
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/920957.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Sirius_Black/Remus_Lupin
  Character:
      Remus_Lupin, Sirius_Black, James_Potter, Peter_Pettigrew, Poppy_Pomfrey,
      Minerva_McGonagall, Filius_Flitwick, Lily_Evans_Potter, Alice_Longbottom,
      Dorcas_Meadowes, Walburga_Black, Original_Female_Character(s), Original
      Male_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Non-Magical, Alternate_Universe_-_Boarding_School,
      Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Getting_Together, Falling
      In_Love, Healthy_Relationships, Explicit_Consent, Past_Character_Death,
      Past_Child_Abuse, Past_Sexual_Abuse, Kidnapping, Post-Traumatic_Stress
      Disorder_-_PTSD, Mental_Health_Issues, Insomnia, Nightmares, Triggers,
      Self-Harm, Scars, Rape_Recovery, Healing, Boarding_School, Recreational
      Drug_Use, Marijuana, Christmas, Coming_Out, Protective_Parents,
      Homophobia, love/sex_does_not_cure_mental_health_issues, Podfic, Podfic
      Length:_3.5-4_Hours, Happy_Ending, Top_Remus, Bottom_Sirius, Marauders'
      Era
  Collections:
      Hold_Your_Fire_No_Canon_Required, Podfic_Library
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-09-29 Completed: 2014-05-19 Chapters: 14/14 Words: 36083
****** A Cure For Nightmares [+podfic] ******
by picascribit
Summary
     1976-1978: There's a mysterious new boy at St Godric's boarding
     school, and Sirius can't stop thinking about him, but the secret
     Remus is keeping might break Sirius's heart.
Notes
     Warning: Recreational drug use, self-harm, past child death, past
     sexual abuse of a child, liberties taken with 1970s British boarding
     school culture.
     Edited May 2014, with an all-new Chapter 12 added.
     Podfic:
     Duration: 3 hr 32 min
     Size: 193 MB
     Download: .zip_file_of_mp3s_@_Mediafire
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Sleeplessness *****
                                                                   October 1976
It was supposed to have been just the three of them this year. Not that there
had been anything wrong with Abernathy. He had been all right in a middle-class
sort of way. Nice to look at, too, though Sirius Black knew better than to say
such things aloud about one's roommates. Abernathy's father's company had
transferred him to America the previous spring, so this year, it was meant to
be just Sirius and his friends, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew, sharing a
room, which would have been ace.
Sirius eyed the case lying on the vacant fourth bed near the narrow dormitory
room's only window with displeasure. It was scuffed, but had at one time been
of decent quality. Of its owner, there was, as yet, no sign.
"What d'you think he'll be like?" wondered Peter.
James shrugged, disinterested. "Up himself." That was James's opinion of most
of the boys who attended St Godric's boarding school.
"I thought it was just going to be the three of us," grumbled Sirius, subsiding
onto his bed. "What are they playing at, putting someone new in our room?"
"Think they should've consulted you first, do you, Black?" laughed James,
running a hand through his cloud of messy black curls. "Your parents' money may
go a long way, but I doubt it's enough to stop the school filling vacancies.
I've heard tell they like other people's money, too."
"Why's he starting now?" Sirius complained. "We're already two months in. He'll
be well behind."
"Must've transferred," said James. "Like Abernathy. His father probably got a
new job."
"I heard he was in some kind of trouble at his old school," volunteered Peter.
Sirius sat up. "What kind of trouble?"
Peter shook his head. "Dunno. Fighting or something, probably. I overheard
McGonagall and Flitwick talking about it when I passed the staff room earlier.
They shut up when they saw me, though."
That might make things interesting. Sirius and James were widely considered to
be the biggest troublemakers at St Godric's, but their family connections kept
the teachers from making too much fuss. James's parents considered their son's
behaviour to be nothing more than youthful high spirits, and while Sirius
received a sharp note of reprimand from home every now and then, his parents
preferred ignoring their son to dealing with him. However, James and Sirius's
troublemaking usually took the form of pranks and clownish behaviour. If the
new boy was a bully, they might need to pound on him a little, to show him
where he fell in the order of things.
"What exactly did McGonagall and Flitwick --?" Sirius started to ask, but was
interrupted by the opening of the dormitory door.
The boy in the doorway froze, caught in the crosshairs of three narrowed gazes.
He did not look like a bully; more like the sort of person bullies targeted. He
was possibly a hair taller than James, but he was skinny and pale -- almost
sickly-looking -- compared with James's dark skin and lean, athletic build.
Honey-brown hair fell into large, wary brown eyes as he regarded his new
roommates. His burgundy school blazer and navy blue trousers looked secondhand.
Perhaps poverty had been the catalyst for the bullying that had necessitated
his transfer. Sirius wondered how his family could afford St Godric's.
The boy dropped his eyes to the floor and moved across the room to the bed with
his case on it.
"What's your name?" asked James sharply, bearing down on the new boy. A
stranger entering their room unasked and without a proper introduction had no
right to his usual friendly manner.
"Lupin," mumbled the boy, busying himself with the latch on his case to avoid
James's eyes. "Remus Lupin."
"I'm James Potter," James informed him. "That's Peter Pettigrew, down the other
end, and this is my best mate, Sirius Black."
"Nice to meet you." Lupin did not raise his eyes.
James was quiet for a moment, considering the stranger. "Black's queer," he
said, voice rippling with challenge, "That's not going to be a problem for you,
is it?"
Lupin glanced up at James, startled, then shifted a less readable look to
Sirius, who scowled. He did not make a secret of his preferences, exactly, but
he felt that it was his place to tell, not James's, even if James was the
unspoken leader.
Wary brown eyes fixed on Sirius for a moment before dropping back to the open
case. "No. No problem. So long as he keeps his hands to himself."
===============================================================================
Sirius woke shivering. For once, it was not a nightmare that had awakened him.
The room was dark and the flimsy privacy curtain that hung between his bed and
Lupin's was drawn closed, but from the flutter of it, Sirius could tell that
the window was open.
"Shut the bloody window, Lupin!" he hissed into the darkness. "It's October,
for god's sake!"
When no answering word or movement came from the other side of the curtain,
Sirius got up, cursing as his bare feet touched the cold floor, and stamped
over to shut the window for himself. He fell back into bed, muttering under his
breath about inconsiderate tossers, burrowed under the blankets, and tried to
go back to sleep.
===============================================================================
Lupin was a swot. Sirius had reached this conclusion long before the end of the
new boy's first week at St Godric's. He made no attempt to speak to, or get to
know, his roommates, and all of his time that was not taken up with lessons,
meals, or sleep, was spent in the tiny, private study room he had been
assigned, or lying on his bed with his nose in one of his textbooks. He was not
even behind in his lessons, as Sirius had supposed. He rarely raised his hand,
but when called upon, gave correct answers in the same flat, quiet voice in
which he had introduced himself.
Sirius was annoyed. He and James frequently engaged in friendly competition to
see who could get the best marks in their year -- usually without half trying -
- and he did not like the idea of a swotty stranger beating them both, just
because he had nothing better to do with his time than study.
Lupin persisted in falling asleep with the window open every night. He seemed
to think that, just because it happened to be next to his bed, it was up to him
whether it was closed or not. Sirius complained loudly and repeatedly, but
Lupin ignored him, and every night, Sirius awoke to cold and darkness and an
increasingly bad temper. Peter had begun laying a fire in their room's small
hearth in the evenings, but it was at his and James's end of the long room.
Sirius wondered if Lupin would continue in his stubborn refusal to see reason
until a winter chill carried them all off. If this was how Lupin normally
behaved, then it was no wonder if he had been beaten regularly at his old
school. Sirius felt rather like punching the quiet boy himself.
The tension in the dormitory room reached a breaking point on the Saturday
following Lupin's first week at the school.
"Halloween next weekend," James commented that afternoon.
His tone was casual, but Sirius grinned. The last weekend in October was
traditionally one of three weekends of the year when a social was held between
the boys of St Godric's and the girls of their sister school, St Helga's, in
the next town. James was keenly interested in girls. Or one girl, at least.
"Going to try to get off with Evans again?" Sirius teased.
"Almost got off with her last time, didn't I?" said James, grinning and running
a hand through his hair. "I expect she's gagging for it by now."
"Since when does getting slapped count as 'almost getting off'?" Sirius
snorted. "You're lucky you're not banned from going this year, mate."
"No need to take that tone with me just because you won't be getting off with
anyone, Black," said James, his dignity wounded.
Sirius smirked. "I was thinking of asking Pettigrew or Lupin to accompany me,
but it didn't seem fair, having to choose between them, so I think I'll just go
stag." He caught the eye of the boy lounging on the next bed, reading, and gave
him a teasing wink.
Lupin quickly looked back down at his English text. "I won't be going," he
mumbled.
"You should, Lupin!" Peter enthused. "There'll be girls and music and dancing.
I'm going to ask Maddy Yaxley to dance with me."
James grinned at him. "You say that every time. I'll believe it when I see it.
You should come, though, Lupin. It's a good laugh, and I know a bloke who can
fix us up with some liquor."
Lupin only shook his head.
James shrugged and turned back to Peter. "Let's make a bet, Pettigrew. If you
get off with Yaxley before I get off with Evans, I'll write your next English
paper for you. But if I get off with Evans first, you have to sleep with my
rugby shorts under your pillow for a week."
"I already got off with Maddy," Peter complained, making a face. "At the choir
competition. We snuck into an empty practice room, and --"
"You're not going to tell that old story again?" groaned Sirius. "Pettigrew
claims he almost had a shag once," he explained to Lupin. "But since he's too
scared to speak to the bird he says it happened with, Potter and I aren't
buying it." He turned back to James. "I'll take your bet. I could use one less
paper to write. If I get off with any of the blokes there before you get off
with Evans, I win."
"Not going to happen," James said flatly. "After last time, McGonagall will
have her eye on you. If you even look twice at anyone, she'll march you
straight out of there, and give you a month of detention."
"Last time, he snogged Dorian Gaveston," Peter told Lupin.
Lupin raised his eyebrows. "And he didn't punch him?"
"Nah; he was up for it," grinned Sirius. "Though of course he claimed
afterwards that he was just too shocked to move. I've gotten off with lots of
blokes at this school."
James snorted. "He thinks they're dazzled by his good looks and boyish charm,
but having loads of money and a title might have something to do with it, too."
Sirius threw his pillow at his best friend, then asked, "What about you, Lupin?
Done much snogging?"
"I'd say that's none of your business," said Lupin, eyes back on his English
text.
"What's this?" Sirius pressed his hands theatrically to his heart. "Sweet
sixteen and never been kissed? Is that how it is, Lupin?"
Lupin glanced up, something indecipherable lurking in the depths of his eyes.
"Leave it, Black," he said very softly, face flushed.
His expression killed the laughter on Sirius's lips, but James and Peter had
not noticed.
"Is that why you left your last school, Lupin?" James goaded. "Did they tease
you for being an innocent flower? Don't worry; we can help you get your cock
wet, if you like. There are lots of friendly girls at St Helga's. Yaxley would
probably do you before she'd do Pettigrew. At least you're taller than she --"
Lupin, who had been growing steadily redder as James spoke, jerked himself
upright and stood, teeth clenched, eyes flashing fire. His three roommates
stared at him. For a moment it looked as if he might attack James.
"Shut up," he hissed. "I'm not going to your bloody social, all right?"
"Lupin," said Sirius warningly, moving to stand between the new boy and his
best friend.
Very slowly, Lupin's eyes moved from James, still lounging on his bed, to
Peter, blue eyes wide, mouth hanging open, to Sirius, standing in front of him,
fists clenched. Sirius would not hit him if he did not have to; it was not his
style. But that did not mean he would hesitate if Lupin tried to lay a hand on
James.
"You know what?" said Lupin. "Fuck all of you." He turned on his heel and
stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Sirius, James, and Peter stared at one another in bewilderment.
===============================================================================
Lupin did not return to the dormitory until after lights out. Sirius considered
pretending to be asleep as the other boy crept through the darkened room, but
when Lupin stubbed his toes on the case at the foot of his bed and swore
breathlessly, Sirius sat up.
"How'd you get past Filch?" he whispered. The doorman was legendarily strict
about students being out of their beds after hours.
"Told him I had to see the matron," Lupin mumbled. He yanked the privacy
curtain closed, signaling an end to the conversation.
When Sirius awoke on Sunday morning, Lupin was not there. As he, James, and
Peter entered the dining hall for breakfast, he thought he caught sight of
Lupin leaving, which suited Sirius perfectly. He had had to get up again in the
night to close the window, and was not feeling very charitable towards his new
roommate.
Lupin did not reappear all that day, though Sirius looked for him in chapel, at
lunch, and then again at supper. He returned only just before lights out and
drew the curtain without speaking to any of them.
That night, Sirius decided that he was not going to wake to chilly fingers and
frozen toes again. He lay awake until the sound of Lupin's breathing had evened
into sleep, then tiptoed over to the window.
His hand was on the sash when a quiet voice said, "Don't. Please."
"I'm getting tired of freezing my bollocks off every night, Lupin."
Lupin sat up, tugging at his bedclothes. "Here. Take my blanket if you're cold.
I just need it open, all right?"
"You'll freeze," said Sirius.
"I'll be fine," Lupin assured him. "I wouldn't want you catching a chill on
account of me."
"Thanks," Sirius said awkwardly, reaching for the woolen blanket. "I thought
you hated us."
"No. I save my hate for things that matter."
Lying awake in his bed, curled up under the extra blanket, Sirius tried to make
sense of Lupin's words. If he thought his roommates did not matter, then why
had he almost attacked James for teasing him? Something about the exchange had
clearly upset him. For the first time, Lupin's quietness struck Sirius not as
boring, but as secretive and mysterious. He resolved to keep an eye on the new
boy.
===============================================================================
Sleeplessness was beginning to take its toll on Sirius. He had not had a full
night's sleep since Lupin had arrived at the school. His weariness and short
temper caused his better judgment to desert him when Professor Flitwick, the
Maths master, reprimanded him for inattention in class. Sirius responded with a
snide remark, and Flitwick, unamused, summoned him up to his desk at the end of
the lesson.
"I won't abide unruliness in my classroom, Mr Black," he said grimly. "You will
keep yourself in better order, henceforth. Don't think that just because your
parents are who they are that you are exempt from all discipline. You will
treat your professors with the proper respect, or a letter will be sent home.
You will also shine your shoes and report to the matron after supper this
evening for a haircut."
Sirius blanched. He liked how long his hair was getting, knowing that it would
infuriate his parents over the winter holidays.
"Sir," he began, "I apologise. I know there's no excuse --"
"Be that as it may, Mr Black, the school dress code is clear on the matter of
appropriate hair length for students. Haircut. End of discussion."
Sirius spent the rest of the day in an even more foul mood than before. He had
only ever had one haircut from Madam Pomfrey, the school matron, in his second
year, and she had made a truly appalling mess of it. James and Peter had mocked
him mercilessly for weeks until it grew out. How could he show himself at the
autumn social looking like a poorly-groomed hedgehog? James would win their bet
for sure -- a distasteful thought, even though he and Sirius had agreed to
alter the terms to exclude James's smelly rugby shorts.
After supper that night, Sirius dragged his feet to the infirmary. "Professor
Flitwick says I'm to have a haircut, Ma'am," he mumbled.
"Tcha. As if I don't have enough to do!" said the matron impatiently. "Sit
down, then."
Sirius sat, feeling dismal, as Pomfrey retrieved a blunt pair of shears from a
drawer.
"Hold still," she instructed. "We'll try to get this over with as quickly as
possible."
Resigning himself to his fate, Sirius closed his eyes. He tried to think
pleasant thoughts to drown out the snick, snick of the shears performing their
butchery on his wavy black locks, but very little sprang to mind.
"Oh. Sorry," said a quiet voice.
Sirius groaned inwardly. He was not even back in his dormitory yet, and already
he would have to suffer the humiliation of being seen by one of his school
fellows. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Remus Lupin stood in the doorway,
looking uncertain.
"They're just there on the counter, Mr Lupin," the matron said briskly, nodding
in the direction of a small paper cup. "Take them, and be off with you."
Lupin's eyes dropped to the floor as he mumbled something that might have been
thanks, and picked up the cup, turning to go.
"Not so fast!" snapped the matron. "You'll take them where I can see you."
Lupin hesitated only a moment before bringing the cup to his mouth and tilting
his head back. He swallowed visibly.
"There's a good lad." Pomfrey nodded her approval. "All right, I'm finished
with you, Mr Black. You may go."
Sirius did not dare to glance in the mirror that hung on the infirmary wall. He
hurried out the door after Lupin.
"I didn't know you were ill," he said when he had caught up with the other boy
just past the chapel.
"I'm not," said Lupin shortly.
"Then what's the medicine you took for?"
"Nothing," said Lupin. He spat two round, white pills into the palm of his
hand, and flung them away into the gathering dusk.
"What are --?" began Sirius.
"Forget it," said Lupin, turning away, the edge of steel back in his voice for
the first time since he had shouted at James. "I need to go to the library
before curfew."
He hurried off, leaving Sirius to stare after him, more puzzled than ever.
***** Guilty Conscience *****
It was worse than Sirius had expected. His fringe was still long enough that it
fell into his eyes, but a small patch of pale scalp was visible on the left
side of his head. Everyone had laughed at him. Even some of the teachers had
had difficulty hiding their amusement. While James employed his considerable
popularity and social status as captain of the school rugby club to make the
other students leave Sirius alone, in private he and Peter were the worst of
the lot, keeping up a running stream of hair jokes until Sirius was ready to
clobber them both. Only Lupin said nothing.
By Wednesday evening, Sirius had come to the end of his endurance, and when
that happened, he knew of only one means of escape. Sneaking back to the
dormitory early from supper, he felt around under his mattress until he located
the small, flat box hidden there. Making certain he was not observed, Sirius
left the building, walking quickly.
When one wished to be alone at St Godric's, Sirius had discovered that the best
place to hide was between the back wall of the chapel and the high, thick hedge
that ringed the school grounds. Few students or staff had cause to frequent the
area, and the building blocked the worst of the cold autumn wind.
Sirius flopped down on the grass in the shadow of the stone building. Opening
the box and unwrapping a twist of paper, he shook out some of the precious
green herb it contained onto a rolling paper. Supply could not always keep up
with demand at St Godric's -- especially not of the quality Sirius preferred -
- so he hoarded his stash for occasions like this when he especially needed it.
The first cloud of smoke left his lungs with a sigh of relief. Already, he
could feel the tension draining from his muscles, his frayed nerves relaxing.
The haircut, the sleeplessness, the annoying habits of his friends and
classmates, and the mystery of Remus Lupin all receded, for the moment, into
unimportance.
When Sirius heard footsteps on the path that fronted the chapel, he pressed his
back instinctively against the stone wall, even though there was little chance
of his being noticed if he kept quiet. Peering around the corner, he saw Lupin
hurrying towards the administrative building. He disappeared through the main
doors, unaware that he had been observed.
It occurred to Sirius's hazy brain that his roommate must be visiting the
matron again -- that he must do so every night. He slouched in the shadows,
taking occasional long, slow drags on his joint, waiting for the doors to
reopen. When they did, he saw Lupin once again spit the pills into his palm and
fling them away into the shrubbery.
Sirius knew he should withdraw further behind the chapel before Lupin saw him,
but his curiosity about the boy's odd behaviour got the better of him. Lupin
might be strange, his stability questionable, but Sirius did not think he was a
snitch. He took a step out into the open. Lupin halted, catching sight of him.
When Sirius beckoned him closer, he approached warily.
"Want a toke?" Sirius held out the half-finished joint.
Lupin stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and accepted, inhaling deeply.
He did not cough.
Maybe not such a swot after all, thought Sirius, observing the other boy from
beneath lowered lashes.
Lupin leaned back against the chapel wall, hair falling into his eyes, lips
pursed around the little roll of paper. Sirius caught himself staring at
Lupin's mouth, and quickly looked away, flustered. Casting about for a topic of
conversation, he remembered the reason he had wanted to talk to the other boy
in the first place.
"Are you going to tell me what those pills are for?"
"Nothing that this doesn't do about a hundred times better," said Lupin
evasively, passing the joint back. "That's decent stuff. Aren't you worried
about getting caught, though?"
Sirius took a drag, smirking. "If you knew how much money my parents give to
this school, you wouldn't be asking. They tend to turn a blind eye to little
things like this, so long as I keep it quiet, and my parents don't care, so
long as my marks are good." He passed the end back to Lupin, and began rolling
another.
"Don't bother on my account," Lupin said quickly. "You're not sharing with
Potter and Pettigrew; you don't have to waste your supply on me." He took a
last drag and discarded the remainder with a practiced flick.
Sirius smiled and lit the new roll, taking the first drag for himself. "Potter
doesn't smoke because of rugby. He'd be chucked off the team if they caught him
at it. Pettigrew worries that it will make him stupid. His marks are bad enough
as it is."
Lupin nodded, accepting the new joint from Sirius's fingers. "So, does turning
a blind eye apply to your being queer, too? People leave you alone about it?"
Sirius shrugged, resettling his shoulders against the wall. "Mostly. But
Potter's part of it. He's always been really good about it, and Pettigrew
follows his lead. Everyone does, really. People like him. Being rugby captain
doesn't hurt."
"He sounds like a good mate," said Lupin. "Are you and he --?"
Sirius laughed. "Me and Potter? Not bloody likely! No, he's my best mate, and
that's all I'd ever want him to be. Anyway, he only likes girls."
"What about your family?" asked Lupin. "Do they know?"
Sirius nodded. "They think it's just a phase. I mean, it's not as if we talk
about it, but they've hinted that once I finish school, I'll be expected to
stop 'experimenting' and get on with the business of getting married and
securing the family line."
"Charming," said Lupin drily. "How did they find out? Did you tell them?"
"We had a row," Sirius admitted. "I was angry. I wanted to shock them. Same
thing with Potter, actually." He grinned at the memory.
Lupin gave a little huff that was almost a laugh. "That doesn't surprise me."
"Speaking of rows," Sirius ventured, "I've been meaning to say -- about the
other day ..."
Lupin stiffened, suddenly wary. "Yeah?"
"I'm sorry about Potter. Pettigrew, too. They can be a right pair of tossers
sometimes."
Lupin raised an eyebrow. "But not you?"
Sirius grinned again. "Well, at least I know when I'm being one."
Lupin gave him a long, steady look as he inhaled deeply from the twist of
paper. "Do you know," he said slowly, white smoke falling from his lips, "that
your hair looks utterly ridiculous?"
Sirius blinked at him, then burst out laughing. "Really? I was told it was the
very latest thing in Paris!"
