Do Wizards Dream of Magical Sheep

by Keelywolfe

The scent of rubbish was what came to him first. The cloying green stench of rotting vegetables and the fouler stink of meat and other bits mingling into a swampy soup that drew him closer.

Almost there, then. His nails clicked roughly on the fractured cement, little more than a dark shape creeping between the yellowed pools of light beneath any streetlight that worked. Inside one house he could hear two people having a row, cursing and flinging furniture in the Muggle way. The other houses were quieter, either darkened completely or the flickering light of the telly wavering out of dirt-encrusted windows.

He paid them wary heed, a silent shadow on their street. Not for much longer, the absent number was close and he was tired, pausing only to lick at his worn, bloody paws, salt-copper and dirt mixing not unpleasantly on a tongue that was not, for the moment, human.

There was no drive leading to the house. He skirted a manhole, steam creeping upward from cracks in the metal. Just in front of the house that was not there, he sat on the sidewalk. His tail fanned behind him, flicking in almost a wag as he concentrated, imaging the peeling paint and dirty windows of twelve Grimmauld Place.

Nothing happened.

He whined, licking his chops and turning in a tight circle before sitting down again, staring with eerily intelligent canine eyes as he thought of a door that should be there, one that would open up to a shrieking hallway of portraits that would curse his birth.

Again, nothing.

The dog made a snuffling sound of fear and frustration, creeping closer on his belly. Several overflowing bags of rubbish lay open on the front porch to his left, their pungent odour nauseating and salivating to his hungry nose. Dirty children's toys mingled with broken beer bottles, one fractured bit digging into his already aching paws and he yipped, low and pained, digging at it furiously with his teeth.

Finally he was pressed against the rough bricks, matted fur catching. The only sounds were from the house across the way, its occupants still screeching their rage, and the telly in number eleven. The shadow of the dog shifted, lengthening and stretching until there was an entirely different shape pressed against the bricks.

He muttered words beneath his breath, fingers scraping the bricks as though he might prise them apart with his ragged nails. There was nothing revealed to his frantic touch. The bricks remained stubbornly where they were, unheeding to his rough whispers and angry pleadings.

A door creaked open and the man vanished, a large dog instead cowering in the rotten grass. Out onto the porch stepped a man, tossing another bag of rubbish into the monument already there. He lingered, the cherry-red glow of a cigarette flaring between his lips.

The dog began to creep away, choosing the direction of the broken fence rather than the sidewalk.

"Oi! Get out of here, you mutt!"

He scrambled away, too slow, yelping as a half-empty bottle connected with his backside. The gaps in the fence were barely big enough for a large dog to squeeze through, but he managed, limping along the sidewalk until he made it to an alley with no light at all.

More rubbish here, older, leaking its foul smell into the air. With his nose, he prodded the newest of his injuries, finding only bruises and no blood at all. The night was growing colder, March chill creeping through his fur and finding his bones. No matter; he allowed himself only a moment to curl into a ball, licking again at his injured feet before standing on them once again.

There was only one other place he could go then, and it would be a long journey on foot.

Whining a little, the only self-pity he would allow, he made his way down the street, pausing only to lap water from the cleanest looking puddle.

Then he vanished back into the darkness, heading north. He knew exactly where he needed to go.

Hogwarts.


 

---

Frost was still thick on the grasses and reeds surrounding the lake when the castle loomed into sight. Rarely had the rising turrets looked better to him than they did now as he padded wearily closer, taking care to stay hidden near the water's edge.

As exhausted as he was, there was little chance of him sneaking into the castle as this hour. At this point he was likely to stumble right into Filch's office by mistake and from there right into the delighted arms of the Ministry. Better to wait until dark, then, when he had had some rest.

A startled flock of birds burst from the concealing marshes. It was reflex by now to lunge for them, catching warm, feathered flesh between his teeth. Bones crunched and there was little of his humanity evident as he tore into the warm meat. In the two weeks it had taken him to travel to Hogwarts on foot he'd had little to eat, scrounging for small animals and in trash bins for whatever he could find.

The bird had been small but it satisfied some of the gnawing hunger in his gut. A long drink at the edge of the lake quenched his thirst, the water cold enough to feel like it cut at his mouth. With a weary sigh, Padfoot crept deeper into the brush until he found a spot that was dry and concealing. He curled into a ball, tucking his tail over his nose to keep it warm and was asleep before the sun finished cresting the horizon, melting away the velvety-ice coating the reeds.

His nest of grassy weeds, barely-warm and not-quite-safe, Sirius slept and dreamt of food that came on plates and beds that held nothing more complicated than sheets.

 

---

It was a scent that woke him, as familiar as his own though he had not smelled it particularly often. The sun was high in the sky, lending some warmth to the cool air. It was April, he realized blearily, still tired and aching to the bones. Crawling out of his nest of dry weeds, Padfoot kept low to the ground and moved closer to that scent. A black dog was not well hidden in a tawny coloured fringe of plants but the smell was compelling, pulling him closer almost unwillingly.

Through the tall grasses, he could barely see the outline of people sitting not all that far way, on the edge of the lake where the reeds had been cleared away. Low to the ground, he crept closer, sniffing at the air and that clear scent that made him think green in the way only a dog could think of it, his nose telling him it was the smell of spring, layered beneath sweat and other scents that told him human.

"Come off it!" His ears perked up at the voice, again, familiar. "Why should he return it? The book's been dead useful."

"Useful for cheating!" A girl's voice, sharp with anger, "It's not fair to the rest of us, Harry, using the Prince's notes. I still think you should turn in it."

"Yeah, along with his map, and his invisibility cloak and--"

He didn't hear the rest of it, sounds dimming away to a distant hum at the back of his mind. Another boy, his hair black and mussed, was facing away from him. As his companions continued to squabble, he turned away to look out over the lake and a glint of light caught on the lenses of his glasses.

Blood need blood, death there must be death, blood, must have, must take, blood, yes, blood.

He could already taste it, slick and briny at the back of his throat as he lunged out through the bushes and towards the children, towards that boy, green eyes widening behind a layer of glass, white throat covered in fragile human flesh and his teeth would be yellowed and brutal against it.

Pain flared along his nerves, supernova bright and he heard his own yelp of pain, collapsing in the soft mud near the water. Again, green eyes, green, his hind legs refusing to work as he snarled and dragged himself on his front paws towards it, blood, there must be blood and the pain returned, sharper this time and darkness came with it.

 

---

Someone was slapping his face roughly. Sirius grunted out a protest, flinging out an arm to stop the abuse. It didn't work. Another, harsher slap came and along with it a voice.

"Wake up!" The voice commanded, deep and reverberating with power.

"Knock it off!" Sirius snarled, lashing out with a closed fist. It didn't connect with anything other than air. Another slap and Sirius jerked away, sitting up and blinking in the too-bright light. It stabbed at his eyes and he cried out in pain, slapping a hand over them, still seeing dancing skeletons of light behind his closed lids.

The sound of shuffling feet and breathing made him squint out from between his fingers. There was still some pain, not quite as bad, and a few moments later he was able to pull his hand away completely. His eyes were watering, the world about him washed in blurriness and Sirius thought perhaps he was still dreaming, his thoughts sluggish and thick.

"Wha--where am I?" Sirius looked about at the bewildering collection of items, an eclectic gathering of magical and muggle things surrounded by a dozen or so portraits of grim-faced witches and wizards peering down at him from on high. Behind a large and wildly cluttered desk sat another wizard, a living one and even with watery eyes, Sirius recognized the man with some relief.

