[ Remus raises his eyebrows at that and comes very close to smiling, rueful and skeptical but not fake, because even if he doesn't believe it, it's nice to hear. It's a large chunk of what he wants, under all the technical arguments about timelines and the definition of dying. To matter somehow, and have all of the misery mean something, because if it was never going to mean anything he would have given up a long time before the TQ.
It doesn't even occur to him to be bothered about being traded in for James and a less scruffed-up version of himself. He'd do it, too. It's just— ]
I don't see how it can work that way, [ he says. Repeating it still doesn't make it make sense. Timelines they share or timelines they can change; it has to be one or the other. Or neither. They're not arguing about that anymore, though. ] But if it does, or if there's a chance it does, then—yes. Of course I'll go.
[Like the sheer force of his belief will be enough to make it true. But if there's anyone that will be able to flout the rules--it's s been them, it will be them, as a group, a whole. Constant defiance, too stubborn to just accept the way that things are, especially where each other are concerned--why should time be any different?
But as ready as he is to defend his point, to keep at it until it becomes true--it isn't a battle that needs to be fought against Remus. Of course I'll go; that's good enough. That's support for a cause that means a great deal--not just Voldemort, but everything tied up in it. Because it's not that Sirius doesn't care about the whole of the wizarding world, and the muggle-borns, and backwards pureblood superiority. He does. But he cares about James, in specific, with a single-minded focus that outstrips everything else.
And Remus cares, too. And so long as there's two of them--they'll sort it. They have to, he thinks, again, and some of the tension in his jaw unknits, just a little.]
It will.
[For James, it will. And Remus' agreement is enough--Sirius nods, once, short--right--and grabs hold of Remus' shoulder, in a firm and bracing grip. It's one step further than a handshake.]
[ Bracing shoulder-grasps are good. Remus feels braced. He's on the verge of returning the gesture with a quick shoulder-clap of his own when he changes his mind, or his gangly arms change course without consulting him, and he hugs Sirius instead. It's a second or two longer and several newtons tighter than your usual right then, glad we had that talk hug would be, because Remus is trying to cram in an apology that's several months overdue and to compensate for a similar length of overly-guarded affection, and also--
Remus doesn't love either of them the way Sirius loves James. Someday in his possibly-averted future, he'll go whole days without thinking of either of them, sometimes two or three in a row, because how else could he get by? But he does love them an awful lot. Both of them. At home he'd buried Sirius, too, in a sense, and digging him back up here has been as much of a strange and impossible relief as resurrecting James would be.
So if going home becomes a less distant possibility, and there's only the chance of saving James at the risk of losing Sirius back to Azkaban, they'll have to fight again. Remus will lose, but he'll try.
When he steps back, he needlessly straightens his jumper, straight-shouldered and dignified as a cat pretending it meant to fall. ]
Do you have a minute to come help me with something? The lift to the gardens isn't lining up right on the map.
[It is maybe a little strange, to recognise your friends by smell. Not in a joke way--disgusting socks, sweat, why-haven't-you-had-a-bath-yet-you-are-ripe--but in a way that Sirius can't put words to, because the smells are words themselves, and none of them translate. Part of that spillover of dog memories, scent like bright swathes of colour, too complex to fit into words.
So when Remus steps in to hug him, Sirius hugs back. It's so instantaneous it's almost automatic, and it only occurs to him midway through to be a little surprised. Pleased, he's got that bit covered; he's more than pleased. Remember when Remus nearly killed him in the locker room? No, because it doesn't matter, and it hasn't mattered for a very long time now. For all that he's good at holding grudges, there are people who are exempt. The way a dog's tail starts wagging the second it smells a familiar smell: that's what this is, a shortcut straight past complex feelings to something simple enough to be strong.
He doesn't adjust his jumper afterwards. For one, he's not wearing a jumper. For two, he doesn't care. Long past feeling at all cagey about affection, even if he'd play it off gruffly if asked. But he's also not a girl, thanks, so--with a grin, he pushes his hair out of his face (and thank Merlin it's grown long enough to necessitate that).]
