l e a v e . t h e . f i r e . b e h i n d

Leave the Fire Behind
[by victoria p.]

Rating: Adult

Summary: "This house is killing you, and I can't bear it. I let you down once, let you rot in Azkaban. I'm not doing it again."

Notes: Thanks to Laura Smith for the beta. Goes AU sometime after Christmas in OotP. Title from Everclear.

Date: August 16, 2005

Remus has no desire to eat death. He tastes it late at night and early in the morning on Sirius's stale breath when Sirius wakes him with kisses.

The house is stifling, and yet always chilly, a claustrophobic nightmare that reminds him of full moon nights locked in his parents' moldy basement. He's sure it's a much worse hell for Sirius, who has already spent too much time in prison for crimes he didn't commit.

So they cling to each other, the only ones left now, kissing and touching and fucking, saying all the things they were too afraid to say as younger men, desperation loosing their tongues where once pride and doubt had kept them silent.

He knows he has no future, just the endless circle of days marked out by the path of the moon. It should be different for Sirius, though. He is determined it will be, this time.

With every mission Dumbledore sends him on, it's harder to leave Sirius alone in the house, trapped as surely as if he were still in Azkaban, his only company bad memories and guilt, his mother's venomous portrait and the mad house-elf. And each time it's harder to come back, to push through that door, shake the weariness from his bones, and find Sirius sunk deep into a bottle of firewhisky, half-mad from loneliness and anger.

Remus always has bruises the next morning, from Sirius's hands and lips and teeth; Sirius needs proof that Remus is really there, that he will always come back, that there is a world outside and eventually, he will be able to see it again.

This thing between them has always been edged with pain. It's the pain that makes it real, he thinks, as Sirius slides inside him, slick and hot and the best thing Remus has felt in weeks, Sirius's hands clutching at his hips, Sirius's teeth sharp against his neck. The brush of Sirius's long hair against his skin makes Remus shiver and gasp. It is hard, fast, the friction of despair and love so closely intertwined Remus isn't sure Sirius will ever fully recover, but he will take him any way he can. They shudder and come within moments of each other, together for once in every possible way. Sirius presses soft kisses to Remus's shoulders and back, mumbling desperate promises that strike at Remus's heart and soul.

It is slower and softer when they reach the bedroom after that first desperate fuck, and he actually makes Sirius laugh afterward, talking about Mad-Eye Moody's attempts to blend in with Muggles on the Tube. In the morning, he wakes alone, Sirius's side of the bed already cool, because Sirius is at the window, forehead pressed against the glass, staring at the street the way a dying man stares at an oasis in the desert.

Remus realizes there is only one decision he can make, only one way he can live with himself, live with forcing Sirius to live this way. He makes his plans, quietly, secretly. He has always been good at secrets, and it serves him well now.

He begins making inquiries as he travels on Order business, hoping his stops in Capri and Majorca aren't noticed. He settles on Santorini -- it is far enough away (yet still close enough to come back quickly if Harry needs them), the exchange rates seem reasonable (even with Sirius's money he is thrifty), and they will easily blend into the crowd of tourists (as if Sirius has ever not stood out in a crowd, but they can try). He begins brushing up on his Greek, though when he encourages Sirius to do the same, Sirius pouts.

"What's the point, Moony? It's not like the Death Eaters are going to quiz us before they try to kill us."

And Remus is tempted to tell him the secret, but he stops. He is not ready yet. He's not sure he will ever be ready. He has joked with Sirius about running away, but even as he makes reservations and slowly begins to pack a small bag full of summery Muggle clothes (white cotton shirts and linen trousers, bathing trunks and soft, worn t-shirts; he imagines Sirius standing tall and strong against the backdrop of the bright blue Aegean, Odysseus finally home after twenty years of war and wandering, and the vision makes his heart hurt), he is not sure he can bring himself to do it.

He is not sure Sirius will consent to leave Harry when Harry so obviously needs him, even if they are both sick to death of the Order and the war, the war that took everything from them the first time around, and is back again to take what little they have regained.

They more than anyone know what damage Voldemort can do, but as Remus travels throughout wizarding Europe, attempting to sway scared and neutral witches and wizards to their cause, he thinks that he has given enough. That Sirius has given more than enough -- family and sanity and twelve wasted years in hell -- and that Dumbledore will not be satisfied with their contribution until he has bled them completely dry and left them dead on the battlefield. And as much as Remus feels gratitude toward the old man, as much as he understands why Voldemort must be stopped, he has no desire to die a hero's falsely glorious death, not when he has a second chance at life with Sirius.

Sirius comes alive at Christmas, in his element when there are people around. He keeps his temper with Molly, makes a fuss over Harry, and is generally a wonderful host to people who have no real desire (with the exception of Harry and Remus) to enjoy his hospitality in a house that is as welcoming as a graveyard.

Remus begins to think he is being hasty. They will find Peter, Sirius's name will be cleared, and Sirius will be free of the house, free to begin the life he should have had, that Peter's duplicity (and Sirius's own distrust, a small voice in the back of Remus's mind says, but Remus silences it) stole from him. Perhaps Dumbledore will allow Harry to stay with them. They can leave Grimmauld Place, find a small cottage somewhere out of the way....

