Endless Darkness

Spoilers: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
Summary:Sirius and Remus from Remus' POV, spanning from the end of GoF to the end of OotP. Needless to say, spoilers for all five books.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, J. K. Rowling’s. Hopefully she won’t mind my visiting the characters from time to time.
Notes: Thank you Jean, Glae, and Mitzi for beta-reading for me.

The nights stretched out. One followed the other in an endless succession into eternity. Nothing determined one quiet night from another except for once a month when the nights were filled with pain, resistance, and the struggle of man and beast.

The sky outside the paneled glass window was turning pink as the sun set over the weathered woodshed and the newly planted garden. Hydrangeas bloomed deep blue against the hedgerow, the next bed over contained the small green spouts that would turn into lettuce, broccoli, and various other vegetables. The consistent growth helped to keep existence bearable. It might have been the constant care and tending each set of plants needed. They were like children, if you thought about it. Each with its own set of rules for food and water, sunlight and soil preferences; what worked with one would not work for another and yet each was rewarding in its own right.

With a sigh, Remus turned away from the window, wearily folding the towel in his hands and laying it aside. He faced the inside of the small cottage as the sunset; another long evening was upon him. The cottage he was currently abiding in was small-hardly large enough for one person-There were two rooms, a kitchen and living area, and a bedroom so small that with the bed pushed up against one wall there was only two feet between its edge and the other two walls in the room. The elderly witch had been glad to rent it to him however. Her eyesight poor, she hadn’t read the Prophet in years, didn’t know that the quiet, unassuming wizard asking to rent the cottage on the back of her property was a werewolf, and Remus, too desperate for living quarters and too afraid of what her response would be, hadn’t told her the truth.

It was actually because of his lycanthropy that he had been so keen to get this place on the Welsh-English border. It was the one place he’d come to that had been cradled in its own property, and with a place safe for him to transform on his own. The small weathered woodshed in the back contained no axes, shovels, or hoes. The graying, beaten wood appeared deceptively instable, as Remus had spent the good portion of a weekend casting containing spells to magically enhance the entire building. Once a month he spent his nights in the woodshed rather than the house and so far the charms had held. He had not once broken out of the small building.

Tonight Remus skirted the small table and stepped into the living area. He stood for a moment, staring into the empty fireplace. There were books to be read and parchments he could write, but any way you looked at it, the evening would be exactly as every other long evening before it and precisely as every other long evening after it. The smallest sigh escaped his lips and he stepped across drawing an older book from the small bookshelf and sat down in the worn armchair. Reading glasses sat on a small table within easy reach and he opened a page in the book and began to read.

A good hour passed before a noise outside his front door caused Remus to look up from his book and remove the glasses perched precariously upon the end of his nose. He placed a finger inside the page, preparing to get up from his chair and seek out the cause of the noise just as a loud scratching upon the door, caused him to start. He discarded the book on the armchair and he moved towards the door, pulling his wand from his pocket as he did so.

'Who's there?'

No answer except for more scratching, so he slowly opened the door, his wand held in front of him like a shield.

He was uncertain what he'd been expecting, but the huge dog on his front step was not it. His eyes widened as he recognized the Animagus form of his schoolboy friend and he opened the door wider allowing Padfoot entrance.

He had barely latched it before Sirius had changed, and Remus turned, the two meeting in an embrace. As Remus stepped back he looked quizzically at Sirius.

'What are you doing here?' He asked softly, confusion evident in his voice.

Although his friend had sent him owls over the past year, Remus’ quiet suggestions that the other man come and stay with him had gone unacknowledged. Instead mentions of how dangerous it could be for someone to see him in human form, or the possibility that someone might know to look for a large black dog. Remus had tucked each letter away to be reread during the evenings, knowing that what Sirius really wanted was the freedom after fifteen years inside walls. Now Remus stared at his school friend noting the paler than normal colour of Sirius' skin. The visit was unexpected to say the least; 'They'll look for you here.'

'Doesn't matter,' Sirius returned, running his fingers nervously through his hair. 'They won't be looking for a dog and it's not the point besides. I'm here on Dumbledore's orders,' he added with purpose, his eyes moving to Lupin’s. 'He's back, Remus.'

Remus froze, the pieces dropping into place. Sirius’ unexpected visit, the paleness of his skin, and he turned to stare at Sirius. 'He...' Remus started.

'Tonight,' Sirius said. 'He tried to kill Harry again.'

