Purpose

Remus knew that everything he did, or had done in the past, had a purpose. Errands for the Order, doing his and Sirius's dirty wash, visiting James, buying groceries or take-out. A purpose. They were necessary actions, things needed to be done. If someone were to question him: why? Why do you do these things? Why do you need to clean the clothes, do the dishes, buy food? Why must you stalk seedy back-alleys, checking your wand in its easy-to-reach spot every three seconds, to pick up encoded messages that are delivered straight to Dumbledore? Why do you need to do these things? If someone were to ask him this, Remus would most likely quirk his eyebrow at the question's strangeness and reply, "Because they need to be done." So when Remus wakes up one morning to find Sirius gone, the house cold, and seemingly all the dishes they owned stacked meter-high in the kitchen, he sighs and begins to wash them.

*

The first time Remus Lupin had gone on one of the longer trips for the Order, Sirius had been a wreck. He occupied himself by moping forlornly about the house, but soon decided that his theatrics needed an audience. After throwing himself on the Potter's sofa and whining for several hours about how death was surely upon him, having taken the form of loneliness, boredom, and a tragically repressed libido, he was abruptly and unceremoniously kicked out of the house by Lily, who complained that he had "plagued their house long enough" and that his "pathetic excuse of an existence was unhealthy for the baby." She was, however, secretly glad to see him so whipped.

The second time Remus left, Sirius was not as distraught over his departure as the first time. He, too, was busy with Order business, and he fell into bed each night exhausted. The horrors of war weighed on his mind much more when Remus was gone, and fear, an ever-present and almost tangible force in the wizarding world, began to slowly creep into his life. When Remus returned, Sirius was relieved to focus his attentions on something more pleasant.

Then the day came when Dumbledore warned them of a spy in their group. One of their friends, one of them. Be careful, be guarded, be cautious, he said. That same night Peter set to work. Discreet movements away from Remus when gathered over a round of Firewhisky, talking of Order business in a distinctly quieter tone of voice whenever Remus entered the room, shifting his eyes periodically to wherever Remus was stationed as if checking up on his whereabouts, all three done under the eyes of Sirius, involuntarily taking in Peter's pretense of suspicion. Voldemort was gaining power at an unprecedented rate, news of slaughter coming every day now. Theories as to where he would strike next were everywhere, as were the rumors of Death Eater targets, Death Eater recruits, Death Eater covens. Rumors that corresponded with Remus's absences. Rumors Peter would share with Sirius, then add an implicating "do you think that maybe..." They heard reports of terrible betrayals, accounts of Imperio victims forced to do ghastly murder. Suspicions were headlines, and enmity spread even among young children. It spread throughout the entire wizarding world, pitting neighbor against neighbor, friend against friend, family against family. Bribery and crooked dealings, hushed voices and spies everywhere. A spy in their midst. Day by day and week by week a spy, threatening their very existence. The happiness that they had shared, the group of friends and the two lovers, had departed, and in its place was drawn out an infinite worry, fear, dread at what would come next. What would strike them, who would strike them. Threats from Voldemort, from his Death Eaters, but also from inside. A spy.

The next time Remus left, Sirius barely even got a goodbye, just a hurried "I have to go, I'll be gone for a while, can't talk about it but I'll miss you" when he met Remus by chance in Order headquarters. This time, Sirius got used to Remus's absence.

*

Dishes washed and tea made, Remus sits down at the kitchen table, warming his hands on the cup of Earl Grey. Had it really been that long since he'd done the dishes, he mused? It was entirely possible, of course, as he was gone most of the time; Sirius, too. Don't know where. Remus mostly just walked around, under the pretense of doing something useful. Trip to Potions Supply, detour around the local park, or the local pub. He would have been doing Order business, but there seemed to be curiously little for him to do. He couldn't gain information from Ministry officials, or rendezvous with Ministry insiders. They had warders more experienced than he, curse-breakers more experienced than he, charm-workers more experienced than he. He used to do random, junior work, deliveries and such, or, on his longer trips, negotiate with Dark Creatures. Try to convince them to join their side, to renounce Voldemort, or, at the very least, he would get information from secure contacts within their communities. The trips made him feel useful, but they came fewer and fewer until at last they died out completely. Even the work back at headquarters began to end, or be handed to someone else. Was he being phased out? He noticed no such thing happening to Sirius, although Sirius never went on long missions to begin with. And how, Remus reasoned, would I know, anyway? It's not as if we spend very much time together anymore. I don't know what he's doing. Order work, or...

He turned the cup around in his hands, then tentatively sipped from it, scalding his tongue. He stared across the room, contemplating a visit to see Lily and James. Things with them were still pleasant, if a little strained. He figured that Sirius had told them somewhat about their...troubles, which made it all the more awkward when Sirius and he visited them together. Sirius would avoid his eyes, focus his attention on anything but him, James or Harry mostly. Remus was embarrassed. Lily watched him and saw and he felt like he was under bright lights.

