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By the time he found Sirius passed out on his kitchen table for the fifth time in as many days, Remus decided he’d finally had enough. For one thing, he refused to see Sirius freed from Azkaban only to die of alcohol poisoning barely a year later. For another, Remus longed for the days he could have a cup of tea at his table without first pushing Sirius’s hair out of the way. “Alright,” Remus said, dropping into the chair opposite Sirius. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of stale drink and pushed the near-empty bottle of firewhisky out of reach. Sirius didn’t stir from where he was slumped on the table, black hair obscuring his face. Remus studied him for a moment, then prodded him with a finger. Sirius grumbled under his breath. “Sit up,” Remus said. Sirius flipped him off. “And tell me what’s wrong.”Sirius blinked open an incredulous eye, icy-grey under his blanket of hair. He laughed once, short and harsh. “Really, Remus? You want to know what’s wrong?”Remus winced. He supposed asking what wasn’t wrong with Sirius would make for a shorter conversation. Sirius sat up and groaned, running a hand through his hair. He squinted in the morning light, looking for all the world like a feral cat, bony and bedraggled. Remus half-expected him to start hissing. Remus waited.“Don’t know where I’m even meant to start with that,” Sirius finally muttered. He sounded annoyed, but not angry, so Remus decided he could get away with pushing a little harder.“Start with the worst bit,” Remus suggested.Sirius stared. “Why the hell would I do that?”“Well, it can only get better after that, I suppose.”Sirius snorted. “You severely underestimate the shitshow that is my life, Moony.”Remus’s lips twitched into something that almost resembled a smile, if one was generous. Sirius rolled his eyes and slumped forward until his hair shielded his eyes from view. Remus resisted the urge to push harder. Sirius had always been a private person, and he’d never reacted well to people pressuring him to speak. James had seemed to intuitively understand how to coax Sirius into sharing his inner demons; a delicate dance that involved nudging and retreating and waiting patiently. Remus had always been a bit shit at it, though not for lack of trying. The waiting came easier now, he realised. Perhaps the years had made Remus more patient, or Sirius more trusting. More likely, they were both just sick beyond measure of secrets. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t long before Sirius started talking. “I didn’t realise it was permanent,” Sirius said. He was studying his own fingers as they traced patterns across Remus’s worn table. “Not until recently. I thought it would wear off, once I wasn't in there anymore.” In there. The words felt too innocuous, too small to capture all the years spent in a living hell.Sirius was now trying to dig a fingernail into the wood of the table, brows furrowed in concentration. His bony fingers were white with strain.“Stop that,” Remus snapped. Sirius flinched and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He ignored Remus’s attempt to catch his eye, staring fixedly down at the table.“You didn’t realise…?” Remus prompted, forcing himself to soften his tone.“I realised I still can’t remember,” Sirius said quietly, which was so infuriatingly vague that Remus was half-convinced Sirius was purposefully leading the conversation in circles. Until the moment they finally locked gazes, and Remus saw the naked terror in Sirius’s eyes. He was trembling, Remus realised with a start. Sirius was not a man who spooked easily. The one and only time Remus had seen him this scared, Sirius had been nineteen and carrying an unconscious James in his arms after a mission gone terribly wrong. Sirius had been white as a sheet, shaking so violently that James, out cold, had shuddered along with him like a ship caught on a stormy sea. James hadn’t woken for several days afterward, and Sirius hadn't said a word or left his side until his eyes finally opened.
I can’t remember.
Somewhere in the back of Remus's mind, the pin dropped. His breath left him in a rush.
He can't mean…?
“What can't you remember?” Remus heard himself ask, as if from a distance. Sirius tilted his chin just so; that old familiar motion from their youth that always meant don't ask stupid questions, Moony. He does, Remus realised in horror. He means James. For a moment they simply stared at each other, silence echoing around them. Remus tried and failed to imagine a world in which Sirius Black had forgotten any detail of James Potter, no matter how tiny. It seemed unfathomable. “Don't make me say it,” Sirius finally croaked. Pleaded. Remus's chest ached. Sirius took a shuddering breath.“They take your happy memories,” Sirius said. “The dementors. They don't erase them, not if you're just passing through. But if you're in Azkaban long enough…” He trailed off and huffed a breath that was probably meant to be a laugh. “Well, the longer you're there, the more of you they keep.”Not sure he wanted to know the answer, Remus asked, “What do you remember?”Sirius pulled his feet up onto the chair and drew his knees tightly to his chest. “What do you think? The bad shit. Inconsequential shit. Facts and figures. I remember every word my mother said to me the night I ran away, but I can’t—” His voice cracked, and when he spoke again, his voice seemed to have shrunk. “I can't remember his smile.”There was a silence during which Remus supposed he was meant to speak. He didn’t.“I haven't forgotten everything,” Sirius continued, almost desperately. “I’m not that far gone. But there are…pieces missing. Things are dark around the edges. I don’t know how else to explain it.”