Run For Cover

SIRIUS

“You really should not underestimate the power of a rubber duck!” Arthur Weasley claimed and wiggled the small yellow toy in front of Sirius' face.

Sirius sighed. “As fascinating as that is, Arthur,” he said gently, “I really do need that report on the biting handles now. James and I want to close that case today.”

“Oh, yes!” Arthur exclaimed excitedly. “I have it right here, just a second!”

While the ginger wizard dove behind his lopsided desk to find the right papers, Sirius' thoughts wandered. As eccentric as Arthur was, Sirius quiet liked him, even though most of the Ministry workers looked down at his muggle feebleness. It was an unspoken truth that Arthur would never make it out of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, but as it was hard these days to find someone who was willing to put up with muggle stuff voluntarily, he hadn't been fired yet. Still, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Arthurs brothers-in-law, had told Sirius that Arthur was regularly called to the Investigation Apartment and asked about his private activities and contacts. Gid and Fabians sister Molly, Arthurs wife, even told them that there sometimes unprompted raids of the Ministry at their family house in Devon, searching for illegal, muggle-related magic.

But Sirius respected that Arthur stayed true to himself and didn't hunched for the Ministry. He even had found the little motorbike model Gid had gifted to Sirius for his birthday three years ago.

“I thought I put it – I almost got it!” Arthur updated him from under the desk. Sirius suppressed a yawn.

After he got home from his more than concerning visit at Grimmauld Place yesterday, he had gone to bed early with the honourable mission to get enough sleep for the first time in weeks. This plan had been crossed by his usual talk with Remus though and Sirius had finally fallen asleep at one in the morning, after arguing for almost two hours about the best muggle rock band currently recording. Remus had claimed no one sang like Marc Bolan, which was cute and all, but Led Zeppelin did actually exist, hadn't he heard? Remus had laughed at that and Sirius had felt a dangerous, bubbly feeling in his belly.

“Got it!” Arthur said now and stood up again, a crumpled piece of parchment in hand. Sirius gave him a smile and took the report, briefly skimming through the main points. When he looked up, Arthur was watching him eagerly.

“Actually, there's something I wanted to show you,” the ginger wizard said. His eyes were sparkling with excitement. “Yesterday, we had to do a raid on a house in Brighton because of a selled box of toe-eating runnung shoes and guess what else we found?”

Sirius waited, but Arthur only looked back at him expectantly.

After a moment Sirius sighed, “Arthur, I literally cannot name any possible object you could have found on a raid.”

“Right,” Arthur said and rummaged around in his desk again. Then, he lifted his hand holding a magical photograph and grinned widely before presenting it to Sirius,

Sirius eyebrows shot up in surprise. The photograph showed a motorbike, black and shiny, with a glossy silver handle and a beautifully manufactured leather seat. Mesmerized, Sirius took the photo out of

Arthurs hand and studied it. The bike was extraordiary, nothing he had ever seen before.

Sirius looked up into Arthurs very pleased face.

“It's gorgeous,” Sirius said appreciatory.

“Ah, I knew that you would like it,” Arthur grinned. “We assume it was a costume production, would probably been sold soon. That seat? Dragon leather.”

“But if you have confiscated it,” Sirius said slowly. “It must have been charmed?”

“Clever boy,” Arthur grinned, carefully putting away the rubber duck. “On first glance, it was just a normal muggle bike and we almost let it there. But Perkins, you know, that young lad that helps me out from time to time, then noticed that the owner of the house has an uncommon amount of firewhiskey in his basement.”

Arthur leaned forward conspiratorial. Sirius did the same.

“You see, if you fill the tank with firewhiskey, this bike does not only drives, it also flies.”

Sirius stared at him with wide eyes. “That's the coolest thing I've ever heard,” he whispered.

Arthur grinned from ear to ear. “Right? Costly, of course. But very extravagant.”

“Where is it now?” Sirius asked. The last time he wanted something as bad as this motorbike, he had shoved Reggie off the swing for it. “Can I buy it?”

Arthur leaned back, sporting an expression of affectionate indulgence. “Oh my, Sirius boy. This bike will have to forego the same procedure as every confiscated item. First, we'll have to de-charm it. And then, if it is still usable, we'll offer it to the monthly auction of the Ministry, along with the lost property.”

Sirius glanced down at the photograph again. The handles of the bike ended in small silver dragon wings. “How much would the asking price be?”

Arthur hummed. “About ten galleons, probably, considering the materials.”

“I'll give you twenty right now,” Sirius said. “Under the condition that you forget to de-charm it.”

Arthurs eyebrows hot up.

“Deal,” he said. “But only because it would be a crime to undo such fine craftmanship.”

PETER

As usual, it was dark outside the charmed windows of Peter Pettigrews office, when he finally finished work for today. He signed one last prosecution script with his favourite peacock quill and then took his black coat from the coat rack next to his personal, glowing fireplace.

The sight of his office still filled him with a warm, bubbly wave of pride. The glossy finish of the dark wooden panneling, the time-honoured oil paintings of important scenes in british wizarding history, the gold accents of the fireguards and candlesticks, and, most importantly, the big nameplate on his neatly organised desk that read Peter Pettigrew, O.M. (second class), Secretary of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Peter still couldn't believe it. This was his life, he had earned all of that. Who would have thought?

He had already put on his coat and shouldered his bag to leave, when there was a loud snap and in front of him, at eyes level, a torn-off piece of parchement materialized out of thin air. Peter sighed and caught it while it was slowly floating down. It looked like it was ripped off a magazine, showing half an advertisement for Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occations, which seemed to concentrate on the power of tartan for the upcoming winter season. At the bottom of it, right next to a witch in an ridiculous pink ensemble, someone had scribbled a note in a curved handwriting. It read: "In for a drink at ours tonight?"

Peter blinked. There was no signature, because it was not needed. Sirius never signed his notes, he just assumed that everyone was constantly expecting to hear from him. Peter thought of his empty flat, of the meal his mother had pre-cooked him last weekend and that was now waiting for him under a cooling charm. The decision was easy.

Twenty minutes later, Peter stepped out of the fireplace in Potter Manor and was immediately overwhelmed by the noise level.

“Peter!” James exclaimed from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, a butter-beer in hand, talking to a witch with short black hair that Peter recognized as Alice Longbottom, an Auror a few years olden than him. Next to them, two identical-looking ginger men were sitting on the kitchen table, gesticulating widely and a witch with long blonde hair was snorting into her drink with laughter. The Prewett brothers and Marlene McKinnon. Peter had never talked a lot to the twins, they were funny and popular, but their family was not quiet the right tone. Marlene however, Peter had always had a soft spot for. The McKinnons were an old family and Marlene was the only daughter after two older brothers. Right now, she was answering to Fabian Prewetts question with a wide smile, her blonde hair falling over her back and shoulders in waves and shimmering in the light of the fireplace. Peter knew she was working as a healer in St. Mungos, and he had just thought of a good way to talk to her, when his name was yelled across the room a second time.

“Pete! Great of you to come!” Sirius had entered the room, a glass of firewhiskey in hand and a bright smile on his face.

Peter had always been quiet ambivalent towards Sirius Black. They knew each other since they were children, as the Pettigrews were not as noble as the Blacks, but still occupied an important role in the wizarding community. Sirius and James had always been a bit different that the others of course, a bit more important, a bit more – for the lack of a better word – cool. But while James seemingly did not care at all that he was the inheritor of a massive family fortune and the offspring of a venerable wizarding family, Sirius had always been – more aware. And in some way, Peter respected that. As nice as it was to be accepted by James and treated as an equal, Peter couldn't help but feel like it should not be that easy. And even though Peter would never forgive his father for being a half-blood, he felt like James should not say that quickly that it didn't matter. Sirius however had always been a bit reserved towards Peter. The truth was that Peter was ragingly jealous of both of them, handsome, rich, charismatic. And while James seemed to be sorry for that, Sirius accepted it with an air of cold implicitness.

