whimsical rhymes

boutiquemuse @ 2008-03-25T22:05:00

2008-03-25T22:19:28Z

Title: Books [prompt #17 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: G
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 412
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: None.
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: First war, 1979
Summary: Sirius has never understood Remus's love of books.
Notes: I know I’ve been a while with this prompt, and it’s very short, but I’ve had a lot of personal-life stress, which is very annoying! However, I’m back on track with this project, and updates shall be much more frequent. Feel free to add this journal for writing updates.

There are several things about Remus John Lupin that Sirius will never understand, and his adoration of books is one of them.

All the way through school, he’d often go searching for him, and find him huddled behind stacks of the mouldy old things, looking perfectly at home. The books are simply a part of his boyfriend; like the three faint scars on his chest and the oversized cardigans and the strand of his hair which always refuses to be tucked behind his ear.

He once spoke to Remus about his love of the damn things. Remus said books remind him of his childhood spent in the library of his humble countryside village; of afternoons spent lying in the grass and fantasising of other worlds and love; of his mother and father’s soothing voices, reading to him in an attempt to calm his nightmares. Sirius didn’t know what to say once the confession was out, and so he’d simply kissed the words away.

Sirius has tried, in the past, to read some of Remus’s books and actually enjoy them. But he can’t seem to get into them, no matter how much Remus raves on about Heathcliff or Mr Darcy or Sebastian Flyte. He thinks some parts of some plots are mildly amusing, but he knows he’d rather be living himself. He’s never told Remus that, of course; he’d probably refuse to kiss him for a week. Sirius wouldn’t be able to stand that.

There is one book, though, that has touched Sirius in ways he never imagined the written word could. Since their first year at school, Remus has scribbled away in a leather-bound diary nearly every evening, head bowed and quill scratching. Sirius had always been intensely curious, from the first night, and one night - long after, in the house they share nowadays - had asked if he could read it.

Remus had hesitated, but only for a moment. He’d held the book out, smiling slightly, and told Sirius that he trusted nobody more. Sirius had smiled, and then read, the whole night long. He’d skipped most of the earlier entries, and the fact that the later ones were laced with words like ‘love’ made him smile, uncontrollably.

Even though he knows he’ll never honestly be able to say he likes books, he knows Remus does. The fact that Remus loves him just as much - and maybe, if he’s lucky, even more - is enough to keep him going.

boutiquemuse @ 2008-02-12T15:54:00

2008-02-12T15:57:51Z

Title: Bin [prompt #16 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: hard R
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 1956
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Sexual situations. Painfully fluffy fluff.
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: Marauders, summer of 1978
Summary: Remus and Sirius leave a clue as to their relationship, and have to cover it up as best they can from Mrs. Lupin.
Notes: I have no idea where all this sex came from, but it was much, much fun to write. Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal.

Sirius twists his fingers into the sheets, arching his back.

He was peacefully sleeping a couple of minutes before, but Remus had woken up and had gotten an irresistible urge to feel skin on skin for the second time that night, and could hardly let his boyfriend sleep whilst he yearned. So he’d woken him with kisses, and once Sirius realised what was going on, he seemed suddenly wide awake.

“I love you,” Remus murmurs, planting a kiss on each of Sirius’s hips. “I don’t know why, but I really do.”

“Less talking,” Sirius mutters, playfully, and then adds, “I love you so much it sometimes makes me want to punch you in the face.”

“Romantic,” Remus smiles, sliding his hand up Sirius’s pyjama top. “Less talking, you say? Very well.”

He takes Sirius in his mouth again, and hears the appreciative groan. He moves slowly, teasingly at first, and then quickens the pace. He remembers the beginning of their relationship, when he was far too nervous to properly give blowjobs, and how kind and sweet Sirius had been about it. Sirius had been perfect from the beginning, of course.

“Remus,” Sirius gasps, bringing him back to the present. “Remus, can I - can I - inside you? I need it.”

Remus gets to his knees, and looks down at the flushed boy on the bed. He runs a hand up the shirt again, feeling the slim stomach and the hard nipples, and smiles. “Of course you can.”

Sirius sits up, and smoothes a hand through Remus’s brown hair, dark eyes glittering with mischief and happiness. He kisses Remus’s face, all over, and Remus suddenly wants to cry. He has no idea what he’s done to deserve such a beautiful boy in his life. “By the window,” Sirius whispers, looking unusually shy. “I like to see the stars when we fuck.”

Something inside of Remus melts, and he climbs off the bed, pulling Sirius with him by the hand. The window is on the far side of the room, and they kiss on the way there, almost having each other then and there on the floor. Sirius snatches up a condom from the bedside table as they go.

When they reach the window, Remus pulls the curtains open, revealing the two-o’clock-sky. It’s clear and starry, and just as perfect as they could want. Sirius gazes at it, and then kisses Remus, softly, on the mouth. Remus tangles his fingers in the soft black hair and kisses back, gentle and loving.

“Are the stars good enough?” Remus asks, pulling back.

“Perfect,” Sirius breathes, his hands fumbling with Remus’s pyjama bottoms, pulling them down. “Everything is perfect. God, I love you.”

“Mmm. Likewise.” Remus smiles, and then turns to look out of the window again. He grips the windowsill with his hands, hard, and bends. Sirius lets out a strangled noise from the back of his throat, and runs his hands across Remus’s skin.

“You might want to open the window,” Sirius suggest, leaning over Remus to whisper in his ear. Remus feels Sirius pressed against him, and feels so comfortable that he almost doesn’t register what’s being said. “I might make you quite hot.”

“Is that arrogance I detect, Mr. Black?” Remus teases, but indeed pushes the window open.

“Not at all,” Sirius laughs, and kisses Remus’s neck. “It’s the truth.”

As Remus lets the wind of the night wash over his face, he can hear Sirius pulling the condom on, and shivers in anticipation. Now he’s used to it, Sirius fits inside him so perfectly, and it’s become nothing but pure pleasure. This is the kind of sex he loves most of all, too; gentle, careful and loving.

He can feel Sirius pressing, hard, against him. The black-haired boy plants a last kiss atop of brown hair, and pleads, softly, “Can I?”

“Yes,” Remus says, simply, and Sirius moves inside of him. “Oh God, Sirius, you’re so -”

He trails off, as Sirius thrusts, causing Remus to moan. He’s hitting the right spot already, and they’ve barely even started yet. One of his hands leave the cool of the windowsill to stroke himself, gently, as Sirius takes a steady, electrifying pace inside of him.

“Moony,” Sirius sings under his breath, hands sliding underneath Remus’s body to make his boyfriend come. “Moony, I’m close to coming already. Why d’you make me absolutely crazy all the time?”

“Secret talent,” Remus moans, close himself. “God, God, please just - oh God -”

He’s finding rather hard to stay upright now, his knees weakening, so he has to balance with two hands. Sirius hands are there though, more and more erratically jerking as he loses control himself. Sirius groans, loudly, and buries his face in the back of Remus’s neck. By the noises he’s making, Remus guesses he’s reached it, and the sounds drive him to the edge as well.

A few seconds later, they’ve both orgasmed, and Sirius stumbles back to the bed, sweaty and breathless. Remus staggers after him, and collapses on top of him, their skin sticking together pleasantly. Remus curls around Sirius, nuzzling his head into his boyfriend’s neck, and makes a small, content sound.

“I love you,” Sirius whispers into his brown hair. “I know I say it a lot, but I mean it every time.”

Remus looks up, brown eyes meeting grey, and plants a kiss firmly on Sirius’s lips. “I love you more than anything else in the world.”

Remus sits on the end of his bed, watching Sirius pack. He sighs, glumly, causing Sirius to look up. “What’s up, Moony?”

“I don’t want you to go,” Remus sighs, resting back and looking at the ceiling. “You could stay longer, you know. All I need to do is ask my parents.”

“It’s far too much trouble for them,” Sirius sighs, shaking his head, and carrying on with his packing. “You’re coming to stay with me in a fortnight, once the house ready to inhabit. I know it’s ages away, but it’ll pass quickly.”

“It had better,” Remus mutters, and then smiles, a little shyly. “I’m sure the memory of early this morning will sustain me, though.”

Sirius grins. “Yeah, that was pretty amazing, wasn’t it? Just think, when you stay over, we can do that all the time.”

Remus stands up and walks over to his boyfriend, slipping his hands around his waist from behind and nuzzling his neck. “That’ll be nice. I wish we were staying together sooner, though.”

“Me too,” Sirius agrees, tilting his head to meet Remus’s lips in a kiss.

The door opens, suddenly, and they hastily break apart. Mrs. Lupin enters, a couple of folded articles of clothes in her arms, and she smiles pleasantly at them both. “You’re both up and dressed then? I’m sorry to see the back of you, Sirius, you know you’re always welcome here.”

“Thanks,” Sirius smiles, taking the clothes from her. “You really didn’t have to wash any of my clothes, though.”

“It’s no problem,” she explains, making her way out of the room. “Do you want a drink before you -”

She stops, pausing in the doorway. Her eyes are - Remus notices, a sick, swooping sensation in his stomach - on the bin. It’s not very full - there are a few screwed up letter-attempts and a sweet wrapper - but laying on the top of this normality is a used condom, cast off from the night before.

Sirius seems to notice, too, for he shoots Remus a panicked look, and mouths, “Shit!”

“Remus, dear?” Mrs. Lupin asks, turning rather stiffly to look at her son. “Remus, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Remus’s mouth goes dry. This, he thinks, would be the perfect time to come out. He could just explain that he’s going out with Sirius - no, that he’s in love with Sirius - and then not only will Sirius be happy, but he’ll be rid of the guilt of lying to his parents. But what if she hates him? What if she kicks him out? He can’t imagine her being homophobic - but he’s learned never to trust his instincts..

After all, when he was five, his instincts told him to go and pet that large, strange dog that was snarling at him from across the garden.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lupin,” Sirius blurts out, and Remus looks at him in horror. He’s not ready, he’s really not. “It’s mine. I -” he looks once at Remus, and then sighs, looking away. “I went and met my girlfriend late last night. I didn’t know where to put it, but I thought the bin was a bit less trampy than the street. I’m really, really sorry.”

Mrs. Lupin looks stunned, and goes pink. She looks at Remus, who immediately knows that she doesn’t believe what’s been said, and he breaks the gaze, ashamed of his lies. But he can’t tell her yet. He’s too afraid.

She shakes herself, and looks at Sirius, wearing a faint smile. “Well, dear, thank you for being honest. I suppose I should be thankful you’re using protection. We wouldn’t want her to get pregnant, now, would we?”

Sirius blinks. “No, I guess not. Anyway, I - er - I think I best be off then. Apparating, and all that.”

“Of course,” she replies, rather too brightly, and kisses the top of his head. “You take care now, dear. I hope to see you again, soon.”

“I’m sure you will,” Sirius smiles, seeming relieved. “It’s been a wonderful stay. Thanks very much for having me.”

Mrs. Lupin gives him one last hug, and then leaves, and Remus notices how she seems to be purposefully avoiding looking at him. He almost wants to run after her and confess it all. Swallowing his guilt, he turns to Sirius, the glumness returning. He doesn’t really want to say goodbye, even if it’s only for a couple of weeks.

“You heard my mother, you could stay longer,” Remus says, hopefully, and Sirius sighs.

“I know this is really hard, it’s horrible for me too. But your parents deserve you for two weeks, you’ve been at school for the past seven years. Anyway, I’m going on holiday with James, aren’t I? You don’t want to come skiing, so -”

“I know,” Remus laughs, imagining himself toppling down snowy mountains with some horror. “I’m sure I’ll survive. Anyway, I’ve got some explaining to do about that dratted condom. She really didn’t believe you.”

“Yeah, it was a close one,” Sirius agrees, fastening his suitcase once and for all.

“I’m sorry for not coming out.”

“Don’t be,” Sirius scolds, pulling Remus close to him and kissing him firmly on the lips. “I told you I love you, didn’t I? I understand why you’re nervous. I’m not going anywhere, whether you tell your parents about us or not.”

Remus slips his hands down to Sirius’s belt hoops and pulls their hips together, smiling. “I’m glad. Don’t break anything whilst you’re skiing, alright? I’d hate for certain parts of you to stop working.”

Sirius swallows, heavily, and Remus suddenly feels something rising on his boyfriend. “Don’t talk dirty to me, Moony. I won’t be able to leave.”

Remus laughs, and moves his hands to Sirius’s arse, pulling them even close together. He kisses his boyfriend, deeply, and then murmurs, “Maybe I should carry on talking dirty, then, Padfoot.”

Sirius smiles, wickedly, and lets his fingers trail underneath the waistband of Remus’s trousers. As Remus tosses his head back, moaning, Sirius remarks, “Do you know, I think I have just enough time for a quickie before I leave.”

Remus, hands moving to unzip Sirius’s trousers, is all too willing to oblige.

boutiquemuse @ 2008-02-11T16:21:00

2008-02-11T16:24:31Z

Title: Film [prompt #15 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: PG
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 1217
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Nothing specific.
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: Marauders, summer before 4^th year (1974)
Summary: The Marauders go and see The Exorcist. It turns out to be James and Sirius who are the most frightened, and it’s up to Remus to make the latter feel better.
Notes: I’ve always thought that Sirius became attracted to Remus very suddenly, whereas Remus’s love grew more gradually (and painfully, the tragic boy). This is an exploration of the former. I’m not sure what’s going on with my writing at the moment, though, it all feels very lack lustre. Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal.

“I could get into real trouble for this,” Andromeda says, as she leads the four of them around the back of the cinema. “If I lose my job, I’ll never forgive any of you.”

“You won’t lose your job,” Sirius replies, confidently, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of seeing a really scary film. “Anyway, what does it matter if you do? It’s just a job.”

“It’s a job that’s helping me feed a screaming infant, in case you’ve forgotten,” she scolds, casting Sirius a look that reminds him creepily of Bellatrix. “You just wait until you have kids of your own, young man. Then every penny will count.”

“I’m not going to have kids,” Sirius retorts, wrinkling his nose in disgust. The thought of having a wailing, puking baby isn’t appealing to him in the slightest. “They’re horrible.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I was fourteen, too.”

“How is Nymphadora?” Remus inquires, politely, as they come to a halt, Andromeda fumbling with her keys to unlock the back door. Sirius rolls his eyes. Trust Remus to be all caring, showing the rest of them up as usual.

“All right, thanks,” Andromeda replies, flashing him a quick smile. “Screaming, as usual. The nurse always says she’s never known such a loud kid. Ted’s parents have been good, though; they always take her when the two of us are at work.”

“Yeah, it’s not as if our family would take her in,” Sirius mutters, bitterly, causing Andromeda to laugh.

“I wouldn’t trust Dora with them for anything,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t listen to me, though, they’re still your family. Here we are. First door on the left. Be quiet, too. I can’t believe I’m risking all this for you all to get scared by a possessed child.”

The four of them crept towards the door, thanking her, and in a moment she’d locked the entrance behind them. They quickly filed into the cinema, taking care not to draw attention to themselves, and settled into seats near the front. The large screen room was fairly crowded, but nobody spared them a second glance.

“I heard people faint and throw up all the time when watching this,” James hisses, excitedly.

“Really?” Peter asks, wide eyed. “That can’t be true.”

“It is, I’m afraid,” Remus sighs, and Sirius grins at the thought. “I’ve heard the same thing from a cousin of mine.”

“It’s going to be fantastic,” Sirius enthuses. “I’m in the mood for a good scare, too. Better brace yourself, Remus, Peter.”

“Why us?” Remus asks, and Sirius notices him frowning in the darkness.

“Come off it, if anyone is going to get scared, it’ll be you two,” James snorts, but Sirius shushes him suddenly. The screen is flickering on, and the music sets in. James settles himself more comfortably in his seat. “Here we go, chaps. See you on the other side.”

“Oh God,” James mumbles, face startlingly pale as they emerge into the night. “Oh God. Did you see? The crucifix, and then that priest, and then her head! Why would her head do that?”

“To scare boys like you, apparently,” Remus replies, looking nothing but amused. “Honestly, it was more funny than anything else.”

“It was a little scary,” Peter shrugs, fairly. “But, I mean, I was expecting much worse.”

“Worse,” Sirius croaks, knowing he’s as pale as James. “Worse, the man says. How can you get any worse?”

“That was - that was - oh God, even a couple of the adults fainted,” James moans, and then winces. “God, I’m going to be sick. I’m going to go to that bathroom in the cinema, oh God.”

With that, he takes off at a sprint back into the cinema, and the three boys left share a look. Sirius feels a bit of a hypocrite doing so, however - he knows he’s close to vomiting himself. Peter sighs, though still looks pretty pleased with himself. “I’m going to go see if he’s alright. Probably needs someone to hold his hand.”

Peter strolls after the bespectacled boy, chuckling happily to himself. Sirius and Remus are now alone on the pavement, comfortably silent, and Sirius wonders just how the other boy isn’t completely freaked out by what they’ve just seen.

“Remus, why the hell are you alright? That was a horrible film.”

Remus doesn’t reply, which is a little odd. Sirius glances at him, suspiciously, to see the brown-haired boy staring directly forward with wide, expressionless eyes. Sirius frowns, and pokes him in the shoulder. “You are scared, aren’t you? Remus? Remus? Answer me, or -”

He falls silent as Remus jerks into life. His head turns, slowly and stiffly, and a low, guttural growl escapes his lips. “Sirius Black, your time has come.”

Sirius stumbles backwards in horror, wondering whether or not to run or scream. He casts around for a blunt object, and then wonders whether he’d ever be able to hit Remus, even if his life would be over if he didn’t. Just as he’s decided to run for it, Remus suddenly bursts out laughing, covering his face with his hands to muffle it.

Sirius gapes at him.

“You - you nearly - you nearly gave me a heart attack!” Sirius exclaims, going a horrible red colour. He can’t believe he’s been fooled by some stupid joke. “You - that wasn’t funny, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Remus grins, still laughing to himself. “But really, your face. It was just a film.”

“Just a film?” Sirius shakes his head, bewildered, and then his eyes narrow. “But, you know, you’re going to have to pay.”

Remus ceases laughing immediately. “What? How?”

“Laughter,” Sirius informs him, gravely, a plan forming.

Remus looks confused for a split second, before Sirius charges into him and the two of them topple to the ground. Remus makes a soft ‘oomph’ noise as he hits the concrete, and in a moment Sirius has straddled him, his fingers making quick work of the tickling. Remus begins to laugh, and squirm, attempting to push Sirius away to no avail.

“S-Sirius,” he gasps, cheeks flushing. “Stop it, you’re such a git!”

“Git?” Sirius mocks, and tickles him even harder. “You’re just making things worse for -”

He stops, suddenly, blinking very fast. Seeing Remus beneath him, grinning and flushed and his hair in his eyes, seems to have caused a sharp, indescribable pain inside. He stares at Remus, wondering what on earth is going on, causing Remus to sit up a little and gaze at him, concerned.

“Sirius? What is it? You’re not still scared, are you?”

Sirius shakes his head, horribly aware of how close together they still are. After all, he’s straddling Remus, and Remus is sitting up, and they’re practically entwined. He hastily stands up, creating a bit of distance between them, and doesn’t even think to help Remus to his feet. Remus gets up himself, and frowns, puzzledly.

Saving Sirius from having to explain the sudden, weird, buzzing feelings inside (what the hell are they? The can’t be the obvious, of course), James and Peter emerge from the cinema. James looks a little green, and Peter a little smug. “I threw up,” James explains, looking mortified. “I’m never going to a cinema again. Stupid Muggles.”

“You’re pathetic,” Sirius says, with rather too much bravado. “Anyway, we should be off. Parents will be wondering after us, and all.”

“What’s happened? What‘s going on?” James asks, suspiciously, looking from Sirius’s awkward movements to Remus’s pink face.

Sirius chances a glance at Remus, and his insides twist. “What’s going on? To be honest, James, I really don’t know.”

boutiquemuse @ 2008-02-07T19:06:00

2008-02-07T19:47:59Z

Title: Cardboard [prompt #14 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: G
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 170
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Angst.
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: First War, November 10^th 1981
Summary: Remus packs away his former life.
Notes: This is probably the shortest thing I’ve written in years. I’m hoping it works to it’s advantage, but I’m not too sure. Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal.

Silk scarves slide against woollen socks.

Squeezed in the sides are books and parchment, words of the long-gone crumbling together.

Tears fall thick and fast, staining the cardboard with their saltiness. Remus rubs at his cheeks, and carries on counting his possessions. They won’t let him take anything of Sirius’s. It’s a criminal’s property. It’s going to be scattered and smothered by the Ministry.

Remus is completely alone.

He presses down the lid of the last box, and casts a lingering look around the bedroom.

The bed, the paintings, the curtains, the hairs left on the pillow.

He leans over, and picks one up, pinched between index finger and thumb. It’s long and black, and slightly curled. It belongs to somebody who has gone (he can’t say the name he can’t say the name he can’t say it).

Though the daylight streams through the windows, the room is dark.

Remus can’t stand to tremble there any longer, and leaves.

Shutting that door is about the hardest thing he’s ever done.

boutiquemuse @ 2008-02-06T21:30:00

2008-02-06T21:34:05Z

Title: Birthday [prompt #13 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: PG-15, maaaybe light R
Pairings: Remus/Sirius, James/Lily, Fabian/Caradoc
Word Count: 1311
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Sexual situations.
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: Marauders, March 10^th 1979
Summary: Remus has a big birthday meal to celebrate turning 19. Sirius decides to spice things up a little.
Notes: What is it with me writing “Sirius gets needy” prompts? Alas, I fear there will be many more in the future. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy this one! Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal.

“Mr. Prewett, would you like some more gravy? You don’t seem to have very much,” Mrs. Lupin asks, anxiously. Her pale face is lined and stressed, her greying hair tied tightly back.

“Really, Mrs. Lupin, I’m fine,” Fabian smiles, though he looks a little bemused. “Oh, and please, call me Fabian. Mr. Prewett makes me feel ancient.”

“Fabian, then,” Mrs. Lupin obliges, and turns to Gideon. “Do you want more gravy, Mr. - I mean, Gideon?”

“No thanks,” the elder Prewett grins. He looks down the table at Remus, a twinkle in his eye, and Sirius can’t help but grin too. Mrs. Lupin is evidently very taken with the Prewett brothers, who could charm the religion off of the Pope, and anything that gives the poor woman any happiness makes Sirius smile. She’s been battling with cancer for years, not to mention having a werewolf for a son.

“If you’re sure,” Mrs. Lupin sighs, doubtfully. The calls of Mr. Lupin can be heard from the kitchen, and so she bustles off towards it, leaving bursts of conversation in her wake.

“Cor, Remus.” Gideon wrinkles his nose, and sweeps a hand through his dark, brown hair. “Your mum’s great. Can’t we borrow her to cook our meals?”

“I’m afraid not,” Remus chuckles, glancing towards the kitchen. “I am rather fond of her myself.”

Sirius leans back in his chair, and stretches, feeling content. It’s Remus’s 19^th birthday, and his parents have spent all day preparing a nice meal. Around the table sits Remus, himself, the Prewetts, James, Lily, Peter, Alice, Frank, Caradoc, Marlene and Sturgis. Everybody is in high spirits, the food is wonderful, and best of all, Remus looks as though he’s having a great time.

Unable to resist himself, Sirius plants a kiss on the boy’s cheek. Remus turns to him, surprised, and rubs at the spot, looking slightly worried. Everyone sat with them knows about their relationship, but Remus’s parents don’t. Though Sirius couldn’t care less, he knows how Remus gets about it all - he wants to come out properly, and so they have to take care not to be walked in on.

“Remus,” he murmurs, putting on his best pout. “You’re nineteen now. You can be with whoever -”

“I know I can,” Remus replies, calmly. “I just want to tell them properly. I owe it to them, at the very least.”

Sirius sighs, and shrugs. He guesses he’ll never know the feeling; he can’t comprehend the feeling of “owing” parents anything. Except a good smack in the face, perhaps. He looks up from his dark thoughts to see Remus gazing at him, an odd expression on his face. Before he can say a word, however, Remus kisses him swiftly on the lips, and then turns back to continue his interrupted conversation with James.

“So, anyway,” James says, rolling his eyes at their kissing, “Lily turns to me then and says, ‘That’s not going inside me, James Potter!’, and of course her parents choose to walk in and they hear, and think I’m some kind of pervert, when I was only offering her some whiskey, so I have to -”

“My parents never thought you were a pervert, James,” Lily interrupts, from his side. “They always knew you were out to corrupt me, but it’s not as though I’d say anything so rude in their house, is it?”

“Corrupt, eh?” James asks, waggling his eyebrows lecherously and swooping in for a kiss. Sirius sighs, heavily, and looks away from them. They’ve gotten hideously romantic, and he can’t stand it. Especially when he and Remus can’t have such public shows of affection. Looking around at the table, he sees Fabian absently stroking Caradoc’s arm.

The two of them have been dating for well over three years, as far as Sirius knows. They don’t hide it from anyone; if people can’t accept the pair are gay, then they don’t deserve to know them. Sirius watches the long fingers slide up and down the smooth arm, and wonders why Remus can’t just let them be open about their relationship to his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Lupin are lovely, welcoming people, and he can’t imagine them having any problem with their son being gay.

If they do, well, they’re not worth it, are they?

“Remus,” he begins, hoping to persuade his boyfriend round to his way of thinking. A good pair of puppy eyes should do it. When Remus turns to him, he pulls the face that often pulls heartstrings. “Remus, please, can we -”

Before he can finish, however, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin return to the dining room, the latter carrying a large cake. Immediately everybody bursts out into ‘Happy Birthday’, and Remus buries his head into his hands. Once the laughter has died down, Remus emerges, red-faced, and half-heartedly glares at his mother.

“Mum, I’m nineteen,” he protests, but Sirius can tell he’s secretly thrilled. “I’m far too old for a cake.”

“You’re never too old for cake, dear,” Mrs. Lupin laughs, and Gideon lets out a loud, “Hear hear!”

“Blow out the candles!” Sturgis orders, a twinkle in his pale eyes. “Don’t forget to make a wish!”

Remus shakes his head, though smiles, and closes his eyes. Sirius hopes, suddenly feeling a little pathetic, that Remus’s wish comes true. Remus deserves something nice in his life. Sympathy rinses over him as he watches his boyfriend lean over the painstakingly iced cake, and without thinking he slips his hand underneath the table and expresses his pity the best way he knows.

He strokes Remus, right there.

The effect is instantaneous. Remus’s knees jerks up, and he lets out a strangled noise of surprise. His knee knocks into the table, upsetting most of the food and spilling a couple of drinks. Sirius tries to hide his amusement, but in a second he’s sniggering unabashedly. Remus flushes, mortified, and it’s obvious he’s trying to act like nothing has happened.

Hastily, he blows the candles out.

Sirius, recovering somewhat from his giggles, realises that everyone is looking at the birthday boy as though he is quite mad. Mr. Lupin shares a look with his wife, and clears his throat. “Remus? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Remus says, quickly, and Sirius laughs. Remus glares at him, for a split second, and turns to his father again. “I just slipped.”

“More like someone slipped a hand under -”

“James,” Lily says, sharply, and the bespectacled boy goes silent.

“Well,” Marlene says, cheerfully, looking between Remus and Sirius with a knowing look. “The cake looks delicious. Did you make it yourself, Mrs. Lupin?”

“I - yes, I did,” the woman nods, looking at her son strangely. Then, she shakes herself, and smiles around at everybody in general. “I’ll cut it up for everybody. Remus, dear, do you think you could fetch me some plates from the kitchen?”

Remus goes crimson. “I don’t think that would - erm - no, Mum, I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Mrs. Lupin blinks. “Why not?”

“I don’t think I should stand up,” Remus mumbles, sinking low in his chair. “My, uh. My legs hurting a bit.”

His mother goes pink with realisation. “Oh. Oh. Of course. I’ll get them, and Harold, could you help me please?”

The moment his parents are gone, Remus rounds on Sirius. “What were you thinking? I’ve never been so embarrassed in front of them, in my entire life! You complete arse!”

Sirius, unable to help himself, leans forward and kisses the anger away. Withdrawing slightly, he murmurs, “I know. But aren’t I the best arse in the world?”

“You -” Remus licks his lips, and nods. “Yes. I think you are.”

Sirius places his hand back underneath the table, and squeezes softly. As Remus lets out a small groan, and narrows his eyes slightly, Sirius smiles, softly. “Happy birthday. I love you, you complete and utter ponce.”

boutiquemuse @ 2008-01-26T14:34:00

2008-01-26T14:38:52Z

Here's chapter two of Brilliant Creatures. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns any characters and places you recognise.

Summary: The party goes under way, and Albus has to choose between two important people in his life. The school also begins to take action -- but can the threat of Harry Potter quell the punishments?

Song: Title of this chapter and the lyrics used are from the song The Headmaster Ritual by The Smiths.

Author Notes: Thanks for the postivie feedback on the last chapter, and I hope you all enjoy this one. xx

[Professor Creek, an apprehensive headmistress]
credit to the almighty SaphiraLupin at TDA!

Chapter Two - The Headmaster Ritual

I wanna go home, I don't wanna stay.
Give up education as a bad mistake.

*

Dear Mum and Dad,

I know what you’re thinking, since when does James write you without being written to first? Well, I think there’s a call for it this time. I promise you it won’t happen again.

You’ve both probably seen the newspapers recently, and that article about Albus and the way he acts at school. Especially with that Scorpius Malfoy. Now, I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if the Malfoy boy did take drugs all the time, but I can promise you that Albus isn’t involved in it, at all.

Paris Monroe, the stupid woman who wrote it, has a daughter in fifth year called Elizabeth Monroe, I believe. Lily tells me she thinks herself a budding journalist herself and she’s just trying to get gossip out of the school. It’s not true, so don’t worry.

Albus isn’t like that. I don’t know about Malfoy, but I still think it’s a bad idea, the two of them being friends. I won’t go into that though, you know my opinion.

