Come With Me
Come with me, Sirius says, and Remus follows, always. Down dark stone and earth corridors, through woods and grass and water and sky.
Come with me, Sirius says, and Remus comes, crying out his name. Afterward, they lie in bed, sticky, sated, full of love and sleep and bad Indian takeaway.
Come with me, Moody says, and he takes Remus to Godric's Hollow, so he can see the ruin, see the damage Sirius wrought. His bright star is now a dark sucking wound, the pain bleeding over into every memory, every thought and deed, every word they'd ever spoken over the past ten years.
In his dreams, Remus hears the words, Come with me, and he follows, waking with his hand on his cock, hard and aching. He strokes himself, growling in grief and shame and need until he comes, hot and bitter, in the bed they used to share.
He spends the next twelve years alone, running from the hoarse whisper in the back of his mind. For the first time in his life, he looks forward to the moon, to losing control, to blood and pain and the mindless desire to kill and feed.
One hundred forty-eight full moons with blood in his mouth, his body wrecked and repaired, whipcord thin and honed to razor sharpness by pain and loneliness, the truth of who he is written on his skin in scars like runes no one else can read.
Come with me, Dumbledore says, offering him the job of his dreams, the one he wants so badly he refuses twice before he accepts, and only accepts the third time because Sirius is free, and the voice in his head has awakened.
He keeps his head, keeps his silence, though he knows he ought to speak, until the night he pulls out the map and whispers, Padfoot where are you?
And the words appear.
Come with me, Mr. Padfoot says, laughing. And Remus sees his name, sees both names, and the wound is ripped open, grief and love and fury flowing like wine in his veins. He rushes to the Shack, a hunter scenting elusive prey. The trip takes longer than he remembers, but when the night is over, his world is right side up again, after twelve years of being askew.
Come with me, Sirius says, I need you. And he cannot resist. He moves into Grimmauld Place and watches as it sucks the joy from Sirius's features as sure as any dementor ever could. He does what he can, but he is gone far too often, and he cannot say the words to Sirius, cannot offer him escape.
He watches as Sirius falls, and it is as if time has slowed, the arc his body traces seems to linger in the air, visible, as Remus holds Harry back from going after him.
Days later, Remus sneaks back in and presses close to the Veil.
Come with me, Sirius whispers, clear above the other hissing voices.
Remus leans in and listens, but he knows that once again, Sirius has gone where he cannot follow.