Date: 2006-05-25 12:49 am (UTC)
"Padfoot," he started, beginning a movement with his hands, as if to grasp Sirius' shoulder and give him a hug. But he pauses and falters and stops, hands settling back against his legs. Time has dulled him to this, where he is too afraid to go further lest the spark of care that keeps him attached to this world with his mind and heart is broken. He is frightened into mildness, an old mask.

He remembered that time too well, nervous adolescence in a dark world. They were going to save it, really, defeat Voldemort in that wonderful singlemindedness and foolish bravery of the young. And they'd succeeded, not on purpose, and the cost had nearly killed them all. Two it did kill, one it twisted so that they both wished him dead, and only they were left.

And they couldn't even remember how to live.

"Sirius..." he said, quietly, watching him with wide, round eyes. "Don't. If you need to run, to do something, do it. I remember Grimmauld, too."

His mouth twisted a little. "We didn't know anything back then. I would still rather..." He couldn't bear to finish it out loud. Sirius knew the thought already.

"We should find Harry, Sirius, and a place to live, properly. I have a job here, something I won't find many other places, but I won't let you be alone either. You've spent too much time alone."
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