Lots of love,

James x

(P.S. I already have two detentions!)

*

A startled Scorpius soon realised that there was no need for the screaming, really. There was just an annoyingly young third year (he wondered who on earth had invited him), who was high on something or other and evidently hallucinating. The boy was laid out across the floor, yelling at something nobody else could see. Scorpius simply stepped over him in search of friends.

The room was wildly decorated in greens, yellows, pinks and reds, clashing terribly but providing a vibrant atmosphere. Around thirty or forty people were there, some dancing to the music blaring out from Wizard’s Wireless that was propped up on a table in the corner, some in another corner smoking, some in yet another corner sniffing up drugs, and some talking in the huddle of chairs.

The room was soundproof, of course, much to everybody’s relief. They would have been caught long ago if not, and so far they hadn’t been found once. Scorpius wound around the dancers, smiling and trailing his fingers around the odd person’s hips, and went over to the chairs, where he could see Albus’s mess of black hair.

He reached the chairs in no time, raised a hand to those who were greeting him, and dropped himself down onto Albus’s lap. “Where’s Crazy Ava?”

Albus, who shifted obligingly to make them both more comfortable, shrugged. “She went off crying, I think. She’d drank so much Firewhisky she could barely stand, so I don’t think it’s anything too bad. You’re lucky she’s not here, too, or she’d hex you into next week for calling her that again.”

“She’s crazy and she’s called Ava, what is there to get offended about?” Scorpius asked, eyes wide and innocent. He messed up Albus’s hair fondly, and then looked around. “Haven’t started getting drunk yourself, then? Why not?”

“I was waiting for you, of course,” Albus replied, with a longing glance at the table of alcohol. “It’s no fun getting smashed without you, and you bloody well know it.”

“Aw, I never knew you cared that much,” Scorpius winked, standing up. “Come on then. Let’s get pissed and take our shirts off. It has to happen sometime this year, three days without it has been far too long.”

“Hear, hear,” Albus laughed, jumping to his feet and heading towards the alcohol. “Drinking competition, or casual shots?”

“Casual shots,” Scorpius replied, wrinkling his nose. “I want some fairy dust, too. I just hope Dexter’s managed to bring enough to quench my thirst. I’ve spent all summer with barely any.”

“Poor thing,” Albus sighed, sympathetically. He poured out two large glasses of vodka, which they both preferred to Firewhisky, and diluted it with a some orange juice that was next to the bottle. He held out Scorpius’s glass, which Scorpius took with a smile of thanks. “Anyway, any conquests for you tonight? I’m sure you’ve been starved of snogging this summer, too.”

“Hardly,” Scorpius said, lowering his glass and looking wistful. “There was a new family in the village, and they had two beautiful children. By children, I mean two seventeen year olds, of course. I wasn’t starved of kisses, believe me.”

“Nice,” Albus smiled, taking a swig of his drink. When he’d finished, he smacked his lips, and looked around. “Wonder where Ava got off to. Think I should go look for her?”

“No,” Scorpius said, simply, taking Albus’s arm and leading him towards the group of those with the fairy dust. “She’ll be fine, she’s a tough girl. Now, come and get high with me.”

“As you wish,” Albus obliged, smiling at one of the female dancers who caught his eye. “I wish I’d been starved of fairy dust over the summer. Lily walked in on me taking some at one point. I quickly hid it, but I think she knew what I was up to.”

“Why don’t you invite her to a party someday?” Scorpius asked, taking two of the sachets of fairy dust and a packet of pills from the pocket of an unconscious Dexter Forest. “She’s quite a pretty kid, she’d fit in well.”

“Now, now,” Albus frowned, plonking himself down on a chair next to Dexter, and accepting the sachet from Scorpius. “I’ve told you enough times that Lily is off limit. Stop talking about her. She’s only fourteen.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to touch her,” Scorpius winked again, sitting by his best friend. “God, I’ve missed this stuff. The parties, the drugs, and you. Summer’s been so boring.”

“I love how I come last in the list of things you’ve missed,” Albus said, sounding amused. Scorpius glanced up from where he was tipping out the white powder onto the wooden table, lifted a hand and ran a finger down Albus’s jaw. Albus smiled, softly, and let a throaty chuckle escape him.

“You know I missed you most, Allie,” Scorpius murmured, wearing half a smirk. He tapped Albus’s jaw with his finger and withdrew it, looking pleased with himself. “Now, get that cute little nose of yours ready for the high of it’s life.”

*

Edward Belby leant against the wall, biting his lip. The party was raging behind him, he knew it. Even though it was in his imagination, he was sure he could feel the reverberations of the music beneath his fingers as they rested against the stone.

He had never specifically been invited to one of the parties, however much he had wanted to be. Rose had told him where they took place and how to get in, scorn heavy in her voice. He couldn’t understand why she turned the invitations down. Yet, despite the rejections, Albus kept inviting his cousin. Everybody loved Rose. Next to her, Edward was invisible.

He scuffed his shoes against the floor, turning over what to do in his mind. If he simply went back to the Gryffindor common room now, he’d be safe but he’d regret backing out. If he went in, he was at risk of being rejected, but at least he’d know - at last - if he’d be accepted into the parties.

After all, Scorpius would be in there. Scorpius, who had never even spoken to Edward before, but who haunted the dreams of the Gryffindor. Svelte, beautiful Scorpius who Edward knew, deep down, he loved. He didn’t care that everyone seemed to ‘love’ the Slytherin - what he felt was real, he knew.

With this drive pumping in his blood, he grit his teeth and set out, walking past the stretch of wall three times. When the door materialised, he took a deep breath, opened it, and strode in. The party was madness, more mad than he’d imagined.

People were kissing everywhere he looked, and a string of dancers threaded across the room, groping and laughing. A table of empty bottles towered over the room, and on some surfaces were the familiar signs of fairy dust. The air was heavy with the scent of Screechsnap. It was a sweet smell, but a telltale one of drugs.

Edward pushed through the room, in search of Scorpius. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do when he found him, but he had to try, at least. Nobody spared him a second glance, which he found half a relief and half an insult. Finally, he emerged at the back of the room, and his heart seemed to stop for a moment as he saw the mop of startlingly blonde hair.

Scorpius.

But Scorpius wasn’t alone. He was kissing a girl that Edward knew was a sixth year Ravenclaw called Gina Knox. He paused, watching the two of them kiss, and felt a rush of horror inside of him. Of course, he knew that Scorpius kissed anybody and everybody but Edward, but actually seeing it seemed to deaden something inside of him.

Scorpius paused the kiss for a moment, and their eyes met. Edward tried to smile, but the muscles in his face seemed to have stopped working. Scorpius raised an eyebrow, smirked and waved. Edward, feeling numb, raised a hand and waved back.

And then, again, Scorpius was kissing the girl, leaving Edward to turn away and go to the drinks table. He wanted to get as drunk as hell, and try to forget the love that devoured him.

*

“Ava, calm down, won’t you?” Albus begged, casting a wary glance around. He didn’t make a habit of visiting girls’ toilets, and now he was here he realised that if they were caught, there could be serious consequences. What with the noise Ava was making, he was surprised that there weren’t teachers running in already. “Ava, stop it. You’re being silly. What’s wrong?”

“I’m not being silly,” she sobbed, make-up in stark streaks down her face. “You don’t love me, do you?”

“Oh, stop it, it’s the alcohol talking,” Albus snapped, irritated at her frivolity. He sank to the stone floor, shaking his head. How was he supposed to know if he was in love? She did this every time she got drunk, and it annoyed the hell out of him. “I’m not answering you when you’re pissed.”

“Stop dismissing me!” she cried, wiping her tears away and swatting him on the arm. “I want to know if you love me. Tell me, now. Can you go ten minutes without thinking of me?”

“No,” Albus lied, bored. He wanted to get back to the party and catch up with Scorpius; the summer had been long and tiresome without his best friend. “Ava, you either come with me back to the party, or I’m off myself. It’s stupid hanging around in a toilet.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ava mumbled, and then lurched towards the toilet. “I think I’m going to be --”

“I’ll go fetch Rebecca to help you.” Albus rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. “Come and find me when you’ve finished throwing up, yeah?”

Without waiting for an answer, he left the girls toilets and made his way back up to the seventh floor. He was fond of Ava, yes, and it tipped over sometimes to love. But he had never felt in love, like people often said they were. He’d be the first to admit it was more of a lustful relationship than a loving one, even if he sometimes felt guilty for lying to Ava and saying he loved her.

Going up the stairs from the sixth floor, Albus ran a hand through his dark hair. There were going to be repercussions for the article in the newspaper, he knew, but he couldn’t seriously believe it would be anything bad. After all, nobody would do anything bad to a Potter. His dad’s authority was far too great for that.

With these positive thoughts in his mind, he headed over to the party once more. As he opened the door to go in, somebody pushed past him, coming out. It was Edward Belby, Rose’s best friend. He looked thoroughly forlorn, though sober, and walked past Albus without looking up. Albus frowned, but carried on into the party. He didn’t know Edward, and it wasn’t his business to know what was the matter with him.

The party was dwindling down now, with only around ten occupants left. Scorpius was dropping off on one of the sofas, alone for once, and so Albus made a beeline straight for him. Rebecca wasn’t in the room, so he guessed Ava would just have to sort herself out.

“Party over?” Albus asked, sitting on the sofa, and nudging Scorpius’s legs out of the way. Scorpius opened his grey eyes, and shrugged. His blonde hair was messed up now, and in his eyes, whilst lipstick was smeared across his mouth. Albus noted, with a smile, that there were at least four shades mixed together. “Kissed a lot of girls, then?”

“Yeah,” Scorpius murmured, yawning. He sat up and shuffled around, instead nestling his head against Albus’s chest. “Don’t move. Comfy.”

“I’m glad you are,” Albus grumbled, without any heart. “Ava asked the question again, you know. It’s awful, she won’t shut up about it.”

“Hmm. Tell her the truth.”

“I dunno what the truth is myself, though.”

“Split up with her? Or tell her you’re in love with me. That’ll stop her asking.”

“Yeah, and that’ll just get the both of us murdered,” Albus snorted, shaking his head. “I won’t split up with her or anything drastic. She’ll just believe me when I say I love her soon enough, and hopefully stop asking.”

“Fair enough,” Scorpius yawned, squirming to get more comfortable. “Stop moving, Allie, I want to go to sleep. The fairy dust is wearing off, and you know it always makes me sleepy. Hush.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Albus said, sharply, pushing his friend away. “The last time this happened you fell asleep and were impossible to wake up. Let’s get back to the dormitory before I end up stuck underneath you, yeah?”

“You always get stuck underneath me,” Scorpius smirked, but obligingly stood up. “Come on then, love, if we must go to bed, we shall.”

“Glad you see sense,” Albus smiled, leading the way out of the room. They emerged in the empty corridor, shutting the door behind them, and began their descent through the castle in silence. It was, according to Albus’s watch, nearing one in the morning. Luckily, Saturday was upon the two of them, so they could sleep in and not worry about missing any lessons.

The corridors of Hogwarts were still, thankfully, deserted. The main problem the boys encountered on the way back from the parties were the ghosts, Peeves especially. If they bumped into one of them (or, more precisely, walked through one of them), all hell could break loose. The Bloody Baron was inclined to ignore them, but most of the others were disapproving and, in the case of Peeves, likely to call the caretaker.

The caretaker was a kindly, middle aged wizard known as Radcliff. He was nice to the students in general, and was helpful and friendly, but in the case of Albus and Scorpius - well, he wasn’t inclined to be very nice to them. He had caught them one too many times, high on whatever substance they’d procured that night, and his threats of telling their parents were beginning to get closer to being carried out every time.

“I can’t make it,” Scorpius moaned. Albus thought his best friend was being ridiculously dramatic, and turned to push him onwards, but to his alarm Scorpius was being deadly serious. The boy had gone pale and he was swaying dangerously on his feet. As Albus made to support him, he slumped forward, completely unconscious.

Albus had played Quidditch long enough to get good reflexes, and so he moved forward quickly and managed to catch Scorpius, grimacing slightly at holding all of his weight. The fact that Scorpius had knocked himself out because of drugs didn’t surprise him - in fact, in was quite a common occurrence - but it always worried him. There was always a chance he’d never wake up.

“Wake up, you arse,” Albus muttered, laying his friend on the floor. He checked his pulse - which was fine - and smoothed the blonde hair from the pale forehead. “Wake up, you arse!”

Scorpius stirred slightly, and his grey eyes flicked open. Their eyes locked and Scorpius smiled, sleepily, and murmured, “Night night, Allie.”

With that, the blonde boy turned over, nestled against the floor, and began to snore. Albus gaped at him for a full minute, before scowling and kicking the wall in frustration. They were still on the fifth floor, and seeing as their beds were in the dungeons, he knew he had quite a bit of carrying to do.

Resigned, he hoisted Scorpius up, shuffled the unconscious body around in order to be more comfortable, and carefully made his way down to the fourth floor. He was grateful, once again, for the empty corridors - he was carrying Scorpius rather like a groom might carry a bride, and it wasn’t as though there weren’t already suspicions as to the nature of their friendship.

Not wishing to dwell upon the subject himself, Albus hummed quietly himself as he passed the bathrooms on the fourth floor. However, his humming, and his movement, came to a halt as he nearly collided by somebody staggering out of the girl’s toilets.

It was Ava, and she looked up when she realised she had nearly banged into someone. Her eyes were smudged with make-up, and her cheeks were slightly green with nausea. However, despite her drunken state, she managed to focus upon the pair in front of her.

Her brown eyes narrowed instantly.

“Oh, so this is where you’ve been!” she shouted, her voice slurred. Albus winced, shaking his head to try and shut her up. She paid no attention to him, however, and instead pointed at Scorpius. “I wanted you to help me! All you ever do is help Scorpius. I’m your girlfriend.”

“I know you are,” Albus said, in what he hoped was a calming voice. “I’ll help you in a minute. I’m just going to get Scorpius to the dungeons, and then I’ll come back and -”

“No!” she protested, folding her arms over her chest. “Put Scorpius down and - and carry me. I need you more than he does.”

“Well, look, no.” Albus shifted Scorpius again, his arms aching a little. “Can’t you just let me go? I’ll be back in a second.”

“If you like Scorpius more than me, then go ahead!” she yelled, swaying slightly. The green of her cheeks had faded to a pure white now, and she swayed unsteadily. A little more feebly, she murmured, “Carry me like you’re carrying him.”

“Ava, are you okay?” Albus asked, but it was a moment too late.

She had slumped to the floor in a drunken faint.

Albus raised his eyebrows and his mouth fell open from shock, his eyes moving from his unconscious girlfriend, to his unconscious best friend. Then, feeling very much hard done to, he kicked the wall again and shouted, “Shit!”

Then, of course, came the decision of what to do. He looked between them again, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Who should he help to the dungeons first? Ava or Scorpius? His girlfriend, or his best friend?

After a moment more of deliberation, Albus shrugged, hoisted Scorpius over his shoulder, and muttered, “Sorry, Ava. See you in a minute.”

*

The sunlight washed over Scorpius, turning his pale hair golden and causing his pale skin to shine. He stirred at the sudden warmth, arching his back like a cat and unfolding his limbs. His grey eyes flickered open, and then narrowed, blinded by the light. He sat up, clutching at his forehead, and blinked a couple of times.

Saturday. The sacred day of rest and hangovers.

It was a bad hangover, too, he realised, as he climbed out of bed. His head felt as though it had been smashed against a wall, his limbs were shaky and tender, and his stomach was churning unpleasantly. He was still dressed in last night’s clothes - his Sex Kitten t-shirt crumpled with sleep - and so he quickly slipped them off and pulled on a dressing gown.

The other boys were all asleep, their low, steady breaths filling the room like appalling music, and Scorpius glanced at them as he made his way to the bathroom. Albus lay face down on his bed, still in his clothes as well. Wrinkling his nose, Scorpius tried to remember what exactly had happened the night before.

He remembered being ushered down the stairs by a concerned Albus, but halfway through the journey his memory hit a blank. He guessed he’d passed out and that Albus had to carry him, but that was just how things went. He wasn’t particularly concerned. Turning on the tap in the bathroom, he looked up blearily into the mirror. His blonde hair was messy and there were dark shadows underneath his eyes, but otherwise he looked in good health.

It was a good job, too. He wouldn’t take a step out of the dormitory if he looked anything less than beautiful.

He splashed his face with cold water and ran a brush through his hair, hoping to feel a little better. It worked, to some extent. Some of the dizziness had faded and he felt almost chirpy, and so strolled back into the dormitory to get changed. Still, the other boys slept on.

Scorpius pulled off his dressing gown and threw it carelessly on the bed. He set about getting changed for the day, after a glance outside to see that it looked rather windy, making as little noise as possible. Until he was dressed, he hardly wanted anyone else awake in the room. He dressed casually, for once, his jeans only a little tight.

However, as he knelt down to tie up the laces on his red boots, there was a tentative knock on the door. Raising an eyebrow - nobody had ever knocked before - he called, “Come in!”. The door swung open, to reveal a nervous looking second year boy. Surprised, Scorpius stood up straight and went over to talk to him.

“I’ve got a - a message from Professor Creek,” the boy squeaked, fidgeting with the frayed edge of his cardigan. “He wants to see you and - and Albus Potter as soon as possible.”

“Professor Creek?” Scorpius asked, mildly interested. “I was wondering when our first trip to see the lovely headmistress would be. Thanks for letting us know.”

“It’s - it’s okay,” the boy stuttered, already turning away and scurrying down the stairs. Scorpius shook his head in bemusement - little children always confused him. He had never been that shy when he was younger. He didn’t think he ever had been shy in any sense of the word, come to think of it.

Softly padding across the room, he made straight for Albus’s bed. If the headmaster wanted to see them, it must be pretty serious. Albus was snoring, his face down on his pillow, but Scorpius was merciless - he leant close to his friends, and shook his shoulders, whispering in his ear, “Albus, Albus, wake up, we have to go somewhere”.

Albus swatted him away, sleepily, but Scorpius persisted. Finally, after about five minutes of pestering, the work was complete. Albus lurched out of bed, hair tousled and in his eyes, and blinked groggily at his friend. “What d’you want, you git? I was dreaming about something really good.”

“Was it me, by any chance?” Scorpius asked, lightly. As Albus made to reply, he quickly interjected, “Get dressed into something respectable. Creek wants to see us.”

“Creek?” Albus asked, sharply, all signs of tiredness gone. “As in the headmistress?”

“Who else by the name would want to see us?” Scorpius smirked, and then stretched, his jumper riding up to reveal his hairless stomach. “Get changed. She’ll be in a right mood if we don’t get there soon.”

“She’s always in a right mood,” Albus muttered, but consented and went off to hunt for clothes for the day.

*

“Now,” Professor Creek sighed, leaning back in her chair and staring alternatively between the two boys. Albus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to meet the headmistress’s eye. She was usually a genial woman, but she wasn’t too fond of them and their troublemaking ways. “Boys, what am I to do with you?”

“You could slap our wrists and let us leave,” Scorpius suggested, slumped back in his seat and looking thoroughly bored. “This is just as much a chore for you as it is for us, Professor. We all know that.”

“I would do that, normally, Malfoy,” Creek nodded, looking unmoved by his attempt at charming her. “The thing is, I haven’t got you here for a specific wrongdoing. I have got you here for this.”

In time with the last word she threw a newspaper onto her desk, pointing at an article on page four. It was, just as Albus feared, the article that had emerged the previous day, featuring the picture of the two of them high on some illegal substance or other. Albus licked his lips nervously, and glanced at Scorpius. Scorpius looked completely composed, casting a disdainful look at the paper.

“Professor Creek, really, you don’t believe The Prophet, do you?” he sniffed, sounding scornful. “I thought you were above such things. Everybody knows it prints complete lies. I’m sure my father will be suing for libel.”

“The governors have been in contact,” Creek snapped, snatching the paper back from the table, as though it had been abused somehow. “There will be an investigation; they’ve demanded we have one. The Ministry is sending a specialist around sometime in the next week to ensure you are both drug free. This is a serious matter, and I’m thoroughly ashamed of the both of you.”

“But none of it’s true!” Albus insisted, desperately trying to prove their innocence. “The governors can do what they want. My dad will put a stop to all this. It’s ridiculous.”

Creek stiffened, her mouth forming a tight line. She was fairly young, only in her late twenties, and she’d been bought up in the generation that respected Harry Potter and his defeat of Lord Voldemort. Quietly, in a restrained voice, she murmured, “I don’t think there is any point in involving your father.”

“He’ll want to be involved without me asking,” Albus noted, rather relieved inside that she was getting worried. “Do you really think he won’t come into school, when the national newspaper has accused me of being a drug user? He’ll probably come today, especially if there has to be an inquiry.”

“Well, nobody said there had to be an inquiry,” Creek muttered, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

“I thought the governors said there had to be,” Scorpius said, sounding surprised. “The Ministry, too.”

“They didn’t say there had to be, exactly,” she said, in a sheepish voice. “I thought it would be fitting, however, to show them we are doing something. I was going to suggest a drug specialist come in from the Ministry and -”

“I’ll have to go and write to my dad, then,” Albus sighed, and out of the corner of his eye saw Scorpius wink at him. “He’ll want to be present, and he’ll want to talk to you about how you’re handling it, Professor. I dunno if he’ll be happy, though.”

“I won’t run my school how Mr Potter wants it,” the headmistress protested, but she didn’t sound certain. “He is just another parent. If he has any concerns about the way things go, he can make an appointment.”

“I’ll go and tell him that for you,” Albus offered, standing up. “I mean, we’re completely clean, so it will just look bad on the school - but if you’d rather go through all the bother for nothing, go ahead. We’ll look forward to it, won’t we, Scorpius?”

“We will indeed,” Scorpius nodded as well, getting to his feet. “It should be fun, meeting some dashing Ministry official who is intent on sending us to Azkaban when we‘ve done nothing wrong.”

“Off we go then!” Albus said, cheerily, sharing a smirk with Scorpius. “I’m sure we’ll see you later, with my dad, Professor Creek.”

“Wait!” she called, as they headed for the door. They turned, innocent, curious expressions on their faces. She looked miserable and torn, but drew herself up to her full height and glared at the two of them. “Are you really telling the truth about being clean?”

“Of course we are!” Scorpius lied, sounding offended at the doubt. “We wouldn’t lie, or we’d only be exposed.”

“Well, then, I see no point in an inquiry,” Creek said, with an attempt at a stern voice. “However, if there is one more hint of any kind of illicit activities from either of you, the Ministry is going to be contacted. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor,” Albus beamed, relief flooding him. “Thanks very much.”

With that, the two boys left the office. Once they were out of earshot of their headmistress, they began to laugh at their own cleverness, and pat each other on the back.

“Jesus, mate,” Scorpius snorted, running a hand through his light hair. “I wish my dad had that sort of power. Did you see the look on her face when you mentioned him?”

“It was great, wasn’t it?” Albus laughed, admiringly. They emerged into a corridor near the Entrance Hall, and Scorpius sniffed the air, hopefully. Albus cast him a strange look, rather alarmed at the behaviour. “What’s the matter? Someone smell bad?”

“I smell food, Allie,” Scorpius said, pouting slightly as he looked at his best friend. “Let’s go eat, shall we?”

Albus grinned again, and slung an easy arm around his friend’s shoulders. “’Course we can. All that lying has made me starving.”

*

boutiquemuse @ 2008-01-24T20:40:00

2008-01-24T20:49:29Z

Title: Motorbike [prompt #12 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: R
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 879
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Sexual situations.
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: Marauders, August 1978
Summary: Remus and Sirius intend to go on a motorbike ride. Sadly, or perhaps thankfully, Sirius gets rather distracted by certain urges.
Notes: This was going to be a lot longer and more explicit, but I got distracted by my anger at the Westboro Baptist "Church" and wasn't much in the mood. I hope you all like this, regardless. Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal.

They make their way out of the house, both of them carrying helmets, and Remus lets his free hand brush against Sirius’s for the merest of moments. Sirius grins at him, and pets the seat of the motorbike. “Up you get.”

When it had first been bought, Remus was reluctant to even go near the motorbike.

When Sirius had pulled up outside of the house on the thing for the first time, Remus had felt his heart sink. It was obvious from the way his boyfriend’s hands lovingly stroked the handlebars and the way those grey eyes moved from wheel to wheel, that Sirius was completely in love with the thing. He’d talked about getting one for weeks, and Remus had thought nothing of it. If only he’d known how much he’d grow to loathe it, he’d have protested at least a little.

It reminded him, a little weirdly, of how he’d feel before the two of them started going out in seventh year. Sirius would always be with a girl, touching her and smirking at her, and it felt like hell had opened up a new base in Remus’s stomach whenever he’d seen it happening. Of course, a bike was a bike and it was hardly going to steal Sirius away (he hoped), but still, it had been rather disconcerting to see how much attention Sirius paid it.

After a couple of rides upon it, however, Remus soon learned why it was so attractive. There is something both thrilling and comfortable, sat on the back of the thing, arms snugly around Sirius’s waist. Sirius doesn’t hold back, either - he turns corners at alarming speed, and ignores the bumps in the road designed to slow him down. And, well, it flies. Usually, Remus would be reluctant to court with danger; he’s dating Sirius Black, though, and has become rather accustomed to it.

Obligingly, he rests against the leather seat, not wanting to leave just yet. They’re off to visit Alice and Frank, meeting Lily and James there, but Remus isn’t quite ready to leave yet. He lifts a hand and runs a finger across Sirius’s collarbone, feeling a little guilty. There’s a dark bruise there, a stain on such porcelain skin. “Sorry, again. I didn’t mean to -”

“Moony, it’s fine,” Sirius scolds, but smiles at the touch. “I can’t believe you’re still harping on about it. It’s a souvenir of passion and I’m proud of it.”

Remus blushes. He always seems to get embarrassed around Sirius, even if they’ve been dating for six months now. He lets his fingers play Sirius’s collar, the shirt bright and a little too colourful. “I still feel bad. James is going to be awful about it. You know how he likes to speculate on how - well -”

“How wild you are in bed?” Sirius asks, raising his eyebrows. Remus goes even redder, causing Sirius to bark a laugh and plant a kiss on his lips. “Well,” he smirks, withdrawing. “That’s because you are wild in bed, Mr Lupin.”

Whether or not that’s true is disputable, but Remus decides to play along. With a careful glance around the street to ensure it’s deserted, he lets his hands slide up that ridiculous shirt, and murmurs, “Wild, am I?”

“Mmm,” Sirius confirms, expression softening. “You have no idea how much of a turn on it is when you talk in that voice. Which means, of course, that you should carry on. Chop chop.”

“Sirius,” Remus laughs, suddenly realising that he’s pressed against the motorbike much more firmly than before, Sirius’s stomach against his. He lets a thumb - arms trapped awkwardly between their two bodies - gently graze against a nipple. “I’m not going to talk dirty in the middle of the street. Anyone could walk past.”

“That’s the fun of it!” Sirius insists, dipping his head to kiss his boyfriend’s neck. “We’re in a bloody London suburb. The only people who live here are old people and druggies. Anyway, it’s Sunday morning, no one’s going to be walking past.”

“Sirius,” Remus half-scolds, half-moans, as one of Sirius’s hands slip down and gently squeeze a body part that sets Remus’s mind alight. “S-Sirius, we hardly in an appropriate situation to - oh God - we shouldn’t -”

“When you try to resist, you turn me on,” Sirius remarks, idly.

“Sadist,” Remus gasps, as Sirius lowers a second hand. He knows he’s giving in, right there and then. Sirius does that to him.

Sirius winks, and plants a firm kiss upon Remus’s lips. Withdrawing slightly, he murmurs, “This is alright, then?”

Remus nods, smoothing a few strands of black hair, rather unable to speak. Sirius smiles, a soft, sweet smile, and then drops to his knees. Remus knows he could be arrested for indecent exposure if anybody happens to see him, but as Sirius unbuckles his belt, he finds that he really doesn’t care. Vaguely, he wonders where his morals have gone, but then realises, suddenly, that it was worth losing them to gain Sirius.

“I love you,” he says, firmly, as Sirius takes him in his mouth.

And, in his own way - by making Remus gasp and shudder and clutch onto the motorbike for dear life - Sirius says so back.

boutiquemuse @ 2008-01-14T23:00:00

2008-01-14T23:10:17Z

Title: Money [prompt #11 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: G - PGish, teensy bits of innuendo
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 2220
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Painfully fluffy fluff? Book abuse! Oh, and a kiss.
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: Marauders, late 6^th year
Summary: Sirius inherits a huge amount of money, and decides to treat a certain werewolf he knows.
Notes: I’m writing these prompts faster than ever. Hurrah. Thanks for all the feedback I’ve been getting! As to this prompt, I’ve researched the price for the book that’s featured in it, so I haven’t just grossly overestimated. I hope. Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or

mouse_pie for my personal journal.

Sirius walks down the street, blinking dazedly.

When Ministry officials had arranged a meeting with him, concerning ‘personal matters’, he’d blanched. Leaving Hogwarts and going to the Ministry was one of the scariest things he’d ever done - what if they knew he was an illegal Animagus? He’d be sent to Azkaban for sure, and if there was one place he never wanted to end up in, it was there. The very thought makes him shudder.

But all of that speculating was much more realistic to what had actually happened. A couple of friendly wizards had sat him down, told him they’d finished sorting out his Uncle Alphard’s will, and that he’d inherited all the money his uncle had left behind. He’d always known Alphard was rich - he’d gotten generations-worth of gold for simply being born into the right family - but he’d never known he was that rich.

500,000 Galleons.

He’d been completely penniless before, after running away from home and losing his fortune, but now? Now he will never have to work again. He probably will work, as he gets restless when not doing anything, but he can support himself forever more. He never needs his parents again. He never needs anyone again.

