Sirius never actually forgot Remus. He couldn’t, really. Just as he couldn’t forget James, James’ dead eyes staring up at him, open and locked forever in a final look of condemnation as the house lay in ruins around them and Harry screamed from wherever he was underneath it all- just as Sirius could never forget James, he couldn’t get Remus out of his head. Sometimes he was in the rundown building, sometimes he was in the dorm room, sometimes he was in the hospital, but other than that, it was always the same. He was always broken, and bleeding, and it was always Sirius’ fault. Always. There was nothing he could do.
"Let me help you!" he would scream, reaching out with both hands, but Remus always recoiled from his touch. And why wouldn’t he? Sirius Black (I am Sirius Black) was dirty and scary, and probably half-mad. At least he thought he was half-mad, most of the time. Most of the time he was Padfoot, but the rest of the time, he was laughing at the Dementors, or screaming at the people in his cell. ("I’m going to kill you!" he would scream at Peter Pettigrew,) and oh yes, he remembered Peter Pettigrew. He remembered Wormtail- the betrayer- the one who killed James and Lily (but he had killed James and Lily) and he would see himself with Peter when they were schoolboys and beg himself not to trust Peter. But he would never listen.
Another thing he remembered about Remus was that Remus was a werewolf. He knew this, because every month he told Snape (hated Snape) to go find Remus and get himself eaten. And then he would take it back, and scream for him not to go, but it would be too late, and Remus would be lying on the floor, and James would be solemnly telling Sirius that Remus would have to be put down as Remus begged him silently with his eyes.
But that was years ago. Now Remus only came to him in flashes, one of hundreds of people in pain, people dying, that Sirius could no longer tell apart, but knew he was responsible for anyway.
By the time he squeezed out of Azkaban, it seemed his past had only been made up of James and Peter: James who was dead, and Peter who must be killed.
***
The wonderful thing about being out of Azkaban was that it let you forget. He could choose the bad memories he wanted to keep (and he still often thought of James, it was his purpose) but he was no longer forced to relive all the painful memories in such detail. He could now distract himself whenever any of the dark images came, drive them out by focusing on Wormtail and Hogwarts and Harry (oh Harry, who looked so much like his father) and how he was not going to let Harry suffer James’ fate.
And so he concentrated on that to the exclusion of all other thoughts. Let it be his role. For what else was there?
***
The first shock to his system had been seeing Harry (Harry who looked so much like James) and realizing it wasn’t just a nightmare; it was all true.
The second shock had been arriving at the Forbidden Forest. His sensory memory went wild and he nearly collapsed in on himself- it was like coming home. He remembered this place so deeply; the scent, the sounds, the patch of sky you could barely see beyond the trees. Yet at the same time, he didn’t remember it at all.
The third shock had been seeing the Fat Lady’s portrait again.
***
"I remember you," he wanted to tell her, but was interrupted when she started to scream. He blinked. "Sirius Black!" she cried.
He remembered her. She would let them in and out, in and out, so many times when he was younger. She was friend, she was the way in, and she was always there, swinging open when he and his friends needed in. And he needed in.
"Open the door," he begged.
"No!"
But she would always open the door- he remembered it, they would come back, he and James, with Peter bumbling behind…
"Open it!" And now he had his stolen knife out, waving threateningly, as he remembered why he was here- Peter was inside, she had let Peter in and now he had to get in. "Open!"
She shook her head, though the look on her face was of pure fright. And confusion gave way to rage, as he thought of Peter, inside, and how time was running out, and the next thing he knew he was stabbing and stabbing, and pretending it was Wormtail, but he wouldn’t die, and the door wouldn’t open.
He came back to himself just in time to run, just before the first people started coming around the corner.
***
Piece by piece, his life started to come back to him. He was so giddy watching the Quidditch game; every move Harry made reminded him of one of James’. He could even see James off the Quidditch pitch now, strutting around after a magnificent win, messing with his hair and smiling that cocky smile. He was almost afraid to remember, well trained by the Azkaban guards that thinking of happy things led to pain and despair, but he indulged himself. It was like a weight had been lifted off his chest afterwards, when he finally let himself realize that the punishment was not going to come, and that he still had the memory, crystal-clear in his head.
Hagrid puttering around his hut brought back a lot of the memories, as did certain places in the forest. Sometimes he caught a Herbology lesson from afar, and sometimes he would wander into Hogsmeade, as much to look over all the old shops as to try and get scraps of food.
His second foray into the castle was not as much of a sentimental trip, however, and even after having seen the boys’ dorm again, with its rugs and curtains and homey feel, he did not hold any emotion but rage. He was failing. He was failing in his mission, letting himself get distracted, allowing too much time to pass.