Remus is allowed the comfort of this dream for a whole day and night, before the Daily Prophet arrives, screaming of the Death Eaters' break-out from Azkaban. He holds tightly to snatches of it while Dumbledore talks about increasing the guard on the prophecy, as if that is the most important thing, and when Remus ventures to ask about Harry, and the guard on him, Moody laughs.

"He's got Lily's protection as long as the Muggles give him houseroom. You know that, Lupin. He'll be going back to them come June, don't you worry."

Remus glances at Sirius, whose lips are twisted in a sour grimace, and he knows Sirius had been hoping the same thing as he, though they haven't spoken of it in months.

That night, they take their anger out on each other, their bed a minefield of promises broken before they could be voiced. Afterward, Sirius flings himself out of bed, anger still not assuaged. He goes to the wardrobe and pulls out the suitcase Remus has been so carefully packing.

"Look at you. Like rats leaving a sinking ship," he snarls, tossing the bag onto the bed. "Rats! Goddamn, motherfucking, backstabbing--"

It's a little frightening how much he sounds like his mother's portrait at that moment, and that thought confirms Remus's conviction that he is doing the right thing.

"No," he says calmly, cutting Sirius off mid-rant. "Not me. Or not just me."

"What?" Sirius whirls to face him, eyes wary, mouth tense. His naked body gleams pale in the darkness, ragged and too thin, a sparse mat of black hair covering his bony chest. There are red marks on his neck and belly -- Remus's enthusiasm sometimes gets the better of him, and there is usually no one around Sirius needs to hide them from. Seeing him this way breaks Remus's heart every single time. He seems to collapse in on himself, his anger gone out like a snuffed candle. "Not that I'd blame you if you left. This place is a madhouse." He runs long fingers over his ashen face.

"And we're the resident lunatics," Remus agrees, taking that hand, which is shaking slightly, from anger or grief or something else, and kissing the palm gently. "But not for long." He reaches into the suitcase, pulls out the brochure. It is almost obscene in the haunted dark of the bedroom, the pictures of the white buildings and green hills against an azure sky, a scene of tranquility, escape. He finds his own hands trembling as well. "Come away with me, Sirius. We can leave tonight. I've made all the arrangements--"

"Harry needs me." The response is automatic, as Remus expected it would be, but he can tell Sirius is torn. Sirius wants to leave, as much as he has ever wanted anything in his life. Staying is killing him, but he will do it for Harry, die for Harry if it becomes necessary. Remus doesn't think Harry would thank him for the sacrifice.

Remus tightens his grip on Sirius's hand. "Yes. I know. But he has the mirror. We will write to him, carefully, of course. I wonder if Hermione reads Greek--"

"Remus, I can't--"

"You can. Not only can you, Sirius, but you must. Don't think I don't know how hard these past few months have been for you. This house is killing you, and I can't bear it. I let you down once, let you rot in Azkaban. I'm not doing it again."

Sirius makes a choked noise that may be a sob or a curse, but no tears fall. He pulls Remus into a fierce embrace, his lips hot and wet against Remus's temple, cheek, mouth. "Not tonight," he says. "Not until we've talked with Harry. But yes, we'll go. Soon."

Sirius stops drinking so much after that, and there is an easing in the tension that keeps his body knotted tight; he relaxes into Remus sometimes, allows himself to be petted and teased in ways he hadn't since they'd moved into the house. Sometimes he even sleeps through the night in human form, undisturbed by nightmares.

Remus finds out when the next Hogsmeade weekend is and sends Harry a brief note, hoping he'll understand. Mr. Moony will be revisiting his old haunting grounds and feels a meeting is in order.

That Saturday, he and Sirius Apparate to the Shrieking Shack and wait. Remus has the suitcase with him; if this conversation goes well, they will be leaving directly afterward. Sirius had pored over maps, picking out their route at random, to confuse anyone who might try to follow them when they begin their journey.

Sirius paces and Remus sits on the floor, arms wrapped around knees drawn up to his chest, as if he were still the same teenaged boy who used to come here every full moon. When he hears footsteps on the stairs, he rises slowly, joints popping, wand in hand, just in case.

The door swings open and Harry, Ron and Hermione appear from beneath the invisibility cloak. Remus's breath catches in his throat, not only at how much Harry looks like James, but because he remembers all the times he sat in this room and his friends came to visit in the same exact way.

Sirius takes a step forward and Harry bolts into his arms, clinging tightly for a moment before he remembers he is a fifteen-year-old boy, and fifteen-year-old boys would rather die than ask for hugs or reassurances.

"What--" he begins, but Sirius interrupts.

"If it's all right with you, Harry, I'm leaving England," Sirius says, cutting to the chase. He puts a hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezes. His knuckles are prominent, pale, dry skin stretched taut over them, and Remus thinks he must be hurting Harry, but Harry gives no sign of feeling any pain. "I'm going away. If you need me, I'll come back. All you have to do is ask. But I--"

Harry nods and swallows. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor, and his voice is colorless. "You need to leave. I get it."