'He didn't-'

'No,' Sirius said and for a moment, he beamed. ‘The boy fought like a grown man, you'd have been proud of him. You probably taught him half of the stuff he used,' Sirius's face turned somber. 'He got lucky though, priori incantatem-‘

Remus moved for the first time since Sirius had come through the door. Sirius was giving him only bits and pieces. 'Sit down,' he managed. 'Do you want tea? Tell me everything that's happened.'

Sirius sat. He begin relating the evening’s events as Remus moved across the room to put a pot of water on, pulling a tin of leaves from a nearly bare cabinet and using a spoon to scrape the last bits out. He measured precisely, teapot and two teacups, strainer for the tea, and he listened as Sirius spoke. One thing after another, Sirius related the events of the Tri-Wizard tournament, what Dumbledore had discovered about Barty Crouch, Moody's imprisonment, and Harry's escape from near death.

'Dumbledore said we were to raise the old group,' Sirius finished, stretching his legs out in front of him and massaging his feet.

‘Who knows what you’ve told me?’ Remus questioned.

‘Harry was there; Cedric Diggory-fellow student of Harry’s was killed. But Barty was kissed.’

If the only eyewitness was Harry- ‘It's possible no one will believe a word we say,’ Remus said.

‘They’ll believe Dumbledore though,’ Sirius glanced up at him with confidence. ‘They’ll have to believe Dumbledore, they know how involved he was in the beginning.’

Remus poured two cups, wrapped the cozy around the teapot and moved to hand Sirius one of them.

‘Thanks,’ Sirius took it, taking a sip, and then he stood rapidly and motioned to the lone armchair. ‘Here, you sit.’

‘No,’ Remus waved him away settling his back against the brick of the fireplace. ‘You’ve been on your feet for hours to get here,’ and Sirius sank back into the chair. Remus turned his teacup in his hands, waiting for the liquid to cool enough that it wouldn’t scald his tongue. ‘Do Molly and Arthur know?’ He questioned Sirius.

‘They were there,’ Sirius confirmed. ‘Or Molly was, and the oldest boy went to tell Arthur. McGonagall knows obviously.’

‘Snape?’ Remus asked softly.

Sirius snorted derisively. ‘There with the mark on his arm: Dumbledore still trusts him.’

Lupin nodded vaguely, silent for a moment as thoughts whirled through his mind. ‘We’ll need to contact Degalus, Elphias, Arabella, Mundungus; I’ll assume Hagrid knows or will know.’ Lupin ran through the list in his mind, falling silent.

There was no sound but the creaking of the chair as Sirius shifted and took a sip from his teacup. ‘There’s not many of us left,’ Sirius put to words the thought that had been running through Remus’ mind.

‘There will be more of us again.’ Remus said simply. ‘Does he know Dumbledore knows?’

‘Might suspect it,’ Sirius answered. ‘But he can’t know for certain.’

‘Then we’ll be prepared.’ He turned to look at his friend. ‘Can you stay?’

Sirius glanced up. ‘Dumbledore told me I should.’

Remus nodded with relief and he tested the tea finding it cool enough to sip. ‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll make up the bed.’

It seemed to Remus that the house was never silent. Even when Sirius’ mother did not fill every crevice of the house with her screeches of blood traitors and filth, 12 Grimmauld Place seemed to have a life of its own. He could sit alone in the old library and it seemed as if the house still creaked around him. Tonight he stood outside the library, the sounds of the house including the whispers and quiet shuffling through the landing below. There had been an Order meeting tonight and he could see Sirius standing by the door, a glare on his face as he stood, waiting for Snape to leave, and Remus could only be thankful that with the other Order members there, the two of them could not break out their wands for a battle.

Remus turned from the landing and walked into the library. As he often did in the evenings, he sat down in the large leather chair in front of the fire and picked up a book for reading. Sirius would come upstairs after the others had left and then he would put away the volume and the two of them would talk. The topics varied from evening to evening, but they seemed to always be safe topics so that Remus had his best friend back, and yet he didn’t quite. There were things the two of them would never discuss. Wrongs that might never be righted, and although Remus would cringe inside every time they passed by one of those topics, he didn’t have the courage to draw Sirius back to the pain.

He told himself it was to protect his friend: that by not questioning Sirius on those hard moments, not demanding that they resolve the questions of how they could have mistrusted each other so much in the first place, he was saving Sirius from pain. The truth was that he was too cowardly to speak the truth, to ask the questions, and so he continued to struggle. He was a Gryffindor; he was supposed to be brave, but he couldn’t find the courage say what needed to be said.

