And even though the moment passed me by
I still can't turn away
Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose
Got tossed along the way
a.
The beach is too hot by day and too cold by night. Sirius hates waking up to the sun shining in his face and fur hot on his back, but he can't risk sleeping in human form, not while the beach is still new and unfamiliar territory. Yes, territory. His territory, though it is neither ideal nor even comfortable. He longs for human company, if only to remind his brain that it does, in fact, belong to a human. It tends to slip into canine mentality more often than not, these days.
He writes three short letters on stolen paper: one to Harry, one to Dumbledore, and one to Remus. He scowls as he reads them over; both the handwriting and the wording could belong to the average eight year old. However, his wrist is unused to writing and tired from four-legged travel, and his mind could hardly stand to write another letter, so he sets all three beside him. He'd send them tomorrow, or as soon as he could find a delivery bird. For now, he changes back into Padfoot and leaves for town. He is known as the scrawny stray with a sweet, mild disposition—the kind of dog that eventually becomes "owned" by the entire community.
The town is not far—only ten minutes or so at a slightly sore dogtrot. He manages to catch more than a few scraps before the vendors affectionately tell him to bugger off. As always, they are both amazed and amused when he does so. The scrawny, loveable, intelligent stray, then.
Living as Padfoot is simple but busy, and Sirius thinks he almost enjoys it. Demons are far too complex and too distant to worry his canine mind.
b.
One morning, Sirius wakes up and the sun is not painfully bright. He turns his head left, right, left again, but it's a sunny day, and there's no reason why the sun shouldn't- oh. He looks up, and Remus is standing before him, looking down, his expression unreadable.
He changes back, limbs uncomfortably long and voice hoarse in his throat as he attempts a cautious "Hullo, Remus."
Remus offers a hand and pulls Sirius up, wrapping him in an embrace that's almost suffocating. "Sirius."
"Yeah. Remus, stop. I can't breathe."
He pulls away as if Sirius' skin is suddenly too hot to touch. "Sorry," he mumbles under his breath.
"It's fine. It's just… it's fine." A pause, then, "Wait. What are you doing here? How did you find me? You shouldn't even be here, it's not safe, not really, and if they find me, then—"
"I'm here because I want to be. I found you with a simple tracking charm from your letter. Interesting bird, by the way. And I'm fairly sure you won't be found here—they're not looking too hard, anymore, and they saw you in France last. Or, they thought they did, at least."
"Oh, they did. I was in France, and I let them see me. Then I went… somewhere else for a few days. Now I'm here."
"And I am, too."
Sirius blinks, leans back against a tree. "You are. But you don't have to be here. I mean, I'm sure you can stay in a hotel nearby, or something. Sleeping on the beach isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know."
"I guess I'll find out tonight, then, won't I?"
"You—I guess you will."
c.
They don't go into town, even though Sirius suggested it. Remus refused, preferring to spend his day with a human Sirius. The sun is just beginning to set, and they are walking down the beach, waves flirting with their bare toes. Sirius lets Remus talk, only half-listening, letting the words wash over him like the waves that are spread before him, on and on and on until forever.
Sirius is startled at the sound of his name, and turns, too quickly, to look at Remus. Remus smiles, but his eyes are guilty. "Is this where you've been… staying?"
"Could be. ‘M not sure, really, but it looks like my tree. I don't have anything with me. It's as good as any other place, anyway. Shall we?"
They leave the waves together and sit on dry sand. Sirius changes back into Padfoot, not used to and exhausted from the strain of being human for such an extended period. Remus puts a steady hand on his head rather unconsciously, moving his fingers through the thick fur in what he hopes are soothing motions. Padfoot's eyes close and his breathing slows. A few moments later, his front paw twitches; Remus imagines Padfoot is dreaming happy canine dreams. It's the most he can hope for, right now.
The sand on his clothing on his skin is odd, but Remus is exhausted from letting himself just be for so long. Not so different from Sirius, really. He sighs into the palm leaves underneath his head and falls asleep.
d.