"She's left it too long here, in the fringe," said Lupin, fingers lightly
ruffling Sirius's hair in demonstration.
The brief touch stopped Sirius's laughter. He wondered if his heart had been
beating so quickly a moment before.
"And she's missed this bit over your right ear entirely, " Lupin continued,
oblivious.
"Um -- yeah, I know," said Sirius, self-consciously tucking the uneven locks
behind his ear as he fumbled the joint back from the other boy.
"I could have a go at it if you like," Lupin said doubtfully. Then he grinned.
"I don't think I could make it look any worse."
Sirius's breath caught in his throat, and he had to remind himself not to stare
at Lupin's mouth again. The wide, sweet smile that curved his lips translated
the other boy's face into unexpected beauty.
It's just like Abernathy, Sirius told himself, turning away and inhaling the
last of the relaxing smoke. It doesn't matter how pretty they are; you don't do
anything about it when they're your roommate.
"Yeah," he said at last, exhaling in a steady stream. "Give it a go. What do I
have to lose?"
===============================================================================
Sirius slept well, and he did not cringe at the sight of himself in the
bathroom mirror the next morning. He did not like having short hair, but Remus
had managed to even it up a bit so that it did not look quite so much like he
had lost a bet to a drunk with a pair of scissors. That afternoon, he visited
the laundry room and requested an additional blanket, returning Remus's with
thanks.
Once Remus warmed to him, Sirius found that he enjoyed his new roommate's
company. Remus had a quick wit and a wry sense of humour. Sirius would have
been pleased with their newfound camaraderie, but for one problem: he could not
stop thinking about the other boy, or stealing glances at him. During their
History lesson, Sirius drifted off into fantasy, remembering the pleasant
sensation of long, sure fingers carding through the remnants of his hair, and
shivering again at the memory of Remus blowing on the back of his neck to
remove the stray clipped hairs that had fallen there. When he looked at his
notes at the end of the lesson, he noticed that he had accidentally written
Remus's name into a list of nineteenth century European monarchs, and hastily
scratched it out.
All right, he thought, grinding his teeth in annoyance. You can look and you
can daydream, but that's all. He's your roommate and he's straight. Nothing is
going to happen.
That night, the dream found him.
It started off pleasantly. It was always pleasant at first. He could feel the
sun in his hair and the sand between his toes. His brother Regulus was laughing
as they raced along the shore. But then, inevitably, the dream turned dark.
Even though Sirius had lived through it hundreds of times before and knew it
for what it was, he could do nothing to stop what had happened -- what would
always happen.
"Regs!" he gasped, jerking awake, sweaty bedclothes tangled around him.
Sirius's heart was racing, his whole body was tensed and shaking. He realised
where he was almost immediately, and fell back against the pillow, willing
himself to calm down with limited success.
"Are you OK?" whispered a voice close by.
Sirius could just make out Remus, lying on his side in the next bed, watching
him.
"Fine," Sirius lied. "It was just a dream." His teeth chattered as he spoke,
and he clenched his jaw hard to make them stop, squeezing his eyes shut.
He heard the squeak of Remus's bed frame, and footsteps crossing the room. A
moment later, Remus was back. "Here."
Sirius opened his eyes to find a glass of water on his nightstand. He sat up
and drank gratefully. "Thanks."
"It's nothing," said Remus. "Are you OK now?"
Sirius shrugged. The panic had receded somewhat, but it might still overwhelm
him if he let his guard down.
"I know what it's like," Remus told him. "Having the window open helps a bit,
for me."
"Nothing helps me except maybe tossing off, after," Sirius grumbled. "Sometimes
it's the only way I can get back to sleep."
Remus gave a quiet huff of laughter. "I'll draw the curtain, if you like."
"Nah; not in the mood."
"So, who's Regs?" Remus asked. "Old boyfriend?"
Sirius hesitated. He had never talked about it before. What if it brought on
the panic again? "My younger brother. Regulus," he said at last, quietly.
"I didn't know you had a brother," said Remus, surprised. "Does he go here?"
"No," said Sirius bitterly. "If he did, maybe I wouldn't have dreams like that
all the time."
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Remus told him.
"Is it the same for you?" Sirius tried to search his face in the darkness.
"Nightmares because of something that happened?"
Remus turned on his back, fixing his eyes on the ceiling to avoid Sirius's
gaze. "Yeah."
Sirius contemplated his new friend's moonlit profile. He had never told anyone
about the dreams, not even James. But if Remus suffered from them, too, he
might understand. And if he did not understand, losing Remus's friendship and
respect would probably hurt less than losing James's would.
"There's a beach, just below the castle," Sirius whispered. "It's been in the
family for generations. Regs and I always loved that it was our beach. Whenever
the weather was decent, we'd go down, whether our parents gave us permission or
not. We'd sneak away from our governess and make a run for it."
Sirius could not look at Remus as he spoke, but stared instead at the crescent
moon, visible through the open window. He knew Remus was watching him. It was
easier to make his confession without having to look into those searching brown
eyes.
"That day -- we were running along the beach and playing in the water. The
weather was just perfect. Regs climbed up onto a big rock and declared himself
'King of the Castle'." Sirius smiled wistfully. "He loved to climb. He could
scramble up the cliffs like you wouldn't believe, and be home in under three
minutes, while the path took at least ten. Mother would shriek and carry on,
and Father would strap him whenever they caught him at it, but it never stopped
him."
His smile faded. "I challenged him to a race up the cliffs. He almost always
won those, even though he was two years younger. But that day, I decided there
was no way I would let him beat me. I started to climb, and I felt like I was
flying, it was so easy. I got to a ledge about twenty metres up, and looked
back to see him below me, laughing and telling me I'd won.
"I called him a pansy," Sirius whispered, so softly that it was a wonder Remus
could hear him at all. His cheeks burned with shame at the memory. "I told him
he was getting soft if he couldn't make it to where I was. He laughed and
reached for another handhold, but his foot slipped. He fell. I still remember
the sound of his head hitting the rocks. I don't even know how I got back down.
I screamed and screamed for help, but --" He broke off, throat tight, realising
his face was wet with tears.
"Did anyone come?" Remus asked, quiet voice tense.
"Yes," said Sirius bitterly. "Someone came. But it didn't matter. He died in
hospital two weeks later. He never woke up."
"Oh," breathed Remus. "I'm sorry."
"He died," Sirius repeated helplessly, swallowing the sob that threatened to
choke him, "and it was all my fault."
Remus shook his head. "No, it wasn't."
"It was," said Sirius, taking a deep, shaky breath and fighting to regain his
composure. "My parents think so. They can barely stand to look at me since it
happened."
"How old were you?" asked Remus.
"Ten," he whispered. "Regs was only eight."
"You didn't know." Remus's voice was firm but gentle. "Kids don't think about
things like danger and getting hurt. They just see something that looks like
fun and they do it. You can't blame yourself for acting like a kid. You said it
yourself; your brother was a good climber. It was an accident. A stupid thing
that happened. You couldn't've known, and you couldn't've stopped it."
"Maybe." It was a comforting thought, and Sirius wanted to believe it, but the
guilt that gnawed at his guts was too huge and had been with him for too long
to be dispelled by a few words.
"Thank you for telling me," said Remus, soft voice sincere. "I know it can't
have been easy."
Sirius sighed wearily. His secret was out, and Remus did not think him a
monster or a murderer. Sirius was not convinced, but knowing that Remus did not
think ill of him made him feel ever so slightly better. "Thanks. For -- yeah.
But --"
"What?"
"Potter and Pettigrew -- they don't know," Sirius admitted. "About Regs. Could
you maybe not say anything?"
"Potter doesn't know?" Remus sounded surprised.
Sirius bit his lip. "He knows my brother's dead. I never told him what
happened."
"He won't hear it from me," Remus promised.
"Thanks," said Sirius again. "You're a real mate, Lupin."
***** An Inconvenient Infatuation *****
Light spilled out the door of the village community centre as the boys of St
Godric's hurried inside, scuffing their feet on the mat and shaking their
umbrellas. The hall, which doubled as the village pub on Wednesdays and
Fridays, was transformed by balloons and streamers in autumn colours. The
students, on the other hand, looked much the same as they usually did in their
starchy and unstylish school uniforms.
"Let's grab a table before they're all gone," said James, herding the others
ahead of him.
Peter looked around hopefully. "Are the girls here yet?"
"You'll know it when they are, mate," laughed Sirius, "all the noise they
make."
"It's a bit chilly," commented Remus, who had surprised them all by deciding to
come at the last minute. He caught Sirius's smirk, guessed its meaning, and
added, "I don't mind. I just thought other people might."
"It'll warm up quick enough with everyone packed in here," James assured him.
The four of them sat down at one of the small round tables clustered at one end
of the hall. Peter immediately stood up again.
"I'll get the drinks!" he declared, but Sirius knew he just wanted an excuse to
peer out the window and see the girls when their coach arrived.
He hurried back a moment later, nearly slopping punch down his front in his
excitement. "They're here! They're here!"
The girls of St Helga's came through the doors shrieking and laughing and
shaking off the rain. They stayed in a tightly-packed flock, staring around the
room, giggling and whispering behind their hands before rushing en masse to the
toilets to fix their hair and do whatever else large groups of females did
behind closed doors. Sirius largely ignored them, but grinned to see several of
his schoolfellows stand up a little straighter, their walks becoming struts.
"I think I saw Maddy," said Peter, taking a sip of punch and almost missing his
mouth.
"I definitely saw Evans. That hair is hard to miss." Unlike the other boys,
James had arranged himself in his chair in an artful slouch, carding his
fingers through his unruly black hair.
Sirius rolled his eyes. He had his share of fun, snogging and even doing a bit
of furtive groping every now and then, but he had never gone silly over a bloke
like his friends did about girls. It was hard to believe that James was one of
the cleverest boys at school, the way he carried on about Lily Evans.
When the redhead emerged from the toilets, accompanied by an entourage of
giggling friends, James rose, eyes already on his prize. "The bet's on, lads.
Wish me luck."
"And that's the last we'll see of him tonight," sighed Sirius.
Remus turned to Peter as the four piece band in the opposite corner began to
tune up. "What about you, Pettigrew?"
Peter sank lower in his chair and buried his flaming face in his punch glass.
"Maybe in a bit," he mumbled.
"See what I mean?" smirked Sirius. "Too scared to even talk to her. How he ever
thought he could convince us he got into her knickers --"
"What's the worst that can happen?" said Remus, giving Peter an encouraging
smile. "All she can say is 'no'."
"She might laugh," Peter said miserably.
"I never heard of anyone who died of being laughed at," Remus told him. "Think
about it. If she says 'no', at least you'll know. If she laughs, well, these
things aren't compulsory, are they? You don't have to come next time if you
don't want to. And she might say 'yes'."
"You think?" Peter's blue eyes were wide and trusting in the face of Remus's
logic.
"I think it's worth a try."
"Better than sitting here like a lump all night," said Sirius, realising that
if they got rid of Peter, he might get to enjoy a little one-on-one time with
Remus.
"Yeah, I guess." Peter took a deep, steadying breath and got to his feet,
looking pale. "Here I go, lads."
"Good luck," said Remus. "Think he's in with a chance?" he asked as the shorter
boy marched away, shoulders squared.
Sirius shrugged. "Better than Potter has with Evans. I did mention that she
slapped him last time, didn't I?"
"What about you?" Remus asked. "Aren't you going to try to win your bet?"
"Just waiting for someone to catch my eye," said Sirius airily. Someone who's
not my roommate.
Their whispered conversation of two nights before had only increased Sirius's
interest in Remus. Now, it was not only distracting thoughts about the quiet
boy's mouth or hands or eyes; it was a deeper enjoyment of simply being in his
company, and an irrational dislike of being out of it. Infatuation was not a
new experience for Sirius, but this was proving rather more tenacious and
difficult to ignore than the garden variety. He hoped it would go away soon.
Remus had just opened his mouth to say something, when a voice from behind
Sirius said, "My friend wants to know if you'd like to dance."
Sirius groaned, turning to eye the tall blonde girl and the blushing brunette
who hung back at her shoulder. "I'm not into girls," he said bluntly.
"Oh!" The blonde's eyes widened in shock, and she glanced from Sirius to Remus.
"Are you -- um -- together?"
Remus blushed redder than the blonde's friend, and Sirius hastily said, "No,
nothing like that."
"OK." The blonde girl hesitated for a moment. "Would you like to dance with my
friend, then?"
Remus shook his head, giving the girls a lopsided smile. "I don't dance. But
thank you for asking."
The girls had turned away, looking disappointed, when Remus suddenly said,
"You're friends with Lily Evans, aren't you? I saw you come in with her."
Sirius raised his eyebrows. How had Remus noticed a thing like that? There was
nothing particularly notable about these girls. They looked just like all the
others, so far as Sirius was concerned.
"I'm Alice Finch," said the blonde, holding out her hand to Remus. "This is
Dorcas Meadowes."
"Remus Lupin," said Remus, shaking the offered hand. "And my rude friend here
is Sirius Black. Would you care to join us?"
"Black like the Shellingham Blacks?" Finch asked, taking Peter's vacant seat
next to Remus.
"Exactly like," said Sirius blandly, schooling his expression to mask his true
feelings about a pair of girls horning in on his evening with Remus.
"Our roommate, James Potter, has a real thing for your friend," Remus confided.
The girls exchanged a look. "We know," giggled Meadowes. "He's been after her
for ages."
"So I gathered," said Remus drily. "Is he getting anywhere?"
"Set you to spy for him, has he?" Finch asked shrewdly.
Remus shook his head. "I'm just curious."
Sirius was amazed. He would never have pegged quiet, studious Remus as being
good at talking to girls, yet here he was, chatting casually with two of them,
as if they were normal people. Stamping out a weed of jealousy, Sirius listened
intently. James would want to know what the girls had to say. Once he thought
about it, he could see the wisdom in cultivating an acquaintance with the
friends of one's quarry. At least, if one was interested in girls and knew how
to talk to them.
"I think she likes him a little bit," admitted Meadowes. "At least, she seems
to enjoy complaining about him."
Finch nodded in agreement. "She says he's pushy and up himself, and that if he
really liked her, he would try to get to know her, instead of just going on
about how good he is at rugby all the time."
"That seems more than fair," said Remus.
"What's the point of getting to know someone if you just want to get into their
knickers?" Sirius muttered.
The girls looked scandalised, but Remus merely raised his eyebrows. "Does he
just want to get into her knickers? Seems to me that he's going to an awful lot
of trouble over one particular girl, if that's all he's interested in."
Sirius shrugged irritably. "I don't know. Maybe not."
"Potter's a decent bloke," Remus told the girls. "You probably wouldn't know it
from the way he acts around your friend, but he's one of the best in our year,
and Black here could vouch for what a good friend he is, if he cared to."
"Yeah," said Sirius hastily. "He's always been ace to have around. Looks out
for his mates, you know?"
Finch gave them a knowing look. "We'll be sure to take back a good report."
"I'm sure he would appreciate that." Remus gave her a rare smile. "What about
Maddy Yaxley? Our other roommate fancies her."
Finch pursed her lips. "Your friend wants to watch himself. Yaxley's trouble."
"How do you mean?" asked Remus.
"She -- gets around with boys from the village," Finch said primly. "And men. I
mean, a lot of girls fool around, and no one really cares, but --"
"She's not very nice," supplied Meadowes. "She uses people. You can't trust
her."
Sirius glanced across the dance floor to where Peter was dancing with a pretty,
dark-haired girl, looking awestruck. "She seems to like Pettigrew all right."
Finch frowned. "If all he's looking for is to get into someone's knickers, then
he'll have no trouble, so long as he uses protection."
"Alice!" cried Meadowes, shocked.
The girls remained a few moments longer, until a boy called Frank Longbottom
came over and asked Finch to dance. Meadowes, too shy to stay and talk to two
boys by herself, left soon after.
"That was decent of you," said Sirius grudgingly. "Getting the low-down for
Potter and Pettigrew. Where'd you learn to talk to girls like that?"
Remus shrugged. "I have a sister."
It was the first time Remus had mentioned anything about his family or his
background in the two weeks that Sirius had known him. He carefully filed the
information away in the compartment of his brain labelled "Remus Lupin". Aside
from the fact that the other boy got into fights, smoked grass, read a lot, had
nightmares, and had a mouth that looked made for kissing, Sirius still knew
very little about him.
"So what would it take to get you onto the dance floor?" he asked, throwing
Remus a teasing smile. "If the girl of your dreams showed up and asked you to
dance, would you do it?" What would he say if I asked him? he wondered
silently.
"It would take someone pretty special to get me out there. I really don't like
dancing." Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Sirius noted that his cheeks
were flushed. "It's getting a bit warm in here, isn't it?"
"Yeah, a little."
Sirius watched, mesmerised, as Remus shrugged out of his school jacket, tugged
loose his tie, and undid his top shirt button. The shadow of his collarbone was
just visible through the open neck of his shirt. Sirius imagined running his
tongue along the curve of it.
"What are you two boring tossers up to?"
Sirius jumped as James barged into his momentary fantasy and set two fresh
glasses of punch on the table.
"I thought you might fancy a refill."
"Thanks," said Sirius, lifting the glass to his lips. He caught the strong
whiff of alcohol and paused. "Oh. Thanks, mate. Yeah, definitely." He raised
his eyebrows at Remus.
Remus returned the look and lifted his own glass, brown eyes going wide as he
made the same discovery Sirius had. He tilted his head back and took a long
swallow. Sirius wondered how drunk they would have to be before he could kiss
Remus and play it off as a joke. His eyes fixed longingly on the other boy's
pale throat as his Adam's apple bobbed. He shook himself and turned back to his
best friend.
"How're things going with Evans?"
"Not as well as I'd hoped," James admitted. "Can I ask you something?
Privately?"
"Sure." Sirius stood up and followed James into an empty corner. "What's up?"
James rounded on him. "Watch it, mate," he said in a low, earnest voice. "You
know he's not like that."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Sirius said with as much dignity as he
could muster.
"Don't give me that," snapped James. "I saw the way you were looking at him
just now. Get over it. Fast. He doesn't know you like I do, but he's bound to
notice sooner or later if you keep making eyes at him. We don't need the kind
of trouble that would cause."
"I'll bear that in mind," said Sirius loftily. "And now I believe there's punch
that wants drinking."
"What did Potter want?" asked Remus when Sirius returned to the table.
"What? Oh, nothing." Sirius groped about for a quick lie. "He saw us talking to
Evans's friends. He just wanted to know what they said."
"Right," said Remus distractedly.
"Are you all right, mate?" Sirius asked.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Fine."
Sirius dragged his attention away from Remus's exposed throat to the revolving
mass of adolescents on the dance floor. Peter stood against the far wall,
mournfully watching Yaxley dance with someone else. James hovered at Evans's
shoulder. The redhead had her back pointedly turned to him, her head bent in
conversation with Finch and Meadowes. When a new song began, James touched the
girl's elbow and said something. Evans closed her eyes briefly, looking
annoyed, then turned to James. Sirius could not hear what she said, but he saw
her mouth form the words fuck off in the middle of it. James blinked, then
bowed, grinning, and turned to her friends. Meadowes quickly accepted his
invitation to dance.
Sirius laughed at the irate look on Evans's face. "Maybe he can learn. God,
look how her face clashes with her hair!"
Remus did not reply, but sat slumped in his seat, plucking at his tie.
"Lupin?" said Sirius, brow furrowing with concern.
The other boy stood, mumbled something about the toilets, and hurried away, but
instead of turning towards the gents', Remus pushed open the main doors of the
hall and disappeared outside. Sirius hesitated for a moment, then followed.
The earlier rain had turned to a heavy mist, and Sirius belatedly realised he
had left his jacket draped over the back of his chair. Remus stood in the
shadows, leaning against the wall of the building. He did not look up when
Sirius took the spot beside him.
"You sure you're all right, mate?"
"Yeah," said Remus, breath clouding in the chill. "Just needed some air. You
should go back in. You'll freeze."
"I'll be OK," Sirius told him. "You're right. It was a bit warm in there."
The hall door opened, setting a patch of mist aglow, and Professor McGonagall
stuck her head out.
"Ah, there you are," she said, prim Scottish voice edged with suspicion. "Just
making sure nothing was -- amiss."
"It's all right, Ma'am," said Remus, correctly divining her intent. "I've been
warned about him."
Sirius gave the English mistress an impish grin. "He's in no danger from me,
Professor. I swear."
She pursed her lips in disapproval. "If you are not back inside in three
minutes, you will both be doing lines until you can't feel your fingers."
The door closed and Sirius sighed. "She doesn't trust me."
"Is she wrong?" asked Remus, quiet voice unreadable.
Sirius blushed, glad of the darkness. He had just been thinking how easy it
would be to kiss the boy beside him.
"You've been alone with me before, and I didn't jump on you," he said, covering
his embarrassment with a frown. "I don't go around snogging people who aren't
up for it."
"Admirable," said Remus drily. "If I ever decide I want a snog, I'll be sure to
let you know straight away."
Sirius did not trust himself to reply. "We should go back in," he said. "I hate
writing lines."
===============================================================================
"You saw it, didn't you?" said James for the tenth time. "She spoke to me! I
think she's softening up."
The four of them were stumbling back up to the school in the darkness, a few
paces behind the main herd of their classmates.
"She told you to fuck off, mate," Sirius reminded him yet again. "Not exactly
'take me now, you sexy beast,' is it? The bet's null."
"I almost won!" declared Peter. "I got to dance with Maddy, at least." He shot
Remus a grateful smile.
"I would have won if I hadn't had the world's worst haircut this week," said
Sirius. He was feeling pleasantly lightheaded, having accounted for rather more
than his share of James's contraband, and had contrived to stumble into Remus
once already, feeling the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt
as the other boy grabbed his arm to steady him.
"You?" snorted James. "You didn't even try."
Sirius knew his friend was right. He had been so focussed on Remus that he had
not even thought about any of the other boys.
Get a grip on yourself, Black, he chided himself. What's so brilliant about
Lupin, anyway? I mean, all right, he has that mouth and those fingers and those
eyes. Nice arse, too. But that's no reason to start hyperventilating just
because he's unbuttoned his collar.
He glanced at his new friend beneath lowered lashes. The collar in question was
still unbuttoned, the exposed throat begging to be nuzzled. Sirius sighed.
When they arrived at the school, Remus mumbled a vague excuse about needing to
check on something, and turned towards the administrative building for his
nightly medication charade. James and Peter, whom Sirius had not seen fit to
enlighten, looked after him curiously as they continued to the dormitories.