"Dumbledore?" Sirius made to stand and three wands suddenly made their presence known against his throat. He looked around a bit wildly and found familiar faces around him, though their blurry expressions were not encouraging in the slightest. Snape, Minerva, and Tonks, her hair a rather depressing shade of drab brown, were looking down on him with bleak eyes and downturned mouths.

"Please," Dumbledore said, gesturing them away. They stepped back, though Sirius could feel their reluctance, their wands still at the ready. He rubbed his throat, wincing at the pressure he could still feel. The chair he was sitting in was hard and wooden, his aching muscles protesting the unexpected discomfort. This had to be a dream of some sort, he decided, muddled thoughts clinging to the hope. The chairs in Dumbledore's office were overstuffed and cushy, threatening to absorb first-years into their depths.

In this office he was the only one sitting in his uncomfortable chair, the others standing a bare step away from him. He couldn't see Dumbledore's chair, and this simply had to be a dream.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said, catching his faltering attention. He folded his hands on his desk, his expression disturbingly bland. "Your presence here is rather unexpected."

A bark of strangled laughter, from Tonks, although there was no humour in it. To him, it sounded more like a sob. Sirius looked from her to Dumbledore, and again, utterly lost. His head ached, a drilling throb at the temples and Sirius reached up to rub at it. Abruptly, three wands were again at his throat and this time Sirius had the presence of mind to flinch.

"A moment, if you will," Dumbledore said, a bite of impatience in his voice. "Let him gather himself so he can speak."

"Yes, thank you, I'll second that!" Sirius said hoarsely, sinking back into his chair as much as he could. He could feel the reluctance in the other wizards, as baffling as it was. Some bit of memory was coming back to him, the strange disappearance of Grimmauld Place, his long journey to Hogwarts. Something strange was going on, he knew that for certainly. Likely that was why the others seemed as jumpy as cats.

"Now, as I was saying. We--" Dumbledore hesitated uncharacteristically and Sirius could only blink at him, more confused that ever. What was going on here? "We weren't expecting to see you here at Hogwarts, Sirius. Perhaps you would care to explain?"

"I had to come here," Sirius said, slowly. His thoughts were still as slow as molasses poured through a strainer, and he thought he could feel half a dozen hexes still crawling over his skin. A Death Eater attack, perhaps? It seemed unlikely at Hogwarts of all places.

"Grimmauld place seems to have vanished permanently. I couldn't get in when I got back so I thought headquarters must have changed places." He shrugged, helplessly. "Hogwarts is the only place I could be certain to find you. Took me a bloody long time to walk here, too." He stretched, ignoring how the other wizards tensed when he raised his hands over his head. Muscles that had been too-long bent into dog shape were protesting the return to human.

Dropping his hands back in his lap, Sirius eyed the other wizards. If this was the new security procedures, he thought they were taking it a bit too far. Snape had always looked at him like something recently scraped from his boots, of course, but Minerva had never looked at him as she was now and certainly not Tonks, who looked as if she might be ill. Sirius shifted uncomfortably in his too-hard chair and met Dumbledore's gaze with his own, trying to fathom what would make them all look at him like they had.

Something with Peter, perhaps? Had something happened to make them doubt him again? A sick feeling twisted in his gut at the thought of Dumbledore turning him into the Ministry himself, sending him back to Azkaban.

No. Sirius took a deep breath, calming the panic growing in him. He'd given them no reason to doubt him, surely, and soon he'd understand what was happening.

"You walked here from London?" Dumbledore repeated slowly. "You didn't think to contact us by floo or to apparate closer?"

"You're asking me that?" Sirius asked, disbelieving. "After all your lectures about keeping hidden? Take the floo, he says, I might as well just walk right into the Ministry and ask them for my old cell back."

"And your attack on the students?" Came from his right from Snape. Sirius glared at the greasy bastard; of course he'd have something foul to say, tossing in an accusation about a...attack on the...what?

"What?" he repeated aloud, bewildered. "What are you talking about, attack on...the..." The sentence dwindled away, memory pushing through the cloud of hexes to remind him of blood and teeth, the smell of terror heavy in his nose and screams and..."What did I do?" he whispered, gripping the arms of the chair with bloodless fingers.

No one replied, their expressions even grimmer. Tonks was pale, her mousy brown hair seemed even lanker.

"You came back to Grimmauld place, you say," Dumbledore said finally, peering at him over the lenses of his half-moon glasses.

"Yes!" Sirius tore a hand through his hair. "I don't see what's so difficult about this. I went to Grimmauld place, only it wouldn't open up to me." Sirius frowned, remembering his anger and fear as he stood outside of where his childhood home should be. "It was the strangest thing."

"I see. And then you came to Hogwarts and attacked a group of students."

"I suppose I did," Sirius said, his lips moving numbly. "Are they all right? I...I didn't--"

"Physically, none of them are hurt," Dumbledore told him, ignoring a snort from Snape.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius tipped his head back to the ceiling, weak with relief. "I...I don't know what came over me. I just saw--"

"You saw Harry."

Sirius jerked, the colour of the world fading in front of his eyes to black and white. The snarls tearing from his throat could not be happening, brutal animal fury and there would be blood, torn flesh between his teeth, oh, yes...

The pain ripped through him like a dull knife and his screams were as human as his flesh. The stone floor was cold beneath his cheek and Sirius curled into himself, choking on moans and the taste of salt thick in his throat was nothing like blood.

A firm hand on his shoulder eased him up until he could sit, still dazed and ill. He looked up at Tonks, who was paler than ever and removed her hand from Sirius as quickly as she could.

"Sirius, don't try to stand until you feel ready," Dumbledore said, his voice quite testy, "I think a simple stun would be just as effective and as Tonks is the Auror, it should come from her."

"Albus, he's dangerous," Minerva's voice and that hurt as much as the hexes had.

"He's not going to hurt anyone in here." That seemed to end whatever protests the others had been about to make. Sirius took a deep breath, another, and then heaved himself back into the hard-backed chair. Nausea curled low in his stomach, hunger and pain colliding.

"All right, then? Let's go back a bit shall we?" Dumbledore tapped his fingers on his desk, considering. "You came to Grimmauld Place and then to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Sirius mumbled.

"From where?"

He frowned. "What?"

"From where," Dumbledore persisted. "You came to Grimmauld Place from where?"

"I--" Sirius started, "I was--" Words drifting away. He closed his eyes, trying to think but there was only blankness. "I don't know. There's...nothing there. I was--I was at Grimmauld place and then I wasn't and I was trying to get back and--nothing." He finished, looking at Dumbledore's grim face with horror. "What's happening?"

"I'm not sure," Dumbledore said quietly, "But this I do know. Not quite a year ago in the Department of Mysteries, you died, Sirius. We had a small service for you and mourned your death and, until today, we had no reason to believe you were anything but lost to us."

"But...I'm right here," he whispered.

"Yes, you can see why this is a problem. You also tried to murder Ha--" A low growl was already rising in Sirius throat and Dumbledore broke off, waving an impatient hand. "Yes, a very thorny problem. Unfortunately, until it is solved, we obviously cannot allow you to roam free. It's only the fact that your godson is well trained in repelling attacks that he survived."

