February Song

Part II

February 2007

A/N: Well here you go! I hope you like it.

Ha ha…I just realized it’s February now, “February Song”…get it? Yeah I’m weird. Please read on, and don’t forget to review!

Disclaimer: I don’t own the song, “February Song” by Josh Groban. (Shut up, I know I know, I’m obsessed.) I also don’t own Harry Potter. If I owned Harry Potter…I’D BE WRITING THE FREAKING SEVENTH BOOK, not some slashy fanfiction!

XXX

Where has that old friend gone?

Lost in a February song

Tell him it won’t be long

‘Till he opens his eyes

Opens his eyes

Amber eyes settled on a piece of parchment as the man they belonged to sat down heavily in an old, ratty chair. The years that had gone by seemed both millennia and seconds at the same time; was he really here and now? Had it really been that long ago?

For this was the anniversary. Not a normal anniversary; not a wedding, engagement, or any anniversary of that sort. It was the anniversary of the days when his life ended. But ironically it was also soon to be the anniversary celebrating his life beginning.

How funny life could be sometimes.

He tossed the parchment to the side, not being able to concentrate on it any longer, and stared out the window across the room. The sky was darkening, pale grey clouds growing steadily more menacing, and there was a promise of rain in the way the wind tossed the trees around outside.

He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands, allowing his mind to wander to things normally he tried to forget. While that night had been on Halloween, the very end of October, his punishment had not been decided until four months later. It had taken the authorities that long to sort out all that had happened, and for him and the poor rat to have their scene on that unsuspecting Muggle street. It had taken him all of four months to find dear Wormtail and corner him and…

He pressed his palms into his closed eyes to drive the memory away, standing up restlessly and pacing around the room.

His eyes fell onto a picture, a picture of him and another handsome young man…one with grey-blue eyes, and silky long black hair… Matching happy, carefree smiles lit up their faces.

He sighed, allowing his gaze to stop on the face of the one next to him. After their best friends’ deaths, he had felt he did not know him anymore. He could not believe what had happened, especially those four months later…

He often asked himself, where did the real him go? Or was he truly a murderous traitor through and through, his name matching the color of his soul? Who was his real friend, and where did he go, if he’d even disappeared in the first place?

He sighed, turning away from the picture to stride inattentively to the window. The wind was picking up, and a few small splatters of rain had begun to strike the window. That day in February, the day whose anniversary was coming up soon, he had gone to visit him. The nerve of him; even as the bars held him back, even as his thin, grimy hands grappled for his own, he tried to say it was not him. His eyes, those eyes he’d grown to love looking into, were desperate and cold.

“Remus, you’ve got to believe me,” he had said, his voice that of a man who’d lost everything, of a man with one small hope left, a hope that was slowly trickling away. “It wasn’t me, we switched, please-”

“You can’t possibly expect me to believe you, Black,” he had snarled, turning his back on someone he had loved dearly, one of his own best friends. While he felt his heart shattering, he ignored the pained gasp behind him, the feather-light, “Moony…”

And he walked away.

When would he realize that the days were long gone when he could win a person’s favor by a look or flattering smile? Things had changed. The handsome, fit young man was wasting away. Three of their closest friends were dead; another as good as dead.

He was alone.

Where is that simple day?

Before colors broke into shades…

And how did I ever fade,

Into this life

Into this life

This house had been his parents’ house, when they had been living. They had both passed away quite some time ago, his mother first; she had been older but he believed the stress had taken a toll on her younger years. Could you blame her; a werewolf child? Many parents did not keep these children, quite honestly.

His father had been a victim of the first war against Voldemort. The house, though small and slightly uncared for as it was, had been a blessing, one of few things left to him. During their Hogwarts days, they mostly stayed at James’s house, but sometimes his house was frequented too. Enough to where there were still remnants of past ‘adventures’ hidden under furniture and in the back of cupboards.

Remus walked away from the window, which rain was now pelting with force, and slowly around the living room, a small, sad smile on his face as memories flashed through his mind.

He walked into the hallway and stopped. An image popped into his head and he laughed, a painful laugh that at the same brought tears to his eyes. It was this very hallway where they had gone ‘skiing’. Using those small, round candies, they had conjured thousands of them, scattering them along the hard-wood surface. They had taken turns running and sliding down the hallway, propelled by the small candies.

This had been during their fourth year.

He was overcome with emotion. More memories, more wonderfully happy memories, were flying through his head now, beating and breaking him until he finally just plopped down on the floor, his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. Oh how he missed those days…

Trying to get a hold of himself, he wiped his face roughly, staring down the hallway at the doorways that led to the different rooms. It was midday, though one couldn’t really tell for the grey clouds storming across the sky. The rain was falling, if possible, even harder than before. He had the feeling that the rain would be there for awhile.

