His Twenty-Eighth life

20. The Movement of Minds

"You just never are going to get used to him, are you?"

Remus folded his arms. "Don't tell me you're used to him. Because I don't believe that, Black."

Sirius sighed a little. Things were really bad when Remus called him by his last name. "I don't know if I can just wake up every day and say to myself, 'Hey, one of my best friends' kids is actually an immortal being who's also a Dementor!' But I'm trying, you know, Remus? He's not so bad once you get to know him."

Remus looked away. His nostrils were flaring, which made Sirius wonder if Harry somehow smelled wrong to him and that was a factor in how Remus treated him. But he honestly had no idea, so he kept quiet, and Remus finally sighed and got up to wander around the room.

Sirius watched him. When he'd inherited Grimmauld Place because Reggie had vanished somewhere unknown, he'd changed the décor completely. Gone were the house-elf heads, gone was every gloomy piece of black paneling, gone were the huge heavy frowning dark bookshelves packed with Dark Arts books. Sirius had bought furniture in shades of white and gold and rich cream and painted all the walls either red, gold, or robin's-egg blue. Plus he had mirrors everywhere. He could see Remus's face better in the mirror over the fireplace at the moment than he could head-on.

Remus looked incredibly unhappy.

"What is it, Moony?" Sirius made his voice gentle. "Is it just because Lily and James—and me—made that stupid mistake where we abandoned you for so long, or is it because Harry somehow smells wrong to you, or what?"

Remus let out a harsh breath and leaned his forehead against the mirror. "Something of all of those, perhaps. But worst of all, Harry seems to have accepted being a Dementor."

"I don't think he really has. I mean, he's told me how much he hates that life, and he could have escaped You-Know-Who any time he chose but he hates it so much he didn't want to use that power—"

"But he did accept it, Sirius! He embraced the power enough to use it!"

"So. This is about you never having really accepted that you're a werewolf, right?"

Remus cringed, and didn't answer. Sirius got up and crossed the room to put his hand on Remus's shoulder. His own reflection in the mirror looked determined. Well, good. Sirius really wanted Remus to be able to get past this. Sirius didn't think he was on perfect terms with Harry yet, but he wanted to be.

"We made a stupid, idiotic mistake thinking we couldn't trust you just because you were a werewolf. We were all idiots, and I'm sorry. But I don't think you can decide because of that you can't trust Harry."

"He knows so much," Remus replied, his voice a soft rumble that made Sirius squeeze his shoulder again. "He could do so much. And yet he hasn't made one move to rid the world of Voldemort."

Sirius blinked. "Er. Should he?"

"Of course! That monster took him away from his family!" Remus turned around and glared at him. "He fought him when he barely had the Elder Wand in his possession, and now he's had it for years. Why doesn't he go over there and obliterate him? I don't think he's frightened of the bloody pretentious Dark Lord! The only reason that makes sense to me why he hasn't defeated him yet is if he likes him. Or pities him. Or is secretly on his side."

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it. He had to admit, Remus's words made a certain kind of sense.

Except it didn't seem right to him to put the whole burden of winning the war on a kid's shoulders.

"Well, maybe," was what he finally said. "When the war begins again—"

"It never ended."

"But Voldemort and the Death Eaters aren't actually attacking anymore."