Passing shop after shop, he realises that he can afford anything within them. In his head, he’s roughly worked out that he owns about two and a half million pounds. It’s insane. But it’s real. It’s all his. He can go into the pharmacy he’s passing and buy every bit of medicine on the shelves. He can go into the bakery he’s passing and buy every cake in here, bringing back a feast for every Gryffindor. He can go into the library he’s passing -

No, he wouldn’t do that. He’s rich, not stupid. He’s hardly about to waste money on books, of all things.

However, walking past the window, his eyes fall on the display, and he comes to a halt. In pride of place is an old, battered book, a small placard next to it. Wuthering Height by Emily Bronte, £10,000. He frowns, slightly, a memory surfacing from the depths of his mind.

Remus was obsessed with the book all through fifth year, though he never spoke of it to his friends. They’d all just laugh at him. But Sirius had noticed how much he read it, how much he enthused to Evans about it, and how distracted he seemed when the book was in his hands. Then, he’d lost his copy, and hadn’t enough money to buy a new copy. It had been a third edition, his family’s only heirloom, and he’d been guilty and upset and gloomy for weeks. Sirius had offered to buy him a new copy, but he’d shook his head and said, quite rightly, that Sirius had no money to do so.
Yet, now he does.

Sirius peers at the £10,000 price tag, thinking hard. He has more than enough money to buy it, and he knows it must be a rare thing. But is it worth it? He thinks of Remus’s smile, and feels a painful jolt in his stomach. That damn crush that has been forming over the past couple of the years is nagging again. He can’t get the thought of that smile out of his head. And that smile? It’s worth anything.

Eager to see it once more, he sets off at a run to Diagon Alley, hoping against hope Gringotts can exchange some of his Galleons into Muggle money.

*

The Hospital Wing is empty, apart from Madam Pomfrey and a sleeping Remus Lupin.

Sirius enters, clutching a freshly-wrapped, heavy parcel, and the matron looks up. She bustles over, frowning slightly. Sirius is well over the crush he had on her in third year, but he still smiles charmingly at the young woman. She relents, slightly, and gives him a smile in response. “What is wrong with you this time, then?”

“Nothing, my dear Poppy,” he says, waving a dramatic hand. “I simply came to visit Remus.”

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips, with a glance at the sleeping boy. “I’m not sure. He’s exhausted from last night’s transformation. I’m not sure I should allow you to wake him.”

“I have a present for him!” Sirius says, holding it up for her to see. “It’ll cheer him up, I swear.”

“It won’t explode, will it?” she asks, warily taking it from him and inspecting it’s size and shape.

“It’s just a book, a perfectly innocent book.”

“Why am I inclined to disbelieve you?” she smiles, and hands it back. “Go on then. But I’m staying here so I can keep an eye on you. Mr Lupin needs his rest.”

“Cheers,” Sirius grins, saluting her, and makes his way over to the only occupied bed. Remus is fast asleep, his brown hair tousled and in his eyes, and Sirius sits tentatively on the side of the bed. Last night, the Marauders had had great, if tiring, fun - running around in their various animal forms, and it was really no wonder Remus is so tired.
Remus is, he decides there and then, really quite attractive when he sleeps.

He’s even more attractive when he’s awake, so Sirius shakes his shoulder, and whispers the boy’s name. Remus stirs, groaning slightly, and his broken eyes flicker open. They’re dull for a moment, but then light up as life enters into them. Remus stirs, and focuses upon Sirius, with a small, soft smile. “Sirius. Hey.”

“Hey,” Sirius grins, ignoring the bubble of excitement within him at the sight of that smile. The excitement rises when he remembers the present clutched in his hand, and how Remus will react. It’ll be wonderful. “How’re you feeling?”

“So-so,” Remus replies, sleepily. “Yourself?”

“Fantastic, thanks,” Sirius enthuses, almost bouncing with happiness. “I got a letter this morning from the Ministry asking for a meeting. They said it was a really serious, personal mater.”

“The Ministry?” Remus asks, sharply, suddenly looking wide awake. “What about? Are you in trouble?”

“Funnily enough, no,” Sirius answers, tossing his hair from his eyes. “It was to do with Uncle Alphard, and his will. You’ll never guess what he’s left me.”

Remus furrows his brow. “I’ve no idea. What?”

“Money,” Sirius says, in a sing song voice. “You’ll never guess how much.”

“How much?” Remus asks, looking interested, but nowhere near as excited as Sirius hoped for.

Sirius tells him.

“You’re joking?” Remus gasps, sitting up, and then wincing and laying back down. “You can’t be serious. That’s - that’s -”

“That’s the truth, baby,” Sirius snorts, ecstatic to see Remus so shocked by it all. “It’s not the best part of the truth, either. Well, I mean, it probably is. I’m safe for the rest of my life now and everything, not to rub it in, but - well - you’ll see. Open this.”

He holds the parcel out to Remus, beaming. Remus stares at it for a moment or two, looking rather suspicious, before taking it. He feels it, tentatively, and casts a puzzled look at Sirius, who gestures for him to open it. “It’s a book, isn’t it?” Remus guesses, and Sirius nods. “Why have you -”

“Open it!” Sirius demands. He can’t wait to see Remus’s reaction. When Remus continues to look dubious, he sighs. “I promise you there’s no prank involved. It’s something really good, you’ll see.”

Remus gives in, at last, and carefully removes the brown packaging. Sirius bites his lip, and resists shouting out what it is before Remus has worked it out. Once all of the packaging has been removed, the sandy-haired boy gazes at the cover. “Wuthering Heights,” he says, softly. “But why - oh God. It’s a - it’s a -”

“First edition,” Sirius almost shouts, feeling overly pleased with himself. He just loves giving gifts, especially as Remus’s cheeks are turning pink in an overly beautiful way. He resists the urge to kiss them and make them even redder, pushing the annoying crush to the back of his mind. “I saw it, and reckon you’d want -”

“I can’t take this,” Remus whispers, inspecting it with a reverence that’s almost laughable. “Sirius, you have to take it back. This is ridiculous.”

Sirius stops bouncing. “What? Why is it?”

“You just need to take it back, I don’t care how much money you have. I appreciate the thought, but I really don’t need this.”

“It’s just a present,” Sirius says, more than a little disappointed. “Of course you can take it. It didn‘t cost much.”
Remus shakes his head. “Sirius, I’m not stupid. You’ve left the price tag on.”

“I -” Sirius looks down and sees the price, tied on to the corner of the book with a piece of string, so as not to harm the cover. “Oh. Err. Well, you see -”

“I can’t even believe that you’d -” Remus shakes his head, and hands him the book. “Please, just take it back. Before I actually realise what I’m giving up. Please.”

“But why can’t you just accept it? It’s a present!”

“I don’t want charity, Sirius. I appreciate it, more than you could know, I really do, but it’s just too much. It’s ridiculously too much.”

“I’ll probably get James and Peter something that costs the same,” Sirius says, though he hadn’t really thought about it before. “I’m not giving you charity. I’m giving you a present. I’m not taking it back, either.”

“I’m not accepting it,” Remus says, though it looks like it’s physically hurting him to say so. “I know you’ve got a lot of money, but this simply isn’t worth it. Well, it’s worth the money. But it isn’t worth your money, for me.”

Sirius glares at him, toying with the ideas of kissing him and hitting him. Both are equally appealing. In the end, though, he decides with something less catastrophic. “Fine,” he shrugs, standing up with the book in his hand. “If you don’t want it, and I don’t want it, I guess we have no use for it.”

He strolls over to the window, pushes it open, and dangles it over the grounds. “Might as well just chuck it, eh?”

Remus’s eyes go wide, and his face goes pale. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Sirius cackles darkly, and lets it slip a few centimetres.

Remus leaps out of bed, and grabs it from him. He places it on the bed carefully, and then turns back to his friend, looking ready to murder. Sirius, seeing that scowl and those bright red cheeks, is suddenly, inexplicably, in the throes of desire. He moves forward sharply, and kisses Remus, hard, upon the lips.

Remus squeaks, which Sirius would take the mickey out of him for at any other time. Sirius is well aware that Madam Pomfrey is gaping at them from across the room, and that he really should stop, but it feels so right.

However, it seems Remus has different ideas. He stumbles backwards, one hand flying to his mouth, looking beyond stunned. Sirius stands there, breathing heavily, already missing the feeling of those lips against his. Realising that his dignity is fast slipping away, he brushes the dark hair from his eyes, and grins. “Take the book, or I’ll do that again.”

Remus sinks onto the bed, and glances at the book. Then, he looks back up at Sirius, and groans, “Sirius, please…”

God. Sirius has to exert some real self-control to stop himself pouncing. The kiss has made the air somewhat awkward, and he wonders how to explain it. He decides, perhaps wisely, to simply steer clear of the topic. Pomfrey’s heading over, anyway. “You will accept the book, and you will cherish it and love it forever, or you shall suffer the consequences.”

Remus bites his lip, and the action makes Sirius want to cry. Why on earth do the smallest actions contort his mind so much? It’s maddening, absolutely maddening. “Look, Sirius, are you sure? I’m not -”

“Will you get back into bed, please, Mr Lupin?” Madam Pomfrey asks, finally reaching them, and looking stern. Remus obliges, careful not to disturb the book, and Sirius sees him trace a finger across his lips, looking thoughtful and rather confused. He guesses it’s about the kiss, and tries his hardest not to go red. What was he thinking?

“Now, I think it’s time you got some sleep,” Pomfrey orders the werewolf, with a meaningful look at Sirius. He takes it to mean it’s time for him to leave. Before he does, however, the matron lowers her voice slightly, and says, “I suggest, Mr Lupin, that you take the present from Mr Black. It’s a once in a lifetime chance, I’d say.”

Sirius grins. Remus has never been one to ignore a figure of authority. It seems like this will be no exception either; Remus gently picks up the book and gazes at it, before moving his gaze to look at Sirius. It sounds like it’s more than his resolution breaking when he murmurs, “Thank you, Sirius. I‘ll repay you, even if it’s a little bit each month.”

Then, Remus smiles. It’s a crooked and lovely thing, and it turns Sirius’s world upside down.

“You’ve already paid me back,” Sirius smirks, and leaves.

His lips are still tingling.

boutiquemuse @ 2008-01-13T19:53:00

2008-01-13T19:58:00Z

Title: Radio [prompt #10 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: PG, at the most
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 1568
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Angst?
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: November 1^st 1981
Summary: Remus wonders where Sirius could be. Unfortunately, he finds out.
Notes: I recently had a discussion with a boy whose boyfriend had died, and it inspired the reaction Remus has in this. Sorry that it's a bit of a downer - the next prompt story will be fluffy, I promise. Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal.

Remus Lupin is beginning to get pretty damn worried.

He woke up to find himself alone in a double bed, the afternoon sun melting through the curtains, the pillow by his smooth and cold. He’s slept with a body next to him for so long that it was, for a moment, rather disconcerting. Then he remembered the promise Sirius had made - he’d be back soon, he’d said - and tried to put the worry out of his mind.

However, it’s now six in the evening, and he hasn’t heard anything. Usually somebody would have Floo’d over in the day, looking for either him or Sirius, with some updates on Order business. It’s rather unnerving that the fireplace has stayed empty all day, and not a soul has tried to contact him.

Fiddling with the hem of his cardigan sleeve, he sinks into an armchair by the window, and peers out into the evening. November 1^st. With winter finally here, the sky outside is already dark, and the glass of the window is smeared with rain. He rests his forehead against it, hoping the cold will help to numb his brain just as much as the whiskey in his hand, and closes his tired eyes.

Normally, he wouldn’t drink whilst all alone, and at six o’clock. He’s not a huge fan of alcohol, expect in more social occasions, but for some reason it’s comforting him a lot more than anything else at the moment. Suspicion is rife in the air, and though he’d like to believe Sirius pays no attention to it, he’s sometimes seen his boyfriend looking at him strangely, accusingly. James believes it’s him, he knows it. A couple of other Order members seem to, as well. But the fact that Sirius seems to, well, it hurts more than anything he’s ever known.

Then again, does Sirius really suspect him? He’d thought so for months, but yesterday it all seemed to have changed. He was emerging from the local supermarket, having gotten the supplies for the night’s dinner, surrounded by Muggles. All of a sudden, Sirius had burst out from the crowds and had nearly bowled, stumbling into him.

“What’s the matter?” Remus had asked, sharply, to which Sirius had simply replied, “Don’t.”

Before Remus had a chance to ask what was going on, Sirius - who looked harassed and close to tears - had hugged him tightly, burying his face into his neck. Emerging a few moments later, he’d murmured, his voice threatening to crack, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. For everything. I have to go and do something, but I’ll be back soon. I promise. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Then, he was gone, disappearing between groups of Muggle teenagers, leaving Remus staring after him, both touched and wondering what on earth was going on.

It’s been over a day now, and Sirius still hasn’t come home. Remus opens his eyes, sits up, and takes a large drink of whiskey. It burns his throat on the way down, but he resists the urge to gag. There’s something oddly satisfying about the way it settles within his stomach.

He just wants to know what’s happening. What provoked Sirius to say he loved him, in the first time for months? Why had he sounded so broken, so torn apart? Why had he heard from nobody all day? Placing the whisky on his coffee table, his hand brushes against the wizard’s wireless. Suddenly feeling the need to hear another human voice, he clicks it on, and leans back to listen.

There’s a song by some fashionable, new band that he doesn’t know the name of. The singer’s voice is lush, and surrounds him for a moment, letting him slip away from everything. The deep, male voice is soft and beautiful, and Remus doesn’t focus on the lyrics. He’s never been affected by music in the past, but now - perhaps because he’s so desperate for an escape from reality - it’s enveloping him.

The song finishes, as everything must, and an excited newsreader fills the silence. “Welcome back, folks. I’m still here, at the scene of all the action, giving you up to date reports on everything that’s happening. If you’ve just joined us, you probably already know, but for the unenlightened among you - He Who Must Not Be Named is gone!”

Remus chokes. There’s nothing to choke on but surprise, but he manages it. He jerks forwards, and turns the radio up, his heart seeming to slap wetly against his throat. It makes him want to vomit, and his head spins, and for a moment he can’t hear what the presenter is saying. Then, however, the words cut through his drunken, sluggish, stunned stupor.

“…the details of which aren’t clear. However, we can confirm from numerous sources that the one to stop He Who Must Not Be Named is no other than a one year old boy. Harry Potter, who lived in Godric’s Hollow with his parents, is rumoured to have put an end to He Who Must Not Be Named. How this happened, we do not know, but as all of the rumour die down we are sure to find out.”

“Harry?” Remus murmurs, his mind suddenly, blissfully blank. He closes his eyes again, and tries to comprehend what has just been said. However, only one name springs to his lips. “Sirius?”

It’s selfish and it’s twisted, but of all the horrors he can imagine, there is one that is in the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t wonder if Harry is okay; he doesn’t wonder what has happened to James and Lily; he doesn’t wonder where the Death Eaters are avenging their master - he wonders how the hell Voldemort got the information of the Potter’s location out of Sirius.

It doesn’t cross his mind for a second that Sirius told him. It’s simply implausible. So that means that it was taken from Sirius, unwillingly. Was he tortured? Where is he now? Remus stands up, and makes to go and find him, before pausing. How can he? Where can he go? Nothing could have happened to Sirius, nothing, or everything will be gone out of his life. Everything in his life is worthless without Sirius Black.

Before he can think of where to go, however, the radio voice splits his thoughts wide open. “Seemingly related to this story, is one of even more tragic proportions. One Peter Pettigrew and several Muggles have been ruthlessly slaughtered. Pettigrew was heard to yell at his assailant - one Sirius Black - about how the man could have caused the devastating deaths of Lily and James Potter. Black simply blew up the street, killing an unconfirmed number, and then proceeded to simply laugh as he was arrested. What a callous individual could have been thinking is beyond us, but it seems…”

In a second, Remus has switched the radio off. The silence is somehow louder, deafening, strumming along with his slowing heartbeat. The words slowly swirl through his mind, and he takes a deep, shuddery breath.

“Oh.” His knees buckle, and he drops to the floor, with a dull thump. “Oh, God.”

Except, he thinks stupidly, there is no fucking God.

In the far, far distance, he can hear a knocking at the door. The sound is horrible and intrusive, and he ignores it. There are strange, heartbroken sounds coming from somewhere, too, but he doesn’t panic. He doesn’t know what to do or what to think or why his throat and his eyes are hurting so much. He can’t understand why he ever bothered talking or moving, or living for that matter. It’s all been pointless, hasn’t it?

He’s dimly aware that the knocking has stopped, and that someone has come into the house uninvited. He tries to stand up and see who it is, but gives up after collapsing once more. What’s the point in regaining composure, normality, rationality, after what has happened? After, oh God, Sirius…

“Remus?” comes a familiar voice, and for one heart-stopping moment, Remus imagines that it’s Sirius. The traitor, the murderer, has come home to him. He looks up through a film of tears, and sees that it isn’t Sirius at all. It’s Alastor Moody. “Remus, come on now. Let’s get you up.”

“Go away,” Remus whispers, the sound rustling against his grief, making it even fresher. When Moody ignores him, he raises his voice to what could be a scream or a murmur or simply silence, “Go away!”

There is silence, and Mad-Eye leaves to the next room. Remus can hear familiar sounds; he’s making tea of all things. Remus lets out a bitter laugh, into his hands. His knees are beginning to ache, pressed hard against the wooden floors, and he finds beauty in physical pain. He wishes, for the first time, for a full moon. Then he can forget everything, forget this mess, forget him.

Shaking violently, his brain still somewhat numbed, he gets to his feet and collapses into his armchair. Moody returns, and hands him a steaming cup of tea, his face awkward and concerned. Remus takes the tea, managing not to spill it, and gazes down into it’s murky depths.

It’s in Sirius’s favourite mug.

A second later, it slips to the floor, shattering. If Sirius knew it was broken, Sirius would kill him.

Remus finds that he doesn’t care all that much.

boutiquemuse @ 2008-01-11T23:26:00

2008-01-11T23:31:03Z

Title: Tent [prompt #9 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: PG, possibly more [nothing happens, it’s more the talk of angsty, depressing subjects]
Pairings: mild Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 3191
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Mild swearing, depressing/sensitive topics (child abuse, cancer)
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Era: Marauders, summer before 3^rd year
Summary: The Marauders go camping in the summer. Truths are told, kisses are shared, and a certain pair get a little too close for comfort.
Notes: This turned out way longer than I'd intended. I'm not entirely sure if that's a good thing or not. Oh, and I've also discovered that I much prefer writing an older Remus and Sirius, where I can fit the odd feel in there. Alas. Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal.

Sirius will never admit it, but he secretly cherishes moments like this.

The four of them are sprawled around the crackling fire: James attempting to roast marshmallows the Muggle way, and only managing to annoy himself; Peter sniggering at the bespectacled boy’s clumsy attempts; Remus stretched out on his back, eyes on the crescent moon; Sirius himself warming his hands on the flames and smiling around at them all. He feels content, and such a feeling is rare for him.

It’s taken a few years, but he thinks he’s lost complete faith in his parents, once and for all. The first half of the summer was like some kind of hell on earth, and he can’t quite believe he’s scraped through it, marginally unscathed. Increasingly, now, they punish him for next to nothing, as if they take delight from the way his eyes fill with tears (they’re just watering, he tells himself, he isn’t crying at all) as his father’s belt swipes across the back of his thighs. He knows they’ve loathed him since he became a Gryffindor, but as the years slip by, he realises he doesn’t like them all that much either. He only takes their punishments to stop them turning on Regulus instead.

Of course, he hasn’t told his friends about what they’re bound to label abuse. There isn’t any point in worrying them with something he can take care of himself. He doesn’t want to spoil James’s painfully perfect life. He most definitely doesn’t want to see the horror and sympathy lingering on Peter’s face. Most of all, he doesn’t want to tell Remus. The boy has enough crap in his life - lycanthropy, money struggles, and most recently, a mother suffering from could-be fatal cancer.

It’s ironic, he notes sadly, that Mrs Lupin is ill. Remus has lied about it for years, saying he had to visit her on her potential deathbed, to hide his darkest secret. Now it has a good chance in evolving from an excuse to reality.

James had taken it upon himself to cheer Remus up, and so persuaded his parents to let him borrow their pair of tents and invited everybody round to camp for a night in the woods opposite his house. After much begging, Sirius managed to convince his parents to let him go - James, after all, was a Pureblood, and Sirius had sworn nobody else would be there. He guesses they were just glad to get him from under their feet for a night or two.

The air is crisp with summer wind - you can’t expect pleasant summer weather in England, Sirius mournfully thinks - and the trees huddle around them. Past them, the woods are dark and mystical and just a little bit scary. Sirius isn’t frightened, but he keeps noticing Peter’s eyes flickering to the dark beyond, and resists the tempts to tease him. Not everybody is as brave as James and him, after all.

James finally gives up, withdrawing a black scrap of marshmallow from the depths of the fire, and looks around at them all. The cold has caused his cheeks to flush, but he seems not to notice, his eyes holding a mischievous twinkle as he looks at Sirius. “What are we going to do, then?”

Remus stirs and sits up at the budding conversation, looking somewhat glum. He gazes into the orange blaze in front of him, fingers twitching restlessly, probably wondering how things are at home. Sirius feels a twinge of pain. He tries to imagine his own mother with cancer, and finds that he doesn’t mind all that much. So instead he thinks of Regulus with a maybe-fatal disease, or James, or Peter, or Remus himself, and his insides threaten to collapse with emotion. How Remus - with his frail, moon-twisted bones - hasn’t had a seizure, or at least shouted himself hoarse with the pressure, is beyond him.

“Hello, guys?” James asks, impatiently. “What are we going to do?”

“The Marshmallow Master has failed, then?” Sirius smirks, and he’s relieved to see a faint smile form on Remus’s lips. When James scowls, Sirius just laughs. “Anyway, I have an idea. Let’s play the question and answer game.”

“What’s that?” Peter asks, looking wary. “If it involves a prank and me having to act as a ‘distraction’ again -”

“Nah, it’s not a prank,” Sirius says, sweeping the dark hair from off his face. It’s getting too long, but he likes the length - it annoys his parents. “I played it with Andromeda and her friends last year. Each of us comes up with a question, and everyone has to answer it, including whoever asked it. You have to tell the truth, too. If you can‘t come up with a good enough question, we‘ll give you a dare.”

“How will you know if someone is lying?” Peter asks, frowning slightly.

“Marauders don’t lie to each other,” James snorts, flaunting the nickname they’d decided on in the previous term of school. “I like it, anyway. I’ll go first. First kiss - and I want details.”

“Cathy Ferguson,” Sirius replies at once. “It was early in second year. You know she’s the year above, yeah? She dragged me behind a greenhouse and snogged me senseless. With tongues, I hasten to add.”

“Daring,” James mocks, with a roll of his eyes. “Mine was Bridget Curfew, at the end of first year. Ha. With tongues as well. In a girls’ bathroom. Peter?”

“Rebecca Ham,” he confesses, after a moment of hesitation. “Last year. On the lips. Not with, well, tongues. Oh, and in a corridor.”

“Rebecca Ham?” James splutters, sitting up straight. “You never told us that! She’s the best looking girl in the year!”

“She asked me not to tell anyone, but you did say to tell the truth,” Peter shrugs, though he looks immensely pleased with himself. “She said she thinks I’m really cute. It kind of happened out of nowhere.”

“Well done mate, seriously,” James grinned, looking rather awed. “You really put Sirius and I to shame, didn’t you?”

Peter goes pink, and Sirius laughs. It’s rare for the boy to be told he outshines them both at something, and it’s obvious he’s thrilled about the achievement. James stretches out, still shaking his head in bemusement at the fact Rebecca Ham called Peter cute, and glances across the fire. Immediately, he grins. “Come on then, Remus. Time to confess.”

Remus chokes on his surprise, and shakes his head, quickly. “I - I’m not answering. It’s a silly game.”

“Remus,” Sirius warns, picking up a twig strewn from one of the overhanging trees and pointing it at him sternly. “This is not a silly game, and we demand a truthful answer. We won’t laugh, really.”

“But - look -” Remus’s cheeks are scarlet, and he’s looking anywhere but at his friends. “I’d rather - rather not.”

“It’s not a question of rather not wanting to do something,” James tuts, shaking his head. “It’s a question of loyalty. We are your fellow Marauders, and we demand the truth. We all told our secrets, it’s only fair.”

“But -”

“Yeah, Remus,” Sirius agrees, still waving the stick menacingly. “We were all honest, so it’s -”

“I’ve never kissed anybody, okay?” Remus bursts out, suddenly, and everybody falls silent. “I don’t see why kissing even matters.”

The silence stretches on for a long, painful minute. Remus looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. Peter scratches the back of his neck, anxiously. Sirius glances at James, who gazes back. A message flashes silently between them; This is getting too damn serious.

“Remus, we didn’t -”

“It’s just complicated,” Remus cuts through Peter, all in a rush of breath, still looking downwards. “It’s - it’s not like there haven’t been opportunities. It’s just, well, I can’t get that close to somebody. I mean, with my, you know. It’s just safer if I don’t get involved or close, you know?”

Sirius sighs. Remus never falters so much in speech, and it’s quite startling to hear such inarticulacy. He heaves another, great sigh, and prepares to either comfort him or make him laugh, when James speaks up. “But you’re close to us.”

Remus smiles, slightly. The fact of such friendship seems to make him happy, as though he never imagined such riches. “I know, I know. I’m just being silly. I’m really tired. In fact, I think I’ll go to sleep now. Sorry for ruining the game.”

He stands up, brushing down the dirt from the seat of his trousers. Then, with an awkward, helpless smile at the three of them, he goes off in the direction of one of two tents, and disappears inside.

There is another minute of silence, but this one is heavy with guilt. Sirius wonders why they were so pushy to the boy, whose mother could be dying, and if he should go and apologise. Then, he realises he’s thinking much more deeply than he usually does about such things, and ponders why Remus is bringing out so much emotion in him. He shakes his head, and barks a laugh, reminding himself that he is Sirius Black, and deep thoughts are for girls.

“Well, I pity the poor soul who has to sleep in that tent tonight.”

***

They voted on it, and it was two to one. Thanks to his rather harsh and flippant comment, Sirius finds himself clambering into the tent now the fire has dwindled out, leaving Peter and James to share the other. He reckons they’ll be having a right laugh, and half-despises them for it. It’s not that he doesn’t care for Remus - it’s just that he didn’t expect to have to deal with a depressed boy on his one night of freedom all summer.

There are a couple of candles lit inside the tent, resting on the floor, and he finds Remus awake and reading in his sleeping bag. He looks up as Sirius enters, and smiles weakly. “Hey.”

“Howdy,” Sirius replies, trying not to sound as glum as he feels. None of this is Remus’s fault, he tells himself, and so there’s no point taking it out on the boy. “What’re you reading?”

“Crime and Punishment, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky,” Remus replies, showing him the cover. “It’s a bit of a heavy read, but it’s really interesting. I won’t bore you with details, though, I know you’ll never read it yourself.”

“I probably won’t,” Sirius admits, with an apologetic shrug. “You’ll never win me over with your literature, you know.”

“I know,” Remus sighs, almost fondly, and puts the book down. He seems a bit cheerier than before, for which Sirius is thankful. Maybe the night won’t turn out so depressing after all. “Are we going to sleep now? Unless you wanted to tell ghost stories or whatever else.”

“I think a good night’s sleep is in order,” Sirius grins, pulling his top over his head, and slips off his jeans. He throws them into a careless pile in the corner, and proceeds to rummage in his bag for his pyjamas. Usually, he’d just sleep in boxers, but he knows he’ll freeze in a tent without clothing.

All of a sudden, there is a sharp intake of breath from the boy behind him. He stands up, curiously, but Remus’s voice makes him freeze. “Don’t - don’t move an inch, Sirius. Stay where you are.”

“What?” Sirius asks, a bubble of panic rising. He doesn’t get scared easily, but he’s never heard Remus sound like he’s sounding now. “Remus, what? Is there a spider on me or something?”

He hears Remus stand up and in a moment Remus is close to him, pyjama-clad body brushing against his. Sirius cranes his head round to see what on earth is going on, and finds Remus staring wordlessly at the back of his body. The werewolf raises a tentative hand and runs a finger down part of Sirius’s back, making the taller boy shiver.

“Remus, what -”

“Where are all these cuts from, Sirius?” Remus asks, sounding faintly sick. “They’re - they’re all over your back and the tops of your legs.”

Sirius instinctively turns around, suddenly feeling vulnerable and naked and almost ashamed. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod, he thinks, panic spreading up through his body like a deadly disease, oh god, please let him believe some stupid excuse, please let him drop the subject. “I - I fell down the stairs at home the other day.”

He knows straight away that his lie hasn’t worked. Remus stares at him, lips slightly parted, his thirteen year old face dark with sympathy and concern. Finally, slowly, he whispers, “Sirius, did your parents do this to you?”

Sirius winces, but stands tall, and tosses his hair from his eyes in an irritated gesture. “What the hell makes you think that?”

As Remus bites his bottom lip and looks away, evidently searching for the right words to say, Sirius pulls on his pyjamas. Usually, he’ll be as far from self-conscious as possible, but tonight he can’t stand his body. The feeling is alien, and he wants to be rid of it, almost more than the scars themselves. He glares at Remus, defiantly, but the sight of such pity lessens his anger. He reminds himself, again, that none of it is Remus’s fault. He’s just the one who had to find out, the first in what Sirius assumes will be a long line of many.

“I’d always assumed they did something awful to you,” Remus admits, apologetically. “I just didn’t think it was this bad. If I’d known, I would’ve -”

“You would’ve what?” Sirius snaps, a sharpness in his tone. “You would have what? Gone into Grimmauld Place and just taken me away like some kind of hero? It’s none of your business.”

“I know,” Remus murmurs, looking only at the floor. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help. You can stay at mine for the rest of the summer, if you want. I’m sure my - my parents wouldn’t mind.”