He looked down at the floor and laughed again, bitterly this time. What had happened to him? He was pitiful. He had been pitiful all through high school, lifted up solely by the popularity and charm of his best friends. Now without them he was nothing. He was reduced to sitting on scratched wood-floors, crying about memories long past.

And I never want to let you down

Forgive me if I slip away

When all that I’ve known is lost and found

I promise you I, I’ll come back to you one day

Remus stood up, sighing, and walked into the kitchen. He grabbed one of the clean mugs and made himself a quick cup of steaming hot chocolate; he had run out of coffee some time ago.

His mind wandered as he stirred the sweet concoction. The piece of parchment, a letter owled to him just that morning, was quite a piece of parchment indeed, and unexpected surprise. A pleasant surprise or unwelcome surprise, he wasn’t quite sure yet.

He knew those last few months, before Halloween, suspicion had grown even within the ranks of the four best friends. Justifiably so, of course, considering he – him of all people! – had turned them over to the Dark Lord. He knew they suspected him; the fourth of their party had never shown any knack to being sneaky or secretive, and of course would be the last anyone would suspect of being a double-agent. Now, him…

Remus sighed again, sadly sipping his now-lukewarm hot chocolate. He did not know what he could have done to make them distrust him, to cause them to believe he would be playing two cards, but whatever it was he felt ashamed of. It’s because you’re a werewolf, a horrible voice said in the back of his mind. No matter what they said. You’re a monster and they don’t trust you!

“Yes, they did!” he shouted angrily, despairingly. Pushing his mug away he strode quickly back into the living room, back to the window, to watch the rain hit the window forcefully. The grey of the clouds reminded him of another grey, a blue grey, the color of a certain someone’s eyes…

“Oh Padfoot,” he sighed, his breath fogging a small section of the window. He pressed his hand against the glass, and then his forehead, feeling comfort from the coolness. He remembered that last day again and felt guilty, even though he hated Padfoot with a passion. Or so he told himself. But even so, he felt like the bond was still there, and sometimes wondered if he should try to visit him again. Try to get some sense out of what happened, why he’d done it. But he would always push this thought away. “Another day,” he would tell himself. “Another day, when I can handle it.”

He stepped back away from the window, collapsing onto the couch again and pulling a blanket over him. He had a bedroom, there were three bedrooms actually, but he hardly ever slept in it. He found that he would prefer to just sleep on the couch; it wasn’t as if he had regular company, or company at all for that matter, so it didn’t matter about appearances.

He stared out the window once more before glancing down at the parchment, which was lying dutifully next to him. It promised a return to Hogwarts. It promised a home, pay, and regular meals. It promised company.

But it also promised new memories to be awakened. From age eleven to seventeen, many things happen between that time, best friends and romances aside. Living with them for seven years made it even more impossible to forget, no matter how much he tried.

He turned his gaze away to settle on the crackling fire, which had grown significantly smaller since the last time he’d checked it. He decided he would have to not worry about it; he didn’t have a choice, as any wood he had was outside and now very, very damp.

He burrowed even further under his blanket.

Morning is waking up

And sometimes it’s more than just enough

When all that you need to love

Is in front of your eyes

It’s in front of your eyes

The night came and went, and with it the storm that had passed sometime around four in the morning. He knew this because he heard it leave. He hardly ever really slept anymore.

Watching the sunset held no awe for him anymore; anything he’d felt for it had long since disappeared, with a certain slip of his heart that was now residing deep within the cold stone walls of the most feared Wizarding prison.

He remembered the first sunrise they watched together. And then the one where Remus, overcome from the beauty of that morning’s rays and the strange calm Padfoot was emitting, he reached over and grabbed the hand of said boy. And then the odd feeling, a weird feeling but a pleasant one, when his hand was squeezed gently. They never spoke that morning, and they never spoke of that morning, but it was not the last.

The last few years of their time at Hogwarts was spent much this way. The other two friends, the ones who slept through those momentous sunrises, did not try to understand why suddenly all the girls who stepped up for the co-Marauder-in-Chief’s hand were rejected, or why it did not bother Remus when Rachel Carmickle didn’t return his Valentine.

Those years were oddly content. Nothing bad happened, really; no one found out and tried to break them up. Maybe it was because someone of a higher power knew that these were the last years happiness had a chance. Because as soon as their seventh term ended, things began to erupt in the Wizarding World.

