"War does not determine who is right...only who is left." - B. Russell

As this blog, Under Fire, still gets many asks from people wanting to know if we are still running and wondering where the admins have gone to, I thought it best to use this as an opportunity to make a quick announcement–– UF is not, in fact, running anymore. For almost two years, it was a home for me and a lightning rod of inspiration. It brought me Admin Mel, one of my best friends in the world, and taught me so much about my muses. However, all good things must come to an end, and sometimes the best way to keep getting inspired is to move on to something new. I, Admin Amanda, have done just that–– I recently founded Who Is Left, a brand new Marauders Era roleplay that you’re all welcome to have a look at. It’s taking place back in school, at the very start of the Marauders’ sixth year…and we would love to have you! 

History loves to boil times of turmoil down to two sides: Right and Wrong. Bad and good. Dark and light. But the first wizarding war is painted in a million shades of varying gray–– and all involved believe that their moral ground is the highest. After all, these are not just statistics. They are not just soldiers. They are people, and each carries with them a story: hopes, fears, dreams, loved ones worth protecting. As the battle field grows darker and the line between good and evil continues to blur, the question left to be answered will not be “who is right?”. It will be, when all is said and done… “Who is left standing?”

[straightens up to look at Sirius’s hair a little better - looking and sounding like he’s never seen it before in his life] Oh… wow, that is - quite nice, wow.  [grins again, happily reaching out and taking Sirius’s empty glass (a little precariously just with his free fingers, but caution be damned) and replacing it with the beer Sirius had just brought him] It is my birthday, isn’t it?  It’s a lovely present, this party - I just hope no one got a picture of my face as I walked in.

Narcissa would fall down dead on the floor if she heard what you just said. A party isn’t a present. A party is a place where presents are given. As in, for my next birthday I’m hoping that somebody gives me a present in the form of a blown up picture of you walking through the door with that idiotic look on your face. And they can present it to me...at my party. 

[grins all the brighter at him, acutely aware of the bounce in his step despite his current state of inebriation] Really?  That’s the crown jewel?  I do believe you’re selling yourself a bit short there, Pads.

No, no, don’t worry. I’m not forgetting about my hair it’s just in another category. [tips his head back and kills his glass, making a face at the new emptiness of it as if it was the glass’s fault and not his own for chugging it back] ‘Sides. It’s your birthday. S’not about selling me today, wanker.

[he makes a small noise of protest at the beer being pushed into his hand, but it’s his birthday damn it and he knows he’s just going to get pestered until he starts living it up, so he dutifully takes a too-long swig of the new beverage before answering, his own grin only multiplying at the sight of Sirius’s - or maybe just at the sight of Sirius alone, who knows, and his voice is a little too loud to compensate for the noise around them] I was fucking gobsmacked, are you joking?  Nearly had a bleeding heart attack!  This is amazing, when did you even have the time to set it up?

I don’t have any shortage of time within which to be amazing. [takes a swig of his own drink before bumping his shoulder against Remus’s, a small bounce in his step that hadn’t been present for weeks (at least)] Don’t question my methods, mate. Haven’t you learned by now? I always know how to pull a party out of my arse. It’s the crown jewel of my talents. 

I don’t want you to go.  [He said it quickly with a slight shake of his head, small trace of a smile on his lips still.  It was heartbreaking to see Sirius holding himself so utterly differently than he used to when they were young - heartbreaking because it could have been avoided, something Remus had forgotten or barely even stopped thinking about since the moment he had realized the truth behind 31 October, 1981.  He hadn’t had twelve years of dementors to make him understand that one moment of sadness was enough; he’d had twelve-plus years of being alone, of lying in the dark with nothing to suck the happiness away from each memory, keeping each one vivid and painfully bittersweet in his mind.  He’d dwelled too much, spent years of his life desperately reeling back the memories to figure out where everything had gone wrong, when Sirius had changed enough to be capable of such madness and betrayal.

Of course now he realized there hadn’t been a moment, just built up mistrust.  He looked at Sirius now and hated himself, his twenty year-old self, for not seeing what was so clear to him now.  He looked at Sirius and saw what they should have had, could have had; not just from when they were kids, but barely two years ago, too, when he’d fucked up so badly and forgotten his final dose of the Wolfsbane and became Peter’s distraction to escape.  There had always been a fire in him, his own guilt the kindling, keeping him moving through his exiled years and it was still that fire hat was keeping him going now - now when he felt so old, so tired.  But he had to clear Sirius’s name, had to protect Harry, had to pull together the broken little family he’d let slip through his fingers too many times before.  Never again, not if he had something to do about it.

