Chapter 3
Fleamont and Euphemia Potter had been out for a couple of hours when James ushered the four boys onto the third floor landing. It was the following evening, and Remus ached a little less after sleeping an entire day away and forcing down the occasional slices of burned toast that Sirius had brought him, like strange offerings dragged in by a house cat.
Now, inside James’ room, Sirius stretched back on the duvet, arms crossed behind his head. When Remus sat down on the edge of the mattress, he pushed his socked foot into Remus’ back. Red hangings draped the walls, a heap of clothes had been piled upon an old mahogany rocking chair, and a polished broomstick leaned against the dresser.
“Why do you look like a rabid animal?” Sirius asked James, who had started to rub his hands together, a glint in his brown eyes. “Stop moving around or I’ll jinx you.”
“I have gained access to the Potter cellar.” James said and he crouched down to pull a wooden box that clinked with gleaming amber bottles from underneath his bed. “And I have gotten my wonderful, clever fingers on two crates of the finest firewhiskey in all the magical lands. Tonight we drink like men!”
“Spiffing.” Sirius shifted behind him and Remus gripped at his ankle before he could drive his toes any further into his ribs. “Odds on Wormtail throwing up his guts?”
Peter cast him a bleak glare and he bent to seize a firewhiskey for himself. “I don’t always throw up!”
Remus had been staring at the pictures pinned up on James’ dusty mirror, the small, moving images: James and Sirius playing with a golden snitch in their dorm, Dorcas flipping off the camera, a smirking Marlene and an exasperated Lily sitting against a tree by the Great lake, Peter sleeping in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, his mouth wide open. Remus and Sirius. Remus with his head buried in a book and Sirius with his arm slung around his shoulders. Forever blurred in motion, but never quite meeting each other's eyes.
When James tossed a bottle at Remus, he tore his gaze away to catch it and pop its lid.
“...The thing is,” James was groaning, three hours later from where he was sprawled across the living room rug. “The thing is, unfortunately, I do love Lily Evans.”
“Really?” Remus muttered, watching the flames from the fireplace lick at the grate. He couldn’t help but smile as he took another slow sip of his drink, throat scorched numb. “I don’t think you’ve ever told us that, Prongs.”
“Your dry wit does not help me, Moony!” James twisted to frown at him, threading his hands through his thick hair in visible distress. “I just want to understand what I’m doing wrong! Do I not shower her with affection? Do I not give her flowers? Do I not write poems–”
“I didn’t know you’d written poems.” Peter popped his head up from the armchair with a loud, resounding hiccup. “What kind of poems?”
“Limericks, mostly.” sighed James. “The occasional haiku if I’m feeling inspired.”
“Let me try.” Slouching against the sofa, Sirius grinned, his legs spread wide. “There once was a redhead named Lily, who made young James Potter act silly! She jinxed him with bats and bogeys and rats, but James only thought with his willy!”
Remus threw a cushion at Sirius’ face.
With a flick of James’ wand, the wireless radio was crooning old songs from wizard bands like No Rest for the Wizards and The Giggling Ghouls, to which Peter sang along, his cheeks blanching greener and greener.
“Oh darling, Hecate, my cruel pumpkin queen–”
Another bottle down, Remus rested back against the side table and closed his eyes for just a moment, sinking down into a drunken blackness. He did not know how much time had passed when he looked around the living room again, but when he did, Sirius was gone. James was frowning absently up at the ceiling, his glasses askew across his nose, so Remus pushed himself up from the floor and slipped out into the hallway.
He could hear James join in the singing as he made his way up the stairs to the second floor. “Your eyes are like aconite, won’t you come dance with me?”
When Remus nudged open Sirius’ bedroom door with his elbow, Sirius’ silhouette was stark against the window. Illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the pane, he sat across the bay seat, knees pulled up to his chest. He had been staring out at the night sky, an empty bottle swinging from his fingers, but when the door scraped, he turned his head.
“Are you hiding?” Remus asked, the room spinning just a little now that he was standing up.
“If I was hiding, you wouldn’t have found me.” Sirius grinned, wide and genuine, resting his cheek on his arm. “Benefits of being the black sheep of the family.”
As Remus neared on unsteady feet, he set down the bottle and shuffled to make room on the cushioned ledge.
"Merlin." mumbled Sirius, wincing and rubbing at his ribs through his thin shirt. "Mother really did a number on me."
