Archive of Our Own

"You can't be Sirius," Remus said, squinting in the half-light that filled the cell like a dirty, viscous liquid.

"Oh, but I am. Dead Sirius," Sirius assured him, and Remus burst out laughing at the old joke.

"Ah, that's funnier than it used to be," Remus wheezed out, his laughter dissipating into racking coughs. "I've been waiting for the hallucinations to kick in," he added, when his breathing had subsided into a low rasp. "I thought I'd get crawling spiders. You're much nicer."

"At your service," Sirius said with a slight bow. "Um. Are you attached to those chains? Do you want me to -- ?" He made a swish-and-flick wave of his fingers in the air, and Remus grinned loopily up at him.

"Be my guest," Remus said, sitting up as best he could. "I'll just hallucinate up a wand for you, shall I?"

"Nah," Sirius said. He crouched down next to Remus, and with a mixed look of apology and embarrassment, touched his hands to Remus' wrists. The chains shimmered and fell through Remus' arms to clatter in a graceless mass on the stones.

"Holy fuck," Remus whispered, and this time it was Sirius who laughed, quicksilver joy as if the prank of his lifetime had just begun. He repeated the trick with Remus' ankles; as he did so, Remus' broken hands came up and framed his face as if it were something precious.

"Ahh, Moony," Sirius said, turning his head so his mouth was to one ravaged palm. "You've got to believe in the magic."

Remus traced Sirius' lips in wonder. "Am I dead, then?"

"Do I look like a fucking angel?" Sirius asked, and settled down with his back to the wall and Remus gathered in his arms like a child.

"You did when you were young," Remus reminded him, letting his head drop back onto Sirius' shoulder. "Even when you came out of prison, though then you looked like the angel of death. Haunted and mad -- very gothic. You look better now," he added, his mouth curling in amusement as Sirius made horrible faces down at him. "This is worse than spiders, now that I think about it. I won't want to return to reality."

"That's the thing," Sirius said, and rested his cheek against Remus' hair. "The very thing, Moony. I'm not really completely dead -- I'm just waiting, behind the veil."

"Grim," Remus said.

"It's not that bad," Sirius countered, and Remus elbowed him in the ribs. "You'd think someone would have put a warning in the instructions on becoming an Animagus, wouldn't you, not to become a Death Omen because it could bite you in the arse? Though I suppose it's not something one finds out right away."

"The book'd have to be ghostwritten," Remus said, grinning.

"Ass." Remus coughed again, only this time Sirius' hand rubbed comfortingly over his back until he could catch his breath. "I saw you," Sirius said abruptly. "I saw you just now, behind the veil. When they were -- when you -- before they brought you here. You said -- "

"I have to go back," Remus whispered. Sirius wished there were something in the cell to give warmth: he could feel the stones of the floor and walls sucking the heat from Remus' body.

"And here you are," Sirius said, comfortingly. "And here I am, because I followed you. I've been waiting ages for someone to go back -- someone with a plan. Wish like hell it wasn't you, you know. Albus gave me a stale bikkie and a scratch behind the ears, and Filch tore off after I barked at his damned cat, and pretty much everyone else didn't even notice me. And then there was you. Well. You're still dying -- "

"I'm Secret Keeper. I have to -- they caught me before I -- somehow, I have to get to Harry," Remus said in tones of agonised regret.

"Well, of course," Sirius snapped. "As soon as you're ready, we'll go. Godric's balls, he's James and Lily's son, did you think I'd stop you?"

Remus snorted. "A three year old could probably stop me," he said. "I'm not up to more than the hundred-metre stagger. Voldemort had better watch out. I might just fall on him."

"Give him fleas," Sirius said absently.

"He's bald as a bludger," Remus countered.

"Who do you suppose waxes Voldemort's pubes, then?" Sirius asked. "No, don't laugh, sorry, that's no good, is it." He unfolded Remus with the cautious care of a lepidopterist with a new specimen. "I can take you through the veil, now that you're, you know. I can't fix any of what's wrong with you. I mean, Death Omen, that's what I am." He sounded angry.

Remus raised his head to look Sirius in the eyes.

"You still have beautiful eyes," Remus said, and Sirius rolled them. "Like the night sky. Death agrees with you." He paused, looking away. "I'm not so easy on the eyes, myself, these days."

"I always thought you were," Sirius said, and traced Remus' sceptically-raised eyebrow with a finger. It killed him to need such care in touching Remus. "Ah, Moony, someone should have rescued you from all this. You were beautiful, too."

"No good," Remus said. "You're meant to be jollying me along. You're not allowed to get morose."

"Sorry," Sirius muttered, but it was hard to remain petulant when the corners of Remus' mouth were barely holding back a grin. "Been dead, you know."