 He turned his still mostly-full cup of eggnog in his hands - fidgety, as always, just not so obviously as he used to be, not after so much time training himself to be as unnoticeable as possible.  He gave another little nod of his head, like each one would hopefully bring Sirius a step closer.  They were sharing the same bed already, that old tradition of theirs had come back sooner than Remus could have hoped for, but they still barely touched.  He couldn’t force that on Sirius - wouldn’t dare - and, on a more personal and self-conscious level he wasn’t sure Sirius would ever want to again, even if the healing process continued in an upward direction.  He knew he didn’t look like he used to; there were more lines on his face to compliment the scars he’d amassed over the years without a big black dog or regal stag to keep him from destroying his flesh during his transformation, while he was the wolf, and even after.  The years hadn’t been kind on him, and a few years of stability were only slowly (but still surely) bringing him back up to speed.

Still, he found himself desperate that Sirius would come closer.  Take those few steps, exist next to him again instead of in constant painful orbit around one another.  But that was selfish, and Remus had had a lot of time learning how to rid himself of selfish thoughts.  So he smiled again, eyebrows raised ever so slightly at the unexpected questions - happy Sirius was taking some charge in conversation, showing interest.]

Of course I am.  It’s nice having everyone here, makes the house feel so much less - you know.  Empty.  Less cold, even, with all the energy.  [He cast his eyes back toward the fire for a moment, thinking - fifteen years ago he would feel bad about Sirius having to ask, having to notice he might not be having a good time.  He was older now, had the gift of hindsight to know that he needed to take advantage of being able to tell Sirius the truth about everything now that he could again, reassuring him and looking back at him with a subtle but knowing expression on his face.]  I’m having a good time.  I just never thought I’d ever have another Christmas with you, or even with Harry, and it’s a little overwhelming.  That’s all.  [The smile on his face took a decidedly self-deprecating turn, and he patted the ample desk space next to where he was leaning against]  Thought I’d take a moment to collect myself before I got really embarrassing out there, and in the middle of Nymphadora’s Severus impression no less.

Still pretty cold. [Sirius mused gently, shrugging and taking another step into the room looking, not at his friend, but at the ornate wallpaper that was now fading and peeling and trying to tear itself from the walls like he had so many years ago] I thought at first that I’d like it better like this, all...falling down. I don’t. [It wasn’t much, just a few short sentences that didn’t amount to anything of real emotional value, but there was a punch behind it–– it was a miracle in Sirius’s opinion that he could feel anything at all, even disappointment and loneliness, much less vocalize it in some stilted, arm’s length way] They’re going soon, so I’m just trying to not... [there was another pause, but not because Sirius didn’t know what he wanted to say] Get used to it. 

[There was a chair sitting on the closer side of the desk and Sirius looked at it passingly, but he still strayed and kept himself away in his orbit, like he and Remus were magnets. They’d always been like that, attracted to the other in every sense of the word, like they were being pulled together despite anything between them. Now it was like they’d switched poles; despite being around each other all the time (and needing to be, at least on Sirius’s end), there was that gap between them that still couldn’t be bridged; one last leap of faith it seemed neither of them could coax their knees into bending for] It’s a little warmer in here, though. Picked a good room. 

[Sirius ducked his chin slightly at Remus’s explanation, like the words had lightly and physical rolled against him and caused him to have to look away. His hands found his pockets and dipped inside as his eyes found the floor, as grey as the shades he’d always seen the world in. He, too, never thought he’d see Harry again at all, or Remus; he could remember the moment he lost each of them. He could remember Hagrid ripping the baby from his arms; he could remember himself expelling Remus from his heart–– or at least trying, unsuccessfully, when he’d foolishly believed the worst about him. It seemed so long ago but it also still cut him fresh; like a bad dream that still clung to the corners of his mind after he woke. Sirius noticed how he patted the desk. He took a hesitant step toward it, toward Remus, and ended up leaning against the worn surface of the wood, too far away from Remus to touch him with any ease but close enough that a stranger happening upon them might think they hadn’t broken each other into twisted mosaics once upon a time]

Yeah, and that would have spoiled all of it. She might not have been able to pull it off if you were still there and her attention stayed on checking you out. 