Frowning, Remus settled down next to him. He looked at Sirius, the honey of his skin all cast in dappled silver, his eyes sharp and gorgeous and a glassy sort of drunk, all edges and lines from his stretching collarbone to his jaw to his nose. How was it this painful, just to watch him, just for him to exist, this close to Remus, like a star, burning, burning, burning through the dark?
"Sometimes I want her dead." Remus told him. "It scares me. I think I'd kill for you."
Remus didn't know why he’d said that, what he’d expected, but when Sirius stared back at him, there was no disgust, no fright, no reproof, just his blank, beautiful face, utterly unreadable. Sirius did not speak, but he did shift forwards to clutch at Remus' knees with strong, shaking hands and push them apart.
"Sirius," Remus began, stiffly, but Sirius was crawling between his legs and covering his words with his mouth.
It was just like a dream. It was Sirius' lips, still warm and slick with firewhiskey, his tongue, his palm splayed against the wall over Remus' shoulder, the heat of him bleeding from the press of his chest. It was soft, slow, only at first, then bigger, deeper, until Remus was grasping at his shirt for balance, struggling to kiss Sirius back as his fingers sought Remus out, touching every part of him he could.
Wait. Panting, Remus pushed at his shoulders, his head spinning. "Wait--" He said, still tasting him. "Sirius, think about what you're doing."
The world was tilting on its fucking axis, it had to be, but then there was Sirius shivering under Remus' touch as he brushed another light kiss to Remus' neck.
"Moony." He murmured against his skin, breath hot. "I need to not think. Just this once."
Just this once. Remus had heard that before, from nervous boys in Hogwarts bathroom stools and abandoned greenhouses, with their darting eyes and blushing cheeks and quivering voices.
He gripped at Sirius' jaw to look at his face, properly, and his heart was thumping, with fear, with all the rum he had drunk that night. This was not just a boy. This was Sirius. His Sirius. The one person who he would do anything for.
This was anything. This was everything. This was Remus shoving Sirius onto his back, his fumbling, drunken fingers at his belt, the metal clinking as he pulled the leather free. Propping himself onto his elbows, Sirius watched Remus kiss the bronze skin where his shirt rode up his flat stomach, kiss down towards his navel until he was unbuttoning his jeans. The weight of his glinting eyes burrowed into Remus, anchored him in place.
Once Remus had wriggled out of his own trousers, Sirius tugged at him, dragging him back up to slip his tongue into his mouth again. Remus choked on a moan as Sirius canted his hips upwards, their hard cocks rubbing together through the thin, damp fabric of their briefs. The edges of the bay window seat dug into them, the narrow space an awkward plane for their feverish rutting and messy tangle of legs.
"Fuck," Sirius was chanting in his ear, palms sliding underneath his jumper to scrabble at his back, digging his nails into his shoulder-blade. "Moony, please--"
It couldn't be helped, the way that Remus stared down at Sirius, at his throat as his head rocked back, the flutter of his dark lashes, his parted lips. He pressed down, rougher, faster, slipped his hand in between them to stroke at Sirius' cock, sticky and hot.
Each tight flick of his wrist drew such lovely sounds from Sirius, small whimpers and stammered words that weren’t really words. Remus pinned his stuttering hips and kissed him, swallowed the noises to feed the rolling, blazing hunger rising inside of him, pinching at his gut.
There should have been some sort of reason why this was so easy, why it felt like he knew Sirius’ body, knew the way it arched, the heavy weight of his cock, the loose hook of his ankle around Remus’ waist. Remus was gasping, low, his thigh pushed in between his legs and his face buried in Sirius’ hair and he was so warm, and he smelled like sex and liquor and fresh laundry.
And he was there, at the edge of it all already, like he was thirteen years old again, white heat hitting him like a blow to the stomach and flushing up his spine. Sirius bit down on his shoulder like he was trying to draw blood, cock twitching as he spilled over Remus’ closed fist, murmuring his name, just his name, like it meant something more than it was.
Afterwards, after they had caught their breaths, Remus peeled himself away, chewing at his lip. He rose to his feet, his legs shaking, heart hammering, and stooped to pick up his discarded trousers, crumpled on the floor. When he glanced back, for only a second, Sirius was still there, lying across the loveseat, arm thrown over his eyes.
Remus knew Sirius wouldn’t speak again, so he was not sure why he stood at the door before leaving. A deep, empty exhaustion strained at him as he crossed the hallway to his own room, and it was only this that allowed him to sleep.
