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Things that Remus doesn't share

Remus never talks about his family. The truth is that Remus doesn't speak about a lot of things, and Sirius is starting to realize this after almost six years living with him in the same school and the same house. The same dorm for fuck sakes. "For being a dog I am not very awake, let it be said. I wouldn't make for a police dog, of course". All Sirius knows about Lupin is that his father was a Muggle and that he died before Remus enter the school. He has never asked anything about his mother and neither knew she had a grandmother or was sick. 

"The mother of my father", Remus explains. "She made the best cinnamon almond cake from all over the UK". Sirius didn't know. Nor did he knows that during Muggle funerals, people went to a church to hear a man dressed in black. It seems all curious to him but he says nothing because Remus's pain is so intense that emits almost physical waves and all he wants is to ask him what he could do for him and not be in that absurd position, with stained glass eating giant pills that stick to the palate, and shaking hands to strangers who look sad.

At the cemetery, a couple of people approach and Remus greets them. They start saying things such as his grandmother was very old, and to Sirius seems the oldest bullshit he has heard in his entire life. All grandmothers are older, right?

Well, his grandmother is tucked in a painting at home but she's wrinkled like cigarette paper and it's barely moving so she must be. Older.

When it's all over, Remus keeps looking at the tombstone and still doesn't say anything. Sirius sniffs his pain like an animal and it seems to him that he has appeased a little now that they're alone. He still doesn't know what to say. Though it is difficult for him not to say anything. It's spring and in Bath Cemetery at Avon County, the flowers burst in rich colors.

-I used to spend summers with her- Remus says.

- I thought you spent your summers with your mother.

Remus' half-smile is the saddest thing Sirius has ever seen.

He never feels the need to do something like that before. For him. Whatever. Is horrified not to be able to do anything. When the moon rises and Remus begs for mercy, Sirius holds his chest and he's with him until the last moment and damn he wishes he could do the same now. Grab him, get under the skin, extract some of his pain so he can help him carry it, and make it more bearable. Between the two.

- My mother ... - Remus doesn't finish. - Do you want to meet my mother?

He hesitates. One second. Please. There are too many things about Remus that do not know and, in that muggle cemetery, the desire to know them all and aspire his perfume becomes unbreathable. Feel that thing in his chest again, that pain that is now more of a tornado blow than a kick.

- I'd love to, Moony.