Back at their room, Sirius grabbed his toothbrush, toothpaste, and a few other
necessaries, but he did not head immediately to the bathroom. He had more
pressing needs, better dealt with in private. Glancing around to make certain
he was alone, he ducked into the small private study room afforded him as an A-
level student.
Privacy was a rare luxury at St Godric's, and certain kinds of necessary relief
frequently had to be put off for hours, or even days. But Sirius could be
fairly certain of a few minutes alone here. He hardly ever used the study, and
it was not a place his friends were likely to come looking for him, especially
at this time of night.
Pulling a hastily-stowed wad of tissues from his pocket, he unbuttoned his
trousers, leaned back against the desk, and once more summoned up the image of
full lips, brown eyes, and an enticing curve of collarbone.
When he finally fell into bed half an hour later, a warm glow of satisfaction
still radiated from his groin, and he fell asleep almost immediately with a
smile on his face.
***** The Stolen Boy *****
"No! No, please!"
Sirius blinked, disoriented, into the darkness. Somewhere at the other end of
the room, Peter was snoring.
"Don't --" The word was little more than a broken sob.
Sirius sat up, tugging back the dividing curtain. "Lupin?"
His roommate struggled against his blankets, fighting phantoms in the
moonlight, clearly in the grip of a nightmare.
"Lupin!" Sirius hissed, grabbing the boy by the shoulder and shaking him
roughly. "Remus, wake up!"
Hard knuckles connected with Sirius's mouth, and he fell back with a cry of
surprise, crashing into the side of his own bed as he went down.
On the other side, James sat up. "Whozzat?"
"It's nothing," Sirius assured him, prodding his lower lip experimentally with
his tongue. It was split, but not bleeding too badly. "Just a dream, Potter. Go
back to sleep."
James subsided back onto his pillow, and began to breathe deeply almost at
once. He had never been fully conscious.
Remus leaned halfway out the open window, breathing in the cold, misty night
air in deep, ragged gulps. Sirius pulled himself to his feet and approached him
warily. Remus was trembling, and Sirius did not think that it was from the
cold.
"Are you all right?" he whispered.
"Don't -- don't touch me," Remus gasped.
"I won't," promised Sirius. He hovered behind the other boy uncertainly.
Remus closed his eyes, took a few more deep breaths, then drew his head back
into the room. He turned and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, forehead
resting on his drawn-up knees. Sirius hesitantly sat down beside him.
Remus broke the silence first. His voice was rough and muffled against the
fabric of his pyjama-clad knees. "They think those bloody pills will help," he
said bitterly. "What the fuck do they know?"
"What are they for?" Sirius asked again.
Remus did not look at him, but tilted his head back to rest against the wall.
"Sleeping. They think I don't get enough sleep. But I'd rather be tired all the
time than be stuck in the middle of one of those dreams and not be able to wake
up."
"Oh," said Sirius, thinking of his own nightmares. "I wouldn't take them
either, if it were me."
"They think that if they just shove enough chemicals into me, I'll get better.
But I'm not ill, am I? It's not some bloody virus that will go away if they
find the right medication."
"What is it, then?" Sirius only half expected an answer.
Remus gave a huff of humourless laughter. "Same thing as you, I guess. They
call it PTSD, though."
Sirius's brows drew together in puzzlement. "PTSD? What's that stand for?"
"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Remus explained. "It's a fancy way of saying
that something bad happened, and sometimes I have a hard time dealing with it."
Sirius had never thought of his recurring dreams about his brother's death as
an illness with a name before, but Remus's description seemed to fit.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
Remus shook his head, closing his eyes again. "You don't want to know."
Sirius looked helplessly at his friend. He did not want to pry, but -- "I felt
better. The other night, after I told you. I mean, I don't think I'm cured or
anything, but maybe it helped a little bit, talking about it."
Remus looked at him, and caught sight of Sirius's swollen lip. "Did I do that?"
"Yeah," said Sirius. "But it's OK. I shouldn't've grabbed you like I did."
"No," agreed Remus. "You felt better because you thought what happened to your
brother was your fault, and I told you it wasn't. I already know that what
happened to me wasn't my fault -- not really -- and I've already had to talk to
lots of people about it. It didn't help."
"You don't have to tell me," said Sirius. "But if you do, I swear I'll never
breathe a word to anyone. I swear it on -- on my brother's grave. You can trust
me."
Remus's eyes searched Sirius's face. Sirius met his gaze, unblinking. The
stillness of the night hung between them as Sirius held his breath.
"All right," Remus said at last. "You think you want to know?"
He looked away -- like Sirius, he found it easier to talk without looking at
his confessor -- and he began to speak in a quiet, dull voice.
"We were on holiday in Guernsey. My parents and my sister and I. I was six. I
was going through this thing where I thought my parents loved my sister more
than me, but it was just that she was three and she needed them more than I
did. I know that now. I was angry about them fussing over her one day while we
were in town, and I wandered off on my own."
Remus closed his eyes, hands clenching around his knees. "He found me. Fenrir
Greyback. I knew I wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. I should have yelled
when he grabbed me, but I was too scared. I thought I would be in trouble for
wandering off. He took me to a house in the countryside. Locked me away in a
stuffy little room with no window. And he -- he hurt me and -- made me do
things. I was with him for months."
"Jesus," whispered Sirius, horrified.
"You'd think that would be the worst of it, wouldn't you?" said Remus hollowly.
"But every day, he would tell me that my parents didn't want me anymore -- that
they were angry with me for running away -- that I belonged to him now. And I
believed him."
Silence stretched between them like a chasm. Sirius had no words to express the
feeling of sick horror that welled up inside him at Remus's confession.
"I think he would have killed me, in the end," Remus whispered. "After the
police finally found me, there was a trial, of course, and I found out that
there had been another boy before me who died. Anthony Montgomery."
Sirius must have made a sound, because Remus raised his head and looked at him.
"Sometimes I wish he had killed me," he said, voice hollow. "So many nights, I
end up right back there. I can feel his hands on me and hear him telling me
that my parents don't want me -- that this is what happens to little boys who
run away." A look of revulsion crossed his face. "Sometimes I can even smell
him."
Sirius felt ill. He desperately wanted to offer Remus comfort, but he had none
to give. Words felt empty, and to touch him unasked in any way after what had
happened to him seemed wrong.
"Does it get any easier?" he asked. "I mean, you're older now, aren't you? It
was a long time ago."
Remus shook his head. "No. You'd think so, but there's always something or
someone to remind me of it. Sometimes little things you'd never expect catch me
out and wreck me for days. And the dreams keep it fresh, like it's only just
happened. You know that."
Sirius nodded. "At least my parents never made me take pills for it."
"Your parents blame you for what happened," Remus said bluntly. "My parents
blame themselves. We used to have money, but a lot of it went on private
shrinks and doctors and therapies that didn't work. One of the shrinks touched
me, too. He said it was an 'experimental method' where you were meant to act
out the things that had happened to you in order to understand how they
affected you. I stopped talking to any of the doctors after that."
"But he was meant to be helping you!" gasped Sirius, shocked. "How could he --
?"
Remus shook his head. "Some people, they figure once you've been through a
thing like that, you can't get any more broken than you already are, so they
might as well have a go. There was a boy at my last school who thought that,
too. He found out somehow, and he thought he could make me do things with him
in exchange for him not spreading it around the school. So I beat him to a
bloody pulp. That did make me feel better, actually." A corner of Remus's mouth
turned up briefly.
Guilt squirmed in Sirius's guts. He would never have dreamed of trying to force
himself on Remus, but suddenly his idle fancies of catching the boy unawares
and kissing him made him feel like a villain. It was no wonder Remus had told
him to keep his hands to himself. Sirius was surprised the other boy did not
hate him on principle for his sexuality. Sirius would have understood if he
had.
"So," said Remus, eyes measuring, gauging Sirius's reaction to his story, "are
you sorry you asked?"
Sirius bit his lip. "No. But -- I am sorry I grabbed you tonight. And I'm sorry
I shut the window all those times." Now that he knew, Sirius thought he would
rather set himself on fire than take away that one small comfort from Remus.
"You didn't know."
"No," agreed Sirius. "But I do now. I -- thanks. For trusting me. I know you
didn't want to tell. If anyone at this school ever gives you trouble, you let
me know. I'll sort them out."
"Thanks." Remus's smile twitched momentarily back into existence. "I can take
care of myself. But I think maybe you were a little bit right. I might be able
to sleep tonight."
"Well, that's something." Sirius was not sure if he would ever be able to sleep
again.
"You should get back to bed, too. You're all covered in gooseflesh."
Remus's fingers brushed Sirius's wrist, and Sirius swallowed hard. He longed to
take Remus's hand, but if he did, Remus might never speak to him again. He
might even hit him.
"G'night, Sirius," Remus said softly, getting to his feet. He did not offer
Sirius a hand up, for which Sirius was both relieved and disappointed.
"Yeah. G'night."
He struggled up from the floor, stiff-kneed, and staggered back to his own bed,
falling into it as pins and needles rushed up through his feet, but Sirius
barely felt them. The hollow ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat
left no room inside him for anything but helpless rage and the desire to
protect Remus from any further harm.
***** Unguarded *****
"You'll be late for breakfast if you don't get your arse out of bed in the next
two minutes, Black."
James. The name swam to the surface of Sirius's sluggish mind. He forced his
puffy eyes open, wincing as the cold morning light stuck pins in his brain.
"You know what will happen if you skip chapel again." A dark face with messy
black hair and bespectacled hazel eyes swam into view above him. "You look like
shit, mate. What happened to your mouth?"
Sirius opened the mouth in question to reply, but no sound emerged. He
swallowed painfully, throat swollen almost shut. Licking dry lips, he grimaced
as his tongue prodded the split in the lower one.
"Just -- chapped," he wheezed.
Two paler figures joined James at his bedside. The looks on their faces made
Sirius feel like a rather dubious cut of meat. He sat up, and immediately
winced again as his head gave a painful throb.
"Are you OK?" asked Peter.
"You can't be hung over," said James. "You didn't have that much to drink last
night."
"I think he's ill." Guilt lurked beneath Remus's look of concern.
Sirius tried to speak again, then made a face, turning to swing his legs out of
bed. He reached for his clothes, but staggered as his head spun
disconcertingly. James caught him.
"Easy there, mate. Maybe we ought to let Pomfrey have a look at you."
"M'OK," objected Sirius in a harsh whisper. It was a lie. His whole body felt
achy and shivery and his skin prickled unpleasantly all over.
"The hell you are." James rolled his eyes. "This is what happens when some
people leave the window open all night."
Remus turned away, mouth tight.
"S'nothing. M'fine," Sirius rasped, but his argument carried as little weight
as his legs, and he leaned heavily on his best friend's arm.
"We're going to miss breakfast." Sirius was not certain if the concern in
Peter's voice was for him or for the thought of a missed meal.
James sighed. "You two go ahead; I'll see this lump to the matron."
"I can --" began Remus.
"No, it's fine," said James. He grabbed Sirius's wool coat from the peg by the
bed and shoved it into his hands. "Here. Put this on. If you snuff it on the
way to the infirmary, I'm not carrying you."
Sirius stumbled along the path, shivering in the chilly morning air, James's
iron grip on his arm keeping him upright and moving.
"Why don't you tell him to shut the sodding window?" he asked irritably. "Are
you so desperate for a shag that you'd rather freeze your tits off than tell
him to stuff it?"
"S'not like that," Sirius mumbled.
"Sure it isn't," scoffed James. "You're telling me you wouldn't be flat on your
back if he looked at you twice? Or on all fours? However it is you lot do it."
He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Get over it. It's not going to happen."
"I know," wheezed Sirius, feeling miserable in more ways than one.
He felt too ill to complain much as Madam Pomfrey tucked him into the lumpy
infirmary bed and James departed to grab a quick breakfast before chapel. The
room was warm, at the very least, and Pomfrey supplied him with a hot water
bottle for his feet, as well as a steady stream of tea with honey and lemon.
Sirius tried to sleep for a while, but failed, which left him nothing to do but
think.
The previous night's conversation with Remus ran through his mind in an
unending loop. He did not want to think about it, but his woozy brain kept
bringing him back to it. The shadowy figure of the man who had kidnapped Remus
took on a hulking, brutish aspect in his mind, and it was all too easy to
imagine Remus, six years old, weeping for his parents and his stolen innocence.
Would Sirius ever be able to look at him again without thinking about what had
happened to him? He desperately hoped so. Sirius would not want people thinking
of Regulus every time they looked at him. Little wonder that Remus had been
reluctant to tell.
Sirius closed his eyes and thought of Remus, pushing away the memory of their
conversation as if it had been only another bad dream. Instead, he imagined
Remus as he was now: sixteen and gangly, honey-brown hair falling into wary
brown eyes, the long straight nose, the full curve of a mouth only rarely
visited by laughter --
With a huff of annoyance, Sirius turned over, shaking off the image as guilt
poked at him. He should not be thinking of Remus like that, either. That ripe,
full mouth was triply off limits now: Remus was straight, and he was a
roommate, and he had already suffered more than enough unwanted attention for
one lifetime. Sirius had no right to think such things about him.
He's a friend, he told himself irritably. Not like James, but he could be
someday if you'd just stop thinking stupid thoughts about him.
But with nothing else to occupy him, his treacherous brain kept drifting back
to his quiet roommate throughout the afternoon: Remus's open collar at the
previous night's social. Remus blowing the stray hairs off the back of his neck
after his haircut. Remus with a joint in his hand, grinning mischievously.
Remus's mouth against his own, long-fingered hands twining in Sirius's hair as
their bodies pressed urgently together ....
Fortunately, he was too ill to entertain the last thought to its conclusion,
and he was somewhat relieved -- though more disappointed than he cared to admit
-- when Remus did not accompany James and Peter to visit him that evening after
supper. His friends had brought playing cards, and they played a few hands of
Rummy, which James won, Sirius being ill and distracted, and Peter having no
great skill at cards.
It was only when his friends departed and Pomfrey returned that he remembered
Remus's nightly appointments with the matron. Of course Remus had stayed away
while James and Peter visited the infirmary; it would have been difficult for
him to come up with a credible reason for hanging back after the others left.
Sirius watched the matron take down a bottle of pills and shake two into a
small paper cup. When he heard footsteps approaching in the corridor outside,
he briefly considered feigning sleep, but Remus would know that the others had
only just left him.
The brown-haired boy gave him one brief, furtive look before dropping his eyes
guiltily to his feet. "Hey," he mumbled.
"Hey," croaked Sirius, unable to think of anything intelligent to add.
Are you sorry you told me? he wanted to ask, but with Pomfrey standing there,
narrowly watching Remus pretend to take his medication, he could not.
Sirius was just opening his mouth, still unsure what he planned to say, when
Remus turned away and walked quickly out of the infirmary, with no more than a
hasty "g'night" as the door swung shut behind him.
Sirius settled back on the lumpy pillow, feeling more miserable than ever.
That night, he dreamed. The visions did not have the usual lucidity of his
nightmares, but were instead a dark, confused jumble of images of the kind that
so often accompany illness and fever. Regulus was there, but sometimes Sirius
caught a glimpse of Remus in his face. Instead of challenging Sirius to a race
up the beach cliffs, he told him they were going to Guernsey. A threatening
presence lurked somewhere just out of sight, and Sirius kept trying to
manoeuvre himself between it and Regulus/Remus. He woke in the predawn darkness
and could not get back to sleep.
By morning, Sirius had developed a deep cough that tore at his chest and shook
his entire body every time it gripped him. His head was painfully congested,
and even under the blankets in the stifling room, he shivered. The only bright
side to his deteriorated condition was that the matron dosed him heavily with
her special blend of cough syrup, which was legendary among the students of St
Godric's, and was widely rumoured to contain some form of opiate in addition to
a high percentage of alcohol. Sirius dozed for a few hours in the morning, and
spent the afternoon drifting just on the surface of consciousness, unable to
think or feel very much.
Late afternoon light slanted through the infirmary window when chair legs
scraped the floor beside Sirius's bed. Very slowly, he turned his head to
regard the visitor.
"Oh, s'you." A wide smile blossomed across his face.
The corner of Remus's mouth twitched. "Feeling better?"
Sirius thought for a moment. Or tried to. "Yes?"
"You look like hell," said Remus. Then dropped his voice to add, "Been sleeping
all right?"
Sirius's head wobbled back and forth in response, setting his brain crashing
around in his skull. He winced.
"I thought not," frowned Remus. "I've brought copies of all my notes from
today's lessons, but you don't look in any fit state for them."
Sirius blinked at him. "Din't hafta do that."
"It's my fault you froze your arse off," said Remus, looking uncomfortable.
"Sorry."
"Don' be daft," Sirius smiled. It was easy to smile when he was looking at
Remus. Slowly, he raised a hand that felt like it weighed four stone, and let
it fall onto Remus's knee, patting heavily.
Remus looked startled for a moment, then laid his own hand over it, squeezing
Sirius's fingers. "You should get some more rest."
Sirius frowned, turning his hand over to clutch weakly at Remus's fingers.
"Don' go."
Remus squeezed his hand again, then moved it back to the bed beside him,
letting go. "Save your strength. Potter and Pettigrew will be along after
supper again. I think they've missed you. Potter got himself two detentions
today, and Pettigrew had to do about fifty lines for McGonagall."
"D'you miss me?" Sirius asked sleepily.
The corner of Remus's mouth curled up again ever so slightly. "Maybe a bit. Get
some rest. I'll be back later."
Sirius was already half asleep, so he probably imagined the light brush of
fingers against his cheek. He was completely unconscious by the time the door
closed softly behind Remus.
===============================================================================
Sirius spent two further days in the infirmary, his increasing boredom and
irritability signaling to anyone who got too close that he was on the mend. On
Wednesday night, he was finally allowed to return to the dormitories and the
relative comfort of his own bed. The cough persisted for a few days more, but
on the whole, Sirius was glad to be back on his feet and getting on with
things.
He was not, however, any closer to getting over things. Remus still occupied a
large percentage of his thoughts, and even though he tried getting out and
spending more time with James, which resulted in a couple of detentions, his
mind inevitably drifted back to the quiet boy. He was drawn to him like the
needle of a compass, and it seemed there was nothing he could do about it,
anymore than he could confess his feelings to Remus.
Despite Sirius's attempts to put some distance between them, fate conspired to
give him and Remus more time alone together. Peter's choir rehearsals were
rescheduled so that they coincided with James's rugby practice. Since Sirius
hated using his private study room for its intended purpose, and Remus seemed
disinclined to use his own, the two of them could be found on their respective
beds for several hours of each week, Remus reading, and Sirius trying to look
as though he were.
Sometimes, Sirius struck up conversation in the vain hope that the weight in
his chest would dissipate into friendship, though a not-so-small part of Sirius
knew that talking to Remus was just an excuse to look at him. He already knew
that Remus had a dry wit that only came out around people with whom he felt
comfortable, but during the first weeks of November, Sirius learned other
things about him, too.
Remus had a knack for making history sound interesting. He saw the same innate
beauty in mathematics that Sirius himself did. He was patient when he explained
difficult concepts and helped Peter with his school work. Remus was not just
someone pleasant to look at, who might be fun to snog a few times, and he was
not a friend like James, with whom Sirius could talk about everything and
nothing. He was something in between, but also something more. Sirius had never
really wanted anything more; more made life complicated.
Sirius spent much of his time distracted, daydreaming about kissing his soft-
spoken friend, sneaking off for private wanks, and feeling guilty about it
afterwards, because it was Remus, and he should not be having those kinds of
thoughts about him. Remus did not like boys, and he did not like to be touched.
If he ever found out how Sirius felt, he would probably be horrified and
disgusted, and then they would not even be friends anymore, so Sirius did his
best to bury his interest.
The nights when the dreams woke them were both the worst and the best. Neither
of them was able to sleep through the terrors of the other anymore, and they
would talk, sometimes for hours, until the dreams faded and they were able to
sleep again. They did not talk about the dreams -- not directly -- but the
dreams brought other things to mind that, hesitantly, they began to share,
exhaustion and darkness and quiet conspiring to lower their guard. On those
nights, Sirius felt closest to Remus, and least able to do anything about it.
"I miss Regs," Sirius confessed one night. "I always wonder what he would've
been like, if he'd grown up."
"D'you ever talk to him?" Remus asked sleepily. They lay curled on their sides,
facing one another across the narrow gap between their beds.
Sirius bit his lip. "No," he said guiltily. "I guess I don't figure he'd want
to hear from me."
"D'you think he's -- out there somewhere?"
"Dunno. Sometimes, 'specially when I'm home, I turn around half expecting to
see him standing there. What d'you think?" Sirius had found that Remus thought
about things more than most boys their age, and he was always curious to know
the other boy's thoughts.
"I dunno either," admitted Remus. "But -- maybe. I think, if he is out there,
he probably misses you, too."
"You don't think he'd -- you know -- blame me for what happened?"
"If he could see you," Remus said slowly, "I think he'd see how sorry you are,
and how much it hurt you, losing him. If there was anything to forgive, he'd
forgive you."
When Remus's own dreams found him, Sirius never again made the mistake of
trying to wake him with a touch, but instead would whisper as loudly as he
dared, "Remus, it's a dream. Wake up!" Then Remus's eyes would fly open and his
mouth would clamp shut and he would throw off the blankets and hang out the
open window for long minutes, breathing in the night air, while Sirius lay
curled up under his blankets, watching him and feeling useless.
Eventually, Remus would come back to bed, looking hunted, but needing to talk,
to take his mind off the horrors he could not outrun. Talking about his family
seemed to soothe him most, and the first person he usually spoke of was his
sister, Natalie.
"She's brilliant," he told Sirius. "When I'm home and I -- wake up, it doesn't
matter how quiet I am; she always knows. I don't even know how much she knows
about -- what happened. She's never asked. But I'll go outside and sit on the
step, and I'm never there more than five minutes before she's there with a mug
of tea. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I write to her."
"We could probably get a kettle for the room," Sirius said. "If tea helps."
Remus gave a low chuckle. "Such a mother hen. You remind me of her, sometimes."
"I am not a mother hen!" hissed Sirius, scowling.
Remus raised a sceptical eyebrow. "I caught you watching me three times today.
You're always hovering over me."
"Yeah, but --" sputtered Sirius, flustered. "That's not --"
"Oh, isn't it?" Remus teased, smiling. "What do you call it, then?"
Sirius had no answer for that -- at least, none that he could give Remus.
Instead, he turned his back on the other boy in mock outrage at the insult he
had suffered. He knew he should be offended at being compared to his friend's
thirteen-year-old sister, but Remus always spoke of her with such affection
that Sirius felt absurdly pleased.