"I attacked..." Sirius swallowed back the name, unfamiliar rage already rising in his throat at simply thinking it. He buried his face in his hands, a low moan choking out from his throat, "Oh, god."

The touch of a hand on his shoulder startled him and he flinched away violently, looking up into Tonks's face. Still too grim, eyes dark and wide in her pale face, but there was some concern there now, some measure of belief. "It's possible that this is a variation of the Imperius curse," she ventured unsteadily. "If...if it is, we should be able to find a way to break it. It might take some time, but--"

"If I may," Snape stepped forward, skirting Sirius's chair with a flick of his robes. "There is ample room in the dungeons for one--" his lips thinned. "--man, as it were."

"No," Sirius croaked out, barely loud enough to be heard. But Dumbledore was already shaking his head.

"No, the dungeons are hardly an appropriate place for someone who may be our comrade and certainly not as a long term solution. We don't know how long it will take us to discover what has happened to Sirius or," Dumbledore sighed heavily, "Or indeed if this is even him."

"I am Sirius," he rasped, low and desperate. No one seemed to notice.

"In any event, I have already made other arrangements. Remus?"

For the first time, Sirius noticed that Remus was standing quietly near the door. He stepped forward at Dumbledore's word, his expression unreadable and his eyes flickered only briefly to Sirius.

"You'll be staying with Remus, at his flat, for the moment. It is not Unplottable but it is well warded, and we will be placing additional wards on it." He peered at Sirius. "I do hope you will understand that for your protection and for H--others," he amended, "You will be unable to leave his flat, even if you are accompanied by another person. Only myself and one other will be able to escort you from it, and their identity will be a secret to all others but myself. Rest assured, it is not Remus."

Sirius nodded numbly.

"I do realize how difficult this will be for you," Dumbledore said and, for the first time, his voice was gentle. "But it is for the best. The only other option would be the dungeons, as Severus suggested."

"I understand," Sirius said, his voice a bare whisper.

"Fine. You shall remain here, under guard, I'm afraid, while the rest of us ward Remus's flat. Perhaps you'd like some rest?" A wave of his wand and his chair melted into a camp bed, the thin mattress infinitely more comfortable than the chair had been.

The weeks of travel with little sleep suddenly surged to the front and Sirius was already close to sleep when he curled up on it, barely hearing the others leaving, their words a jumbled murmur to his exhausted mind.


 

---

 

It seemed particularly useless to be back in London only a day after his long trek across the country. He wasn't entirely sure what part of London they were in, only that Remus's flat was minorly less shabby than Grimmauld place, the wallpaper not quite peeling away from the dampish walls. Heavy curtains were on every window and they resisted his attempts to pull them back. It left the flat in a gloomy sort of darkness that scoffed at attempts to brighten the rooms with lamps.

Only two bedrooms, one of which was an office that someone had seen fit to equip with a camp bed like the one he'd slept on in Dumbledore's office. The loo was worse, just about the size and shape of a postage stamp. He supposed it might be interesting to be able to shower while sitting on the toilet and it was certainly a step up from finding a convenient piece of shrubbery.

But he certainly understood why Remus had chosen to stay with him at Grimmauld place.

The others hadn't stayed very long, Tonks, Minerva, and Dumbledore. For some reason, Snape had chosen to remain at the school with the students. Really, Sirius couldn't imagine why the ugly git had decided not to join them, unless he already knew the others wouldn't be staying long enough to add any torment to his confinement. They had only stayed to accompany him on the trip and to cast a few additional spells on him now that he was here that still itched on his skin, shivery feel of something crawling over him.

He did wonder how they'd gotten authorization for a portkey, though, without explaining what it was for. Seemed the Ministry was getting a bit lax. He wished he'd known that before he'd walked to Scotland.

Remus was in the kitchen, making tea in the Muggle fashion. It seemed a strange thing, but perhaps he wasn't allowed to do magic around Sirius. Could even be the wards didn't allow it. Certainly no one had told Sirius their limits.

Leaning against the entryway, Sirius watched him add a small plate of biscuits to the tray. He shook his head; setting up a tray for tea, complete with a dish of sugar cubes and a small milk pitcher when he knew full well that Sirius took his tea plain. Plainly, Remus had gone barmy in the last few months.

Off to the side, there was a plate of sandwiches with the crusts still attached, another testament to Remus's probable insanity.

At least the kitchen was large enough for two people. Possibly just one and a half but neither he nor Remus would make more than half a bite for a dragon. He tried not to see the startled wariness in Remus's look when he stepped in next to him.

"Here, let me help." He took the butter knife from Remus's lax hand and added a fair dollop of mustard to the pathetic amount already on the bread. Remus stepped back and let him, rescuing the tea pot just as it started to whistle.

"I didn't think you liked to cook," Remus offered, slowly.

"Hunger makes chefs of us all," Sirius told him airily, "Though I wouldn't call ham and swiss on rye cooking, exactly." He tossed the butter knife aside in frustration, yellowish specks of mustard dotting the ancient, if serviceable, countertop. "That's useless, where do you keep your other knives?"

There were several likely looking drawers. One revealed towels, one of which Sirius snagged and tossed on the mustard-smeared counter. Another was full of basic tableware and the last refused to open, remaining stubbornly closed.

"This one's stuck," Sirius frowned, yanking on it hard enough that the handle groaned.

"Let me." Remus reached around him and pulled it open easily, extracting just the sort of knife Sirius had been looking for. He handed it over with a small shrug. "It just seemed wise to keep the...ah...sharper utensils away from you right now."

Sirius gave him a sour smile, turning back to the sandwiches. "Suppose they're afraid of me attacking you now."

"I've never been afraid of you, Sirius." Quietly, too close behind him.

"Then who--" Sirius blinked with dawning awareness, carefully cutting the crusts from the bread before adding his sandwiches to the tray. He didn't suppose he could blame them; after a barely-remembered attack on his...his godson, his mind supplied, helpfully skirting the name, there was no telling what else he might do, willingly or no. He kept his voice low and subdued as he said, "I suppose there is that."

He looked over his shoulder. Remus was standing so close they were almost nose to nose. "I think for today I can keep from slitting my wrists long enough to finish this, though, if that's all right?"

It earned him a wry smile. "Of course."

Tea was awkward, if nibbling at sandwiches with an old friend who thought you'd been dead and were now sort of, well, evil could be called anything as milky as awkward.

Remus seemed quite intent on stirring his tea to death, adding cube after cube of sugar and staring into the syrupy depths as if studying a peculiar new branch of divination. The tea was lukewarm by the time Sirius worked up the nerve to ask what had been bothering him since he'd woken in Dumbledore's office that afternoon.

"What's been happening with Voldemort? I mean, who...who else is dead?" he stumbled over the question, gulping down the last dregs of cooling tea in his cup before splashing it full again.

"I can't say." Remus didn't look at him.

"What do you mean you can't...can you at least tell me what's been happening since I got myself dead? Or how about telling me HOW I got dead?" Hysteria was a thin squeal in the back of his head because it had been Dumbledore who'd told him, Dumbledore who couldn't possibly have been wrong about it and yet, somehow he was, had to be because Sirius was here and alive and eating sandwiches made with old, rubbery cheese.

"I'm not allowed to tell you anything about the war," Remus set his cup on its saucer, spreading his hands apologetically. "If there is some link between you and Voldemort, we can't afford to let him in on our plans. As for how you died," he stopped, pressing a hand to his forehead in a gesture Sirius recognized as one he'd made all too often himself. Despair.