“Did you come straight from work?” Sirius asked now, patting Peter on the back and handing him a butter-beer. He was wearing a vest and a shirt with wide arms, both items Peter had seen in Madam Malkings showcase only weeks ago. The silver buttons of his shirt were delicately worked, formed like tiny dragon claws.

“Stopped at home for five minutes,” Peter said and took a sip of the butter beer. It was unusual to be greeted by the Black Heir like that, but Peter liked it. Finally, everything seemed to have worked out for him.

“Let's go to the living room,” Sirius said now, one hand still on Peters back. “James was only supposed to get the snacks, but now he bores everyone here with his stories about wonky broomsticks.” He had raised his voice at the last part and James good-humoredly threw a butter-beer cork at them when they left the room. Peter could hear him ask Alice: “My stories are not boring, are they?”

“So great you could make it, Peter,” Sirius said now, leading Peter through the short corridor and towards the living room. Judging by the music and chattering coming from the doorway, there must be even more people. “I wanted to have a proper chat with your for ages,” Sirius added, giving Peter a warm smile. Peter blinked, surprised again.

“You did?” he asked, but Sirius gently pushed him into the living room at that moment and they were interrupted by multiple greetings again.

“I haven't seen you in ages, Pete!” Lettie Macmillan exclaimed and pulled him into a hug. Behind her, Frank Longbottom waved at him from where he was sitting on the couch next to Andromeda Black and Dorcas Meadowes on the couch.

“Great to see you all,” Peter croaked when Lettie let go of him and smiled politely down at her. With great surprise, he now recognized Regulus Black, leaning against the window sill and talking to a tall wizard with long, black hair and a big nose. Peter almost dropped his butter-beer in surprise. What of all people was Severus Snape doing here?

“I though you were just having a few drinks?” Peter asked Sirius, who had entered behind him and was now-

“Yeah, well, you know how it is,” Sirius answered nonchalantly and clinked glasses with him. Peter laughed in a way that hopefully suggested that he absolutely knew how it was and took a big gulp of butter-beer. Letties sweet perfume smell made him dizzy and he had to concentrate to follow the conversation over the loud rock music coming from seemingly nowhere.

“I didn't know you knew Severus Snape,” Peter said to Sirius, when Lettie finally turned around to tell the exact same story to Frank and Andromeda.

Sirius' face shadowed. “Reggie brought him,” he said and didn't even try to hide the annoyed glance towards Snape. “I don't know him well, only have seen him a few times in Mungos, when we needed some tests done or potion analysing.”

Peter nodded, but didn't comment, obviously this topic was impairing Sirius' good mood. Still, why did he look so pissed off about Snapes' presence if he was just a loose acquaintance?

Peter knew that Snape worked in the potion laboratory of St. Mungos, in poison and healing research. Still, seeing him here caused an odd feeling in Peters stomach. As if an element of a different world was slipped into this and was now befouling it.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Peter asked and looked up at Sirius. It was strange to be that close to him, usually there was at least one chattering, joke-cracking James between them. It was really hard to look at Sirius Black and not feel like one had come off badly in life. He looked like he stepped out of a fucking advertisement.

“Just wanted to hear how you're doing,” Sirius smiled down at him.

“Oh uh,” Peter stuttered. “I'm fine. Lot of work.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius agreed, rolling his eyes. “Bloody Ministry makes us work like house-elves.” He chuckled, deep and warm.

“You're one to complain,” his brother answered, stepping next to them. Regulus Black was not as handsome as Sirius, thinner and even more pale. His chiselled face showed to sign of stubbles, and his hair was cut short. He was wearing a black pullover over a shirt and slacks today, the most casual attire Peter had ever seen him in. His eyes were not grey like Sirius', but dark and almost black.

“You don't need to do this Auror thing. You could come home anytime,” Regulus added, giving his older brother a severe look. Sirius laughed.

“Already tired of living alone with mommy, are you?” he teased.

To Peters surprise Regulus returned the grin, rolling his eyes. “You're not the one having to dust off her wig collection,” he answered and Sirius laughed.

“You two know each other, right?” Sirius remembered. Peter looked back at the younger wizard and gulped.

“Peter, right?” Regulus answered and Peter nodded, relieved.

“Have you met Severus?” Regulus asked now, put out his arm and pulled Snape from out of nowhere. He was clutching to a butterbeer for dear life.

“Yeah,” Peter said quickly. “We met.”

“How?” Sirius asked with interest. His grey eyes scanned Snape disparagingly.

“I had to go to Hogwarts to do a potions exam,” Peter explained. He had been homeschooled like every respectable pureblood wizard, but the exams could not always be performed in London. When he was sixteen, he had to floo all the way up to Scotland to participate in an exam he had missed due to a flu epidemic. It wasn't a lie. That's how he met Snape for the first time.

“You've been to Hogwarts?” Sirius asked in surprise. Bloody Sirius Black of course never had to travel there, his private tutor was probably paid double to take the exams at any given date. “How was it?”

“Cold,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “And windy. Full of muggleborns.” Sirius grinned.

“It was actually a very good school,” Snape interrupted them nasally. “The education standards there were much higher than with private tutoring.”

“Why don't you come over here and I show you how high my standards are?” Sirius snapped, clutching his glass.

“Relax,” Regulus said quickly, putting a hand on his brothers forearm. “Severus just wanted to say that the education there was not as bad.”

“Funny,” Sirius snorted. “To me it sounded as if he wanted to say our education was shit.”

“Oh come on, he didn't want to say that,” Regulus protested. “You didn't, right, Sev?”

Snape returned Sirius' challenging look for a moment. Then, he slowly shook his head.

“Didn't come out right,” he said.

Sirius looked soothed, but there still was a line on his forehead. “Alright then,” he said, looking back down at Peter. “We were just talking about work. What do you do at the moment, Pete?”

“I am Secretary of the Wizengamots Chief Warlock,” Peter answered proudly. Sirius looked appropriately impressed.

“Isn't the Chief Warlock Dolores Umbridge?” Regulus asked, frowning.

“Yes,” Peter confirmed.

Regulus snorted. “Isn't she a bit – you know.” He caught his brothers gaze. “Pink?”

Peter had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Sirius chuckled.

“Well, I think it's great how far you've come, Pete,” he said then, patting Peters back. “I bet you have very interesting tasks now, not chasing after muggleborns and non-registrators like James and I have to.” He rolled his eyes and took another sip of his firewhiskey.

“Oh,” Peter beamed. “Yeah, it is really interesting. Just the other day, Dolores let me proof-read the first draft of a new regulation law for merpeople.”

Regulus made an choked noise and Snape frowned, but Sirius nodded sympathetically.

“Sounds fascinating,” he agreed. Peter smiled into his drink.

“Sorry to hear your job is boring,” he said politely. Sirius groaned theatrically.

“You have no idea! Just last week Crouch ordered us to chase after some Hogwarts kids.”

Behind Sirius' back, Peter saw Severus und Regulus exchange a quick look.

“Crouch ordered us to find them and it's so tedious!” Sirius sighed. “I really have better things to do.”

He then seemed to get an idea and looked at Peter.

“Pete, I don't suppose there is any chance you could help us out there? As Secretary of the Chief Warlock?”

Peter stared back. Sirius Black was asking him for help?

“What could I do?”

“Oh, you know,” Sirius said silkily. “The Wizengamot decides who is searched for. If the cases by any chance would be shelved ...”