Sirius looks stricken. "Harry, no. I want to help you, want to be here when you need me. If you want me to stay, I'll stay."

Remus glances from one to the other, so alike in their anger, their grief, their need. He sees all his careful plans, his hopes for Sirius, slipping away. "You can stay in touch with us," he says, trying to get back on track, and they both look over at him. "Show him the mirror, Sirius."

Sirius digs it out of his pocket, small and square. It shines in the dim light of the shack as he hands it to Harry. "This is a two-way mirror. I gave you the other one of the pair when you left after Christmas, remember? If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you'll appear in my mirror and I'll be able to talk in yours. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions."

Harry looks from the mirror to Sirius and back, and Remus can see him trying to figure out if he's being lied to again.

"Like a mobile," Hermione says, and they all jump. Remus had forgotten she and Ron were there.

"A what?" Sirius asks, but Harry's face clears.

"A mobile phone. Or two-way radios. You--" He shakes his head. "Muggle things for communicating. So you and my dad used to use them?"

Sirius nods and smiles. It makes him look ten years younger. "Oh, yeah. Planned many a prank that way. Communications are key to out-maneuvering your enemies." His smile disappears, as if he has just remembered who Harry's enemies are, enemies that no fifteen-year-old boy should have to face. Remus closes his eyes, lets his shoulders slump. There is no way Sirius will leave Harry. He should have known -- he does know, but he has allowed himself to be selfish. He has allowed himself to hope.

"So I could still talk to you any time?"

"Any time," Sirius confirms, nodding. "They'll work at long distances. Remus and I tested them before I gave it to you."

"Well, I reckon anything's better than being locked up in Grimmauld Place," Harry says slowly. "I hate being stuck at the Dursleys." He hands the mirror back to Sirius. "What about the Order?"

Sirius's face hardens. "I've not exactly been much use lately, have I? And Remus is--"

"I'll still be able to help," Remus interrupts. He hasn't planned on it, but he knows it will assuage a small measure of the guilt he and Sirius feel about leaving. "I just won't be as readily available." He looks down at his hands. "I hope to find work. The restrictions on werewolves are less... stringent where we're going."

"Where--"

"It's best if you don't know," Remus says quickly.

Harry nods. "Sure. Right. Voldemort and his mind reading."

"Harry--" Sirius pleads.

"No," Harry says, squaring his shoulders. "You should go. I don't want you locked up on my account."

It is as close to permission as they're going to get, and Remus wants to leave before either Harry or Sirius changes his mind.

"Thank you," he says, and his voice is trembling slightly. He's amazed it doesn't break. "Thank you, Harry." He holds out a hand and Harry shakes it. "Don't worry." He jerks his head at Sirius. "I'll take care of this git." He steps back and Sirius pulls Harry into a bear hug, burying his face in the boy's hair for a moment before pulling away.

"We'll see you soon," Sirius says. "Maybe you could visit over the summer."

"I'd like that." Harry's voice is thick, and Remus knows they are all three close to breaking now, and they need to go before one of them does.

"We'll be as close as the nearest Portkey," Sirius says, hugging Harry again, and Harry nods, shifting uncomfortably, and Remus realizes Harry wants them to leave now as much as he himself wants to go. Neither of them wants to take the chance of Sirius changing his mind.

Remus smiles at Ron and Hermione, still standing silently by. "We'd best be off, then. We'll write when we can." He picks up the suitcase, touches Sirius's arm lightly, and they Disapparate.

It isn't long, really, but it's rather exhausting, hopping from one place to another in quick succession, avoiding all local authorities, though Remus has a set of forged papers for each of them. They stop in Naples for a bite to eat, but Remus can't relax enough to enjoy it.

He doesn't breathe easily until they are in the flat he's arranged. Sirius is awestruck at the view -- the place is all windows and bright white walls -- and stands, staring, for a few minutes while Remus enlarges the bed with a quick spell and sorts out their clothing.

He joins Sirius out on the balcony when he's done, lays his hands on Sirius's shoulders, and squeezes lightly.

"You didn't tell me how beautiful it is," Sirius says, relaxing under his touch.

Remus rests his chin on Sirius's shoulder. "I don't think there are words for it. It has to be seen to be believed." The sun is going down, setting sky and sea ablaze with colors Remus hadn't thought actually existed in nature until he'd seen them here -- oranges, pinks and yellows that glow and fade into violet and indigo. A soft breeze, smelling of salt and sea and freedom, blows Sirius's long hair into his face. "You need a haircut," he murmurs through a mouthful of hair, and Sirius laughs, loud and free.

Remus feels something loosen in his shoulders and tighten in his chest at the sound, the easy laughter he's heard so rarely since they moved into Grimmauld Place. Sirius has spent too much time locked up; he is a raw wound that hasn't been allowed to heal, but that's going to change now. Remus has made sure of that.

"Welcome home," he says, and Sirius turns and kisses him. It's the only thank you he'll ever need.

end

***

A/N: Sirius's description of the mirror is a [mostly] direct quote from OotP.

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