"It was very difficult for all of us when you died, Sirius," Remus's voice was a low whisper, eyes still hidden by his upraised hand. "There was no real violence in it, no blood. You were simply gone."

"The killing curse." Sirius murmured, remembering James and Lily, their bodies untouched and cold, their eyes empty.

"Worse than that," Remus said hoarsely. "And Harry took it very--"

The rush of blood in his ears blocked out his words, a wash of hot, crimson rage that swept away reason into a snarl already rising deep from within. It vanished into hot pain just as quickly, his own voice yelping out and it wondered dimly if that had been aloud or just in his head as he sank into blackness.

He came back to himself lying on the floor, his sweaty cheek pressed against the icy wooden panels. Carefully, Sirius pushed up until he could manage to sit. There was a blanket over his legs and he drew it up, huddling under it like a child, shaking with cold that felt like it was biting deeper into his bones with every passing moment.

He flinched as Remus appeared in front of him, crouching down. There was a cup in his hands, fresh steam rising. "Here. You'll feel better."

His fingers felt too large and numb, but Sirius managed to take a sip. It was minty and sweet, some potion he didn't recognize and the last shivery cold inside him eased.

Remus watched him with calm eyes, his hands hanging loosely between his knees. "I'm sorry, that spell was a touch more forceful than needed. I'm afraid you took me a little off-guard." It won't happen again, unspoken and taut between them.

"Why are you doing this?" Sirius asked abruptly, setting the empty cup aside. "Why are you bothering? All you lot think....again...that I'm on the other side. Why are you risking yourself, letting me stay here?"

Remus stood, picking up the cup and setting it on the table. "I'm not letting you stay. We're essentially imprisoning you."

"Ta for the reminder," Sirius muttered. "But why you? You're no Auror, Remus."

"I was the only one who would," Remus said quietly. "And I couldn't let you go to the dungeon. Not after Azkaban."

His laugh was ugly to his own ears, a sharp bark that held no humour. "Appreciate that."

"No, I don't think you do. My lack of faith cost you twelve years already. Even if I'm wrong now, well," Remus shrugged, gathering the remnants of their tea onto the tray. "Perhaps I deserve what it would get me."

"So instead of letting me be jailed, you're going to be my jailer?"

Remus gave him a small smile, carrying the tray to the kitchen before calling back to him, "I suppose it doesn't make much sense. But then, the dungeon doesn't have indoor plumbing."

True enough.

 

---

When he woke the next morning and shuffled into the kitchen, Remus was gone. There was a covered plate on the table, bangers and mash that were still hot, and a piece of parchment tucked under the edge, his name written in Remus's cramped handwriting.

Sirius,

I'll be gone for a day or so,
doing some work for the Order.
Your meals will be taken care of,
you needn't worry about that.
Please, feel free to help yourself to
anything in the house.
I'll return as soon as I can.

Remus


He poked at the food disinterestedly. Alone for the next day or so, then, unless someone else decided to drop by to keep him company and he had his doubts that would happen.

Even though the clock pointed to nearly noon, the little light creeping around the shades didn't make the room seem any less dismally dark. Sirius went about the small flat and turned on every light in it, noting with little interest that Remus had electricity. It made him wonder again exactly where in London they were; had to be a Muggle building of some sort.

Wandering back into the kitchen, he opened the fridge and peered at the meagre contents with no small dismay. If this was what Remus considered taking care of the meals, he must be living on sandwiches and wrinkled little potatoes with hairs poking out of them. He did find some eggs in the door that seemed fresh enough and decided they'd make a decent addition to breakfast.

Only the stove didn't seem to agree. He toyed with the handles, trying to get a flame, any flame, with no success. A peek inside showed him that the pilot wasn't lit and there wasn't a whiff of gas.

Lovely. That meant the Order had decided cooking his own meals would be a hazard to the wizarding community. At least there was a bottle of milk in there next to the eggs, and a quick survey of the cupboards found him a few boxes of Muggle-style cereal.

It was a step up from birds and rats, anyway.

The plate of food was still warm and he resigned himself to eat it now as it was the last hot food he could expect for the next few days. He left the dirty dishes in the sink and inspected the flat a little closer.

Remus didn't have a telly, only an elderly radio that only picked up two stations, both of them of the easy listening variety. Books, he had, overflowing shelves of them in the sitting room and trailing into both bedrooms. There was even a small shelf above the toilet.

None on spellcasting and large holes in the library finished that particular mystery. No magic, no reading about magic. No newspapers.

No company.

At least on his last incarceration he'd had a fellow exile and as poor as Buckbeak had been at conversation, he'd been alive. He wondered where Buckbeak was now, hoped he was still safe and perhaps free. At least one of them should be.

Sirius tried reading a bit, some Muggle book about werewolves and it was amusing enough, reading the nonsense bits. It was a wonder Muggles could survive at all, thinking the way they did. Silver bullets, indeed. The book couldn't quite hold his interest, the darkened room and dull crooning of the radio conspiring to put him to sleep. More than once, he jerked his head up as it drifted down to his chest until he finally surrendered, curling up on Remus's lumpy sofa and napping away the afternoon.

When he woke, the clock declared it evening and, he wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water, not wanting to waste his milk on mere drinking. There on the table, another plate was waiting for him. Three veg and a pork chop, laid out with ruler-straight precision. No knife.

Lovely, he was on some sort of meals-on-brooms programme. They probably thought he was some barmy old wizard with three teeth and a bladder problem.

He'd been a beggar long enough now to know better than to be a chooser, and ate every bit of it, even though carrots weren't his favourite and peas rated up with rats. The bone he wrapped up and saved, just in case Padfoot needed to work off some frustrations.

Sirius had a feeling he might.

The small pile of dishes were washed and set aside to drain, not out of a particular desire for tidiness but just in case his next meal would require them. After that, the bit of light around the curtains had dimmed enough to excuse going to bed, and he did, changing into the single pair of pyjamas he found in the small bundle of his clothes that were stowed beneath his bed, and he slept soundly on the thin mattress.

And that was how he spent the first day.

The second day he spent wanking.

He did it in his room at first, just after he woke up. Neatly and quietly, like he was back at school and three other boys were sleeping nearby. No reason not to, after all. He'd woken up to it and it seemed a shame to waste it. At Azkaban, he'd been too sick and exhausted to think much about it and life on the run hadn't left him much time for it. At Grimmauld Place there was always Kreacher to think of; even when he'd been alone there he'd never been alone.

Came in his own hand, gasping just a little and it was good the way a wank should be. Relaxing. He took the time to wash his hands in the loo before he went to check the status of the kitchen. This morning was the fried eggs he'd craved the day before and a small mountain of bacon. A little greasy but still warm and he ate every bit.

The second time was in the shower. Listening to the old pipes groan like a ghoul was trapped in them, the water tainted with rust and boiling hot. He ducked his head under the stream of hot water and jerked himself hard, hands soap-slippery and water pouring over him like lava, and this was better, something he needed.

Afterward, he leaned against the tiles, their coolness brutal against his nearly-scalded skin and he stayed there until the hot water ran out, chased away by the icy needles of wetness.

He was sitting on the old sofa the third time, and surely he couldn't be the only person who'd had a wank on it. Old as it was, it might have once sat in Dumbledore's childhood home, although the thought of him sprawled on it with his trousers down to his ankles was enough to give him a pause.

