Title: Uneasy Steps
Author: SVZ
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Sirus/Remus.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I also don't know what the bloody hell I'm doing.
Notes: Written for Marla. . Angsty Sirus/Remus. Spoilers for OotP. Pre-HBP. Not sure if this qualifies as an AU, but maybe?

Uneasy Steps

Remus learns to hate Number 12 Grimmauld’s Place, from the faded peeling wallpaper to the hideous old-fashioned furniture. He can’t stand the bare shelves and ugly carpet, and feels like he’s going mad but there’s nothing he can do.

“Grimmauld’s Place is still the safest place to hold the Order,” Dumbledore says, looking older and even wearier than ever. Remus would love to tell Dumbledore he’s very much mistaken—Narcissa Malfoy knows they’re there—but he never has enough time nor the heart to bring the subject up.

Instead, he lies low at Grimmauld’s Place, having tea and half-stale crumpets in the empty kitchen, spending the rest of the time playing host to other Order members (all who send him sympathetic and pitying looks when they think he's not looking), or feeding Buckbeak, and trying to keep watch over Kreacher.

Dumbledore insists he stay, cutting him off when he says he’s got his own flat. “I think Sirius would have wanted you to watch over his house, Remus.”

Remus doesn’t reply, but thinks about how Sirius wanted nothing more than to burn the entire house down in smoke.

Remus is convinced he’s a masochist. Living in Sirius’s room isn’t helping. Hell, sleeping in Sirius’s bed that still smells vaguely of him isn’t helping. The bed sheets smells like musky aftershave and Firewhiskey, mixed with wood smoke and cinnamon. If anything, it makes it almost unbearable—in the few moments before he remembers, he can almost hear Sirius’s snores and feel Sirius’s body heat-- and then he wakes and the other half of the bed is still empty.

At first, he tells himself he sleeps there because he needs to keep an eye on Buckbeak, but that quickly unravels itself as a lie. He then tries to convince himself that there are not enough rooms in the house for guests, but few people drop by this year. Tonks usually crash with head resting on the kitchen table before she can make it upstairs, and almost everyone is too busy feeling sorry for him and trying hard not to cause him any trouble. They usually Apparate as soon as the meetings are adjourned or their business is finished.

It’s funny how they keep bringing food. He’s almost out of room in the ice box.

Tonks drops off a carton of Chinese take-out and dangles a pair of chopsticks in front of him, poking him in the ribs with the end of her wand.

“Eat,” she tells him sternly. Her hot pink hair makes her eyes look even more bloodshot, making Remus think that she should follow her own advice herself. “You’re doing no one a favor by wasting away.”

“I’m not wasting away,” Remus replies automatically, but he reaches for the chopsticks anyway. He sniffs experimentally. “Lo Mein and stir-fried chicken and vegetables?”

Tonks gives him a small smile. “Good guess.”

When Tonks leaves, Remus feels slightly better—or at least—full, but he almost wishes she would stay the night. The house is too empty with only Kreacher and Mrs. Black to keep him company, and he wishes everyone would stop thinking that they would impose if they dropped by for a social call.

He didn’t need time alone. It’s actually the last thing he needed. His time is spent on dwelling in the past; remembering Sirius’s low voice, Sirius’s calloused hands, Sirius’s eyes, and the way Sirius’s nails would dig into his skin leaving half-moon shaped marks. He remembers Sirius’s raspy moans, Sirius’s fingers tangled in his hair when he came, and Sirius’s cock buried deep inside of him.

He’s beginning to sense Sirius’s presence. When he’s standing in front of the stove waiting for his tea to be done, he can almost feel warmth a couple yards away and he can almost pretend Sirius’s sitting at the table, munching on dry toast while reading the newspaper.

It lingers whenever he’s in the bathroom, when he’s in bed, and whenever he’s trying to get Mrs. Black to shut the bloody hell up. He thinks Kreacher senses it too.

Kreacher spends most of his time hiding in his cupboard, muttering to himself and looking around with shifty eyes.

Remus almost grows accustomed by his presence as the days go by.

Then it disappears.

Remus is staring at the cabinet mirror when it first starts. His eyes are unfocused, not really seeing anything.

He sees a white blur at the corner of his eye.

He then cuts himself shaving.

It keeps happening all over the house, he thinks he’s going mad again. He can almost hear the swish of a cloak or motions from a hand.

He thinks, perhaps, there’s something wrong with his eyes.

“Your eyes are perfectly fine,” Madam Pomfrey remarks, giving him a clean bill of health. She gives him a concerned look.

Remus forces a smile, “It might just be my imagination, Poppy. No need to dwell on it.”

She doesn’t look convinced, but shoos him away like she would to any student but not without telling him to come back to at anytime if he feels his condition worsen.

Remus begins to regress back to his immediate condition after the battle at the Ministry. Sirius is dead and he’s alive with loads of survivor’s guilt to share. As the only Marauder left—sans, of course, the traitor—he wonders for the hundredth time the thousands of different what-if’s of the situation.

Sirius had Harry. Harry needed Sirius. The two of them needed each other more than anyone else.

Remus hasn’t got anyone.

He makes the mistake of mumbling something of the sort in front of Tonks.

The black eye made him the receiving end of some very uncomfortable questions for a week.

After Harry boards the Hogwarts Express, Remus feels that things are gradually going back to normal. He wonders if Harry hates him for holding him back when they were in the Ministry but he thinks that it's unlikely; Harry seems to consider him as his second father now. Or perhaps he should say, third.

He doubts Harry will have a quiet year, but he can still live in hope.

Time makes missing Sirius less painful. Dumbledore finally realizing his mistake and putting him into action also helps. When he's busy, he doesn't have time to remember Sirius's lopsided grin and barking laughter.

He thinks that he can feel Sirius there every now and then when he’s trying to make toast or boil water. Sirius seems to like the kitchen. On occasion, he stills sees a blurry shape at the corner of his vision that quickly turns into nothing once he turns his head, but the grief isn’t fresh.

It’s another deep wound that’s slowly fading, although it’s still visably present and mingled amidst thousands of other scars.

New scars will soon cover the old ones until they're indistinguishable, he knows.

Remus wonders if he can handle all of that.

---the end---

Comments and constructive criticism welcomed. Unbetaed, as always. Um, yeah. I kinda don't write in the Harry Potter fandom for a good reason... I need to read more Remus/Sirius fics. Really. Because I had no idea what I was doing while writing this.

(Originally posted on LJ 12-28-05.)