Title: Drop Like A Guillotine

Summary: "There are precisely three seconds between Remus murmuring I love you and the bullet hitting his chest." Remus, Sirius, and the five times that Muggle execution wasn't better at all. / for Sylvia.

Prompts: HPFC gift-giving challenge - RemusSirius

Recipient: Sylvia (glowing neon)

Notes: Oh, gosh. If you look up bittersweet in the dictionary, I'm pretty sure there's a link to this fic. It's terribly angsty and yet kind of fluffy between Remus and Sirius and wow. I just don't know how it happened. A massive thank you to Sylvie, for being so wonderful - and I hope you enjoy it, dear!

xxiv.

"And a falling star that never once fell. We never fell. We always jump.

We always jump." - Andrea Gibson, Staircase.

Remus is silent.

There are nervous intakes of breath behind him, a chatter of white noise to his left and right, and a painful, mutual silence in front. Nobody speaks, in front; none have time to. They wait in solid lines, a formation forced by a harsh glare and an even harsher voice.

In another world, other children are being rounded up, sorted too. Sorted into different friends and different houses and different lives.

Remus feels oddly like cattle being led to slaughter.

After all, that's what they're heading to; then again, the slaughterhouse isn't meant to look this pretty. All stained glass windows and stone tiles, like the little Muggle church in Cornwall that Remus visited when he was six.

But then the screams begin, and those stained glass windows are stained with something else; something deeper, darker.

He thinks that the worst is the eyes of the children; how dead they are, how resigned. It's only then that Remus notices the dark, dried patches on the ground are far more sinister.

A woman walks up to him and smiles softly. Her greying hair is pinned back on her head and she is constantly wiping her glasses clean. She reminds Remus oddly of one of the professors at Hogwarts; a kindly, stern woman who led him to Professor Dumbledore's office (where they told him Hogwarts was only open to human beings.)

It makes him sad, in that moment. He will never go to Hogwarts. He will never meet three brilliant boys or hold a wand or hold hands with a boy who might've told him he loved him.

"Come now, dear," the woman says, her voice a practised sort of dreamy. She holds out her hand, but Remus knows better than to take it.

Her eyes narrow.

"No time to wait, dear. Come now," she repeats fiercely, and she grabs hold of his wrist. That is when the chaos beings.

The other children have been watching silently, but then they see the motion, see the fire in this woman's eyes and the claw-like vice of her hand around Remus' wrist. They scream. These screams are louder than the others in front, full of panic rather than pain, terrified rather than tired.

A few start running for the doors but the guards catch them; they bite and they wrestle and they maybe even last a few more minutes, but -

They are eleven years old.

And they are children.

They never stood a chance.

The guards are shouting directions at each other, and at first, they try to contain the wildness of cattle locked in the cage. Then the wands emerge and chaos no longer fills the air; it is the thick, metallic smell of children dying.

They fall like mannequins and marionettes, puppets with their strings cut short. Remus expected a quick, vicious Avada Kedavra, but the spells used are none like he has seen before.

Animals, it seems, do not deserve the mercy of a quick death.

The dried blood on the stone tiles of the waiting area suddenly makes sense, as do the bars atop the stained glass windows. The Ministry have been prepared for this for a long time, and even these guards are no strangers to scared kids - werewolves.

This is the world where werewolves are slaughtered before they reach their teens.

(In some ways, this world is better.)

James is silent.

"So what?" Sirius says brashly, loudly, his voice echoing too much around their dark, dormitory room. "So what if he's a werewolf? He hasn't hurt us." Peter squeaks, and buries his fingers in his hair. James blinks at them from behind his glasses.

"Doesn't mean he won't," James mutters, and Sirius suddenly turns on him, all wild eyes and strained mouth. He snarls.

"He's your friend, James!"

With a jolt, James rises to stand almost nose to nose with his best friend, his all-but-brother. "He's hid this for two years. Don't you think he could be hiding more? This isn't some stupid adventure story, Sirius! This could get us killed!" Sirius' nostrils flare and his chest heaves but he doesn't say anything. James breathes deeply.

"You've heard the horror stories too, mate."

There is silence - just the sound of heaving breathing and heaving hearts and youth that went too fast.

"So we tell someone," Peter interjects quickly, and both eyes flicker towards him. He rubs his cheek and chews his lip. "I mean, we have to tell someone, right? We can't just - we can't just leave it - I mean, we're too young for this. It's beyond us, now," he whispers.