*
When Remus woke, his head pounding, he could smell breakfast. Bacon and eggs and burned toast, and the busy chatter of voices drifted up to the second floor when he pushed open his door. His stomach ached, but he was still a mess after last night, so he forced himself under the steaming head of the shower.
He leaned his forehead against the cool tiles, water streaming down his face in rivulets as he breathed in the soft lavender of the soap. The base of his skull was still pounding, but the pain was fading by the time he stepped out and dried his hair with a towel. In the mirror, Remus’ reflection stared back at him insolently, curls wet and scars stark against his skin. He twisted and caught a glimpse of the red scratches marking his shoulder, the indent of nails.
Downstairs, now fully-clothed, Remus slid into one of the chairs at the long dining table. Sirius had looked up from a large cup of coffee when he’d walked in and hadn’t looked away since, but Remus only offered a smile and a small thank you to Euphemia Potter, who sat with a book called Garden Gnomes: The More You Gnome and a buttered crumpet.
“James is flying.” Peter offered Remus between mouthfuls of a flaky croissant when the silence had stretched a bit too long. “Said he needed to practise, even though it’s summer. Lunatic!”
Peter shot an apologetic grimace at Euphemia at this last comment, but she only turned another page. Sun flooded in through a wide window, spinning everything in a rich yellow, and Remus closed his eyes as it heated his back.
"Moony?" Sirius said. It was the first time he had spoken. "Are you okay?"
Remus opened his eyes again, but did not meet his rapt gaze. He reached across the table to grab a piece of toast. "Yes."
"What did you do now?" It was James, walking up behind Sirius to shove at his arm. His hair was windswept, pushed back from his face in a messy tangle by a pair of cracked flying goggles, but he was grinning like he’d just orbited the world. He didn't even look hungover as he leaned over Sirius to take a stolen sip of his coffee, before scrunching up his nose. “Blergh! Did you drown this thing in sugar?”
Sirius scowled and snatched the mug back from him, a few brown drops sloshing down the side in the struggle. He glanced at Remus once more, a swallow travelling the length of his throat. “I didn’t do anything.”
“What are you boys planning for today?” Euphemia asked, setting down her book to smile at them. She wore glasses almost identical to her sons, round and gleaming. “There’s a beach not too far if you’d like a good walk.”
“A walk would be nice.” Peter mumbled, wiping his lips free of pastry with his sleeve. “Sirius always loves to play fetch.”
It was very lucky that Euphemia Potter was used to Peter saying strange things, because she did not question the concept of a teenage boy running after a stick, even after Sirius had driven a sharp elbow into a blushing Peter’s ribs. Knee bouncing, Remus started spreading a sour blackberry jam across his toast, wishing he’d slept for longer.
“I think I’ll head home.” He said. “Thank you, Effie. For everything.”
“Now?” Sirius set down his cup to lean forwards in his seat, eyes flashing beautiful and wild and betrayed.
“After breakfast.”
“But Moony,” Sirius whined. “What could possibly be better back home than here?”
Jaw stiff, Remus took a bite of his toast and levelled him with a blank stare. He thought of frantic hands, mouths, hips, Sirius’ voice in his ear, and of his silence, after. He did not reply.
James and Peter had started to loudly wager on a game of wizard chess, but Remus had finished eating, so he pushed his chair back, fumbling in his pocket for his near-empty packet of cigarettes. He stepped out the backdoor and into the garden, which spread in flourishes of orange and pink and white flowers and winding pathways, encased by moss-ridden stone walls and towering bushes that rustled suspiciously as he passed. In the centre, a wide, round fountain trickled water.
The air was hot and sweet with pollen and cut grass and salt from the coast. Remus imagined what it would feel like to have all of this beneath his fingertips, whenever he wanted it, this shimmering, candied mirage. Probably like touching gold, he thought, or like touching Sirius Black.
He leaned by a small, rusting gate, overgrown with green reeds, which must have been the very same that had led them out towards the forest a few days ago. With his worn lighter, he lit a cigarette and drew in a long breath. It scratched at his throat, warmth swarming up through his lungs as he blew smoke into the blue sky, watching the white ghost of it twist.