Remus held up a hand. "I don't think you're going to trump this with your drapery misadventure."

Sirius paused. "I always heard there were a lot of bones in the human hand. Never really noticed them before." He leant forward, resting his forehead against Remus', and let his fingers brush lightly over the edges of the words carved into Remus' skin. I will not keep secrets was etched in deep, defiant script and already half-healed; the newer curses and epithets were raw, wavering lines, dissolving into erratic spikes -- written, Sirius suspected, in tandem with the slow crushing of Remus' hands. He could see how they had finally got Remus to hold the quill, and it turned his stomach. Though not as much as what he had witnessed when he accompanied Remus back to his body: the inquisitor's viciousness had made Sirius want to scream on Remus' behalf.

Remus bumped his head into Sirius' with a melony thump. "Jolly," he said. "Now."

"A werewolf, a rabbi, and a lesbian walk into a bar," Sirius began automatically.

"I taught you that one," Remus said, yawning.

"Yes, and then you made me tell Harry's friend -- four hours straight she lectured me." Sirius nudged Remus. "No sleeping, okay? Remember the one about the duck, the duck walks into the greengrocer's -- "

"Got any nails?" Remus responded. "Tell me the one about the charmed hat in the apothecary."

"And if you don't stop wanking, your arm'll never get better."

"And the dead mother?"

"Steak and chips for dinner!"

Remus sighed in contentment. "You always did appreciate my finer qualities of being a sick fuck with a twisted sense of humour."

"Oh, well, there's nothing funnier than sex and death." Sirius scraped a finger along grey stubble aspiring to be a beard. "Whose secret are you keeping, anyway? What's worth all this?"

Remus shook his head in exaggerated mock regret, but his eyes sparked with a kind of triumph. "Albus had an odd little spell for hiding things. I improved it -- only someone who doesn't ask can get told." He grinned, slowly, in a way that reminded Sirius of the wolf. "These Ministry fools made the mistake of asking right off the bat, so I couldn't tell them -- or you, now -- for all the tea in China. It cracks me up, it really does." He paused. "I think -- I think James might have approved. It's a good way for a Marauder to die."

"James would have wanted you to have more good things to laugh about in life. Not the Ministry locking you away in a cell to die by degrees -- "

"It's okay," Remus said. "I feel fine. Top of the world."

"I'm killing your nerve endings," Sirius said, sharply. "Sitting here, that's what I'm doing. I figure you won't live long enough to develop gangrene."

"Well, it feels wonderful. Like those potions we brewed up fifth year, remember those?"

"Heh. I remember that you spiked the staff's pumpkin juice at the Hallowe'en bash. Whatever happened to those photos, McGonagall in her tartan girdle, table dancing with what's-her-name, Muggle Studies professor?"

"I gave them to the Weasley girl. I figured she might find a good use for them."

"You cruel bastard."

"Aren't I just," Remus agreed, and stretched carefully. "Are you really here?"

"More or less."

"Good, good." Remus leant his elbow heavily on the top of Sirius' head and pushed himself up. "Catch me if I fall," he added, panting a little and pressing his left arm tight under his ribs. "Am I still bleeding?" he asked. "We're going to Harry's, then. Poor etiquette, to drip blood all over."

Sirius stood, embarrassed by how easy it was for him. He felt the cold, but it didn't stiffen his muscles or settle in his bones. Not any more. "You know I love you, Moony, don't you?" he said, and Remus straightened enough to give him the look that said, for someone so clever, you certainly are stupid.

"You think I'd let just any Death Omen waltz in here and sweep me onto my feet?" Remus said, with a grin half pain and half wickedness. "If it were an option, I'd throw you down and shag you senseless."

"That would be a good option," Sirius agreed, and touched Remus again. He couldn't help it. He traced the lines on Remus' face and the curve of his throat, the bony sharpness of his shoulders and elbows, trying to avoid bruises and broken bones and worse. He was still hurting Remus and he still didn't want to stop touching. He wished that he could just let Remus die already, that they could both give up the fight here in the cold. Ah, he was sick of prisons.

"Not the right one, unfortunately." Sirius' hand brushed over Remus. "You know where to find Harry?"

"James and Lily's," Remus said. "At least, he was there, before."

"Easy enough to find. When we get there, we'll cross back." He looked at Remus. "It'll be hard for you. And I won't be much help, being a dog."

"Bite me if I fall over, that's all I ask."

"Give me your arm," Sirius said. Touching Remus, he could see the way back to the other side of the veil. It took only an effort of will and Remus' trust in him to step across, leaving the cell and the Ministry and the whole of the world behind for the nowhere place between life and afterlife.

Remus stumbled blindly; Sirius remembered how hard it had been to adjust to the smothering darkness and the cold: it was colder than any cell he'd ever been in, and he was a connoisseur of cells. One damn prison after another, he thought, story of my life. With Remus' arm held firmly in his jaws, he sniffed for the scent of James' death; found it; and led on.