Sirius scoffs but James nods, already pulling a quill out from behind his ear and dropping to the desk in the corner of the room.

"What are you doing?" Sirius demands, and he hovers over James like some kind of archangel, balanced on his tiptoes and arms stretched out. This is their downfall; James wonders when they fell.

James sighs, and smoothes the paper. "Writing a letter. To my parents."

The words go unspoken between them - this could get us killed and I didn't want this to happen and I'm scared - and the air is thick with betrayal and nausea and something that they are all too young to determine but will later identify as regret.

They are just too young.

By the time Remus is allowed to leave the Hospital Wing, the letter has been read and fought over and many, many people in dark clothes with dark smiles have talked in dark rooms about a Dark creature who once went to Hogwarts.

It is a decision by the board of governors, and soon, Dumbledore and his protection has left the school and even Pomfrey leaves in a whirlwind of white robes.

Remus returns to the dorm room eventually, silent and quiet, wrapped up in bandages and showing more scars than skin. He is deathly white and pale and he doesn't look at the three boys, gathered at the foot of James' bed.

He packs his trunk, sure and steady, and if his hands shake, no one mentions it.

When he can't drag his trunk to the door, Sirius jumps off the bed and whispers, "Wingardium Leviosa." No one asks where Remus' wand is. James and Peter follow slowly, and James wishes he felt less like a soldier marching off to war.

The walk through the common room is quiet.

Most avert their eyes, look at upside-down books and don't say a word. A few spit in Remus' direction, fear clawing at their eyes.

Sirius drops the trunk as soon as the ministry officials attempt to manhandle Remus off the property; with a growl, he fights and claws at them like he is the animal. Maybe he is. They manage to restrain him, and Sirius has to watch as his once-friend is escorted away, head ducked down in shame.

Maybe they - Remus&Sirius - were just never meant to be.

James doesn't move throughout the commotion, but with a flick of his wand, he rearranges the trunk back into perfect order. That is his goodbye.

He reads it in the Prophet the next day - teenage werewolf killed at dawn. Ministry trial pending. Dementor's kiss deemed unsuitable for a being without a soul.

(And this world isn't better at all.)

Sirius is silent.

There is a new scar lining Remus' face, angular and far too bright against the sickly pallor of his skin. He whines in his sleep, and bandaged hands paw at his face. Sirius feels like crying but he won't, he can't. Instead, he kisses Remus' forehead, holds his hand and hopes for the best.

He never told Remus he loved him.

He told James, he told him, that they weren't ready for the transformation. Hell, Peter couldn't even keep the tail for longer than an hour. How were they supposed to handle a werewolf? They are too young, too young, too -

No matter.

Peter won't be needing a tail now.

James is even paler than Remus, small body hunched over the too white bed sheets. Blood seeps through the bandages and his glasses, still shattered, lay on the bedside cabinet. He still hasn't woken. Peter won't wake up again. And Sirius doesn't think he'll ever sleep.

Remus twitches and his eyes attempt to flutter half open - the fresh wound closes one of them, possibly permanently. But Sirius' heart is too heavy to think of that.

He murmurs something, and Sirius knows him well enough to whisper some water into a cup and hold it to Remus' lips like he's a real patient and Sirius is a real visitor and any of this is real at all. Because it can't be. It just can't be.

"What happened?" Remus croaks, words seeping from his lips like dying men crawling out of dugouts. Their eyes lock, and Remus knows.

Sirius can't answer him. What would he say? Would he tell him the truth? Would he admit his mistakes, admit that the only reason he isn't in a hospital bed is because he ran like a coward, like a rat?

Even Peter was braver than him and now Peter's dead.

"I can't-"

But Remus is already sitting up, heart stuttering out half-finished poetry against his ribcage. He looks around wildly, amber eye gleaming and chin as high as he ran raise it, and for the first time, Sirius sees the wolf in daylight. It is both haunting and beautiful, and still so bitter.

"Where's James? Where's Peter?"

He answers the first question himself by looking to his left. There lies the pallid boy who might as well be in a coffin rather than a hospital bed. James breathes, but only just.

"He's healing," Sirius murmurs, voice tired from both disuse and screaming. "That's what Pomfrey said. He's healing."

Remus chokes out something that might've been a breath or a plea or - "And - and Peter?"

