Carve Me Open / r.l. + s.b. /

Swear This One You'll Save

"No," Sirius muttered. "They don't."

He seated himself on a park bench just under an old, dead cherry blossom, naked and twisted. Memories of the Whomping Willow attacked the forefront of his mind. It had seemed like ages ago when they'd ventured into the shack late at night, corralling Remus into the Forbidden Forest and gallivanting like wild animals. Their school years were a distant memory in his mind – almost fogged and eclipsed by the image of war and loss. Sirius wished he could return not because he wanted to change anything – well, maybe a few things – but just to relive some of those moments he took for granted. So many moments, lost to arguments and petty rivalry. Lost to hidden emotions and pride.

"It isn't their fault," Benjy said. "They're the lucky ones, yeah. People like you and me have to carry the brunt of the misfortune during times like this."

"Well, it's shitty," Sirius sneered.

"Yeah, it is," Benjy's voice trailed off, masked by the honking of car horns and motors. "But—" he inhaled deeply – "I don't doubt it'll be over soon. Mr. Lupin and Moody are close to finding the rat, and once they do, we'll have an advantage."

Sirius bristled at the mention, "I don't appreciate everyone assuming it's Remus."

Benjy shrugged, "You have to admit –"

"I don't have to admit shit."

"—that the timing is impeccable. The dreams don't help either, mate. He literally talks to Voldemort himself. Not to mention the type of people – animals – he's been dealing with for the past few months. I mean, Werewolves are pretty intense. Maybe he traded information for his life?"

"Remus would rather die than do that," Sirius stated. "He'd rather die than give up the Order; his friends know that."

Benjy threw his hands up, "I'm just telling you Moody's suspicions. I don't particularly agree with him. I am quite aware Remus is better than that."

"Well, we've done a hell of a job convincing the others of that," Sirius picked at the skin around his nails, ignoring the trickle of blood into the creases of his knuckles. "I'm sure everyone else will agree with Moody this weekend."

"Maybe not," Benjy beamed. "I have faith they'll pull through during the vote."

Sirius could only smile at Benjy's optimism.

While Sirius would like to think that the rest of the Order had as much faith in Remus as he and James did, it just wasn't realistic. Many of them weren't as close with him as the Marauders were and, therefore, didn't know his character. They didn't know the kind, selfless man Remus had always been, and they didn't understand his past. They saw him as the rest of the wizarding world did, whether they were brave enough to admit it or not: a traitor. And the worst part about all of this was that they had no real evidence that Remus had been smuggling information to the enemy, no concrete sources or facts. The only doubt in all of their minds had been what was in his blood. Because he was a werewolf, he was not to be trusted.

If only Sirius could attest to these strengths and weaknesses in their arguments!

Information had been leaking since the beginning; the enemy knew things about their whereabouts and tactics early on – things that only an Order member would know. The details of their attacks – the precision – were carefully and thoughtfully planned with hardly any discrepancies. Hell, no one knew where Sirius lived! Only senior members of the Order knew his address; the likelihood, however, of someone like Moody being the rat was about as probable as Sirius himself turning to the dark side.

"You should defend him at the vote," Benjy suggested. "I know James and Lily will, and so will I."

Sirius glanced at Benjy from the corner of his eye. Never had he seen Benjy so heartfelt, so genuine. For nearly two years, he'd convinced everyone that he only thought with the head in between his legs and his wand. Skilled as he was, it would've appeared he wasn't so bright. Yet, here they were – two men who'd been more alike than unalike – delving into their hearts at midnight on an unknown street with nothing but their clothes and wands.