
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1114366.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Sirius_Black/Harry_Potter
  Additional Tags:
      Chan, Tickling, Frottage, Blow_Jobs, Anal_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-04 Words: 4612
****** Come to My Arms, You Beamish Boy! ******
by lq_traintracks_(lumosed_quill), traintracks
Summary
     Remus decides to keep an eye on Sirius and Harry…and instead gets an
     eyeful.
Notes
     The title is from Lewis Carroll's poem, "Jabberwocky".
 

I'm reasonably certain it first happened just before Harry left for his trial.
Which is to say, I believe that to be the first time, but I can't be sure.
Things were tense in the house. Mad-Eye and I had been talking about the boy –
about watching out for him – and just as importantly Sirius, because in his
state of mind, he was liable to take off after Harry, to protect him and what
have you, and get killed or sent back to Azkaban, one or the other, in the
process.
So I agreed I would keep a diligent eye on both of them.
At first it wasn't so apparent. Harry was so angry with his friends; it was
difficult to see past that. And Merlin knows I couldn't blame him. But then
there were signs. Sirius invited the boy into the meetings. Sirius treated him
like an adult, like one of the Order.
Like James.
I should have known from the feeling in my gut, and if not that, then the fire
in his eye, the way his hands would linger after an embrace, the way the boy
tilted his face up and their gazes would lock.
But there was business to attend to. There was this talk of Harry's expulsion,
of the Dementors. Everything was under a grey pall, a hush. Voldemort's name
sat aborted on everyone's lips. Harry and Sirius were the only ones who would
say it.
That should have been clue enough. They'd found something in one another that
they'd searched for in others for years.
They'd stay up late into the night. They'd sit at that kitchen table with the
fire burning low. I'd leave for bed but turn and watch them from the hall.
Sirius would always move closer when he thought it was safe, when no one was
looking. His arm would stretch across the back of Harry's chair as they talked.
His hands would be so ready to pull the boy close, his arms always open, and it
never took much to propel Harry into them.
I thought I was supposed to protect them from the outside world, not protect
them from each other.
I didn't tell anyone. I didn't talk to Moody or Shacklebolt or the Weasleys.
Not even Nymphadora, maybe in part to keep her at a distance from me , although
in hindsight that was probably a terrible decision for so many reasons. I told
no one what I was witnessing, in part because I wasn't sure I was right about
what that was and in part because…
I honestly don't know. Cowardice perhaps? Or maybe some part of me wanted to be
their accomplice, wanted to protect them even though what I imagined they could
do…had not yet done but could do… God…
Harry had just turned fifteen. And yet, he had always been Harry. He had always
been The Boy Who Lived. The boy who lived all alone. The kid grew up in a
closet for Merlin's sake. It had always been a point of guilt for me that I had
heard his mother laugh, seen his father cast the perfect spell, and he never
would.
I had watched Sirius fall in love with his father only to have his heart
broken, the break made all the worse for adoring the woman who helped break it.
I had watched my best friend, a man whose bravery knows no equal, sent to
Azkaban for something he would kill anyone else in the world for doing. For
betrayal.
If ever two people needed solace….
So I kept my mouth shut, and I watched them get closer to it every day, a
sharp, hollow ache persistent under my skin, a migraine always close by.
I had tried talking to Sirius. I'd cornered him on a couple of occasions and
asked what I thought were leading questions that he always seemed to evade with
charm and half-truths: "Of course I love him, he's my godson." "I'd never hurt
Harry." "I wouldn't endanger myself – that would only leave him with no one to
look out for him."
And all the while we could have been talking about something else – about him
remaining at Grimmauld place during the trial, about keeping the Dementors at
bay.
But we weren't. And I think we both knew it.
Then the night came before Harry was to leave.
There'd been a curious distance between Harry and Sirius all day, and I'd begun
to think I'd been imagining things. There were still the looks, but they didn't
last as long, and they had to cross a roomful of space. There was no touching.