His lack of an answer is enough, for now. All Sirius can see is a paw pinning a small rat to the ground and thinking no, no though the chaos and the horror as Wormtail transforms and he isn't Wormtail anymore but a poor boy, just a boy, a boy -

"NO!" Remus shouts and he huddles against himself, arms wrapped around his middle tighter than bandages. He might be crying.

But Sirius leaves before he can tell and he wishes he could've kissed Remus just once before his lips were bruised and bloody and stained with their friend's murder.

By the time he returns, Remus is on the floor with James' wand in his hand and that blood pouring from his wrists. (He knows what fate awaits him in Azkaban). Sirius screams bloody murder but there is no one who comes to save him.

They take Remus away, not even bothering to heal the cuts, and he is dead before he even reaches the gates.

James only has one friend left when he wakes up.

(This world is no better than the last.)

Peter is silent.

He's the only one in the Hospital Wing this time, just watching Remus sleep. The heavy breaths speak of a mind that doesn't yet want to wake up and face the world. Fresh scars mar his body and Peter thinks to himself, it could've been worse, it could've been worse; it couldn't have been worse-

"Sirius?"

Peter breathes heavily, and rests his hand on Remus' bandaged shoulder. "It's me, Moony," he croaks.

(moveyouidiotsnakegetoutofthewaywehavetorunrunRUN- )

"What..." Remus looks around, chest heaving and fingers clenching around his bed sheets like claws. "What happened?"

He looks like death, Peter thinks dazedly. Remus looks like he belongs six feet underground, where bloody Sirius Black and Severus Snape can't touch him. All Peter wants to do is protect him.

He is his friend.

("Severus fucking Snape! What a fucking martyr, right? Defying the Dark Lord when we all know he's just a snake. Why's he better than us, eh? He doesn't deserve to look at us! He doesn't deserve to- to- he called me a fucking fag, Prongs. Told me I was unnatural and shit. A monster."

"What have you done, Sirius?"

"Showed him the real monster, didn't I?")

"Let me IN!"

Peter jumps, and moves in front of Remus as a crash echoes through the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey doesn't come out of her office; he knows she has been filling out forms, crying over the parchment, and pretending Peter can't see her.

"Don't you dare, Black!" James yells, and Peter rushes forward, holding Sirius back.

James' knuckles are bloody and torn, but Sirius' face is worse. There are shadows under his eyes where demons lurk, and creases in his forehead that make him look far too old.

(ionlywantedtoscarehim-)

"DON'T mess with me, you little rat! Let me see him!" But Peter holds strong, fingernails gripping into Sirius' forearms and probably drawing blood. He looks at James, past his knuckles and into his eyes, to tell him, no. No, Prongs, I haven't told him, how could I tell him? James nods, slowly.

"Let him in, Wormtail," a small voice says from the back, the poor boy who is more bandages and bruises than skin. "Please."

Peter pushes Sirius forward, because this is all his fault. All his goddamned fault and he won't even pay for it, not really. Remus will be the one who has to live with the knowledge that Sirius told and Snape knows and he is more alone than ever.

(remusi'msorryi'msorryi'msosorry-)

"I wasn't thinking, Moony," Sirius tells him carefully, kneeling down beside the bed. He kisses Remus' knuckles. "Snape - he was goading me, and fuck, fuck I let him and I shouldn't have. But I wanted to teach him a lesson. I-"

"You never think," Remus interjects, voice stony and eyes harsh. There is a pause. "He's... he's alive?"

Sirius' smile is soft and bitter. "Yes."

(iloveyouiloveyouilove-)

Remus is just about to answer when Madam Pomfrey flies out of her office, wand raised and hair wild. Men in dark cloaks follow behind with stern lips and twitching fingers. One disarms her, barely even looking away from the werewolf in the hospital bed. Pomfrey is still crying.

They force Remus out of bed, not even mindful of the bandages that begin to unwind and the blood dripping onto the floor. Snape stands shakily in the corner, Dumbledore behind him, and neither says a word.

They restrain Peter and Sirius and James before they can even retaliate, but nothing stops them from crying, from screaming. Soon, all they can do is stare.

Because Remus struggles and fights and even begins to bite them - instinct, says a voice in Peter's head - so they drop him to the floor and it's not even a breath before one is raising his wand and the words curl themselves around his tongue.

(avadakedavra-)

He doesn't even get to say goodbye, in the end.

(So how is this world better?)

The hall is silent.

This time is so much more mundane than most. Remus stands, quietly, willingly, just as Dumbledore finishes his announcement. All werewolves will be found guilty of inhumanity as of the 10th March, 1978. The punishment is death by firing squad.