Not enough of one to stop him, a tattered copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover on one knee. It wasn't particularly satisfying but it did help him fall asleep, trousers barely fastened and a dirty towel on the floor next to him.

The last time he did it on Remus's bed.

Wasn't his fault, really. Remus hadn't locked the door and it was a nice bed, big and comfy with hanging curtains that reminded him of Hogwarts. He did have the decency to pull back the coverlet but when he came, he let it spatter on the sheets, not particularly caring that Remus would be able to smell it when he came back. Better'n the bastard deserved, living in a flat with a crap radio and the dirtiest book older than both of them together.

Wasn't like there was anyone to stop him. No one to stop him, no one would walk in on him. It would serve Remus right to come home to dirty sheets, wouldn't it.

But he washed the dishes before he went to sleep, in his own bed.

Four times in one day was decent for a man his age, he decided, even one that hadn't spent the better years of his life having his soul shredded by dementors.

It didn't help him sleep this time.

By the third day, he'd decided he was going insane.

Seemed like if anyone should know, it would be him. He'd brushed past madness more times than he'd cared to count. His entire childhood at Grimmauld place seemed like prep for a few decades of making macaroni art at St. Mungo's. Azkaban had been the worst, sticky tar-black coldness eating away at his sanity, echoing thoughts of his innocence letting him cling by his fingernails.

Innocence. A lost comfort, that.

The night before, he'd had a dream, of being a dog and Harry trapped beneath him, blood bubbling from his torn throat as he tried to scream.

He'd woken screaming himself, his sheets soaked through with sweat.

Unable to fall asleep, even though the clocks informed him it was barely past three, he'd crept into Remus's room, noting the locks lining the jamb that he hadn't seen before. A neat dozen, Muggle-style and magic, all of them unlocked. But then, it wasn't other people that Remus usually needed to keep out.

Almost turned himself into Padfoot, practically a reflex to night time terrors, and then recalled the blood, the terror in...in his godson's eyes and curled up instead as a human, breathing in Remus's scent on the pillow with his pitiful excuse of a sense of smell and tried to remember that he wasn't the only person left in the world.

When he woke the next morning, the barest gleam of sunlight creeping in from around the shades, he nearly didn't bother getting up.

His breakfast plate was already on the table, cheery and warm. He could smell it was porridge, probably with a small pitcher of cream with flecks of cinnamon floating in it and a dish of sugar.

He walked past it and into the front hall, stared at the plain brown door that led outside. The entire world was on the other side of it, going on with their lives. All those in the Order, his...his godson and the boy's friends. They'd be in class, he thought, unless it was Saturday, and he realized he had no idea what the day was. Days weren't for him, sensible little boxes on calendars that told a person what they should do on that day. Days or nights, time didn't matter except for bowls of porridge against chops.

There was another door in the hallway. Opening it revealed a small collection of coats and boots, set together in an orderly way. Sirius stared at them, tweed and rubbers and an umbrella in the corner and then he stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him. Curled into a ball on the floor and stared at the darkness around him.

He spent the entire day in a closet or maybe it was longer than that. He was already in a prison, and he suddenly felt the need for it to be tighter, closer, the darkness strangling him. He sat in the dark, hands over his ears as he slowly rocked, banging his head against the wooden wall behind him, heard the dull echo of it in his skull.

 

---

"Sirius?"

He startled awake, scrambling back from the light flooding in from the open door, boots kicked aside as he tried to get back into the darkness. A hand on his arm was worse, unable to hide from that and it made him blink, looking up into the shadow of Remus Lupin's concerned face.

"Come on, now, up we go." Sirius obeyed with reluctance, stumbling to his feet and following Remus out to the kitchen. The curtains were cracked open, sunlight pouring in to fill the shabby little room to the brim with light that Sirius had to squint against.

Hands pushed him gently into a chair and he sat obediently, sipping warm tea when a cup was set into his hands.

Remus was sitting across from him, his own cup untouched in front of him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Course," Sirius said distantly. The tea felt good on his parched throat, soothing.

"It's just...you were in the closet."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. There was a plate of chocolate biscuits on the table and he helped himself to one, chewing absently.

"Was...did someone come here?" He could hear Remus's confusion as he struggled to understand. Nearly made him laugh but the sun coming in from the side window was lovely and warm, and Sirius tipped his head back a bit to feel it better.

"Was I hiding, do you mean?" Sirius asked finally and now he could laugh. Honestly, in the closet of all places. No wonder Remus was worried. "Yes, I was hiding, but there was no one here but me. I just wanted to...be there," he said decisively. It wasn't like any other explanation he could conjure would make any more sense.

Remus was staring at him, worry plain on his face. Well, that was fine then, everyone already thought he was mad. Might as well confirm it now and get it over with.

"I'll be here for a few days now," Remus told him slowly, like he was talking to a not-particularly-bright child.

"S'fine," Sirius mumbled, chewing on another biscuit. He finished his tea and left Remus to his own, wandering out into the sunlit sitting room to find a book he could nap over.

 

---

Remus was there for a week, all told, although the full moon fell in the middle of it and he was useless to chat with the days just before and after. He spent the night locked tight in his room, silent after the first burst of screams, the light peeking out from under the door was dim enough to be the glow from the fireplace. Sirius dragged his blanket into the hallway spent the night on the floor outside the room, more human than Remus could ever be, listening with pathetic rounded ears. Strained to hear anything, every shuffling movement of a werewolf with a human mind plodding clumsily around the room.

When he woke, his joints ached from the hard floor and there was another blanket layered over his own that smelled like dog.

It was always quiet in the flat, though, more so than Grimmauld place with its rotting curtains and rubbish, no Kreacher to ghost in from room to room and slap him again with the reminder of how he'd been hated.

Here there was only Remus and books, meals that arrived at specific hours, two plates instead of one, and tea that Remus made himself. One day, he helped Remus fold his laundry, blandly folding socks along with the freshly laundered sheets that he had seen Remus strip from his bed without so much as a glance in Sirius's direction.

A week of idle conversations and the Jane Austin oeuvre before Remus left again and Sirius was alone.

Remus was gone for four days this time. On the morning of the third day, Sirius transformed willingly for the first time since he'd arrived here and leisurely tore up every shoe in Remus's closet, the pleasant taste of leather shifting to bitter on his human tongue. He might have pissed on the bed if he hadn't taken to sleeping in it at night, warm scent of another animal keeping his nightmares from devouring him.

It wasn't like Remus seemed to care; he could hardly avoid seeing the rumpled sheets. When he stepped out of the fireplace this time, he only seemed relieved that Sirius wasn't hiding in the closet.

Two plates for lunch, whoever was sending their meals were spot on, no doubt about that. Sirius was washing the dishes by hand, since he couldn't be trusted with a knife but they had no trouble leaving him with apple-scented detergent.

Something whacked him on the back of the head, hard enough that he saw spots for a moment and splashed soapy water all down his front. Rubbing his head, he turned to see Remus was standing behind him, looking furious and holding a rolled up newspaper.

"If you're going to act like a mongrel, I have no trouble treating you like one!" Remus said savagely. Ah, seemed that he'd finally checked the closet, after all.

"I suppose my doggy nature simply got away with me," Sirius said airily. He rinsed another plate and set it in the draining rack, all but certain he could hear the sound of grinding teeth behind him. Well worth brushing the taste of rubber soles off his tongue for hours.