“Ah, I'm sorry,” Peter said earnestly. He really was sorry. He would have loved to have Sirius Black owe him something. “But arrest warrants are issued by the Minister's office directly.”

Sirius looked considerably less silky now. “Fuck,” he said.

“But you could try talking to Malfoy about it,” Peter added quickly. “Not the Minister of course – Lucius Malfoy, his son. You know him, right? He'll marry your cousin Narcissa.”

Regulus snorted into his drink. Peter looked at him in surprise, but Snape was just neutrally knocking on his back to help soothe the coughing fit.

Sirius, unbothered by his little brothers breathing troubles, looked as if Peter had just announced that Christmas was cancelled. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I know him. Good idea, Pete.”

At that exact moment, James entered the room, Alice and the Prewett twins in tow. Marlene had taken Fabian Prewetts arm and was still giggling. Peter felt a painful pang in his chest.

“Why do you all look like this is a funeral?” James asked cheeringly. “Who wants to do shots?”

Peter lifted his hand.

JAMES

Marlene said her goodbye with a drunken kiss on his cheek and let Gideon Prewett lead her into the floo fire with a giggle. James waved after them until the flames burned down again.

“She's such a sweetheart,” he sighed and turned around to look at Sirius, who was lolling in the kitchen bank, his wand pointed at the sink where the used dishes washed themselves up.

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, thoughtfully nibbling on some peanuts.

“So,” James said, swinging his leg over the bank opposite to his house-mate and placing his head on his arms. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked warrantly.

“Oh come on!” James laughed. “Let's have a party and invite Peter? You specifically wanted to do it on Marlenes night off, because you know he has a thing for her. Did it work?”

Sirius gave him an annoyed look, but James just smiled back. If Sirius didn't want to be looked through that easily, he shouldn't be so obvious.

“No,” he finally said, flicking his wand and causing the kitchen towel to shoot through the room in order to dry off the clean dishes. “It didn't work.”

“Is that why you look like you snorted a dung-bomb?”

That just brought him an evil glare.

“What do you want from Pete anyway?” James asked, stealing the peanut bowl from under Sirius' hands.

“Wanted him to drop the case of Evans and Lupin, so we could get something bloody else to do,” Sirius answered.

James looked up quickly. “And he didn't?”

“Said he couldn't,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “It's a Ministry office case, apparently.”

“Shit,” James sighed. “I'd really like to drop that.”

Sirius gave him an unreadable look. “Do you like them?”

“Who?”

“Evans and Lupin.”

“Oh,” James sighed. “I guess so, yeah,” he finally said. “I haven't told you, but I think Evans is the one writing these articles in the Quibbler. You know, the muggle-born essays?”

Sirius groaned. “Don't tell Peter that or he'll never drop the case.”

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence in which the only noise were the quiet clatter of the dishes hopping back into the kitchen shelves.

“He still has your wand though,” James said. Sirius had pulled out a silver cigarette case. “Lupin?” James specified.

“Yeah, I know,” Sirius answered, pulling out a cigarette.

“Not in here,” James said strictly. Sirius rolled his eyes and put the cigarette back.

“I think I have an idea on how to get it back,” he finally said. James tilted his head.

“Oh?”

“Won't tell you though,” Sirius added, giving him one of his trademark charming smiles. James rolled his eyes.

“Alright,” he said. “But if you need me, just ask, okay?”

Sirius stood up and ruffled his hair as he walked past him.

“I always do, Jamie.”

REMUS

This night, Sirius didn't call him. Remus had passed the day wandering around the neighbourhood as unconspicuously as possible, reading some of Snapes mothers old romance novels and spreading the rumour that Severus Snape was part of a cult who didn't believe in hair washing (the old lady at the bus station hadn't really be too surprised by this).

Luckily, Snape had been off to work all day and in the evening only come back for half an hour to tell them to not leave the house (too late for that) and that he'd be off to another appointment. Lily and Remus had passed the evening by playing exploding Snap, but after her fifth victory in a row, Lily had gone to bed with a yawn and the recommendation that Remus should stop smoking if he didn't want his hands to shake some more.

That had been two hours ago and Remus' wristwatch with the cracked glass showed him that it was almost two in the morning now. He was sitting on Snapes desk, the book he had been reading serving as his pillow, and stared at the various papers and pergaments with complicated potion formulas spread over the entire tabletop.

Just go to bed, a strict little voice in Remus' head said. It's too late anyways, he's probably asleep already. Besides, you don't need to talk to him every night.

Remus ignored the voice, fumbled for his wand and took a deep breath, before swinging it gently.

Sirius answered immediately.

“Hi there.”

“Hey,” Remus' answered. He couln't fight the smile that automatically spread on his face upon hearing the familiar drawl.

“Can't sleep before you've heard my angelic voice?” Sirius teased and Remus sat up, stretching with a yawn.

“So it seems,” he answered, still smiling. “Better than a sleep potion, really.”

“You know, I've been told by several independent sources that I am quite entertaining,” Sirius informed him. It sounded like he was smiling too.

“You have?” Remus laughed. “Must be nice to always get told what you want to hear.”

Mindlessly, he took one of Snapes papers and started to doodle on it.

Sirius chuckled happily. “How was your day?” he asked.

Remus' doodling stopped for a moment. How was your day. He couldn't remember the last time someone had asked him that. It felt strange and natural at the same time. As If he was talking to a friend.

“Great,” he answered softly. “Just the old routine of being on the run, really.”

“What, are you changing your hair colour and seducing old ladies to stay at their massive mansions?” Sirius teased.

Remus grinned and drew a little heart around the word rat spleen. “Old ladies love me.”

“I do not doubt that,” Sirius confirmed.

“And how was your day then?” Remus asked, ignoring the severe pounding of his heart. It was just a stupid, everyday question, for gods sake.

“We had a little party,” Sirius answered easily. “Just a few drinks, a few friends. That's why I haven't called before. Was still cleaning up.”

Remus didn't comment on this explanation. Sirius hadn't forgotten him, he just hadn't had the time to call yet. Remus stared at the little heart he had drawn. He must be deaf not not her the alarm shrilling in his head telling him he was in too fucking deep.

“Sounds nice,” Remus said gently.

Sirius, seemingly unaware of Remus' internal struggles, happily chatted on, “James has been flirting with this girl, Alice, all night,” laughed gently. “Poor thing must be an expert on Quidditch practices now.”

Remus smiled and decided on another quill for his drawing exercises. “So James does not have a girlfriend?” he asked casually.

This actually made Sirius laugh. “No,” the other snorted. “Jamie's not really lucky when it comes to witches. Not that he's not trying, though. He just always aims way too high.”

Don't ask it. Don't ask it. Just fucking don't.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Remus asked in the most casual way manageable. He had his suspicions about the answer, but he needed to be sure. He could not, under no circumstances, lose his sanity over a straight guy.

“No,” Sirius said. “Currently I'm sleeping with my cousins future husband.”

Remus had been wrong. He hadn't suspected that.

“You – what?” he gasped. “With the Death Eater?”

“No!” Sirius snapped in shock. “Not Bellatrix! I have several cousins.”

“Oh god,” Remus laughed. “You scared me there.”

So Sirius was gay. And sleeping with an engaged man. Be careful what you wish for.

“Horrible thought,” Sirius snorted. Remus tilted his head and continued to scribble on Snapes documents. He tried to draw a dog this time.

“Why do you do that?” he asked. “Sleep with a married man?”

“Not yet married.”

“But will be,” Remus insisted.

“Yeah, okay. He will be,” Sirius agreed, the yawned.

“So? Why? Are you in love with him?”

“Fuck no,” Sirius laughed. “He's a little bit of a dick to be honest.”