The third time Remus fell he started laughing where he sat. Sirius didn't want to let him go, not for a second, but he licked at the underside of Remus' forearm until the scabs tore free and he tasted fresh blood. Remus rubbed him behind the ears and, in between coughs that bent him double, told him the joke about the Muggle girl and the vibrating sex toy and sang him three verses of a very dirty song about a boy waxing his broomstick.

Sirius growled back in his throat.

"I know it's serious," Remus snapped back. Sirius tried to whine a bad pun about his name, but he didn't think it translated well into dog. Remus sighed and began regaining his feet. "The spiders have started, by the way. I wish -- " he stopped, straightened his shoulders with an audible crack, and began walking -- " I wish I could itch."

Sirius decided, after ten slow steps that allowed his rage to go from solar white to a dull red murderous impulse, that it was a good thing dogs knew their masters, knew how to submit to a higher will. He nuzzled Remus' hip in apology.

"Good dog," Remus said. He told Sirius a truly repulsive limerick about a man with three dicks, but Sirius could tell that he was distracted. He was perhaps already feeling the tidal pull to the place beyond that Sirius was barred from until his stint as Death Omen was done. Sirius flattened his ears and hardened his heart and kept walking.

It might have been hours later, had there been hours in this place. Through the veiling of the air, Sirius could see the painfully familiar shape of the house at Godric's Hollow. He was glad he was unable to warn Remus about the imminent crushing weight of atmosphere on the other side, or the peculiar agoraphobia that he himself had felt outside the veil -- although he supposed he might simply be institutionalised. He didn't know if it would help Remus to know, or if it would be the final straw. He ploughed forwards, nearly dragging Remus; and then they were through.

"Ah, fuck," Remus said, lying flat on the overgrown lawn where he had fallen, dandelions crowning him. The sky was streaked with purple-tinted clouds. Sunset, Sirius decided, stretching himself straight and re-establishing his human centre of balance.

"Here," Sirius said, and yanked his filthy robe over his head, sending a shower of dog hair up to pollute the air. He had only a ragged pair of pyjama trousers on underneath: it said something about a man, he mused, to die in his pyjamas. "Put this on. You don't want Harry thinking you're a pervert."

"Gods forbid," Remus muttered, but sat up and let Sirius dress him with that faint amused smile hovering around his mouth. "You worry too much, Padfoot."

The door cracked open, and Remus stood, taking three slow, drunken steps to where he would be visible from the inside.

"Good boy," he said as an aside to Sirius. "We tripped an alarm when we arrived. He's being cautious. Moody will have helped him. He'll be doing an Inferius check -- I would, in his place. I rather thought… Umbridge must have announced my death. Dead to the world, that's me," he said with grim satisfaction.

"Here's Harry," Sirius said. The boy came down the steps slowly, his wand at the ready. He looked wary and determined, but when he was close enough to see Remus' face he stumbled to a stop.

"Are you -- " Harry began, and Sirius' heart broke once when he saw that Harry didn't recognise Remus and again when the look of sick realisation bloomed on Harry's face. "Professor Lupin? Oh, God -- "

"It's all right, Harry," Remus said, in his best reassuring teacher's voice: it conveyed stern nuances of none of that nonsense, now and pay attention, this will be on your exam. "I have a secret for you that you'll need in the fight to come. Be quiet and listen."

Sirius smirked as Harry's mouth snapped shut. Thus speaks His Master's Voice. He windmilled his arms behind Remus, but Harry never blinked. He had expected as much; it would have been hard on the boy, anyway, to be caught crying by his godfather.

Sirius wandered up the steps, out of earshot, and into the front sitting room, which looked much the same as James and Lily had kept it. There was a second-hand settee and a battered table with only charms for two of its legs and piled high with books and parchments. There was a red-headed girl here as well: if he squinted and let the flickering of the firelight work its magic, Sirius could almost see Lily in the sprawled form of Ginny Weasley on the hearthrug, a book fallen from somnolent fingers.

Harry gave a sudden sharp cry. Sirius padded back outside, and Remus took his arm, looking sheepish.

"Ready to blow this popsicle stand?" Sirius asked; now, he could grab Remus and dip him and snog him breathless, so he did.

"Do you think they'll be all right?" Remus asked, looking back as the house at Godric's Hollow telescoped itself around them.

"Probably. It's not our story any more, though." Sirius touched and touched: this was his Moony, not what was left on the dandelions. Remus was touching him back, in brilliant wonder. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Remus said, and then pulled them both to a stop. "I love you. Just so you know." He ran his fingers through Sirius' hair, stared into eyes silver like stars. "All right. Let's go."