The newspaper was crumpled and tossed on the counter without even another slap to Sirius's head. A shame, that.

He heard a chair pulled out, the old wood creaking a protest as Remus flung himself into it. "I don't suppose it occurred to you that I can't afford to buy a half dozen pairs of new shoes."

Sirius shrugged. "Add them to the Order's accounts, they're the reason I'm here. Or take it out of my Gringotts account if you'll feel better."

"Dead men don't have Gringotts accounts," Scathingly from behind him. "Your godson inherited all your funds."

He didn't mean to drop the plate, barely heard it shatter on the old tile at his feet and his hands were wet and growing cold, soup bubbles trailing down his wrists.

He had really been dead. Not that he had doubted what the others had told him, certainly not Dumbledore except, well, hadn't he? Denial was in every glance in the mirror but this hit harder than a mere newspaper, something that was true but couldn't be true, drawing a harsh breath into lungs that weren't supposed to be breathing.

Blinked and found he was sitting, Remus crouched in front of him, anger forgotten in his concern.

"Sirius," Hesitantly, his thumbs stroking the insides of Sirius's wrists, "They'll put it all to rights once they figure this out."

"I was really dead," he whispered.

"Sirius--"

"I suppose I knew that. Ha...he would have inherited all of my things, wouldn't he? That's why I couldn't go in. I couldn't expect someone to fool the charms on Grimmauld place or...or Kreacher, and... the goblins, they--they couldn't be." Hushed voice. "I was really dead."

"You're not dead now."

"No," Softly, distantly. It was clear in his head; cobwebbed insanity might lurk in the corners of his mind but Sirius was no fool. "You don't believe that. None of you do or else I'd have a Gringotts account and someone would be trying to pull this charm off me. You think -- I don't know what you think but I know what you don't think."

He was on his feet faster than his thoughts could catch up, lurching for the old brown wood of the front door, his fists beating on it, bloody by the second blow.

"Let me out! Please, you have to let me out now!"

A hand on his arm yanked him away and Sirius fought it, gagging out desperate words, begging for them to please please please let him out and Remus was shaking him, hard enough to snap his head back against the wall, a duller, thicker pain than the newspaper.

"Stop it!" Remus shouted.

"Remus," he moaned. "I have to get out. I have to."

The door was beyond his reach so he dragged his nails down his face instead, had to get out of at least one prison.

"Stop, god, Sirius! Just--" they struggled, sprawled out on the ratty old rug in the entranceway until Remus had him pinned to the floor by his wrists, using what little extra weight he had to hold Sirius down, even though he bucked desperately, had to get out of here, he had to...

"I can't stay here, Moony," Panting, oh, couldn't breathe, couldn't pull in the air. "I can't, you should just kill me."

"Sirius, don't--"

"I'm already dying here," his voice sounded like a shriek and he closed his eyes against it, against Remus's shocked face. "It's killing me piece by piece, I can't stay here anymore, please, plea--"

The mouth against his own shocked him to silence, warm, hard lips pressing his shut. Only for a moment, forcing silence, and then it was gone.

Sirius stared up at Remus through the tangle of his hair, stuttering out, "Why--I..."

Mild eyes, his hands gentling their grip on Sirius's wrists. "It calmed you down, didn't it."

True, but...

"You should just kill me," Sirius told him again, hysteria replaced with the dullness of truth. It would be better for all of them, safer for his godson, easier for Remus.

He didn't expect the slap, hard enough that he tasted coppery blood.

"Do not say that again, Sirius, I mean it." Deceptively calm. "You already died once as far as your godson is concerned and you have no idea what it did to him."

Flash of Harry in his mind and he was already growling under his breath, not even a dog, and Remus slapped him again, blood from his nose spattering the floor. "You weren't here, you didn't see what it did to him," Low and cold. "So shut your mouth and find a way to make do."

Make do. He just had to make do, that was Remus's brilliant advice. Instead, Sirius leaned up and kissed Remus again, sharing the slick flavour of his own blood. Remus made a soft noise, surprised, he thought. Licked the blood-taste from Sirius mouth, shifting and there was the faint rasp of his tongue against Sirius's unshaven face.

It dwindled away, shifting to warm breathing against his neck before Remus finally pulled away and stood, offering Sirius a hand up. He took it, followed Remus into the sitting room where they read in silence until the clock turned to an hour late enough to justify sleeping

The nightmares didn't come that night.

 

---

 

Remus left again the next morning. This time, he had the grace to come into Sirius's room, shake him gently awake and actually tell him he was going, rather than leaving a note. Even managed to sound apologetic about it, the git. Sirius just grunted and rolled back over into his blankets, burying himself into the warmth.

A useless effort. He heard Remus floo out and by then he was well and truly awake, too tired to consider having a wank, and he stumbled out of bed to see what offerings the plates had brought this morning.

Remus hadn't eaten before he left and Sirius ate his portion along with his own, scraping both plates clean far too soon and leaving them stacked in the sink.

Then there was nothing left to do but wander into the sitting room for a read and a nap, and nothing fucking else to do until Remus came back.

Joy.

The sound of the floo jerked him awake late in the afternoon, nearly sending him tumbling off the sofa in his mad scramble to his knees, words of greeting dying on his lips as he saw who was standing on the hearth.

Tonks was brushing off her robes, clearing them of the worst of the ash. She looked as she had in Dumbledore's office, which meant she looked like shite, her hair a short, nondescript brown. Her cheeks and ears were flushed pink, like she'd had to walk through the cold to get to the floo network. Not all that peculiar, he supposed, it was April. Or was it May? What the bloody hell did it matter, anyway, it wasn't like he was carving notches into his door to mark the days. That was an idea to consider, though.

A few stray sparks leapt from Tonks's robes and back into the fireplace and as he watched, she stomped her boots clean. He did notice she never let go of her wand.

She saw him staring at her and straightened up, her fingers clenched to white around her wand.

"Remus asked me to stop by," she said stiffly. "He was concerned about leaving you alone for so long." Well, that was just lovely, wasn't it? Hadn't taken Remus long to clue in the rest of the Order that Sirius was one spaghetti noodle short of mental, had it.

He realized he was still staring at her and managed a feeble smile. "Come in, then. I'd offer you some tea but I'm not allowed to use the stove."

She frowned at him. "Remus has a magic-heat kettle; all you need to do it put water in it."

Oh. Well, that was information he could have done with weeks ago. He brightened his smile until he was sure he looked like just the sort of mad killer they were all thinking he was and sent a promise of retribution in the direction of Remus's underclothes.

"Besides, I wasn't sure what kind of nosh Remus was keeping for you, so I brought some with me."

She held a sack out at arms-length and when Sirius opened it, he promptly forgave Remus for all his sins today, and a few from last week. Pumpkin pasties, cauldron cakes, and even a few bottles of butterbeer.

He felt his smile relax into something a bit more genuine. "That was a kindness, ta."

She shrugged, "I was in Hogsmeade, just thought that--" She trailed off, pursing her lips like she'd been saying something she shouldn't. "Anyway, have one while they're still warm."

That seemed to mark an end to any conversation. Sirius went back to his book, nibbling on a pasty and Tonks spent her time prowling the room, tripping twice on the rug behind the sofa. She acted a few times like she wanted to speak, to ask something about one of the odd little baubles Remus kept in his sitting room. Every time she held it back, poking with vague interest at the books and doing little more than breathe in the musty air that had taken on a hint of sweet spiciness from the pasties.

