All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Sixth Year : Space

So messed up, I want you here

In my room, I want you here

Now we’re gonna be face-to-face

And I’ll lay right down in my favourite place

And now I wanna be your dog

And now I wanna be your dog

And now I wanna be your dog

Well, come on!

 

Friday 5th February 1977

Sirius Black could do space. Space was fine—if that was what Remus needed. If that was what he wanted. Who cared about a little bit of distance? Not Sirius—not one bit.

As the last few weeks of January slipped away, he didn’t touch Remus once. No more broom cupboards, no more empty classrooms, no more late-night rendezvous; Sirius kept his hands to himself. It was difficult—more difficult than it should have been. But he knew it was necessary.

James had been right; he couldn’t force Remus to confide in him. He couldn’t force Remus to care about him, to feel the same things he was feeling. It was all good fun, their arrangement—but only if Sirius could keep his emotions in check. Only if he could keep the messy, tangled snarl of feelings from cracking like an eggshell, spilling out between them, covering Remus in their…muck. It wasn’t fair, to demand something more when Sirius knew that wasn’t what Moony wanted—some level of closeness that Remus couldn’t possibly give. It would be wrong of him. It would ruin everything.

So he gave Moony space. It became apparent very quickly that this was the right decision; Remus relaxed into his normal routine, spending all his time studying in the library or reading quietly by the fireplace. He seemed calmer than he had in weeks, and Sirius felt sick with the thought that he must have been crowding him, overwhelming him, throwing himself at Remus when all the other boy wanted was to be left alone.

He’ll come back, a small, selfish part of him whispered, When he’s ready, he’ll come back to you. Sirius clung to the pathetic hope that it stirred, lying awake at night, wishing desperately that he would hear the soft shuffle of footsteps, the rustle of bedcurtains—that just once, Remus would come to him.

But he didn’t. And as the days wore on, Sirius was forced to confront the possibility that he hadn’t wanted to consider: that Remus wouldn’t come to him. That he never would. That it was over.

It shouldn’t have mattered. Sirius knew that. It shouldn’t have hurt, not the way it did—like a wound that wouldn’t heal, a dull, throbbing ache in his chest. He had always known that this would happen, eventually; that Moony would get sick of him, would call it quits. Would sense that it wasn’t quite so casual for Sirius, not anymore, and pull back, appalled or frightened or…angry. Would want things to return to normal.

That was fine. That was for the best. Sirius remembered Mary’s words, on the afternoon they broke up: sometimes, it’s like your feelings are so big that there isn’t room for anyone else’s…