When Sirius wakes the next morning, Remus is gone. He changes into human form quickly, and another wave of fear washes over him, more strongly now that he is human again. He doesn't think he can bear loosing the company he has only just managed to keep. He forces himself to breathe, a slow in-out until the ocean stops swimming before him.
A few minutes later, he is calm enough to allow more rational, logical thinking. He scans the beach quickly, and finds only one pair of footprints. He is relieved, but doesn't dare follow them. Padfoot's sharp nose confirms that it was only Remus who left the beach, and Sirius sits cross-legged with his back to the tree, and waits.
Remus returns close to an hour later, carrying a loaf of bread—very fresh—and a Styrofoam cup that smells suspiciously like coffee. He shoves the cup at Sirius, adds, "For you. I had mine back in town. We'll split the bread."
Sirius could've kissed him. He actually thought about it, for a moment, before smiling a little. The extended solitude must have had a greater effect on him than he'd originally thought, if he craves contact with the first human he meets. Even if that human happens to be one of his oldest friends. So he settles for a heartfelt "thanks, really," and tears into the bread as if his teeth are still pointed.
Remus nibbles delicately at his own breakfast, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. He can almost imagine they are still in school, and Sirius (James, too) is inhaling dinner after an especially grueling Quidditch match, managing to retell the highlights between too-big mouthfuls. But Remus blinks, and he's thirty five, sitting on a deserted beach with only the shadow of an old friend to keep him company—to keep him here.
e.
The middle of the afternoon is the most uncomfortable part of the day at Sirius' beach. The two of them find a spot of shade that isn't quite big enough, but they take it anyway, sticky and sweaty and too hot to care.
Sirius turns to Remus, eyes meeting his, but it's almost as if Sirius is seeing through him. "Sometimes," he says, "I remember things that I had forgotten. Things from school, mostly, but also things from after we graduated. It's… nice, I suppose. But it makes me angry. All those years were wasted, Remus, don't you understand?" Rhetorical, of course. "I've wasted twelve years of my life rotting away in a cell and having everything that I loved just taken. Remember how I used to complain about having to go home for the summer? I would've rather spent the rest of my life in that house than be where I was. At least my parents… there were some things that they couldn't take. But those things are gone, now."
Remus is struck, suddenly, by the thought that Sirius has never really had the chance to grow up. His eyes are old beyond his years, but his mind is stuck as a twenty two year old-- younger, even. Sadness and pity and regret and guilt—everything hits Remus at once. He moves to put a hand on Sirius' shoulder but embraces him instead, desperate and loving and sorry.
"Hey," he murmurs into the curve of Sirius' neck, "hey, but it's over. Not completely, it won't ever be, but the worst part is over. I'm here, I'll help you get those things back."
Even as Sirius moves tentative arms to circle around Remus' waist, he whispers, "can you? Some things that are stolen aren't meant to be taken back."
"No, not all things. But these were yours, they belong to you. You have the right to take all of that back."
Sirius nods, pushes Remus back to view him at arms' length. Something flickers behind his eyes, something Remus hasn't seen in over a decade. Recognition, maybe, something else, too, and then, "I can't even begin to remember half the things I need to take back. But I do remember something that was mine—" He never finishes that sentence, because his lips are on Remus', claiming something he could barely wrap his memory around. But he does remember enough to know that this is right.
e1.
The beach is too hot by day and too cold by night. Sirius loves waking up to find himself next to Remus. The sun doesn't shine in his eyes, not when he can bury his head into Remus' chest instead of turning around. He doesn't think about the beach as his, anymore. He has Remus again, and it's not the same because they're not seventeen anymore and they're not young and careless and—they're not the same. It's just as right, though, because Remus is his and he is Remus', and demons and half-memories of cold, dark places can't reach him in the circle of comforting arms that he wakes up in every morning.
~fin