Sex, too, had been tinged with something rough, something jagged, he didn't know. A strange withdrawal that had never been there before. Before, it had always been making love, even when it got wild. It was passionate, beautiful. It wasn't, wasn't...devoid. No, that still wasn't right. Remus gulped down his tea, the hot liquid feeling good inside his throat. The sex wasn't blank yet, he thought, that would be too much, but there was something slightly sinister that hovered in the background. That laughed when they came, and left with Sirius when he wordlessly exited the room.

*

Sirius came home late that night. Remus was still up, sitting by the fire, a soft glow from his wand furnishing him with enough light to read by.

"Hello, Sirius." No use of the cute nicknames that peppered their speech merely months ago. He took off his wet coat, dropping it on the floor.

"I did the dishes today," Remus stated. A pause. Sirius sat on the couch and started to untie his boots. "There were a lot." Sirius glanced up, matched Remus's gaze, then looked back at his laces, fingers darting from one loop to the next, loosening each before slipping his foot out of one boot and starting on the other.

"If you don't like it..." Sirius let the sentence hang, unfinished. In the past, it would have been completed with an "I can do it." Now the implied ending was more like "you can leave." It was his house, after all. Upon leaving Hogwarts, Sirius had asked Remus to stay with him. They had been together for nearly a year by then, and with James and Lily moving in together, they had thought to do the same. Sirius had never done this before, though. Used the house to his advantage. Played upon Remus's situation as one would brandish a weapon, or a wand in a duel. For it was Remus's Situation: if they were to break up, he had nothing to fall back on. Nothing.

Finished with his boots, Sirius looked up again. Remus was still staring at him, as if first realizing that this was how it would be from now on. Remus's expression was guarded, as always; closed off from the outside world. He was so good at keeping his emotions in check. Sometimes, in the past, when it was just the two of them, Remus would break down that wall and let Sirius inside. He would put away the façade and, with Sirius, just be. It was incredible, delightful, and, in those moments, Sirius would understand fully Remus's own unique blend of irresistible beauty and power. It was, for Sirius, like a religious experience, and they would exchange secret smiles for days afterward. That didn't happen anymore. It hadn't happened for a long time. Remus didn't let him in, and Sirius didn't want to be let in. Remus was courteous, proper, aloof toward him as he was aloof toward everyone else. But Sirius had learned how to read him in the years they had known each other, at Hogwarts and after, and he could tell, sometimes, what Remus was feeling even with his mask on and the walls up.

What Remus was feeling now was hurt. And confusion. And shock, a little bit. But his face was still blank, and his eyes were still on Sirius, who got up from the sofa and left the room, leaving his boots on the living-room floor.

*

Then one day Remus does not do the dishes. He does not take Sirius's money from the box in the kitchen and go buy fruit and bread and tea and beer. He does not bother to show up at the Order, standing around until he can find something to do. He does not do them. If someone were to ask him: why? Why do you not do these things? These are necessary tasks, they simply need doing. Why not do them? If someone were to ask him this, Remus would, in all likeliness, avoid answering the question. He would distract and stall and, if necessary, politely but firmly give a vague half-answer that means absolutely nothing. If he were to bare all, however, walls deconstructed and inhibitions abandoned, he would say that he does not do these things because they are purposeful tasks for a purposeful person. He would say that his life lost all purpose quite some time ago. That Voldemort stripped him of purpose, that the war stripped him of purpose, that Sirius bloody Black stripped him of purpose. He would tell how he filled his days with nothing, how he saw his friends recoil, how he wanted Sirius back. He would tell how the last time they fucked he ended up lying face-down on the stripped bed and how Sirius plunged into him with barely enough preparation and how he hit the headboard with each thrust and Sirius's cock inside him felt like punishment and the banging against his temple struck him as both exceedingly comical and profoundly sad. And how his first thought after they finished was I Want Out.

So he doesn't do the dishes and he doesn't buy the food. He doesn't bother to show up at the Order. But none of these things really matter because just like that it is over. Sirius is gone. Gone to Azkaban, a traitor, and Remus is hardly surprised. But Peter dead, James, and Lily gone also... He is struck by where to go, who to see, what to do next? It is all over, and these things will matter again. The washing of clothes, the buying of groceries. No Order now, no James to see. He'll have to find money, a job. Place to go, bed to sleep in, but not this one, not this one tainted by memories of love and trust, anger and deceit. Remus will have a purpose again, and if not that, then he will do purposeful things. Tasks and errands and activities full of purpose. Clean, travel, eat, sleep. They all have a purpose, and he will do them. Why? Because they need to be done.