‘They’ve left,’ Sirius’ voice came from the doorway and Remus looked up to see his friend walk through the door and stand in front of the fireplace. ‘Remind me why I didn’t kill Snape when I had the chance?’ He growled frustration evident in his voice.

‘Because he’s doing a lot of good for the Order,’ Remus said mildly. ‘And because Dumbledore trusts him.’

‘Doesn’t mean I have to,’ Sirius countered.

‘No,’ Remus said simply, lowering his book and watching the other man. Sirius stood hand on the mantle, his eyes directed into the flames in front of him. He’d gained weight since his days on the run as Padfoot, but he was still gaunt. His skin stretched too tightly over his frame making him seem older than his thirty-five years. Remus slipped his finger between the pages and closed the book. There were so many words on the tip of his tongue: so many sentences he just couldn’t quite put together. Instead, he did what he often did: he changed the subject. ‘This room is dark.’

There was a snort from Sirius, a sound of disgust and mild mirth that told Remus very quickly that although Sirius wouldn’t say much more about Snape tonight, that the irritations at being stuck inside while a man he loathed was able to walk free had not passed. ‘This whole house is dark,’ he said, his eyes never leaving the flames. ‘It always has been,’ he added bitterly. ‘There’s a lot of dark magic in these walls. Can’t imagine it doesn’t keep the light from penetrating the corners.’

Remus felt a pang of guilt for criticizing the room. In his effort to change the subject, he had inadvertently picked another subject that frustrated Sirius. He glanced around the room. Sirius was being melodramatic in a sense, and yet glancing over at the darkness in the corners, Remus found he was almost convinced of the truth of it. ‘It’s not darkness now,’ he said.

Sirius turned then, his eyes boring into Remus’s. ‘No?’ He questioned bitterly. ‘What is it then, Remus? Being Order headquarters doesn’t wash this real estate of its guilt.’

‘Then we bring light into it,’ Remus frowned. ‘We spread light into the darkness.’

Sirius stared at him for a moment, and then with a shrug he turned. ‘I think it’s hopeless.’

‘I don’t believe it is,’ Remus said, placing the book back on the table and standing. ‘It may be slow going, but the darkness isn’t without end.’

Sirius didn’t look at Remus then, but his hand reached out and grasped the other man by the arm. ‘You be that optimistic for both of us then, Remus,’ he said, his voice raspy. ‘I can’t do it.’

Remus stared his friend in the eyes for a moment. You’ve always been that brave Sirius, the words were on the tip of his tongue. You were always the optimistic one. Dear Merlin, what has happened to you? The answer, of course, was simple, and yet more complex than could be answered in one night. Azkaban happened to Sirius. But more than that, it was idealistic dreams, dipped in the acid of reality, breeding a dark brand of cynicism that festered beneath bright eyes and a quick smile.

Sirius released his arm, and turned towards the fire again. There was a pregnant silence. Somewhere in the night the house creaked, whether the walls protesting the light or Kreacher protesting his forced captivity, Remus couldn’t have said.

‘It’s getting colder,’ Sirius said finally. His words echoed in the empty room.

‘It is,’ Remus agreed, thankful for something safe to talk about. ‘Have you spoken to Dumbledore about having Harry here for Christmas?’

Sirius nodded, ‘but he hasn’t given me an answer yet.’ There was tension in Sirius’ tone, but he continued without comment. ‘We should have at tree if we can figure something out.’

‘I’m certain we can,’ Remus said. ‘Did you have ornaments here that you used, or should I go out to Diagon Alley and see about purchasing some?’

‘There’s some around here, but with my family I wouldn’t trust them to not bite at us if we tried to hang them,’ Sirius said shortly. ‘You’d best see about finding us something not charmed to harm innocent bystanders.’

‘Tomorrow then,’ Remus said simply.

‘Tomorrow,’ Sirius agreed. ‘We’ve got the time.’

The flames had burned themselves out, the fireplace dying into a shifting series of light and darkness: brilliant red of hot coals showing themselves against the black of charred wood. Remus was uncertain how long he had been sitting in the chair, but he knew that when he had entered the room the fire had been burning brightly. He couldn’t have said who started the fire. It might have been Molly with her consistent worrying that the members of the Order were taken care of. After Sirius’- After the events at Ministry she had seemed to take Remus under her wing, fussing over him as she would over one of her sons. It might have been the result of Tonks in one of her rare intuitive moments. There were times that the otherwise scatter brained and thoughtless Auror would surprise Remus with her insight.