[Remus is already fairly buzzed on punch, having come home an hour before expecting a quiet night with just a few friends to a bonafide surprise party that he genuinely hadn’t been expecting.  He’s got that dopey, dazed by his own happiness look on his face and a self-refilling glass of spiked punch in one hand as he wanders around the busy flat mingling] 

No, I was completely surprised!  That stupid look on my face was most definitely not for show.

[for what is probably the fortieth time since he showed up that night, an equally dopey grin on his face and he grabs a new beers from the table and pushes it into Remus’s other hand so that he’s now double-fisting] But you were really surprised? I mean...really?

[he can’t help it: he full on blushes like the huge nerd he is, face getting hot even though his smile doesn’t falter for a second.  He returns the kiss before he worms a hand up from being trapped between them to lightly trace one of Sirius’s cheekbones, just a gentle affectionate touch and nothing more as he settles comfortably where he is, voice quiet and sounding like he’s making a massively romantic declaration] You’re a sap. [which is ironic since he basically has the real life equivalent of hearts in his eyes] I should have gotten you more than… fucking flowers.  I think there’s some wine somewhere?

[Sirius, nose all wrinkled up and an extremely rare expression of peace on his face, leans into the cold hand as it rests against his cheekbone, nudging against it familiarly before ducking his face to the side to kiss that as well. It’s likely a miracle that he’d managed to exercise any amount of self-restraint, but he’s not even thinking about it long enough to pat himself on the back–– he’s just happy, in the moment] Oh man. Flowers and leftover fridge wine! You’re actually spoiling me. 

His face relaxed somewhat through sheer willpower, and Remus stared at him, as expressionless as he could possibly get himself to be, head tilting slightly to the side as he regarded the other man.  This stranger, this shade of someone he used to know.  Part of him was itching to reach out and touch him, prove he was real, but the anger that was boiling in the pit of his stomach and up to his heart was proving it more than enough.  But Remus knew how to handle fury and violence churning at the very center of you - he dealt with it all the time.

“You don’t scare me, Sirius,” he murmured softly, in that infuriatingly patient Remus Lupin voice of his, knowing what effect it would have - or at least what effect it used to have - and paired it with the best, most sympathetically subtle furrow of his eyebrows he could pull out of his repertoire.  “You never have, your last name means nothing to me.”  He barely waited for a reaction before continuing, barely changing the tone of his voice as he repeated himself, “who are your guests?”

Sirius hadn’t liked being told what to do back in the fairytale days when he and the other Marauders were friends, and he certainly didn’t like being told what to do now that he was the heir apparent and spent most of his time giving orders–– and much of it taking orders as well, but not from people like Remus. Not from old friends who sneered at his name and questioned the authority that he was drunk on despite knowing in the back of his mind that it was only being handed to him him to inflate his head and keep him loyal. 

“Just because you’re scared yet doesn’t make you special,” Sirius said, and his voice was too low and truly threatening now; it was a detached, strong sort of voice that he knew he only reserved for special occasions when his mind didn’t want to think about what it was about to do. A lot of people had taken their last breaths after that voice was used. “And it’s not my last name you need to be scared of, half-breed. It’s me.” With that and only that as a preamble, he pulled out his wand. He didn’t do anything with it yet but the display of it was ostentatious enough to show that he wasn’t messing around, despite the fact that it was pointing decidedly at the ground at Remus’s feet and not his eyes or heart or throat–– yet. 

You really want to talk about little clubs, you think I’m not worried to death every time you’re doing your bonding time with Moody?  You told me that helping him is what makes you feel useful, and going under with the wolves is my useful. [he just blinks at him, completely taken aback and shocked and even a little offended, the panic and anxiety from the news still fresh in his brain and not doing much to keep him calm in the face of what feels like Sirius cornering him thoroughly, and he takes another step back, looking lost and his voice quiet, even scared, all over again]  I’m not keeping anything from you.  You know what I’m out there doing.

I just - Sirius - I just meant it’s not going to change, either way it’s - he’s going to tell you the same thing I’m telling you right now, the same thing he’s told me.  [Sirius doesn’t have the monopoly on looking stricken here, and Remus takes a step back as his hand is pushed away looking more like he’d just been punched than anything, voice climbing back to its hysterical tone from earlier in disbelief] How are you - how are you supposed to know that?  You’re supposed to trust me when I say it, that’s fucking how!