Sirius vowed to himself not to be distracted anymore, to concentrate on one thing and one thing only: finding Wormtail.
He was so set on this that he did not notice a certain rather familiar scent pass by his spot in the forest before it was almost too late.
***
Curious, Sirius padded through the forest softly, following the man ahead. They were rather deep in the forest now, and few people save Hagrid regularly ventured this far in, but the man walked confidently, without the scent of fear on him. He walked to one of the larger trees in the area, and inspected it for a bit, before turning around, surveying the other trees in the area, and letting Sirius get a clear view of his face.
The first thought Sirius had, before he even consciously recognized the other man was that he had to GET DOWN, because this person would recognize him as Padfoot. Then his brain belatedly provided him with information: Remus. Friend. Werewolf.
And of course he remembered Remus. Remus was always there as a silent shadow in his memories of Peter and James. Remus was a werewolf, Remus knew about Padfoot, and Wormtail too- and wasn’t it because of Remus that they had become Padfoot and Wormtail in the first place? It had been. He remembered now. All the time he had spent in the forest when he was younger, there was a werewolf at his side. The memories expanded, and he could see it all clearly. The forest seemed to grow both more and less comfortable at once, in different ways. He felt slightly saddened to remember that this wasn’t his forest.
But now Remus was moving, heading back in the direction of the castle. Sirius was torn between the fear of being seen, and his reluctance to let Remus go, so he followed as far behind as he could while still keeping the scent fresh in front of him.
Remus led him back to the castle, as expected. Sirius waited by the edge of the clearing until he saw him swallowed up by the lumbering mass, out of sight and unreachable. And just as he was about to turn back, and seek solace in the forest again, he caught sight of the Whomping Willow.
He had seen the tree sporadically since he had arrived at Hogwarts, of course, but he had never remembered it before now.
It was Snape. It was Remus, and it was Snape. Every month he told Snape (hated Snape) to go find Remus and get himself eaten. And it ended, it had always ended badly.
But it wasn’t a nightmare, it had actually happened once upon a time. He remembered. He knew what that place was, what it led to.
***
It was a very stupid move, exposing himself like that when it was just barely twilight, but it was not the stupidest thing Sirius had done that year, certainly, and probably was not the stupidest thing he had done that week. It was hard to keep track.
In any case, no one had followed him, so he felt free to stretch out on one of the beds in the small shack. That did not, however, mean that he felt comfortable. Being here was like being in the Forbidden Forest for the first time again; there were so many memories, they were drowning everything else out.
Memories of Remus, memories of Moony. How they had found out his secret, and helped him, (blood and lies, he was telling blood and lies) how close they all were, (he’ll help me, he has to) and how everything had turned out.
How had everything turned out again? He couldn’t quite remember. He could just see Remus’ face, full of pain, and of anger, directed at him (just press the knot) and the memory pained him like nothing he had felt since Azkaban.
Piece by piece, it all fell into place.
Azkaban. He was in Azkaban- he deserved to be in Azkaban, because he had pushed for Peter to be the Secret-Keeper. "But why not Remus?" Lily had asked him, and he had no answer for her except the hatred that was burning in his gut.
(He’s the spy) But he wasn’t, and deep down Sirius always knew that. It was just easier to pretend he was. Made everything hurt less.
(I can’t believe you-you… It’s like I don’t even know you, Sirius. I can’t trust you.) And it was made so much worse by the bruises on his face and the blood under his nails (his fault). That. That there, was when the anger came into his life, simmering, lying in wait, until it bubbled over, and destroyed them all.
But of course that was not the whole story. Sirius despaired of ever learning the whole story, ever remembering who he really was before he had gone to the dark place and gotten lost.
(I’m sorry, Sirius. I can’t do this anymore.) It had been his fault, but it had been so much easier to stay angry at Remus. He hadn’t even had to try, just had to wait until all the love he felt burned him up inside.
And now came the flood of happy memories, happier than any other he knew, but they did not bring him relief. (Twisted bodies and hushed words. Lazy nights and long kisses.) He wanted them to stop (Remus’ eyes lit by the firelight. Candles and magic.) but they wouldn’t.
He stayed awake all night, and finally fell asleep when the moon set, as he had so many times when he was a boy.
***
It was Wormtail’s fault, but it was also his, and he must not forget that. And in the end, there was nothing to be done, nothing that could be salvaged. He had only one purpose now, and that was to kill Peter. Everything else could be ignored. Everything else could be stuffed down and forgotten. It was all ashes, anyway. A shadow. A nightmare.
And maybe someday soon, once he succeeded in his task, he’d be allowed to wake up.