There he was again; or rather, there they both were: the Moon at its fullest up in the sky, singing its odd song, and Remus, once again his self (his standards being pretty low, honestly), doing his best to ignore its earwormish hum between his ears. At least now he had the comfort of thought. The Wolfbane potion he received on Christmas Day held no nametag, although Remus was pretty sure he could take a guess regarding the identity of the sender. Normally, he would leave the day before the Full Moon; no matter the circumstances, he would only feel bad. But the message of leaving him this exact present to discover in his room as a holiday guest‘s was clear enough to keep him from overthinking (as best as he could manage): apparently, he was wanted here, for whatever reason, even despite the current circumstances. Remus certainly wasn’t ungrateful enough to just up and leave per usual and take the gift along, to ignore the message; not in a household where Molly Weasley was lurking, ha, no, he would never make this mistake again. Also, he had to admit he was growing rather curious to see what the mysterious gifter’s actual intend was.
Are they expecting something from him? Or is the whole deal only to keep him in the household during celebrations? He wouldn’t really mind any of those. He got used to having friends once, or people who care about him having company during Christmas, which meant that he could get used to it again. What concerned him somewhat more to the point of a bother was the idea of certain someone trying to fetch something both this scarce and expensive – and definitelymonitored – from the dark market just for him. Remus would never ask anyone for that. He could take care for himself. He always strained to make sure everyone knew that.
The Full-Moon was right on the 25th, meaning he had a whole day to spend with his friends and colleagues from the Order – and with the potion, looking poisinously blueish and smelling just the correct kind of abhorrent. One whole day to steer his mind clear of overthinking. He wouldn’t bring the topic up by himself, though; he definitely could do his part of waiting, couldn’t he?
The hard touch of the cold floor against his side and thigh made him hardly any comfort. He thought of his bed upstairs, nice, spatious and all alone now, and dimly pondered if a soft, warm blanket would have made any difference. Not that it would matter, anyway. Honestly speaking, he was used to far worse conditions than these, and most of the time, a blanket was a riddiculously unthinkable luxury. Although this one particular cellar, or, more exactly, the grand dungeons of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, was without doubt one of the creepiest places he remembered spending his Full Moons in. Stone walls, drawn across the whole subterraine, were shrouded in shadows, stretching deeper and further away as his sight kept adjusting, their edges seemingly unreachable by eye, were he human, that is. In his current state, they were just Grey, like everything, so they managed to hold less mystery and more depression. Lovely.
It always tended to feel funny, not being outside as wolf; it was a part of the Moon’s demand, its request, to run under the wide night sky, to aim for the stars and for the kill; and even though he was used to rejecting the appeal by spending his nights inside, he surely was not used to his area of free movement being larger than one room, or, alternatively, one shack. Remus, half-lidded, peeked up from behind his eyelashes, inspecting the chain of the open rooms in front of him, some equipped with bars for Merlin-knows-what god-damned purpose. Maybe he could get up and move, he thought, move, run around, get some exercise. Maybe he should. What a shame to feel motivated for physical activity only when not being his self.
There were rats in the dungeons. He really ought to get up…
He never considered himself an impatient person (let alone a person at all) but he was growing rather frustrated by this miserable place when suddenly, there came a polite knock on the entrance. Remus would raise an eyebrow, if only he had the facial muscles required for that. There was beat and a muffled “oh, right” — and the door opened.
Two soft footsteps then followed, their echoes amplified by the emptied cellar, and Sirius Black supposedly froze on the spot, right behind the corner where Remus still couldn’t see him. “Hey, Moony,” he called out in a raspy voice, probably attemtping for a whisper and failing miserably, “can I come in? Bli… I mean, growl twice or something if you want me to leave and once if you let me join you.”
Remus snorted out a laugh. Since when does he need to ask? Did they finally teach you some manners in Azkaban?