“Obviously,” Remus snorted. The tail of the scribbled dog had an odd angle. He tried another one. “Considering he's cheating on his fiancée with her cousin.”

There was a moment of silence during which Sirius seemed to think about it.

“I'm not sure why, actually,” he finally said when Remus had already finished his second dog. “He's fit, of course, but nothing special.”

Remus flinched at that. Of course, Sirius Black would only sleep with fit guys. It bothered Remus that he was bothered by that.

“But he talks a lot of shit to be honest, and the sex is only average,” Sirius added. Suddenly, Remus' face turned very hot. Now there were images in his head he absolutely didn't need there.

“Then why keep doing it?” he asked, hoping that his voice didn't sound as high trough the wand connection.

At least, Sirius didn't comment it. “I like to feel in control I think,” he mused, seemingly unaware of what was going on in Remus' head. “It feels good to be wanted.”

“As if you couldn't find anyone else who wants you,” Remus snorted, then regretted it immediately. He could practically see the wicked grin spreading on Sirius' face.

“What do you mean by that?”, Sirius asked innocently. Remus kept quiet. “Remus? Are you saying I'm attractive?”

“I'm just saying it can't be hard for you to find someone proper to date,” Remus tried to save his face. “You have a job and you – eh – are not ugly -”

Sirius laughed barkingly. “Oh, shut up,” Remus murmured.

“I'm quiet aware that I am a piece of art,” Sirius informed him, sounding incredibly smug. Remus rolled his eyes.

“In fact, I have been a model.”

“Sure you have.”

“It's true! Only as a child though. I've been the face of Mrs. Marbles Marvellous Mince Mice in 1967.”

That actually made Remus laugh. He could hear Sirius' deep chuckle, probably hundreds of miles away. There was a moment of comfortable silence during which Remus added a pair of birds, sitting on the doodled dogs backs, humming happily.

“What about you then?” Sirius finally asked, seemingly in a good mood now. “Can you actually date? As a werewolf?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Remus snorted. The two doodled dogs looked at him sceptically. “As long as I don't schedule date night to the full moon, that works just fine, thank you very much.”

“That's not what I meant,” Sirius answered, probably rolling his eyes again. “I mean – as you're – you know -”

“Unemployed? Homeless? On the run?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, seemingly sobered up. “All that.”

“No,” Remus said matter of factly and crumpled up the paper. “Dating doesn't really work with that kind of life.”

“Oh,” Sirius hummed. Then: “Sorry. That's shit.”

Remus remained silent. Usually, he would say It doesn't matter or I don't need that anyways, but he didn't feel like lying.

“Yeah,” he said instead. “It is shit.” He took aim and threw the scrumpled up paper across the room. It hit the vessel with the eel, who blinked back angrily.

“So, are you, um. Do you have sex at all?” Sirius asked. Remus turned around to crumple another piece of paper. This one had something like an essay on it.

“Sometimes,” he said. It was strange, talking about their love lifes as if they were sitting in a pub after work. Was this normal? Was this what normal people did? “Usually with strangers. I can't be picky though.”

Sirius hummed. Remus snipped the crumbled essay across the room and missed the eels vessel this time. He knew Sirius wanted to ask something, and he could guess what it was. He wouldn't help him though.

“Isn't that kind of - distant?” Sirius finally leaped over his shadow. Remus blinked, then decided to be honest. What did it matter?

“Yeah,” he answered. “I didn't do it in a while though. It's tedious. I need to conceal my scars before and usually I also change my features a bit, so no one can describe me afterwards.” He knew how that sounded. He had just scoulded Sirius for having an affair with his cousins fiancé and now he told him that he deceived strangers in pubs to have sex with him, which they surely would not if they knew who he really was. Remus Lupin, part-time werewolf, full-time hypocrite.

“I'm sorry,” Sirius said earnestly. Remus blinked.

“What for?”

“That you have to do all that just to get something that should be normal.”

Remus laughed bitterly. “Story of my life,” he said.

He remembered when Lily had kissed him, a few weeks ago. Of course he had known that it wouldn't work. But for a short moment, there had been the promise of something incredible: of an actual relationship with someone who truly knew whim. He had to give it a try. But as it turned out, even he couldn't willingly force his sexual orientation into something it was not.

“Did you ever have a proper boyfriend?” he finally asked to change the subject away from his pathetic little sex life. “Before the fiancé I mean?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. His voice was drowsy, he was probably lying in bed right now. “We broke up years ago though. Well, he left me.”

“Sorry.”

“It's okay. We weren't meant to work out,” Sirius said in a gentle voice.

There was a moment of comfortable silence during which Remus tried to fold a paper aeroplane out of one of Snapes' papers.

“Earlier,” Sirius said gently, “Why did you ask me if I had a girlfriend?”

Remus blinked, scrumpled the paper and tried a second time. “I've just been wondering. Sorry if it was too personal.”

“No,” Sirius answered quickly. “It was just a bit of an odd question, don't you think? Considering I have been blatantly flirting with you for for two weeks now.”

Remus stopped. Suddenly he felt really warm.

“But you only do that to trick me into revealing where I am,” Remus said, trying to slow his heartbeat down by sure willpower.

Sirius chuckled, deep and throaty. The sound went right under Remus' skin.

“Two bats with one stone,” he answered. “If you don't like it, you can always hang up.”

Remus took a deep breath. “In case you haven't noticed,” he said. “I haven't hung up yet.”

SIRIUS

Sirius was laying on their old velvet couch, gently turning a half empty bottle of butterbeer in his hands. The fireplace had almost burned down and James had gone to bed an hour ago.

“In case you haven't noticed, I haven't hung up yet,” Remus deep voice said and Sirius felt a shudder dropping down his spine as he watched the reflection of the fireplace on the Potters old chandelier above his head. Tonight, their conversation was different, had shifted from friendly banter to something closer. More intimate. More dangerous.

I haven't hung up yet.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Sirius said. It was a really stupid thing to say, of course. But saying stupid things had always come quite natural to him.

Remus remained silent for a moment. Then he said, “Well, you can't.”

“Obviously,” Sirius agreed. “But would you let me? If it weren't for -” Everything. If it weren't for everything. Every bloody aspect of their lives. “If it weren't for me being an Auror?”

The moments it took Remus to answer felt like an eternity.

“That is a really abstract question,” he finally said. “But even if you weren't an Auror, I would still be a werewolf.”

Sirius looked into the fire. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But I wouldn't have to arrest you.”

“But I'd still be a werewolf.”

“I know.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “I wouldn't try to snog you under the full moon or something.”

There was a moment of disbelieving silence.

“You – You are from a pureblood family, aren't you?”

“The purest,” Sirius confirmed, then clicked his tongue impatiently. “I kind of feel like you are dodging my question here though.”

From Remus came a shaky laugh. Sirius smiled and leaned his head back against the backrest. “Would you let me kiss you?” he repeated slowly, watching the flames dance over the remaining coal.

Finally, Remus answered in a deep, hoarse voice that send a shiver down Sirius' spine. “I think I would.”

Sirius felt a grin spread over his face and closed his eyes.

“I always try to imagine where you are when we talk like this.”

“I'm usually near my bed. Or whatever is my bed at the moment.”

“And what is it now?”

“An air mattress.”

Sirius frowned. “What is that?”

“A muggle thing. It's like a big sack of plastic, filled with air,” Remus explained patiently.

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“It is. My back is killing me.”

“I won't join you on your air mattress then,” Sirius said daringly. He could hear Remus smile.

“I wouldn't recommend it, no,” he answered gently.

“You'll have to come to my place then,” Sirius said.

“What for?”

“To kiss me.”