The light behind the shades had taken on a reddish glow when Sirius realized he'd been reading the same page over and over for ten minutes. This was intolerable. Worse even than their first meeting after Azkaban. She'd been curious then, brilliant pink hair, and bubbling with questions that she tried not to pester him with. He rather wished she would pester him now, wide-eyed questions about the other prisoners and whispers about dementors that he'd barely been able to answer.

It was bloody well worse than being alone and he slammed his book down on the coffee table in frustration. "Look, you--"

Pain, diamond-hard and brutal, a hard punch of it that sent him flying off the sofa, a cry caught in his throat as the world dimmed behind his eyes.

He woke to her crouching over him anxiously, paler than ever and dripping a wet cloth over Sirius's face. He snatched it away, scrubbing his face himself so he didn't have to see her concern. He rather doubted it was because she'd hexed him; she was probably more worried about pissing off Remus, if he'd caught her right. She read more like Dr. Seuss than Shakespeare and she knew that Remus had an enchanted kettle but Remus's sheets had still smelled more like his socks than anything else.

Really, a little warning before they cursed him sideways wouldn't be untoward. He hadn't even growled at Tonks, although he'd be setting his books down lightly from now on, that was certain.

"Just go," he mumbled, brushing off her feeble attempts at apologizing, her words as clumsy as she often was.

She did.

So much for that visitor. He wondered who Remus would try next. Probably Snape with his luck, and he wouldn't even be able to kill him and plead insanity, not if he ever wanted outside again.

He wondered sourly if it was possible for a man to slit his wrists with an electric razor.

 

---

"How did your visit with Tonks go?" Remus asked him the next morning. He looked tired and let Sirius filch the uneaten sausages off his plate without complaint.

"Fine, fine," Sirius mumbled through a mouthful of sausage and eggs. "She brought food."

"Always the best way to endear you." He propped up his head on his chin, considering. "I suppose the Attonitus hex didn't do quite as well."

"Now see?" Sirius waggled a finger at him. "These young people have no concept of proper honour these days. Probably thought she'd better confess before I told on her, eh? As if I would."

"I'm afraid that Aurors aren't trained in the ways of honour as taught by Sirius Black, no," Remus's tone was as dry as the toast.

"Corrupted youth," Sirius muttered. He leaned back in his chair and propped his bare feet on the edge of the table, curling his toes over the edge and ignoring Remus's glare. "Well, since you were out and about yesterday, maybe you can give me an update on what is going on with the world these days? Since I seem to be months out of the loop, I daresay I could use a review."

"You know I can't tell you," Remus said mildly. He sipped at his tea, eyes never leaving Sirius's.

"No, you can't tell me anything, can you. Nothing about the war, no, nothing about my godson, but I'll excuse you that one since you probably like your throat where it is." Sirius laughed and it sounded ugly to his ears. This morning he'd woken up cold, his blanket kicked to the foot of his bed, and the ache of it seemed bone-deep, lingering even after a scalding shower. He'd wandered around the flat restlessly, just needing to move and he hadn't sat down until Remus had stepped from the fireplace with tired eyes and flushed cheeks, smelling like the wind.

"What can you tell me, Remus," he asked, idly. "Can you tell me the latest Quidditch scores, is that available? What team looks likely this year, eh?" He slanted Remus a look, catching his tongue lightly between his teeth before he added, "Can you tell me what colour knickers Tonks prefers?"

Another slow sip of tea, Remus's throat working as he swallowed. "No, I can't," he said, clearly.

Remus didn't flinch when the teacup hit the wall next to his head. A thin, perfect line of red showed on his cheek from a flying piece of pottery, a droplet of blood creeping downward. His wand stayed wherever it was that Remus was keeping it these days, the shattered cup remained shattered. Remus never did magic around him but whether it was because he couldn't through the wards, didn't want to taunt Sirius with spells he couldn't do, or he was afraid Sirius might try to wrest it away from him, he wasn't sure.

Remus just sat there calm as can be, sipping his tea and for just a moment, Sirius hated him more than anything ever before in his life, could taste it acidly on the back of his tongue where it couldn't be swallowed away. The plate was next; Sirius picked it up with two fingers and dropped it on the floor, his eyes never leaving Remus's steady ones as it shattered. The sugar bowl, just brushed off the table with the back of his hand and scattering glittering whiteness.

"Sirius, stop." Still mild, but there was a hint of warning now. These were old dishes; perhaps they'd belonged to his mother. A saucer this time, a harsh punctuation of noise on the floor.

"Or what?" Sirius asked, idly fingering another saucer. "You'll lock me up in a bad place?" He stood up and violently swept all the dishes to the floor. Only the cup in Remus's hands was spared, pale, floral china against his skin.

"Sirius, that's enough!" Sharper now.

"Really?" he asked softly, hating the mostly calm of Remus's eyes, hating this place with its groaning pipes and faded wallpaper. There were cupboards of dishes left, crockery and china itching for his fingers. "What will you do if I don't stop?"

The table hitting his back knocked the breath from him, his worn shirt twisted in Remus's fists. No calm in him now, dark eyes flaring with something else entirely, so close he could see his own reflection in them. His hair was getting too long, greying brown just brushing Sirius's cheeks as Remus loomed over him.

"Do you think it makes me happy to see you trapped here?" he gritted out, shaking Sirius like a terrier would shake a rat, letting his head thud softly against the table. Between the hexes and this, Sirius thought he might be able to add brain damage to his insanity quite soon. "Do you? Do you think I want this?"

Sirius laughed, tipped his head back and exposed the line of his throat to the man above him. Felt the sharp tremor that went through Remus, the heavy press of his body over Sirius's not quite enough, not this time.

"I think it's perfectly obvious what you want, old friend," he taunted, pushing his knee up between Remus's legs. Hard, yes, Sirius could feel it through both their trousers, rubbing his knee against it. There was a part of him left that was sane enough, and it was prattling in the back of his head, asking him what the bloody hell he was doing with Remus of all people.

Relatively easy to ignore it, tuck it into a little place where he could barely even hear it. It was Remus, he knew that, but he was also touching him, long press of his body against Sirius and he was hard, and he smelled so lovely. Hot and alive and they hadn't been schoolboy chums in a long, long time.

Remus hadn't moved. His hands still knotted into Sirius's shirt. With some difficulty, Sirius lifted his head enough to let his lips brush the line of Remus's jaw, two days worth of stubble rough against his lips but it let him breathe it in, warm skin that hadn't touched water since he'd left the day before.

So still above him, frozen, his eyes too-wide and shocked. Pushed him too far, Sirius supposed, and now he'd pull away and vanish again for days, or perhaps he wouldn't, perhaps there would be another awkward afternoon in the sitting room with Remus not looking at him instead of Tonks. Merlin, he couldn't take that, he really couldn't, barely realized he was starting to struggle beneath Remus's weight because he had to get out of here, now, right now, he had to be somewhere, anywhere else.

It was his turn to be shocked when Remus slipped his hand into Sirius's hair and yanked, forcing his head back against the table. His mouth was hot against Sirius's ear, sharp edge of teeth marking him lightly before Remus whispered harshly, "You're right, I do want it."

