

In the kitchen, Nicholas Lupin was singing along with the Muggle LP:

"I will build my love a bower
By yon clear and crystal fountain,
And on it I will pile
All the flowers of the mountain."

As Sirius watched, the little crease between Remus' fine eyebrows deepened, and his thin shoulders hunched ever so slightly. Confused, he glanced over at Sylvie and discovered that her aspect had changed as well. She was no longer focussed intently on her newspaper, but gazing into the fireplace, her large dark eyes full of the leaping flames and--it seemed to Sirius--rather over-bright. He turned back to Remus and found his friend gazing at him, the rueful smile on his lips at distinct odds with the solemnity in his eyes.

"What?" Sirius whispered. "Is it because the full moon's tomorrow night?"

Remus opened his mouth slightly, but then shook his head and said nothing.

Mr Lupin sang:

"If my true love, she should leave me,
I will never find another..."

"We'll go for that curry, later," Sirius said lightly. "I'll need to wash all this bloody Scottishness out of my system."

Remus was trying hard to frown. Sirius could tell. But the effort was in vain and it wasn't long before his smile was widening. Wanly, still, but it was something. "Come on, then," Sirius said, "let's see your hand."

The other boy sighed and with a small shrug, laid his cards face-up on the table. "Three of a kind."

"Well," said Sirius, then pretended to drop his cards into his lap and as he retrieved them, he surreptitiously exchanged an extremely handsome jack of hearts for the two of clubs he'd been keeping up his sleeve for just such a moment. "Bugger, that's better than what I have."

"Your folks are brilliant," Sirius said as, a few hours later, they made their way--slowly and muddily--up the road that led into town. Before they'd left the house, Mr Lupin had cast an Impervius charm on them, though the rain had tapered off somewhat, shortly after lunch. It was really only drizzling, now: a grey, cold, misty, distinctly Scottish drizzle that Sirius found more irritating than the afternoon's downpour. Mr Lupin had promised him before he and Remus had left the house, that it would clear up completely by nightfall. And then there would be hail.

"They're all right," Remus hedged. He had his hands in his jacket pockets, and his face was down. It was how he walked, normally, but for some reason it bothered Sirius a bit more today than it did usually.

"They're crazy about you. How about all them pictures they have hanging up of you? You were a cute baby. Plump, but cute. Funny, you'd told me you were plump, but I didn't believe you."

"Look," said Remus shortly, "don't. I mean, don't be jealous of me."

"Why the bloody hell not? D'you think I was kidding when I said my folks only shagged three times? They don't even share a bed. D'you know how many pictures there are of me back in Grimmauld Place? Grand total of one. And I have reason to believe my mum uses it for target practice when I'm off at school. Your parents love you. You're a bloody werewolf, and they love you. I'm a Gryffindor, and my parents hate me. Doesn't bother me, much. I'm glad you have great parents. I just wish mine were a bit like yours. This way?"

They'd reached a crossroads. Remus jerked his shoulder the other way and they continued in that direction. Presently they came to the crest of a hill. Looking down through the shivering mist they could just make out, up ahead in the distance, the lights of the town of Melrose.

"Pain in the arse living so far out of town?" Sirius asked as they descended--cautiously, because the mud was thick and slippery.

"Sometimes," Remus replied. "When I was younger, of course, it used to seem like a long journey, just going for ice cream. But it's not that far, really. Guess I'll be happy when I can Apparate."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "I'll be glad when I don't have to use the tube to get places in London. Bloody bother. You're right, though. This walk isn't so bad. Would be nicer if it weren't raining, but... Fucking Scotland," he pronounced cheerfully. "Did you really have to walk the whole way, just to go to the grocer's and stuff?"

"Really," said Remus. "We couldn't fly because people would see us. We actually had a car for a while, but Mum was the only one who ever drove it. Dad didn't even like riding in it with her. Felt too confining, he said. Anyway, he liked to walk. Likes. Still likes."

"Which do you prefer?"

"Both, I guess. It was nice to have the car when it rained, or when it was hot. The top rolled back. Mum and I used to get to town with our hair a mess. She'd fix it with a spell when no one was looking. I used to think it was brilliant. Driving, I mean. With the top down. I used to think it was a bit like flying. Except better, because the car had a radio and Mum used to blast her favourite Muggle songs. She loved Elvis. And Simon and Garfunkel. And the Beatles."

Sirius had heard of the Beatles, because Lily Evans had a passion for them, and James had a passion for Lily. The other three were completely unfamiliar. "I've seen cars," he said. "Lots of 'em. You can't convince me one is better than a broomstick. Even something like a Swiftstick."

