Young And Whole (Wk 42)
Title: Young And Whole
Author/Artist: blanketdinstars ( AO3)
Rating: G
Contents or warnings: 1996
Word count: 2539
Summary: June 18th, 1996. The last hours.
Notes: In Order of the Phoenix, Sirius arrives at the Ministry with everyone else, but I guess this is just another way in which I'm writing an AU.
There is a broken bottle in the hallway. “That’s nice,” Tonks comments dryly. A little farther on, they find another, and then several drops of blood-fresh.
Remus’s stomach plummets. He leads the way down the stairs and into the kitchen, but it’s deserted. They head upstairs, out of earshot of the portrait. “Sirius?” Remus calls quietly.
Kreacher appears in the doorway of the drawing room. “Master Sirius is upstairs,” he offers.
“Thank you.” Remus doesn’t have time to dwell on suspicion that comes from Kreacher being voluntarily helpful. He takes the stairs three at a time and arrives on the third landing to see all the doors shut. “Sirius?” he calls again.
There’s no answer.
Remus checks behind the first two doors and finds only empty bedrooms. One has a pack on the bed that he knows belongs to Moody, but the man is nowhere in sight. Opening the third door, he sees Sirius staring fixedly at Buckbeak, bent into a bow.
The relief is palpable. Remus turns to Tonks. “He’s here. Can you clean up the glass? I need to talk to him.”
She looks somewhat disappointed, but nods, auburn curls bouncing.
Remus enters and shuts the door behind him. He’s never had much reason to come in here before, and so has never realized exactly how rich the room is. The walls aren’t papered, but hung with tapestries, and the ceiling is stamped tin. Of course, since it’s housing a hippogriff, everything is more or less filthy, but he can see that it must have been beautiful once.
“Hang on just a moment,” Sirius says very slowly. He waits a minute, and then two. At last Buckbeak, lying along the wall, lowers his head. Sirius hurries over to him.
“Are you all right?” Remus asks.
Sirius, running his hands over Buckbeak’s feathers, doesn’t respond right away. “Yes, I’m fine,” he finally says, only half paying attention.
“There’s blood on the floor downstairs.”
“That’s his,” Sirius says, gesturing to the hippogriff. “He’s hurt. I came in to feed him and he was bleeding, but I couldn’t tell why-here it is, though.” He lifts one wing to reveal a mess of bloody, bent feathers.
“So-you’re not hurt?”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Sirius says.
It’s almost a snarl, and Remus falls silent at once, shocked. This isn’t quite the welcome he’d expected after two weeks away.
Sirius sighs. Remus knows that sound, knows an apology is usually a few seconds behind it. But all Sirius says is, “Do you know how to heal hippogriffs?”
So today is one of the bad days. “No. But I’ve got some bandages and potions in my bag.” Without waiting to be asked, Remus goes to retrieve his things from where he dropped them next to the front door. He starts back, then freezes. He thinks he can hear voices from the kitchen.
But his gaze falls on the broken bottles. Remus shakes his head and returns to the master bedroom. “Here.” He hands Sirius the kit and leans on the dull wood of the bedpost. “What’s happened to him?”
“No bloody idea,” Sirius mumbles around a cork. He dribbles something out of one of the vials, and does a lot of other things that are hidden from Remus by Sirius’s own body in his view. “Must’ve been something sharp. It’s not too deep, but-” Suddenly Buckbeak gives a loud squawk. Sirius jerks his hand back. “Sorry, mate,” he says, moving a little more slowly. “It won’t be much longer now.”
From his vantage point, Remus can see only Sirius’s back and half of Buckbeak’s body. He recognizes the tension in Sirius’s shoulders, the taut line of his spine beneath the shirt. Looking into Buckbeak’s orange eyes gives him the distinct impression of being accused. It’s infuriating.
“Is everything-all right?” Remus asks, unable to find better words.
“Like I said,” Sirius grinds out, replacing the cork rather forcefully, “I am perfectly-”
“Not you. Everything. How are things? How’s life?”