They each retired early, almost unheard of for Sirius Black, and bloody hell
but I should have known.
I found them in an abandoned study. Sirius had been so lax that there weren't
even any magical protections up. Hell, the door wasn't even all the way shut.
They were fevered. It was as if nothing else mattered. As if death was upon
them.
I took a sick, meager comfort in the fact that at least their clothes were
mainly still on – that there wasn't…dear God…penetration.
But Sirius had Harry backed up against a wall, and they were…moving.
I've since asked Tonks what the exact term for that act might be called and
suffered her wide-eyed stare while she practically spat, "You mean frotting??"
She'd proceeded to grill me on what precisely had brought the subject up, and I
made up some story – God, I don't even know what, but something ridiculous. She
didn't believe me, and I could tell I'd undone months of putting her off with
the conversation, but…
Well, she'd answered my question.
They were frotting. Harry's leg had been wrapped around Sirius, and Sirius'
hips had been going hard, his teeth at Harry's throat and Harry's mouth open on
little whining groans.
I didn't stay for the finish.
I trudged to my dreary room and spent a sleepless night.
For all I know they slept together. From what I hear (I've had no firsthand
knowledge despite several drunken opportunities), once Sirius comes, he grows
his brain back again. I'm sure they could have spent the night in Sirius' bed
with no one the wiser, all kinds of magicks thrown up around them.
I didn't see either of them again until it was time for Harry to leave. I had
stayed shuttered up in my room going over owls. I'd already failed. No point in
policing their actions any longer, I'd thought.
So I skipped breakfast, but I came down to see Harry off, and I watched them
embrace for long, painful moments. I saw the fear and determination in Sirius'
eyes and watched him fight the near physical need to follow the boy out of the
house. Harry turned back at the doorframe, his soulful eyes full of longing.
"It'll be all right," Sirius told him, and then Harry had turned and gone.
…
Harry was, of course, acquitted of the charges, in large part due to
Dumbledore's still-considerable sway over the Ministry. But he didn't make it
back to number 12 Grimmauld Place before school started again.
To say things went back to normal would be a stretch. Whenever there were Order
meetings, I got to see Sirius' fixation with Harry once more. I'd gotten over
my anger at him, no longer seeing him as the thief of Harry's innocence and
feeling too culpable myself to give my friend the proper mental dressing down
that he probably still deserved. I'd begun to see him as the trapped and
tortured man he was – that he'd been for so bloody long. His home was his
Azkaban now. And the boy he loved – right or wrong or both – was out there
fending for himself in a world that seemed designed to devour him whole and
spit out his bones.
Still Sirius was a ruthless strategist and an exemplary wizard, and he was all
business during meetings. It was only in those quiet moments alone or with me
for company that I saw the added strain of worrying about (and missing) Harry.
"Have you heard from him?" I asked one day over spiked tea.
He shook his head. Neither one of us made any pretense that we were talking
about anyone else. "I told him he could come to me, but…" He waved his hand.
"He's worried they'll find me, drag me back to Azkaban…" He swallowed a large
draught of his drink.
"He'll be okay," I said unhelpfully.
Sirius just stared down into his cup, turning it slowly.
It wasn't long after that evening that we heard the news. It came from Snape
who showed up late to a meeting on a Saturday.
"Lines?" I repeated, once he'd spoken. "Engraved on his hand?"
"That is what I said, Mr. Lupin," Snape intoned.
Sirius exploded. "I'LL KILL HER!!!" He began pacing in short bursts, his hands
hard through his hair.
Molly Weasley stepped into his path. "Sirius Black!" she shouted. "I'm as
furious as you are, but no one is going to go off murdering anyone. Do you
understand?"
Sirius stopped. He took a breath and nodded. Then he turned to me. "I'm going
to help Harry. Don't try to stop me, Remus."
I grabbed his arm. "No, Sirius."