"I was never on a broomstick before I was ten," Remus reminded him. "I didn't know. I agree with you, now. Except about the music."

"I notice no one volunteered to drive us into town."

"Very perceptive, Padfoot." Remus' voice had changed. A few moments ago, he'd sounded as though he hadn't wanted to talk at all. Now there was amusement in his tone, even a little mischief. "You either didn't notice I talked about the car in the past tense, or forgot it."

"What happened to the car?"

Remus was silent.

Sirius waited, but the silence only lengthened. Finally, "What happened to the car?" he asked again, and stole a glance at Remus.

The other boy bit his lip and ducked his head quickly, but even through the mist and drizzle Sirius caught the bright flush and the way the brown eyes gleamed. "Crashed it," Remus said, finally.

"Who crashed it?"

"Me." He lifted his head and looked at Sirius. "Don't stare at me like that, Padfoot. Don't tell me you never crashed a broomstick."

"A broomstick, Moony. A car is--" He'd seen countless cars in London. Big, clunky, foul-smelling things, that screeched when they came to a sudden halt. He'd seen phone booths that cars had struck. He'd seen squirrels and cats that had been hit. He knew Muggles were killed by them all the time. "You crashed the car," he said stupidly.

"I crashed the car," Remus agreed. "I was nine, and I don't remember why, but my parents had gone out, and I really, desperately wanted to get to town. I must've wanted to impress them. Show them I could look after myself. They were pretty protective. Still are, I guess. Anyway, I had this bloody awful idea to drive into town, buy some fresh groceries, and make them a fancy dinner. Merlin knows what I intended. I could cook when I was nine. I used to watch Dad whenever he made something. We'd read the recipe together and he'd send me after ingredients, so I knew what everything was. It felt like doing magic. Anyway, no one told me you had to be a certain age in order to drive legally. I think my parents always assumed I'd never need to drive. I did think it was a bit of a bad sign when my feet couldn't reach the pedals. But I tied books to my trainers, and it worked well enough. I'd watched my mother often enough. I knew how to drive. I'm sure I thought it out very carefully. I just didn't know how to handle a car. Got pretty far, though, considering."

"Until you crashed," said Sirius, knowing he ought to be proud of his Moony for executing so spectacularly disastrous a piece of mischief, but fascinated and horrified, despite the fact that Remus was obviously hale and whole, and walking beside him.

"Until I crashed," said Remus. "There's a roundabout a little ways up. We'll get to it. I used to think they were fun, when I was driving with Mum. I realised when I got there, though, that I had no idea which way to turn. There was this other car approaching and I thought I knew which way he'd go, so I went-- Only, of course he didn't go the way I thought he would. We didn't hit each other. I just--slammed my foot on the brakes and I went spinning. You'll see, there's a big maple tree that grows by the roundabout. There's a big chunk of bark missing."

"Were you hurt?" He was trying--and failing--to picture nine-year-old Remus--all big dark eyes and fragile limbs--in a Muggle car, wrapped around a tree.

"Of course," Remus said, as though Sirius had asked him he'd done his homework for the weekend. "I sprained my neck, broke my wrist. I had so many bruises it hurt to do anything for a week. Mum and Dad were furious. More about me than about the car. I mean, of course they were angrier that I'd hurt myself than that I'd destroyed the car. This is going to sound mental, Padfoot, but I think somehow I wanted them to be angrier about the car. It was a Ferrari."

"My parents would've given me a thrashing if I'd done anything like that," Sirius said. "If we'd had a car. I probably would've wrecked it, too. They'd've thrashed me for wrecking the car, and for failing to get myself killed."

Frowning again, Remus said, "The thing is, when I said they were angry about me--that's what I meant. They were angry about me, not--at me. I sensed it, then, but I didn't really understand it until I was older. They expected me to be hurt. I mean, I don't think they ever thought I'd take the car, but I don't think they ever thought I could do something without there being--pain involved. I suppose. I don't know if I'm explaining it well. It didn't seem to shock them, that I would almost get myself killed. Does that make sense?"

It did, but Sirius did not know what to say. He was aware, suddenly, that Remus was closer to him than he had been a moment ago. Had he moved closer, or had Remus? His skin stung with the nearness. For the first time since they'd started out, Sirius wished Mr Lupin had not cast his Impervius charm. Remus wet would have been bad enough. The swim in Loch Trool on the day they'd packed up their camping gear and begun the homeward hike had been torturous. Remus was graceful as a dolphin in water, and the late-morning sunlight glinting off the droplets that clung to his body had almost been too much for poor, smitten Sirius. This, however, was worse. The raindrops glanced away from his skin like the softest of kisses and the sight made everything inside Sirius writhe with the desire to be one of those raindrops, to be that close to that skin, and hair. And now he couldn't simply duck under the water to hide what he felt. He wanted to transform and frisk mindlessly at the other boy's side. He wanted to slip on the mud and knock himself unconscious.