Sirius pounces on that. “How’s life, Lupin? It’s brilliant. It’s spectacular. I love living here.”
It’s as if he’s gone back in time two decades, as if he’s speaking with the boy of storm clouds and violent tides, of tightly wrapped kindnesses and vicious late-night whispers. “I meant,” Remus says, “is anything bothering you? Or,” he amends, “was anything bothering you before I walked in?”
Stowing his wand in his pocket, Sirius stands up and shoves the bundle of supplies at Remus. “Nothing’s bothering me. Everything is wonderful.” His lip curls at Remus’s expression. “Oh, I forgot, that’s not how it works, is it? I have to be broken all the time, so you can fix me, saint that you are.”
Remus stares, clutching the pack to his chest. Even on the worst days, he’s never heard that one before.
As he watches, the hard, wild look on Sirius’s face crumbles. It’s a slow process not unlike the sweeping away of a desert dune, exposing something precious underneath. Sirius’s eyes grow bright, but he doesn’t cry; he presses the heels of his hands to his closed eyelids and breathes out: a sharp, staccato exhalation. And then he moans, low. It’s a moment before Remus realizes that he’s actually saying something, and another before he understands what it is. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Despite feeling rather wounded, Remus reaches out-automatically, it must be, and maybe Sirius is right, maybe all he’s good for is mending shattered people. “It’s oka-”
“It’s not!” Sirius shakes off the hand on his arm; behind him Buckbeak chirps anxiously. “Remus, I-I’m sorry. But-” He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the revolting, moth-eaten duvet. “This is pointless.”
Remus shakes his head. He wants to sit beside him but knows it’s a bad idea, so he keeps his distance. “It isn’t pointless,” he insists. “Just talk to me.”
“I didn’t mean the talking,” Sirius says. “I meant us.”
“What?”
“Us,” Sirius repeats. He gestures to both of them, to the space between. “This is never going to work.”
“What?” It’s all he can say. All he can think.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” Sirius tells him, one corner of his mouth flickering up. “I’m-I’m tethering you, Remus. That’s no good.”
“Tethering-? No, Sirius, you’re-”
“You only leave the house when you can’t avoid it. You’re always worried. Isn’t this just like the first war?” Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “It’s my fault again. You don’t deserve this.”
“Who said anything about deserving?” Remus demands, not worried but scared. “What we deserve is never going to show up, so there’s no point in thinking about it. What we want, though-that dream can come true. And all I’ve ever wanted is you.”
Sirius blinks. “You’re not listening,” he says. “Look at me.”
Remus does. He looks at Sirius’s unwashed hair, the dark hollows of his eyes, the way his skin seems to hang loosely on his bones. He looks at the slight tremor in his hands and the curve of his shoulders, almost fragile. He looks at him, and he loves him.
But before he can speak, Sirius says, in a rough voice, “I can’t be fixed, Moony, not anymore. It’s never going to get better. You should be with somebody who can remember what year it is. Somebody young and-and whole.”
Remus swallows hard. “When I look at you,” he says quietly, “I don’t see a lost cause. I see a person who knows what my life’s been like, because you’ve been through this hell, too. It doesn’t matter that you’re broken. So am I.”
“Remus-”
“We’ve both got a lot of jagged edges,” Remus says. “They match up.” He reaches out and takes Sirius’s face between his hands, feeling both of their heartbeats in his skin. “I know I can’t stitch you up and make it all okay. I just want to help you.”
“Why?” Sirius asks, and it’s almost a sob. “Why not help yourself instead?”
Remus feels a strange pain in his chest, akin to having his ribs broken one by one and being told to breathe. “Because I love you,” he says, the biggest truth he’s ever spoken and the one he’s afraid won’t be heard. “I don’t want to live a life without you. I tried for twelve years, but that wasn’t living, and now I’ve got you back, and Sirius-I’m not going anywhere. So you’d better just accept that.”
