Sirius followed Remus inside with just a backwards glance at Buckbeak. The hippogriff didnât need to be tethered, he wasnât going to be going anywhere â and besides, heâd had a long journey â perhaps he could even get some hunting in, use those talons of his for some use. Those orange eyes held Siriusâs gray ones until the creature sunk into a bow, only to then curl up near a tree. There was no worry about Buckbeak, heâd certainly been in worse predicaments.
His blistered bare feet welcomed the luxury of carpeting â of course, it was relatively thin in places and hadnât been replaced in thirty years â it felt like a house, a home. And parts of it were familiar from all those years ago: the peeling wallpaper that covered the kitchen, the squishy tan couch, the garden that he knew existed beyond the back door where theyâd played two-on-two quidditch in the summertime, even the hodgepodge of photographs that littered the walls. It felt as if he were sleepwalking, or that a good dream had finally fell into place among the nightmares, to be in a familiar place that didnât evoke such harsh memories after all these years.
And Sirius stood just a few steps inside the doorway, gray eyes as wide as galleons, until Remus returned, pushing a glass of water into his trembling hand. And heâd drained it in two swallows â he hadnât realized how dry his throat had been until the fire in it had been doused. Remus was speaking, he knew, telling him things about the house, most likely to fill space, but it was white noise. Sirius tried to focus, but it was as if he himself had been submerged in water, his ears had an echoing quality, but his feet traced the trail Remus had worn, taking him to the bathroom. Clothes, heâd said something about clothes, and a shower, and⌠a toothbrush? Remus fiddled about before giving him the room.
It was clean, a white that felt so sterile. Remus had left a new toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter, had hung a clean towel on the rack, had told him to take all the time he needed. He washed his hands first, scraping layers of dirt out of his fingernails before attacking the toothpaste like a man possessed, hoping to reclaim some form of hygiene, to reclaim some semblance of a human being. Then he was in the shower, scrubbing the layers of grime and dirt from his skin until he was rubbed raw. He worked shampoo into his hair, but there was only so much he could do with it, as it all seemed to be matted together. He rinsed it as best he could, quickly dried himself with the towel Remus had left, then went to loot through the bathroom cabinets, opening medicine cabinets, tearing open drawers until he found what he was looking for â a gleaming pair of scissors.
The scissors rose and fell over and over again, cutting the mats out of his hair until it had been shorn to chin-length and was severely uneven. But he was free, at least. Gray eyes met his own in the mirror, and he almost didnât recognize himself. Heâd seen his face plastered on posters but that photo had been when heâd first been contained, there were no harsh lines that cut into the curves on his face, no waxy sheen to his skin that made him look as if he would melt in the heat, no perpetual dark circles that werenât helped by his lack of sleep.
He looked at this stranger in the mirror, his hand meeting the reflective surface. This was not the person he recognized. This was not the person whoâd had a life once. This was a walking corpse. And it was laughter, then, that echoed through his body. Genuine laughter that sounded as if heâd lost his nerve, which he supposed he had. Laughter that shook his skeletal shoulders â he was a corpse, he should have been one, cold and stiff and dead and planted nicely in the ground. Just like Lily. Just like James.
And then the tears came, hot and fast down his cheeks, shaking his thin frame more violently then the insane fit of laughter. This was unbearable, the weight of twenty years, how everything had changed and the world had continued to turn, but he had been rooted in Hell. There was fear for the future and for Harry, but there was no fear from the past â there was just the burning guilt and unrecognizable, blinding agony.
Once Sirius was in the bathroom, Remus made his way into the kitchen and dug out a can of vegetable soup that he set about heating up. It was light fare, but should also provide Sirius some of the nutrients heâd so clearly been lacking while on the run. However the moment he set the can on the counter, he finally felt a breath leave him that he hadnât realized heâd been holding.
Hunching over himself with both hands grasping the counter, he fought to keep his breathing even and tried his best to fight off the panic that was trying to overwhelm him. Voldemort was back. Sirius was in his home. Harry was in danger. It was so much to take in all at once, and he wasnât entirely sure how he was supposed to keep it together. He felt like a child once more. All of his self assurance from his years of living had left his body and left nothing but a frightened boy behind.Â
His eyes had squeezed tightly shut, and it was only on opening them and his eyes landing on the can of soup that he managed to pull himself together. Sirius needed him right now. After leaving him to rot in Azkaban surely it was the least he could fucking do was hold himself together long enough to fix a damn bowl of soup. Taking a deep breath he forced his emotions back into the boxes he usually kept them in to survive day to day, and finished heating up the soup.
When Sirius finally emerged wearing one of his jumpers that hung off of him like a hanger, and a pair of pajama bottoms that would not have been able to stay up if it werenât for a drawstring, Remus immediately set out a bowl of the soup for him. He made no comment on the red and swollen state of the other manâs eyes, though it broke his heart to see them.
âEat slowly, or youâll make yourself sick,â he reminded his old friend before taking the seat next to him. It was difficult to look at Sirius like this, mostly because he felt himself at least partially at fault for the state of him. Admittedly he looked a sight better after a shower, and even the choppy hair cut was better than the mattes that had been in his hair before. At least now he almost looked like he was actually alive. Silently he swore to himself that he would not let Sirius end up in this state ever again. He would get him to a healthy weight and make certain he was taken care of.
Remus was quiet for a bit, still tired and also uncertain how exactly to fill the silence without broaching topics that needed to wait until morning. âI changed the sheets in the guest room for you,â he finally informed him. âIs-- is there anything else I can get you before we sleep?â I would give you the whole bloody world if you asked it.
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