"Here's the roundabout," Remus said, and there it was. And there, on the other side, was an old maple tree with a large chunk of bark gouged out of its trunk. An old wound, and one that would never really heal. The tree was alive, though. The leaves were green, and heavy with water.

They had stopped walking.

"So," Sirius said, making an attempt at joviality, "that's where ickle Moony made his first mischief."

"Not my first," said Remus ruefully. "Not by any means. They were protective of me, but they also--doted. I knew, and I took advantage. Sometimes. I wasn't spoiled. I just knew what to say, I guess, and how to say it, to get what I wanted. I wish they'd been harder on me about the car. Mum got it in Italy, before she married Dad. It was one of the last things they had from the old days. Before I was bitten and they had to spend almost everything they saved just to keep me alive. I think I might have acted out a little more after the crash. You know, so they'd be more angry with me. It worked a bit, but I didn't feel any better. So, mostly, really, I was good."

"Kind of the opposite of me," Sirius said, still eyeing the maple. "My parents don't give a damn about me, but they did spoil me, when I was younger. Which is strange, because I was always saying the wrong things. I guess they bought me stuff to keep me occupied. Or to bribe me. Mostly, I was bad, I guess." Some force made him turn and look at Remus just then, and he would always be glad he did, because if he had not, he'd have missed that warm, brief smile, which the other boy gave him as he said,

"You are good. Mostly. It's your parents that're rotten." The smile fell abruptly. "My dad's sick."

He'd said it very casually. "He looked all right to me," Sirius said without thinking.

"You've barely seen him," said Remus. "We were out camping. You saw him for five minutes at King's Cross this June. He's not all right. He's gotten thinner and--and he gets tired. A lot." Remus still sounded calm, except for the very slight tremor in his voice.

"Oh." Sirius felt like an idiot.

A car went by just then. They moved aside to avoid the splash, and watched until the taillights had disappeared into the mist. Then Sirius said, "Well, what's the matter?"

"Don't really know, yet," said Remus, still watching the road. "We were in London in July. At St Mungo's. For tests. I thought about calling on you. See how you were holding up. But-- I don't know. I didn't. Anyway, the healers at St Mungo's couldn't find anything. So, it's not a magical illness. At first we'd thought it might have been a hex of some sort. A slow-acting one. Dad's been hexed before. Because of me. Although, that was before we moved out of town. I don't know how anyone would have found out. We pretty much keep to ourselves. My family, I mean. So, it's not a hex."

"So, what is it?"

"I said we don't know, yet. Mum convinced Dad to see a Muggle doctor. I've told you how she is. If something doesn't have to do directly with magic, she prefers the Muggle way. They went the week before you came here. We're still waiting for the results."

The conversation's tone had changed too quickly. Sirius felt winded. "I see. So--I've been in the way, I take it. You should've told me."

"You haven't been in the way," Remus assured him quickly. "You've been a welcome distraction to them, believe me. Dad loves to show off his cooking skills and Mum--well, she's always wanted another son. She thinks you're charming." He shrugged.

"I see," Sirius said again, not sure what else to say. "So..."

"So, nothing," Remus said, turning his shoulders slightly, but avoiding Sirius' gaze. "We don't know what's going to happen, yet."

"So, it could be nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"I mean, he'll be all right."

"No... I don't think he will be."

"Bollocks."

Remus winced.

"I mean," Sirius began again, and once more that evening he was aware of how closely they were standing, and how far away they seemed. It occurred to Sirius--unfortunately, perhaps--that if Remus were one of his girlfriends--or any girl, he supposed--he'd have put his arm around him long before this. Remus had held him, he remembered, the day Maddin had dumped him. She'd really hurt him. Well, she'd dealt his pride a severe blow, snogging Robert Maxwell in the dining hall and making him look like a complete berk. He'd gone straight to the dorm and found Remus there, revising, and broken down completely. And Remus had put his arms around him, and held him until he'd quieted.

Remus had looked after him, too, that time Bellatrix had hexed him in the back, the day Regulus had been Sorted into Slytherin. He'd spread some kind of goop onto Sirius' scorched skin, but more importantly, he'd simply been there, listening and soothing. Sirius had told him about his sister that day. He'd never spoken about her to anyone, before. Not even to James.