There were footsteps, the tread of heavy boots, and he glanced up to see Sirius coming down the track towards him. Sighing, Remus gritted his teeth and took another slow drag. Up close, Sirius was flushed at the cheeks, his eyes shadowed as they darted across Remus’ face, searching for something. When Remus didn’t grant him any greeting, Sirius stepped nearer.
"I wanted to say goodbye." He said.
"Go on then." Remus replied.
Sirius placed a light hand to Remus’ chest, and the rough, cold brick of the wall dug through the back of Remus' shirt. His heart was thudding and Sirius had to feel it, where he smoothed his palm– but Sirius was still leaning forward to kiss him.
Remus' arm fell to his side, cigarette trailing colourless smoke, and he kissed him back, open-mouthed. Oh, he wondered, is this what we’re doing now? And– what if the garden gnomes are watching? This time, he didn't reach out to touch Sirius, but he did catch his bottom lip between his teeth before he could tear himself away, like a reminder, a mark that he had been there.
With a trembling breath, Sirius pressed his face into the crook of Remus' neck, the place where he always went to hide. Remus tipped his head up to stare at the horizon, and tried to think of unappealing things, like Snape’s greasy smile or his dead aunt. On instinct, his fingers slipped up to stroke at Sirius' dark hair.
Neither of them spoke. From inside, distantly, the loud holler of James' voice floated, and quick to follow, Peter's high cackle of laughter. Glancing quickly towards the glass conservatory, Sirius pulled back until no part of their bodies were touching anymore, until Remus couldn't smell him, his soft shampoo, his rich leather.
"Sirius," Remus began. "Maybe we should--"
"Don't, Moony." Sirius said, tightly. "Don't."
Don't. Unspoken: don't talk about it. don't talk about the fact that you are a boy and I am a boy and don't talk about what we did and don't talk about the way you look at me even though we're friends and nothing more but don't talk about it, the certainty that there was something more, for a second, for a moment, if that's what we're calling it, this thing without a name that we don't talk about.
Remus looked down, muscle twitching in his cheek. "Fine."
Sirius grinned at him, plastered wide across his beautiful face, like his mouth wasn't still bitten and red. He kicked at a stray stone, watched it bounce down the path, and cleared his throat. "So you're going home?"
"Yes."
"You'll be back next month, won't you?"
The cigarette fell between them to the gravel as Remus dropped the burnt end and crushed it beneath his heel. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"It worked this time!"
"And it might not do the next."
"It will!" Sirius was staring at him as if he'd lost his mind, and sometimes Remus thought he might, thought he might be driven to it, one day. "You belong here with us, Moony, the wolf needs us!"
"Leave it, Sirius."
"Why the hell should I?"
"You wouldn't understand." Remus snapped, before swivelling to storm for the house, past the water-fountains and blooming flower-beds. The grit crunched behind him and he knew Sirius was on his heels like a dog with a bone.
James jolted as Remus slammed open the backdoor, stumbling up from a red chaise longue. Still sitting, Peter's cheeks bulged with a half eaten chocolate frog, his blue eyes stuck wide. Euphemia Potter, thank Merlin, was nowhere to be seen.
"Forgive me for trying to help you!" Sirius hissed after Remus as he walked towards the living room. "There's no need to act like such a bloody martyr all the time. Why are you so annoyed?"
It's not about the moon! It's you! Remus wants to yell at him, use that clever fucking brain of yours.
He didn't want to look at him but his voice was steady, clearer than water when he spoke. "You really can be a fucking idiot sometimes."
"Guys--" James urged as he appeared in the doorway, but Sirius started forwards before he could finish.
"Me? I'm the idiot?"
"I'm leaving." Remus said, firmly, and turned to force a half smile at a startled James. He picked up his bag from beside the sofa, hiking it over his shoulder. Where Sirius had dug his nails in. "Where's the Floo powder?"
"Don't tell him, Prongs." Sirius ordered.
James' narrowed brown eyes were darting between the two of them like they were firing off spells at each other. He scratched at his cheek with a knuckle. "Er…"
"Just tell me."
"Do not--"
"Don't tell James what to do!"
"I'll do what I fucking like!"
James winced and blurted out-- "It's on the mantle!"
There was a jar above the fireplace, shimmering with green powder, which Remus snatched to scoop up a handful. He thought he could hear Sirius calling his name behind him, but he threw the powder into the burning grate. Emerald flame leapt higher, crackling with magic and smoke.
"The Lupins." Remus ground out, and then the whole living room was swallowed up in ash and sweat and heat.