Sirius opens his mouth to scathingly reply, but stops. Remus isn’t interfering. He’s offering help, yes, but he’s not telling him what to do, or how wrong the whole situation is. It’s as though he understands. “No. It’s okay. I can’t leave. They’re still my parents, aren’t they?”

Seeing Remus’s surprised expression at this unexpected defence, he quickly adds, “Anyway, I can’t leave Regulus alone there. They’ll just start doing it to him. It’ll kill him.”

Remus sinks down onto his sleeping back, crossing his legs, and looking troubled. He stares, hard, at the floor for another minute or two, in which Sirius sits himself down on his own bedding. At last, Remus looks up. “They’re tearing you to pieces, though. You’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

“I can take it,” Sirius vows. Somehow, amazingly, he feels strengthened by saying so. He’d been dreading this exposure for so long, but the presence of somebody who knew, and who wasn’t the cause of it or a helpless younger brother, calmed him. “Don’t worry.”

“I do, though,” Remus says, softly. “Can’t I even do something to get rid of the cuts? Mr and Mrs Potter probably have a lotion, or -”

“My parents will see,” Sirius interrupted, shaking his head. “Thanks for trying to help, but it’s no use. We go back to school in a month, it’s cool.”

“I’d hardly describe this as cool,” Remus scolds, voice sounding horribly plumy, but it has a touch of fond amusement.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Sirius asks, suddenly. He suspects Remus will; he knows it’s A Very Serious Matter, and that Remus will want to take it further. He doesn’t blame him, really. If it was happening to anyone but him, he’d want to step in and save them from it all.

One again, Remus takes a while to reply. He looks up, gradually, and fixes his anxious friend with a sad smile. “Of course I won’t.”

“You - what?” Sirius gapes, a little shocked by how little he had to beg. “I thought you’d want to tell James and Peter, or at least your mum and dad, or -”

“You didn’t rush to tell anyone my secrets,” Remus shrugs, as though it’s nothing. “I’m not going to go around tell people yours.”

Sirius feels a smile break out on his face, and it feels like freedom. “Yeah, yeah I guess not. You understand better than James and Peter, anyway. I dunno how they’d react.”

“How do I understand more?” Remus asks, curiously.

“It’s just -” Sirius pauses, and leans back slightly, resting his head against the canvas of the tent. “Peter and James have pretty normal lives. In fact, James gets kind of a perfect life. He has everything he wants at home. But me and you, we kind of have differences that set us apart. They’re not nice difference, yeah, but they’re there. You’re a werewolf and my parents are crazy, and we both get scarred by it - but, well. I dunno. It kind of just. I don’t know. I’m being stupid now.”

“You’re not being -”

“I am,” Sirius argues, and sits straighter again. He’s never talked so profoundly in his life, and it feels a little weird. “I’ll blow the candles out, then. I’m exhausted. Unless you want to carry on reading?”

“No, I’m ready to sleep,” Remus smiles, crookedly, and gets in his sleeping bag again. In a moment, they’re smothered by the darkness, and Sirius gets into his own sleeping bag. It’s comfortable, and he just wants to sleep and forget this uncomfortable, deep conversation, and wake up the same old Sirius Black he’s always been. “Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever need to talk - however stupidly - I’m here, you know? I think you’re right.”

“What about?”

“I do understand. A little, anyway.”

Sirius smiles into the cloth of his pillow. “Of course I’m right. I always am, aren’t I?”

xxx

Early morning.

Sirius stirs from the soft blanket of sleep, a draught drifting in underneath the tent flap. His pyjama top has ridden up in the night, exposing his bruised and sliced back to the mercy of the wind. It stings slightly, but he simply nestles closer to his bedding and closes his eyes.

As he does this, however, he realises that he is not simply nestling into a sleeping bag.

He lifts his head, blinking blearily in the dim light. The room smells faintly of boy sweat and mud, which isn’t all that unpleasant. Yawning largely, he looks around himself, curious to discover why something feels so odd. His eyes fall on the motionless form next to him, and he tenses.

Somehow, in the night, he’s moved over in the rather small tent. His arm is draped around a certain Remus Lupin. He’s slept with his arm around another boy. There’s a moment of alarm, and panic, before he calms. It’s Remus. It’s one of his best friend. And after all, nobody will know.

Relaxing, he lies back down, and accidentally forgets to move his arm from that warm waist of a boy.

xxx

boutiquemuse @ 2008-01-02T23:56:00

2008-01-03T00:03:19Z

Title: Farm [prompt #8 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: G
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 1085
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Nothing, really. Mean!Remus.
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Summary: Remus gets very jealous of his beautiful cousin, and shows it.
Notes: Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal. Sorry for taking so long with this. I've had a lot of family stresses going on, so this might not be the best thing I've ever written. Ah, well.

Remus perches on fence, scowling.

He was so thrilled when he got a letter from his aunt and uncle, saying he could spend a week at their farm and bring friends along. He’d managed to convince James, Sirius and Peter it would be great fun, and they’d all agreed to come along. Everybody was expecting it to be a laugh, and a very much a boyish laugh at that, without any girls involved.

Remus had forgotten entirely that his eighteen year old female cousin would be there as well, and that she was the family beauty.

Now Sirius has attached himself to Miranda, and won’t tear himself away. Their hands keep brushing against one another, their eyes are smiling as much as their lips, and their hair is exactly the same shade of black. That small fact, that ebony shade, makes Remus want to murder.

James and Peter stand by him, laughing and flinging mud everywhere, evidently having the time of their lives. Remus takes a moment to mourn for the future; these mud-splattered boys will be running the Ministry one day, or negotiating with Goblins, or even teaching. It will be sad, sad time for the wizarding world.

Turning to tell them to be a little more sensible, he gets a face full of cow dung, probably from the giggling James. Spluttering, he loses his balance and topples from the fence, falling straight on his arse into even more muck. James and Peter collapse into hysterics at this, clutching their sides, their faces red. Remus’s own cheeks look as though they’ve spent far too much time in the sun, as he unsuccessfully attempts to get to his feet.

Suddenly, two new voices join the chorus, and Remus finds himself blinking up into the faces of Sirius and Miranda. Sirius is smirking, his lips looking soft and appealing, but the beautiful Miranda looks nothing but concerned. She offers a hand to Remus, ignoring everybody else’s amusement, her green eyes wide.

Remus, however, doesn’t take it. He pretends not to notice it, and instead looks determinedly as the sky, as though he’s quite content to be sitting in a puddle of crap. Miranda blinks, straightens up, and blinks again. “Remus, what’s up? Don’t be embarrassed about slipping over. I do it all the time, the farm is so muddy.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Remus replies, through gritted teeth. He’s never been so impolite in his life. He’s never enjoyed being so obviously rude. “I’m fine. I don’t need your help.”

“What’s the matter?” Miranda asks, sounding extremely confused. “Come on, stand up. You’re covered in -”

“I’m not standing up because you want me to,” Remus snaps, crossing his arms determinedly. He knows full well he is sixteen years old and has dirt all over his face and all over his clothes, and that he’s making a fool of himself. He knows he’s being stupidly jealous. But it feels great.

That is, it does feel great, until he catches Sirius’s eye. Sirius is frowning, looking from Remus to Miranda, evidently pissed off his friend is being so rude. Something heavy seems to swing into Remus’s gut, and without thinking he gets to his feet. Miranda nods, satisfied, and strides away across the field to go tend to some sheep or cut some grass or milk some cows. Remus doesn’t care.

“What’s up, Moony?” Sirius asks, slowly. “You’re cousin is really nice. There was no need to snap at her.”

“She -” Remus casts around for a suitable excuse. He looks for James and Peter, to find that they’ve wandered off. They’re probably going to terrorise some sheep; Remus makes a silent prayer for them. “She - well, we’ve always been like that. It’s kind of a joke between us. It’s been that way since we were little.”

“It has?” Sirius asks, and Remus sighs in relief. “Oh, that’s cool then. I wondered why you were being nasty. It wasn’t like you at all.”

“Yes, it’s just a joke,” Remus smiles, pleased with the readiness with which Sirius trusts him, though guilt at lying accompanies this joy. “You two seem to be getting quite well acquainted.”

“Yeah, we are,” Sirius grins, as they walk slowly back to the farmhouse together. “Like I said, she’s really nice. Nicer than all the girls at Hogwarts.”

Remus sees what he’s hinting at. He wants to kiss her, and probably more. The very thought makes Remus fire up jealously, and feel rather nauseous. Sirius, however, seems not to notice, and instead asks, “Do you think she’ll say yes if I ask her out?”

“No,” Remus says, before he can help himself.

Sirius blinks, and comes to a stop, looking confused. Sirius - the heartthrob of school - is rarely, if ever, turned down, let alone told he can’t get a girl by his usually mild-mannered and kind friend. “Why not?”

“She’s -” Remus paused, and licked his lips nervously. “Well, she happens to be a lesbian.”

“I - what? But she was giving me looks! Looks that suggested she wanted to - well, I won’t go into it - but she has to be straight!”

“I’m afraid she fancies women, Padfoot,” Remus sighs, gravely.

That’s it, he thinks forlornly. I am damned. I am going to hell. I have now broken nearly all of my personal moral rules. I am lying and I have been rude and now I’m making my friend feel inadequate. I am going to hell.

“Damn, I thought she really liked me,” Sirius murmurs, glumly.

“Plenty of people still do, don’t worry,” Remus assures him, and then quickly adds. “All the girls at Hogwarts, of course.”

“I guess you’re right,” Sirius grins, and resumes walking. They walk in a companionable silence for a few moments, before Sirius stops once more. He gazes at Remus, a strange look on his handsome face, as though he’s on the verge of saying something. “Erm, Remus?”

“Yes?” Remus feels an explosion of nerves as Sirius studies him. He has no idea why those grey eyes stir so much emotion within him, but they do. He looks away, scratching his arm awkwardly, and suddenly Sirius laughs.

“You’ve got dirt on your nose, that’s all,” Sirius smiles, and with the pad of his thumb he rubs it off. “Come on, then, let’s get in. I think you need a bath.”

And Remus, slightly disappointed that Sirius said nothing deeper, but pleased Sirius isn’t seeing through all the lies he’s been telling, smiles and agrees.

boutiquemuse @ 2007-11-19T21:06:00

2007-11-19T21:11:30Z

Title: Chocolate [prompt #7 from the 100 Prompts Project]
Rating: R
Pairings: Remus/Sirius
Word Count: 1101
Beta'd?: Nope. Please point any mistakes out to me, loves.
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, swearing, moderate mentions of sex
Constructive critique?: All critique is very welcome.
Summary: Sirius nearly leaves Remus for good, because of the drunken insults he spat at his boyfriend. What, if anything, can change his mind?
Notes: Feel free to add this journal for writing updates, or mouse_pie for my personal journal.

It is amazing, Sirius Black thinks, how quickly he can sober up.

He would rather still be drunken and stupid, spitting out insults, than where he is now.

He’s walking away from everything.

Sometimes the drink gets to him and it makes him say things he doesn’t mean. He simply stops being Sirius Black. But that’s an excuse, and a pretty pitiful one at that. He can hardly go back home and tell Remus he wasn’t being himself, and expect to be forgiven. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness, he knows that.

He’d been in a bad mood over James and Lily’s marriage and he’d gone to drown his sorrow at the nearest pub. Resolutely ignoring all the women who cast him sly winks and pretty smiles, he’d drank a stupid amount, and all it did was intensify his anger. He had stumbled home to a sympathetic Remus, and had lashed out. Looking back, he wonders what on earth possessed him.

He slumps against the wall and sinks to the floor, closing his eyes against the harsh wind. What had happened when he’d walked into their house? Remus had been curled up on the couch, reading, and had quickly rushed over to Sirius to ensure he was alright and hadn’t drank himself to an early grave.

Sirius wishes he had, but resolutely relives more of the hazy memories.

Remus had run his fingers through Sirius’s black hair, asking if he was okay over and over again. Sirius had glared at him and shrugged him away, hating the pity he thought he was too dignified to be able to accept. “I’m fine. Fuck off. I’m just bored.”

“Bored?” Remus had asked, frowning. “With what?”

“With everything!” Sirius had replied, loudly. He’d then gone off to say how he was bored of their run down house, bored of having friends who were moving on. It had gotten so much worse in a few short seconds - he said he was bored of being the only one providing money, bored of not being able to fuck the girls he saw in the street, bored of Remus.

The almost funny thing is, he’s not bored of Remus or their life or their friends. When he comes home from work, he’s so happy and grateful to be greeted by a beautiful boyfriend. When a new paycheque comes through, he’s proud to be able to fund the two of them living together, because Remus can’t hold down a job with his lycanthropy. When he goes out with Peter and James, he’s so pleased that he still has them, even if they are developing separate lives.

Boredom doesn’t come into it.

Yet now, because of that accursed, untruthful word, everything is fucked up.

When he’d finished his stupid, stupid tirade, Remus had gone quiet and then asked, in a soft voice of forced calm, if Sirius wanted to go to bed and sleep off the alcohol. Sirius had stuck up his nose and said something ridiculous about catching a disease from the bed sheet (you fuckwit, Sirius curses himself mentally, as he remembers, you absolute fuckwit), and stormed out of the house.

Now, here he is, and he’s sobbing and he knows he can’t go back. What the hell will he do? Lily and James will let him stay with them, but when they find out what he said, he’s sure they’ll side with Remus. He knows that if he were in their position, he’d do the same.

He can’t consider life without Remus, not seriously. He can’t consider life without touching that silky brown hair, and those long, bony limbs, or kissing those beautiful cheeks. He can’t consider life without that calm, cheerful voice, or the way that those brown eyes narrow ever so slightly when he orgasms, or the soft sound he makes in the back of his throat when Sirius thrusts deeply into him.

Sirius opens his eyes, and rubs the tears from his cheeks. His head is hurting and his mouth his dry, and he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t go back, but he can’t leave. He’d rather die than leave. As morbid thoughts begin to filter through to his alcohol-swirled mind, he moves his gaze to the street before him.

Golden leaves and litter are dancing on the pavement in a sickening way, and Sirius is about to look away before one particular wrapper jumps out at him, blowing lazily in the midnight wind. It’s a bright blue, but dully lit by the street lamps, and it reads 100% Cocoa Chocolate, and something painful rises up in Sirius.

Suddenly, vividly, a particular memory strikes him. A seventeen-year-old Remus is red faced and breathless beneath him, his brown hair splayed in his beautiful eyes, his mouth in a lazy grin. Across the lips is a sticky web of chocolate, and Sirius ducks his head and kisses it off, their mouths tangling in a mixture of love and lust and sweet-tasting -

Before he knows what he’s doing, Sirius clambers to his feet and charges down the street. He knows that he can’t leave, not for the world. In a moment he reaches their house and bursts through the door, staggering ungracefully into the hallway. He hears a clatter from the kitchen and in the doorway to the hall stands Remus, wide-eyed and pale, and Sirius can’t help it.

He takes Remus Lupin into his arms and kisses him like he’s never kissed him before, mumbling “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” into the kiss over and over again. Remus closes his eyes and gives into the kiss, their bodies pressing together, together once again.

As Sirius breaks the kiss, at last, he finds himself trembling. Remus gazes at him, expression unfathomable, before he lets out a light sigh. “I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Sirius says, in a hoarse voice. “You shouldn’t. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you don’t,” Remus agrees, with a small, weak smile. “But you’ve got me anyway, I’m afraid. I don’t think there’s anything you could do that could really shake me off.”

“Thank fuck,” Sirius groans, and falls forwards again, their mouths meeting and meeting until their lips are raw and red. Once again, Sirius pulls back, eyes glancing for a moment at the kitchen. “Were you baking?”

Remus blinks at the sudden question, and shakes his head. “I was eating. Comfort food, you could say.”

“What were you eating?” Sirius asks, though he can guess the answer.

Remus smiles a warm smile, slips his hand into Sirius’s, and tugs him towards the kitchen. “Chocolate. Want some?”

boutiquemuse @ 2007-11-17T22:23:00

2007-11-17T22:29:03Z

I've decided to look into the past a little, and I'm posting the first fanfiction I ever wrote. There are most likely many clumsy mistakes I'll comb over -- blame my 14 year old self for them, heh. It's Remus/Sirius and is rated PG, but most likely shall get a higher rating further on. I've only written 2 chapters (a couple of years ago), but if people like it I might continue. It's called: I Was Once Here (*cringe*).

*

The cafe was quiet that day, which suited him fine. He never liked it when the hordes of twittering women came for their lunches, or when the men — tired out from their work — came to dine before getting down to drinking. He had come here for many years now, always sitting at the same table, always ordering the same drink.

He was what you would call a regular, but with so many different staff — the young girls never really stayed for very long — he wasn’t exactly well known or given any preferential treatment. He liked being inconspicuous and wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Remus Lupin had always craved simplicity like this. He never wanted to be centre of attention or to have a fuss made over him. Nothing made him more comfortable than to be able to sit there, listening to laughter-filled conversations with a nice, warm mug of tea in his hands.

The weather outside was cold and harsh, but he didn’t really mind. He wore his long woollen coat and his knitted scarf (that had caused him quite a bit of trouble when trying to make it — he’d discovered that knitting was not his greatest talent) which kept him warm enough. He had wondered about wearing a hat when leaving his house, but it was far too windy and he wasn’t in much of a mood to be chasing after it.

Luckily the cafe was only a few houses down from his own and he didn’t have to pass too many people on his way back and forth — he lived in a nice, small town in the Midlands, somewhere peaceful and seemingly away from the rest of the chaotic world. He was known in the community as a nice gentleman with a kind voice, someone the older people could speak to pleasantly and the younger ones respected. He kept out of the way, and because of it he fitted in quite nicely.

Remus took a long sip of his tea, sighing peacefully and leaning back in his chair. There was an elderly pair of women sitting at the table next to his, silently eating. He found himself wondering about them. How did they know each other? What were there names? He often whiled away the hours like this, thinking about other people rather than himself.

Just as he was concluding that their names really were Daisy and Hazel and in their day they’d been burlesque dancers, he heard a light tapping on the window by the side of him. Startled out of his reverie, he turned, curiosity awakened. To his horror, there was a tawny owl staring unblinkingly at him.

Wondering vaguely how long it had been there, he made to open the window before pausing. What on earth was he thinking? There were so many Muggles around and he was about to let a postal owl in! Had he gone mad? Quickly checking to ensure nobody was looking — and they weren’t — he opened the window a crack, untied the letter clumsily (his hands were shaking) and shut it again.

The owl, obviously wanting some food or thanks, gave him a reproachful glare and flew off. Relieved, Remus looked down at the envelope, before all relief — along with every other emotion in his body — drained from him. He stared at the handwriting, long and slanted and easily recognisable. No longer caring about being inconspicuous, Remus shook his head slowly in disbelief.

Dumbledore. The moment the name flickered in his mind, bile rose sickening in his throat. He forced it back down again, gripping the edge of the table with one trembling hand, the other still holding the letter. A heavy, indescribable weight fell in his stomach somewhere as a dull nausea swept through his body. His fingers, as well as the rest of his body, tensed so that the letter crumpled slightly.

Remus rose from his seat, before sitting back down again, indecisive. As he’d stood he found his muscles were stiff as though unused for months. There was an odd prickling on his cheeks bones; his breathing was short and uneven; his mouth was dry. He wondered, despite all of these distracting symptoms, why a mere name could provoke all of this.

The answer came to him straight away, so suddenly he felt stupid at even questioning it. When thinking of Dumbledore, he was reminded automatically of the Order. A soft sigh escaped his lips at this thought, and it felt like all of his life was leaving him in that one breath. The Order.

He could still remember everybody as clearly as though their last meeting had been days ago, rather than years. He could even remember Dumbledore asking him if he’d join, he remembered the elation filling his young heart along side a fierce pride. He had so wanted to work against the forces of evil.

Then it sprung to the forefront of his mind, almost irresistibly, the main reason he had avoided all contact with Dumbledore, avoided all conversation concerning him. Hogwarts. Hogwarts and his (fairly) peaceful years there, away from the haunts of the outside world, learning, being fascinated and awed, laughing with his loyal, brilliant friends...

Remus stood up instantly, letter still in hand, and went to pay. There was a pretty waitress beside the bar, hunched over the counter, twisting hair round a finger in a most unattractive, vulgar manner. She took his money without so much as glancing at him.

Stiffly, he made his way out of the cafe, passing the elderly women and the rest of those lunching. He just couldn’t understand why nobody noticed that he was falling apart. But he had always been so good at hiding things, he reflected bitterly, and it seemed he’d lost none of his talent.

He stepped out onto the pavement, wrapping his scarf more tightly around his neck and lowering his head, trying to avoid the lashing wind as much as possible, trying to keep his thoughts far from the past. It was certainly hard to do, as there seemed to be nothing else in the world to think about.

It took him less than two minutes to be home, slinging his coat over a chair and starting a warm fire in the grate. He had passed right through his shop. He didn’t want to reopen just yet, not when he was as doubtful and as frightened of his own thoughts of this.

He owned a small, quaint and pleasant book store that stocked everything the small town would need. He’d set it up three years after leaving school and had been here ever since — finding the scent of the old books thrilling, the job fulfilling and the money just enough to keep him going.

But even the shop meant nothing to him now. Nothing did — his mind was just a swirling mess of thoughts and memories he’d willed himself to forget. He slumped down before the fire, finally giving in his battle with strength and distraction. He had to face this now.

Remus suddenly looked down, remembering how this whole thing had started. The letter. Resisting the urge of throwing it straight into the flames before him, he turned the envelope over and ripped it open, breaking the Hogwarts seal with something akin to satisfaction.

He took a moment to open the letter — his heart was pounding in his ears — but eventually he managed to unfold it. His eyes moved across the words, reading quickly, before his brain caught up. He found himself smiling, of all things, before the panic set in.

Dear Mr Lupin,

I trust this letter finds you in full health and in a comfortable life, but I’m afraid this may cause you some disruption. As you no doubt know may have suspected, Hogwarts is yet again one teacher short in the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts.

I, and many fellow staff, believe that you would excel in the job and so I would like to offer you the position as Defence Against the Darks Arts teacher. You would, of course, be living at Hogwarts as you teach, and I can make arrangements to keep your bookshop’s rent fully paid until you return.

As for your condition, our Potions Master is more than willing to produce the newly discovered Wolfsbane potion each month to keep it under control, so you would be no risk to anybody, students or otherwise.

Please do not feel obligated to accept this offer, but know that you are always welcome.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Remus lay the letter down, gently, with respect, before opting to sit on the cosy armchair rather than the wooden floor. Wendy leapt up onto his knee, purring comfortingly and curling her sleek body into a little bundle. He scratched behind the cat’s ears and she gave him a look that plainly said ‘not now please, I’m trying to sleep’.

Chuckling, he wondered whether or not he should be thinking along the same lines. There was nothing wrong with a nice, healthy afternoon nap and he knew he needed it, with full moon merely two nights away. The room was warm, the chair comfortable, but Remus found he couldn’t sleep, even when he wanted too.

The letter still lay on the floor, awaiting him. He shook his head in disbelief — how silly he was to let something like this affect him! — before standing, slowly. Wendy fell to the floor, glaring at her owner as she stalked off, tail haughtily in the air. He picked up the letter and re-read it.

In a moment he knew what his reply would have to be. He turned the parchment over and scribbled a reply, before rummaging in his cupboard and withdrawing a fresh envelope. With a sad smile upon his face, he wrote Dumbledore’s name and address, before turning.

There was a large, slightly dusty cage in the corner that he made his way over to, wearily and stepping over the many piles of books that never seemed to disappear, even when he attempted to clear them away.

Within the cage perched a large-eyed ruffled looking brown owl. Remus opened the cage and coaxed the owl toward him. The owl’s large eyes grew even wider in excitement. It never got to post anything except for a monthly report to the werewolf registry, and it always loved being allowed out. With the letter tied to it’s leg, he nipped Remus’ nose in a happy kind of way, before soaring out through the window it’s owner had just pushed open for it.

“So you’re going back to Hogwarts,” he muttered to himself, feeling rather gloomy about it too. He decided then that getting a good night’s sleep before all of...that set off would have to be his main concern just now, and he shut out all of the outside distractions, with quite a bit of difficulty.

* * *

“Does it hurt?” a young boy asked him, sat by the bed and looking worried. Remus managed to nod and lifted a tired hand, gesturing to the deep wounds on his chest that were beneath heavily applied yellow paste.

“I meant the actual transformation,” the boy said, with an apologetic tone in his voice for making Remus move so much unnecessarily.

“Well - yes, it’s really - really painful,” he managed to croak, before closing his eyes. Even talking caused him pain this soon after the transformation. The boy sighed, thoughtfully, and leant back in his chair, watching Remus’ wounded chest rise and fall with his breath.

“Does it all like sprout out of you when you can still think clearly?” the boy asked, edging closer, fascinated.

“Yeah, but - but about halfway through your thoughts kind of - kind of go.”

“Wow,” the boy whispered, thrilled with this new discovery. Remus managed a small, weak smile. The boy’s curiosity made it all feel slightly better; the fact that he’d talk to him with the knowledge of the monstrous transformation alone was enough to make the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

“Potter!” snapped a voice from across the room. Both boys looked up, grimacing expectantly. “You’ve had far more than ten minutes, leave Lupin alone so he can get some rest. Besides, your lessons start in twenty minutes, off with you!”

“Yes Madam Pomfrey,” the boy muttered, before grudgingly standing up. “See you later, Remus.”

With that he left the hospital wing, casting the nurse a furious look as he disappeared into the corridor. Remus made to shake his head in disbelief at the boy, before he remembered the pain and closed his eyes, trying to get some long-awaited rest.

* * *

Remus rose early the next morning to let Wendy out (she had been yowling quite determinedly on his head for the past half hour, so he supposed it really was time to put himself out of misery). As she trotted happily down the garden, he stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her with a small smile.

Yesterday’s events seemed so far away at a time like this, when the sun had only just risen and a light, soft fog was filtering through the early morning. There was a kind of peace at this time, which made it his favourite time of day. He tipped a few biscuits into the cat’s bowl and put the kettle on.

Once he had his customary cup of tea in his hands, he went to sit outside on the patio. There wasn’t much to the garden as he didn’t have time to tend it — what with the shop open six days a week — but he found he preferred it this way. The grass was long and plentiful, dandelions were scattered in it along with numerous other flowers — there were poppies and tulips and daffodils that he’d planted when he first moved here, but had now spread across the grass mercilessly.

Wendy loved it. She would snake amongst the grass trying to catch flies and wasps and all manner of insects and more often than not she could be seen biting off the heads of the dandelions with a most puzzled expression on her face.

Remus’ stomach squirmed guiltily. He knew that he could bring Wendy to the school with him, as when he’d been a student there he’d had his own cat and there had been no trouble. But surely Wendy would hate all the people and all the space? She was quite content with her life here.

It was a feeble excuse for not wanting to teach at Hogwarts, so he tried to banish it from his mind. There was part of him that desperately craved to return, a part of him that wouldn’t be satisfied unless he did. He clung to this force within, knowing that he really had no choice in the matter as he’d sent the reply to Dumbledore.

“Your decision is made, and that’s that,” he said to himself, crossly. A face instantly popped up over the fence dividing his garden with the one next door. It was Alicia Beckett — a happy and confident girl of seven, an only child with two workaholic parents and a slightly dotty nanny.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked her neighbour, staring shamelessly at him. He took a sip of his tea, smiling.

“I was talking to Wendy.”

“Can I come see her?” Alicia asked, pulling her upper body over the fence to get a good look at the cat. Wendy was glaring up at the child as if daring her to come any closer.

“Of course,” Remus laughed, setting his cup of tea down on the floor and standing up. “Do you need any help getting over the fence?”

“Nah,” the girl said indifferently and in a moment was stably on her feet in his garden. She held out a hand to the cat who in turn merely sniffed haughtily and stalked further down the garden. The young girl looked crestfallen.

“Don’t mind her,” Remus said gently, now standing by Alicia. “She’s just in a bad mood because we have to go away for a long time.”

“You do?” Alicia asked, staring up at him with wide eyes. She was one of the most inquisitive children he had ever met, almost as bad as -

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ve got a new job and I need to live closer, but I’ll be coming back to the shop every so often,” he explained, cutting across his own dangerous thoughts. The girl’s face fell.

“But I like your shop being open! You always get those comics in, especially for me!” she sighed, pouting. Another guilty squirm. Feeling slightly miserable now, he turned to his house.

“It’s an urgent job though,” he said, more to himself than his neighbour.

“What kinda job?”

“Teaching.”

“What kinda teaching?”

“Er...” Remus sort wildly for an answer. “Gymnastics.”

Alicia couldn’t help but snort. Remus grinned, albeit sheepishly. “Well, not really gymnastics. I’d be quite bad at that, I suppose. I’m teaching English.”

“You’ll be good at it. You have a whole shop full of books.”

“Which is why they think I’ll be excellent. Now, don’t you think you should be getting back home? Your nanny is sure to worry.”

“Oh, her,” Alicia sighed, irritably. “She always worries. See you then, and good luck with your job.”

She turned to the fence and pulled herself up, before losing her grip and slipping back to the floor, letting out a small “oof!” as she hit the ground. Remus hastily knelt down by her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, anxiously.

“It’s nothing,” she said in an offhand voice. “I’ve had worse.”

And with that she was off over the fence again, humming cheerfully to herself. He stared after her, blinking in the aftermath of her completely brave manner. What had the Becketts been feeding her?

He remembered someone saying the exact same words to him, many years ago. He’d just turned fourteen and was feeling quite mature and proud about it too, especially as his friends had sneaked in some alcohol and he’d gotten his first taste (he didn’t like it much, but for fear of being called a wimp he’d kept quiet).

Danny Barkshire had approached him...Danny had...

Furious at himself for letting such things come back to him, Remus went back into the house, taking care to slam the door on the way in. He noticed that his owl had returned and was awaiting breakfast, along with another, snowy owl. The Daily Prophet had arrived.

