Constant Vigilance
by Jaida
(11/6/03) -- Harry PotterSirius is absolutely, totally and completely, no doubt about it, fall-down-and-won't-get-up- til-morning, Remus-is-going-to-have-to-make-two-pots-of-coffee, bite-of-the-dog-what-bit- him-won't-even-help, countless sheets to the wind drunk. Remus knows because he's been drinking Sirius under the table since he's been drinking at all, and so he knows Sirius' limits. That Remus can drink Sirius under the table without fail just can't be helped. It's bruising to Sirius' ego but if Remus lets him win even just once, he'll never hear the end of it. And, just as you do with a hyperactive puppy, Remus reasons logically, in order to train him properly: you show no mercy.
"Constant vigilance, Moony," Sirius says. It's an excellent impersonation, to be sure. "This doesn't count as vigilance that is constant. Drinking that is constant. Does it?"
"Let's go home," Remus says, and they do. Through the long, dark streets Remus allows Sirius to walk with one arm slung around Remus' shoulders because he knows he is less of a crutch and more of a friend. With the stars winking on and on and ever on in the dark sky, this is enough for Remus. Somewhere along the walk it begins to rain. When they return home it is to dry themselves - it is up to Remus, as Sirius presses himself down into the couch and closes his eyes and Remus worries over the upholstery.
"Shoe one," Remus says, undoing the laces. Sirius kicks at it ineffectually so that Remus half-falls backwards when he pulls it off. "Shoe two." Remus is still patient, does not begrudge Sirius these occasional escapes. However Sirius is more careful this time, cracking one eye open to watch Remus as he dries Sirius' shoes with an old dust-rag. "Your socks are wet," Remus points out, "but I've got to draw the line somewhere."
Sirius laughs. "D'you know something?" he asks, bending over to pull off his socks.
"A few somethings," Remus replies. He reaches forward and dries Sirius' hair with a towel. Sirius stills as Remus ministers to him. When Remus pulls away to dry his own hair Sirius straightens, holding his socks in his hands.
"More than a few somethings, but maybe not the something I'm talking about." Sirius scratches his cheek with his free hand.
"What, then? You're dripping on the couch."
Sirius wiggles his toes.
"I forgot - give me a moment. Just a moment." He pauses - thinks - grins, triumphantly. He's got it now. Remus sits back on his heels, palms against his own thighs, waiting. "Constant vigilance. I was thinking about constant vigilance earlier, didn't I say that? Yes. And I thought about old Mad-Eye and I thought also about-about-" Sirius pauses. He leans down again, across some of the distance between them, bringing their faces closer. Remus thinks about simple things: they will need more eggs after tomorrow's breakfast, and the toaster needs fixing, and this flat is small, suited only for young men, but once they grow older they will have to grow apart. Sirius blinks, twice. "Earth to Moony," Sirius says.
"You were saying something," Remus reminds him. "About Alastor Moody."
They have spent the entire day working under Moody's demanding and admittedly tyrannical watch. The hours have been long, tiresome, not tedious but trying. Remus does not think on the emotional tests or turmoil; he cannot. He is in this with his friends, the last of his family, and does not stop to worry for himself. There has been much recent dispute between Sirius and himself as to whether he should stop and worry for Sirius. They have come to the conclusion that he should not, which Remus - damp towel in one hand, Sirius' shoes in the other - has clearly agreed to only verbally. So long as they keep up what appearances they may they are the best of flatmates and the best of friends. Remus knows they share the flat because he doesn't have enough money for a flat of his own. He tries not to wonder if Sirius resents him, and knows that Sirius would not offer this companionship, if he did.
Sirius teeters on a precipice of words. One hand presses against Remus' shoulder, steadying himself.
"He watches you," Sirius says. His laugh is strange and brittle. Remus almost doesn't recognize it, but remembers himself quickly. He lifts his brow. "Don't be such a skeptic," Sirius says. "You don't see it - I do." Remus says nothing. "You think I'm drunk," Sirius says.
"Because you are drunk."
"Well you think I'm so drunk I'm making things up about Mad-Eye," Sirius explains. He has a point. Remus looks at him, studies his blue eyes so close in the late night. He presses one hand against Sirius' chest and pushes him back with patient guidance to the couch.
"It's that eye," Remus replies. "It looks at everyone."
"Not that eye," Sirius says, leaning forward once more, "the other one." He points to his own eye, as if to illustrate. Remus heaves a sigh. "You're not listening to me, Moony," Sirius perseveres, "you're just not listening. Mad Eye looks at you. "
"Then he looks at me," Remus says, "and we'll deal with it in the morning."
Sirius goes to bed on the couch and Remus stays up a while longer, lending himself to a spell to keep their shoes from staying wet all night long and another to warm their flat up. Overnight the weather is going to drop; the rain will turn icy by morning. Remus makes himself a cup of tea in the dark kitchen so the light won't disturb Sirius' sleep. Over his tea, he thinks about what Sirius has said. Mad-Eye Moody - Alastor Moody, Remus corrects himself, as he tries to pretend he is above nicknames now that he is out of Hogwarts - is watching him, according to Sirius' astute observational prowess. Remus finds himself laughing into his teacup. This is impossible, or rather ludicrously improbable, a phrase he has come to prefer. Alastor Moody is Alastor Moody, a talented and dedicated man, quite possibly dangerously insane and certainly the sort of fellow you always feel on edge talking to. Perhaps, Remus thinks, Moody knows what he is. The thought slips into his brain like a snake and lodges there, hissing, poisonous.