“You mean in that imaginary scenario in which you are not an Auror?”

“Exactly.”

Remus hummed. Sirius really hoped this was going in the direction he thought it was going.

“If you weren't an Auror, I might come to your place then,” Remus said finally.

Sirius grinned. “We would have to shoo James off first, though. He'd absolutely try to make you help cook or something like that.”

“Why would we have to shoo him away?”

“I try not to have him in the house when I have boys over.”

Surprisingly, this seemed to make Remus smile. “Is that what I am then?” he asked softly. “A boy you have over?”

“I mean, you came to my house to kiss me, so -”

Remus chuckled. There was a warm feeling in Sirius' chest, gently spreading out into his limps.

“I did.”

Sirius closed his eyes again. He really didn't want to push, but at the same time, he really didn't want to not push either. But it was Remus who spoke first again.

“Where are we right now?” he asked.

“In my room, of course,” Sirius replied easily. “I would have presented you with a very logical reason why we had to go up there.”

“Such as?”

“Such as that's where my bed is.”

“Very good reason,” Remus chuckled.

Sirius beamed. “Isn't it?”

“Are we kissing now?” Remus asked. Sirius wanted to lay in his voice and drown.

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“I'll walk you to the bed then,” Remus said. Sirius desperately tried to remember his face. How did his lips look like? What colour had his eyes been?

“You do?” Sirius whispered.

“Yeah,” Remus confirmed. Sirius tried to imagine it, the bedframe hitting the backs of his knees, tumbling into the sheets. Remus on top of him.

“Kiss my neck,” Sirius demanded. The imaginary Remus smiled, and the actual Remus did too, judging by the tone of his voice.

“Alright,” he answered. “But I''ll have to pull back your head for that.”

Long fingers were gently tangling into Sirius hair, grabbing it at the nape and pulling it back until his throat was stretched long and exposed. He shuddered.

“That's alright with me,” Sirius whispered.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Remus asked. Sirius had never have someone explicitly ask his consent like that. It was incredibly hot.

“Yes,” he croaked.

“How?” Remus asked gently. Sirius could hear the smile in his voice and the fact that he couldn't actually reach him was beginning to feel painful.

“Bend me over,” Sirius said. “Push into me.”

Remus chuckled, the raspy sound vibrating in Sirius' skin. “Fuck,” he said. “I wish I could do that.”

The longing in Sirius chest was becoming more and more uncomfortable, not longer a gentle warmth, but a painful burn by now.

“Wouldn't bend you over though,” Remus added. “That would be a waste of your gorgeous face.”

Sirius laughed shakily. “I knew you liked my face.”

“A safe guess I would say.”

Sirius stared into the foggy night and wondered if the world he was living in was just facade.

“I know,” Sirius started in a gentle voice, “that you think I'm only doing this to trick you. But I'm really not.”

“That's exactly what someone would say who wants to trick me.”

“Yeah, probably.”

There was a moment of silence, then Remus asked doubtingly, “Why are you doing it then?”

Sirius blinked. “Because I'm really fucking dumb I guess.”

“That sounds convincing.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Can we talk about how you kiss my neck again, or do you want to insult me some more?”

The low chuckle vibrated through his skin. “As tempting as both these options are, I'm afraid I need to go.”

There was a pang of disappointment in Sirius chest, “Oh, already?”

“It is three in the morning, Sirius.”

Sirius blinked in mild surprise. “I haven't noticed.”

“I figured.” Remus said.

Sirius took a deep breath. “I'll get your cases dropped. I promise.”

Remus didn't comment that. “Goodnight, Sirius,” he said instead. His voice sounded tired and gentle.

“Goodnight,” Sirius whispered and waited until the familiar tingling died away.

He would get these cases dropped, even if he had to play his last trump card for it.

JAMES

It had been ridiculously easy to find the witch who had sent Caradoc Dearborn the basket of Dirigible plums. There were only a hand full of witches and wizards reported in Devon (and half of them were Weasleys). When James skimmed over the list, he stopped at the names Xenophilius Lovegood and Pandora Lovegood. Domicile: 6 Miles East of Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon. James briefly thumbed through the files of the married couple. Pandora Lovegood, née Goldstein, Hogwarts graduate. Occupation: autonomous spell inventor. James frowned. That couldn't be right, creating new spells was an incredibly dangerous profession and he had never heard of anyone practising it without the safety standards and knowledge base of the Department of Mysteries. Probably a scribal error.
Xenophilius Lovegoods file however was a lot more informative. There was a list of complaints against him by what seemed half of the wizarding community. A shop keeper in Diagon Alley had called the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol after Xenophilius had distributed flyers in front of his shop, claiming that his Sneakoscopes were made out of Moon Frog Bones. After that, James found the copy of a three-roll-long letter Xenophilius had owled to the Daily Prophet, claiming that the Rotfang Conspiracy was the only possible explanation why there was an exceptionally strong flu epidemic by the end of last year. Finally, James found a short note that Xenophilius had published a school magazine back at Hogwarts called The Quibbling Jiggling Jolt of Truth. But there was no entry about Xenophilius continuing his editorial efforts after school. He was just listed as unemployed.

James put the files away and stood up. It was as clear as a Demiguise in hiding that this Lovegood wizard was the published of the Quibbler, and that he must be a total birdbrain too. What had led an raging eccentric like that to participate in politics? James was about to find out.

Thankfully, yesterdays rain seemed to have stopped overnight in Devon. James had chosen a knoll to apparate on, granting him a wide view over the landscape surrounding Ottery St. Catchpole. In the far distance, James saw the outlines of a tall building, askew and bulky. That must be the Weasleys family house and he vaguely mused about making a visit to Gid and Fabian on his way back. But for now, James turned around and started walking in the opposite direction, following a pebbly, sinous path eastwardly.

Twenty minutes later, when James had just started to wonder if he had confused the coordinates, the path took one particularly tight curve and provided a clear view to a fairly ridiculous building.

It was a black-coloured, cylindrical house on top of a hill, contrasting sharply against the gentle pink sky. A washing line was attached on the outside, spiralling down the house like a snake draped with of colourful fabrics. When James approached the front yard, he could see a stream crossing the path that lead to the front door, with a small and dangerously swaying rope bridge above it.

When he had made in to the entrance door alive, he found a lopsided doorplate mounted on the black door. Lovegood, it read. And underneath: Sanity is just a concept.
Great, James thought as he was using the knocker that was formed like a human hand with bright red painted fingernails. I should have told Sirius where I am in case these weirdos kill me and dung their Dirigible Plum tree with my ashes.

There was patter from inside the house and then, the door was ripped open with so much force that James stumbled a step back.

He was looking into the excited, smiling face of a woman. Her blond hair was falling down to her waist in a furry of tight curls, some strands had pearls and feathers braided into it, even some small crystals.

She was wearing wired, squared glasses on her nose and another pair of welding goggles was pushed up to her forehead. She had put her wand behind her left ear.

“Oh!” she hummed when she noticed him, standing on her front porch looking like he had just met a vampire. The excited smile dropped from her face and she frowned in surprise. “Who are you?”

“Um,” James said, struggling to remember his cover story. “Remus,” he croaked. “Remus Lupin.”

He had decided that it was very unlikely that Lupin and the Lovegoods were already frequent, and in case they decided to investigate, they would find that Remus Lupin was indeed a searched-for half-blood werewolf.

To James horror, the witches expression softened again. “Oh!” she said again and put out a (surprisingly callous) hand. “Nice to meet you, I am Pandora. You look different that Lily described you.”

James gave a high-pitched laugh that hopefully concealed his shock. Great cover-story.

“I changed my features a bit,” he said, still laughing nervously as he shook her hand. “To not be recognized in the muggle-village.”