He fished out the right amount of money from a jar on a shelf (his jar of wizarding money, which he used for nothing but the newspaper) and placed it carefully in the pouch the owl was holding. It flew off with a grateful hoot, and Remus quickly placed his own owl in the cage with a few crusts of bread.

This was his only connection with the wizarding world, and he eagerly awaited it everyday. After all, no matter how much he tried to hide it, he was a wizard, he was magical and there was no point in denying that gossip about fellow witches and wizards excited him.

He took one small glance at the front page and his world came crashing down around him. Hard. And painfully. And all the other things that made it all the worse.

Staring at him, gnashing his teeth and scowling and struggling, was Sirius Black. Almost unrecognisable...such stretched skin...such sunken eyes...the filthy mass of hair...but Remus knew it was him, his eyes, the shape of his chin, the perfectly straight nose...

He read the headline through sudden and unexpected tears; something dark and horrible and forgotten was welling up inside of him. It was all coming back to him. Sirius had always been so ... so ... dangerous, in a way, he was always surprising everyone, always rash, even when a teenager.

FIRST EVER BREAK OUT FROM AZKABAN: SIRIUS BLACK

The Ministry of Magic released a statement late last night confirming the escape of convicted murderer, Sirius Black, from Azkaban. Though the statement mentioned nothing of how Black escaped, a Ministry insider has told The Daily Prophet exclusively that Dark Magic was involved, and that Black may be trying to regroup the free followers of He Who Must Not Be Named.

The wizarding world is in great danger if this is true, and most are uneasy at this first ever escape, fearing there may be more despite the Dementors guarding even more fiercely than ever.

Black was arrested for murdering one wizard and —

Remus gave up then. His eyes were too blurry for him to continue, even if he wanted to. He wiped them, maddened with his own lack of control, on his sleeve, biting his lip as he did so. He would not give in to it all.

Then it struck him, it really hit home. Sirius is free. The traitor had broken lose. The traitor could be anywhere. A rush of anger erupted within Remus, rage such as he’d never known. He wanted to be the one to find the escaped murderer, he wanted to hex him so that he —

The rage was broken suddenly by the sound of the letterbox being pushed opened through the shop (Remus had extremely good hearing, especially around this time of the month). He blinked, clenching and unclenching his fists, and shaking his head in a slight daze.

Feeling a little giddy, he stood up and blindly made his way through the room full of books - it was quite dusty too, so he granted himself his usual sneeze, with a small, polite ‘achoo!’ - before picking up the newspaper that had been shoved through the door.

It was only the local, free newspaper, and Remus was about to cast it aside when something in the corner caught his eye. It was a picture — unmoving, of course — of a young girl, beaming wildly, blonde hair in ringlets down the side of her cheeks. He recognised her instantly.

Alicia Beckett. Frowning slightly, the shock of seeing Sirius’s face on the newspaper still ricocheting through his mind, he read the small piece accompanying the picture.

Police confirmed yesterday afternoon that the body found in a ditch is indeed the missing child, Alicia Beckett, only seven years of age. Police have said that she was stabbed seven times and was left to bleed to death. It comes as no surprise that —

Remus blinked. He blinked again. Then, slowly and numb with shock, he sank to his knees, hands absentmindedly ripping the paper in two. His neighbour — that cheery little girl — dead. Then his common sense kicked in, and his eyebrows snapped together with such a suddenness you could almost hear them.

Yesterday afternoon. But he had been speaking to her about twenty minutes ago! He staggered to his feet, brain throwing up hundreds of possibilities. It had been an hallucination, it had been a dream, this was a dream - but he knew he had really seen her.

But if he had genuinely seen her, and she was genuinely dead, how...?

Remus’s eyes widened. She was a ghost. But she’d not been like the ghosts he’d seen in the past...

* * *

They sat in Charms, at the back as usual; one of them was taking notes, another staring off into space with his mouth slightly open and the other two passing notes and grinning at each other.

The small, squeaky teacher known as Professor Flitwick was pacing at the front of the classroom, hands clasped together behind his back, answering an inquisitive seventh year’s question. Billy Fletcher had wanted to know just what happened after death.

“Of course, even we wizards do not know for sure,” Flitwick squeaked, sighing in a thoughtful manner. “Even ghosts know nothing of what happens to the dead who have not lived on in that form. Only wizards can be ghosts, and only unhappy ones, or those with unfinished business. The old saying is indeed correct.”

Remus noted down exactly what he was saying, rather curious about the subject himself. Billy raised his hand again, and Flitwick nodded at him.

“But sir, my dad said that he once met a ghost — who was a child — and said he was nothing like the ghosts at Hogwarts. He said she was solid and colourful.”

Flitwick nodded, a grim smile on his wrinkling face. “When a child dies and their spirit remains on earth — which is very rare — they do remain in their human form, but they can still only be seen by wizards. If this is because of their youth and life, or their innocence, we cannot know...”

“Oi, Moony,” hissed a voice from behind Remus. He turned, an eyebrow raised, to see Sirius grinning at him as he lounged back on his chair. “What’s the name of that curse — you know, the one that makes you fall over whenever you stand? Snivellus is in need of a good —-”

“I can’t remember, I’ll look it up after class. But I want to listen to this, so can you --”

“Mr Lupin!” squeaked Professor Flitwick, and Remus turned to him, flushing crimson. “I expected better of you!”

“But, sir, I didn’t mean to -—”

“It was my fault, sir,” Sirius sighed, sounding rather bored, from behind him. Flitwick’s white eyebrows rose an inch or too, before he sighed, turning back to the rest of the class. Sirius getting into trouble was such a common occurrence there was no point in getting mad anymore.

Remus turned and beamed at his friend for being honest. Sirius smiled back, a small, gentle kind of smile, before being nudged in the ribs by James. They were instantly in spurring out idea after idea about annoying Snape, and Remus turned back to the front, still smiling.

* * *

He knocked on the door, breathless and red faced. Even though he’d only run next-door, he didn’t think he’d ever run so fast. Ignoring the agonising split in his side, he composed his face into a kind expression as the door swung open.

Mr and Mrs Beckett stood in the doorway, both with extremely red eyes, and both looking severely shaken. He didn’t know quite what to say, but he knew all too well what they were feeling; the raw, gaping chasm within that makes you feel as though there’s nothing left for you, despite what other’s say and do.

“I’m — I’m very sorry for your loss, I’ve only just heard,” he said, softly and evenly, trying to breath normally. The two once-parents nodded glumly, as though they’d heard the same words a thousand times before. “This — this may sound strange, but did Alicia ever do anything...odd?”

The Becketts both blinked, looking taken aback. Mr Beckett then frowned, studying Remus closely. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Did anything ever happen to her, that seemed to be because of her, that was unusual?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please — I don’t know anything about the poor girl’s death, but I think I know something about her life.”

Mrs Beckett stepped forward, after giving her husband an uncertain, wary look. “Mr Lupin, thank you for your concern, but you’ll need to be more specific. My husband and I are clueless.”

Remus bit his lip, wondering just how to word this. “Did anything strange, almost frightening, ever happen? Something she seemed to do?”

Mr Beckett suddenly stiffened, and his wife had an instant knowing look. She bit her lip too. “I — I don’t know if this is what you mean, but there was one thing...”

“Yes?” Remus prompted, quietly.

“Never mind,” Mr Beckett said coldly, trying to usher his wife indoors, but she stood her ground, glaring defiantly at him.

“Mr Lupin may be able to help us.”

“Yes, dear, but there’s no point in telling him that.”

“Yes, there is,” she snapped in an equally icy tone. “Mr Lupin, about a year ago we were holding a party for some of my husband’s rather important colleagues, a married couple who I cannot help but despise. I had complained quite openly for the whole day, mostly to Alicia who was helping me tidy the house.”

“This is highly irrelevant,” Mr Beckett half-shouted, flushing a dark, ugly shade of red. Remus raised his eyebrows, quite nervous.

“I can’t help you with any of the dark mystery surrounding your daughter’s death. I just...I would just like to know this, about her life,” he sighed.

“When the guests arrived,” Mrs Beckett continued, ignoring the interruption, “she opened and shut the front door gently. I tried to let them in after that, but the door wouldn’t open. We tried in vain to open any entrance to the house for fifteen minutes before they left, quite mad with us as though we were at fault. And then, once they had gone, Alicia simply opened the door as easily as ever.”

Remus knew then that he had been perfectly right about it all. Mr Beckett looked beside himself. He hesitated for a moment, before venturing on, “Do either of you know what Hogwarts is?”

Mrs Beckett frowned slightly, evidently bemused by this sudden and unexpected question. Her husband, however, lost his angered expression and his mouth formed a wide ‘O’, his eyes suddenly going wide. He gave, after hastily making sure his wife was still watching Remus, the tiniest nod.

Remus internally sighed heavily, but thought it best to show no annoyed or irritated reaction, as — he quite suddenly remembered, feeling ashamed — these people had just lost their daughter. “Very well then. Well, I am extremely sorry to have disturbed you like this. You should just know that she hasn’t left you as you think...”

With that ominous last sentence, he turned and walked back down the gravel path, before turning into his bookshop. He closed to door behind him gently, pausing then to think. So his neighbour was a wizard, hiding the fact from his wife?

The door swung open against his back and he hastily moved out of the way. Mr Beckett stood there, biting his lip. Remus smiled, quite nervously. The intruder cleared his throat, looking torn between saying two very different things.

“Mr Lupin, as you may have guessed my wife knows nothing of...my identity,” he stopped, looking thoughtful, before starting. “I wish to keep it that way. But thank you for coming round to see us, I’ve understood you much more clearly than Mary has. How I’ll hide Alicia’s ghost...”

He shook his head. Remus spoke, tentatively, “Maybe you could tell her the truth.

“We’ll see,” Mr Beckett sighed, before giving Remus a rather miserable farewell and returning home. Remus stared after him for a moment, thinking of everything that had happened.

The escape of Sirius Black had been temporarily forgotten in amidst all of this, but it returned to him fully once he was alone again. Sirius has escaped, Alicia has been murdered, my neighbour is a wizard...

Remus knew then, more than ever, he had to return to his old school. The wizarding world had been brought to the home he’d come to in order to escape it, his refuge was ruined so suddenly. He couldn’t bear to be back with a wizard, yet to not be able to discuss it openly.

He had to return to Hogwarts.

He had to return to his first truly happy home.

boutiquemuse @ 2007-11-05T21:09:00

2007-11-05T21:11:11Z

So fluffly, it makes me feel ill. I'm not feeling my happiest at the moment, and for some reason fluff came out on paper. Never mind, eh? Rated PG, I hope you enjoy prompt #6 - flowers. I know I enjoyed writing it. ;D

Remus pulls his pyjama top over his head, struggling to keep his eyes open. At seventeen, he should be used to the exhaustion that lies heavily over him. He should be used to the aches in his wrist bones as he smoothes down his hair, used to the headache that troubles him remorselessly.

It’s three days since the full moon, and he hasn’t fully recovered.

He is in the hospital wing no longer, as he can’t miss anymore lessons, and the dormitory is not his bedroom. He must put on a brave face for his three friends, who dress and laugh around him, without worrying about scars and the moon. They know, of course, of his lycanthropy, but he won’t let them think he succumbs to the pain of it.

Sirius stretches across the room, shirt riding up and revealing a peek of a toned hip. Remus quickly averts his eyes, and instead finds himself gazing into the grey that controls his life. Sirius winks, almost as though he’s caught Remus in the act, and proceeds to strip shamelessly for bed.

Remus turns away fully then. He can only look at Sirius so much, before it gets too much. He finds himself gazing at his friend’s body more often than not, and knows that he should exert some self-control. He can’t be found out. Sirius wouldn’t be angry, he doesn’t think, but things would definitely get awkward and they’d drift apart.

Remus won’t risk it, not for love.

He lets out a heavy sigh, trying to expel more than just his breath. He wants to expel the pain and the consistent longing, and the unfairness of it all. He gives himself a small shake - wanting, more than anything, to get rid of his silly self-pity - and pulls the heavy, red curtains from around his bed.

He gazes down at his bed, and blinks. Something is not quite right. Laid out across the pillow is a small bunch of red roses. There is no explanation he can find for them being there, and so, exasperated and exhausted, he turns back to his friends. He fears, not without reason, a prank.

“What’s with the flowers?” he asks, yawning. Everybody looks up, and, to his surprise, they look confused. A faint crease appears between his eyebrows, and lifts up the bunch of flowers to show them. They all crowd round, each face in perfect boyish confusion.

“What are these?” James asks, inspecting them with a disdainful expression. “Roses? Where are they from?”

“That’s what I was asking you,” Remus replies, patiently, and takes them back. “I thought you’d set up some kind of prank with them. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“It’s no prank of mine, mate,” James shrugs, and looks questioningly at Peter and Sirius. “Guys? Any idea where these have come from?”

“No idea,” Peter comments, a puzzled frown on his face. “Sirius?”

“I dunno,” Sirius sighs, sounding bored. “But who the hell cares? They’re probably just from some stupid girl who’s got a crush on you, Moony.”

“But girls don’t get crushes on me,” Remus replies, somewhat stupidly. He looks back down at the roses again. They look as though they’ve been picked for their perfection; not a petal is out of place. “You’re sure none of you have any ideas? No one saw anyone come up to the dormitory?”

They all shake their heads again, in a confused silence. James looks from the roses, to Remus, and back again, before a grin breaks over his face and he laughs. “Moony’s got a secret admirer! About bloody time, mate.”

“Of course I haven’t, there isn’t any -” Remus starts to protest, but Sirius takes the flowers out of his hand and looks at them, closely, as though his scrutiny will show signs of who’s planted them on his bed. After a moment or two, the grey-eyed boy raises and eyebrow and slips his fingers in-between the red folds of one of the flowers. He withdraws a small, creased bit of parchment.

“There’s a note in each flower,” Sirius muses, plucking more of the paper from each. Remus, surprised, takes them from him, and lays them out on the bed. There are eight letters in total, scrawled in black ink, the handwriting unrecognisable. Remus arranges them neatly side-by-side, and they read OELIOUVY.

“O-eli-o-uv-y,” James reads, furrowing his brow. “That makes no sense.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Peter laughs, and leans forwards. A moment later, he stands straight once more, and the letters read I LOVE YOU. James looks disbelievingly at it for a moment, and then gapes at Peter.

“How’d you know that?”

“It’s common sense,” Peter mumbles, going rather red. “I mean, my mum always asks me to help her with the anagram quizzes in the back of her magazines.”

“Anagram quizzes?” James repeats, laughing. “Muggles are loony.”

“Who would say that they love me?” Remus asks, voice rather weak. He just wants to sleep, and can’t be bothered to decipher somebody’s cruel joke. “Come on, guys, when do they explode and cover me in some foul-smelling liquid?”

“It looks like they’re genuine,” Sirius shrugs, dropping them with abandon on the floor. “When you girls have finished talking about flowers, turn the lanterns off. I’m exhausted, and I want to go to sleep.”

James and Peter agree, and go back to their beds, muttering and joking between themselves. Remus bends and picks up the flowers, and gazes down at the letters. If this is a joke, why hasn’t he been treated to choruses of laughter? He can’t believe that anyone would do this seriously, but then again...

He looks up, feeling the burn of somebody’s gaze against him, and through the petals of the flowers, he sees Sirius gazing at him. Their eyes meet, and surprisingly it is Sirius who looks away, cheeks burning a powerful crimson.

Remus looks back down at the roses, runs a finger across a smooth petal and smiles slightly. For some reason, the colour red seems more beautiful than ever before.

He doesn’t realise, however, that he isn’t the only one who goes to sleep with a smile on his face that night, and that across the room a black-haired, grey-eyed boy is wondering if the heartfelt message has penetrated that werewolf heart.

boutiquemuse @ 2007-10-29T23:15:00

2007-10-29T23:21:30Z

Bah. Stressful past couple of weeks = no Remus/Sirius for me. Luckily, things are getting back on track, so I present to you a small, silly, light-hearted fic. The subject of 'coming out' to Remus's parents will be explored properly with a later prompt, though I think they've already guessed by this point. (Mr. Lupin is not blind, and knows exactly where Sirius is looking in this fic, and no, it's not at the way Remus swings a golf clup, that's for sure). Enough rambling, then, and here is prompt #5 - golf.

Sirius steps over the green of the golf course, shielding his eyes from the sun with a tanned hand. He has never been a fan of Muggle sports - football, in particular, seems extremely pointless - but golf simply takes the piss. He hasn’t come over to Remus’s for a week to tap a little ball around with a stick, when they could be doing other things.

He tries his hardest not to think of these other things, especially as Remus’s parents are with them. It would be most embarrassing, though not the first time.

Despite the fact he’s bored out of his mind, Sirius has to admit that Remus’s arse looks nice in the linen trousers he’s wearing. He leans back on the balls of his feet, inspecting it, as Remus bends to place the golf ball on the tee. Remus, he decides with a smile, has the nicest arse of anyone he’s ever known.

“It’s nice to see you can appreciate our Remus,” comes a sudden voice, and then Remus’s father is clapping Sirius on the shoulder. Sirius gapes at him, colour rising in his cheeks, wondering how on earth the man can know. Mr. Lupin is an extremely perceptive individual, but this is taking it too far. “He’s always had a talent for hitting the ball just right. I think I should take lessons from him someday, though he’s much too modest to teach me.”

“I - yeah, he’s pretty amazing,” Sirius says, weak with relief. Remus, who has just swung at the ball and hit it extremely skilfully, turns at the words. He meets Sirius’s eye and smiles a small smile, just the corner of his mouth curving upwards, but it’s enough to make Sirius beam.

A few feet away from them, Mrs. Lupin appears to be having quite some trouble with her golf club, thin face red with anger. Mr. Lupin sighs, pats Sirius’s shoulder once more and goes over to his wife, showing her how to properly hold the club without losing her grip. Taking his gaze from the quaint, friendly pair, Sirius turns his attention back to his boyfriend, but Remus is busy putting another ball on the tee.

With a heavy, almost dreamy sigh (and then a moment’s worry at how similar he’s getting to a woman from one of the old romance novels Mrs. Lupin likes to read), Sirius gives himself a bracing shake. He can’t really control himself for much longer, and needs to drag Remus away from his beloved ‘sport’. He knows it could prove difficult.

He steps forward, and is immediately whacked in the forehead by Remus’s golf club.

He lets out a small grunt of pain, and collapses backwards.

The next few moments are a mixture of blinding colours, darkness, and the vague outline of three people looking down at him. Blinking rapidly, the hazy faces of Remus and his parents come into view, all muttering and looking thoroughly concerned. Remus, in particular, looks anxious - biting his lip and twisting a lock of brown hair around a finger.

Sirius smiles, rather sleepily, and murmurs, “Love you, Remus”.

He hears Remus quickly say, rather squeakily, “He doesn’t know what he’s saying! I must have hit him really hard!”, and can’t comprehend it. His mind is sluggish and he has no idea why his beloved Remus would ever lie, and so he mumbles, a little louder, “I do love you, Remus. Especially your arse. You have the best arse in the -”

There’s a sudden, sharp pain on his forehead again, and consciousness draws to a close.

Before everything gives into the darkness creeping around the corner of his vision, he distinctly hears Mr. and Mrs. Lupin spluttering awkwardly, and Remus saying, “Sorry! The club just slipped out of my hand.”

boutiquemuse @ 2007-10-25T23:54:00

2007-10-25T23:13:17Z

Oh, yes.

I never thought I'd get into the next generation (before DH I had absolutely no interest in it, whatsoever), but I started writing about it the other day...and I couldn't stop.

So, I humbly present to you what I've been spending the past couple of days working on ~~instead of doing one of four essays due in on Monday~~. I call it Brilliant Creatures.

Chapter One - New Slang

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns any characters and places you recognise. I'm just a humble writer trying to make part of the wonderful world she's creating my own.

Summary: The world gets wind of the parties. The partygoers simply don't care, but that doesn't mean that nobody else does. We meet our characters in their current situations, and see that just because there is no "Dark Lord", Hogwarts is certainly not at rest.

Song: Title of this chapter and the lyrics used are from the song New Slang by The Shins.

Author Notes: I think I've half fallen in love with this generation, even though I was wary at first. Screw that, I have fallen in love with it. This fic features sex, heavy drug use and slash. Fairy dust is basically a wizarding form of crack, and Screechsnap is basically a wizarding form of weed (JKR invented the plant, but not for that purpose, haha). I hope you like this, and where it goes!

[James Potter and Lily Potter, worried siblings]
credit to the almighty SaphiraLupin at the-dark-arts.net

Chapter One - New Slang

I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find.
Without a trust or flaming fields... am I too dumb to refine?
And if you'd 'a took to me like, well -
I'd 'a danced like the queen of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well.

*

THE SECRET SHAME OF SLYTHERIN

The wizarding world were shocked five years ago when the famous Harry Potter’s second son was Sorted into Slytherin, writes Paris Monroe, special correspondent. Now, however, even more shocking news seems to have come from the walls of Hogwarts, which The Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal.

If you remember back four years ago, I took delight in reporting that Albus had formed a close friendship with none other than Scorpius Malfoy, son of Harry Potter’s school rival, Draco. This unlikely bond, however, seems to have led to disaster.

Several current Hogwarts students, who wish to remain anonymous, have told me of the current image of the Slytherin house. A group containing sixth and seventh years are constantly partying, taking drugs and acting thoroughly immoral. They are said to be drunk on Firewhisky more often than not, and also are heavy users of ‘fairy dust’ and Screechsnap.

These dangerous and addictive drugs, however, aren’t the worst part of this terrible news. Albus Potter, son to the wizarding world’s favourite Auror, is said to be in the thick of this horrifying mess. What Harry Potter thinks of his middle child taking drugs is unknown - he has refused to give comment.

All we know now, my faithful readers, is that I will do my best to dish out the dirt and keep you up to date with the scandals unfurling before my very eyes.

*

“You disgust me,” the red-haired girl commented, raising a single, slim red eyebrow as she gazed at the blonde boy. “I’m surprised you’re still allowed at this school. I heard you got kicked out of the Astronomy N.E.W.T. at last, yesterday.”

“The rumours are true,” the blonde boy sighed, putting a theatrical hand to his forehead. He lowered his hand and winked at the girl, smirking. “Why, will you miss me, Red?”

“Hardly,” she replied, tossing her thick hair over one shoulder. “Anyway, I didn’t come over here to be annoyed by you. I came to show Albus something important.”

“Important?” Albus asked, weakly, raising his head from his hands. Rose wrinkled her nose at the sight of him, all bloodshot eyes and pale skin, and threw down a newspaper on the table before him. Albus blinked blearily at it, as though he had no comprehension of what it was. “What’s up, Rose? Why do I care about The Daily Prophet?”

“Look at page four, and you’ll see why you should care,” she sighed, dropping into the seat next to him. Several of the Slytherins looked outraged, but she ignored them. When Albus merely yawned, she poked him sharply in the shoulder. “Listen to me, Albus. Read page four.”

“Page four,” Albus mumbled, unfolding the paper and turning to it. “I don’t see what -”

“Shit, mate, that’s not when of our best photos, is it?” Scorpius asked, resting his chin on Albus’s shoulder, a definite tone of amusement in his tone. “I wonder when that was taken.”

Indeed, there was an extremely unflattering picture of the pair of them, taking up a quarter of the page. Scorpius was flushed and laughing, head tossed back. His arm was around Albus, whose pupils were dilated and whose face wore a rather manic smile. Quite evidently, they were both smashed on alcohol and goodness knows what else. The caption of the picture, much to Albus’s alarm, read; Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy - ringleaders of the doomed generation?

“What are they on about, ‘doomed generation’?” Scorpius enquired to nobody in particular, sliding into the seat next to Albus and pulling the newspaper from him. “Here we go; The wizarding world were shocked five years ago … blah, blah, we know all this … a close friendship with none other than Scorpius Malfoy … hoorah, at least they’re getting some of the facts right nowadays …constantly partying, taking drugs and acting thoroughly immoral … it makes it sound a lot more fun than it actually is, doesn’t it? … What Harry Potter thinks of his middle child taking drugs … I’m sure the bloke’s thrilled … scandals unfurling before my very eyes … wow, fourth page! That has to be record. Someday we’ll be on the front, Allie, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Albus said, shaking his head as though having too much information piled upon him at once. “What are they on about? Drugs? My Dad? Slow down, and read it out, would you?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes, and began, in a dreadfully monotonous voice, “The … wizarding … world … was …”

“You are beyond annoying,” Rose hissed, through gritted teeth. She snatched the paper from Scorpius and straightened it, clearing her throat. She read through the article perfectly, though there was a definite inflection of worry in her voice at the words.

When she had finished, she threw the paper back onto the table, shaking her head. “You have to stop, Albus.”

“Stop what?” Albus asked, shrugging and reaching for some toast. “None of it’s true.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Rose said, sharply. “I’ve seen you when you’re high on God knows what. You’ve invited me to loads of your beloved Slytherin parties. The article doesn’t know half of what you lot get up to, and if they do, the consequences will be dire. You realise there will probably be an investigation now, by the school governors? Not to mention your parents. What will they say?”

“They won’t do anything, Red,” Scorpius laughed, knicking a slice of toast from Albus’s hands. “Anyway,” he continued, thickly, as he bit into it, “there’s no point you getting involved. Scurry off and be a good Gryffindor, yeah?”

“Don’t you dare tell me what to -”

“Rose, come on,” Albus sighed, nudging her in the shoulder to distract her from tearing Scorpius’s blonde head from his body. “It’s not that bad. Nobody cares. It’s just some jumped-up journalist who’s getting all this ‘inside information’ from her equally jumped-up daughter. It’s pathetic and annoying, yes, but nothing’s going to happen.”

She stood up, glaring at him through her brown eyes. “That may be so. I don’t care about the press. You lot will get what you deserve if you carry on. But you’ve forgotten one thing - the family will care.”

“As if they’ll ever find out it’s the truth,” Scorpius snorted, and then fixed her with a stern look. “And you’re not going to tell them, either, are you?”

“This doesn’t involve you,” she hissed back, tossing her hair over her shoulder again. “You are so childish.”

“That’s not what your Mum said last night,” Scorpius called after her, as she stalked away. Albus started to laugh, and his friend sent him a questioning look.

“The thing is, Scorpius,” Albus chuckled, brushing his dark hair from his green eyes. “That’s exactly what Aunt Hermione would say.”

“Oh, you and your boring family.” Scorpius glanced over at Rose’s retreating back and wrinkled his nose. “I hate your cousin so much.”

“As if I hadn’t gathered that already,” Albus groaned, running a tired hand over his face. “Listen, mate, she’s alright. She just doesn’t want to be involved in all the parties and stuff that we’re involved in. She’s family. She’s just concerned.”

“One man’s concern is another man’s nosiness,” Scorpius quipped, tapping his nose wisely. “Talking of nosiness, come to think of it - what do you reckon to this newspaper business? Think we’ve finally been found out and they’ll stop us?”

“Hardly,” Albus snorted. “Whatever dirt they have on us, my dad can smooth it over. Everyone might think I’m the worst Potter ever to live, but I’m still a Potter, aren’t I? No one’ll do anything to us.”

“And you claim to be modest,” Scorpius sighed, fondly messing up Albus’s hair. He stood up, casting a cool glance over the hall and running a hand through his blonde hair. “Reckon we should head for Transfiguration now? Professor Langley is the hottest teacher in the school, and you know how pleased she gets when we’re early.”

Albus grinned, standing up and pulling his bag over his shoulder. “Sounds good. Only thing is, we have Charms now.”

“Oh,” Scorpius faltered, before shrugging and winking. “Never mind, eh? Professor Lupin is hardly an eyesore, is he?”

*

“I look like trash, don’t I?” Ava Bodley mused, pouting at her reflection in the mirror. She fluffed up her black hair, turning to see it from another angle. Her high cheekbones were stained with blusher, and her eyelids were lathered with green eyeshadow. Her hazel eyes narrowed, scrutinising her body for any fault. “Come on, girls, be honest. It‘s our first class with Lupin this year and I want to make sure I look good.”

“Honest?” questioned one of the girls, irritation heavy in her voice. “Honestly, we’re five minutes late to Charms as it is. Stop getting yourself pretty for Professor Lupin and fishing for compliments. Let’s just go, already.”

“Just jealous, isn’t she?” Ava murmured to herself, pinching her naturally pale cheeks to make them even more red. She straightened up, tossing her long hair over her shoulder and glaring at the girl who had spoken. “Alright, Rebecca. Let’s go, if we must.”

*

“Morning, boys,” Professor Lupin smiled, as Albus and Scorpius arrived in the Charms classroom. Teddy Lupin was a young, cheerful man with the rare talent of being a Metamorphmagus. Scorpius and Albus settled themselves at their usual spots at the back of the classroom, glancing over at the Ravenclaws and few Slytherins who were already present. Teddy followed them, running a hand through his currently-dark hair.

“How’s the family, Albus?” he murmured to his student, smiling. He was godson to Albus’s father, and so he had always known the Potters very well, coming over to dinner most nights of the week. “Sorry I couldn’t come round a lot this summer. Victoire and I had a longer honeymoon than we’d intended.”

“They’re alright, I guess,” Albus shrugged, uncomfortably. He loathed having a teacher so close to his parents, but Teddy was likable, so Albus could never be blatantly disrespectful, even if he wanted to be. “How was the honeymoon?”

“Perfect, cheers,” Teddy grinned, eyes glazing over with the memories. Shaking himself, he glanced around at the class, and shrugged. “Looks like we’ll begin without those missing. Scorpius, you can have the privilege of choosing what I look like today. You always do complain that I never pick you.”

“Cheers, Sir,” Scorpius smirked, with a wink at his friend. Albus felt an ominous, dreading feeling, and winced as Scorpius continued. “Slim, nice cheekbones, dark hair and a nice arse?”