Remus began to speak again, and only then did Sirius realise he'd never completed his sentence. He had no time to wonder how long he'd been drifting. Remus said, still not looking at him, and still with that eerily calm voice, said, "He was so proud of me, the day I got my Hogwarts letter, the day I got my wand. Twelve inches of beechwood, with a griffon feather at its core. He said it was the wand of a Gryffindor. He was really proud of me when I got Sorted into Gryffindor. He was never surprised. I never surprised him when I succeeded at anything. Mum was sometimes surprised, but Dad...never. The odd thing is, he never took anything I did for granted, either. I mean, he was always proud of me. He knew I'd have trouble, being what I am, but he always thought I'd succeed. I used to get angry about that. A bit. That's fucked up, isn't it?"

The cuss cut through Sirius' stupor. "It's not," he assured the other boy.

"I mean," Remus went on, "it's not like he pretends things aren't hard for me. He knows they are. They are. It's not fair." He blinked suddenly, and looked away again before Sirius could see if there really were tears in his eyes. "It's not fucking fair," he muttered, his voice cracking, finally, over the words. "I'm a werewolf. We're poor. I'm not ready for this, too. I mean," he went on hastily, "we don't really know for certain, yet. But. Peter--lost his father. When he was four. That's different. I know it sounds horrible, but it is different. He's normal. He's so bloody normal." He had tenuous control of his voice, again. Sirius heard the way it wobbled, slightly, but he no longer seemed to be on the verge of collapse--if indeed he ever had been. "Could I have a fag, please?"

Remus only ever smoked when he was agitated and trying to maintain an aura of calm. Relieved that at last there was something he could do, Sirius dug into his jeans pocket at once and dug out his pack of cigarettes. He passed one to Remus, who put it between his lips--his hands were trembling slightly, Sirius noted--and took a long, deep drag the instant it lit itself.

"Better?" Sirius asked around his own cigarette.

Remus shrugged, then shook his head. "I feel like such a freak."

"Don't be stupid," Sirius said, which was, he realised a moment too late, the wrong thing to say. Remus' lashes lifted to reveal dry eyes, but the strain behind them was so obvious that Sirius nearly choked on his mouthful of smoke. "I mean," he said quickly, "you'll never be a freak to us, if that's what you're afraid of. Never. I mean--aren't we all a bit freakish?"

"James isn't. Peter isn't. You're not. I wish I were a bit more like you."

"Really?" said Sirius dryly, raising his eyebrows. "You'd prefer to be a Black? With my lovely relatives?" He'd said it jokingly, but he was beginning to be annoyed. Remus so rarely indulged in self-pity, but when he did, Sirius wanted to hit him, to shock him back to his senses.

"No," Remus said. And he did sound somewhat chagrined. "Of course not. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant, anyway. What I'm trying to say is, I have to struggle for everything. But you-- You really don't. I mean, you don't have to. Yes, you've got an awful family. I know that. I didn't forget. But you don't always have to be with them. You spend your holidays with James, or at school. And you fit in...well, everywhere. Everyone likes you. Not the Slytherins and your crazy family. The teachers like you, even though you don't do your homework half the time. James' parents adore you. My parents adore you. You make friends just by turning around. I can only think of a handful of girls who wouldn't love to be pulled by you, and of those few, you've dated all except Evans. You're brilliant at magic. And everyone wants you. You're a real asshole a lot of the time, and still everyone wants you. You see? You don't have to struggle. You only do because you like it."

"Shut up," snapped Sirius. They were both trembling now, and staring at each other. Remus' face was very pale. Although the rain did not touch him, it still seemed to have washed all the colour from him. He hadn't meant to be cruel. Sirius knew that, but at the same time he could not stop himself from continuing: "Just shut up. Stop putting yourself down, and stop raising me up. I don't deserve it, and neither the hell do you. Anyway," he added, wondering why he was saying this, "you're wrong. There are some things you don't know about me. I don't fit in that well. I sure as hell don't always get what I want. And I'm not talking about anyone's parents. I'm more of a freak than you think."

"Are you really? Tell me how."

"Leave it, Remus," he warned. "Just don't ask me."

"Why not?" the other boy asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I know more about you than almost anyone. What do you think makes you a freak? The fact that you once thought a star belonged to you? Or that you ran away when you were five? Or..." His voice trailed off, and Sirius was grateful.

"Yes," he said gratingly. "More freakish than that."

"But that wasn't you. That was your family. Tell me something," he pressed. "Tell me one thing about you that's freakish. Something not related to your family."

There was only one thing he could say that would bring Remus up short, jolt him from his pedestal. Still, he had not quite decided to say it when he heard the words spoken in his own voice:

"I think...I might be...gay."