Sirius gazes at him; there are no tears on his cheeks. Moments pass, minutes maybe, and Remus wishes he could take some of this vastness inside him and pour it into Sirius, make him understand. Make him feel it too.
At last Sirius breathes out. “I love you too,” he whispers, almost chokes, and then they’ve got their arms around each other’s bodies, faces in each other’s hair.
Not for the first time, Remus pulls Sirius as close to him as he can. “I’m not leaving you,” he says again.
“Me neither.”
He knows it’s not over, that there will be scores upon scores of days just like this one where they can’t breathe for the panic and the sun doesn’t shine at all. But clutching Sirius to his chest, he can only find it in himself to be grateful-
“Hang on,” Sirius says, gently disengaging. He’s squinting over Remus’s shoulder.
Remus turns in time to see a Patronus materialize among the filth, glowing all the brighter for the debris. The silver doe takes a few bobbing steps toward them, and then the soft, contained voice of Severus Snape issues from its mouth. “Black, please send return Patronus if at headquarters.”
The doe fades. Remus stares for a moment at the place where it vanished, then looks over at Sirius, who looks as surprised as he feels. He also looks afraid. He pulls his wand from his robes and grips it tightly, but makes no move to cast the charm.
“You can do it,” Remus says, trying to keep the professor from his tone.
Sirius glances at him, full of uncertainty, then seems to steel himself. His eyes fix on Remus’s as he points his wand to the middle of the room. “Expecto Patronum,” he says without looking away.
The huge silver dog bursts into blinding existence, and Remus and Sirius both laugh, relieved. “Nuntium Porto,” Sirius says, still pointing his wand at the dog, and then, “Here with Moody, Tonks, and Lupin.” He flicks his wand and the Patronus dissolves like a fine mist.
“Well done,” Remus says before he can stop himself. “Full marks,” he adds, trying for a joke.
Sirius snorts. “Thanks, Professor.” He slowly approaches Buckbeak again and strokes his head, murmuring a quiet goodbye.
They find Tonks and Mad-Eye in the long table in the kitchen, having a small supper and poring over what appear to be maps of Kent. They both look up when Remus and Sirius enter, and then quickly down again.
“Everything all right?” Remus asks before the other two can. He sets about preparing his own plate.
Tonks looks desperately curious, but refrains from saying anything other than, “Did you know, Sirius, that there’s a legend of a big black dog haunting Leeds Castle?”
Sirius looks over as soup pours itself into his bowl. “I’ve never been, so I can’t take credit. Sounds like something I’d do, though.”
“Apparently it-” Tonks breaks off at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.
Snape sweeps into the kitchen, black robes billowing behind him. “There’s an issue at the school,” he announces. “I believe Potter has been duped by the Dark Lord, as Dumbledore feared.”
Remus feels the blood drain from his face as Sirius overturns his bowl, the soup splashing onto the floor. “How?” he demands.
“I am not entirely certain,” Snape admits. “Dolores Umbridge summoned me to her office where she had apprehended the boy and several of his friends in some mischief or other, and as I was leaving, Potter gave me somewhat cryptic information. He said, ‘He’s got Padfoot at the place where it’s hidden.’” Snape purses his lips. “It would seem the Dark Lord has infiltrated his mind at last. ‘It,’ of course, refers to the weapon, which I understand you informed him of last September. Thus, Potter believes that you”-he inclines his head towards Sirius-“are being held prisoner in the Department of Mysteries.”
“But I’m not,” Sirius states, plainly caught in the same shock that Remus is feeling. “I’m here.”
“Yes, clearly, Black, you are not at the Ministry,” Snape snaps. “The fact remains that Potter has taken it upon himself to rescue you on his own, playing directly into the Dark Lord’s hands.”
“We’ve got to help him,” Tonks bursts out from the table.
“Precisely,” says Snape, rather unenthusiastically.