Yeah?  What else do you like to hear?  [Despite the snarky, flirty tone he stops in his tracks, looking up at Sirius from his comfortable position pressed against him and absolutely glowing at the laugh that was leaving the other man.  His most sunshine-y grin spreads across his lips - still against Sirius’s neck but paused to drink in the moment - and he was rather obviously marveling at him.  This, whatever This is, is still new for them.  He’s still blissfully terrified and dumbstruck by the fact that he was not only kissing Sirius Black but that Sirius Black was kissing Remus Lupin right back, running gentle fingers along his back and laughing and smiling at him.  Maybe it had taken longer than it should have, sure, but they were here, and it was moments like this that made Remus think that maybe, when the war was done, they really did have a chance together.  He’s content to go at whatever speed Sirius needs at this point, considering he was the one who initially told him to slow down, even though the worrisome nervous voice in his brain is still warning him that Sirius might just want the sex and not much else, even when he’s been working so hard to prove otherwise.  He banishes the thought and does as he’s told (not before leaving one last lingering kiss against Sirius’s throat, of course, because he does want Sirius, every single part of him) and pulls himself up closer with a groan of exaggerated effort, grinning down at him] Hullo, there.  You alright?

I think you’re fairly close to figuring that one out for yourself, Moons. [Sirius muttered it right back. a sunshine-worthy grin of his own spread across his face as he held the other man tightly against him–– but where he normally would have buried himself in the moment, taking it for all its worth and distracted himself beyond the ability to be dragged out of it, he remained still and calm–– a first for him, and more important of a milestone than anyone could have suspected, most of all himself.] ‘Course I’m alright. [he said confidently up at the face smiling up above him, looking more blissfully relaxed than he had in weeks–– months, if he was being honestly with himself...which he rarely was. He then leaned up only slightly, closing the fraction-of-an-inch distance between them and brushing his lips slightly against Remus’s] Just wanted to kiss you properly for a ‘mo. 

You can talk to Dumbledore about it if you want.  [it’s said quietly, clearly a little sadly, because he knows Dumbledore will tell Sirius exactly what he doesn’t want to hear, and he swipes his thumb against Sirius’s cheekbone to try and get him to focus on him again] If I’m in danger I will - if there aren’t any other options.  I’m not going to die somewhere undercover and leave you wondering where I was, I wouldn’t do that, you know that.

He looked Sirius over warily, the light from the fire casting shadows over the other man that only seemed to make the sunken look in his face more prominent.  But he was still handsome - Remus could see it underneath the toll Azkaban had taken on him, or maybe it was just the flashes of the old Sirius that he couldn’t help but see - and he was looking better these days.  He imagined they were both looking better with a solid roof over their heads and a constant source of nourishment that didn’t consist of any rats.

When he spoke again his voice was still soft and slow (he always spoke a little slower these days, running words through his 12-year tested filter) like he was still afraid anything more might spook Sirius out of the room, tilting his head gently to gesture Sirius should come a little closer inside] I’m alright, you know.  Just needed a moment to breathe, I don’t want you missing out on the fun on my account.

Good. Good. I hope so. I meant to. [despite the statement of intent, there was very little indication of purpose behind his tone as he stood there in the doorway, feeling like some vampire who needed permission before being able to enter a room; he rubbed his hands together slowly and stepped over the threshold, but he hovered there without taking any extra space—a far cry from the bombastic man that had once taken pride in his ability to make a gigantic room feel small and filled with energy. His charisma had once been enough to make even him forget that he wasn’t the tallest, largest, loudest person in any given room; now it was all he could do to stand slightly shrunken against the wallpaper beside the door, leaning against the molding and making himself slightly smaller—or perhaps that was just the way his shoulders would hunch from now on]

I’m not missing anything on your account. [he said it quietly as well, but not for the same reasons Remus’s voice had changed. Sirius had had time to practice what he would say to all the lost people in his life, of course, sitting in the same small room for twelve years. But it wasn’t often that he dreamed he’d actually get out to say them—and once he had, to Remus especially, that was all there was. He thought that at the most, he’d get to say his piece; some apology, a slice of explanation. He could still remember when he was fifteen and felt like he knew everything there was to know about being an adult, about the world, about the amount of sadness one person could hold in their chest without imploding. Now here he was in his thirties, living well past the expiration date he’d imagined, feeling like he was in a world that had no place for him anymore despite the way he used to carry himself like seas would move or split or dry up if he fancied a walk through them. It was true, technically, that he wasn’t missing anything on Remus’s account—not consciously, anyway. But after all this time, after all the space between them, there was no way he could fail to notice when Remus left the room. Sirius still felt like they were tethered together somehow; two floating, aimless constellations in the black hole that was Grimmauld place. It was easier to play off when the house wasn’t full, when there weren’t guests to entertain and it was understandable that neither of them would want to be alone.