“Okay, I take it as you won’t try to tear me to shreds once I enter,” deadpanned Sirius and finally stepped into his field of vision. He was a little hunched under the low ceiling, moreover carrying some objects in his arms. “I brought a blanket,” he said.
Remus could see that. He felt kind of confused, though. Was Sirius planning on having a sleepover? In the dungeons with a werewolf? How very Padfoot of him, Remus had to admit with inadvertent fondness.
“Figured it’s been a while since you’ve had company on the Full Moon,” Sirius said while settling his things down, the echoes of his voice seemingly lighting up the general greyness. “Also that you could use a potion this neat. You never told me it existed, you realise that?” He gave Remus a stare. “I had to find out myself. It’s pretty hard to fetch, but not impossible. Not for me, at least. So I thought I might as well take advantage of you being at my place for once… and spend some quality time with you — if you don’t mind, that is?”
No, Remus certainly did not mind. He minded Sirius risking like this, though. That was reckless. He ought to had a talk with him sometime when he’s able.
But having him around was nice.
Sirius unraveled the blanket – it was gigantic, probably expanded by magic, Remus figured – and folded half of it over himself, holding the rest up awkwardly for a moment before just plainly tossing it over Remus‘ back. „‘Ts pretty cold down here,“ he muttered as in clarification. „Could I…“
Remus gave him a fond look from the side as Sirius shifted closer to him, then he glanced down at the other object Sirius brought in. It was a book. A familiar one…
Sirius followed Remus’ eye and automatically cleared his throat. „Oh, right. That’s just Frankenstein. I, erm… Well, we, uh, we never actually finished this story together, me being in Azkaban and all of the other mess happening, y’know, running off and all… I know the situation changed a few times and this is stupid because we – we’re both grown-arse men and neither of us is exactly in a need of a bedtime story, but, hell, this is, like, classical literature. Shit’s important. Also I know you read aloud better than I do so please don’t laugh.“ His eyes darted up. „I-if you’ll want me reading, that is. I’m comfortable with soliloquing all night, you know me. Or keeping silence. Whichever you prefer.“
Remus lifted his paw and gently nudged Sirius‘ hand, the one that was holding the book. Sirius grinned tentatively.
„You know, when you used to read to me aloud, I liked to shift to Padfoot. Remember? Not sure I ever told you but, hah, the sound’s just better. I could hear your voice so clearly…“ He stopped to think about something for a bit, then cackled. „Well, come to think of it, that might not be nice in our case. My voice’s kind of raspy these days. Doesn’t sound as good.“
I like your voice, Remus thought. But he said nothing.
„Alright, let’s see… Merlin, is it cold in here,“ Sirius shuddered suddenly, apparently not noticing he was still speaking aloud. „Did I go soft or… Nah, but I’m not soft, am I? Just used to having fur around whenever I need…“
Remus cut him off by huddling closer to him, laying his upper body across Sirius’s lap in carefully just the way Sirius used to do when Remus was the one holding the book, the blanket curling awkwardly in the middle. Sirius barked out a laugh, apparently taken off guard.
„Oh! I – thanks, Moony. That’s… That’s actually sweet. And comfy. Merlin, you’re fluffy, I didn’t know that.“
Now it was Remus‘ turn to snort out a laugh, unintentionally copying Sirius‘ former way of laughing precisely. Fluffy. He found that absurdly hilarious. Who knew a werewolf was actually fluffy?
How many people have had the comfort of finding out?
Remus suddenly decided that he didn’t care.
For once, he found himself not caring about what dangers he posed, not acknowledging the visceral feeling of contamination that was so damn hard to get rid of. This was safe. He was safe; the Moon reduced to a distant murmur, barely acknowledged, drowned out by the sound of Sirius‘ quiet voice. He felt an absend-minded hand stroking the fur on his back and let himself relax for once. For once, he let the wolf’s heart beat carelessly, let the wolf’s chest breathe deep. For once, he let himself feel good – despite being a werewolf, while being one.