“Very clever,” Pandora said and pulled him inside by the hand he had just tried to let go of.

“Xeno and I are actually awaiting someone else right now,” she added and closed the door behind him. James tried to fight the feeling of being trapped.

“But we do have time for a cup of gillyweed tea, if you'd like?” his hostess offered. James, who had no idea that gillyweed could be brewed into tea, gave her a bright smile.

“I'd love to,” he ensured.

“Super-duper,” Pandora said excitedly. “Follow me upstairs then.”

James did follow her upstairs. The house seemed to consist of several round rooms, stacked above each other and all connected by a seemingly never-ending spiral staircase in its centre. After they passed two other rooms (one that looked like a crammed workshop and a living room furnished only in the colour red), they reached the equally circular kitchen.

“Xeno, we have a surprise visitor,” Pandora announced chipperly when she climbed over the narrow handrail to enter the kitchen (James followed suit, trying to not look too confused).

A tall wizard, who was sitting in a gigantic beanbag, looked up. He was reading a piece of parchment long enough to curl up on the floor, a steaming cup floating next to his head. Just as his wife, Xenophilius

Lovegood was blond, even if his hair did not quiet reach his waist. He was dressed in a bright robe, covered in swirly, colourful patterns with wide, puffy sleeves, matching his wifes wide dress. There was a Dirigible Plum hanging from his left earlobe.

“And who do you might be?” he asked in a gentle, airy voice and put away the parchment. Despite his eccentric looks, he managed to sound quiet tranquil.

“Remus Lupin,” James stuttered, while Pandora wandered off to the stove to start brewing some tea.

“Xenophilius Lovegood,” the other introduced himself and nudged his cup to fly over to Pandora to be filled up again. “You are a friend of Miss Evans, I believe?” Xenophilius asked.

“Y-yes,” James confirmed. “She told me about you,” he took a shot in the dark.

“Ah yes, dear Lily,” Xenophilius mused. Pandora came over again, a tablet with three steaming cups floating in front of her and made a inviting gesture towards the remaining bean bag. James hesitated, then carefully sat down in it. It felt like sitting on a sack of rocks.

“And how can we help you today?” Xenophilius asked, accepting a cup from his wife with a smile. “Thank you, my darling.”

“Um,” James said, taking his own cup and almost dropping it because it was burning his fingers. Pandora summoned a big pillow from the other side of the room and sat down on it, looking at James with an expectant smile.

“I was wondering about the Quibbler,” James said. His back already started hurting from sitting in this unfamiliar position.

“You were?” Xenophilius asked and tilted his head. Suddenly, James had the unwelcome suspicion that the Lovegoods were not as stupid as their Dirigible Plum Earrings made them look.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I want to help. The articles on werewolves are good, but there are some errors in them. I'd like to proofread.” This story had sounded fare more convincing when James had rehearsed in front of the mirror this morning. Usually Sirius was the creative one.

“And what would qualify you for that?” Xenophilius asked, not unfriendly.

“I am one,” James answered, even though he thought it was a bit thick of the publisher of Ten Ways To Attract A Crumple-Horned Snorkack to ask him for his qualifications. “A werewolf,” he added, to make his point clear.

To his surprise, Pandoras face brightened immediately. “Congratulations!” she said in earnest. “How wonderful.”

James stared at her. “Thanks,” he croaked.

“It's a gift from the moon goodess Selene that only few are strong enough to receive,” she added sincerely and put a hand on his forearm. James tried to imagine how the actual Remus Lupin would react to that and settled for a thankful smile instead.

“I would say that proves your adequacy,” Xenophilius agreed and took a tip from his still steaming cup. If this was their usual way of testing their writers qualifications, James wasn't the slighted bit surprised about the contents of their journal.

“Great,” he said and tried a bit of his tea. It tasted like warm liquorice and he had to use all of his willpower to swallow it down. “I have some questions though.”

“Questions?” Xenophilius asked with a polite tilt of his head.

“Yes,” James confirmed. “About the Quibbler. I want to know who I'm working for.”

“Of course, dear,” Pandora agreed. “Even though the word working is kind of misleading, don't you think? It implies a financial reward.”

James had to fight a frown and compensated with another wide smile. “Of course I am not expecting anything like that.”

Pandoras expression relaxed. “Alright,” she answered. “What do you want to know then?”

“Where is it printed?” James asked promptly, forcing down another sip of gillyweed brew. “Who is the editor? Is there someone else behind it or just you two?”

“These are a lot of questions,” Xenophilius said, a small frown forming on his forehead.

“What makes you think someone else could be behind it, dear?” Pandora asked, exchanging a quick glance with her husband.

“Just the way it's gotten more and more political,” James answered, watching them warily. He tried to lean forward, but the bean bag pulled him in like quicksand, so he settled for a meaningful glance instead.

“Don't get me wrong – I think it's great. I want to help.”

“Oh,” Pandora said with wide eyes. “That's very nice of you. But let's give it some time, alright? If in a few month you still want to know, we can talk about it again.”

A few months? James would be damned.

“I understand,” he said, putting down his gillywater brew on the floor next to him. “I am just really determined to make a change, you know? And I don't want to waste my talents to some ordinary tabloid with no real impact.”

Xenophilius had flinched at the word ordinary, now watching him with wide eyes.

“I fully understand that you need to be discreet,” James said now. “Maybe it was a bad idea to go for an independent magazine. I'm sure the Daily Prophet will -”

“That local rag!” Xenophilius spit out. “If you want to make a change and publish some real truths, this adapted, meaningless waste of parchment won't be of any use to you, Mister Lupin!”

“But at least it's transparent,” James argued, meeting Xenophilius' gaze calmly. “I know exactly who publishes it and who is responsible for its concept.” Of course, anyone right in their head would know that the

Daily Prophet would never publish articles about Lycanthropy, let alone written by an actual werewolf. But James strongly suspected that the Lovegoods had no idea about that.

Pandora chewed on her lip and exchanged a long look with her husband.

“Fine,” she finally said. “There is someone else behind the Quibbler, a sponsor if you will. Someone who provides us with hints where interesting truths could be found and what would be important to publish right now.”

“A sponsor?” James repeated in confusion. “Who?”

“Someone known for expressing truths that are unwelcome to the Ministry,” Xenophilius said with a conspirational frown. “Someone who has fought them before, and got locked away for it.”

James blinked. Could Xenophilius really be talking about -

“Enough,” Pandora said, putting a hand on her husbands knee. “That's all our young friend need to know for now.”

But James had no intention to get disposed of so easily. “And the lieu of publishing?” he pushed. “Where is the Quibbler printed? And how does it get distributed?”

“Only a selected circle of friends receives the newest issue,” Pandora said. “They are hand-picked witches and wizards who we know appreciate the unfiltered truths we are expressing in our articles. As for the printing-” she hesitated and her gaze quickly shot to the ceiling.

James blinked and followed her eyes. “Here?” he asked in surprise. “You're printing it at your home?”

“Well, yes,” Xenophilius admitted. “But I can assure you, that does not influence the quality in the slightest.”

“I inherited a magical printing press from my grandmother,” Pandora said with a smile. “It's centuries old. Do you want to see it?”

James gave her a wide smile. “If I want to see it?” he asked. “I would love to.”

But just when he had fought himself out of the beanbag and Pandora was just about to lead him to the spiral staircase, a loud knocking echoed through the whole house. Someone was banging on the door.

“Oh, these should be the other friends we were awaiting,” Xenophilius said. “Would you like to meet them, Mister Lupin?”

James, eager to collect as many names connected to the Quibbler as possible, nodded enthusiastically.