There was a huff of laughter from the other bed, and a fond voice whispered,
"Good night, Sirius."
"Good night, you tosser," he replied, knowing that Remus could hear the smile
in his voice.
***** Catalyst *****
It took an enormous effort of will, but gradually Sirius managed to drag his
wayward feelings back under control. They were not any easier to bear -
- alarmingly, they seemed to be growing stronger by the day -- but when Sirius
was around his friends, he was able to hitch a smile onto his face and pretend,
sometimes for several hours at a stretch, that all was well with him.
Whenever his thoughts about Remus wandered in too intimate a direction, Sirius
would pinch himself hard on the leg. It worked, though he now sported a large
and tender bruise just above his left knee. He still felt a secret thrill at
being in Remus's company, and at the affectionate regard in which the brown-
eyed boy held him, but he tried not to dwell too much on such private
pleasures. Friendship, he told himself, was much more worthwhile and lasting
than the counterproductive thoughts he had previously entertained.
It was good to be friends with Remus. Remus could make him laugh almost as much
as James could. He was not anywhere near as swotty as Sirius had originally
supposed, and delighted in doing wicked impersonations of their professors that
had Peter holding his sides and James weeping with laughter. Even school work
seemed to go a little faster with Remus's witty explanations of the murkier
aspects of History and English.
If Sirius occasionally caught himself staring at Remus's mouth, or sometimes
had to dig his fingernails into his palm to keep himself from touching the
other boy in passing, well, he was not likely to die of it. There were plenty
of other boys in the world. Gaveston still gave him the eye on occasion; maybe
next time Sirius would return his look.
Meanwhile, there was plenty else to be getting on with. Lessons were harder,
and the assignment load heavier, now that they were in the sixth form. Their
professors were forever reminding them that the A-levels they achieved would
greatly affect which universities were likely to accept them, as well as the
careers they hoped to pursue.
Peter was frantic, and had to be reminded by his friends to calm down at least
three times a week. James was also growing more serious about his studies, and
between school work and rugby, he had less time for the pranking he and Sirius
normally delighted in. Sirius himself was not greatly concerned about his
future. He was a gifted student and his marks were excellent when he made the
effort, and decent even when he did not. Some university would be pleased to
have him, and if not, his family was well-connected enough to secure him a good
position somewhere.
He experienced a moment of panic at the thought of being separated from Remus
when they left St Godric's, two years hence, but told himself not to be
ridiculous. He was not worried about the possibility of never seeing James
again. He and Remus were friends. They would find time to visit one another,
even when they no longer spent every day in each other's company. Sirius
thought of asking Remus about his plans for the future, but decided against it.
The temptation of aligning his own plans with Remus's might be too great to
resist.
In the hope of spurring their students' ambitions, many professors invited
special guests into their classrooms to talk about their careers and how a
strong understanding of various subjects was integral to them. They had an
engineer in Maths, a doctor in Chemistry, a journalist in English, an MP in
Citizenship, and in late November, an archaeologist in History.
Sirius sat up straighter in his seat, exchanging an eager grin with James, when
Professor Binns announced the visitor. History might be boring, but archaeology
was not. According to the ratty paperback novels he sometimes borrowed from his
best friend, it was all about adventuring and danger and finding long-lost
treasure, usually made out of gold. Sirius eyed the guest as Binns droned on
about his credentials, his position with English Heritage, and the importance
of preserving the past, as if the visitor was not about to explain all of that
for himself.
He did not look like the adventuring type, but Sirius supposed it was not
always possible to tell by looking. Archaeologists were supposed to be fit and
tan and have beards. This man was clean-shaven and rather podgy-looking, with a
bow tie and thick spectacles. He waited with an expression of polite patience
for Binns to finish his long-winded introduction before stepping behind the
podium at the front of the classroom.
"Thank you, Prufessaw," he began, then turned to address the students. "There's
uver twenty years I am travelan the wurld, oncoveran the 'idden secrets of the
past."
The man's broad accent and odd intonation were not immediately placeable, and
drew titters from a few of the students. Sirius turned to share a grin with
Remus, and stared.
Remus had gone dead white. Even his lips had lost their usual rosy colour. His
knuckles, too, were white where he gripped the edge of his desk, and the
expression on his face was one Sirius had only seen on those nights when Remus
had awakened in terror from nightmares of violation.
Guernsey, Sirius realised, heart sinking. It's a Guernsey accent.
The voice of the speaker rattled on, but Sirius had lost all sense of the
words. His only thought was of Remus -- how to distract him, or better yet,
remove him from the situation entirely. Sirius knew better than to touch his
friend in his current state, nor did he wish to draw attention to him. James
and Peter and the rest of the class were enthralled by the speaker. No one had
noticed Remus's odd reaction -- yet.
"Remus?" he ventured a whisper.
Slowly, Remus's head turned towards him, staring brown eyes fixed on his face,
but he did not seem to see Sirius at all.
"Remus, go to the loo or something," he begged. "Get out of here."
Remus did not so much as blink.
Tentatively, Sirius reached over to touch his friend lightly on the wrist.
"Remus --"
The boy reacted to the touch as if burned. He stood up so suddenly that his
chair overturned, and bolted from the classroom.
There was a moment of stunned silence as all eyes fixed on the slamming door.
Binns leapt to his feet in an uncharacteristic display of temper, and waddled
into the corridor, shouting, "Lupin! Get back here this instant!"
"He's -- ah -- perhaps he's ill?" suggested Sirius, thinking quickly. "He said
-- before -- he wasn't feeling well, Sir."
James shot him a curious look. Remus had said nothing of the kind.
Sirius stood, feeling shaky, body already inclined towards the door. "Shall I
go check on him, Sir?"
Binns looked torn, but at last flapped a hand at him in exasperation. "Yes,
yes, Mr Black. Go and see that he makes it to the matron's office, if he is
unwell. And come back directly," he added as Sirius, needing no further urging
to follow his strongest impulse, hurried out the door.
Sirius's heart was pounding as he hesitated in the corridor, looking up and
down. Where would Remus have gone? Sirius was fairly certain he had not gone to
the matron. She did not have anything for what troubled him. Stopping briefly
to check the toilets, he left the building, eyes sweeping over the school
grounds, but he did not see a living soul.
"Remus?" he called, but of course there was no answer.
Lacking a better idea, he headed to the dormitories, eyes scanning for any sign
of movement. Remus was not in their room, nor was he in his study, nor the
dormitory toilets. Sirius realised as he peered into the gloom of the stalls
that he was being foolish. The last thing Remus would want in his current state
was to be confined. He would be somewhere in the school grounds. As soon as
Sirius thought it, he knew exactly where Remus was: somewhere outdoors, where
he was unlikely to be found.
Sirius had no wish to startle his traumatised friend, so he let his footsteps
crunch heavily across the gravel path in the direction of the administrative
offices. On the far side of the chapel, he turned off the path, palms sweating.
Remus was there. He sat hunched, one shoulder leaned against the chapel wall,
with his back to Sirius. He did not look up; he already knew who had found him.
"Go away, Sirius," he said in a dead voice.
"Remus --" Sirius edged around to face him. "Remus, I know you're upset. Talk
to me, please. I --"
The sight hit him like a punch in the gut. Remus's left sleeve was rolled up
past his elbow, and he gripped a pocket knife in his white-knuckled right hand.
Long, shallow cuts bled freely all up and down his forearm.
Sirius fell to his knees with a cry. "Stop that! You're hurting yourself!"
Quickly, he fished out a pocket handkerchief, and grasping Remus's hand,
pressed the cloth to his wounded arm. Bright, bloody slashes soaked through the
white linen almost instantly.
Remus did not react, nor did he look up. "Go away," he said again dully.
"No."
Sirius squeezed Remus's blood-smeared fingers in his own as desperation welled
up inside him. He had thought that he was helping -- that their late-night
talks had somehow made Remus better, as he felt that he himself was better for
talking out the darkness that haunted him -- but if Remus could do this to
himself, then maybe he had made no difference at all.
Sirius looked up hopelessly into Remus's face. More than anything, he wanted
this quiet, clever, thoughtful, funny, wonderful boy to understand how
important his happiness was -- how much he was cared for -- how much he
mattered. Sirius let go of Remus's hand and raised bloody fingers to his cheek.
He had only meant to make Remus look at him -- to let him see in his eyes all
the things he could not say. He had not meant to lean in so close, and he
certainly had not meant to press his lips against Remus's mouth.
Realisation hit Sirius, and he toppled over backwards, landing on his backside
in the grass. "Sorry," he gasped. "Sorry! I shouldn't have -- I didn't mean --"
Remus stared at him in openmouthed shock. Then he stumbled to his feet, pushed
through the privet hedge that marked the boundary of the school grounds, and
was gone, leaving the red-stained handkerchief behind. Sirius knew better than
to follow.
After a few minutes, he got to his feet, belatedly recalling that he was
expected to return to History. Feeling numb, he wadded up the linen square and
returned it to his pocket.
Binns frowned censoriously when he shuffled back into the lesson that felt like
it had begun years before. As he took his seat, James shot him an enquiring
look. Sirius just shook his head. Then he bent forwards, resting his forehead
on folded arms, and closed his eyes.
I am such an ass, he thought.
===============================================================================
Remus did not reappear that afternoon. Nor at supper. Nor in the dormitory that
evening as Sirius and the others readied themselves for bed.
"What happened?" asked James for the dozenth time.
"I don't know," Sirius lied again. "I couldn't find him."
James gave him a disgusted look that spoke volumes about his opinion of
Sirius's credibility, but let the matter drop for the time being.
"Should we tell someone?" Peter asked timidly.
"No!" shouted his friends, rounding on him.
Peter looked terrified.
"We'll tell if he's not back by tomorrow," James relented.
Concerned though they might be, neither James nor Peter lost any sleep over
Remus's absence. Sirius could not sleep at all. He lay on his side, the
bloodstained handkerchief crushed in his fist, staring at Remus's empty bed and
hating himself. He had wrecked any chance he ever had at friendship with Remus.
Worse still, he had kissed him, putting himself firmly in the same category as
everyone else who had ever done anything to Remus against his will.
Now Remus was gone, and maybe he would never come back. Maybe Sirius would
never have a chance to apologise -- not that he deserved any sort of chances at
all -- and he would have to live the rest of his life knowing Remus hated him
and that he had earned it.
If he comes back, Sirius thought miserably, I'll trade beds with Peter and
never come down to this end of the room again. I won't even talk to him unless
he talks to me first. And I'll never, ever be alone with him.
===============================================================================
Remus had not reappeared by morning. When he did not show up for lessons,
Sirius and the others did not have to tell anyone that he was missing. The
three of them presented a united front of vagueness when questioned concerning
his whereabouts, but when told that "dunno" was not an acceptable answer, were
forced to admit that they had not seen him since the previous afternoon. Unable
to obtain any more information than that, Professor McGonagall assigned them
three detentions each in disgust and sent them on their way.
Sirius was too demoralised to care about detentions or to do more than go
through the motions of his day, though whenever they were outside, he would
glance around for some sign of Remus. He was on his way back to the dormitories
after lunch, hoping to catch a few minutes' sleep before afternoon lessons,
when an arm shot out of the bushes and dragged him around the side of the
dining hall. Sirius blinked, trying to bring James into focus, nose inches from
Sirius's own.
"What. Happened." James's face was as dark and threatening as a storm cloud.
His tone said that anything short of the truth would earn Sirius a thorough
beating.
"I kissed him," Sirius confessed. "He ran off."
James sagged against the wall. "Jesus fucking Christ, Black! What did I tell
you?"
"I know," said Sirius miserably. "I know it was stupid."
"You think so?" snapped James. "Bloody hell! I should sew your mouth shut. All
it does is get you into trouble."
"I know it," Sirius mumbled. "I'll apologise if -- when he comes back. Or I
won't talk to him at all. Whichever you think is best."
James raised his hands in a quelling gesture. "No. I am not getting involved in
this. You made the mess; you clean it up. And until you do, as far as I'm
concerned, you don't exist."
He turned and walked away, leaving Sirius feeling even worse than before.
===============================================================================
It was almost lights out when Filch, the doorman, delivered a grubby and
disheveled Remus back to the dormitory. His hair was wildly tousled, and there
were smudges of dirt on his face and uniform, as if he had been sleeping rough.
Dried blood stained the cuff of his school shirt.
"Two weeks' detention is better than you deserve, you ask me," opined the sour-
faced Filch. "And they did say I was to tell you that if you feel like
scarpering again, don't bother coming back."
A ringing silence followed the slamming of the door. Without looking at any of
them, Remus crossed the room to his bed and disappeared behind the dividing
curtain. Sirius heard the squeak of the bed frame as he lay down, and glanced
at James, who studiously ignored him in favour of a tattered and much-read spy
novel. Sirius caught Peter's eye, but the blond boy quickly turned away,
looking distressed. If James had declared Sirius persona non grata, Peter would
not defy him.
Sirius flopped onto his bed, wondering just how much more miserable it was
possible to be. He had his answer that night when the dream came to him, and no
comforting figure appeared to lead him out of the wilderness of his own self-
loathing. He turned over and pressed his face into the pillow, trying very hard
not to make any noise as he cried himself back to sleep.
***** Where There's Smoke *****
Remus did not say much following his unceremonious return to St Godric's. When
Peter asked him where he had been, he shrugged and said, "around". James acted
as if nothing had happened, treating Remus with the same friendly accord as
always. Sirius stuck to his resolution not to say anything to Remus unless
Remus spoke to him first, partly because he did not know what he could say to
him, other than sorry, which did not seem like enough.
No one spoke to Sirius. Every now and then, James would shoot him an impatient
look, as if to say, "Are you going to sort this out or not?" Peter, as usual,
followed James's lead and kept his mouth shut. Remus did not seem angry, but he
did not speak to Sirius, either. Once or twice, Sirius caught Remus looking at
him as if he were a puzzle he was trying to work out. He took pains never to be
alone with Sirius, which hurt, but Sirius knew it was no more than he deserved.
He had proved he could not be trusted.
The stew of guilt, self-loathing, and loneliness bubbling inside him proved to
be the perfect recipe for nightmares. More nights than not, Sirius woke in a
cold sweat, his dead brother's name on his lips, and only sometimes managed to
go back to sleep. The days that followed dragged by in a haze of exhaustion and
guilt.
Sirius thought that he would rather have his hair cut by Madam Pomfrey every
month for the rest of his life than carry on feeling as he did. The silence of
his roommates became so unbearable that he began using his private study room.
He did little studying, but dozed fitfully across his desk, or wallowed in his
own misery, imagining that the others were glad to be rid of him.
Sirius tried to take comfort in the knowledge that, even if Remus never spoke
to him again, eventually James would crack. They had had their share of fights
over the years, many of them worse than the current one, and had always come
through with their friendship intact. James was not the grudge-bearing type,
and it was rare for his resolve to last more than a week or two. But until his
best friend accepted him back into his good graces, Sirius could do little
apart from schoolwork and reflecting on his own foolishness.
Saturday came. Sirius spent the morning and part of the afternoon hiding out in
his study, but by three o'clock, he could not bear it any longer. Storming into
the dormitory, he marched over to his bed and shoved the mattress aside,
snatching up the box containing his remaining stash of grass. It might be weeks
before he could get more, but that would not stop him getting as high as he
could on what he had left.
If there had been anywhere else to go, Sirius would have gone there, but the
back of the chapel was the only safe place. He would just have to try not to
think about what had happened the last time he was there.
His agitation made the straightforward task of rolling a joint frustratingly
difficult, and it took him three attempts to manage it. When at last the
calming narcotic filled his lungs, and the smoke curled up into his tormented
brain, Sirius almost wept with relief. He breathed in long, slow drags, trying
to draw out the moment as long as possible.
When the first one was finished, he sat for long minutes before rolling the
next, staring into space and trying to think of only the things he could see -
- the grey November sky, the brown grass, the rough stones of the chapel wall,
the scuff on the toe of his left shoe -- and nothing about other people or his
own misery. Time slowed, and Sirius began to experience a pleasant, floaty
sensation in his head and knees. He was not certain of his ability to stand up,
but that was all right, so long as he still had something left to smoke.
Perhaps he would stay there all night.
As the light began to fail, however, so did his supply of weed. Sirius peered
sorrowfully into the box, and shook the last few bits of green onto a rolling
paper with a sigh. He was so preoccupied with the task of lighting up that it
was a moment before he realised someone was standing over him, and had quite
possibly spoken to him. Slowly, his head tilted back and he looked up, blinking
stupidly at an uncomfortable-looking Remus, slouched against the chapel wall
with his hands in his pockets.
"Thought you'd be here," said the brown-haired boy. "Can we talk?"
Sirius nodded, and Remus slumped down the wall beside him, staring straight
ahead. There was a moment's awkwardness before Sirius realised he was being
less than sociable, and passed the joint to Remus. As Remus took a deep drag,
Sirius cleared his throat, knowing that he owed it to his friend to admit his
guilt before the other boy began leveling accusations at him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, eyes fixed on his hands. "So sorry. It was an awful thing
to do. And I know you're not queer."
He held his breath, waiting to see whether the other boy would accept his
inarticulate apology. Remus had come to him, after all, and it did not seem a
very Remus-like thing to do -- to smoke the last of his grass and then tell him
to fuck off. So maybe --
"No," Remus said at last. He took another long pull at the little twist of
paper and blew out a cloud of smoke, still staring straight ahead. "No, I am."
Sirius stared at him, sluggish brain trying to process what he was saying. "You
-- what?"
"I'm a poof. A shirt-lifter. Like you." Remus took a deep, shaky breath. He
looked frightened by his own words. "I've never said it out loud before, but
I've known for a long time."
"But I thought --"
"I know." He met Sirius's glassy gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes
back to the joint in his hand. "It seemed easier to let you think I was
straight, especially after I noticed you noticing me. I was scared of what
might happen. That's why I told you about Guernsey. I wanted to scare you off."
Sirius stared. He suddenly wished that he were not quite so high, because he
had a feeling that what Remus was saying was very important, if only he could
grasp the sense of it. "I wasn't scared," said Sirius. "I wanted to help."
"I know," Remus said again. "When things didn't get weird after I told you, I
started to think maybe -- but then you went and kissed me when you knew --."
Sirius lowered his eyes, ashamed. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It'll never happen
again. I won't touch you, or even speak to you if you don't want me to."
"I don't think not talking about things has helped very much," said Remus.
"That's why I came looking for you today. I wanted to try saying things instead
of not. So if there's something you want to say, you can say it."
Sirius nodded, eyes still downcast. "I fancy you. But I guess you knew that.
It's OK if you're not interested. I'd like for us to carry on being friends,
though, if you don't mind. I've liked having you as a friend."
"I've liked having you as a friend, too," said Remus. "And for the rest of it,
while we're being honest -- I did want to kiss you. Just not right then."
Sirius gaped at him. "Y-you did?"
Remus nodded, face a mask of grim determination. "I just wasn't sure it was a
good idea. I like you, Sirius. But I've heard how you are with blokes. A few
snogs, and then you get bored. I don't want that, and I can't get involved with
someone I can't trust. I won't be your bit of fun."
Guilt made Sirius squirm. That did sound like him. But Remus was different; not
like the pretty, stuck-up boys with whom Sirius usually entertained himself. If
Remus would only give him a chance --
"I wouldn't do that to you," he promised. "I could never do that to someone --"
The steely gleam in Remus's eye cut him off. "Someone broken?" he suggested.
"I'm not made of glass."
Sirius lowered his eyes again. "With someone I care about," he finished softly.
When he dared a peek at Remus, the boy's brown eyes were fixed on him,
searching. "I want to be able to trust you, Sirius."
"Me, too," said Sirius. "What do I have to do?"
"Just -- ask first, all right? And if I say 'no', don't take it personally."
Sirius nodded. "That's fair."
"For example," said Remus, licking his lips nervously, "now might be a good
time for you to ask me if I want to kiss you."
Sirius's mouth went dry. "Do you want to kiss me?"
"Yes," whispered Remus.
"If you do," Sirius promised, "I won't jump on you, or touch you at all unless
you ask me to."
A look of determination came over Remus's face. Sirius held his breath and
stayed perfectly still, heart pounding, palms pressed flat against the ground
in demonstration of his promise, as Remus leaned towards him. His eyes
fluttered closed when Remus's hands cupped his face, and then cool, soft lips
pressed tentatively against Sirius's own. The uncertainty of the kiss squeezed
at Sirius's heart, but when Remus's lips parted, and his tongue hesitantly
brushed against Sirius's lower lip, the blood sang in his veins.
Remus was kissing him. Tasting his mouth as if he were a rare and possibly
deadly delicacy. He felt higher than any drug had ever taken him. Since his
initiation into the romantic arts, Sirius had had many snogs, but never one
like this. It was his usual habit to dive in headfirst, all self-gratification
and exuberance, knocking the other person off their feet and against the
nearest flat surface. He had never imagined that complete passivity could be so
earth-shattering.
When Remus pulled away at last, they stared at one another, wide-eyed, in the
falling darkness.
"D'you want to do that again?" asked Sirius, breathless.
Remus nodded.
This time, Sirius allowed himself to respond to Remus's kiss, running his
tongue along the curve of Remus's lower lip, then tugging it gently between his
teeth. In response, Remus slid his hands around the back of Sirius's neck,
burying his fingers in his hair and pulling him closer. Their mouths blended in
an eager caress that made Sirius feel as if he were flying.
The light had gone. Sirius's cheek rested against Remus's shoulder, his nose
buried in the crook of his neck. They held one another close, breathing in each
other's warmth.
"This," sighed Sirius, contentment humming in his brain.
"Yeah," Remus agreed.
A bell rang in the distance, calling them to supper, but they did not move
immediately.
As the ringing faded away, Sirius nuzzled Remus's neck. "I am soooo hungry," he
admitted.
That startled a soft laugh from Remus. "What a surprise. Shall we, then?"
"I suppose," said Sirius, reluctantly letting go.
Their hands clasped briefly and then parted as they stepped back onto the path
and turned towards the dining hall. No words passed between them, but words
felt unnecessary for the moment.
Hungry though he was, Sirius kept forgetting to eat. His eyes would wander to
Remus, or their feet would nudge one another under the table, and he would have
to bite back a grin. Pale and flushed by turns, Remus kept his eyes fixed on
his plate. James and Peter had seen the two of them enter the dining hall
together. Peter looked relieved. James gave Sirius a nod of approval for having
apparently smoothed things over, and let the matter rest. And if Sirius burst
into uncontrollable fits of giggling once or twice over pudding, well, that was
only natural.