Kingsley comes down the steps behind him, pulling up short when he sees all of them gathered. “Is something wrong?” he asks.
While Snape fills him in, everyone jumps into action, heading towards the stairs. Remus catches Sirius’s arm as he dashes past. “You’re not going,” he says.
“Of course I am.” Sirius tries to pull out of his grasp, but Remus holds on. “I’ve got to, Remus. What’d you want me to do, just sit here?”
“It’s-for Merlin’s sake, you can’t go.” Remus hears the double standard in his words, and didn’t he just promise never to leave, only a few minutes ago? But there are some things that he can’t lie to himself about. “You can’t just waltz into the Ministry, Sirius, not with a price on your head. And-and I don’t think,” he continues, knowing it’s awful, “that the first thing you should do after months of house arrest is duel Lord Voldemort.”
Sirius huffs an angry breath. “I will not be left out of this,” he insists.
“I have alerted Dumbledore,” Snape interjects, “and he will be arriving here shortly. Someone must be present to inform him of the situation.”
“Why not you?” Sirius rounds on Snape with his teeth practically bared.
“I agree with Severus,” Kingsley says in his deep voice. “Dumbledore has to know what’s happened.”
Sirius looks from Kingsley to Snape to Remus, then throws his hands in the air. He turns on his heel and walks toward the steps, and Remus can tell that his dignity is the only thing stopping him from shouting at them.
Two minutes later they’ve formulated an approximate battle plan and are filing out the front door. Remus is last, and gives the best smile he can. “I’m sorry,” he says to Sirius, who is waiting. “I really am.”
Sirius sighs. “I know you are.”
“If it goes well tonight,” Remus begins, then falters. He really has no way of knowing. But-“If it goes well, you might be a free man tomorrow.”
Sirius’s hair hangs all about his face, hiding everything but the faint edge of light along his nose and brow. “Go on, then,” he says. “You won’t win anything hanging about here.”
Remus nods, tries another smile, and feels he ought to say something. But Sirius waves him away, so he stays quiet, waves, steps out the door.
Author/Artist: blanketdinstars ( AO3)
Rating: G
Contents or warnings: 1996
Word count: 2539
Summary: June 18th, 1996. The last hours.
Notes: In Order of the Phoenix, Sirius arrives at the Ministry with everyone else, but I guess this is just another way in which I'm writing an AU.
There is a broken bottle in the hallway. “That’s nice,” Tonks comments dryly. A little farther on, they find another, and then several drops of blood-fresh.
Remus’s stomach plummets. He leads the way down the stairs and into the kitchen, but it’s deserted. They head upstairs, out of earshot of the portrait. “Sirius?” Remus calls quietly.
Kreacher appears in the doorway of the drawing room. “Master Sirius is upstairs,” he offers.
“Thank you.” Remus doesn’t have time to dwell on suspicion that comes from Kreacher being voluntarily helpful. He takes the stairs three at a time and arrives on the third landing to see all the doors shut. “Sirius?” he calls again.
There’s no answer.
Remus checks behind the first two doors and finds only empty bedrooms. One has a pack on the bed that he knows belongs to Moody, but the man is nowhere in sight. Opening the third door, he sees Sirius staring fixedly at Buckbeak, bent into a bow.
The relief is palpable. Remus turns to Tonks. “He’s here. Can you clean up the glass? I need to talk to him.”
She looks somewhat disappointed, but nods, auburn curls bouncing.
Remus enters and shuts the door behind him. He’s never had much reason to come in here before, and so has never realized exactly how rich the room is. The walls aren’t papered, but hung with tapestries, and the ceiling is stamped tin. Of course, since it’s housing a hippogriff, everything is more or less filthy, but he can see that it must have been beautiful once.
“Hang on just a moment,” Sirius says very slowly. He waits a minute, and then two. At last Buckbeak, lying along the wall, lowers his head. Sirius hurries over to him.
“Are you all right?” Remus asks.