“Great,” Xenophilius said. “Pan, why don't you show Mr. Lupin the press and we'll join you in just a second?”

“Of course,” Pandora answered and climbed over the handrail to the staircase (there was a small gate, but it seemed they didn't like to use it). James followed her up the stairs and through the kitchen ceiling, while Xenophilius walked downstairs to welcome the newcomers.

The next room (circular, of course), was almost as crammed as the workshop downstairs. A big, copper printing press took up half the floorspace, shooting steam from various little openings, while working in its own. The rest of the room was filled up with shelves, packed with letters and books. There was a big transparent covering the only window which read Have you seen this goblin?, illustrated with a picture of the current Minister for Magic, Abraxas Malfoy.

James could hear muffled voices from downstairs, where Xenophilius had let in the guests.

“How many copies do you get out of this?” James asked, walking over to the press. On top of it was a freshly printed magazine, showing a caricature of a witch in a pumpkin-shaped carriage, pulled by half a dozen miserable looking house-elves.

“About fifty maximum,” Pandora answered. She had exchanged her wired glasses for her welding goggles, probably to protect herself from the steam. A clever move, James found, as his own glasses started to steam up.

“And who does the illustration?” he asked with interest, flipping through the new issue.

“Oh, I do,” Pandora beamed. “Do you like them? I always loved to draw.”

“They're great,” James answered, scanning the table of contents. There again was a essay of Artemis, this time with the title Nowhere To Go.

There was noises on the staircase, as Xenophilius and the newcomers entered the editorial room. James could two tall figures following the host, but then he had to fumble out his wand to clear his glasses, because the fog made it impossible to see.

When he put the now clear glasses back on his nose and looked over to the staircase, it felt like a ton of bricks had been unceremoniously dropped into his stomach.

The set of bulky figures text to Xenophilius had now cleared into two identical-looking wizards with ginger hair and freckled faces. They were wearing knitted jumpers with big letters on them, one reading F, one G.

James gulped.

“And this is Remus Lupin, a freshly recruited proof-reader for the Quibbler,” Xenophilius introduced him with a wide gesture. The two Prewett brothers stared back at James.

“No,” Fabian finally said. He was wearing the sweater with the G.“It is not.”

“What do you mean?” Pandora asked in wonders. “He is, he's a friend of Lily Evans, one of our established writers.” James hand slowly crept towards his pocket.

“Sorry, Pan” Gideon said sternly, “But this is James Potter.”

“Auror of the Ministry for Magic,” Fabian added. “Hi James.”

“Hi Fab,” James answered. His fingers almost touched the fabric of his robes now -

“Stop that, Jamie,” Gideon said, lifting his wand and pointing it at James' face. “Hands up.”

James groaned inwardly and lifted his hands on shoulder-level, palms open.

Pandora stared at him. “You've lied to us?” she asked. Xenophilius looked equally appaled.

“What have you told him, Xeno?” Gideon asked, wand still pointed between James' eyes.

“Where's Sirius?” Fabian added, drawing his own wand and scanning the room.

“He came alone,” Pam whispered, her eyes still wide in shock.

“He never does,” Fabian frowned, looking back at James. “Where's your partner?”

“At home,” James rolled his eyes. He was not afraid of the Prewetts, he knew them since he was ten years old. But their presence in this house was more than suspicious.

“What are you two doing here?” James pushed now, keeping an eye on Gideons wand. “Just a neighbourly visit?”

“Exactly,” Gideon said. Of course it was a lie. Xenophilius had led them straight to the editorial room, which meant they must've known what was going on here.

“Who else knows about it?” James asked. “Marlene? Frank? Is this just the Quibbler or is there more to it?”

The twins exchanged a quick glance. It wasn't the first time James wondered if they could communicate telepathically.

“Who sent you, James?” Gideon spoke first. His hair was a nuance darker than his brothers and his shoulders were the tiniest bit broader. James knew Sirius had had a crush on him when they were fifteen.

“There is no official warrant against the Lovegoods. Why does an Auror come to their house?”

“What is the Order of the Phoenix?” James asked now, his eyes still flickering between the two brothers. Xenophilius hadn't said a word, just walked over to his wife and laid an arm around her. His hair was

starting to curl in the damp air.

The twins exchanged another glance (and probably another thought).

“Fine,” Gid said, almost sadly. “Then you'll have a taste of your own poison now, Jamie.”

Both of them pointed they wands at him. James took a deep breath and bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood.

“Obliviate,” the twins said in unison.

LUCIUS

“And for the flowers I would like white and black roses, with some dusky pink accents and pale green foliage, what do you think?”

It took Lucius a moment to understand that his fiancée was talking to him. Narcissa was sitting at their dining table, which was completely covered in fabric samples, catalogues with pictures of elaborate (and expensive) wedding decors and long lists of price proposals. Cissas long blonde hair was openly spilling over her back like a silvery water fall and reflecting the light of the fireplace. She was wearing an elegant velvet dressing gown and – a rare sign of vulnerability – a wired pair of glasses on the tip of her nose. Lucius wasn't sure that even Cissas own mother knew she needed glasses.

“Lucius,” his fiancée now said impatiently, looking up from the journal about flower arrangement she was currently studying to give him a reproachful look.

“Sounds fantastic,” Lucius answered. He trusted Narcissa to make all the right and tasteful decisions for their wedding and had to intention to ever critique her at all. Also, he really didn't care.

Narcissa, never easily satisfied, shot another impatient glance towards the armchair Lucius was sitting in next to the fireplace. Circe, the Malfoys white, long haired cat, was gently purring on his lap.

“You will need to get much better at feigning interest if you want to marry into my family,” Narcissa now commented and tipped the magazine with her wand. It compliantly marked its page and flittered across the table to rest on an already towering pile of lists and magazines.

“I'm sure you'll be a patient teacher, my dear,” Lucius answered, tickling Circes ears and giving Narcissa a small smile. She rolled her eyes, but looked soothed when she pulled another stack of parchment towards her.

Lucius turned his eyes back at the fireplace and winced.

In the centre of the fire, a small piece of parchment had appeared. It gently floated up over the dancing flames, so Lucius could read the curvy handwriting.

“Need to see you now.”

As if the parchment knew when Lucius had finished reading, it lost its ability to float and gently swayed down into the fireplace, where the flames eroded it immediately. Circe meowed quietly, jumped off Lucius

lap and tried to catch the burning piece with her paw.

Lucius stared at the glimming logs.

Sirius really had some nerves, to call him in like that. On the other hand, he hadn't seen him since Walburga Blacks birthday dinner and Lucius had actually already thought about contacting him. To have Sirius being the first to initiate was very rare and therefore, very satisfying. Lucius could almost forgive him the tone.

“I just remembered I forgot something at the Ministry,” Lucius said and stood up. Narcissa looked up from two pieces of fabric of the exact same shade of pink.

“You'll go out?” she asked, tilting her head. A strand of silvery hair was falling over her décolletée. “This late?”

“It won't take long,” Lucius said, walking over to the table. It never took long. “And I don't think I am of any help to you anyways.”

Narcissa didn't disagree. “Fine,” she said. “But hurry.”

“Of course, darling,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

Twenty minutes later, Lucius entered his favourite discreet pub, The Basilisks Tooth. The taproom was panelled in dark wood and dimly lit, to not cast unnecessary light to the faces of its illustrious guests. The bar was sparsely frequented at the moment, only a hand full of people sitting around the small round tables, whispering through pipe smoke and the gentle, sow music.

The man behind the bar caught Lucius' gaze nodded at him quietly. Evan Rosier was the owner of the bar and an old friend, one of the few people whose secrecy Lucius trusted deeply.