But the fact stood that Remus had always needed time away from the crowds; time to be on his own to recharge and regenerate and feel up to socializing again. Sirius used to be the opposite—he’s gotten his energy and found himself feeling grounded in the loud throng of people in the city, or the warm embrace of a too-crowded party in the common room. These were the places where he could shout, laugh, lose himself in the moment. Perhaps it was the isolation in prison that had changed that for Sirius, but he knew there had to be more to it, too. Somewhere in the back of his mind it was understood that just as much as Remus needed time alone, Sirius just physically needed time with Remus.]

I can go, if you want. [Gone were the guilt trips and empty offers of the past. As Sirius nodded toward the doorway, it was quite clear that he really was asking if Remus needed more space, more time, more distance. Sirius was stuck so often lately feeling like he was desperate for company and feeling like he was a burden on all those around him; he knew he should be off enjoying Harry and the others, and the brief moments of genuine holiday cheer they dragged out of him, but some types of sadness were too hard to quit, and Remus was one of those—it was like picking at a cut when it was in that place of healing where the new skin had grown over but the injury was still painfully visible underneath.]

[Plainly, he looked back at Remus just as he felt Remus looking at him, and not for the first time that night Sirius let himself be sad for just a moment about everything they’d built and clung to and lost. Just a moment, though—if Sirius had learned anything from Azkaban it was that the cold the dementors instilled never left, even when the creatures weren’t around. One moment was more than enough. One moment of being sad was too much. It could mean death, if he didn’t bounce back fast enough. Fortunately, incorrigible flirt that he was, Sirius had never been able to resist flirting with that sense of dread. He turned his attention instead to thinking about how different Remus looked, even though he knew he shouldn’t; it was still a surprise every time Sirius walked into a room and saw him, because Sirius spent so much time living in his head, even now, that his eyes never quite adjusted to seeing the man that was genuinely standing before him; they kept trying to replace Remus’s lined and worn face with the slightly cheerier one of their shared youth.]

[It wasn’t just Remus that his brain was using to play tricks. Up in Sirius’s parents’ old room (the place he felt compelling to sleep in, despite all logic and all reason, now that he was the ‘man of the house’ so to speak—wasn’t it ironic that they’d gotten what they wanted after all? Him running the home and being trapped within it forever?) all the mirrors were covered and all the windows drawn shut behind thick curtains. He didn’t want to risk catching his reflection in a pane of glass when he wasn’t ready for it. For Sirius, the most jarring thing wasn’t how time had changed him; it wasn’t the way sadness and isolation and malnutrition had worn away at his features. It was the simple fact that when he saw his new face in the mirror, he DID recognize it. It wasn’t a stranger. The features (the sunken eyes, the insane glint, the traces of a madman] were familiar and already known to him. They were the features of his father; the features painted over and over and over in the portraits that lined the wall and dotted the family tree in the House Of Black. They were the things Sirius would snicker about as a young teen, and use as the differentiation between himself and his maddeningly mad forefathers. Between losing his mind and finding his way ‘home’ again, Sirius felt more like them than ever, and it was crushing him. But slowly. Everything was slow nowadays.]

[Sirius took just one more step into the room. His mind wandered back to what Remus had said earlier, about it looking like Sirius was having a good time.] 

Are you, then? Actually having a good time, I mean? [He found himself praying that he wasn’t prying, another first for him; he found himself hoping they were at a place where they could level with each other, even though they used to exist in that place and that place only]  You looked it. For a bit. And then not as much. That’s all.  

At least I tried. He wasn’t ever supposed to be my responsibility. He’s my cousin, not my sibling, but I still tried to balance it. You did nothing. You left him behind, and you’re blaming me because the only way you would have considered watching after him is if he had left with you. He chose us. He makes his own decisions still. You’re the last person he wants to be found by. [doesn’t draw her wand yet, but reaches out and pushes him towards the door when he pulls out his] Out. We’re not doing this in here.

No. No. That isn’t true. [he’s shaking his head, a bit too vigorously now–– the family resemblance between them is coming from a slight look of being unhinged, not just the dark hair and bone structure.] Why not? [he looks her in the eye and laughs as she pushes him toward the door because, really, what could be funnier than this? Nothing, as far as he’s concerned. He’s stumbling slightly as if he’s drunk toward the door as she pushes him, but his brain is working ridiculously fast–– taking everything in a little too clearly] Why not in here? The more the merrier, no?