Shacklebolt joined me, silently placing his hand on Sirius' shoulder, ready to
subdue him if need be.
"Get off me," Sirius seethed.
"This isn't the way," Shacklebolt said.
Alastor stepped in, too. "I'll get word to Dumbledore. Severus will keep
watch."
"Severus !" Sirius spat the name out in disgust, but I took him by the
shoulders and made him look at me.
"We'll all make sure he's all right. If you walk out that door, we can't
protect you, too."
"I don't need your protection," he gritted out.
"Look," I said, scrambling for something, anything that would keep him in his
skin. "We'll bring him here as soon as we can, all right? It's almost winter
break." I softened my voice, seeing him weaken slightly. "We'll bring him home.
All right?"
He stared at me, his jaw working. It was as if he was trying to see into my
mind. I swallowed. "Use the floo tonight and check on him, all right? He'll be
back here in three weeks. He's been hurt worse, Sirius."
I watched that sink in, his indigo eyes shifting between mine, James and Lily's
deaths shimmering there in the light of unshed tears, the fact that Harry had
already fought Voldemort, lost others, friends, just like Sirius had. He
finally blinked, and then I felt his wiry shoulders sag in my hands. He turned
away and dropped into a nearby chair, the butt of his palms pressed to his
eyes.
The meeting continued on with Sirius only nodding his agreement here and there,
his gaze haunted with the thing none of us could stop imagining: a petite lady
in pink making our children bleed.
…
 
As if making up for whatever new abuse Harry was being made to suffer, Sirius
nearly broke the bank with Christmas. I've never seen him do one smidgeon of
what he did for that boy: three trees, one in the tapestry room (he'd had the
tapestry removed to the basement), one in Harry's room, and one in the kitchen
of all places; tinsel absolutely everywhere; red, green, silver, and gold
candles; stockings; and gifts.
Gifts, gifts, GIFTS. Gifts to raise Merlin's beard on end.
Every time I came to the house, which was a couple of times a week if only to
make sure that Sirius hadn't gone stir-crazy, there was something new that he'd
purchased or conjured to please Harry Potter.
He'd been in contact over floo practically every-other-night against my better
judgment. It did seem to have put him in much better spirits. Harry, too, from
what I'd been able to hear. And I'd accidentally overheard a couple of
whispered I-love-yous. Not the innocent kind either.
Sirius must have known that I knew. Maybe he simply didn't care. Or he was
ashamed. Or something else entirely. Whatever, we didn't speak of it. Harry was
just assumed. Harry was family, and it hardly mattered if he was godson or
lover; he was revered, and that was all there was to it.
Still, I couldn't help but be wary on the day of his arrival. The others were
already there, everyone but the Weasleys who were entertaining at the Burrow.
Sirius was ecstatic. He had hardly touched a drink yet he was drunk. Some of my
wariness died seeing him like that. It was like watching him come back to life.
And then Harry was there, walking in the door on a blustery wind, his
Gryffindor scarf bright against the dark day, stamping his boots on the new
welcome mat. I followed Sirius down the hall toward him and watched Sirius grab
him up in a hard hug. A parchment wouldn't have fit between them. I'd never
seen either one smile brighter. Or have so much to smile about.
There was one horrible moment when Sirius pulled back just the tiniest bit and
stared at Harry's lips when I felt sure they were going to stick their tongues
in each other's mouths right there in front of me. But I cleared my throat, and
they broke apart, Harry blushing or flushed from the cold, I couldn't be sure.
"Take your scarf?" Sirius said, unwinding it already. "Your gloves," and he
took those, too.
Harry laughed. "Anything else?"
I turned away before I could see Sirius leer. He pulled Harry by the hand
through the hallway, talking a mile a minute about every little thing.
"Happy Christmas, Professor Lupin," Harry said, smiling at me as they passed.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," I replied. I shook my head bemusedly and followed in
their joyful wake to the kitchen.