“In the back room,” Evan said now, before Lucius could ask. He was a small wizard with a pointed beard and sunken, dark eyes. Lucius nodded and pushed away the curtain that separated the back room from the bar.

The back room was even smaller that the main area, and even darker too. The fireplace was the only source of light and the air was filled with incence, coming from several sticks around the room.

Sirius was lounging on the chaise longue in front of the fireplace, sipping an amber liquid out of a crystal cup and giving Lucius a wide, greeting smile.

“What took you so long?” he asked when Lucius had settled into the armchair next to him.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “I came as fast as I could,” he said – and immediately regretted it. The expression on Sirius' face was incredibly smug.

Of course, Sirius hadn't passed the opportunity to look stunning. He was wearing a black shirt, unbuttoned to expose a fair bit of pale chest and inked lines. His dark hair, framing his face in elegant waves, fell down over his shoulders. He had tucked a strand of it behind one ear, showing off half a dozen of dangling silver earrings. He was freshly shaven, something that did not happen very often, and there was a small, challenging smile curling the corners of his mouth.

It had been that cursed, smug smile that had made Lucius give into his impulses three month ago. It was not the first time, of course, but usually Lucius managed to keep his affairs discreet and cleanly separated from the rest of his personal life. Sirius' relation to Narcissa, his frequent presence on family functions and the fact that he worked at the Ministry were risks Lucius normally would never had accepted, not even for a face as pretty as the Black Heirs.

And still, here they were.

“How nice to know I have been missed,” Sirius said now, taking a bottle from the side table and pouring another glass of amber liquid. Lucius repressed the impulse to roll his eyes and accepted the glass instead.

“And how do I get the honour to be ordered about like a schoolgirl today?” Lucius asked, taking a sip. Sirius grinned even wider.

“It worked, didn't it?” he answered boldly. “But I didn't want to order you, I wanted to ask you. Which brings me to the topic I wanted to discuss-”

“Oh, you want to discuss something?” Lucius asked, lifting one eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since today,” Sirius insisted, giving up his blatant lolling and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Lucius waited, talking another sip.

“I haven been really busy,” Sirius said, playing with a strand of his hair. “With my job at the Auror Office,” he added, as if Lucius could have forgotten.

Lucius sighed. Hopefully, this talking part wouldn't take too long. “And what has kept you busy at your job?” he asked politely.

“James and I have been allocated two cases on top of our usual workload,” Sirius explained. Lucius remained silent. He knew exactly what cases Sirius was talking about, but he would rather eat Circe than admit that he always kept his ears open when it came to the Auror Division, in case Sirius name was dropped.

“It's just a regular pursuit,” Sirius said quickly, still curling his hair around his finger. If he kept doing that, it would get stuck in one of the silver rings he was wearing. “But it's a lot of work and very time-consuming,” Sirius added, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Then hurry and get it over with,” Lucius said, leaning back into his chair.

“I would,” Sirius said, “but they – they're two defendants – seem to have just vanished. You would really do me a huge favour if you made sure that their cases are dropped.” He finished his charade with another beaming smile.

Lucius chuckled. So that was it. Sirius had a soft spot for werewolves and muggleborns.

There was a moment of silence during which Lucius took a sip of his drink and enjoyed the gentle burn in his throat as well as the sight of Sirius Black, gorgeously in need, asking him for help.

Lucius felt the corner of his lips curl up. He knew about the universal truth that everything had a price. And right know, he was in the delicious position to demand the payment.

“You're lucky,” Lucius finally said. “I am a kind man. I'll do you the favour and drop the cases.”

Sirius' persuasive smile turned into a genuine grin. “Cheers, Lu,” he said with relief. “You are-”

“In return,” Lucius interrupted him, “I'll expect you to be very thankful.”

Sirius frowned. “I mean, yes,” he answered slowly, “Obviously I am very thankful.”

“You are?” Lucius asked, lifting his eyebrows. The opportunity was too tempting. “Then why don't you show it?”

Sirius eyes narrowed. “And how would I show it?” he asked.

“I think you know how,” Lucius answered.

The fire cracked. For a moment, Sirius just stared at him. It obviously took a moment before the sickle finally dropped.

“That's what you want?” Sirius asked disbelievingly. “In return?”

“Yes,” Lucius said simply. Why sugarcoat it? “Or I'll need to think about dropping the cases again.”

Sirius leaned back, crossing his arms. He seemed to ponder.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Come on, Sirius,” he said. “You act like we aren't having other kinds of sex already. Why do you make such a deal about it? Am I that repelling?”

There was a sparkle in Sirius eyes, a glow Lucius couldn't quiet interpret. If Narcissa looked at him like that, he knew he had done something very wrong.

“Of course not, Lucius,” Sirius answered, the smile back on his lips. “Oh, how impolite of me,” he then said. “I haven't even asked how my beloved cousin is doing. Is Narcissa alright?”

Lucius stared at him. Since when did they talk about Cissa? “Yes,” he said shortly. “But what about-”

“You know, because I have been so busy, I couldn't catch up with the family as much as I would like to lately,” Sirius mused, thoughtfully turning the crystal glass between his fingers.

“You hate your family,” Lucius said. Sirius ignored him.

“And especially Narcissa I've really been meaning to catch up to,” Sirius added, pulling out a cigarette case unhurriedly. “You know,” he mused as he was taking out a cigarette, “There's been a time when we've really gotten along with each other.”

As Narcissa usually only referred to Sirius as her idiot cousin, Lucius doubted that very much. But he remained silent. Lucuius Malfoy was not a stupid man. He knew when the balance of power shifted.

“But it's a blessing in disguise I guess,” Sirius drawled now. “Because I'll undoubtedly be pricked by qualms of conscience if I ever find the time to talk to Cissa. Seeing that I, you know, fuck her fiancé. Would you mind?” Sirius added, lifting the cigarette he was holding between his middle and index finger. Lucius stared at him, then realized what he was talking about and ignited Sirius' cigarette with vague gesture.

“Thank you,” Sirius said with a smile and took a long draw.

“And how could I – prevent these – qualms of conscience?” Lucius asked between gritted teeth.

“I don't think there's any way to prevent them, really,” Sirius mused and blew out smoke.

“Fine,” Lucius hissed. “Fine, I'll drop your stupid cases. Are you happy now?”

Sirius grinned. “Not quiet happy,” he answered and leaned forward. “But it's helping.”

Lucius, both hands clasped around his own crystal glass, stared at him with narrowed eyes.

“Are you serious about that?” he finally asked. “You're blackmailing me to drop the cases of this little mudblood and the half-human?”

Lucius immediately knew he had said something wrong. The innocent expression on Sirius' face vanished and was replaced with something hard and dangerous.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “You have understood that quiet well.”

Lucius stared at him. “Why?” he gasped.

Sirius lifted a dark eyebrow. “Because I want to,” he simply said.

“You do realise that that means this is over, right?” Lucius pushed. “You and me?”

“Shame,” Sirius said and took another drag of his cigarette. “Where else would I find a cowardly old sod with a hair-pulling kink? Oh yes, at every corner in London.”

“You arrogant little shit,” Lucius pressed between gritted teeth. Sirius winked.

“Have fun planning your wedding Lu,” he said, blowing out smoke. “Don't go for pink flowers, they make you look pale.”

And with these words, he stood up, dropped his cigarette stump into Lucius' crystal glass and walked away. Lucius stared at his back, thoughts racing through his head. Had he hallucinated the past fifteen minutes?

“I expect the cases to be dropped tomorrow,” Sirius called over his shoulder before pushing away the curtains to the pub and disappearing into the main room.

Lucius stared down into the cigarette butt, swimming in his firewhiskey. These Blacks would be the death of him.