Regardless of who had started it, they had Remus’ deepest thanks. He’d sat in the large leather chair in the library until the fire had burned itself out. He dared not look at the gigantic Grandfather clock behind him, for although he was certain it was early in the morning, sleep still eluded him. This had not been unusual since the battle at the Ministry of Magic had taken place. The nights stretched out in an endless darkness, punctuated only by the dawn of morning: A long overdue interruption at the end of a run on sentence.

A leather bound volume lay open in his lap although he had read no more than three sentences the night through. He had gone through this once before and he had survived, but he had been younger then, stronger, convinced of his best friend’s guilt. This time the sleepless nights wore on him, so that he felt his eyes becoming darker, the circles under them more outlined, and the skin on his bones defining them more clearly.

A log shifted in the fireplace, and somewhere in the house, a board creaked, only have another on the landing outside answer it. Remus raised his head, surprised to see Severus Snape standing in the doorway.

‘Severus?’ He said, unable to mask the surprise in his voice. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I could ask the same of you,’ Snape said uncompanionably. ‘Don’t you have a bed in this place?’

Remus motioned to the book on his lap. ‘I was reading,’ he said.

There was a silent moment, as Severus seemed to decide whether to accept or reject this information. In the end, it appeared he accepted it as he moved into the room. ‘Interesting, that you appear to have been on the same page for the past fifteen minutes,’ Snape said, his words belying his acceptance as he took a poker beside the fireplace and touched the logs. Bright flames flared up from the underside of a partially burned log, adding light to the room.

Remus felt irritation creep into his bones at the knowledge Snape had been standing there watching him for Merlin knew how long. ‘Perhaps I’m a slow reader,’ Remus said, his voice more mild than he felt.

Snape turned to look at him then, his sharp, dark eyes settling on his face. ‘Nice try,’ he said curtly. ‘Next time try it with someone who didn’t know you were the top of your studies in Gryffindor.’

Suddenly weary, Remus gave Snape his full attention. ‘What do you want, Severus?’

There was silence as Severus watched the flames dance. Then he turned and crossed the room. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small corked flask. ‘Sleeping potion,’ he said. ‘Use with caution. Drink too much of it and you’ll put yourself out for a month; Not that any of us would mind that,’ he added sullenly.

Remus stared at the little green bottle and then looked up at Severus. ‘I’m not certain I want to sleep.’

‘Then don’t,’ Snape said, apparently unconcerned. ‘Stay awake until you die of exhaustion. I don’t believe I need to tell you that he was not worth that, but if you feel the need to be some sort of martyr…’

Anger flared up in Remus and he frowned as he looked at Severus. ‘Perhaps he was not worth that to you, but he was my friend.’

‘I suppose that’s why he let you almost murder me? Because you were friends?’

‘For god’s sake Severus,’ Remus stood, facing the slightly taller man, his heart beat more rapidly both from irritation and exhaustion and it being so near to a full moon. ‘It is in the past. He was not perfect, but if you’ll recall, neither were you.’

Snape’s eyes glittered with anger and hatred for a moment. ‘No, and neither were you.’ He paused for a moment and his eyes were dark and cold, the emotion hidden again. ‘Sleep, Remus. You’ll do no one any good this way.’

He was gone before Remus could say anything else. He sank back into the chair, but not before turning to look at the Grandfather clock. With its hands at midnight, it was earlier than he had expected. He turned the green bottle over in his hands and finally, he stood. He pointed his wand at the fire, extinguishing the last of the coals and he exited the library. It was lighter in the hall than was normal, indirect rays from the strengthening moon perhaps, but Remus ignored it as best he could as he climbed the stairs to the room he’d claimed as his.

There were questions: Why had Severus been there? Had Dumbledore requested Severus to make the sleeping potion? However, the questions would wait until the morning.

Remus slowly undressed, the darkness of the room matched with the darkness in his soul. He slid under the covers and uncorked the bottle Severus had given to him, trusting that the potion would help him sleep where simple exhaustion had not. He sipped it and then re-corked it, extinguishing the light and drawing the covers to his chin. Light from a streetlight poured in the window, and somewhere in the house there was another creak, the sound of Severus leaving no doubt.

As his eyelids drooped closing out the light of the room, the sleeping potion seemed to create its own warmth and light. If nothing else, Severus knew potions, and he’d given Remus not just a sleeping potion it seemed, but an anti-depression draught as well. As Remus’ body fought sleep, Sirius’ words from many months ago floated back to him, ‘You be that optimistic for both of us then, Remus.’

And as the sleeping potion pushed all coherent thought from his mind, Remus knew that he would be.

By Sabrina