Remember and Forget

Harry Potter Fanfic-oneshot-ness! Sirius/James, Sirius/Harry, Remus/Sirius. All unrequited!

I tried to remember. Every single time I touched him, every time I even looked at him or heard his voice, I tried to remember that he wasn’t you. And every night, when I woke up from dreams, soaked in sweat and sporting a terrible erection, I tried to remember, tried so hard to find the difference between you and him. Even his smiles are exactly the same. Both of you seem to curl your lips in when you smile, a mischievous and delightful little grin.

But the thing is, I can’t seem to do it. Losing you was harder on me than I thought. When I was in Azkaban I had Peter floating around in my head, always Peter. I had plans of how to hurt him, and they were all that consumed my mind. But at Grimauld Place, I have nothing else to do but stare at Harry. And savor every hug he gives me, finding myself feeling a little bit sicker every time. Sick with guilt, and with want.

Last night I heard him moaning in his sleep. Nightmares. Just like Moony used to have. Although, I may have been the only Marauder to know about Moony’s nightmares. I was the one who quieted them anyways.

Everything was different then. I spent all of my time convincing myself that Remus was you. But I guess it always boils down the same thing: you.

Every time I fucked him - in the dead of night, a silencing charm around his bed - I had to keep you in my mind. I had to block out every whimper he made, every moan, replacing it with your voice. And in the morning, I had to block out his accusatory eyes, regretting everything I had done the night before. But every night, there I was again, back in his bed with my hands on his chest and my heart in the bed across the room.

Now I have to pretend that Harry isn’t you. Every time I touch him, I have to remind myself that I shouldn’t feel that heat. Every time he looks at me from across the room and smiles, I have to remind myself that it is only a family-like affection that he feels. Just like you felt. Not like what Moony feels.

And even now, as I slip out of bed and walk into the room across the hall, I can hear Harry moaning in the room next door. And I as I fuck Moony once again, I replace all of his moans with your son’s. And still, I can’t remember Harry isn’t you. And I can’t forget that Moony isn’t.