…
"What's the matter?" Tonks asked me, startling me out of an eggnog malaise.
"Hmm?"
Alastor laughed across the room at something Shackebolt said, his guffaw
turning to a greasy wheeze. I felt bereft in that moment, as though all my
well-built fences erected to keep Tonks safe from me were beyond stupid; they
were becoming painful.
"Just tired," I lied. I turned my gaze from the other two across the room – the
ones sitting on the floor near the blazing fire, surrounded by ripped wrapping
paper and what I considered a marked glow.
The afternoon had been festive. Sirius had done so much to make Grimmauld Place
more presentable, to put it in the spirit of the season, though it still sat
like a dark secret on a street that would never know it existed. I had helped
him deck the halls and start up some holiday music, and had watched him draw
Harry from room to room, for the first time boastful of the very place that had
become his second prison.
The doxies had been eliminated, and the ghosts had all been swept into the
cellar. Even Kreacher was on his best behavior.
Everything had been rather lovely. Sirius and Harry had been nothing but decent
and innocent unless you looked really hard. And I did. I made it a point to
seek them out if ever they were to vanish off somewhere together. This only
happened the once that I could tell, and what I found wasn't all that
scandalous. It was Sirius tending to Harry's hand, holding it like a cherished
thing and turning it this way and that, observing the scarring.
I found myself feeling guilty for intruding on the moment as Sirius brought the
back of Harry's hand to his lips and whispered a kiss over it, "I'm sorry,
lad."
I'd retreated back to the party, which had moved to the old tapestry room
(Sirius wanted to rename it Holiday Hall.) where presents were to be unwrapped.
Sirius and Harry had rejoined the party several minutes later in better
spirits.
"Who wants to play Saint Nick?" Sirius had called, and then immediately
answered, "I do! Everyone get a drink and take a seat and prepare to be merry."
Harry had received twice the presents of anyone else, but no one seemed to
mind. Sirius watched him open his gifts like it was the first and last time.
I'd never seen him so…happy.
Tonks was looking at me now in that way, the way that made me feel like someone
actually longed for me, too, and I shook myself out of my reveries.
"How long are you in London?" I asked her. Her eyes had gone from iridescent
green to deep, caring brown, and I found myself falling into them, the dimly-
lit room around me fading. The music, now turned low and crooning slow songs,
drifted over me like a lazy hand. I wanted her to say she was staying the
night. I wanted to kiss her.
Before she could answer me, I felt Sirius' hand on my shoulder and looked up to
see him smiling down on me. "Good night, Moony," he said. "Nymphadora," he
added with a wink in her direction.
"Sod off, Black," she said, lifting her glass to him, her Firewhiskey amber in
the light of the flames.
"Night," I said to him absently. It had been a long day with the party
continuing from late morning and different Order members stopping by for
drinks, for exchanging gifts, for a bit of warmth on a bitterly cold day.
Sirius squeezed my shoulder affectionately and then Disapparated. I sighed and
watched Tonks swirl her drink.
"Think I'll turn in, too," Harry said, stretching conspicuously. I could hardly
bring myself to care. My best friend was happy. Harry seemed happy. I wanted to
be happy for them. I just wanted to be happy, too.
"Good night, Harry," Tonks said.
"Happy Christmas, you two," he replied and then left the room on the power of
his two legs, lumosing his way down the corridor. Too young to Apparate. Egad.
You two, he'd said. I looked at Tonks, and she was smirking a little. I think I
blushed. "Well?" I prodded. "How long are you here?"
She shrugged. "Depends on how bad it gets in the east."
"I didn't get to talk to Charlie last time. He's over that way again, right?"
"Mm," she nodded. "Says the Weres are angry and scared. What the Ministry's
talking…God, you'd think we'd all be in Azkaban within the year."
"You're not a werewolf," I reminded her, my jaw tightening. "It's not you they
want to put away."