Joy fizzed inside Sirius like bubbles in a soda bottle that evening in their
room as conversation returned to normal. He was amazed at Remus's ability to
behave as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and tried hard to
follow his lead. He did not mean to keep his happiness from James forever, but
for now, this new understanding between himself and Remus was special -- secret
-- and belonged only to the two of them.
As the lights went out and the four roommates settled into their beds, Sirius
felt strangely shy -- a rare occurrence for him -- and could not find the words
to bid Remus good night.
"Remus?" he whispered, reaching across the space between their beds.
The other boy hesitantly mirrored the gesture, weaving his fingers through
Sirius's, but he seemed to have no words either.
Sirius drew their joined hands towards himself and pressed his mouth fervently
against Remus's knuckles -- a pledge, though he did not yet know of what -- and
Remus gave him a smile of such sleepy sweetness that Sirius knew there could be
no going back. Not for him. He drifted into dreamless sleep, hand still linked
with Remus's, his heart bursting with contentment.
***** Solace *****
Once over his initial hesitancy, much to Sirius's delight, Remus proved an
enthusiastic convert to the art of snogging. Two or three times a day, Remus
would pull him aside for a stolen moment that would leave Sirius weak-kneed and
dizzy and utterly blissful. Any moment alone with Remus not spent snogging one
another's faces off was, in Sirius's opinion, a moment wasted. Remus had only
to catch his eye to set Sirius panting with eagerness.
But it was only in those stolen moments, when they both knew that there was no
time, that Remus seemed comfortable kissing Sirius. On the afternoons when
Peter had choir and James was with the rugby club, Remus was skittish of
letting Sirius get too close. Sirius understood Remus's reluctance, and tried
not to feel frustrated by it. He wanted to touch Remus, and be touched in
return, but only if Remus wanted it, too. He took pains, therefore, to respect
Remus's need for space, never cornering or grabbing him, letting him make the
first move, and always leaving him an escape if he needed it.
Gradually, Sirius remembered why he had so enjoyed spending time in Remus's
company, even before they began snogging. He liked Remus, and not only
aesthetically. He liked talking to him, and hearing his thoughts. He liked
making Remus laugh. They were friends. Sirius had never imagined such a thing
before. On those quiet afternoons they would sit, each on his own bed, talking
in low voices. Sometimes their fingers would lace together, or their feet would
nudge one another between the beds, a compromise between the comfort of touch
and the need for space.
"Your family really don't know you're queer?" Sirius asked, one grey afternoon
in early December as the sky bulged with rain outside the window.
Remus shook his head, idly running a thumb over Sirius's knuckles. "Didn't see
any reason to tell them."
Sirius was surprised. Remus usually spoke so fondly of his family. He had never
considered that close families might have secrets from one another. "Don't you
think they'd want to know?"
"It's not that simple, is it?" Remus sighed. "They'd probably think it's
because of -- what happened. One more thing to blame themselves for, you know?
Not exactly a discussion I'm keen to have."
"Do you think it's because of -- that?" asked Sirius. He had always assumed
people were born preferring one or the other -- or both, if they were greedy
sods like Dorian Gaveston. Sirius himself had never had the slightest interest
in girls.
Remus frowned. "I don't think it works that way. Nothing happened to you, and
you like blokes."
"True." Sirius glanced down at his hands, holding Remus's, his index finger
tracing the end of a pink scar that the cuff of Remus's shirtsleeve did not
quite cover. "Why did you do that?"
Remus's hands twitched as if he might pull them away, then his fingers closed
over Sirius's, preventing any further exploration.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "it feels like -- like there's so much going on
inside me that I'll explode if I don't do something. When I cut myself, it
feels like I'm letting it out, I guess. Sometimes it helps."
The breath caught in Sirius's throat and he looked up from their joined hands
at Remus's face. "You've done it before?"
In answer, Remus let go of Sirius's hands and unbuttoned the cuff of his left
sleeve, pushing the fabric back to his elbow. His forearm was crosshatched with
thin scars, old and new. Outside the window, the first drops of rain began to
patter down. Sirius bit his lip and hesitantly reached out a finger to trace
the harsh lines. Remus did not pull away, but Sirius felt a tremor run through
him when his fingers caressed a shiny white pucker the size of a fifty pence
piece on the outside of his wrist.
"What's this?" he asked.
"It's a burn."
Sirius winced. "You burned yourself?"
"No." Remus's voice was flat and emotionless. "He did that."
Sirius did not have to ask who Remus meant. He muttered a curse under his
breath, hastily removing his fingers from the scar.
"He liked hurting me," Remus said matter-of-factly. "Afterwards, it didn't seem
like a few more scars would make much difference."
Hot, sick rage bubbled up in Sirius's throat. He clasped Remus's hands tightly.
"I want to fucking kill him for what he did to you." His voice was low and
rough, almost a growl.
Remus smiled bitterly. "Join the queue behind me and my mum. Probably Dad and
Nat, too."
"Would you really do it?" Sirius asked. "If you had the chance and there were
no consequences?"
Remus turned Sirius's hands over in his. "I used to want to make him suffer. He
deserves to. But now I just want him gone from the world." He looked up, mouth
set in a grim line. "Yes, I'd do it. I'd cut his throat in a second, with a
song in my heart."
Sirius supposed he should be shocked to hear Remus speak so calmly of the
desire to commit murder, but he could not blame Remus for feeling as he did.
"Would it help, do you think?" he asked. "Would you be better if you knew he
was dead?"
"I don't know." Remus's shoulders drooped. "Maybe not. I expect I'll find out
one day."
The door to the room crashed open and Remus dropped Sirius's hands as James
blew in, wet and muddy from the rugby pitch.
"Good practice?" Remus asked mildly as Sirius hastily tried to shove his
tumultuous feelings back under control.
"Until it wasn't," grumbled James, stripping off his grubby kit without a hint
of self-consciousness and rummaging in the wardrobe for clean clothes and a
towel. "I'm for a shower. You lot haven't seen my brolly, have you? We'll want
them to get to supper."
Sirius jumped up, glad to have something to do. By the time James's umbrella
had been located, and James had departed for the showers, modesty preserved
only by a haphazardly-wrapped towel, Peter had returned from choir rehearsal,
damp and winded from the dash between buildings.
For the rest of the afternoon, and at supper that evening, Sirius's mind kept
returning to his conversation with Remus. He had not thought it possible to
hate Remus's kidnapper more than he already did, but knowing that the man could
drive a usually friendly, mild-mannered boy to thoughts of murder made him
seethe with impotent rage. The man might be in prison, but in too many ways, he
still held Remus captive. Sirius wondered if Remus was ever able to have a
single thought or action that was not somehow affected by what had happened to
him.
He wouldn't be who he is, if it hadn't been for that.
The thought made Sirius feel funny all over. He liked a lot of things about
Remus. Would he have been so drawn to a Remus who had never known suffering?
Remus might never have come to St Godric's in the first place, if not for his
past. Sirius's feelings wove themselves into such a confused tangle of disgust
and longing that he decided it was best not to think about the "what ifs".
Part of his hatred for Remus's kidnapper, Sirius was forced to acknowledge, was
rooted in selfishness. Remus could not bear to be touched when he had been
thinking or dreaming about the man. Sirius liked touching Remus, and hated
feeling helpless in the face of Remus's suffering.
When his own nightmares haunted him, there was nothing Sirius craved more than
the comfort of touch. He had not had one of his own hellish dreams since before
Remus kissed him, but that night, after their discussion on the merits of
vengeance, Sirius was torn awake from visions of sand and stone and blood by
Remus bending over him, urgently whispering his name.
He sat bolt upright, grabbing the other boy's arm and holding on as if he were
drowning. Remus started, but did not pull away, instead awkwardly patting him
on the back as Sirius panted and shook. Remus eyed James's snoring profile,
visible beyond the carelessly-drawn curtain, and tugged at the arm in Sirius's
grasp.
"Come on," he whispered, drawing Sirius out of his bed and towards Remus's own.
Sirius would have followed Remus into a minefield, and came willingly, sliding
under the covers as Remus moved over to make room for him. Sirius turned
instinctively towards the other boy, seeking solace. Remus was warm and solid
and real -- the antithesis of all his nightmares -- his arms around Sirius felt
like safety.
"Please," whispered Sirius, tilting his face up. "Will you kiss me?"
Remus bent his head. His lips were as warm as the rest of him. As Sirius's
needy mouth moved against his, he deepened the kiss, tongue teasing its way
into Sirius's mouth. With a sigh of relief, Sirius's body relaxed. The blood in
his veins began to warm with desire. His arms wrapped around Remus, drawing him
down.
"Remus --"
Remus's comforting weight was on top of him, and he could feel their hearts
pounding, hear their panting breath through the messy kiss. It felt good,
having Remus's body pressed against his. It felt very good. Something nudged at
his lower belly, and Sirius realised that it was Remus's cock, hard as his own.
He moaned into the other boy's mouth, hips canting instinctively. The shift
brought their bodies into alignment and then his prick was touching, moving,
sliding alongside Remus's through the thin fabric of their pyjamas as they
ground together, mindlessly seeking pressure and friction.
Sirius's hips bucked upwards, and he muffled a cry against Remus's shoulder as
the sudden hot rush of orgasm flooded through him. He was barely aware of
Remus's own thrust and shudder and groan.
As damp heat spread between them, Sirius's eyes flew open. He found Remus
staring down at him, the same shock on his face, wide eyes almost black in the
moonlight. Hastily, Remus rolled off of him and sat up, back rigid against the
headboard, eyes fixed on a point in space somewhere over the foot of the bed.
Wondering what had just happened, and what it meant, Sirius shakily rummaged in
the nightstand drawer, where he had stashed a wad of tissues for emergency
late-night wanking sessions. Sitting up, he wordlessly handed half the crumpled
tissues to Remus.
"Thanks," mumbled Remus, gingerly plucking up the waistband of his pyjamas to
deal with his half of the mess.
Sirius dropped his own used tissues onto the floor, but Remus kneaded the wad
in his hand, still looking stunned.
"You OK?" asked Sirius, voice low.
"I think so."
Sirius was not sure that he was OK at all. He was very worried that he might be
falling in love with Remus. He swallowed. "I'm sorry."
"I'm not."
"Oh. That's -- good?"
"I never thought I'd be able to -- you know -- with another bloke. Didn't know
if I'd want to."
"But -- you liked it?" Sirius asked.
"Yeah," said Remus quietly.
"Me, too," Sirius confessed. "I've never --" He broke off, flustered.
"Never what?" Remus turned to look at him, and Sirius blushed under his
scrutiny.
"You know. Come. Like that. With someone else."
"Haven't you?" Remus looked surprised. "I thought you said you'd gotten off
with half the blokes at St Godric's."
Sirius shrugged. "That was just snogging. A bit of fun, you know? Not like
this."
Remus found Sirius's hand and gave it a squeeze. "This is different, isn't it?"
Sirius nodded. He leaned his head against Remus's shoulder, and Remus wrapped
his arms around him once more as they settled back onto the pillow. For a
while, they lay holding one another, silently pondering the meaning of what
they had done.
"I should probably go back to bed," Sirius said reluctantly when his eyelids
began to droop. It would have been pleasant to fall asleep beside Remus,
cocooned in warmth and comfort, but sharing a room with James and Peter made
that impossible.
"Probably," agreed Remus.
He bent his head and touched his lips to Sirius's in a soft goodnight kiss.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Sirius slid back into his own chilly bed and closed his eyes, but his mind was
all in a jumble. When at last he fell asleep, the nightmare that had awakened
him was long forgotten.
***** Boundaries *****
Sirius spent most of the following day in a bliss-soaked daze. It was a wonder
to him that James and Peter and everyone else at St Godric's could not read
what had happened written all over his face. He could not look at Remus without
imagining being pushed against the nearest flat surface and swept away once
more in a whirlwind of passion, nor at Remus's bed without recalling the
ecstasy they had achieved there only hours before.
It was rather like being thirteen again, Sirius reflected when, by teatime, his
tally of inconvenient erections had reached double digits. Thirteen had been a
very trying year for Sirius. He had barely been able to look at another boy -
- even James or Peter, much to his embarrassment -- without wondering what it
would be like to snog them, and suffering a raging hard-on for his trouble.
When supper came and went without Remus accosting him in an alcove even once,
some of Sirius's euphoria began to evaporate. What if Remus regretted what they
had done? From the way he caught Remus looking at him once or twice, he did not
think that was the case, but Sirius could not help worrying. Everything to do
with Remus made him feel uncharacteristically insecure. Patience had never been
one of Sirius's virtues, but he tried to give Remus the space he seemed to
want. While Sirius had ever been one to meet confrontation head-on, however
ill-advised that course of action might be, he was beginning to understand that
it was Remus's way to avoid a subject until he felt ready to face it.
Sirius managed to endure one full day without physical contact with Remus, and
one night of the curtain drawn between their beds, before deciding that enough
was enough. The following afternoon, when lessons had finished for the day and
there was no sign of Remus, Sirius went looking for him.
"Come in," said a resigned voice, when Sirius knocked at the door of Remus's
study room.
He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. "D'you
regret it?"
"No."
Remus had a wary, hunted look about him, and with a guilty start Sirius
realised that he was blocking the only exit from the small room. Hastily, he
moved to lean against the wall instead.
"Then what's the trouble?" he asked more gently. "We haven't done anything
wrong. I thought you liked it."
"I did. I just don't -- I can't --" Remus's face was a mask of frustration. He
crossed his arms protectively over his midsection, shoulders hunched.
Sirius's resolve softened. "Come for a walk with me? It's not raining."
Remus nodded, looking relieved. He always seemed to feel safer and more relaxed
out of doors.
Sirius retrieved their coats and met Remus at the dormitory door. The late
autumn twilight was damp and chilly. It had rained that morning, and would
probably rain again by nightfall, but for the time being the clouds held back
their soggy burden as the two boys trudged slowly up the path in the direction
of the library.
"Talk to me," Sirius urged, once they were alone and out in the open.
"I just -- don't know," sighed Remus, hair sweeping forwards to hide his eyes
as he stared down at his shuffling feet.
"Do you want to stop?" asked Sirius tentatively. "Just be friends again?" Could
he go back to being just friends with Remus after knowing the taste of his
mouth and the fierce joy of his body pressed against him?
Remus shook his head. "I don't know," he repeated.
Sirius stopped and turned to face him. "Then tell me something you do know," he
snapped, fear making him impatient.
Remus bit his lip. "I know I like you. And I liked what we did. More than
liked."
Relief flooded Sirius, but Remus was not finished.
"I can't just do things like other people," he said, brown eyes pleading.
"You've seen what it's like when something sets me off. If we're -- doing
things, and it suddenly reminds me of something, I don't know what could
happen. I might hurt you without meaning to."
Sirius wanted to reach for him, to take his hand, but they were out in the open
and someone might see. Instead, he inclined his head, indicating that they
should walk on.
"What we did the other night -- that was all right, wasn't it?" he reasoned.
"Could you do that again, do you think?" Sirius blushed at the bluntness of his
own proposition.
Remus's ears reddened. "Yeah, that was OK. But what if you wanted to do other
things, and I couldn't? It doesn't seem fair to you."
They dropped their conversation momentarily as they entered the library. Remus
nodded to Madam Pince, the thin-lipped, gimlet-eyed librarian, as they turned
to walk a loop around the stacks, feigning legitimate business. When they
reached the last rows of shelves, Sirius stopped and faced Remus once more,
taking the other boy's hand in his. It was safe here. They would be able to
hear if someone was coming.
"What I want," he said softly, looking into Remus's eyes, "is for you to feel
safe with me. I would never hurt you. We don't have to do anything unless you
want to, and if you say 'no' or 'stop', I will. I promise."
Remus looked stunned. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged, and he closed it
again.
"You, on the other hand," Sirius continued, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes,
"may do anything you like to me. For example, should you happen to want to snog
me right now, I would have no objections at all."
The corner of Remus's mouth curled up, and he ducked his head, lips colliding
clumsily with Sirius's. Sirius leaned back against the stacks, fingers resting
on the edge of a shelf, and let Remus have full control over the direction of
the kiss. Remus had apparently been missing their stolen moments as much as
Sirius had. His mouth quickly turned hot and greedy, and Sirius felt far too
warm in his wool coat, and too far from Remus, with all the layers of fabric
separating them. His fingers went to Remus's buttons, but Remus caught his
hands and broke away, laughing.
"Not here!"
It was so good to hear Remus laugh that Sirius did not mind the interruption of
the kiss. They left the library, but there was no safe place to go for a
private interlude. Even the back of the chapel was out. The groundskeeper, a
big bearded man named Hagrid, was working nearby, readying the school
flowerbeds for winter. He gave the two boys a friendly wave, which they
returned as they passed, heading up the hill to the games field.
The grass was brown and scrubby with the season, but the field was flat and
open and good for running. They raced one another across the rugby pitch,
laughing and shouting and trying to run off some of the feeling that coruscated
in their blood. Sirius threw back his head and bayed at the rising moon for
sheer joy.
By the time the bell rang, calling them down to supper, droplets of mist
glittered in their hair and on their clothes, and they were flushed with
exercise. They paused beneath the boughs of a holly tree for another stolen
kiss. Sirius wanted nothing more than for Remus to tumble him onto the grass
and repeat the thrilling adventure of two nights before, damp and mud and all.
He only resisted because of the awkward questions that would be asked if they
turned up for supper late and muddy.
That night, Sirius barely waited for James to complete his first snore before
clambering out of his own bed and into Remus's.
"Can we?" he pleaded against Remus's mouth.
"Yes," Remus breathed.
Mindful of Remus's concerns, Sirius tried to remain perfectly still, fingers
anchored in the sheets, but his body trembled with eagerness. Remus's hands
caressed his arms and chest as they kissed deeply, and when Sirius felt a
hardness pressing against his hip, he swallowed a moan of want.
The roaming hands moved to Sirius's waistband, and Remus hesitated. "I -- um -
- it was sort of messy last time. I thought maybe --"
Sirius nodded, trying to ignore the butterflies in his belly. He lifted his
hips to let Remus pull his pyjamas and pants down his thighs, exposing his bare
skin to the chilly midnight air. Remus froze, staring.
"Remus," he murmured, drawing the other boy's look of morbid fascination away
from his naked erection and up to his face. "All right?"
Remus closed his eyes and nodded. Hands trembling, he pushed his own pants down
to his knees.
Two beds away, James snorted and turned over. For several dizzy, terrifying
seconds, the two boys stared at one another, eyes wide, trying to stifle their
gasping breath. A moment later, another long snore signaled the all-clear, but
the interruption had broken some of the tension. Sirius grinned.
"Kiss me?" he invited the boy kneeling between his thighs.
Remus looked both terrified and mesmerised as he crawled up Sirius's body. When
their cocks brushed together, Sirius, who had been planning to keep quiet to
avoid any possibility of startling Remus, groaned and writhed.
"Oh!" he gasped as the slippery head of Remus's prick dragged across his own.
Far from being frightened, Remus made a small pleased sound, low in his throat.
He descended on Sirius, all hot bare skin and devouring mouth. Pleasure sparked
through every nerve ending as their hips collided. The slide of skin on skin
felt ten times better than their first accidental experience had. Remus
surrounded him, consumed him, until nothing else existed. He was sight and
sound and smell and taste and touch. When Sirius's hips thrust upwards, hungry
for more pressure, Remus ground down against him, making a sound that was
almost a snarl against his throat.
It was that sound that undid Sirius. A treacherous whine escaped his lips as
his cock pulsed, and hot slippery come coated his belly and Remus's.
"Fuck," gasped Remus as the resultant easy glide on his own cock sent him into
a long, shuddering climax. He collapsed on top of Sirius, panting, hips still
jerking.
Cautiously, Sirius unclenched his cramped fingers from the sheets and brought
them up to rest lightly on the damp skin of Remus's lower back, just under his
shirt. The only response was a contented sigh against Sirius's shoulder.
It would have been easy for them to fall asleep like that, pressed so close
together that it was impossible to tell whose heartbeat was whose, but at last
Remus groaned and rolled off him. This time, it was he who retrieved a stash of
tissues from under the pillow. Stickiness dealt with, neither of them had the
will to put their clothing in order. They pulled the blankets up over them for
warmth and cover.
"Don't fall asleep," warned Remus, wrapping an arm around him.
"No promises," sighed Sirius.
There was a moment of stillness, but it felt pensive rather than sleepy. Sirius
turned to find Remus watching him, a thoughtful set to his mouth.
"What?" Sirius asked, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.
Remus shook his head. "I just -- I never thought I'd be able to have anything
like this," he said softly. "You're -- thank you."
Sirius chuckled. "For what? Letting you have your wicked way with me? I assure
you, the pleasure was mine. Although some of it may have been yours, judging
from the mess," he added with a smirk.
The laughter died on Sirius's lips as Remus raised a hand to his cheek, brown
eyes warm with affection. "You're such a surprise, Sirius. I've never known
anyone like you. How can it be that two months ago, I didn't even know you?"
Sirius blinked as Remus's lips touched his forehead. Had it really been so
short a time? In just two months, he had met, fallen for, and somehow won this
wonderful, enigmatic puzzle of a boy. It seemed impossible, but Sirius was not
inclined to complain. He sighed in contentment, and submitted to Remus nuzzling
his neck.
"You even smell good," said Remus a moment later, drawing back to stare at him.
"How do you do that? I never thought I'd like --" He shook his head and
returned to planting hot openmouthed kisses up and down Sirius's throat, the
fingers of one hand tracing lazy spirals against the sensitive skin of Sirius's
belly.
"Remus?" he gasped as a hot tongue teased the curve of his collarbone.
"Hmmm?"
"I -- I'll be ready to go again in a minute, if you keep doing that."
"Is that so?" murmured Remus, hand sliding lower.
***** Shades of Intimacy *****
Those first weeks of sexual discovery were among the happiest of Sirius's life.
They did not do it every night. On some nights, one or both of them would be
too tired for more than a few sleepy kisses, and on others, it was enough just
to fall asleep talking and holding Remus's hand across the gap between their
beds. But more often than not, they found a few moments, day or night, to
indulge in physical intimacy.
At first, Sirius did his best to control his enthusiasm and remain as quiet and
still as possible, fearing that an inadvertent word or touch might trigger a
memory for Remus. However, he quickly made two important discoveries. The first
was that Remus loved it when he gasped and moaned and begged. "I want to hear
you," he growled during one passionate stolen moment which Sirius was unlikely
to forget anytime soon. The second was that Sirius loved the submissive role.
Nothing had ever turned him on the way that giving up all control to Remus did.
He did nothing without Remus's willing it, sometimes enduring long moments of
slow, exquisite torment at the other boy's hands, resulting in climaxes more
intense than Sirius had ever thought possible.