The class erupted into laughter, most of the girls giggling. Some of the boys, however, frowned and muttered amongst themselves, staring suspiciously at Scorpius. Teddy, however, tossed back his head and joined in the laughter. In a moment, a handsome young man had taken his place, as Scorpius had described him as.

“Dashing, Sir,” Scorpius smiled, giving the teacher a thumbs up. Teddy shook his head incredulously, and strolled to the front of the class. He looked around at the students, opened his mouth to begin the lesson, but was cut off as the door slammed open and three girls ran in.

“Sorry we’re late, Sir,” the first one wheezed, clutching her ribs and bending over double. “We forgot what time it was. Won’t happen again.”

“Very well. Sit down, Ava, Rebecca and -” Teddy came to the third girl and blinked, a crease appearing between his eyebrows “- Sandra? I’m surprised you’re late. You’re usually here early.”

From his tone, it was clear to the class that he meant to ask why on earth Sandra Terry, the classy Ravenclaw, was with the more common-seeming girls, Ava Bodley and Rebecca Locke. Sandra merely shrugged, and tucked a lock of her brown her behind her ear. “I’m sorry, Sir. I got held up.”

“Never mind,” Teddy sighed, turning back to the class. “Sit down, you three, and we can begin.”

The three girls went to their respective seats, and Teddy began writing the instructions for the class on the board. Ava, sitting at the desk in front of Scorpius and Albus, turned around, smiling. Albus grinned back, and she leant forward, kissing him full on the mouth. Scorpius groaned and looked away, eyes flickering over the other occupants of the room.

The two of them had been dating for five months now. Some said they were the perfect couple, others couldn’t see why there were together. Ava, it was said, came from a rough background. Her Northern accent contributed to this belief, but nobody knew for sure. She never spoke much of her family, and nobody asked. Albus, on the other hand, was wealthy and had been bought up in a beautiful mansion in Devon. He was said to be sophisticated and superior to most. The two of them seemed destined to be opposites. Yet, they had lasted for five months and claimed to still be going strong.

When Ava pulled back, she smooth a few strands of hair from her eyes, smiling. “That awful Sandra Terry girl wanted to know more about the party tonight. Why would I let a posh bitch like her know anything? Honestly. Anyway, are you going to it, Scorpius?”

Scorpius stared at her as though she were insane, which he often professed she was. “Ava, dear, of course I’m going. I always go.”

“Good,” Ava grinned, running a hand through her black hair. “I’ve got this girl for you to get with. She’s really pretty and I’m sure you’ll get on. Fifth year, but still.”

“For the last time, I don’t need setting up with people,” Scorpius grumbled, folding his arms. “You know that everyone flocks to me. I’m in such high demand that there’s no point even asking if I’m free at a party. Anyway, what’s the girl like? If she’s as insufferable as the last, the answer is no.”

“She’s fine,” Ava dismissed, with a wave of her hand. “You’re so up your own arse though, I’m surprised you can talk. People don’t flock to you.”

“Actually, they do,” Albus admitted, speaking up for the first time. “Whenever we walk in he’s mobbed by desperate singles. I’m always left alone.”

“That’s because you’re dating me, and nobody wants to feel my wrath,” Ava said, fondly. “Really, you’re a lot more respectable. It’s a good thing, don’t sound so disappointed.”

“It’s a lot less fun though,” Scorpius laughed, patting Albus sympathetically on the back. “Seriously, freelance is better all the way.”

“You’ll pick up an infection someday soon,” Ava warned, shaking a finger at the blonde boy. “You should be more careful. When I used to go with my mum to work at the hospital, you’d be surprised at the amount of people who are ill because they’ve had so much unprotected -”

“Fascinating as the subject of Scorpius’s dangerous sexual activity seems to be,” came a pleasant, male voice that caused the three of them to wince simultaneously, “I’m afraid we are in a lesson. Thirty points from Slytherin.”

“But Sir -”

“No protests, Ava.”

“Sir, if you could just -”

“Scorpius, you know full well that pout doesn’t work on me. Now, you three be quiet and pay attention.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Thank you, Albus. Now, as I was saying, this year non-verbal spells are going to be of utmost importance in nearly all of your lessons, and -”

“You’re such a creep, Allie.”

“I am not, just because you’re -”

“Boys! That is enough!”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Yeah, sorry Teds.”

“Scorpius, I thought you were going to stop calling me that this year? It’s ‘Sir’, or ‘Professor’.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Very well. Now, Scorpius, perhaps you can tell me why non-verbal spells are important to use?”

“Well, Teds, they’re -”

“Scorpius!”

*

Scorpius made his way to the armchairs in the Slytherin common room, humming cheerily to himself. Teddy Lupin had yelled at him, yes, but it was still a bright day. It was the third day of the first term of his sixth year, and it was a Friday. That meant, of course, only one thing. A welcome back party for whoever was invited.

Milo Eights lounged in one of the armchairs, coolly looking around at all of the new, excitable first years. He had grown, Scorpius had to admit, into quite a handsome young man. Of course, he’d never say so out loud because everybody assumed he thought himself the only worthy looking boy in Slytherin. Mostly, he did.

“Milo,” Scorpius sang, sitting on the arm of the chair. Milo looked up, narrowing his dark blue eyes suspiciously. “Milo, love, what are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing particularly interesting, why?”

Milo’s voice was curious, but cold. Scorpius shrugged, moving closer to the haughty boy. “There’s a party. Dexter’s managed to get the usual stuff. I was wondering if you wanted to go.”

Milo pulled a face, shaking his auburn curls. “I’m not feeling up to it, I’m afraid.”

Scorpius inwardly sighed, but outwardly he slid next to Milo, smirking. He let his hand fall on the boy’s thigh, and ran his lips across the smooth jaw. Into Milo’s ear, he murmured, “Please? I want you there.”

Breath hitching, Milo smiled, though he glanced around to ensure nobody was watching. “Oh, alright. If you insist.”

“I do,” Scorpius laughed, planting a quick kiss on Milo’s cheek. He straightened up, brushing down his robes. “I’ll see you tonight then, shall I? Normal place, around eight.”

“See you,” Milo smiled, shaking his head incredulously, a slight tinge to his olive cheeks. “Honestly, Scorpius, someday that kiss of yours is going to get you into trouble.”

“I look forward to it,” Scorpius winked, saluted Milo brightly, and left. He started humming to himself again, pleased. He couldn’t understand quite why he had a charm over everybody, and why people did what he said, but he was going to use it to it’s full advantage. Why shouldn’t he, after all?

*

James grimaced. The sounds of his siblings crying had always cut deeply into him, and today was no exception. Lily sat on the desk, sobbing into a tissue, her red hair long down her back. Her Gryffindor robes were soaked with tears and her fourth year body was racked with grief.

All in all, James decided, with gritted teeth, he wasn’t having a good day.

First of all the showers hadn’t been working in the dormitory, and he’d had to go without. Then he’d been accosted by Professor Longbottom for missing Herbology the day before, and had been given a detention - he was sure it was only so that Professor Longbottom could show he didn‘t favour the Potters. Next he’d opened the newspaper at breakfast, to find that Albus’s lifestyle habits were out in the open, with his father’s name dragged in. He blamed that stupid Scorpius Malfoy, who had corrupted Albus from the very beginning.

Now, Lily was in hysterics and he just couldn’t work out why. The day was getting better and better.

Tentatively, he placed a hand on his little sister’s shoulder, frowning. She gave a deep, shuddering breath and looked up, glancing around the otherwise empty classroom. “I - I’m sorry, James. I don’t mean to - to get upset.”

“Don’t be silly,” James said, soothingly. “Just tell me what’s wrong. Nothing can be that bad, can it?”

“Is Albus going to die?” she asked, bluntly. As James stared at her, she rubbed the tears from her cheeks and looked up, fiercely. “Tell me, James, are these drugs and parties going to kill him? People in my class have been saying -”

“Don’t listen to what anybody in your class says,” James interrupted, sharply. “None of what the papers have reported is true. You know Albus would never live like that. It’s just lies.”

“I’m not blind, James,” Lily hissed, hands curling into fists. “I’m fourteen years old. I know full well what goes on in this school; everybody does. Albus and Scorpius hardly hide it, do they? Anyway, I walked in on him this summer sniffing something up that couldn’t be anything other than fairy dust.”

James gazed at her for a moment, and then looked away, furious. He knew Albus was stupid in the first place for doing what he did, but to do it in the house? It was as though he wanted to be caught. Miserably, he looked up and replied, “If you know it’s the truth, why do you need to ask me about it?”

“I want to know how serious it is,” she replied, evidently pleased she was being treated like an adult at last. “I know fairy dust is said to be addictive, and I know he’s a heavy user. I know he parties all the time. I know he drinks all the time. But will it hurt him?”

“I’m sure he’ll be -”

“I want the truth, James,” she warned, scowling. “Don’t bother trying to comfort me if you’re going to lie.”

“Fine,” he snapped, irritably folding his arms. “It could be dangerous, yes. But so far, he seems in good health. He’s still an amazing Beater and his grades are still good. It looks like he’s in perfect shape. As for the future - I’ve no idea, I’m afraid.”

“Alright,” Lily sighed, drying her cheeks again. “Good. Thanks for telling me. Oh, and look after him, won’t you? Everybody knows he looks up to you.”

James snorted. “Hardly. But come on, let’s get to lunch. Your friends will be wondering where you are.”

“Okay,” Lily agreed, making her way to the door. She glanced back when she reached it, and frowned. “Are you coming, or what?”

“Just give me a minute, Lily,” James smiled, glancing around the classroom. “I just need to think about what I’m going to say to Albus next time I see him.”

“Good idea,” Lily nodded, and left without another word. Before she had shut the door however, James heard her squeak, “Oh, hello Albus! What are you doing on this corridor?”

“Walking back from class, surprisingly,” Albus was heard to laugh. “What about you?”

“Ooh, who have you been snogging in there?” came another voice, that James placed as Scorpius Malfoy’s. “Let’s have a look, then.”

“I’m not snogging anybody, I was talking to James,” Lily giggled, in a way that made James’s skin crawl. He loathed the fact that everybody changed underneath the charm of Scorpius, even his own siblings. Striding over to the door, he threw it wide open, and glared down at the two Slytherins.

“Oh, hey James,” Albus smiled, good-naturedly. “How’re you?”

“I’m fine,” James grunted, grabbing his younger brother’s arm. “I need a word with you in here. In private, too, so you can piss off, Scorpius.”

“Macho, aren’t you?” Scorpius asked, indifferently. “I had no intention of coming into their with you, anyway. I’m starving and I’m off to eat lunch. See you later, Allie.”

“See you,” Albus sighed, as James dragged him into the classroom. He shrugged him off once the door was shut, folding his arms. “What the hell is wrong, James? You’re such a bastard to Scorpius. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Don’t even get me started on all the things he’s done wrong in his life, because we’ll be here all day.”

“Just because he’s a Malfoy, he isn’t a bad person! Stop being so -”

“I didn’t come in here to discuss your precious boyfriend, so stop it.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Albus laughed, shaking his head. “What did you want, then?”

“You know I’ve never interfered with your parties and whatever else, because it’s your life and you’re free to fuck it up, yeah?” James asked, and when Albus nodded, slowly, he went on. “It’s just that it’s affecting everyone else now. Lily’s upset and Mum and Dad will be furious. It’s in the newspapers. It’s gotten out of hand, and I think you should stop.”

“Well, we’ll just tell Mum and Dad it’s a lie, and everything will be fine,” Albus replied, promptly. Evidently, he had prepared the argument. “Like you said, it’s my life. We don’t do anything stupid and we don’t hurt anyone else. The drugs are only taken sparingly, I swear. We’re just having fun.”

“I can’t stop you doing it,” James admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. “But Mum and Dad can’t find out. We’ll both be killed if they do. Don’t get yourself talked about, and don’t let anymore pictures be taken, alright? If this gets any worse I’ll step in properly.”

“Oh, fine, fine,” Albus replied, bracingly. “Now, can I get to lunch, please? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, sure.” James smiled, leading the way out of the room. “God knows you need some food in you, you weedy git.”

*

Flicking a stray blonde hair from his grey eyes, Scorpius blew a kiss at his reflection. He was well aware of the vanity of such a gesture, but nobody was in the room, and anyway, it was fun to feel sexy. He smoothed down his t-shirt, labelled with the words “Sex Kitten” (he had loved seeing the resigned expression on his father’s face when he’d come home with it), and gave his reflection one last wink.

With that, he left the dormitory and headed down the stairs. He made his way straight out of the dungeons, stopping for nobody, and stepped the familiar path to the party. The Room of Requirement was his favourite place in the whole castle, and held more memories of passion and fun than he could count.

As he emerged from the dungeons into to the Entrance Hall, he cast a quick look around. It was empty aside from a gaggle of seventh year Gryffindor girls, which included, much to Scorpius’s dismay, Rose Weasley. Holding his chin high, he stalked past her, taking care to show no indication of having noticed her.

Out of the corner of his high, he noticed that she glared haughtily at him as he passed, hands on her hips. He just knew she would tell James Potter about this the moment she could. Feeling very much hateful against both of Albus’s relations - though he did think Lily was quite sweet - he made his way up through the school to the seventh floor corridor.

Scorpius knew perfectly well that James Potter hated him back, though he couldn’t understand why. He’d been nothing but a good and loyal friend to Albus, and the two of them were equally involved in drugs and alcohol. In fact, it had been Albus who had been the first to try Screechsnap in third year, and it had all progressed from there. Yet James glared whenever Scorpius passed, and insulted him whenever was in earshot. Albus defended him, of course, but it was still dreadfully annoying.

“Jealous git,” Scorpius sighed to himself, as he finally reached the seventh floor corridor. He went to the wall behind which he knew the party would be in full swing, and ran a hand through his blonde hair, walking past the stretch of wall three times. Opening his eyes, he saw the familiar door, grinned, and opened it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve arrived,” he beamed, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

That was when the screaming began.

*

boutiquemuse @ 2007-10-15T22:24:00

2007-10-15T21:27:45Z

I can't help but write R-rated Remus/Sirius fics at the moment. It's such a bad habit. So yes, this is rated R, and despite the title no cat was involved in any sexual activity. The poor thing just had to be a witness; prompt #4 - cat.

“I need you,” Sirius breathes down the back of Remus’s neck, hand sliding up the back of Remus’s shirt. “I really fucking need you. Right now. Here.”

“We’re - we’re in the middle of the - oh God, your hands are really cold - the Transfiguration department, we can’t just - just - oh God, Sirius, you’re making it so hard to - to say no -”

“Then don’t say no, Moony,” Sirius laughs, pinning Remus against the wall, stomach pressing again Remus’s back. “No one will catch us. Nobody ever does. You’re making me so fucking hard, you know.”

“At least let me - let me move, Padfoot,” Remus gasps, and Sirius obeys. Remus turns, and Sirius immediately pushes him back up against the wall, kissing his neck. “We’re in the middle - the middle of -”

“Don’t worry,” Sirius smiles, pulling back and examining his boyfriend. Remus, he thinks, is the most beautiful boy alive. Yes, he sometimes gets a nasty rash of spots across his cheeks, and yes, he’s pale and bony. But there’s something there, behind his hazel eyes, that makes him stunning. And Sirius doesn’t want to just look at this stunning boy. He wants to be able to feel him. “Come on, let’s just -”

Surprising him, Remus moves his hand forward and takes the bulge in Sirius’s trousers in his fingers, squeezing lightly. Sirius lets out a hiss of breath and feels his knees go weak. That is one of the many reasons he professes he’s in love with Remus Lupin. Remus’s fingers begin to dance a tantalising pattern through the fabric, and Sirius lets out a low, guttural groan.

“You’re sure you want to take the risk of getting caught?” Remus whispers, quickening hand contradicting his nervous demeanour. “Is this worth it?”

“Fuck, Moony, this is worth anything,” Sirius replies, sincerely, and Remus smiles.

“Very well,” he answers, simply, and drops quickly to his knees, the limbs making a soft bumping sound against the stone floor. Expertly, he unfastens Sirius’s school trousers and pulls them down. Sirius tries to suppressed an ecstatic grin, but fails. He just knows that he is in for a one hell of a good time.

He backs into the wall to support himself, and Remus begins, taking the whole of Sirius’s cock straight into his mouth. Sirius tangled one of his long-fingered hands into Remus’s soft hair, the other fisting itself in his own shirt. The risk and the passion and the feeling of Remus’s mouth is almost too much, already.

Remus quickens the pace, his hair tickling Sirius’s abdomen, making the latter boy let out a small moan. Remus, he notices, is unbuckling his own trousers whilst still pleasuring Sirius, and using his hands to jerk himself off. The mutual pleasure has always turned Sirius on, and he responds by thrusting deeper into Remus’s mouth. “Oh shit, Moony, you’re so - you’re so -”

Remus mumbles something that is somewhat muffled as, well, a vital part of Sirius seems to be in his mouth.

Sirius pulls out for the briefest moment, chest heaving, shirt sticking to his body. “What’s - what’s the matter, Moony? Keep going, we have to -”

“I - I said cat,” Remus explains, seeming to stop his hands from rubbing himself with quite some difficulty. “I could have sworn I saw one around the - the corner.”

Sirius doesn’t really care. Remus is all beautiful and tousled and sexy in front of him, and they’re talking about cats? He shakes his head dismissively and moves forward again. Remus obliges, laughing at his boyfriend’s forwardness, and takes Sirius once more in his mouth. Sirius, feeling that Remus is owed some reply other than having a cock thrown in his face, mumbles, “The little beast is probably Mrs. Norris. We’ll still have time to finish -”

“I am afraid, Mr Black, that the little beast does not belong to Filch,” comes a cold, female voice, and none other than Professor McGonagall steps around the corner. Her eyebrows are knotted into a severe frown and the tops of her cheekbones are stained an angry, red colour.

“Oh, fuck,” Sirius says, numb. He gazes at his Head of House, gob smacked, and only vaguely notices Remus letting out a weak moan of horror and pulling up his trousers. Common sense soon kicks in, and Sirius rushes to pull up his own school trousers. They snag upon his hard-on, and his hands are shaking, but he eventually manages to button them up.

Then, he’s left with no distraction from that stare McGonagall is throwing the both of them.

She glares between them, her breast heaving, as though words are failing her. Sirius, half in an act of defiance and half in an act of fright, takes Remus’s hand in his own. He’s glad to feel that the other boy’s palm is as sweaty as his.

McGonagall teeters on the verge of speech, hesitates, and then closes her mouth. Sirius can feel his cock softening at an alarming rate, and is somewhat thankful. He can’t look her straight in the eye with a hard on. His cheeks burn and Remus’s cheeks burn and McGonagall’s cheeks burn.

“I think that you both deserve a detention for your lack of decency in a public corridor,” McGonagall manages to say at last, looking anywhere but at the boys. Evidently she has seen too much to be able to think of them as school students ever again. Then, making Sirius back away in horror and Remus wince, she fixes them both with a stern stare, and says, “and I think it’s time we had a talk about protection you can use.”

boutiquemuse @ 2007-10-12T20:03:00

2007-10-12T19:18:05Z

Meh. Not one of my better peices, but in my defense it's harder to write about boys who have no idea what sex is, for some reason. Haha. Anyway, this is rated G (or maybe a very light PG for a small boy/boy kiss?). Enjoy, nonetheless, prompt #3 - scarf.

“Race you to the tree!” James yelled, pelting towards it.

“You’re on, Potter!” Sirius shouted back, grinning from ear to ear, as he easily passed his scrawny friend. When James’s face comically fell, Sirius laughed. “Come on, spindly-limbs, get a move on!”

“Spindly-limbs?” James spluttered, indignantly, catching up with Sirius. “Just because I’m not a pretty boy like you, doesn’t mean I’m spindly.”

“A pretty boy?” Sirius asks, coming to an outraged halt and staring incredulously at the sprinting boy. “Oi, Potter! Take that back!”

“No,” James laughs, as he stumbles into the tree and presses his palm against it. He turns around and grins victoriously at the world, proud and arrogant. “Who’s got spindly limbs now, huh?”

“I’d rather be pretty than wear glasses,” Sirius sniffs, acting as though he’s been seriously wounded. He crosses his arms and turns away from James, scanning the school grounds in search of his other friends.

Peter, who has chosen to walk the length of the grounds rather than run them, waves cheerily at Sirius, bundled in his best and warmest travelling cloak. Sirius waves back, and then looks around for Remus. He soon finds the boy - seemingly staring at the snowy floor as he walks around, aimlessly.

Sirius pauses, rather confused. What is Remus doing, lagging behind and searching through the snow? James shouts something impatiently from behind him, telling him to hurry up, but Sirius dismisses him with a small gesture. He jogs across for a minute or two, until he meets Remus, who looks flustered and bothered.

“Damn, damn, damn,” he murmurs under his breath, eyes on the ground as he wanders. “Oh gosh, oh damn, oh gosh…”

“Oh golly, oh spiffing hell,” Sirius adds, helpfully. Remus looks up, startled, and Sirius grins. Remus shakes his head dismissively, and continues to look for God knows what. “What? Aren’t they posh terms for ‘oh, sodding hell’?”

“I - what?” Remus asks, shaken from his troubles and frowning at Sirius. “What on earth are you on about?”

“Well, you were swearing in your posh little way, and I was trying to help.”

Sirius has known Remus for just over a year now, and he still doesn’t understand him. Sometimes Remus uses words Sirius would never think of, and some he doesn’t know the meaning of. Yet, instead of being arrogant about it, Remus seems almost shy of his large vocabulary, usually choosing not to speak at all.

“My swearing isn’t that posh, is it?” Remus asks, anxiously, before shaking his head to get the brown hair from his eyes. “Anyway, that’s not important. I’ve lost my scarf, and I can’t find it anywhere.”

“That’s all?” Sirius asks, laughing again. “Just write off to your parents and get another one. They’re nothing special.”

Remus flushes, bright red, and mumbles something that Sirius can’t hear. Sirius gazes at him, surprised. Remus is acting much more odd than normal. What can be so important about a bloody scarf? Sirius asks him so, and Remus looks up, scowling with surprising anger.

“Just leave it, alright?” Remus growls, turning away. Sirius, never one to be ignored, takes the thinner boy’s arm and looks down into that furious face. Remus looks away, sheepishly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I won’t be able to get another one, and my parents might be annoyed that I’ve lost it.”

“Why can’t you get another one, though?”

“It’s - well - my parents can’t afford it,” Remus hisses, scarlet, and something dull and heavy drops inside of Sirius. He feels suddenly ashamed for pressing the subject - he’s always guessed that Remus is poorer than the rest of them, what with his frayed robes and his worn trunk - and in a moment of guilt, he pulls off his own orange and scarlet scarf and wraps it around Remus’s neck.

Remus starts, struggling for a moment, before he seems to realise that all Sirius has done is apologised in his own, physical way. He stares at the tassels, running them through his fingers, and then smiles up at his friend. “Thank you.”

“S’alright,” Sirius shrugs, slinging an easy arm around Remus’s thin shoulders. He plants a quick kiss on the corner of Remus’s mouth, a show of general, boyish affection that he‘s comfortable with when it comes to Remus, and grins. “Let’s go race James and Peter, shall we?”

Remus snorts, derisively, and Sirius feels satisfied that he’s back to his old self. “I’m sorry, Sirius, but I can’t run without showing off what an awkward disgrace I am to the evidently athletic house of Gryffindor.”

boutiquemuse @ 2007-10-07T22:03:00

2007-10-07T21:06:32Z

I finally finished prompt number 2 - toothbrush - for the 100 Prompts Project today.

A quick warning - it's rated R. I also feel quite dirty and weird posting something reasonably explicit, heh. Oh, and also, I did my research because I was unsure at first; electric toothbrushes were used in the late 70s/early 80s. Phew.

Remus puts his over-the-shoulder bag down in the hallway, yawning. He’s spent another day looking for work, and once more he’s been unsuccessful. The Ministry laws say he can’t work for a Muggle company until he’s proven to them he’s safe, and yet no wizarding business will employ him. It would be illegal to lie to the employer, and leave out the fact he’s a werewolf when applying for a job.

He’s exhausted and heads straight for the stairs. He just wants to sleep and sleep, job hunting be damned. He passes the door to the kitchen, behind which he had hear Sirius humming to himself, and frowns as he makes his way up the staircase. When Sirius hears that nobody would employ Remus again, he’s sure to go mad. Remus doesn’t know if he can stand anymore.

The door to the bathroom is already open, and he walks in, feeling asleep on his feet. He’ll just have a wash and get to bed. He’s sure Sirius will understand if he misses dinner tonight. He cups his hands underneath the running tap and splashes his face, relishing in the cold shock against his skin. It wakes him up a little and he blinks in fast succession, groping for a towel.

Once he is dry, he stares blearily into the mirror. He looks like hell, and he wonders, not for the first time, if Sirius still finds him attractive. How can he, when Sirius is sickly and unshaven and unkempt? It’s madness. With a heavy sigh, he reaches for his electric toothbrush, before an anxious voice drifts over to him from the doorway.

“I wouldn’t use that if I were you.”

“Sorry?” Remus asks, curiously, glancing at Sirius. Sirius is beautiful, as always. His longish black hair is powdered with flour and his cheeks smudged with what appears to be jam, but his expression is shifty enough to make Remus narrow his eyes suspiciously and drop the toothbrush with a clatter into the sink. “What have you done to my toothbrush, Sirius?”

“It’s more, well, what the toothbrush has done to me that’s the question.”

“What the toothbrush has done to you?” Remus repeats, slowly. His mind is too full of sorrow and self-pity for him to comprehend the situation, but slowly, it dawns on him. He stares at Sirius with wide, alarmed eyes, and then moves his gaze to the innocent toothbrush, white against the cream sink. “Sirius, what have you done?”

“It’s nothing that bad!” Sirius claims, raising his hands and showing Remus his palms. When Remus merely stares at him, sternly, he lowers his hands and adds, “Well. I guess it could be bad. It depends on your point of view.”

“All I need to know,” Remus says, slowly and clearly, trying not to get mad at Sirius’s infuriating ambiguity, “is what you’ve done with my toothbrush.”

“I was bored!” Sirius bursts out suddenly, and Remus raises his eyebrows. “Look, you were out all day and I’d got a massive hard-on, and you know what I’m like when I get like that. I can’t move without grabbing the nearest thing for sex.”

Remus chokes on his surprise and horror, wiping the fingers that had held the toothbrush hastily on his corduroy trousers. “You had sex with my toothbrush?”

Sirius laughs, though it’s a nervous sound, and it does nothing but confirm Remus’s worst fears. “Look, no. It wasn’t. It wasn’t sex. It’s just - it’s electric. It was more - on skin, than, well. Than in skin.”

“Right,” Remus says, faintly, and he pinches the bridge of his nose to try and abate his stress. “Right, so you’ve basically used my toothbrush to create vibrations on your skin because you were horny in the middle of the day. Right. That’s fine.”

“I’m sure lots of people do it,” Sirius shrugs, in an attempt at being reasonable. He enters the bathroom properly and smiles at Remus - a mischievous, dazzling smile that usually would make Remus feel weak. He’s too tired to feel weak today, however. “That’s not the best bit though.”

“Not the best bit?” Remus asks, shaking his head. “What, did you invite the hairbrush in and have a threesome?”

“Of course not,” Sirius snorts incredulously. His eyes are glittering, and an ominous feeling spreads through Remus. “However, I suppose a threesome does come into it.”

Remus stares at him. “What can you mean?”

“I’m going to show you just how great the toothbrush feels,” Sirius smiles, proudly, as though he’s just announced he’s going to end world hunger. Remus stares at him for a minute longer, and then he begins to laugh. It’s the stupidest, funniest thing he’s heard for weeks, and it’s a relief to be clutching at his ribs for reasons other than being doubled over in pain from his lycanthropy.

What he doesn’t register at that moment, however, is that Sirius is perfectly serious.

Remus feels more than a little stupid.

He’s lying on his back in nothing but his underwear, whilst Sirius kneels by the bed, tapping the electric toothbrush in his wand. He claims that the experience was more pleasurable with a little magical assistance to speed the spinning of the toothbrush head. Remus hardly listens as Sirius excitedly rambles on - he is drowsy and not too far from falling asleep.

“It’s ready!” Sirius says, at last, switching it on to show his boyfriend. Remus sits up, with effort, and wariness creeps through his mind. The toothbrush is a lot faster and louder than usual, and he begins to worry about what exactly Sirius is planning to do with it. “Lie down, anyway, Moony, or it won’t be as good.”

When Remus hesitates, staring at the implement he used to find so innocent in Sirius hand, Sirius makes a noise of impatience and kisses him hard on the lips. Remus makes a small, surprised sound, but kisses back, allowing himself to be gently pushed onto his back once more.

“There,” Sirius breathes, pulling back. “Now you’re ready.”

“Do we have to use my toothbrush?” Remus asks, a trace of laughter in his voice. “I mean, you could just use - well - your hands.”

“That’s not very kinky, is it?” Sirius smirks, though obeys with a gentle stroke across the front of Remus’s boxers. Remus closes his eyes and grits his teeth, hissing. Why is it that the merest touch from Sirius can make his mind tangle and collapse? He tries to say something, but it comes out incoherently - and anyway, why is he trying to talk when Sirius is doing that with his hands?

Suddenly, a different sensation is upon him. Sirius kisses each of Remus’s thighs, lips soft and dry, and then set the magically-enhanced toothbrush upon them, running it slowly up and down the skin. It’s ticklish at first, but gradually he notices the feathery touch is stirring him rather noticeably.

Sirius laughs when he notices how turned on Remus is, and dips his head to kiss the front of the boxers. He drops the toothbrush on the duvet for a moment and slips both of his hands up Remus’s thighs, proceeding to pull the boxers down. Remus is revealed completely to the world now, but he’s long since overcome his crippling shyness, and so he simply enjoys the feeling as Sirius takes Remus deep into his mouth.