"No," she admitted quietly. "But loving one changes everything." I swallowed,
and she blinked her gaze away. "To answer your question, though, I think I'll
be heading east in a few days. Or, you know, whenever Sirius gets his arse in
gear."
"Sirius?" I said, aghast. "He hasn't told you he's leaving, has he?"
"He's worried about the situation. The Ministry has made mention of moving into
the forest adjacent Hogwarts to set up a werewolf barrier. He doesn't like it.
Not with what's going on with Umbridge. Not with Harry –"
I interrupted her, "So he's just going to leave Grimmauld Place without the
Order's consent – without telling me -- and hare off to the mountains to
bargain with werewolves? Is he mad?"
"You'd have to ask him," Tonks said, taking a sip of her drink and looking
too…not nonplussed about the whole thing.
"Bloody right, I will," I found myself growling, overturning my chair as I
stood. Without another word to Tonks, I Disapparated to my friend's room, my
hands balled into fists, ready to threaten him with bodily harm if I had to in
order to keep him safe.
I landed in the shadows just inside his bedroom door, and I had opened my mouth
to shout at him about what an imbecile he was when what I'd Apparated in on
stopped me in my tracks.
They were on the bed, sideways, like they'd landed abruptly, unready for sleep.
Sirius was fully clothed except for his shirt gaping open, all those tattoos on
display, but Harry was in pajama bottoms and nothing else. I recognized them as
the very pajamas he had unwrapped earlier, and of course, they'd been from his
godfather.
The fire was going strong in the hearth. Sirius straddled Harry's hips, smiling
down on him. Harry sighed, stretching his arms over his head, his loose hands
hanging off the side of the bed, and then Sirius ran his palms from the boy's
wrists…slowly…down his forearms, over his elbows, down his triceps.
It was the most loving touch I'd ever watched one human being bestow upon
another.
I shut my gaping mouth.
Sirius' hands descended into Harry's armpits, into the dark thatches of hair,
and Harry collapsed in laughter – loud, spontaneous, joyful laughter.
"Ticklish?" Sirius asked him. I could see his thumbs moving still. I almost
wanted to snort at what a teenager the man still was himself. Harry tossed and
screeched beneath him, and Sirius stilled, relenting.
Harry caught his breath. "Yes," he answered. He looked up at Sirius. "But don't
stop." He lifted his arms over his head again, trustingly. A gift. Sirius
smiled, nothing lecherous about it, then he stroked up Harry's arms once more
with gentle fingers – up the insides of his biceps where the skin is so
sensitive, over scrawny elbows, up his forearms, then once more down, down,
down, drifting over his armpits, fingers sifting through the hair. Again,
laughter threatened, but Harry bit his lip and sighed, shivering instead, his
back arching up, wanting Sirius' touch all the more.
I felt myself swallow, barely breathing. I felt utterly stuck, unable to
Disapparate without a telling crack blistering the air with noise, yet horribly
disgusted with myself for staying. But it was beautiful. Just beautiful. Awful.
Unimaginably intimate. Sirius touched Harry's slender chest, his fingers
raising the nipples into drastic points, Harry's breath coming hard, his eyes
closing, back arching guilelessly for more.
And then…oh God…Sirius sat back and yanked the boy's bottoms down to his
thighs. I watched, half-horror-struck, as Harry's cock bounced free, blushing
and ready. Sirius leaned down over it, opened his mouth, and took it between
his lips.
Harry gasped, and I tried hard not to. I pressed my lips so tightly together,
I'm sure they were white, and I watched Sirius suck Harry's cock, head moving
between strong, young thighs. Harry's hips moved in time with Sirius' descent.
He brought his hands down, reaching, and tangled his fingers in his godfather's
long hair. "Sssssssirius…" he whined.
Harry bucked, his brow furrowed, and then he groaned loudly as he came, holding
Sirius' head in tight while the man swallowed and hummed.
I couldn't help it. I was hard.