It did not take them long to discovered the delights of hand cream, already
familiar for wanking purposes. When Remus wrapped a slippery hand around his
cock for the first time, Sirius bit his own hand to keep from crying out and
waking the others. He could still see the teeth marks two days later.
It took longer for Remus to be comfortable letting Sirius return his touch, but
that changed one afternoon when they had the dormitory to themselves. Remus had
just finished giving Sirius a handjob, which Sirius thought might qualify as a
religious experience, but had yet to do anything about the situation in his own
trousers. When Remus's hands moved to his fly, Sirius quickly rallied himself.
"Let me try? Please?" he asked, not necessarily expecting a reply in the
affirmative.
Hesitantly, Remus nodded.
Sirius took Remus's hands in his own, kissing him. "You can tell me to stop
anytime, if you're not comfortable."
"I know," said Remus. "I trust you."
Nervous excitement coursed through Sirius. Remus's trust was a rare and
precious gift -- one Sirius would break himself into pieces rather than betray.
He needed to do this right. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, Sirius
kissed Remus again, touching his hands and arms and shoulders and back and all
the places Remus had felt safe letting him touch before. He took his time,
never crowding him, always letting Remus feel that he had an escape.
"What should I do now?" he murmured, when Remus's body began to relax.
"Um, you could take my pants off," suggested Remus, with only a slight tremor
in his voice.
Sirius smiled, kissing him again. "I like that idea."
Remus raised his hips, shivering, as Sirius tugged down his trousers and pants.
Sirius rested a hand on Remus's hipbone, experimentally running a thumb over
the bony ridge, but did not take his eyes off Remus's face.
"Show me how to touch you?"
Remus bit his lip, and Sirius held his breath as the other boy hesitantly took
his hand, guiding it between his legs. He was only half hard. His skin was
velvety-soft and warm to the touch, and when Sirius ran his fingers lightly up
the shaft and over the head, Remus's eyes fluttered closed, his hand relaxing
around Sirius's.
It was only then that Sirius allowed himself to look at Remus's cock. It was
nice to look at, and nicer still when it swelled to his touch. The head was
smooth and well-proportioned, exactly the same shade of pink Remus's ears
sometimes turned when Sirius whispered something filthy to him during lessons.
The shaft was long and straight, angling up over his belly. His sac was tight
and nearly hairless, balls cradled close to his body. Sirius bent his head
closer, watching in fascination as his hand closed around the base of the
shaft, sliding the foreskin slowly up and down before caressing the head with
his thumb. He grinned as Remus made an inarticulate sound, hips jutting up
against Sirius's palm. A bead of pre-come appeared at the tip as Sirius stroked
him again. Sirius wondered what it tasted like.
"Remus?"
"Hmmm?"
"Can I suck you off?"
Remus's eyes flew open, and he half sat up, his hand tightening around
Sirius's. "What?" he gasped.
"If you don't want me to, that's all right," said Sirius hastily. "It was only
an idea."
Remus stared at him in horrified fascination. "You -- want to do that?"
"I -- yeah, I guess so," said Sirius, disconcerted. "I mean, I've thought about
it, and it seems like it would feel good. Lots of people do it. If you don't
like it, though, that's OK."
"No, I -- I mean, if you want to --" stammered Remus. Slowly, he lay back, but
he continued to eye Sirius warily.
"You're sure?" Sirius asked. "You can tell me to stop if it's not good."
Remus nodded, lips pressed together.
Permission granted, Sirius wrapped his fingers around the base of the shaft
once more, and bent his head. He put his tongue out and delicately licked
Remus's slit. The taste was a little bitter and a little salty, but nothing he
could not handle. Remus gasped, but did not tell him to stop or try to push him
away. Emboldened, Sirius curled his tongue around the flared head. The smooth
texture was fascinating, the musky scent distinctly Remus. When his lips slid
down to engulf the head and administer the first tentative suck, Remus made a
choked sound, and his hips jerked. Sirius firmed his grip, drawing him in
deeper, swirling his tongue over the ridge that ran along the underside of
Remus's prick and sucking harder.
"Sirius! Oh, god! Stop!"
Sirius drew back immediately, loosening his grip. "What's the matter?"
Remus's cheeks were flushed, lips bitten red, eyes pleading. "If you keep doing
that, I -- I'll come."
"I know," said Sirius. "Isn't that the point?"
"But --" Remus looked endearingly flustered. "You don't want --"
Sirius grinned at his discomfiture. "It's OK if you come in my mouth, Remus. I
don't mind."
"Oh." Remus stared at him. "I -- really? You want that?"
In answer, Sirius bowed his head, sucking Remus deeply into his mouth, and
began bobbing his head in a brutal rhythm that could have only one outcome.
The only coherent sound Remus managed was a shaky "Sirius!" as he climaxed, his
body convulsing violently. Hot bitter fluid flooded Sirius's mouth. He
swallowed, making a face at the taste, and snuggled up beside a spent and
gasping Remus.
"What in god's name possessed you to do a thing like that?" Remus moaned,
covering his eyes.
"Didn't you like it?" asked Sirius, disappointed.
"I -- yes, but --"
Sirius grinned, relieved. "That's a good enough reason for me. I like making
you feel good. And I love watching you come."
He tilted his chin up to kiss Remus, but the other boy recoiled. "I -- sorry. I
can't. The taste --"
"Oh." Sirius bit his lip and settled himself against Remus's shoulder, pushing
down the sick angry feeling that welled up inside him when he was reminded of
Remus's past. "Should I not have done it, then?"
"No, it was good," Remus assured him. "Really good. But -- I can't do it for
you. I'm sorry. I wish I could show you how it felt."
"Don't be sorry." Sirius kissed the corner of Remus's jaw. "You do all kinds of
brilliant things for me -- or more to the point, to me. Do I look unsatisfied?"
Remus smiled reluctantly. "I suppose not. But I might need a quick refresher in
what 'satisfied' looks like. Pass me the lotion?"
After that, Sirius made a habit of cleaning his teeth a little more often than
usual, and Remus gradually became more comfortable giving up a little of his
control. But still Sirius felt as though Remus was holding back, and it worried
him. What if Remus decided they were going too fast, or thought Sirius was
being pushy? What if he changed his mind and wanted to write the whole thing
off as a bad idea? The thought made Sirius feel hollow and panicky, so he
pushed it away and gave himself over to the sheer joy of being with Remus,
trying to keep his expectations minimal, and letting Remus make the first move.
===============================================================================
Watching Remus covertly in History one day not long before the Christmas
holidays, admiring the soft fringe of golden-brown hair that hid Remus's eyes
as he took notes, and remembering the tickle of that same hair on his throat
less than an hour before, Sirius idly wondered if he was still a virgin. How
did one count such things if one was a boy who did things with boys? He knew
how things were usually measured in heterosexual relationships, and he had
heard of gay men performing similar acts, but it felt to Sirius as if the
things he and Remus did together ought to count. He wondered whether Remus
still considered himself a virgin, but he could not ask; Remus's past
complicated the question too much.
Perhaps because their clothing largely remained in place during their
encounters, or perhaps because they never had the luxury of falling asleep in
one another's arms, the things they did together still felt more like fooling
around than anything else, to Sirius. He began to realise that the concept of
virginity was ridiculous, impossible to measure, and that if it truly existed
at all, he would decide for himself when the moment had passed.
The holidays arrived, and James and Peter went home to their families. Sirius
was in the habit of spending as little time with his own parents as possible,
and while he had an open invitation to stay with the Potters whenever he liked,
he thought it unlikely that he could hide the agony of being without Remus from
them for two whole weeks.
Remus, much to Sirius's surprise, elected not to go home either. He had written
to his parents with a vague excuse about needing access to the school library
to catch up on his studies over the break. He and Sirius had not spoken about
it nor planned it, but there was a nervous excitement in the air at the thought
of having the dormitory all to themselves for a fortnight.
After seeing their roommates off at the school gates, Sirius and Remus walked
back up to St Godric's, grinning sidelong at one another. The excess of freedom
suddenly felt terrifying, and neither of them knew how to begin taking
advantage of it. They spent most of the day lingering in public spaces -- the
library, the dining hall, the common area of the dormitory -- engaged in
innocent conversation about friends and school and family, Sirius delighting in
making Remus laugh with tales of school Christmases past with James and Peter.
But as they left the dining hall after supper that evening, hands brushing
together under the cover of darkness as they walked, a tense silence fell
between them. Sirius drew out his nighttime ritual of cleaning his teeth and
changing into his pyjamas for as long as he could, berating himself for his
sudden inexplicable skittishness. Remus, reclining on his bed, striped pyjama
trousers exposing skinny ankles, saw the fear in his face.
"Come here," he said softly.
When Sirius approached, heart hammering against his ribs, Remus took his hand
and drew him down onto the narrow bed beside him, spooning him against his
chest, an arm wrapped protectively around him.
"We don't have to do anything tonight." Remus's breath was warm on his neck.
"Let's just sleep."
The tension that had tied Sirius in knots all day went out of him. He closed
his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing in the circle of Remus's arms.
"That sounds nice," he said as Remus pulled the blankets over them.
Soft lips pressed a kiss just below his ear. "Good night, Sirius."
Sirius found Remus's hand and laced their fingers together, bringing them to
his mouth. "G'night, Remus," he whispered.
He soon fell asleep, soothed by the gentle rise and fall of Remus's chest,
fingers still linked, a smile of contentment playing on his lips.
===============================================================================
Sirius woke the next morning with Remus's arm slung across his chest, his face
pressed against Sirius's neck. He stared at the ceiling, contemplating one of
the best nights' sleep he had ever experienced, and how good it felt to wake up
next to Remus. When the form beside him stirred, Sirius turned to watch Remus's
eyes flutter open, and felt a sharp tug inside his chest.
I'm done for, he realised in the face of tousled brown hair and a shy, sleepy
smile. I never want to wake up without him again.
"Morning," croaked Remus.
"Morning," echoed Sirius, trying to ignore the flutter in his belly. "Sleep all
right?"
The sweet smile widened and Remus stretched his long limbs luxuriantly. Sirius
felt an overwhelming desire to kiss the boy whose bare feet were tangled with
his own, and did so. Remus's arms folded around him, a hand cradling the back
of his neck.
After a few moments, Remus broke away, flushed. "We should probably stop, or
we'll -- ah -- miss breakfast."
"I suppose so," sighed Sirius. He could think of half a dozen things he would
rather do than go to breakfast, and all of them involved himself and Remus
staying right where they were. A day spent in bed with Remus sounded rather
like heaven to Sirius.
He dressed quickly, his back turned to hide the effect that their good morning
kiss had had on him, making a mental note to stop by the toilets later to stock
up on tissues. When he turned around again, Remus was watching him.
"There's no rush," the other boy reminded him, and he was not talking about
breakfast. "We have loads of time."
A reluctant smile tugged at Sirius's lips. "I know. I just --" he broke off,
shaking his head, because the words clamouring for space on his tongue
frightened him. I want to be with you all the time. I don't want to ever stop
touching you. I've never felt like this before. And there were other words
behind those that were too scary to contemplate, like the four-letter one
starting with "L", which Sirius was having more and more difficulty keeping out
of his thoughts.
"C'mon," said Remus with a sweet smile that only made matters worse. He held
out his hand, and Sirius took it, holding on as far as the door to their room -
- as far as was safe.
***** Comfort and Joy *****
The following week was spent in less innocent pursuits than their first night
alone in the dormitory had been. Though they did not try anything new, there
was less concern about keeping quiet with James and Peter gone. Sirius loudly
moaning Remus's name as he came was often the catalyst which took Remus,
cursing, over the edge with him. When Remus's hands were on him, all of
Sirius's guilt and anxiety melted away, and he knew nothing but pure joy.
Christmas morning dawned bright and cold. Frosty sunlight bounced off a crust
of snow to stream through the dormitory's open window, waking the intertwined
sleepers.
"Happy Christmas," they mumbled against one another's mouths before hurrying to
the bathroom to wash away the sticky residue of the previous night's
activities.
Sirius's foot nudged Remus's under the table at breakfast as the handful of
students and professors who had remained at school over the break exchanged
holiday greetings. Even Professor McGonagall was brimming with Christmas cheer,
and Sirius relaxed a little, allowing some of his own happiness to shine
through as he greeted the English mistress.
After breakfast, the staff herded the chattering students to the chapel for
Christmas services. Sirius usually found chapel unspeakably dull, but today
Remus sat beside him, and there could be nothing dull about that.
Remus was not bored by chapel. He had once confided to Sirius that he found it
peaceful. So far as Sirius was concerned, Remus was entitled to every measure
of peace he could find. This morning, Remus was relaxed and bright-eyed, his
rough but clear tenor voice sending shivers of pleasure down Sirius's spine
during the hymns. Sirius had no gift for music. He had been informed on more
than one occasion that if that was the best he could do, he should at least
have the decency to do it quietly, so he kept his voice low, and listened
instead to Remus, soaring through the familiar carols.
When they knelt in prayer after receiving the sacrament, Sirius admired Remus's
profile from beneath lowered lashes. Head bowed, cheeks flushed, lips moving in
silent petition, the honey-haired boy was the picture of innocence and pious
devotion.
He's beautiful, thought Sirius, a soppy smile tugging at his mouth. He was just
thinking of leaning over to steal a kiss while the eyes of the congregation
were closed in spiritual contemplation, when Remus's lips moved, forming a
silent Sirius.
Sirius's smile faltered as a wave of some huge, unnamed emotion welled up in
his chest. He did not understand why it should so move him to know that Remus
spoke his name to a god Sirius himself barely believed in, but it did. His
throat felt tight, and he wanted very badly to touch Remus, but Amens were
being said, and the worshippers were rising to their feet.
Sirius mouthed his way obliviously through Joy to the World, unable to focus on
anything but the ache in his chest and the boy beside him who was the cause of
it.
The service ended and they were released into the bright winter sunlight, but
Sirius remained silent on the walk back to the dormitory. Some of the boys had
arranged an impromptu holiday celebration in the common area, complete with
tea, biscuits, and mince pies, but Sirius did not feel inclined to be sociable.
Instead, he followed Remus down the corridor to their room.
Closing the door behind them, Remus gave him a mischievous grin. "I have
something for you," he said, crossing the room to his bed. A brief rummage
through his case produced a tiny parcel wrapped in brown paper which Remus
dropped into Sirius's surprised hands. "Happy Christmas."
Sirius stared at it, feeling guilty. "I didn't get you anything."
"You've given me loads more than --" Remus broke off, blushing. "The least I
could do was get you a Christmas prezzie. Stop whinging and open it."
Tearing through the thick brown paper, Sirius found a small wooden box with a
sliding top. Inside were the crumbling green buds and rich organic scent of the
finest grass to be had at St Godric's school. Sirius looked up, bewildered.
"I made some discreet inquiries," said Remus smugly. "Potter gave me the name
of your supplier."
"Remus, this is too much. You shouldn't have --"
Remus waved a hand dismissively. "I had some pocket money lying around. Anyway,
it's not just from me; Potter and Pettigrew chipped in, too."
Sirius bit his lip. "I -- thank you."
"So?" Remus nudged him in the ribs, grinning. "Shall we try it out?"
They circled around the grounds the long way, not wishing to seem in too much
of a hurry to be anywhere in particular, merely two friends enjoying a stroll
in the fresh air and rare winter sunshine. When they reached the chapel, they
glanced around to make certain they were not observed, then ducked behind the
building.
They shared only one joint between them, but it was enough to give them a
pleasant buzz. They were more interested in one another's company than the
drug. It was not long before Sirius found himself on his back in the snow with
Remus on top of him, his cold laughing mouth tasting of everything wonderful,
though the thick layers of wool between them kept anything more from happening.
Christmas dinner was an enormous many-coursed affair lasting most of the
afternoon. By the end of it, Sirius felt as stuffed as a Christmas goose, and
pleasantly drowsy. So relaxed was he that he almost forgot himself and took
Remus's hand during the short walk back to the dormitory afterwards. Remus
appeared lost in thought, but he smiled warmly when he caught Sirius looking at
him.
The dormitory was chilly and dark. Sirius knelt and laid a fire in the small
hearth at Peter's end of the room. By the time Remus joined him on the hearth
rug, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close, the flames were
crackling merrily. They sat enveloped in the little pool of dancing light,
reveling in companionable warmth and stillness.
"Good Christmas?" murmured Remus, lips brushing Sirius's ear.
"Yes," sighed Sirius. His hand moved to cover the one resting on his hip. "I'm
glad you decided to stay."
"I couldn't very well let you keep Christmas alone, could I?" said Remus.
"Oh." Sirius turned to look at him, surprised. "I thought --"
"That I only stayed to get into your pants?" Firelight flickered in Remus's
eyes, hiding his expression. "Enjoyable as that is, I do actually like spending
time with you, Sirius."
"I like being with you, too," said Sirius softly.
Remus's answering smile was tremulous.
"What's wrong?" Sirius reached up automatically to push Remus's hair back from
his cheek.
"I feel safe with you, Sirius," Remus admitted. "Safer than I've ever felt with
anyone except my family. I haven't had the dream in almost a month. It scares
me a little."
"Why?" asked Sirius, startled. His own nightmares had not put in an appearance
since the first night he had found his way into Remus's bed, and he could only
consider that a good thing.
Remus kissed his forehead. "Because I don't know what this is or how long it
will last. It's bad enough thinking things could go back to the way they were
before; I don't need my heart broken, too." His tone was light, but there was
an undercurrent of tension in it.
"Never -- I would never --" Sirius's chest felt tight, and he had to force the
words out, eyes fixed imploringly on Remus's face. "I don't ever want us to
stop. Remus, you're -- everything."
Words ran out, but actions were better. Twisting in Remus's arms, he pressed
their mouths together, trying to demonstrate his feelings for the other boy
that way. When that means of expression also proved insufficient, Sirius pulled
away and stood. Eyes never leaving Remus's, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt,
shedding it along with his vest. His trousers, socks, and pants followed with
the deliberate slowness of a sacred ritual, until he stood naked before Remus,
skin glowing in the firelight.
"Yours," he whispered fiercely.
"Oh," breathed Remus again. "Oh, Sirius. You're beautiful."
Sirius knelt, reaching for the buttons of Remus's shirt. Reverie shaken,
Remus's hands flew up to grab his, holding them fast.
"Don't --"
"Why not?"
Remus looked away, biting his lip. "I -- it's kind of a mess. There are a lot
of scars. It's ugly. You don't want --"
"I don't care." Sirius's voice was low and thick with yearning. His hands
squeezed Remus's. "I want to see you, Remus. I want to be with you. Trust me,
please?"
Slowly, Remus released Sirius's hands. "I trust you," he whispered.
The words and the tremor in his voice clutched at Sirius's heart and he had to
kiss Remus again before he could think of doing anything else, savouring the
sweetness of those full, soft lips. This time, when his fingers moved to
Remus's buttons, there was no protest, and when the white linen fell from his
shoulders, Remus's shaking hands helped him tug the vest over his head.
Sirius's breath caught in his throat. Firelight gleamed on knots and slashes of
shiny scar tissue. A blade passing too close to one dark nipple had left the
round shape with a straight edge. The other had been cut or burned away
entirely.
Sirius beheld the devastation for only a split second before tears blurred his
vision. His hands splayed over the damaged skin, and he bent his head to hide
the strong emotion, pressing his lips to the worst of the scars -- a twisted
pucker over Remus's heart -- as if the feeling flowing through him might prove
powerful enough to heal even that with a touch.
Tears spilled over as he closed his eyes, fingers stroking and touching,
learning the strange textures of Remus's skin. Under his blind caress, the
scars faded, and he felt instead the graceful arch of Remus's ribs, the warmth
of his body, the fearful pounding of his heart.
"I can put my shirt back on if -- if it's too --" Remus's vocal cords sounded
ready to snap under the tension in his voice.
Sirius looked up into fearful brown eyes.
"It's nothing," he said, pressing his mouth to Remus's. "You're perfect."
Remus made a small choked sound that might have been a laugh or a sob. "God,
Sirius! You're --"
But whatever Remus thought Sirius might be was lost in a kiss and a sudden rush
to separate Remus from his trousers. Their fire-heated skins merged, and like
wax figures, they melted into one another, chests and thighs and mouths and
cocks. Remus's arms were around him, bearing him down onto the hearth rug, and
Sirius went willingly, joyously, sliding his palms over Remus's scarred back,
hungry for every inch of his skin to be touching every inch of Remus's.
"Please," Sirius gasped into Remus's mouth as their hips rocked together,
sweating bodies seeking closeness, friction, rhythm. "Want you so much."
Something hot splashed onto Sirius's cheek, and he broke the kiss, shaken to
see the flames glinting off the tracks of tears on Remus's face.
"Remus?" he whispered.
The other boy opened his mouth, then shook his head and kissed Sirius again as
if he meant to drown himself in him. Sirius surrendered himself completely to
his lover's desperate embrace, to bruising fingers and straining hips, and when
Remus came, sobbing Sirius's name over and over again, he knew, this is it -
- this is real.
Climax bloomed through him like an epiphany -- a slow, warm glow suffusing his
entire body -- until he lost all awareness of anything except for the trembling
boy in his arms.
They lay quiet afterwards, Sirius's thumb stroking slow circles on Remus's
shoulderblade, Remus's face pressed against Sirius's neck.
"Remus?" he said softly, when he knew he must speak or burst.
A wuffling sound indicated some level of sentient awareness from the limp,
heavy form resting on his chest.
"Remus, what would you say if -- if I said I thought I was falling in love with
you?" He had hoped to sound casual, but the words left his tongue in a tense
rush.
Remus came back to life, raising his head to gaze down at Sirius as half a
dozen emotions flitted across his face. "I'd say --" His voice cracked and he
stopped, swallowing. "I'd say you needed your head examined."
"Right." Sirius tried to swallow the painful lump of disappointment in his
throat.
Then Remus's lips touched his. "And then I'd say that I really hope you are,
because I think I'm falling in love with you, too."
A shaky sigh of relief escaped Sirius's lips, and he relaxed, closing his eyes,
resuming the tiny caresses of his thumb against the skin of Remus's back, as
Remus's head came to rest on his shoulder once more.
"Remus?" he said again a moment later.
"Hmmm?"
"I think I'm falling in love with you."
He felt the rumble of Remus's chuckle between his hand and chest. "Tosser."
A smile of pure happiness spread across Sirius's face, and he turned to press
it to the top of Remus's head.
"I love you, Remus," he whispered.
A contented sigh misted warm against the skin of his shoulder. "I love you,
too, Sirius."
