All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Seventh Year : Family

It’s a heartache

Nothing but a heartache

Hits you when it’s too late

Hits you when you’re down

It’s a fool’s game

Nothing but a fool’s game

Standing in the cold rain

Feeling like a clown

It’s a heartache

Nothing but a heartache

Love him ‘til your arms break

Then he lets you down

Fuck you, Sirius thought, crashing through the door to the common room, Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

A group of fourth-years studying on the carpet looked up, startled by the slamming door. Sirius ignored them, stomping across the room to the portrait hole and storming outside.

He paced through the corridors without direction, no location in mind, fists clenched at his sides. It was a Friday afternoon; there were still some classes running—Sirius had bunked off Muggle Studies to go and fetch Remus. The halls were mostly empty, but he knew they would fill up with students once the final bell rang, so Sirius ducked down side passages, twisting and turning aimlessly, taking the routes where he would be least likely to stumble upon anyone else. He didn’t want to see anyone—not in his current state.

Bloody fucking Remus Lupin, he thought, gritting his teeth. All he’d wanted was to help, to convince Remus that he didn’t have to force himself to suffer every waking hour of his life. Was that so hard to ask?? Sirius had never met someone so stubborn, so determined punish himself, so viciously opposed to even considering the possibility that he might not deserve the pain he put himself through.

Well, fine then. If that was what Remus wanted. Let him wallow in his guilt, in his miserable self-pity. Sirius was done breaking his fists trying to batter down those impossible fucking walls.

He wandered the corridors, fuming, replaying the argument in his head. What about you, Sirius?! How come we never get to talk about your fucked-up family…

It was like Remus had wanted to cut straight through him, to rip him open and tear out the ugliest, most vulnerable parts just so that he could throw them back in Sirius’s face. It might have hurt less, if it hadn’t been true.

Why do we always have to talk about my shit life, hm?! Mr. ‘tell me a fucking secret’?!

Sirius faltered, pausing to lean against a wall and catch his breath. He’d been walking so fast he was practically jogging—his lungs burned. So did his eyes. He lifted a hand to scrub at his face, wishing he had a cigarette.

Was Remus right to be mad? Was his anger justified? Had Sirius been too demanding, too needy—asking for more than Remus could give? Had he been unfair, trying to pry apart every secret while locking away parts of his own past? Of his own heart?