His heart drops like a guillotine but he holds his head high.

Remus nods at Dumbledore, whose eyes are wide behind his spectacles. He understands the consequences; he knows how silver bullets work. He also knows that his is no life, confined to that school like a prisoner with nowhere else to go.

He'll never get a job, never have a family - he'll have his friends, yes (and Sirius) - Sirius Sirius Sirius - but he would just be dragging them down.

Lily buries her head in James' shoulder and Peter looks down at his empty plate. Remus looks straight at Sirius; Sirius never looked away in the first place.

Then there are screams - Slytherins are firing hexes, but so are Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and - silver black bronze gold green yellow blue red - and Gryffindors stand also. A few fire back, but they are outnumbered, even Remus can see that. Some of the older students are shouting to the professors; most angry, most belligerent.

Sirius grabs his hand just as a nasty curse slices its way through Remus' cheek; he doesn't have to look to know it is Snape's work.

They run from the hall, hand in hand, and the spells follow them like shadows.

They don't look away from each other as they stumble over staircases they know like each others' eyes. The screams ring louder - werewolf monster danger terror wolf - and Remus hears somebody crying.

It is a good few minutes before Remus' feet stick like concrete, and he drags Sirius back. The boy swings back round, fingers still linked around Remus' paper wrist. He is bouncing on the balls of his feet, and his eyes are glimmering under the dark hair that is sticking to his forehead with sweat.

He's beautiful, but Remus already knew that.

"Stop, Padfoot."

He tries to pull him further, nails biting into skin like teeth - moon wolf flash howl pain hunger human - but Remus sticks fast. He is stronger than he remembers. He wonders if it's the adrenaline or the wolf.

"Sirius, I said stop."

"Why, Moony?" Sirius snaps, angrily, but not at him, never at him. Sirius is angry with the world and always has been; it's all so black and white and that's part of the reason Remus loves him, especially when his own heart is tinted grey.

Remus tilts his head, and smiles. "We had seven years. That's more than most. More than I expected."

His eyes are wide now, wild, and he is shaking his head as though to clear it of the monsters, as though the monsters stay only in the shadows of his mind and not out here, out in the real world and inside a torn-up little boy with a broken heart and claws too sharp.

"You'll change the world, Padfoot," he reassures him, and he steps back, closer to the chaos that awaits him - silver bullets executions monster wrong wrong. "With or without me. And I'm okay with that."

"Remus," Sirius chokes out, fingers outstretched and quivering.

"Mr Lupin," Dumbledore says softly, appearing in the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back. He looks far too calm. "Are you sure?" Remus closes his eyes. "You know the consequences, of course."

"I understand, Professor." He would never have the picket fence and two point five kids, and admittedly, he never wanted them. He wanted Sirius goddamned Black and a little ceremony with James and Peter and Lily and fairy lights and maybe the two of them dancing on a back porch and trying to figure out who leads and just trying to figure it all out.

But he'd never have that either, so what was the point?

Remus is escorted away by Ministry officials - no strangers to scared kids - and Sirius fights them - claws at them like he is the animal. Remus goes quietly - he knows what fate awaits him.

He says nothing as he leaves - doesn't even get to say goodbye, in the end - and Lily cries into James' shoulder and Peter looks at his shoes and Sirius watches him for every second it takes for them to march him to the gates.

He is allowed one witness.

(But his mother's frail heart couldn't take it and his father never could stand the sight of blood. The obvious choice is already standing in front of him.)

They tie Remus to a complex white wall, with chains that lock around his neck and wrists and ankles and his heart. The nurses tell him that there will be three gunshots - two will be through his head. The final one will go through his chest like a knife.

Sirius doesn't say goodbye, but blinks slowly, and mouths to him - I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

Remus is crying by the time he whispers back, "Mischief managed."

He hears three clicks as the safety of each gun is switched off - and oh, he promised to keep them all safe, not like weapons locked and loaded - and he regrets so much. He hopes that his friends change the world for the better.

There are precisely three seconds between Remus murmuring I love you and the bullet hitting his chest. He is silenced once more.

(There is no such thing as better.)

In another world, it is Dolohov and an Avada Kedavra that get him. He drops like a guillotine and that is the always-tragic end of Remus Lupin. But this time, as sad as it is, Sirius Black is waiting for him on the other side, with open arms and staring eyes. They don't look away from each other as finally, finally, they embrace like lovers.

They are silent.

And it is perfect.