===============================================================================
The dormitory door crashed open and the boisterous conversation that had begun
in the corridor ceased abruptly.
Sirius blinked up from where he lay on the floor before the blackened hearth -
- Remus in his arms, both of them rigid with the shock of sudden waking -- and
into the drop-jawed faces of James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. He could only be
glad that it had been cold enough once the fire had gone out to warrant tugging
the quilt off Peter's nearby bed to cover them. He glanced furtively down to
make sure nothing personal was showing, drawing the quilt protectively over
Remus's exposed scars.
"You're -- ah -- back early," he said.
"Thought -- thought you lot would get bored without us," said James faintly.
"Wanted to surprise you."
Sirius grimaced. "Well, you've done that."
"My Gran made that quilt!" squeaked Peter, scandalised.
Remus, pale and wild-eyed, tugged the quilt up to his throat. "It's -- ah -
- very warm."
"You're -- but -- you two -- you're not -- are you?" stammered James, staring
back and forth between them.
"Er -- yes. Yes, we are," Sirius sighed, confirming the obvious. "Sorry. I
would've told you. I just --"
But Peter paid no attention to the stilted apology. He rounded on James and
punched him in the shoulder. "I said so, didn't I? You owe me a tenner!"
***** Promises *****
     Dear Mum and Dad,
     My friend Sirius Black has invited me to stay with his family for a
     fortnight, once school finishes. You remember his father is the Earl
     of Shellingham? I'm sorry; I know I wasn't home for Christmas or
     Easter this year. You can tell me how disappointed you are when you
     see me.
     A-Levels are going well, so far. Tomorrow is Maths, which I'm not at
     all worried about. Well, maybe a little. With any luck, I'll get the
     marks I need for Surrey, but I really hope I can meet Bristol's
     requirements. They're one of the best for Psychology.
     Expect me home around the end of June. I'll write again to let you
     know which day, and which train I'll be catching. Give Nat a hug from
     me when she gets home. I miss you.
     Your loving son,
     Remus
     P.S., Could you please pick up a copy of the LEA grant application
     for me so I can start filling it out as soon as I get home? Thanks!
===============================================================================
                                                                      June 1978
The train was hot and crowded. Remus had unbuttoned his top two buttons, but he
was still in danger of sweating through his shirt. He barely noticed. His eyes
were fixed on the boy beside him. Sirius sat hunched over, eyes lowered, white-
knuckled fists in his lap.
"Sirius --?" Remus pitched his voice below the hubbub of the carriage.
Sirius shook his head. "I'm fine."
Remus knew it was a lie. His face was pale, and there were dark circles under
his eyes -- marks left by the nightmares that had plagued his sleep every night
for the past week. Remus was exhausted, too. When Sirius did not sleep, he
rarely did either. He longed to reach over and touch the boy he loved, to offer
comfort, but they were in public.
"Sirius, talk to me." If he could only distract Sirius from his thoughts, he
might forestall a full-on anxiety attack.
"It's just -- I don't want to. I don't want to go home. I don't want to deal
with them."
"I know," murmured Remus, soothing. "But I'll be there, and before you know it,
you'll be off with James. Until then, just -- one day at a time, yeah?"
Sirius nodded jerkily. His hands clenched tighter across his belly.
"I -- I don't feel so -- I need some air," he gasped, leaping from his seat and
bolting down the narrow, crowded passage between the seats.
Hastily, Remus went after him. When Sirius ducked into one of the train's small
toilets, Remus followed. He stroked the sweat-soaked hair on the back of
Sirius's neck, murmuring soft words as Sirius brought up what little he had
eaten for breakfast, and helped him rinse his mouth with water, after. Sirius
clung to him, his whole body shaking. Remus could feel the pounding of his
heart as he held him close.
"Would it be easier if I wasn't there?" he asked. "I can go home tomorrow, if
it's too much."
Sirius's arms tightened around him. "Don't go!" his voice held a note of panic.
"I won't," Remus promised. "We're a team, aren't we? I have your back, no
matter what."
"I love you." The words were muffled against Remus's shoulder.
Remus smiled. "I love you, too. You're going to be fine."
===============================================================================
A car met them at the station. A very shiny, very black, and very expensive-
looking car. The crisply-dressed driver nodded to them before loading their
luggage into the boot.
"Welcome home, m'lord."
"Johnson," Sirius nodded in return. "This is my friend, Remus Lupin. He'll be
staying for a while."
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir," said the driver.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Sirius slid across the cushy red
leather seat to snuggle against a surprised Remus.
"It's all right," Sirius assured him. "Johnson won't blab. I saw him with a
bloke from the village once."
If the car was impressive, the residence was staggering.
"You live here?" said Remus faintly, peering through the dark-tinted windows as
the car passed through the gates of an imposing Mediaeval fortress, perched
high on a rocky promontory above the village.
Sirius shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "When I can't help it. Does it freak
you out?"
It did, a little. When they were at school, it was easy to forget that Sirius
came from old blood and massive wealth, but now the trappings of it were all
around Remus, making him feel self-consciously common and grubby. "It might
take some getting used to."
"Hopefully we won't be here long enough for that," said Sirius. "Will you kiss
me? It might be a while before we get the chance again."
The desperation on Sirius's lips reminded Remus that, however uncomfortable he
might feel in these surroundings, it was nothing to Sirius's anxiety at being
there. Sirius was still Sirius, whatever his background, and right now, comfort
and reassurance meant more to him than all the money in the world. Remus set
his own discomfort aside and devoted his full attention to making sure that
Sirius was well and thoroughly kissed until the car came to a stop.
They were met in the entrance hall by the tiny, elderly head housekeeper, whom
Sirius addressed as Mrs Kreacher. She eyed them with ill-disguised dislike.
"Your suite is ready, m'lord. I shall arrange a guest room for Mr Lupin." She
bowed stiffly, then added, "The Earl and Countess expect your presence in the
main dining hall at six o'clock, where you are to dine with them and their
guests. I will inform the serving staff to lay a place for Mr Lupin, as well."
"You didn't tell them I was coming?" asked Remus when she had gone.
Sirius shook his head. "They can't stop me having guests. I didn't see any
reason to tell them."
"She didn't seem very happy to see me."
"It's me she's not happy to see," said Sirius, jaw tight. "She was fond of
Regs, but she didn't like me even before --" He broke off and shook himself.
"C'mon."
Sirius showed him up the stairs, pointing out various items of value or history
along the way. Remus nodded or said "oh, really?" at appropriate intervals, and
Sirius cast him odd, assessing looks. When they reached his rooms, Sirius
closed the door and leaned against it.
"So, what do you think?"
Remus shrugged. "It's all right, I guess. I wouldn't much fancy the thought of
living here, though."
Sirius let out a breath and sagged against the door. "Oh, good. Me neither."
"You didn't think I was interested in your money, did you?" asked Remus.
It was Sirius's turn to shrug. "Not really. But sometimes, people get weird
after they've seen all this."
"Come here," said Remus, holding out his hands.
Sirius stepped closer and took them. Remus squeezed his fingers tight, resting
his forehead against Sirius's.
"I promise not to 'get weird' about it," he said. "Money's nice. Enough money,
I mean. Anything extra is unnecessary. Now, shall we go find some lunch?"
Sirius kissed Remus on the nose. "Yes, definitely."
===============================================================================
After lunch, they returned to Sirius's rooms and took a nap on the enormous
canopied bed. Sirius slept soundly, safe in Remus's arms.
They woke in time for supper. Remus returned to the guest room to find his best
shirt and trousers freshly pressed, and his shoes polished. This will
definitely take some getting used to, he thought as he dressed.
He was not certain how he felt about meeting Sirius's parents. He was not
looking forwards to the experience, but on the other hand, he did not have to
worry much about making a good impression; it did not matter whether they liked
him or not, especially not to Sirius. Still, Remus found that he did want to
make a good impression if he could.
The Earl and Countess greeted him with polite, neutral smiles when Sirius
introduced him. The Earl resembled his son to a remarkable degree, sharing the
same black hair, grey eyes, and aristocratic good looks. His temples were
greying, and deep lines framed his nose and mouth. The Countess was not as
attractive as her husband. She was a tall, thin woman with a sharp face, iron-
grey hair, and suspicious black eyes.
Their other guests for supper were the Mayor of Shellingham, the vicar of the
local parish, a baroness and her teenage daughter. Sirius greeted the girl
stiffly. When they sat down at the table, Remus felt Sirius's foot nudge
against his. He nudged back -- the only comfort and encouragement he could
safely offer.
Remus was soft-spoken and polite to the other diners, speaking only when spoken
to. Sirius, too, was quiet. He spoke only when asked direct questions, and his
responses were monosyllabic. The girl sitting across from him tried in vain to
engage him in conversation, but Sirius hardly looked at her. His parents,
seated at the ends of the table, could barely conceal their disapproval. When
his father pointedly suggested that perhaps he would like to give the young
lady a tour of the castle grounds after supper, Sirius's jaw tightened, but all
he said was, "I'm tired, Father. It's been a long day."
"I'd love to see the grounds sometime," said the girl. "Perhaps next week --?"
"Doubtful," Sirius told her frostily. "I have a very busy summer planned. I
suggest taking one of the official guided tours of the estate. The guides
should be able to tell you anything you want to know."
The girl lapsed into disappointed silence.
"Don't be silly," said the Countess with a false smile. "My son has been too
long at school. He has forgotten the proper courtesies due a young lady. I'm
sure he can find the time for such a charming companion in his busy schedule."
The vicar shook his head mournfully. "Boys' schools can be dangerous, if one is
not vigilant. Without the civilising influence of women, young men can fall
into all kinds of trouble, and even sinful behaviour."
The Countess's mouth tightened. "Well, we do not tolerate that sort of nonsense
in this house."
"No, of course not!" the vicar blushed. "I never meant to suggest -- Please
forgive me, m'lady."
"There is nothing to forgive, Father." The Countess waved a dismissive hand. "I
have heard such rumours as well. I hope there is little truth to them, but I
imagine such animalistic tendencies are more common among the lower classes.
Well-bred gentlemen do not engage in such behaviour."
"I am sure you are right, m'lady," said the vicar. "But what are we thinking,
speaking of such unsavoury topics in the presence of a young lady?" He bowed
his head to the girl. "Your pardon, my dear."
The girl looked puzzled, but nodded to him in return. From the end of the
table, the Countess's eyes flicked between her son and Remus, her lips pressed
thin. She knows, he thought.
When the guests departed, the Earl and Countess bid Remus goodnight as well,
but asked Sirius to remain a moment. Remus did not want to leave him alone with
them, but saw no way around it. He went up the stairs and hovered in the
doorway to the guest room, waiting.
It was half an hour before Sirius reappeared, looking battle-weary and
completely demoralised. As soon as Remus closed the door, Sirius fell into his
arms, trembling.
"I have to go on three outings with that girl next month," he said, voice
muffled in Remus's shirt. "It's the only way they would agree to let you stay.
And they said if they hear even a hint of any impropriety, they'll send you
packing."
"It's all right," Remus told him, stroking his hair. "We'll be careful."
"They hate me. My family hates me. And I hate them." He lifted his head to look
at Remus. "Does that make me a terrible person? Hating my family? I come from
them. What if I'm just like them?"
"Shhh," Remus soothed. "You're not a thing like them. You're wonderful. If you
weren't, I wouldn't love you as much as I do." The tender kiss he pressed to
Sirius's mouth went on for a long time.
"Can we go to bed?" sighed Sirius. "I just -- don't want to think about
anything for a while."
"Of course."
Gently, Remus undressed him, kissing him again and again. When he laid him down
on the bed, Sirius plucked at the vest Remus still wore.
"If it makes you more comfortable, you can keep it on, but you don't have to
wear it on my account. Your scars don't trouble me. I'd like to be as close to
you as possible right now."
Remus hesitated only a moment before drawing the undershirt off over his head.
He gathered Sirius into his arms and held him close, their bare skins pressed
together, kissing and touching and murmuring soft words. Remus made love to
Sirius slowly and gently, and afterwards, held him while he wept.
"Better now?" he asked, when Sirius quieted.
"Much," sighed Sirius, nuzzling closer against Remus's shoulder. "Dunno what
I'll do without you when I'm off galavanting around Europe with James."
"I'll miss you, too," said Remus, kissing the top of his head.
Sirius's thumb traced the curve of Remus's collarbone. "I could fly you down
for a weekend, now and then. You could meet me in Paris, Rome, Prague...."
"You'll probably meet a handsome Frenchman and forget all about me," Remus
teased. "Anyway, I wouldn't feel right having you spend that much money on me."
"The money's nothing," Sirius told him. "I'd rather have you than a thousand
handsome Frenchmen and all the money in the world."
Remus laughed. "I'll bet you say that to all the boys."
Sirius looked up at him, eyes searching. "I'm not joking, Remus. If I lost
everything, but I still had you, I would be happy. I don't ever want us to
stop."
Remus's smile softened. "I don't either."
Groping for his hand, Sirius laced their fingers together. "If it were legal,"
he said softly, "I'd ask you to marry me."
The breath caught in Remus's throat. "But it's not."
"Would you?" Sirius asked. "If we could? Would you marry me, Remus?"
Remus's heart was hammering in his chest. It was difficult to speak around the
lump in his throat. "Yes," he whispered.
The next few minutes were filled with kissing. When they broke apart, there
were tears on Remus's cheeks.
"What's this?" asked Sirius, thumb brushing away the moisture.
Remus shook his head. "It's silly, but -- I feel like you really proposed to
me."
"I think I did," said Sirius. "There's no law against me asking, or against you
saying 'yes'."
"I suppose that's true."
"Just promise me, Remus," Sirius begged, "if there's ever a way that we can,
we'll make it real."
"I promise."
They kissed some more, and then Sirius grinned. "I suppose this means you're my
fiancé now. And I'm yours."
Remus could not hold back a smile. "I suppose it does."
"I'm going to buy you a ring," Sirius told him.
"Don't be silly," laughed Remus.
Sirius snuggled closer in Remus's arms with a contented sigh. "I am, though.
Only the best for my betrothed."
***** Forgiveness *****
Though it was only just past midmorning, the day was already warm. Sunlight
shone from a clear blue sky, scattering sparks over the distant waves and
warming the sandy path which led from the castle, past the village of
Shellingham, and up to the crest of a grassy hill. The village was filled with
a cheery summer bustle, but the hill was quiet, the path between it and the
castle deserted except for two barefoot figures.
A salt-scented breeze ruffled Remus's hair, making him feel as light as the
sunlit air. He imagined that if he took a deep enough breath of it, he might
float away altogether. All that held him to the earth was the hand holding his.
He glanced fondly at the boy beside him. Sirius's hair was getting long, shiny
black tresses curling over collar and ears. Remus liked it, but there was not
much that he did not like about Sirius. Since the moment that his lips had
touched Remus's over a year and a half before, everything had changed. The
shift had been so sudden and so profound that Remus would not have been
surprised to learn that Sirius possessed magical powers, unknown even to
himself.
Before meeting the other boy, Remus had felt isolated and alone. He had no
friends because he had not tried to make any; other boys did not understand
him, and he had no desire to explain himself. But a look from Sirius had
unlocked the granite chamber of Remus's heart, and all his secrets had come
pouring out. His darkest fears had proved insubstantial in the face of his
growing feelings for the other boy. Sirius, warm and eager in his bed, was
safety and comfort, as much as he was heat and hunger. His desire for Remus's
damaged body had helped to make him feel whole again.
Remus was in love. Beautiful, impulsive Sirius Black had stolen his heart, and
that love had healed Remus more than doctors, medications, or the passage of
time.
There were still bad days. It was never Sirius's fault -- he was always so
conscientious with Remus when they made love -- but sometimes a touch or a word
would send Remus reeling backwards through time, tearing him from Sirius's
embrace and driving him to the open window, sick and dizzy, until the night air
chilled his skin and drained the poison from his blood. When that happened,
Sirius knew better than to approach him. Instead, he would slink back to his
own bed, burrow guiltily under the covers, and wait for Remus to come back to
him. When he did, Sirius would offer abject contrition, and Remus would reach
across the space between them and take his hand. They would fall asleep like
that, comforted by the knowledge that tomorrow would be better.
Remus would never be able to outrun the horrors of his childhood entirely, but
sometimes whole days would pass and he would not think of them. It had been
nearly a year since the last time he had cut himself, and even his nightmares
had grown infrequent. With Sirius close enough to touch, Remus felt safe. He
slept peacefully, without fear of ambush from the darkness that lurked in his
psyche.
The path crested the hill, and the two young men stopped at a wrought iron
gate. Wide grey eyes turned towards Remus, pleading.
"Remus, I can't --"
"Yes, you can. You told me last night not to let you talk yourself out of it.
Go on. I'll be right here." He squeezed Sirius's hand, then let go, leaving him
to walk the last few steps alone.
His heart ached for the boy he loved with every reluctant step Sirius took,
face pale, eyes fixed on his goal. When he reached it, he crouched down, one
hand moving to trace the letters carved into the slab of white marble.
"Hey, Regs," he said softly.
Remus swallowed a lump in his throat and blinked back tears as he watched
Sirius greet the brother he had not spoken to for eight years.
"Sorry I never came before now. I always meant to, but -- I couldn't. Didn't
know if you'd want me to. I thought it was my fault, what happened, and I
thought -- maybe you did, too."
Sirius's voice gained strength as he spoke. "I've finished school. James and I
are taking a gap year to go travelling. No idea where yet. James is my best
mate. You never met him, but he's ace. When we get back, I'm off to university.
Mother and Father will be glad to be rid of me, I expect. They still haven't
forgiven me for what happened."
His lower lip trembled and he made the rest of his confession in an urgent
rush. "I still dream about it all the time, Regs. You're there and I know
what's going to happen, but I can never stop it. Remus thought if I came here,
maybe it would help. He understands about dreams."
He glanced up at Remus, standing nearby. "This is Remus, Regs. He's -- You
would've loved him. At least, I hope you would have. I do." The last words were
barely a whisper.
Remus's heart squeezed as grey eyes held his for a moment before turning back
to the white stone.
Sirius took a deep breath. "Regs, I'm queer. I just -- thought you should know,
since you're my brother. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference to you. Mother and
Father think I'm being ridiculous, and I'll get over it and do all the things
I'm supposed to do for the sake of the family. Maybe you would've stood by me
and told them to go get stuffed. I hope so. But if you were here, then they'd
have you to carry on the family name. It wouldn't matter so much what I did."
Sirius bowed his head, voice tight with sorrow. "I miss you. I'm sorry. God,
I'm so, so sorry, Regs --"
Tears fell from his lashes to vanish in the grass that covered the small grave.
A sob tore from his throat, and Remus was there, pulling him into his arms,
holding him tightly as he went to pieces. They held each other for long
minutes, swaying in the sea-scented air, until Sirius's breathing turned from
sobs to shaky gasps.
"I love you," he whispered as Remus stroked his neck.
"I know," murmured Remus, tasting the salt of tears on Sirius' lips. "Do you
want to go now? We can come back whenever you like."
Sirius nodded. When Remus let go of him, he removed something from the back
pocket of his denims, and set it carefully atop the marble memorial.
"It's a scallop shell," he said softly to the brother sleeping beneath the
earth. "We found it on the beach yesterday. I thought you'd like it."
Remus knew it was not only a token of remembrance; it was also a sign to
Sirius's parents, so that they would know he had been there, for whatever that
might mean to them.
"C'mon," Remus said, holding out his hand. "We'll walk back along the beach."
Sirius nodded, touching the sun-warmed stone one last time. "Bye, Regs. It was
good talking to you. I'll come back again soon."
The wrought iron gate creaked as the two young men passed through it and turned
down the path, hand in hand, leaving the dead to their rest.
They took a side path, circling beneath the forbidding bulk of Shellingham
Castle, high on its rocky outcrop, and waded through the tough, scrubby grass
that clung to the shore, gradually giving way to the rippled expanse of ruddy
gold sand. The tide was high, washing over their bare feet as they passed in
and out of the shadow of the sandstone cliffs. Sirius was silent all the way
down from the graveyard, and when Remus looked at him, his face was turned
away, gazing out over the sparkling expanse of the North Sea.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Fine," Sirius said, not taking his eyes off the water.
Remus stopped, tugging at Sirius's hand to force him around to face him. "No,
you're not. Talk to me."
Sirius turned reluctantly. His eyes flickered up over the cliff face, and then
dropped back down to his hand, linked with Remus's. "Not here. I can't --"
Realisation dawned on Remus. "Oh. Is this where --?"
"I don't know." Sirius shook his head. "The beach changes. Storms and things.
But -- near here."
"You haven't been down here since it happened?" asked Remus sympathetically.
"No. Just the public beach, where we were yesterday."
He let go of Remus's hand and turned away, his eyes and footsteps drawn
unwillingly to the craggy wall of sandstone. Remus followed, but said nothing.
When he reached the cliff face, Sirius pressed his palms flat against the
unyielding surface. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against the rough
stone.
"I did it, Remus. I killed him," he said, sounding desolate. "I might as well
have done it with my own hands."
One hand came away from the rock, formed a fist, and crashed back into the
cliff.
"Stop that!" cried Remus, grabbing him by the arms and turning him away.
"You'll hurt yourself."
"Does it matter?" Sirius's face was streaked with tears of rage. Flinty eyes
bored into Remus. "Don't I deserve it? I killed my brother."
"No," Remus said. "You didn't. You --"
Suddenly Sirius was kissing him, hard and desperate, teeth sinking into his
lower lip.
"Sirius, what --?" he gasped, fighting to keep his balance.
"Fuck me. Right here," Sirius whined, arms twining around Remus's neck. "Fuck
me, Remus. Hurt me!"
"Stop it!" Remus jerked away, grabbing Sirius by the shoulders, and giving him
a shake. "That's not a punishment. I would never use that to hurt you. Jesus,
Sirius. Your family punishes you, your own psyche punishes you -- eight years
of nightmares! -- you think I should punish you, too? Haven't you had enough?
It was never your fault."
Sirius continued shaking his head in a misery of denial. "It was! You don't
know --"
"Shut up," Remus snapped, and Sirius blinked at him in surprise. "It was his
own damn fault, wasn't it? Regulus's. He chose to climb the cliffs, didn't he?
And he kept climbing in spite of his better judgment."
"No!" gasped Sirius, horrified. "He was just a kid! He died, Remus! How can you
--?"
Remus cupped Sirius's face in his hands, eyes softening. "If it wasn't his
fault, how could it be yours? Were you so much older and wiser?"
Sirius stared at him in shock. Then his shoulders sagged and Remus drew him in,
holding him against his chest. Tremors shook the boy in his arms, and a gasping
breath bubbled from between his lips.