“Sirius,” he moans, arching his back. The kneeling boy, moving his lips up and down in faster and faster succession, gropes for the abandoned toothbrush. He runs it around the base of Remus’s cock, and Remus lets out a gurgling appreciative noise. Sirius gives the best blow jobs in the world, and it’s even better than usual tonight - Remus is seeing stars, fisting his hands into the sheets and groaning.

“F-faster -” he manages to croak through the pleasure, and Sirius obeys, pressing the toothbrush head against Remus’s skin and moving even faster - though still, somehow, he seems in perfect control. “God, oh - God - Sirius - I think - I think -”

It’s over almost as soon as it’s begun. The pleasure is blinding for a moment, and Remus has to throw back his head and let out a strangled cry, but then it’s over. He lies back on the bed, gasping for breath and shuddering in the aftermath, wishing it could have gone on longer.

Sirius stands, wiping his mouth with one, lazy finger, and gazes down at his boyfriend. Remus sits up with some difficulty through his content mood, and pulls Sirius down onto the bed. He kisses him, hard, and slips a hand in between their clammy, undressed bodies to repay the favour.

Sirius gasps into Remus’s neck, and whispers, “Aren’t you glad you did this with your toothbrush, instead of putting it in your mouth?”

Remus laughs, running a finger down one of Sirius‘s smooth hips, and smiles down at him with surprising deviance. As he moves, with his mouth, downward, he murmurs, “Who says I’m not putting anything in my mouth?”

100 Prompts Project - 1

2007-09-29T20:13:03Z

Having taken a very short break from writing, for college-related stress, I'm glad to be back. I found a few weeks ago a notebook I thought I'd lost forever. In it was something I'd completely forgotten about. I shall explain:

About a year and a half ago, my best friend Shannon and I went around his city and asked people for a random word, explaining that it would be a prompt for a story. We eventually gathered 100 suitable ones - having taken out all the repeats, and the masses of swearwords (we kept a couple in, though). We planned to write half of them from Remus's point of view, and half from Sirius's. I found Remus easier to write, he found Sirius easier - so we were to do the opposite, hopefully extending our writing skills in the process.

Unfortunately, he died on Boxing Day of last year. I lost the notebook shortly after, and I don't think I would have been able to start on it even if I still had it. I cried so much when I remembered it, but I've decided to try and do all of the prompts, because we were planning to have so much fun with it.

So here is, in memory of the beautiful, late Shannon Hunter, prompt number 1 - wall.

The garden is lined with a pretty white picket fence, and Sirius hates it. He walks out of the front door, and down the neat, gravel path towards the front gate, taking care to scuff the toes of his shoes as he goes. It isn’t that he’s not happy for Lily and James, he is, it’s just that he wonders why it’s so easy for them.

Lily and James, James and Lily. Always the perfect couple, and now they even have a bloody white picket fence. It’s just infuriating that he and James were the inseparable boys of Hogwarts, and now James is married and only gets to see him twice a week. He wants to blame Lily, but he can’t. She’s made his best friend happier than he’s ever been.

Remus is due any moment, he knows, and it’s that reason he’s come outside. He wants to see his boyfriend before everybody else and warn him that things are extremely lovey-dovey and disgusting inside, and that he should beware as it’s quite possibly contagious. He blinks, brow furrowing as he stares into the deep blue of the sky, as the clouds sail serenely past. Since when has he been so cynical?

As he rests against the picket fence, the odd angle of the wood sticking uncomfortably into the seat of his jeans, he watches a couple of Muggle women go by, pushing prams in front of them and chattering aimlessly to one another. He stares after them, watching the way their slim-fitting tops ride up on their backs, revealing smooth, tanned skin. It stirs nothing within him but sadness. What he wouldn’t give for a simple life.

As he thinks this, a loud crack pierces the air, causing the two women to start and turn, matching expressions of alarm on their faces. As Remus staggers slightly, weak from last night’s transformation, Sirius quickly smiles cheerily at the two Muggles, hoping it will suffice. They stare at him suspiciously for a moment or two, before they shake their heads and continue on their way.

“Sorry - didn’t mean to - just a bit, I don’t know - I guess -”

“Shut up,” Sirius sighs, without any heart, and takes Remus’s arm to support him. Remus smiles slightly, and straightens, shaking his brown hair from his eyes and gazing up at him. Sirius smiles back without quite meaning to - the mere fact that Remus is there, however frail and weakened, is comforting.

“Am I late?” Remus asks, rubbing his eyes, his voice cracking through lack of use.

“Only a little,” Sirius replies, kindly. “Peter arrived about ten minutes ago.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Remus sighs, gravely, though smiles up, innocently and sweetly. “I’m usually very efficient and the first at any meeting.”

“Bad influence, eh?” Sirius laughs, grateful he can still do such a thing when so jealous and bitter. “I reckon you were naughty to begin with, you just - ah - required a little tempting out of your shell.”

“You could say that,” Remus mumbles, smiling faintly, wearily, and then he looks up, straight into Sirius’s eyes. “Are you alright? There’s something wrong.”

It’s always surprises Sirius how perceptive Remus is, that from the merest movements and expressions he can tell that something isn’t quite right. Sirius laughs, runs a hand through his dark hair and shrugs. “There isn’t.”

“Yes, there is,” Remus insists, frowning, and staring at him intently. “Tell me what it is.”

“Why, what will you do?” Sirius mocks, trying to evade answering.

Remus is having none of it.

“I won’t let the subject rest,” Remus warns, seriously. “You know what I’m like. I can’t leave a book open in case the pages get dusty or dirty or torn, and I can’t leave plates unwashed for more than ten minutes because of the germs. I’m hardly going to let a problem fester in you.”

“That’s. Well.” Sirius blinks, wondering what to say to such a statement. “That’s really messed up, Moony.”

“Of course it is,” Remus sighs, impatiently. “Yet that doesn’t make it untrue. What’s wrong?”

Sirius stares into those brown eyes for a moment longer, and then breaks the gaze, looking instead at the autumn-kissed sky. “Look, it’s nothing, really. I’ve just been thinking about James and Evans.”

“Potter,” Remus corrects. When Sirius looks at him, Remus adds, sheepishly, “She’s married, and, um, it’s Potter now, but - sorry, carry on.”

“Thank you,” Sirius says, with a bit of a grin. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking - it sounds stupid, really - it’s just so perfect for them, isn’t it? I mean, look at the fence! A white picket fence!”

He gestures to it, trying to get his point across without having to resort to girlish phrases. Remus looks from the fence, to Sirius, and shakes his head. “You’re jealous of their fence? We can get one of those, if you want.”

“No,” Sirius laughs, unable to help it. “It’s not that. It’s, well. It’s. It’s their life. I’m happy with so many things - you, of course, there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just - I guess I miss James. How it used to be. The Marauders, and all that jazz.”

“You once threatened to bite my nose off when I used the phrase ‘all that jazz’,” Remus smiles slightly, and Sirius shrugs, modestly. “I’m glad to hear that there’s nothing wrong with me. I understand, about the Marauders. I miss it too. Everything will be okay, though.”

“Yeah,” Sirius mutters, gruffly. “I’m sure it will -”

Remus moves forwards, with surprising vigour for one so worn out, and kisses Sirius hard on the lips. Sirius comes to live, after a stunned moment or two, and kisses back, elation and satisfaction swelling in him. He leans backwards with the body leaning against his, before letting out a sharp sound into the kiss and stumbling forwards, knocking Remus backwards.

Remus stumbles, but steadies himself, staring at Sirius with alarmed, concerned eyes. “Sirius, what on earth -”

But Sirius is cursing under his breath and rubbing his backside, wincing. Comprehension seems to dawn on Remus, who begins to laugh silently. Sirius glares at the point of the white picket fence that stabbed him as he pressed against it, and doesn’t stop until Remus takes him by the arm and kisses him sweetly on the cheek.

“There, there,” Remus laughs, and Sirius goes pink. “Aren’t you glad we have a nice, simple wall at home?”

Parts 1 - 18 of Taciturn. Complete!

2007-09-12T22:12:10Z

Here we are, Taciturn is finally complete. I have a lot of other projects I'm working on, or planning, and most of it is Remus/Sirius. A huge thanks to everyone who has ever commented on this, and I hope you enjoy it's short, but somewhat sweet, final. It was orignially a lot longer, but it just didn't feel right. Oh, and if anyone has a request for an additional part, a scene in Remus's life from any time for this story, just ask and I'll write it within a day or two for you! Maybe some companion pieces, from Sirius's P.O.V.? I'll see what you all want.

Remus Lupin isn’t afraid to die.

He knows that if he ever betrays his secret to his friends he probably will be killed. Not by them, but by stifling regret, or his fellow classmates that will inevitably find out. He remembers the time when he thought the same would happen because of his condition, that if he let out the truth of being a werewolf he’d be slaughtered. But this is different.

This is different because he should be able to help it. He should be able to stop it.

He’s only fourteen, but he knows more of the horrors of the world, of the pain the body can feel, than any of his peers. It’s a miracle he’s even alive, and he should really be grateful. He shouldn’t be throwing it away for love, of all things. Yet it’s inevitable, uncontrollable, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He’s gotten good at pretending over the years, of lying about scars and full moons. He’ll simply have to lie about pink cheeks and lust now, too. It can’t be that difficult. If it all goes well, Sirius won’t notice a thing, and then he can carry on falling in love with an oblivious boy without feeling his every movement and glance is being judged.

When Sirius talks, he has to answer with his dry humour and sensibility, and not with the small voice in his head that talks of the forbidden. When Sirius claps him on the shoulder, he has to act as though it’s not making him long for more contact. He has to train his eyes not to study every movement Sirius makes, every gesture, every smile.

How he knows he’s in love is beyond him. It’s not how his romantic, Muggle novels always portrayed it - it’s desperate, uncomfortable and downright embarrassing. There are situations, and signs of attraction, that he can’t hide. It makes sleeping in the same room painful, to say the least.

But Remus knows that being a fourteen year old boy should mean growing attracted to girls, dating them, lusting after them. He wonders just how abnormal he can become - already a beast in the eyes of most, he wants to kiss boys. Then again, he often muses, does he? Is there any other boy he can imagine kissing than Sirius? Not really, he realises each time. There are girls he wouldn’t mind kissing, and perhaps, if he’s honest, some boys.

But there is only one real pull, as forceful as the way his lycanthropy pulls and twists his body into new shapes, one pull from one single boy. There are times he wonders if it would be simpler to let it all out, to tell them all, and to be crucified. It might even be painless.

After all, Remus has never been afraid of death. He’s afraid of himself.

The common room has never seemed to empty, and yet so full. There are only four of them, lolling on the floor, drunk and laughing, their bones aching with how happy and carefree they are. Remus can’t see very clearly, although he’s less drunk than his friends, and the red room seems violent and sickening around him. Has the décor always been so obtrusive?

Across from him lies James, his glasses somewhere on the floor, his face beaming, his voice too loud and too slurred, but utterly indifferent to it‘s volume. Next to him sits Peter, hiccoughing and red faced, clutching at his bottle of Firewhisky as though it can save him from troubles the night could bring. Between James and Remus lounges Sirius, haughty and elegant even when pissed, his black hair splayed across his handsome face.

James sits up, suddenly, his voice slightly more hushed, more secretive, and he leans forwards in a manner of telling his darkest secrets. “We sh-should play spin the bottle. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sirius shrugs, evidently unabashed at the thought of kissing his very good and very male friends. Peter nods, his light brown hair falling into his eyes, and he has the look of excitement about him that can only be bought around with alcohol. Remus doesn’t want to say yes, panic seizing him, and he shakes his head.

Sirius looks up sharply and says, a thin thread of danger in his voice, “What’s the matter, Moony? Don’t trust us to keep our hands to ourselves?”

Even in his alcohol-whirred mind, Remus takes a moment to register how clear and perfect Sirius sounds, even though he is far from sober. Trying to take his thoughts away from the planes of how Sirius is perfect in other ways, he feels his scarred cheeks flood with colour. At sixteen, he’s never let on to his deepest secret, a secret deeper than the lycanthropy that possesses him. If he refuses, will the secret somehow come out, in a simple ironical twist?

“Don’t be such - such a pussy, Remus,” James murmured, fumbling to put his glasses on. Once they’re perched on his long nose, he downs the last of his drink and throws the empty bottle in between them. “Al-alright, men, whoever it - it lands on now, is on. Yeah?”

Remus wonders why James seeks confirmation at the end of his sentences when drunk, when he’s the only boy Remus can truly say is comfortable in his own body, who moves with ease and gracelessness that only a confident teenage boy can have. He finds himself nodding, and tries to push away ridiculous thoughts when Sirius claps him bracingly on the shoulder.

James spins the bottle with his long, tanned fingers, and they watch it’s fast progress with dry mouths and heavily beating hearts. As the tip of the bottle stops neatly in front of James, the boy grins and mockingly cheers, before setting it off again. It lands on Peter a moment later and, without hesitation, James grabs the smaller boy by the neck and plants a wet and sloppy kiss upon his lips.

They break apart after the required ten seconds, both wiping their mouths and making emphatic noises of jubilant disgust. Remus marvels at how easy it was for the two of them, how awkwardness isn’t even called into question, before the sickening dread rises within him and he finds it harder to keep his balance, even sitting on the orange carpet.

The bottle lands next on Sirius, and Remus holds his breath, a mixture of longing and anxiety muddling his thoughts. It lands on James, and the confusion is replaced with jealousy and lust, as James and Sirius kiss, each of them confident and refined and uncaring about any implications. Remus wishes he was like them, not for the first time in his life.

When the next spin stops at Remus, the colour drains from his cheeks and he winces, his lips quirking into a grimace. As it spins again, spins as the alcohol is spinning any coherent thoughts he once had control over, he doesn’t want to watch, but doesn’t want to look away, like a horrific accident that’s too captivating to take your eyes from.

It lands on Sirius, and he curses and celebrates inside, feeling heat itching up from his next into his pale cheeks. Sirius grins cockily, and in one fluid moment pulls Remus close to him, closing the gap between them so suddenly Remus almost chokes. It’s clumsy and quick, and Sirius presses his tongue against Remus’s, and Remus doesn’t know how he’s managing to survive with such conflicting messages go through him. He’s plagued with lust, and disappointment, as they break apart. It was anything but sweet and tender and loving.

“Next!” Sirius orders, having already moved on, but Remus swaggers to his feet. He can’t look at his friends; they might see his abnormal thoughts glinting behind his irises, they might see that he’s been lying and pretending this whole time. Sirius glares up at him - he can feel that cool, grey gaze upon him - but he shakes his head and stumbles away towards the dormitory.

He hopes they’ll blame it on the drunkenness, because if they don’t he doesn’t know how he’ll carry on.

III

As Sirius sits on the floor, crossed legged, in Remus’s bedroom, leaflets spread out around him, Remus resists asking what he’s doing. The response could go either way; Sirius could get irritated at being disturbed, or Sirius could explain things in such minute, ecstatic detail, that Remus will regret asking in the first place.

He tiptoes around his friend, who’s brow is furrowed in concentration as he flicks through various brochures, and takes a deep sip from his cup of tea. He knows it’s pathetic to be living with his parents at twenty, but he has no money to live elsewhere. James and Lily have just bought their first house, and Peter his own apartment. Sirius owns a small flat, but spends barely any time there, often spending the night with one of his friends.

Sirius looks up at last, and yawns, eyes glancing over at the watching Remus. He closes his mouth and smiles, warmly, standing up and shaking off his stiff limbs. “Have you been wondering what I’ve been up to, then?”

“You could say than,” Remus smiles, laying his cup back down on the bedside table. “You’ve been preoccupied all afternoon.”

“I’m getting a new flat,” Sirius grins, proudly, tucking a stray black hair behind his ear. Remus blinks, but is pleased for his friend, and smiles wider, congratulating him silently. “Wait, that’s not the best bit.”

“It isn’t?” Remus asks, amused. It’s lovely to see Sirius - Sirius, who has suffered so much; Sirius, who has never been knowingly loved beyond friendship - so happy, and he wants to prolong the moment as long as possible. “What’s the best bit?”

“You’re moving in with me,” Sirius winks, then bends to pick up the leaflets from the floor. Automatically tugging his eyes from the way Sirius’s back curves into his arse, Remus frowns, momentarily speechless. Sirius straightens again, and sighs impatiently, evidently wanting a joyous and speedy response. He’s not one to wait for what he wants in life.

“Well - I don’t know what to say,” Remus says, faintly, seeing the advertised property for sale on the paper between Sirius’s fingers. “I mean - why? I’d be boring company for you, you need someone a bit - a bit more -”

“A bit more what?” Sirius asks, laughing incredulously. “C’mon Moony, you’re one of my best mates. You always say you want to move out of here, so here’s your chance. There won’t be much rent, you can afford it.”

Cheeks going pink at the mention of his lack of money, Remus pushes his brown hair from his eyes, deep in thought. There are reasons for saying no, of course there are. He’s urges and his attraction will be hard to hide, when Sirius showers and dresses and sleeps in the same house as him. It will be Hogwarts all over again, but this time he’s older and there won’t be the distraction of other boisterous boys to hide him, there won’t be dusty library books and high grades to keep him from the spotlight.

Remus swallows, and hesitates, and agrees.

They stumble up the staircase to their tenth floor flat, Remus feeling the ragged swell of desire inside him, battering against his ribcage in time with his heart. He’s light-headed, tipsy rather than drunk, but the boy - the man - behind him has drank a ridiculous amount. Sirius’s breath his hot and heavy on his neck, and as he trips up the last step, Sirius rummages for his keys in his pocket.

They fall into the flat, not quite together, but not quite apart. Remus shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, but quite forgets about all responsibility when Sirius trails a lazy finger over the small of his back and lower. A small groan escapes Remus, from somewhere in the back of his throat, the pent up longing he’s felt for six years threatening to escape. He shouldn’t let this happen, he shouldn’t take advantage like this.

“Moony,” Sirius mumbles, taking his friend’s hand and tugging him none too gently in the direction of his bedroom. “Moony, come on, let’s go.”

“S-Sirius,” Remus chokes, as they enter the bedroom, trying hard to keep a grasp on his sensibilities and reservations. He can’t let go after all this time, he’ll end up regretting it, he knows it. “Sirius, no, let’s - let’s just -”

“Shut up,” Sirius growls, a desperation in his voice as he slips his hands up the back of Remus’s shirt. Remus tries to pull away, but then Sirius crashes his mouth into his and all resolution slips away. A dim memory of spin the bottle on the common room comes back to him, the quick and hurried kiss. This is different, this is real. Sirius is kissing him through choice, passionately and properly, and Remus groans as they topple sideways onto the unmade bed.

Sirius steadies himself somehow, straddling Remus’s thin hips, and tugs his shirt off, falling back onto the man underneath him with an abandon. It hurts Remus, but it doesn’t hurt half as much as this love has, this lust and closure, that’s unfurling right in front of him, spiralling out of control as Sirius takes it upon himself to pull any piece of clothing he can reach off of the two of them.

Remus has no blood left in his head to think of the repercussions of this drunken night, too preoccupied with the erection the blood has rushed to, and the feeling of Sirius hard against his legs. He moans against the man’s bare throat, enveloped in nothing but pleasure and release, as Sirius moves his hands down.

“God, god, Sirius -” he whimpers, feeling all too pathetic and all too male and all to filled with lust. “Sirius, isn’t this - aren’t you -”

“Shut up,” Sirius says again, more sharply, and begins a slow and teasing movement with his hand, making Remus hiss and arch his back. This is it. This is what he’s wanted since fourteen, this is what he’s dreamt of and wished for day after day. It’s happening, it’s really happening. Just before Remus loses complete control, body red and drenched in sweat but uncaring, Sirius pulls back and grabs Remus’s sides with strong hands.

Remus obediently turns onto his stomach as Sirius pushes him over, excitement and pure pleasure scampering over him, making him close his eyes and smile blissfully because this is really happening and it’s completely true and beautiful.

He loses himself, soon, in the other’s body, in the pain and the exquisite pleasure, and he doesn’t give a damn what happens because this is what everything seems to led up to, this is the life-affirming moment.

Remus is the first to wake the next moment. His first thoughts are how oddly wet and sticky the sheets are beneath him, how clammy his skin feels. There’s something pressing inside him, emotionally, and something pressing against him physically. It’s odd, but he doesn’t question it.

Then, he opens his eyes and it all comes rushing back.

Sirius.

He sits up sharply, and, with nausea rushing through him, turns his gaze upon the body by his. Sirius is asleep, effortlessly beautiful, and naked. Remus closes his eyes, groaning heavily, gutturally, as he remembers the kissing and the pain and the sex. He doesn’t remember the love now, and he wonders if there was any. He’s in love, yes, but surely Sirius can’t feel the same way.

“Fuck,” he whispers, the expletive foreign on his usually mild-mannered tongue. There is movement beside him, and, terrified and hesitant and regretful, he slowly opens his eyes. Sirius is sitting up, clutching his head theatrically with a hand, and murmuring morning-lullabies of swear words and regrets to himself. He glances up, and their eyes meet, grey meeting brown.

“Remus,” he croaks, voice hoarse and hung-over. “Remus, what the hell happened last night?”

“Well,” Remus laughs, breathy, nervous and somewhat hysterical. “We were both - both really drunk, Sirius, you have to understand, it wasn’t -”

“Remus,” Sirius says again, louder and more angrily, his eyes narrowing, accusing. “What the hell happened last night?”

“Everything,” Remus mumbles, tears rushing up somewhere inside but not quite reaching his eyes. “You - you threw me across the bed, you’ve always been the stronger one - and, well, you -”

“I didn’t fuck you, did I?” Sirius asks, harshly, pulling himself from the bed. He’s all muscle and smooth skin and rage, and Remus closes his eyes again. “I did, didn’t? Shit, Moony! That’s - that’ so messed up.”

“Why is it?” Remus whispers, turning away so he doesn’t have to see that burning, beautiful boy anymore. “Why’s it messed up? You instigated it, don’t pin this on me.”

“What do you mean, ‘why is it’?” Sirius snaps, and Remus dares to look at him, to see something akin to disgust in his stare now. “You actually - oh God, Moony, don’t tell me you enjoyed it? You’re not - you’re not, are you?”

“I’m - I’m not exactly - listen, this is rather inappropriate, hadn’t we better -”

“You are,” Sirius confirms, and it comes out as more of a hiss, a release of trust and friendship in that one breath. “God, you are, aren’t you? Why didn’t you say something? Moony, I’m straight, I’m fucking straight and you just let me -”

“Yeah,” Remus says, pulling himself from the bed, voice emotionless and mind somehow just pain and pain and pain. “Yeah, real straight, fucking your male best friend.”

He leaves the room before Sirius can reply, before Sirius can last out as he must want to do. Remus leaves, naked and confused and in pain, in pain from the infiltration, but the pain of the heartbreak is so, so worse and at that moment, he wishes he’d hit Sirius instead of walking away.

When James is badly hurt in his work for the Order of the Phoenix, Remus begins to get suspicious. He had no idea that James was working on anything dangerous or important at the time, and yet the way Sirius and Peter talk, as they meet the young, bruised man from St. Mungos, it’s as though they knew all about the mission. Remus decides not to mention it, until Lily - who looks pale and harassed, her freckles more pronounced - draws him aside from the rest.

He and Lily have always been good friends, although with recent stress on both of their lives, they’ve not spoken as much as they ought to. Her hair is long and red and tangled, and she sweeps a hand through it hurriedly, worry lines forming on her pretty face. “Remus,” she whispers, strained and harried, “Remus, what’s happening to us? Everything - everything’s going wrong. James - James -”

“James will be fine, you heard the Healers,” Remus consoles, patting her shoulder. She sniffs, but smiles, a wan smile - the only smile she seems to bless the world with these days. Remus wishes he could tell her that she and her husband at their unborn child will be fine, that they’ll survive the war, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t trust himself with false promises anymore. He’s had enough of lying.

“No matter what happens though,” she murmurs, as they slowly follow the three men ahead of them, walking through the landing of the hospital towards the fireplaces, “no matter what anyone else thinks, I trust you Remus. I always have and always will.”

It’s the way she says it that makes Remus realise what’s happened, what’s happening, what he has always dreaded. Sirius has told his friends about that night those few months ago, the night that hasn’t left Remus’s mind and body since. The way she says that other people are thinking things about him, evidently negative things, stills something deep inside.

When they reach the fireplace, about to part ways to their separate salvations, Lily hugs Remus tight and whispers for him to keep good care of himself. He doesn’t promise her anything, but instead echoes the concern back to her. He turns to James, who has watched the exchange expressionlessly, and lifts his arms to hug him. James; James who started spin the bottle with his three male friends, James who worked effortlessly to help his friend when transformed, James who would die for what is right - James flinches, for the merest second, and Remus lowers his arms.

As Remus walks from his own fireplace, into the flat Sirius and Remus share, now silently and coldly, he likes to think that James flinched because he suspects Remus of treachery, and not because he’s gay. It’s an odd thing to hope for, but he hopes and hopes until his mind is exhausted.

Dumbledore finishes at last, his blue eyes bright with tears, and there is a silence. Remus sits in his armchair, staring at his former headmaster, feeling - for the first time in his entire life - nothing. There’s nothing to think, anything is going to be inappropriate. What can you say to the man who’s just explained that three of your best friends are dead, and the love of your life as good as killed them?

The love of your life. The phrase is bitter in Remus’s mind, and that seems to uncap every other thought - the bitterness and pain blossoming, swirling, like ink dipped into water, uncurling like smoke. He wants nothing more but to be away from this place, away from the sorrowful old man, away from this flat that still smells of him.

Lily, James and Peter are dead. Dead, because of Sirius Black. His eyes close with the pressure of all these realisations, and he bows his head, hands creeping to his face in an attempt to shield himself. The feeling of his cool fingertips against his eyelids sooth him, and the memories begin to haunt. Lily laughing in the library, James sweeping over the Quidditch pitch heroically, Peter supporting Remus as he collapsed after a transformation, and Sirius, Sirius, Sirius who kissed him so forcefully, so unloving and desperately, full of lust and whisky.

“Remus,” Dumbledore says, quiet and respectful. Remus looks up and is rather surprised to feel tears drying on his cheeks, smudged into his scars. “Remus, there will be no chance after today to visit Sirius Black in prison. They are deciding his fate as we speak. I can escort you now, if you wish it.”

Remus, who’s mind was formerly so blank, so blissfully empty of thought with his shock, is stunned with how decisive he sounds when he replies.

“No. I - I never want to see him again.”

VII

These days, Remus has learned to only remember select things. He remembers how beautiful the lake at school was at sunrise, even through his pained, sore eyes. He remembers the feeling of the thick, heavy books between his hand in the library, the comforting dust that rose as he dragged the old volume from the shelves. He remembers the thrill and the excitement that ran through the blood in the Quidditch stands.

He’s trained himself not to think of faces and personalities. He’s driven mad at night, when he can’t control what his twenty-eight year old mind ponders, as he sees the dead faces of those he loved, and the laughing, beautiful face of the one.

He treats the world with indifference, polite and friendly, but never, ever trusting. Trusting leads to friendship which leads to loss. He knows that much. He speaks in a low, unassuming voice, drinks in small cafes by the sea, and lives above his bookshop. He doesn’t open it somedays, instead choosing to sit out on the pier and watch the seaside town go by.

Most of all, though, he tries to escape into literature and the present, because the past is the most awful place he’s ever been to.

VIII

The floor beneath his feet is thick with dust, and he disturbs it, causing the small flecks to rise up and attempt to choke him. He barely feels the smothering, the dirt left from years of neglect, because it’s his own neglect he feels, his own confusion. There it had been on the map, the name he’d taught himself not to think, like so many others - Peter Pettigrew. How could it be true?

He sprints up the staircase, alert and wary, heart slapping wetly against his ribs. If the map is telling the truth - as he knows, really, that it is - Peter isn’t going to be the only one there, the only one he’s sought so hard to forget. Sirius - his Sirius, his worthless, murdering Sirius - will be there two. As he reaches the landing he heard the voices from, he begins to doubt. If Peter’s alive, then who is really guilty?

He hurtles towards the door, instinctively raising his wand, and causes it to burst open, red sparks flying. He enters, quickly, as though watching from above - that just can’t be Sirius, that huddled, shaking mess at Harry’s feet, all sunken skin and pronounced bone. He looks around the room to distract himself - no one seems badly hurt, though Ron’s leg is bloody - but the pull from Sirius is stronger than ever and he can’t help but look at him.

He then realises, with a protective, instinctive surge of rage, that Harry seems to be about to hurt Sirius, and suddenly it doesn’t matter what his old friend, his old love, has done, because he won’t let him be hurt anymore. Raising his wand, he yells, “Expelliarmus!”, and catches the three wands that come towards him.

But where’s Peter? He scans the room, looking for any sign of a rat, but can’t see one. Voice trembling, body trembling, he stares straight at Sirius and asks, “Where is he, Sirius?”

Sirius is looking at him now. If it weren’t for his eyes, Remus knows he’d have a hard time recognising him. The eyes though, they blaze hard and grey, boring into his own with their expression unfathomable. Sickening memories hit Remus - the cold silence they had spent their last few months together, hating each other through homophobia and misunderstanding.

Then, extremely slowly, Sirius points towards Ron. Remus thinks of the pet he’d heard that Ron had lost, and it all clicks into place as he murmurs to himself, trying to piece together the battered pieces, “- unless he was the one, unless you switched without telling me?”

Sirius stares at him, face still blank, eyes still fierce and beautiful, and then he nods, washing away the years of mistrust and hatred with that single gesture. It rushes up inside of Remus - Sirius never was bad, never was a murderer, no, that was Peter, of course - his Sirius was true and right and loyal.

Slowly, wondering, terrified that Sirius will still hate him for his sexuality, for something he knows he can’t help, he reaches down, offering his hand to his old best friend. Sirius doesn’t flinch but takes it, and before he can help himself Remus holds him tightly, their bodies together once more, and he never, ever, wants to let go.