Remus puts down his tea half-finished in the sink, forgets to rinse out the cup, and sleeps restless the rest of that night.
***
Alastor Moody doesn't know that Remus Lupin is a werewolf. However, Remus' day is far from filled with relief once he is assured of this.
"Are you crazy?" Sirius asks him over breakfast. "You're absolutely crazy, I knew it." He laughs, and rubs his temple, and fixes Remus with a calm-down and stop-worrying Look. "You're out of your mind. He doesn't know. Even if he does have his suspicions, Dumbledore said that for the time being, it's better if-"
"No one knows," Remus finishes. "Yes. I know. I thought perhaps - he knows almost everything there is to, about the signs."
"If he knows, he wouldn't care," Sirius continues, "because I think he fancies you."
Staring at Sirius with unabashed horror, Remus Lupin drops his fork.
***
They are taught again by Moody, this time in Potions - how to improvise, what to do when a Potion is necessary but your ingredients lacking. As Remus' skills with a cauldron are pathetic at best Moody stands over the table at which he works.
Watching.
Remus thinks about the ingredients he does have. He makes a careful list. He thinks about what he has in his pockets, makes another careful list. He thinks he will kill Sirius for bringing Moody up the night before, and will put every single one of his ingredients and every single item in his pockets into his potion and slip it into Sirius' firewhiskey tonight. Remus plots revenge far better than he understand the potion he is supposedly making.
"You haven't done anything," Moody says. Remus nearly jumps.
"Well," Remus begins.
"Don't lie to me, lad," Moody says.
"I don't know what in Merlin's name I'm doing," Remus replies, not lying. Moody's good eye glints with a dangerous brand of amusement while Remus' stomach convulses.
"Well, then," Moody says, "you should have spoken up before."
Moody is very good with improvisation, Remus learns. He can make rope out of string and string out of rope, can turn a twig into a splint and a splint into slivers and the slivers into the final ingredient for a potion to sanitize flesh wounds. Remus never knew a twig had so many applications. He is admittedly impressed by Moody's practical magic, but nonetheless terrified by Moody helping him and looking at him at the same time. Once he looks up and sees Sirius watching them and a murderous light burns in his own eyes. It is much easier, Remus will tell him, to ignore something when you don't know it exists at all. Still and all, Remus understands by the time two hours has passed what to do in case of an emergency.
"Don't try and do it yourself," Moody says gruffly. "You get help. Whatever's wrong is only made worse when you've singed your fingers or turned yourself into a newt."
"It's never been my strong point," Remus replies.
"Even a blind man would notice that." Moody stands, scratching the stubble on his cheeks. Still looking, Remus notes; his good eye unashamed that it's staring whilst the other wanders around the room, checking everyone's progress. Remus focuses calmly on his hands. There's a cut on his middle finger, which he rubs at idly with his thumb.
When Moody releases them Remus finds that Sirius has abandoned him; he disappears out the door just as Remus stands from his seat. Moody stands on one side of the large room, Remus frozen on the other.
"Is something the matter?" Moody asks.
"Not that I," Remus attempts, stumbles, tries again, "no. Nothing."
"You cut your hand earlier. Sit. I'll tend to it."
Remus swallows, throat tight, and finds he is already sitting. Moody's orders are always very convincing, though they are hardly kind. They are hardly affectionate. They are hardly the sort of words one uses when one fancies someone. Then again, this is Alastor Moody, a man aptly nicknamed Mad-Eye Moody, and Remus isn't sure what he ought to expect. Nicknames, Remus scolds himself, but he feels the good eye on him, and wonders if it's the 'mad eye' he should be fearing.
"Potions aren't as necessary in fieldwork as you might think. Charms are a better way to minister to oneself, if you ask me." Moody stumps across the room, wand out. "Hand." Remus gives him his hand, feeling very young. Moody taps his wand against the cut and the skin slowly knits itself together, fiber healing fiber. "Or you can take matters into your own hands."
Remus blinks.
"Uhm. And how would that-?" Remus asks.
"I knew a man once who bit his own finger off to save himself from a poison which would have been deadly, had it spread to his heart." Moody grins. Remus thinks he would be yet more aptly named 'Mad Moody' without the extranneous eye addition.
"Did you," Remus says. "Well! Thank you for that. My finger. And the help with the potion. I believe I'll be going, now. I'm hungry - are you hungry? As it is rather late. Wouldn't you like to get dinner? Not together, that is. Goodbye."
Remus has never run so fast in all his life.
As he closes the door, he thinks he can hear Alastor Moody laughing from within. He doesn't particularly want to know what that means.
***
Remus ignores Sirius until late that night. When at last he chooses to speak to him, it is to say, in a calm and unperturbed fashion, "I hate you."
It takes three boxes of Honeydukes chocolates and cocoa every morning for a week to make it up to him.
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