I stuck to the shadows as Sirius pulled off and rose up over the boy – as he
worked the pajama bottoms all the way off, Harry kicking at them to free his
legs -- and then as Sirius hitched Harry's legs up and hastily unfastened his
own trousers, almost unable to wait.
"Oh God, Sirius," Harry breathed, reaching for him, pulling him close, opening
his thighs, welcoming it.
I didn't want to see this. Not because it was ugly to me or reprehensible. I
don't think I could have believed that anymore if I'd tried with all my might.
I couldn't see it as right, but I couldn't condemn it either. I was stuck in so
many ways.
But no, I didn't want to see it because, right or wrong, it was none of my
bloody business. Because there was a woman downstairs who I now knew I loved,
and I would never want anyone seeing what I was seeing Harry and Sirius do with
each other right then.
An idea occurred to me as Sirius got ready, as he pulled his cock free, huge
and moist. They were breathing so hard – I had to take the chance. I withdrew
my wand with my breath held, then I whispered, "Muffliato," as quietly as I
could.
And then, just as Sirius mounted and began to breach the boy – just as Harry's
mouth opened in a stunned 'O', registering, somehow, both fear and love in one
breath, I Disapparated.
…
I did end up shouting at Sirius, it was just the next day instead. The guests
had gone. The decorations were all wilting a little. We were in the kitchen,
and I got him before he even sat down. Harry was there to hear it, and frankly,
I was glad. I didn't care who heard me. The more the merrier. I'd been up half
the night careening between feelings of joy for my friend's happiness, desire
for my own, and rage that Sirius was thinking of being such a daft prick.
So before he could even fetch his tea, with Harry shuffling tiredly along
behind him, I set in. I called him a selfish, impulsive plonker and a bloody
idiot. I told him that leaving the house when he was still considered mortally
dangerous was reckless and inconsiderate of everything the Order sought to do
and had set in place, with his help, since its inception. I told him going into
the mountains to hold meetings with werewolves without me was absolutely
arrogant and, furthermore, infuriating. And then I told him that leaving would
put Harry in danger, and if he did that, he'd never forgive himself and neither
would I.
He just blinked at me across the kitchen table where we were faced off. Then
Harry walked up behind him and took his hand. Sirius turned and looked down at
the boy. He frowned. And then I think he understood, because he just looked
back at me, Harry's hand gripped in his, and nodded solemnly.
"Good," I said, sighing. "Now Harry, if you ever think – if you ever have
reason to believe he's turned into such a self-involved, stupid wanker ever
again – if you suspect for one moment that he's out of this house, I want you
to come to me. Floo me any time, day or night, and I'll take care of the
tosser. You understand?"
A slow smile spread over Harry's face. "I'll do that, Professor Lupin," he
said.
"'Self-involved, stupid wanker'?" Sirius groused.
"Yes!" Harry and I chorused at once.
"Bugger off the both of you," Sirius said, but he couldn't hide the self-
deprecating smile that twitched his mustache, the affection he felt for each of
us.
Harry took him by the arm then, adoration all over his face as Sirius looked
down at him.
I cleared my throat and left the room, but not before I heard my friend say
softly, "I love you," and then hear Harry return it.
As I came out at the top of the stairs, I found Tonks lurking in the hall.
"Hey," she said, biting her lip. Her hair was bright purple. I had the strange
sensation that it was blushing.
I found myself smiling at her. "Hello," I said. I leaned against the wall
opposite her.
"There's this pub" she began. "I'm going later, and you're coming with me. As
my date. Remus, I've bloody had it with this hard-to-get, but-I'm-a-werewolf,
but-I'm-so-bloody-OLD bollocks and I—"
I took a deep breath in, cupped her head in my hand, and pressed my lips to
hers, shutting her up. She gasped, and I took my chances, deepening the kiss
and wrapping a hand around her lower back.
"Remus…" she sighed when I drew back. And then she smiled, and her eyes turned
blue.
And that, as they say, is that.

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