Somewhere, Remus thinks, somewhere the man he loves is on the run. Somewhere, Sirius is sat, probably concerned about Harry, who Remus knows to have faced the third task by now. He, too, worries for the boy, who was far too young to be allowed to compete in it, and who was the underdog. He hopes he’s done well, the boy so like his one of his old best friends.

It is the early hours of the morning, the light has long since dwindled, but Remus can’t sleep. The full moon was two days ago, and he’s exhausted, but there’s something stopping him from resting. Partly it’s the anxiety over Harry, partly it’s the hunger he feels - the hunger of missing Sirius so much. The knowledge that he’s out there somewhere, free but trapped, is murder.

He stands, his linen trousers rustling slightly, and tips the last of the tea into the sink. He knows he ought to try and sleep, and so turns to the bedroom, running a hand over his face and yawning. There has to be comfort in his dreams, there has to be comfort somewhere. Just as he’s thinking this, a loud crash from downstairs, from the bookshop, makes him freeze.

Through each nerve of his worn body, anxiety strikes. It is the sound of a break in, of the door being thrown open despite it’s lock. He listens - listens, somehow, above the drone, the racing of his heart. Someone seems to be walking past the shelves of the books, towards the back room, towards the staircase.

Remus turns, slowly, to stare at the top of the staircase, his long fingers withdrawing his wand. The footsteps crawl up the stairs, muffled and slow, and Remus takes a wary step forward. He has no idea who it could be, who could have no concern with how much sound they make. The figure emerges, weary and thin, and their eyes lock.

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, slipping his wand into his pocket. “Sirius - what - what are you -?”

“Dumbledore sent me,” Sirius mumbles, staggering forwards unevenly. He looks lost, disorientated and utterly exhausted. Remus launches towards him, gripping his arms with his werewolf strength, supporting him and feeling long-unused emotion and longing rising up inside. “He said - he said to lie low here.”

“Of course, you’re welcome to stay whene -”

“He’s back, Remus,” Sirius whispers, voice trembling for the first time, as he buries his face into Remus’s shoulder. Remus doesn’t know who he’s talking about, but holds him to himself, wondering how he’s still so in love when this man is such a pale imitation of the boy he once was. “V-Voldemort. He’s come back.”

“Voldemort?” Remus asks, sharply, tensing. Sirius looks up, pulling away, and nodding. Terror grips him for a moment when he thinks of what that evil, twisted man has already done, pulling lives apart and thrusting horrors together clumsily, clashing society into depravity. “How? What’s happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Sirius sighs, running hands over his face, shaking slightly. “It’s a bit hard to take it all in. Harry’s okay though, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Remus says, sincerely, and stares at his friend. “Are you okay?”

“Not - well, yeah I’m alright,” Sirius shrugs, looking up with those bright eyes. “I’ve just had to tell some of the old Order members, I’m a bit exhausted, really.”

“You can have my bed,” Remus offers, quickly. “I’ll sleep on the floor, I’ll get some blankets together.”

“Remus,” Sirius says suddenly, voice low and commanding. Remus stills again, and looks up, questioning and almost fearful. Sirius takes a step closer, and lifts a hand to scoop Remus’s chin in his hand, eyes a little narrow and a little afraid. “Am I still - I mean, when we, you know - am I still that - to you?”

“Yes,” Remus says before he can help it, a tremble in the word. “Yes, you - you are. I’ll set up the bed, shall I? You’ll need some food, too, or -”

“Remus,” Sirius whispers, watching him closely. “You’re the only person who’ll ever want me again, aren’t you?”

“Sirius, please, I don’t know what you -”

Sirius moves forward passionately and takes locks of Remus’s hair into his hands, pulling his face towards his none too gently, smashing their lips together. It’s painful, too painful to be an act of longing, and Remus winces, but then, whether through common sense or overpowering lust, he gives in.

Everything passes too quickly, Remus notes, as he lays on one side of the double, moth-eaten bed. Just like before, Sirius has invited him to move in, to the old house of 12 Grimmauld Place. This time, it’s so, so different. He’s not sure he likes it. Sirius kisses him and sleeps with him and sometimes even says he doesn’t mind it. That’s all, though.

He’s long since realised that Sirius is unbalanced now, that prison has unhinged him, for the worse. Sometimes Sirius kisses Remus sweetly, trailing his hands across his body and murmuring lustful, loving comments. Sometimes Sirius lashes out, saying that he hates Remus and hates their sin and hates himself. Sometimes he lapses into silence.

The inconsistency is the worst thing, Remus knows. He can deal with the mood swings though, and has to. He doesn’t know if it’s worth putting up with the violence and the shouting and the homophobia for those times Sirius falls against him passionately. Since fourteen, he’s wanted to be able to be with Sirius, but not like this. Never had he wanted this.

Though he loves him, and forgives him, again and again, in one part of him, somewhere far beneath his usual plane of thought, he wants to escape.

They sit around the table at the Order meeting, and Remus feels Sirius moving his leg up and down next to him, agitated, tapping his foot. Things are seeming dire, Dumbledore tells them, and they can all taste the fear and the sorrow on the air. Things are desperate and doomed, it seems.

Sirius sighs heavily halfway through one of Snape’s long, droning reports, and lays his hand on Remus’s thigh. Remus fights back a smile - it’s times like this, when Sirius is romantic and kind, that he loves, that he lives for. Across the table sits Nymphadora Tonks, looking rather bored, her hair short and pink, her cheeks rosy and her eyes a burning grey.

She glances at Remus, as he tries to keep a straight face, and grins, lips twisting prettily. He smiles politely, and he notices that her cheeks, for reasons unknown, tinge with pink. She sticks her tongue out cheekily, and he laughs, silently. Seemingly pleased, she smiles brightly again, and turns her attention back to the meeting.

Remus can’t quite place the feeling running through him, but he notices, suddenly, that Sirius’s hand has left his thigh.

XII

Remus doesn’t know how this can be happening.

When he settles down for sleep, or when he’s given a moment to himself in between Order missions, the face that plagues him has changed. For so long - for twenty three years - it’s been Sirius there, Sirius lingering in the back of his mind, Sirius being upon that pedestal, beautiful and blazing.

But suddenly there’s another. Tonks, bright in this era of darkness, always smiling and laughing and happy to see him. When in the room with Sirius and Tonks, one is cold and one is utterly warm. One half-hates him, the other is seeming to adore him more with each passing day. One is the one, the other is taking over.

She’s beautiful, he thinks. He knows that she can change her appearance, of course, but it’s something glinting in the eyes that shows him who she is, shows him that he’s not really bounded to one person after all. Guilt overcomes him, guilt to his former, shy teenage self, guilt of betraying the ‘love of his life’.

Sirius retreats further into himself nowadays. The kisses have been slowing, and Remus doesn’t know if he’s thankful for this, or sorry. He loves Sirius, he does, he does, and he wants to save him. But he can’t, and he knows - he’s always known - that Sirius doesn’t love him back. Yet he’s still in love. He’ll always be in love.

It’s just that the love might now be being shared, with that bright and brilliant girl shining through his depression. They’re related; they’re similar; they’re both united with his absolute and utter love.

XIII

Remus turns, breathing heavily, having finally finished his battle with the Death Eater, who Dumbledore is now stopping from escaping. Clutching his bleeding leg, he runs a sleeve over his forehead, ignoring the aches and pains in search of the others. Tonks is lying face down, unconscious, being tended to by Kingsley.

Remus makes his way towards her, anxious and nauseas, the scent of blood strong in all his senses, before yells make him pause, turning to see where they’re coming from. Sirius, unlike the rest of his side, is still relishing his wand and laughing, Bellatrix across from him.

Feeling as he used to, when irritated with Sirius’s enthusiasm for pranks, he rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth to tell Sirius to end the fight, to let Dumbledore take care of the gaunt witch. He freezes mid-motion; Sirius is laughing, that glorious, alive, laugh, and taunting his cousin, eyes glinting. Something tingles in Remus's spine - a desperation, a premonition of sorts.

Then, Remus’s world collapses.

The spell hits Sirius in the chest, and immediately, somehow gracefully, he falls backwards, through that mysterious veil, and Remus knows, because his heart literally aches and screams and everything else he was unaware it could do, he knows that Sirius Black is dead. As though in a dream he sees Harry running to retrieve his godfather, and, though he can’t really feel himself doing it, he stops the young boy, holding him back, the screams piercing through him, but not quite reawakening him.

Sirius. Sirius. Sirius.

Sirius can’t be dead.

He can’t be gone.

As he drags Harry from the veil, from that awful scene, he thinks of Sirius, young and sixteen and carefree, kissing him hard on the lips, thinks of their drunken night entwined, thinks of his return from living on the streets. He thinks of that luscious black hair and that handsome face and those beautiful eyes. The more he thinks, the more he lets Harry go, and when the boy shoots from his grip, after the murderer, he only vaguely registers it.

He doesn’t care that Tonks is bleeding and half-dead behind him. He doesn’t care about her. He doesn’t care about himself. Slipping silently towards the veil, his body begins to tremble - he hears a warning shout and stops his movement, crashing to his knees as though the physical pain, shooting sharply up his legs, can distract him.

It can’t.

Tears begin to rush from his brown eyes, tears he cares nothing for, tears he barely feels. The veil flutters gently in front of him, invitingly, and for a wild moment he wants to plunge through it, plunge after Sirius. Sirius Black, the one who has been there, somehow, in some measure, for his every waking moment for twenty three years.

The love of his life, he thinks, the words suddenly cruel, suddenly empty. The one.

He lifts a hand, feeling the strange breeze filtering through his fingers, and closes his eyes, longing for him once more. He’ll take the violence and the anger, he’ll take anything, to see and feel him again. But this is it, this is forever.

Sirius Black is dead.

Remus vows, then and there, that moving on is impossible, and he knows, when he feels that searing pain somewhere down inside of him, that broken hearts aren’t as frivolous and nonexistent as he’d always imagined.

XIV

Remus doesn’t talk much nowadays, just like before. He’s slipped into silence and sorrow, and only occasionally does he drag himself out to be polite and courteous to his friends. All of his old friends are lost again - he had so nearly had a chance to be happy again, and for Sirius to be happy, and now it’s all over. It feels as though a great pressure rests in his mind, pressing against the sides of his skull, migraine after migraine infecting him.

He sits, now, at Tonks’s house. She’s recovered well since her injuries from the battle in the Ministry, and emotionally she seems to be fine. Better than him, anyway. She’s taken to inviting him round, and it’s refreshing, although it doesn’t stir him as much as he thought it would. It’s too hard to live in the present now, when it’s so cruel and so, so empty.

Sirius. Sirius is always there, his eyes burning bright whenever Remus closes his own, his voice whispering in Remus’s ear, the last words they ever spoke to him, the phrases poised on such an experience tongue. He closes his eyes as he thinks of the kisses, the kisses he took for granted like a fool. He sits and regrets and sips on the tea Tonks has just given to him.

She perches on the arm of his chair, anxious and pale, which is unusual for her. Today her hair is bright red and curly, her eyes dark and glittering. He knows she’s beautiful, but the love he feels for her seems small and frail, like his weak body - thin from the lack of food he’s supplying it with, thin from the lack of care.

“Remus,” she bursts out suddenly, her voice nervous and pressing. He opens his eyes and looks at her, wondering why the sight of her isn’t making those dead butterflies lurch to life, wondering if he’s lost all passion. “Remus, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Go on,” he urges, curious and gentle but unfeeling. Nothing can reawaken him now, and nothing, he thinks, will do so in the future. She takes a deep breath, chest rising and falling, and then smiles, crookedly.

“Remus, you have to know,” she murmurs, as though reassuring herself. “You have the right to know. I think - I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

It doesn’t register immediately. It does so slowly, niggling into his brain, and he drops the cup of tea when it does, the china smashing into thousands of small pieces. He stands up, withdrawing his wand to repair it, muttering apologetically, “I’m sorry - so clumsy -”

She gets out her own wand to help, and their elbows knock together. He looks at her, staring, and she gazes back, almost defiantly. “You know nothing can happen between us, don’t you?”

“Why - why not?” she asks, dropping her wand and staring at him, accusingly, angrily. “What’s wrong with me? I thought - I thought -”

“It’s nothing to do with you,” he assures, quickly, the pain in his head growing as he thinks, though he doesn’t want to, about what Sirius would say. “I’m - I’m a werewolf, aren’t I? That would be too much of a risk, I can’t be in a relationship. Not to mention you’re far too young for me. It wouldn’t work.”

“It would!” she insists, frustrated tears rising into her eyes. “I don’t care about the age gap or your - your condition! Are you telling me you’ve never been in a relationship before?”

He stands up straight, stowing his wand away, seeing Sirius rather than the trembling, beautiful girl in front of him. He loves her, he does, but the loss is too raw, too fresh, to even long for her. With great effort, he shakes his head, and dimly, regret rushes into him as she turns away and covers her face, beginning to sob.

It’s only fair, he thinks, a little cruelly, that someone else should cry. His body has been racked with grief and tears since the day his world fell through the veil.

She has run down into the grounds, and he follows quickly. The death of Dumbledore has rocked everything, shaken resolutions until they have crumbled, and suddenly he has become overwhelmed with the urge to love and to be loved. She’s fallen apart because of him, and he knows, he really knows how that feels.

He steps out of the front door, the light dwindling through the clouds, the early morning breeze stinging his tired face. She’s reached the lake now, and is picking up pebbles, casting them in the water with abandon and fury. He remembers, startlingly clear, standing in the same spot and doing the same thing at fifteen, enraged at how much he felt for the boy who was so oblivious.

Don’t think about Sirius now, he thinks, as he marches down to her, filled with passion and love and lust. If you think about him, think about lying between the sheets with him, think about the way his mouth was so pretty when it twisted into a half-smile -- you’ll lose her again.

He’s feet away now, and she turns, pale and startled, her eyes filling with some obscure emotions he can’t place. They’re grey today, grey against the white of her skin and the black of her eyelashes, and he can’t help what he does next.

He grabs her roughly by the arms and pulls her forward, embracing her, kissing her, loving her.

When she kisses back, there’s love on her lips, and he forgets, he forgets that beautiful boy, because these kisses aren’t forbidden, and this love is finally, finally requited.

XVI

Her parents hate him, of course. They never say anything outright, but he sees that cold fear in their eyes. Prejudice, he knows, of his lycanthropy, and perhaps more. Andromeda, Sirius had always said, was remarkably good at judging people. Perhaps she notices that when she mentions her dead cousin’s name, something stirs in him, something rears it’s ugly head and makes him want to scream. Maybe she knows he’s still in love with Sirius Black.

He is still in love with the man, he knows it. Though it’s been over a year since his death, something still swells in Remus’s heart whenever he thinks about it. They’re married now, Tonks and Remus, and it feels rushed and unloving, even though she’s happy and beautiful. He wishes he was in love with her as much as he is in love with Sirius.

It’s Sirius he thinks of, when they lie on the bed and she arches her back, when he groans and thrusts, when they’re sharply flung together in their lust. She knows he has a preference for black hair and wears it so innocently for him, so innocent to it’s true meaning, too lovely, too naïve to know how unhappy he is.

He regrets the marriage. He regrets giving in to her. He regrets letting Sirius fall through the veil without warning him.

Most of all, though, he regrets ever falling in love.

XVII

The house smells of cinnamon and magic, and it makes him feel sick. He rests his forehead against the smooth, green wallpaper, his hair falling against his red cheeks, and he sighs, expelling the breath heavily. He’s been waiting here for over an hour, alone and anxious, whilst Tonks gives birth in the sitting room.

It’s not glamorous or comfortable, but Andromeda has banished him from the room to look after her daughter. Ted would be there, but Ted has died - another death, another scrap of sadness inside. They would be in the safety of St. Mungos, but it is best not to show their faces to the outside world when the world is so cruel, so unforgiving and dangerous.

She lets outs screams of terror often, making him leap to his feet and want to stride in there. She’s such a brave, wonderful woman, and it tears at him to think of her in such pain. As for the child, well, he’s not thought of it yet, not really. Before it left the taste of regret on his tongue, making him grimace, and now he doesn’t know what to think.

As he sits down again, wondering how cliché he would seem if he began pacing - which he has the strange urge to do - he hears Andromeda shouting, and launches on his feet again, trying to make out the words.

“Remus! Quickly!” she’s yelling, and he loses no time in running through to them, heart mad and wary in his chest, half-reluctant, half-terrified. There’s no excitement in him, and he can’t understand why. Tonks is lying back, eyes closed, chest heaving, and yet he barely looks at her, as inconsiderate as it is.

His eyes are pinned on the small, squirming creature in Andromeda’s arms. Hardly daring to breath, he steps nearer, as she cleans it with her wand, looking proud and fierce. Their eyes meet and she smiles, the first, genuine smile she’s ever given him, and he smiles back, faint and forgiving.

“Here,” she whispers, placing the baby in his arms, and he looks down to see his son for the first time.

Tears rise in his eyes as he gazes at this wonderful, beautiful baby, who blinks back up at him with charcoal eyes. Eyes that are so, so familiar to him, but he doesn’t think of that now. He thinks of nothing but his son, his beautiful son.

“Ted,” Tonks murmurs, smiling up at him, and he beams.

“Our Teddy,” he confirms, and the baby begins to cry.

XVIII

Dolohov strikes before Remus has time to defend himself. Tonks is at his side - brave, stupid Tonks, who he told not to come - and he hears her desperate scream as the curse is uttered by the Death Eater, distracting him from defence. Dolohov cackles the words, the fatal words, and Remus sees only green for a moment, for the last glimpse of the world, before a blinding white surrounds him, and he’s falling, as though through liquid, the folds of life slipping between his fingers.

Silence rushes around him, roaring unrestrainedly in his ears, and yet he doesn’t fight it - he falls, he falls, the feeling glorious and free. Then, gently, as though being laid down to rest, he lands upon his back, the smells of the night coming alive around him, noise forcing it’s way back into his world.

Gently, oddly calm, he gets to his feet. It’s night, here, wherever he is, and the sky is littered with stars. He breathes deeply, body hurting less than it has in years, and he realises, then, that he’s feeling perfect. The grief, so tight, has snapped; the regret has faded; the anxiety and panic of the battle has dissolved into simple peace.

Looking around himself, the dull aches and pains of his lycanthropy and age seemingly gone, he realises he is stood in the clearing of a large and beautiful forest, in which everything seems magnificent and alive, with night time butterflies hovering overhead. One brushes against his cheek and he lifts a hand to touch the spot - the skin feels smooth, with no wrinkles, and only the bump of a light scar.

He glances up again into the sky, hoping to see signs of where he is, when his eyes fall upon the moon. It’s a silvery colour, beaming down at him, and it’s full. Instinctively, he lets out a cry and grimaces, preparing himself for the dreadful pain and decay of his mind. But it never comes. A moment later there is the sound of light footfalls in the leaves behind him, and a soft, familiar laugh.

“The full moon won’t affect you now. You’re free.”

He opens his eyes and turns, before he goes pale, blanching, a tremble scampering across his body. He ponders, for the first time, the possibility that he’s dreaming, but suddenly all those familiar pangs of adolescent, and adult, love come back to him and he knows this is all real, this is somehow happening. Even if it isn’t, he’s going to cherish every second of it.

“Padfoot,” he murmurs, voice less hoarse than it’s sounded for years. “Sirius, how can this be -”

“Stop questioning things, Moony,” Sirius smiles, face young and eighteen, and he takes a step nearer, almost cautious. It’s odd, because Sirius was never cautious in life, and Remus knows as he thinks this what must have happened, why he’s here, that’s he’s left that other world, that forgettable world, forever.

“I can’t help it,” he says, with a tentative attempt at a smile. “That’s always been my job.”

Sirius laughs, but the laughter shakes, some suppressed emotion hidden beneath his smile. “You’re young again, too. There’s no reason to stare at me like that.”

“Isn’t there?” Remus asks, before he can help himself, and he immediately bows his head, cheeks tinged with pink. Sirius is closer now, and he lifts Remus’s head, looking both concerned and awed. His eyes are so, so alive, and that beautiful colour and shape they always were. Remus doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry or run or kiss him.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sirius murmurs, expression imploring and apologetic. “I didn’t expect you here so soon, but as we have forever now I guess I should confess.”

“Confess,” Remus repeats, distracted by the hand that Sirius has dropped to his collarbone, the fingers tracing the skin gently. “Confess - confess what?”

“Confess what I actually feel, instead of being a bastard,” Sirius murmurs, eyes wide and endearing. “I never really thought how lucky I was back then. You know what I’m like.”

“Yes, I do,” Remus says, swallowing, lost and disorientated but uncaring. “I know exactly what you’re like. Or - or what you were like - God, Sirius, please - how - how is this - ?”

“Like I said, you don’t need to question everything. Not here. This is the time to just let things happen, okay? This is the time to live how you want to.”

“How I want to?” Remus sighs, closing his eyes as Sirius’s hand snakes round him - this can’t be real, it just can’t - any moment he’ll wake up, in pain and blinking, Hogwarts still under siege. “I thought you hated me for how I want to live. You said so.”

“Like I said,” Sirius repeats, mouth an inch or so away from Remus’s, and Remus can feel the soft breath hit him, and he opens his eyes, wondering if everything is really, finally going to be how he always wanted it to be. “You don’t need to question everything. Nothing is forbidden here.”

Forbidden. The word jerks him to life, his eyes go wide, and he pulls away from Sirius, shaking his head, twisting his fingers in his worn robes. He’s married, married, he has a child - wherever this is happening, even it’s his lustful imagination, he’s betraying Tonks and he never wanted to do that.

Sirius simply smiles though, and walks towards him again. Remus bites his lip, wanting Sirius to understand, because understanding is the first step towards acceptance, and then they can somehow move on from this dark, beautiful forest, like Remus has had to move on from the one, left alone again and again.

“Tonks,” Remus says finally, when Sirius is startlingly close once more. “I have - I’m married to Tonks.”

Sirius, always taller, always stronger, pulls Remus towards him with a passion and ferocity, and kisses him - kisses him lovingly and gently - full on the mouth. Remus moans into Sirius’s mouth, losing himself again, but the peace hasn’t been shattered, the peace inside is still overwhelming him. He thinks he murmurs his wife’s name one last time before giving in, hands twisting themselves in Sirius’s soft hair.

“Like I said,” Sirius mutters, pulling away for the merest second, breathless and beautiful. “Nothing is forbidden here.”

fin
x

Parts 14, 15, 16 and 17 of Taciturn.

2007-09-11T19:52:36Z

Here are the next four parts of Taciturn. There's only one more after this, and it's over!

XIV

“Remus, you have to know,” she murmurs, as though reassuring herself. “You have the right to know. I think - I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

She gets out her own wand to help, and their elbows knock together. He looks at her, staring, and she gazes back, almost defiantly. “You know nothing can happen between us, don’t you?”

“Why - why not?” she asks, dropping her wand and staring at him, accusingly, angrily. “What’s wrong with me? I thought - I thought -”

“It would!” she insists, frustrated tears rising into her eyes. “I don’t care about the age gap or your - your condition! Are you telling me you’ve never been in a relationship before?”

It’s only fair, he thinks, a little cruelly, that someone else should cry. His body has been racked with grief and tears since the day his world fell through the veil.

He’s feet away now, and she turns, pale and startled, her eyes filling with some obscure emotions he can’t place. They’re grey today, grey against the white of her skin and the black of her eyelashes, and he can’t help what he does next.

He grabs her roughly by the arms and pulls her forward, embracing her, kissing her, loving her.

When she kisses back, there’s love on her lips, and he forgets, he forgets that beautiful boy, because these kisses aren’t forbidden, and this love is finally, finally requited.

XVI

He regrets the marriage. He regrets giving in to her. He regrets letting Sirius fall through the veil without warning him.

Most of all, though, he regrets ever falling in love.

XVII

“Here,” she whispers, placing the baby in his arms, and he looks down to see his son for the first time.

“Ted,” Tonks murmurs, smiling up at him, and he beams.

“Our Teddy,” he confirms, and the baby begins to cry.

Parts 10, 11, 12 and 13 of Taciturn.

2007-09-09T17:41:46Z

Here are the next four parts of Taciturn. Thanks for all the feedback I've recieved, and I hope you continue to like this as we near the end.

Though he loves him, and forgives him, again and again, in one part of him, somewhere far beneath his usual plane of thought, he wants to escape.

Remus can’t quite place the feeling running through him, but he notices, suddenly, that Sirius’s hand has left his thigh.

XII

Remus doesn’t know how this can be happening.

XIII

Then, Remus’s world collapses.

Sirius. Sirius. Sirius.

Sirius can’t be dead.

He can’t be gone.

It can’t.

The love of his life, he thinks, the words suddenly cruel, suddenly empty. The one.

Sirius Black is dead.

Parts 7, 8 and 9 of Taciturn.

2007-09-07T20:12:35Z

Here are the next three parts of Taciturn. I'm glad people are enjoying this so far, and I hope you continue doing so! Remember, this is rated 17+ (although these parts aren't worth that rating).

VII

Most of all, though, he tries to escape into literature and the present, because the past is the most awful place he’s ever been to.

VIII

He hurtles towards the door, instinctively raising his wand, and causes it to burst open, red sparks flying. He enters, quickly, as though watching from above - that just can’t be Sirius, that huddled, shaking mess at Harry’s feet, all sunken sink and pronounced bone. He looks around the room to distract himself - no one seems badly hurt, though Ron’s leg is bloody - but the pull from Sirius is stronger than ever and he can’t help but look at him.

He then realises, with a protective, instinctive surge of rage, that Harry seems to be about to hurt Sirius, and suddenly it doesn’t matter what his old friend, his old love, has done, because he won’t let him be hurt anymore. Raising his wand, he yells, “Expelliarmus!”, and catches the three wands that come towards him.

But where’s Peter? He scans the room, looking for any sign of a rat, but can’t see one. Voice trembling, body trembling, he stares straight at Sirius and asks, “Where is he, Sirius?”

He stands, his linen trousers rustling slightly, and tips the last of the tea into the sink. He knows he ought to try and sleep, and so turns to the bedroom, running a hand over his face and yawning. There has to be comfort in his dreams, there has to be comfort somewhere. Just as he’s thinking this, a loud crash from downstairs, from the bookshop, makes him freeze.

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, slipping his wand into his pocket. “Sirius - what - what are you -?”

“Of course, you’re welcome to stay whene -”

“I’ll tell you later,” Sirius sighs, running hands over his face, shaking slightly. “It’s a bit hard to take it all in. Harry’s okay though, don’t worry.”

“Good,” Remus says, sincerely, and stares at his friend. “Are you okay?”

“Not - well, yeah I’m alright,” Sirius shrugs, looking up with those bright eyes. “I’ve just had to tell some of the old Order members, I’m a bit exhausted, really.”

“You can have my bed,” Remus offers, quickly. “I’ll sleep on the floor, I’ll get some blankets together.”

“Yes,” Remus says before he can help it, a tremble in the word. “Yes, you - you are. I’ll set up the bed, shall I? You’ll need some food, too, or -”

“Remus,” Sirius whispers, watching him closely. “You’re the only person who’ll ever want me again, aren’t you?”

“Sirius, please, I don’t know what you -”

Parts 4, 5 and 6 of Taciturn.

2007-09-05T19:50:43Z

So, here's parts 4, 5 and 6 of Taciturn. I'd rate this a safe 17+ because there's some sexual acts, but it's not overly explicit. So yeah. You've been warned! Oh, and also a big apology for making Sirius such a horrible person. Sigh.

“Moony,” Sirius mumbles, taking his friend’s hand and tugging him none too gently in the direction of his bedroom. “Moony, come on, let’s go.”

“Shut up,” Sirius growls, a desperation in his voice as he slips his hands up the back of Remus’s shirt. Remus tries to pull away, but then Sirius crashes his mouth into his and all resolution slips away. A dim memory of spin the bottle on the common room comes back to him, the quick and hurried kiss. This is different, this is real. Sirius is kissing him through choice, passionately and properly, and Remus groans as they topple sideways onto the unmade bed.

“God, god, Sirius -” he whimpers, feeling all too pathetic and all too male and all to filled with lust. “Sirius, isn’t this - aren’t you -”

He loses himself, soon, in the other’s body, in the pain and the exquisite pleasure, and he doesn’t give a damn what happens because this is what everything seems to have led up to, this is the life-affirming moment.

Then, he opens his eyes and it all comes rushing back.

Sirius.

“Remus,” he croaks, voice hoarse and hung-over. “Remus, what the hell happened last night?”

“Well,” Remus laughs, breathy, nervous and somewhat hysterical. “We were both - both really drunk, Sirius, you have to understand, it wasn’t -”

“Remus,” Sirius says again, louder and more angrily, his eyes narrowing, accusing. “What the hell happened last night?”

“Everything,” Remus mumbles, tears rushing up somewhere inside but not quite reaching his eyes. “You - you threw me across the bed, you’ve always been the stronger one - and, well, you -”

“Why is it?” Remus whispers, turning away so he doesn’t have to see that burning, beautiful boy anymore. “Why’s it messed up? You instigated it, don’t pin this on me.”

“I’m - I’m not exactly - listen, this is rather inappropriate, hadn’t we better -”

“You are,” Sirius confirms, and it comes out as more of a hiss, a release of trust and friendship in that one breath. “God, you are, aren’t you? Why didn’t you say something? Moony, I’m straight, I’m fucking straight and you just let me -”

“Yeah,” Remus says, pulling himself from the bed, voice emotionless and mind somehow just pain and pain and pain. “Yeah, real straight, fucking your male best friend.”

He leaves the room before Sirius can reply, before Sirius can lash out as he must want to do. Remus leaves, naked and confused and in pain, in pain from the infiltration, but the pain of the heartbreak is so, so worse and at that moment, he wishes he’d hit Sirius instead of walking away.

Remus, who’s mind was formerly so blank, so blissfully empty of thought with his shock, is stunned with how decisive he sounds when he replies.

“No. I - I never want to see him again.”