Sirius, running his hands over Buckbeak’s feathers, doesn’t respond right away. “Yes, I’m fine,” he finally says, only half paying attention.
“There’s blood on the floor downstairs.”
“That’s his,” Sirius says, gesturing to the hippogriff. “He’s hurt. I came in to feed him and he was bleeding, but I couldn’t tell why-here it is, though.” He lifts one wing to reveal a mess of bloody, bent feathers.
“So-you’re not hurt?”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Sirius says.
It’s almost a snarl, and Remus falls silent at once, shocked. This isn’t quite the welcome he’d expected after two weeks away.
Sirius sighs. Remus knows that sound, knows an apology is usually a few seconds behind it. But all Sirius says is, “Do you know how to heal hippogriffs?”
So today is one of the bad days. “No. But I’ve got some bandages and potions in my bag.” Without waiting to be asked, Remus goes to retrieve his things from where he dropped them next to the front door. He starts back, then freezes. He thinks he can hear voices from the kitchen.
But his gaze falls on the broken bottles. Remus shakes his head and returns to the master bedroom. “Here.” He hands Sirius the kit and leans on the dull wood of the bedpost. “What’s happened to him?”
“No bloody idea,” Sirius mumbles around a cork. He dribbles something out of one of the vials, and does a lot of other things that are hidden from Remus by Sirius’s own body in his view. “Must’ve been something sharp. It’s not too deep, but-” Suddenly Buckbeak gives a loud squawk. Sirius jerks his hand back. “Sorry, mate,” he says, moving a little more slowly. “It won’t be much longer now.”
From his vantage point, Remus can see only Sirius’s back and half of Buckbeak’s body. He recognizes the tension in Sirius’s shoulders, the taut line of his spine beneath the shirt. Looking into Buckbeak’s orange eyes gives him the distinct impression of being accused. It’s infuriating.
“Is everything-all right?” Remus asks, unable to find better words.
“Like I said,” Sirius grinds out, replacing the cork rather forcefully, “I am perfectly-”
“Not you. Everything. How are things? How’s life?”
Sirius pounces on that. “How’s life, Lupin? It’s brilliant. It’s spectacular. I love living here.”
It’s as if he’s gone back in time two decades, as if he’s speaking with the boy of storm clouds and violent tides, of tightly wrapped kindnesses and vicious late-night whispers. “I meant,” Remus says, “is anything bothering you? Or,” he amends, “was anything bothering you before I walked in?”
Stowing his wand in his pocket, Sirius stands up and shoves the bundle of supplies at Remus. “Nothing’s bothering me. Everything is wonderful.” His lip curls at Remus’s expression. “Oh, I forgot, that’s not how it works, is it? I have to be broken all the time, so you can fix me, saint that you are.”
Remus stares, clutching the pack to his chest. Even on the worst days, he’s never heard that one before.
As he watches, the hard, wild look on Sirius’s face crumbles. It’s a slow process not unlike the sweeping away of a desert dune, exposing something precious underneath. Sirius’s eyes grow bright, but he doesn’t cry; he presses the heels of his hands to his closed eyelids and breathes out: a sharp, staccato exhalation. And then he moans, low. It’s a moment before Remus realizes that he’s actually saying something, and another before he understands what it is. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Despite feeling rather wounded, Remus reaches out-automatically, it must be, and maybe Sirius is right, maybe all he’s good for is mending shattered people. “It’s oka-”
“It’s not!” Sirius shakes off the hand on his arm; behind him Buckbeak chirps anxiously. “Remus, I-I’m sorry. But-” He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the revolting, moth-eaten duvet. “This is pointless.”
Remus shakes his head. He wants to sit beside him but knows it’s a bad idea, so he keeps his distance. “It isn’t pointless,” he insists. “Just talk to me.”
“I didn’t mean the talking,” Sirius says. “I meant us.”
“What?”
“Us,” Sirius repeats. He gestures to both of them, to the space between. “This is never going to work.”
“What?” It’s all he can say. All he can think.