And I never want to let you down

Forgive me if I slip away

Sometimes it’s hard to find my ground

‘Cause I keep on falling as

I try to get away from this crazy world

That February, when he last saw Padfoot, it seemed as if his whole world and everything he had ever known had been pulled right out from under him. He had tried to stay on top, tried to keep his head above the current that was life, and had sunk miserably. He moved from job to job, usually quitting or being fired around the days before a full moon. He scraped enough to live, and thankfully he had found small ways to keep him breathing. During the spring he had saved just enough spare money to buy some seeds and plant a small vegetable garden, which thankfully grew wonderfully. He found he actually enjoyed growing them and was thinking about expanding it a little. He wasn’t sure what he would do during the winter, but that piece of parchment seemed to be an answer to that problem.

The rain having given everything a wonderful sheen, he stepped out of the back door to stand in soft, wet grass. Taking a moment to smell it – he lived next to the woods, and had wonderful seclusion here in his back yard – he stepped forward to the garden, walking leisurely.

In the time between sunset and sunrise, he had given the piece of parchment serious thought. He had weighed his options and considered his feelings, how much he could handle of the memories it would bring.

It was only a few minutes after he’d arrived at the garden, after he had knelt down next to a particularly tall tomato plant, that he realized something.

Harry would be in school now.

Remus froze, not feeling the green leaf in his hand or the weak rays of sun on the back of his neck. He had forgotten how old Harry might be. It would be his…third year.

Running his hand through his hair, Remus stood back up, his mind spinning. He owed it to his friends, if not to himself, to help Harry.

It was with this thought that he walked unseeingly back inside, sitting down to write a reply and owl it off, before he could change his mind.

And I never want to let you down

Forgive me if I slip away

When all that I’ve known is lost and found

I promise you I, I’ll come back to you one day

The reply to his reply sounded cheerful and relieved. Remus, I look forward to seeing you once again. There was an undercurrent of concern, and Remus considered the thought that maybe this was just a pity thing.

Then he shrugged and decided that he didn’t really care; hey, a guy needed to eat.

He was staring at the picture again, wondering what Padfoot would’ve thought if he knew. He would have laughed, saying that he’d known it all along.

Remus also wondered whether Padfoot would have wanted him too. He probably wants you to sit here and waste away, like he’s doing. He wants you to suffer with him. He would want you to feel his pain, a snide voice in the back of Remus’s head said.

He did not know if this was true or not. A part of him wanted to believe it was, he wanted another reason to do it. Simply starting school at Hogwarts had defied many people’s wishes and beliefs; his whole life consisted of surpassing people’s expectations. And this, this was personal. Just another reason to go.

But a small, feeble part of him wished that Padfoot would want him to go. Would want him to live his life, forget the memory of a dog cloaked in thick black fur.

Remus leaned forward to brush the photograph’s surface. “I don’t know which you’d have wanted me to do, Padfoot,” he said softly. “But I hope you don’t mind that I go.”

Where has that old friend gone?

Lost in a February song…

Tell him it won’t be long,

‘Till he opens his eyes

Opens his eyes

His hands grappled with the clasps on his tattered old suitcase, something that hadn’t been used in a very long time. It was filled to the top, small as it was, and he was having difficulty shutting it.

He was only bringing the necessities; quills, parchment, clothes. Bathroom items, the sort. As he walked to the front door, ready to get rid of this place for a nice long while, his gaze happened upon that photograph, and he stopped. He was not bringing it for a reason.

With pleading eyes, he once again questioned old Padfoot’s motives. “Where have you gone, Sirius?” he said sadly. “The old you.”

He turned his back on the photo and walked out, his gaze steely. This was something new for him, a new chance, and he was ready to embrace it with open arms. Even if it meant…forgetting certain things.

He walked out and, after making sure protective charms were in place and the doors were locked, he Apparated away. He would stay in a Muggle motel for the next few days, and then go to Platform 9 ¾, to the magnificent Hogwarts Express. In itself, that brought many memories, and he felt like he needed to get away for a few days before hand to prepare himself for it.

About an hour or two after he had Apparated away, a light brown owl flew in from the bright blue sky, a newspaper in its beak. After pecking on the windows and doors, even at the mail flap, the bird sat down on a nearby tree limb and ruffled its feathers, annoyed. Finally deciding the house’s occupant wasn’t worth waiting on, it flew to the door, dropped the newspaper on the doormat, and flew off.

If Remus had waited a few moments before leaving, he would have opened his door to find the newspaper’s headline blaring at him,

BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN!

XXX

A/N: A lot of bold here at the end. Ha ha. Okay well honestly I don’t like this one, I like the first one a whole lot better. I had a bit more inspiration for the one in Sirius’s POV, a bit obvious when you look at the fact that this one is seven pages, compared to Sirius’s nine pages. –shrug- Ah well. Please tell me what YOU think and review!!

Happy Mardi Gras!