"Are you OK?" he asked gently.
There was a snort, and Remus realised that Sirius was laughing.
"Sirius?" Remus held him at arms length, brown eyes searching, concerned.
Sirius grinned, wiping the tears from his cheeks with bloody knuckles. "I'm
just imagining what you'll be like after three years of studying Psychology.
God, you'll be bloody terrifying! I'll never stand a chance."
A smile tugged at Remus's mouth. "Count on it. You'll get better whether you
like it or not, Sirius Black."
===============================================================================
Countess Walburga knew something was amiss the moment she stepped into the
entrance hall. A knot of early summer tourists babbled excitedly in various
accents, but they were not gazing in wonder at the rich appointments and
ancient majesty of her ancestral home. Their white-faced tour guide stood apart
from the group, bent in low, urgent conversation with Mrs Kreacher.
Walburga strode towards them, jaw clenched. She tolerated these incursions from
commoners because opening the castle to tourists made the family seem generous,
but she would brook no unpleasantness in her home.
"What's happened?" She demanded.
"I'm sorry, m'lady," stammered the tour guide, terror increasing tenfold upon
sight of the Countess. "I was not informed that the heir was in residence. Had
I but known, I would have sent Lord Sirius notification of all scheduled tours
--"
"Aye," jeered a Glaswegian tourist, heavy camera slung about his neck. "Next
thing, ye'll be sayin' how ye didna ken the heir was a flamin' poof, neither."
Walburga rounded on Mrs Kreacher, who blanched visibly. Her black eyes flashed
fire. "What did they see?"
***** Acceptance *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Did you hear that?" Sylvia Lupin sat up in bed, heart in her throat, staring
towards the bedroom door and listening hard over the sound of heavy raindrops
battering the window.
Her husband Marcellus squinted sleepily up at her. "Eh?"
"I heard something. Downstairs."
No coward, Sylvia put her feet out of bed. Grasping one of the clubs from the
golf bag in the corner, she hurried to the door, glancing back over her
shoulder with one hand on the brass knob.
"Coming?"
Hastily, Marcellus scrambled out of bed and shrugged into his dressing gown,
joining his wife at the door. There was a silent count of one, two, three
before the door was thrown open, and they leapt out onto the landing.
Two teenage boys, wet hair plastered to their faces, stood in the entryway,
talking in hushed voices.
"Remus?" Sylvia gasped. She hurried down the stairs and threw her arms around
her son.
"Mum!" he cried, belatedly embracing her in return. "Did we wake you? Sorry for
getting in so late; we had to catch the last train. What's the golf club for?"
She released him with an embarrassed grin and leaned the nine iron against the
wall.
"Your mother's defending the house from intruders," quipped Marcellus, as he,
too, embraced the boy. "Welcome home, Son. We weren't expecting you before next
week."
Remus looked slightly flushed. "Yeah. Sorry. Long story. Mum, Dad, this is my
friend Sirius Black."
The boy lurking awkwardly behind Remus stepped forwards, offering a damp
handshake.
"Sorry to drop in on you so unexpectedly, Mr and Mrs Lupin, but Remus said you
might be willing to put me up for the night. It's rather nasty out, and I seem
to have forgotten my brolly."
He was not quite as tall as Remus, and his too-long hair was black as midnight,
as were the lashes framing a pair of astonishingly lovely wide grey eyes. He
was, in fact, quite striking. His bearing and accent spoke of the extreme upper
echelons of Society, but his smile was friendly, and his manner charming.
Sylvia was not charmed. She mistrusted friendly strangers, especially where her
son was concerned, but she was also a gracious hostess.
"Yes, of course," she said, automatically pinning a politely friendly
expression on her face. "Do you have something dry to wear? You lads must be
soaked to the skin. We haven't any guest room, I'm afraid, but I'll fetch some
blankets for the sofa. Would you care for tea?"
"There's no need for all that, Mum," said Remus, reappearing at her shoulder
and handing the handsome boy a towel to dry his hair. "It's late. Sirius and I
have had a long day, and you and Dad were already in bed. He can bunk up with
me for tonight."
Sylvia's brow furrowed as she cast a glance back and forth between her son and
his friend. "You're sure?"
An odd half-smile pulled at the corner of Remus's mouth, and he gave her arm a
reassuring squeeze. "It's fine, Mum."
Sylvia relaxed a little at the fond expression in her son's soft brown eyes, so
like her own. He's Remus's friend, she chided herself. He trusts him.
"All right," she said, smiling reluctantly. "To bed with you both, then. We'll
talk tomorrow."
It might only have been her imagination, but Sylvia thought the half-smile on
Remus's lips wavered for a moment. "Definitely."
===============================================================================
The following morning, Marcellus was out at dawn on a house call to a nearby
farm, overseeing the delivery of a foal to a heavily pedigreed mare, so it was
left to Sylvia to fix breakfast for her son and Sirius.
"So what made you boys blow into town with the storm last night?" she asked,
setting plates of eggs, sausage, toast, and fried tomatoes before them.
Sirius hesitated, fork halfway to his mouth, eyes flicking to Remus, who was
staring at his own plate.
"It's a long story, Mum. Can it wait until Dad gets home? I don't fancy telling
it twice."
"Of course," she said, giving him a curious look.
She watched him covertly as she ate her own breakfast, but he did not seem
upset. In fact, as they discussed Remus's last weeks at school and his recent
exams, he seemed unusually cheerful, smiling frequently, and even laughing at
one of Sirius's jokes. But whenever the boys' eyes met, Sylvia sensed a current
of tension, and then Remus would develop a nervous, pensive look, falling
silent once more.
Sirius continued to be polite, well-spoken, and charming, jumping in to fill
the lulls in their conversation. By the time Sylvia left the table and Sirius
leapt to his feet to offer help with the washing up, she was smiling in spite
of herself. Waving away his offers, she chided herself for her reservations.
Remus had been alone for so long. Should she not be glad that he had at last
found a friend who was thoughtful and intelligent and could make him laugh?
They were companionably enjoying tea in the sitting room when Marcellus Lupin
returned, beaming. "A fine, healthy sorrel colt," he announced proudly. "And
they didn't pay me in chickens this time."
"There are worse things than chickens," replied Sylvia darkly. "Remember the
time with the pig? Tell me they paid you in cash."
"They did," her husband informed her.
Sirius mouthed pig? at Remus, who rolled his eyes, grinning. As Marcellus
ducked into the kitchen to fill another mug, Sylvia and Remus took turns
recounting the saga of the pig. By the time they had finished, Sirius was
laughing so hard he could barely breathe, and Marcellus had returned to the
sitting room to join his wife on the sofa.
"I don't accept pigs as payment anymore," Marcellus told their guest. "Not live
ones, at least."
"No, I can see why not," gasped Sirius, wiping his eyes. "Are the neighbours
still speaking to you? The ones who owned the cat?"
"Happily, yes," said Sylvia. "We resolved the matter over a fine ham supper."
Sirius was still chortling when Remus set down his mug and sat forwards in his
chair, clearing his throat. "Mum, Dad, can I talk to you about something? It's
sort of important."
"Of course, Son," said Marcellus, sitting up a little straighter. "What's the
trouble? You know you can tell me and your mother anything."
Sylvia made an assenting noise, eyes sliding sideways to Sirius. He stared down
at the mug in his hands, as if trying very hard to pretend he was not part of
the conversation. He clearly already knew what this was all about.
"I know, Dad," said Remus, smiling fondly. "You've always been great about
everything. I never meant to keep secrets from you, but --" He broke off,
looking nervous.
"But?" Sylvia sat forwards, too, tea forgotten, heart suddenly beating double
time. Something was not right. "Remus, did something happen at school? Or with
your exams? Is this -- about a girl?"
Remus flushed. "No, Mum. Nothing like that. Or not exactly."
At a loss, he reached for her, and she clasped his hand between hers, offering
an encouraging smile that she knew fell short of the mark. "Tell me,
Sweetheart."
Fingers squeezed hers as Remus drew a shaky breath. "Mum. Dad. I -- I'm gay. I
like boys, not girls."
Whatever Sylvia had been expecting, that was not it. She stared at her son in
shock, unable to formulate a coherent response.
The spell was broken by the nervous clearing of a throat. A quiet, well-bred
voice said, "Mr and Mrs Lupin --"
Realisation jolted through Sylvia. Her gaze snapped from her son to his friend.
Waves of sick horror washed over her as everything became suddenly, horribly
clear. This boy -- this stranger -- this overbred interloper -- had had his
hands on her son -- had been in his bed only the night before, in her home,
mere feet from where she slept, doing god only knew what manner of filthy,
obscene things to him.
She was not aware of standing up, nor of letting go of Remus's hand.
"How dare you?" she hissed. Her voice shook with a cold rage. "How dare you
touch my son? After everything he's been through, what gives you the right?
Your name? Your money? You think you can use people in that vile fashion?
You're nothing. You're not fit to look at him. Get out of my house."
Colour flooded Sirius's cheeks as she spoke. He rose to his feet, fists
clenched, eyes blazing.
"I love your son, Mrs Lupin." His voice was low and dangerous, anger roughening
the edges of his cultured accent. "I love him, d'you hear me? I would never
hurt him nor take advantage of him in any way. I wouldn't even touch him if he
didn't ask me to do it." He turned to Remus. "You'll have an easier time doing
this without me here. Come find me when you're done."
Shoulders squared, he stalked to the front door, shutting it firmly behind him.
With the focus of her rage gone, Sylvia gradually became aware of her
surroundings once more. Marcellus sat with his face in his hands. Remus's eyes
were closed, a hand pressed to his mouth. His expression spoke of one gathering
strength in the face of imminent battle.
"Well?" Sylvia demanded. "Is it true? Did you allow that boy to violate you?"
Slowly, Remus lowered the hand covering his mouth. His eyes were filled with
pain and sadness. "Don't call it that, Mum. Sirius loves me, and I love him."
"Has he so corrupted you?" Sylvia was torn between sorrow for her son and
disgust at what had been done to him. "You think it's love just because he
calls it that? People have taken advantage of you before, Remus. How can you
close your eyes to it? To let him make a fool and a -- a whore of you --"
Remus's face went dead white. Even his lips lost their colour. "You think I've
forgotten?" his voice was a bare whisper that gained strength as he spoke.
"When someone makes you their whore, Mother, you don't ever forget it. Yes,
I've been taken advantage of. People have used me, or tried to. But not Sirius.
Never him. You think I don't know the difference?"
They glared at one another, implacable brown eyes at stalemate, until a quiet,
strained voice asked, "Did this happen because of Guernsey, Son? Are you like
this because of what he did to you?"
Remus's shoulders slumped. "No. You can't make someone queer. I would have been
this way no matter what. I know this isn't what you wanted for me, but it's who
I am. I've known for a long time; I just never wanted to do anything about it
until I met Sirius. He's a good man, Dad, I swear it. If you and Mum will only
give him a chance --"
"A chance to do what?" demanded Sylvia. "To use his privilege to indulge in his
filthy perversions? Not in this house. What happens once he's had his fun? You
think he won't grow bored and toss you aside? His kind usually do."
"He won't," insisted Remus. "D'you want to know why we came here last night?
His parents have thrown him out. Disinherited him. Some tourists visiting
Shellingham saw us kissing. A few of them got pictures. Don't worry," he added
at the horrified sounds from both his parents. "They didn't get a good look at
me, and no one knows my name, but it's odds on that Sirius's face will be all
over the tabloids in a couple of days. His parents heard about it from the
housekeeper. There was a huge row. They said he'd disgraced them in public and
soiled the family's good name. His father told him not to come back until he's
willing to 'do his duty'." A fond smile lit his mouth. "Sirius said he already
had everything he wanted. But now he has nowhere to go until his best mate
comes back from France."
His mother frowned, but Marcellus spoke first, voice gentle, sympathetic. "I
can understand how that might seem like a very romantic gesture, Son. But he's
young. He doesn't understand yet what foreswearing his inheritance will mean,
or how people will treat the two of you. It's not an easy path, especially for
someone who's not used to fending for himself. What happens if he changes his
mind?"
Sylvia stared at her husband in disbelief. "What's gotten into you, Marc? Your
son tells you that some posh nance has been bedding him, and you can talk about
'romantic gestures'?"
"Syl --" Marcellus began, brow furrowing, but Remus cut him off, pleading eyes
fixed on his mother's face.
"He's been good for me, Mum. I haven't had a nightmare since March. Do I have
to tell you how good it is to be able to fall asleep without worrying that I'll
end up right back in that place, living it all over again? I don't need those
sleeping pills you're always after me to take. I need Sirius. I'm better with
him. Please, give him a chance."
Sylvia's jaw remained clenched as she gave her son a long, assessing look. She
knew only too well how many nights he had awoken in a blind panic of terror and
memory -- how many nights she had beat back her own heartbreak to hold him
while he shook and cried. If he was telling the truth, and it really had been
three months since his last nightmare, that would be something close to a
miracle.
"All right," she said at last. "He can stay until he finds another place. No
more than a week, you understand? But he sleeps on the sofa, and I don't want
to see him touching you."
===============================================================================
Lack of sleep made Sylvia even more cross than she already was. At night, every
sound kept her wakeful, imagining Sirius creeping up the stairs to Remus's
room. She briefly considered sleeping in front of her son's door, but dismissed
the idea as impractical and probably excessive. Both boys had given their word
to abide by her rules, and while she still considered Sirius a dangerous
unknown, she trusted Remus implicitly, in spite of his recent confession.
When she did sleep, she dreamed.
Sylvia could not imagine the horror of the nightmares endured by her son. Her
own were bad enough. The memory of Remus's disappearance, and the clenching
fear that had marked four months of diminishing hope that they would ever see
him alive again, hung like a black fog in her unconscious mind, making her toss
and turn. But her most vivid dreams were of the day Remus had been restored to
her -- the day she could never forget, no matter how hard she tried -- the day
Sylvia wished that her son had died after all.
She had wept with joy when they received word that Remus had been found alive,
and they had hastily arranged for their daughter Natalie to stay with
Marcellus's parents, before rushing back to Guernsey. The detective who had
spoken to them over the phone was reticent about the details, saying only that
Remus had been located, and giving them the name of the hospital where he was
being treated.
Their happiness and relief had lasted until they arrived at the hospital.
There, a doctor had taken them aside and told them what had happened to Remus.
Though she could not remember his name, Sylvia could still recall with painful
clarity the distant, clinical tone of his voice as he described her small son's
suffering. Words like "malnourishment", "trauma", "tissue damage", and
"secondary stage syphilitic infection" made a pincushion of her heart. It was
more than any child should have to bear, and more than any mother should have
to hear, and yet she had bourne it, dry-eyed, until she saw him.
He was sitting bolt upright, looking impossibly tiny in the midst of his
hospital bed. His eyes seemed huge in his thin face, with his usual halo of
white-blond hair cropped away. Bandages covered his arms and chest, and tubes
protruded from a skinny wrist, feeding fluids into his veins.
They had told her she should be careful of touching him, but when he saw her,
his eyes had gone impossibly wide, and he burst into tears. Instantly, she was
at his bedside, pulling him into her arms, cradling his shockingly light body
against her bosom as they lost themselves to a storm of weeping.
She could recall perfectly the fragile birdlike feel of his bones, the weakness
of his arms as he clung to her, and the sickening evidence of imprisonment,
torture, and rape that riddled his small body. But most of all, she remembered
the broken hiccoughing sobs as he wailed, "I'm sorry, Mummy! I'm sorry I ran
away. Can we go home? I'll be good, I promise. Don't let them give me back to
the man."
For weeks, Sylvia had barely left his side, standing vigil over him as his body
healed itself and the antibiotics drove the lurking infections from his system.
"It's over," she told him when he would wake, screaming and flailing in his
hospital bed. "Mummy's here. You're safe, Baby. It's over."
But she knew it was a lie, because it could never be over. Not for Remus. Not
as long as the nightmares returned time and again to swallow him whole,
visiting the same horror upon his psyche that his abductor had visited upon his
body, keeping the memory of his violation fresh.
Between anxiety at the prospect of separation from his family, behavioural
issues, a tenacious bedwetting problem, and money spent on numerous private
specialists and medications -- the Lupins had done what they could to keep
their son's difficulties off the official record -- Remus had been almost
thirteen before his parents were able to send him away to school. But still the
nightmares had persisted, and no solution had ever been found to give him the
smallest relief. Until now.
Over the days following the heated discussion in the sitting room, Sylvia
watched her son and his "friend" closely, offering neither comment nor apology
when they caught her at it. A current of tension ran through the house, though
the boys pretended not to notice. Sirius continued to be polite and respectful
when he addressed her or her husband, though he was less of a playful joker
than when he had arrived. Both boys adhered without complaint to the law Sylvia
had laid down -- so far as she could observe -- and spent much of their time
discussing plans for the coming months.
"Have you written to James yet?"
Her son's voice came from the kitchen, and Sylvia paused on the stairs to
listen, just out of sight.
"Yes, but I don't know where to send it. They're touring."
"I'm sorry," Remus said softly. "I know you were looking forward to going off
adventuring with him."
Sirius made a dismissive noise. "Yeah, well, I would've missed you. Letters
aren't the same, are they?"
"No, I suppose not." There was a smile in her son's voice. "What do you think
you'll do instead?"
"Apply to university, I suppose. It's what I was going to do next year, anyway,
and if I'm quick about it, I might still get in somewhere good. There's some
money coming to me from my Uncle Alphard, now that I'm eighteen."
"Where were you thinking of applying?" asked Remus.
"Oh, you know. Somewhere nice." Sirius's tone was excessively casual. "Surrey.
Maybe Bristol."
Remus laughed -- a pure, sparkling sound, so very rare -- and Sylvia edged down
onto the next step to peer around the door frame into the kitchen. She need not
have worried about being seen; the two boys had eyes only for each other.
Sirius leaned back against the counter, hands behind him. Remus stood very
close to him, their noses inches apart, but they were not touching. Not quite.
"I love you. You know that?" said Remus so quietly that his mother had to hold
her breath to catch it.
Sirius's eyes went soft, and a broad grin spread across his face. "You know,
your mum said I'm not to touch you, but she never said anything about you
touching me."
"You make an interesting point," Remus smiled.
Sylvia knew she should make a sound -- should interrupt them somehow -- but
something in her son's face stopped her, and she kept her silence as Remus bent
his head to close the space between himself and Sirius. There was a slow,
careful caress of lips against lips that seemed to go on for a long time.
"I love you," Sirius sighed when they parted.
Remus smiled at him fondly. "Tell me something I don't know."
Sirius looked thoughtful for a moment. "If we both get in somewhere -- Bristol
or Surrey or wherever -- we could get a flat together. Just you and me."
"Oh." Remus looked startled. "That's --"
"Don't you want to?" asked Sirius.
"Of course I do," Remus assured him. "It's just -- Mum and Dad won't like it
much, and they'll be paying part of my way. I'll have to talk to them about
it."
Sirius nodded reluctantly. "I like your parents. They've been loads better
about everything than mine were. Think they'll ever like me?"
"Of course they will," said Remus, pressing his lips briefly to Sirius's once
more. "How could anyone not love you?"
Very quietly, Sylvia stepped backwards up the stairs and out of sight.
===============================================================================
"What are you thinking about?" Marcellus asked, turning on his side.
"What do you think I'm thinking about?" replied his wife irritably, eyes still
fixed on the ceiling over their bed.
Marcellus sighed. "I've been thinking about it, too. I'm just wondering what
you're thinking."
"That boy has asked Remus to move in with him."
Her husband looked unsurprised. "Eavesdropping, is it? What did Remus say?"
"He said he would talk to us about it."
"And?"
She sighed. "I'm just trying to figure out what I'll say when he does."
A toe prodded Sylvia's foot. "Remus is a good boy, Syl. He's clever and he's
honest and he's stronger than anyone should ever have to be. He didn't have to
tell us about any of this. We might not like it, but we can't make his choices
for him. He's not a child anymore."
"I know," she said wearily. "I haven't wanted to admit it, but today --"
"What?"
"He looks so much like you did at that age." She looked up at her husband,
conflicted. "The way he looks at that boy -- I remember when you used to look
at me like that."
Marcellus's eyes softened. "Used to? You think I don't love you as much as I
ever did, Syl?"
She groped for his hand, a sad smile playing on her lips. "We used to be so
happy, Marc. All of us. Before. Do you remember? If that boy -- if Sirius makes
Remus happy, how can I not want that for him?"
"Shall we give them a chance, then?" her husband asked, bringing her fingers to
his lips. "It won't be easy for any of us. People will talk. The world isn't
very favourable towards that sort of thing."
"I know," she sighed. "But that's all the more reason why Remus needs a home he
can feel safe in, and parents who are proud of him. I am, Marc. So proud of
him."
"Me, too, Love." Marcellus kissed his wife fondly. "We'll tell them in the
morning."
Chapter End Notes
     Someday I promise this will have a sequel.
End Notes
     Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this story, consider checking
     out one of my other Wolfstar AU romances:
     Highland_Fling - Sirius is a wealthy American who has just graduated
     from high school, and is on a solo backpacking trip through the
     Scottish Highlands, when he meets Remus, working behind the bar at
     his aunt's pub. Remus is out, sexually experienced, and suffers from
     a chronic illness. Sirius is closeted, and only realises he might be
     interested in men after meeting Remus. They have a one night stand,
     but Sirius can't stop thinking about Remus, and wishes their
     relationship could be more. Remus had his heart broken recently, and
     is reluctant to get involved with a wealthy tourist. There's a short
     sequel, Wolf_Stone_Jewelers, with a marriage proposal.
     TransFigured - Set in the canon-verse, Remus is a trans boy instead
     of being a werewolf. Sirius is an ultra-supportive boyfriend. Remus
     is angsty and dysphoric. Written because I don't think there are
     enough stories depicting trans folks having happy, healthy sex lives,
     without being exploitative and fetishizing trans bodies. There's some
     stuff that could be triggering for trans folks, so be sure to read
     the warnings. There is also a short sequel, TransLate, involving an
     unplanned pregnancy.
     Discards - Sirius is an assistant librarian at the Seattle Public
     Library. He is also trans. Remus is a homeless community college
     student. He's also HIV+ and a sex worker. After being rejected by
     their families, both of them fear rejection by the other if the truth
     about their lives comes out. Rather than hiding that they have
     secrets, they agree to keep some things private, for now. But when
     all their secrets are unexpectedly revealed, they have to figure out
     if they still want to try to make a relationship work. This story
     features Japanese-American Sirius, Latino Remus, Jewish Lily, and
     Black James. There's a short sequel, Discards:_Commencement, set
     during Remus's college graduation.
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