“It’s not you, it’s me,” Sirius tells him, one corner of his mouth flickering up. “I’m-I’m tethering you, Remus. That’s no good.”
“Tethering-? No, Sirius, you’re-”
“You only leave the house when you can’t avoid it. You’re always worried. Isn’t this just like the first war?” Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “It’s my fault again. You don’t deserve this.”
“Who said anything about deserving?” Remus demands, not worried but scared. “What we deserve is never going to show up, so there’s no point in thinking about it. What we want, though-that dream can come true. And all I’ve ever wanted is you.”
Sirius blinks. “You’re not listening,” he says. “Look at me.”
Remus does. He looks at Sirius’s unwashed hair, the dark hollows of his eyes, the way his skin seems to hang loosely on his bones. He looks at the slight tremor in his hands and the curve of his shoulders, almost fragile. He looks at him, and he loves him.
But before he can speak, Sirius says, in a rough voice, “I can’t be fixed, Moony, not anymore. It’s never going to get better. You should be with somebody who can remember what year it is. Somebody young and-and whole.”
Remus swallows hard. “When I look at you,” he says quietly, “I don’t see a lost cause. I see a person who knows what my life’s been like, because you’ve been through this hell, too. It doesn’t matter that you’re broken. So am I.”
“Remus-”
“We’ve both got a lot of jagged edges,” Remus says. “They match up.” He reaches out and takes Sirius’s face between his hands, feeling both of their heartbeats in his skin. “I know I can’t stitch you up and make it all okay. I just want to help you.”
“Why?” Sirius asks, and it’s almost a sob. “Why not help yourself instead?”
Remus feels a strange pain in his chest, akin to having his ribs broken one by one and being told to breathe. “Because I love you,” he says, the biggest truth he’s ever spoken and the one he’s afraid won’t be heard. “I don’t want to live a life without you. I tried for twelve years, but that wasn’t living, and now I’ve got you back, and Sirius-I’m not going anywhere. So you’d better just accept that.”
Sirius gazes at him; there are no tears on his cheeks. Moments pass, minutes maybe, and Remus wishes he could take some of this vastness inside him and pour it into Sirius, make him understand. Make him feel it too.
At last Sirius breathes out. “I love you too,” he whispers, almost chokes, and then they’ve got their arms around each other’s bodies, faces in each other’s hair.
Not for the first time, Remus pulls Sirius as close to him as he can. “I’m not leaving you,” he says again.
“Me neither.”
He knows it’s not over, that there will be scores upon scores of days just like this one where they can’t breathe for the panic and the sun doesn’t shine at all. But clutching Sirius to his chest, he can only find it in himself to be grateful-
“Hang on,” Sirius says, gently disengaging. He’s squinting over Remus’s shoulder.
Remus turns in time to see a Patronus materialize among the filth, glowing all the brighter for the debris. The silver doe takes a few bobbing steps toward them, and then the soft, contained voice of Severus Snape issues from its mouth. “Black, please send return Patronus if at headquarters.”
The doe fades. Remus stares for a moment at the place where it vanished, then looks over at Sirius, who looks as surprised as he feels. He also looks afraid. He pulls his wand from his robes and grips it tightly, but makes no move to cast the charm.
“You can do it,” Remus says, trying to keep the professor from his tone.
Sirius glances at him, full of uncertainty, then seems to steel himself. His eyes fix on Remus’s as he points his wand to the middle of the room. “Expecto Patronum,” he says without looking away.
The huge silver dog bursts into blinding existence, and Remus and Sirius both laugh, relieved. “Nuntium Porto,” Sirius says, still pointing his wand at the dog, and then, “Here with Moody, Tonks, and Lupin.” He flicks his wand and the Patronus dissolves like a fine mist.
“Well done,” Remus says before he can stop himself. “Full marks,” he adds, trying for a joke.
Sirius snorts. “Thanks, Professor.” He slowly approaches Buckbeak again and strokes his head, murmuring a quiet goodbye.