“Sirius…”“I wasn’t fool enough to think I’d escape Azkaban unscathed. I always knew I’d be a bit mad by the end.” There was another huff of breath, which sounded suspiciously closer to a sob than a laugh. “It’s just…”“My God,” Remus murmured without thinking. “It had to be those memories…” Sirius just stared at him, eyes overbright. In the silence, Remus considered taking a swig of firewhisky himself. Instead he asked, “How well do you remember your Legilimency?”Sirius blinked, clearly thrown by the change of topic. “I…Fine, I suppose. Haven’t had much use for it recently. Why—”Remus could see the moment Sirius understood what he was offering. His face drained of colour and he unfolded himself from the chair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. His eyes flashed dangerously.“Remus,” he said, voice low in warning. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”Remus raised an eyebrow. “And if I am?”“Then don’t,” Sirius growled, baring his teeth.“Why not?” Remus asked calmly.“Because—” Sirius snarled and stood from his chair. He started pacing along the length of the table, back and forth and back again. Remus tracked him with his eyes. “Because I don’t want your memories, Remus.”“I know you don’t,” Remus answered. "You want your memories. There must be a bit of overlap, though.”“That's—” Sirius ran a hand through his hair and pulled hard at the roots. “That is not the point. I’m not rifling through your fucking head for…for what, some half-brained attempt at piecing my broken mind back together?” He stopped in his tracks and glared at Remus. “I may be madder than Moody, but I’m not that bloody selfish, Remus.”“You’re the least selfish person I know, Padfoot,” Remus said, voice soft. He ignored Sirius’s derisive scoff. “And I’m just offering. That’s all.”“Well, don’t.”“Fine.”The room was quiet for a moment as Sirius eyed the firewhisky and Remus eyed the harsh lines of Sirius’s face. He was still far too thin for Remus’s liking. “Well,” Remus finally said, pushing back from the table and grabbing the bottle on his way over to the tea kettle, “I suppose the rest of this conversation can wait until after breakfast.”“Not hungry,” Sirius muttered.“Tea, then,” Remus said firmly.“Remus—”“Sit down, Sirius.”Miraculously, he did.By the time Remus returned, balancing two steaming mugs and a bowl of fruit, Sirius was calmer. He still glared suspiciously at the fruit when the bowl landed on the table next to him, then gave Remus a flat look.“I said I wasn’t hungry.”“I am,” Remus lied, tossing a blueberry in the air and catching it in his mouth. Sirius snorted and cradled his mug in both hands.“I thought you always said eating before noon was unnatural.”“I’ve grown wise in my old age,” Remus said. “Realised the error in my ways.”“Thank Merlin,” Sirius said in mock-relief. “I've been losing sleep wondering when Professor Lupin would finally get wise.”Remus threw a grape at him.When the fruit was nearly gone—only a quarter of which had been tossed at each others’ faces—and Remus was halfheartedly swirling the dregs of his tea, Sirius mumbled, “I won’t be able to stop.”“Sorry?” Remus asked, looking up.Sirius set his jaw. “If I use Legilimency. I won’t be able to stop.”Remus put his mug down. “Would it help,” he began, “if I told you I’m a proficient Occlumens?”Sirius arched a brow. “When did that happen?”“Before I accepted the teaching position. Frankly, it seemed unprofessional for Hogwarts to hire a Defence professor who couldn’t defend himself against Legilimency.”“You taught yourself?”“No, I…asked Dumbledore to teach me.”“Merlin,” Sirius said in awe. “You’re a braver man than me. Letting Dumbledore poke around in your head…”“It wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience, I’ll admit,” Remus said. “Though it did serve as excellent motivation to learn the subject at hand.”“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius said. “I’m still not doing it.”“Sirius—”“No, Remus.”Remus met Sirius’s eyes. His glare was venomous. Then his face softened and he sighed, pressing his knuckles into the sockets of his eyes—so hard that Remus worried he’d have to wrench his hands away. But then Sirius pulled his fingers from his face and slumped back in his chair, fiddling with the worn fabric of his sleeve. When he met Remus’s gaze again, his eyes were bloodshot. “I’m asking you to drop it,” Sirius said. “Please.”Remus nodded slowly. “Okay.”“Thank you.”After a moment, Remus asked tentatively, “Will you tell me why?”“I told you, I can't—”“Can't stop yourself,” Remus finished for him. “And yet, we’ve established that I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself.”“Is that really what you want?” Sirius asked tiredly. “A bloody tug-of-war over your memories? Pushing past your walls because I'm convinced I just need one more hit before I'll feel okay again?” He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “You deserve better than that. And Harry deserves a godfather who isn’t trapped in the past.”Remus studied the shadows on Sirius’s face; thought of the firewhisky and wondered if a man could become addicted to living inside someone else’s memories.“I won't do any more harm,” Sirius said, opening his eyes. “I won't. I've already done enough to last a lifetime.”“Forget I mentioned it, then,” Remus said. “But…Sirius.”“Mhm.”There were a million things Remus should’ve said: I’m worried about you and not everything under the sun is your fault and do you need me to clear out the liquor cabinet.But what slipped out of his mouth was, “Let me tell you about James and Lily’s wedding. I still have some photos in the back room.”Sirius just stared at him, expression unreadable, and for a moment Remus was sure he would refuse. But then he rose from his seat in one fluid motion, grabbing their empty mugs from the table.“I’ll make us another cup of tea, then.”Remus hoped it would be enough.