'Course. For you, and the map? I've got nothing but minutes.
[The door to his room slides shut behind him as he finally steps out into the corridor proper. There's a moment, where he observes Remus with fierce affection, the effects of that hug and that moment of resolution still lingering in him, like an echo--and then he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts off toward the lounge.]
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no subject
It doesn't even occur to him to be bothered about being traded in for James and a less scruffed-up version of himself. He'd do it, too. It's just— ]
I don't see how it can work that way, [ he says. Repeating it still doesn't make it make sense. Timelines they share or timelines they can change; it has to be one or the other. Or neither. They're not arguing about that anymore, though. ] But if it does, or if there's a chance it does, then—yes. Of course I'll go.
no subject
[Like the sheer force of his belief will be enough to make it true. But if there's anyone that will be able to flout the rules--it's s been them, it will be them, as a group, a whole. Constant defiance, too stubborn to just accept the way that things are, especially where each other are concerned--why should time be any different?
But as ready as he is to defend his point, to keep at it until it becomes true--it isn't a battle that needs to be fought against Remus. Of course I'll go; that's good enough. That's support for a cause that means a great deal--not just Voldemort, but everything tied up in it. Because it's not that Sirius doesn't care about the whole of the wizarding world, and the muggle-borns, and backwards pureblood superiority. He does. But he cares about James, in specific, with a single-minded focus that outstrips everything else.
And Remus cares, too. And so long as there's two of them--they'll sort it. They have to, he thinks, again, and some of the tension in his jaw unknits, just a little.]
It will.
[For James, it will. And Remus' agreement is enough--Sirius nods, once, short--right--and grabs hold of Remus' shoulder, in a firm and bracing grip. It's one step further than a handshake.]
All right, then.
no subject
[ Bracing shoulder-grasps are good. Remus feels braced. He's on the verge of returning the gesture with a quick shoulder-clap of his own when he changes his mind, or his gangly arms change course without consulting him, and he hugs Sirius instead. It's a second or two longer and several newtons tighter than your usual right then, glad we had that talk hug would be, because Remus is trying to cram in an apology that's several months overdue and to compensate for a similar length of overly-guarded affection, and also--
Remus doesn't love either of them the way Sirius loves James. Someday in his possibly-averted future, he'll go whole days without thinking of either of them, sometimes two or three in a row, because how else could he get by? But he does love them an awful lot. Both of them. At home he'd buried Sirius, too, in a sense, and digging him back up here has been as much of a strange and impossible relief as resurrecting James would be.
So if going home becomes a less distant possibility, and there's only the chance of saving James at the risk of losing Sirius back to Azkaban, they'll have to fight again. Remus will lose, but he'll try.
When he steps back, he needlessly straightens his jumper, straight-shouldered and dignified as a cat pretending it meant to fall. ]
Do you have a minute to come help me with something? The lift to the gardens isn't lining up right on the map.
no subject
So when Remus steps in to hug him, Sirius hugs back. It's so instantaneous it's almost automatic, and it only occurs to him midway through to be a little surprised. Pleased, he's got that bit covered; he's more than pleased. Remember when Remus nearly killed him in the locker room? No, because it doesn't matter, and it hasn't mattered for a very long time now. For all that he's good at holding grudges, there are people who are exempt. The way a dog's tail starts wagging the second it smells a familiar smell: that's what this is, a shortcut straight past complex feelings to something simple enough to be strong.
He doesn't adjust his jumper afterwards. For one, he's not wearing a jumper. For two, he doesn't care. Long past feeling at all cagey about affection, even if he'd play it off gruffly if asked. But he's also not a girl, thanks, so--with a grin, he pushes his hair out of his face (and thank Merlin it's grown long enough to necessitate that).]
'Course. For you, and the map? I've got nothing but minutes.
[The door to his room slides shut behind him as he finally steps out into the corridor proper. There's a moment, where he observes Remus with fierce affection, the effects of that hug and that moment of resolution still lingering in him, like an echo--and then he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts off toward the lounge.]
C'mon, Moony.