They find Tonks and Mad-Eye in the long table in the kitchen, having a small supper and poring over what appear to be maps of Kent. They both look up when Remus and Sirius enter, and then quickly down again.
“Everything all right?” Remus asks before the other two can. He sets about preparing his own plate.
Tonks looks desperately curious, but refrains from saying anything other than, “Did you know, Sirius, that there’s a legend of a big black dog haunting Leeds Castle?”
Sirius looks over as soup pours itself into his bowl. “I’ve never been, so I can’t take credit. Sounds like something I’d do, though.”
“Apparently it-” Tonks breaks off at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.
Snape sweeps into the kitchen, black robes billowing behind him. “There’s an issue at the school,” he announces. “I believe Potter has been duped by the Dark Lord, as Dumbledore feared.”
Remus feels the blood drain from his face as Sirius overturns his bowl, the soup splashing onto the floor. “How?” he demands.
“I am not entirely certain,” Snape admits. “Dolores Umbridge summoned me to her office where she had apprehended the boy and several of his friends in some mischief or other, and as I was leaving, Potter gave me somewhat cryptic information. He said, ‘He’s got Padfoot at the place where it’s hidden.’” Snape purses his lips. “It would seem the Dark Lord has infiltrated his mind at last. ‘It,’ of course, refers to the weapon, which I understand you informed him of last September. Thus, Potter believes that you”-he inclines his head towards Sirius-“are being held prisoner in the Department of Mysteries.”
“But I’m not,” Sirius states, plainly caught in the same shock that Remus is feeling. “I’m here.”
“Yes, clearly, Black, you are not at the Ministry,” Snape snaps. “The fact remains that Potter has taken it upon himself to rescue you on his own, playing directly into the Dark Lord’s hands.”
“We’ve got to help him,” Tonks bursts out from the table.
“Precisely,” says Snape, rather unenthusiastically.
Kingsley comes down the steps behind him, pulling up short when he sees all of them gathered. “Is something wrong?” he asks.
While Snape fills him in, everyone jumps into action, heading towards the stairs. Remus catches Sirius’s arm as he dashes past. “You’re not going,” he says.
“Of course I am.” Sirius tries to pull out of his grasp, but Remus holds on. “I’ve got to, Remus. What’d you want me to do, just sit here?”
“It’s-for Merlin’s sake, you can’t go.” Remus hears the double standard in his words, and didn’t he just promise never to leave, only a few minutes ago? But there are some things that he can’t lie to himself about. “You can’t just waltz into the Ministry, Sirius, not with a price on your head. And-and I don’t think,” he continues, knowing it’s awful, “that the first thing you should do after months of house arrest is duel Lord Voldemort.”
Sirius huffs an angry breath. “I will not be left out of this,” he insists.
“I have alerted Dumbledore,” Snape interjects, “and he will be arriving here shortly. Someone must be present to inform him of the situation.”
“Why not you?” Sirius rounds on Snape with his teeth practically bared.
“I agree with Severus,” Kingsley says in his deep voice. “Dumbledore has to know what’s happened.”
Sirius looks from Kingsley to Snape to Remus, then throws his hands in the air. He turns on his heel and walks toward the steps, and Remus can tell that his dignity is the only thing stopping him from shouting at them.
Two minutes later they’ve formulated an approximate battle plan and are filing out the front door. Remus is last, and gives the best smile he can. “I’m sorry,” he says to Sirius, who is waiting. “I really am.”
Sirius sighs. “I know you are.”
“If it goes well tonight,” Remus begins, then falters. He really has no way of knowing. But-“If it goes well, you might be a free man tomorrow.”
Sirius’s hair hangs all about his face, hiding everything but the faint edge of light along his nose and brow. “Go on, then,” he says. “You won’t win anything hanging about here.”
Remus nods, tries another smile, and feels he ought to say something. But Sirius waves him away, so he stays quiet, waves, steps out the door.