It wasn't a choice to let himself be moved, only that he was, face-down on the table and he barely had time to brace himself on his hands before Remus was over him again, his hands brutal as they yanked on his trousers, scrabbling for buttons and zipper.

Sirius threw back his head and laughed, closer to a howl than anything else, squirming and fighting. Not that he wanted Remus to stop, oh, no, but the bastard was going to have to work for it, wasn't he? Yes, that was the way of it, knocking Remus's hands away as he struggled to get out from beneath his punishing weight, his own cock trapped uncomfortably against the table edge.

A hand caught the back of his shirt and the old fabric never stood a chance, tearing up to the back of his neck. Callused fingers swept over his bare skin, touching scars and Sirius wondered at how he looked. Bent over a table, pallid and too-thin with his hair over his eyes and a laugh strangling in his throat; close to it now, and he knew it.

He managed one good hit, ramming his elbow back and catching Remus in the face. The muffled curse and warm patter of blood on his bare back made him laugh again, twisting away from Remus's loosened grip and almost off the table, almost away. His scrabbling hands almost caught the back of one of the chairs before it skittered back on two legs, clattering loudly to the floor.

A blurred word hissed out behind him, and his wrists suddenly fastened themselves to the table, his fingers clenching uselessly.

"You cheating bastard!" Sirius gasped, struggling furiously. His wrists refused to move, the table rocking dangerously beneath them.

Remus didn't respond with words, only yanked Sirius's trousers down to his thighs, a booted foot between his own bare feet kicking them apart. There was a slick touch on his arse, a single finger sliding into him, testing. He wondered if Remus thought he was a virgin to this or if it had just been a terribly long time. It had been, so terribly long. He felt like he was a virgin to any touch at all, skin raw with sensations it hadn't felt in a decade. Longer.

He squirmed desperately, flexing around the finger twisting into him and Remus's free hand slipped between his legs, squeezing his bollocks in an entirely wonderful way that was perverse mixture of warning and pleasure. Wetness between his shoulder blades, the flat of a tongue licking at his skin, surely tasting sweat and blood, and Remus was breathing like he might die right there, hot blurts of breath nearly a whine.

The finger was gone in an instant and he only had a moment to feel Remus's cock snugging in between his arse cheeks before he shoved in, brutally, the barest amount of slickness smoothing the way.

"Fucking, ow, bastard!" Sirius snarled, clawing at the air with hands that refused to move.

"I'll have you know," Panted in his ear, "That my parents were quite happily married when they had me."

The second thrust lifted him onto his toes; he always forgot somehow that Remus was taller than him, hard hands on his hips yanking him back down and into the next thrust. It forced something like a scream from his throat, unyielding pressure inside him, burning him with sensation that was almost too good to take.

A hand tangled again in his hair, jerking his head back and there were teeth at his throat, hard and symbolic and he laughed again, gaspy and wet and leaned into them, mark me, yes, bite me. The hard kiss of Remus's cock inside him, again, again, nails biting crescent-shaped bruises into his hips, and Sirius was shaking with it, needing it so much more. The burn shifting inside him to something so much deeper, hotter, the ragged edge of his sanity screaming for more, please. Yes.

"You have no idea what this is like for me," Mouth slipping wetly from his throat and moving to a slick tongue against his ear, "I watched you die you pathetic," Brutally hard thrust and the garbled sound that escaped Sirius's throat could be only be called a wail, "Stupid, selfish bastard!"

"Ah!" Nothing short of a scream, the table jumping and shuddering beneath them as Sirius came, hot sparks of white strobing behind his eyes and he could dimly taste the sweat sheeting down his face, heard Remus groan behind him and thrust in hard, again. Again.

Better than reading a fucking book.

 

---

It seemed to take a terribly long time for Remus to gather himself, shuffling movements and the sounds of clothing being straightened before he murmured the spell that let Sirius move his hands.

He rubbed his wrists a little and didn't bother moving, all his limbs deciding that they much preferred remaining sprawled across the table for the time being, on the premise that if he tried to move, they would deposit him on the floor. And the floor was cold.

It was too quiet for too long, which meant Remus was thinking. Probably wasn't a good thing but since his own brain had been long since scrambled, Sirius couldn't come up with a way to stop him.

"Sirius," Remus started, clearing his throat a little, "You really need to stop breaking things. I do understand that you're going barmy but I simply can't afford to keep replacing them."

That wasn't quite the conversation he'd expected to have while he was still sprawled across the table with his pants down. Was all right, he decided, he didn't mind improvising. He rolled just enough that he could see Remus, still flushed, his clothes done up properly but robbed of all primness as anyone with eyes could see they were clinging to him in all the wrong places, sweat-dampened patches standing out in relief along with flecks of blood. His nose was still faintly swollen.

"And what will you do to me if I don't?" Sirius said again, this time letting in a little of the bitterness he was drowning in.

A flash of anger in Remus's eyes and he snapped, "Perhaps I'll tell Dumbledore that you're too much for me to handle and that he'll have to lock you in the dungeon after all!"

Sirius didn't move. Wetness was starting to drip down his thighs in chilly streaks that were nothing like the sudden chill that went through his gut.

Remus swore softly and pushed a hand through his mussed hair. "Sirius, I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did," Sirius said calmly. He winced as he managed to get to his feet, pulling up his trousers. "You always did know the best way to bluff someone, Moony. Don't bluff at all."

He heard Remus sit down at the table as he walked out, probably to have a stupid little crisis of conscious. That was fine, just fine; he could do it on his own. The hot water should have recovered from his morning shower by now.

He didn't bother closing the bathroom door, just stripped away his torn clothes and stepped under the hot spray, letting it wash everything away in a swirl of soap down the drain.

 

---

 

The rest of the day was typical, books and tea in the sitting room, Remus's eyes fastened firmly to whatever book he'd thought appropriate after a mid-morning shag over the kitchen table.

Not that he was quite ignoring Sirius, oh, no. When Sirius had finally wandered in after his shower, dressed from ankle to neck and still in bare feet, he'd flung himself down on the sofa across from Remus's chair, rather forgetting that there had been a serious lack in the lubrication department not an hour before. His startled yelp of pain hadn't made Remus look away from his textual hiding place but his lips had thinned to a white line, his cheeks faintly red.

He also didn't volunteer any healing spells, not so much as a tube of ointment but that was all right. Remus did have at least one spare pair of shoes left and Sirius had already decided he was sacrificing them to the Gods of Poor After-Shagging Manners.

Sirius woke the next morning to voices, muffled through the walls with only the tone of urgency making a path through. Since this was sort of his home too, as he was living here, and no one had seen fit to lock him into his room, he decided to join the debate. He slipped from his bed and wandered into the sitting room to find Dumbledore sitting there with Remus, the battered tea service on the table set for three.

He hovered in the doorway, every muscle within him clenched with fear, remembering what Remus told him the day before. He wouldn't, he wouldn't, please, he really couldn't do it, couldn't.

Dumbledore only offered him a cheery smile, the gravity of their last meeting like a clouded memory. "Hello, Sirius, you're looking well today."

In comparison to what, Sirius couldn't say. His hair was hanging uncombed and his robe falling open over his pyjamas, exposing his unbuttoned shirt. Easier not to reply to that, sitting gingerly in the only spare seat left. Remus pushed a teacup in his direction, steam pouring off it. Sirius didn't touch it.

"I suppose you've got some news then," Sirius said abruptly, his voice still raspy with sleep. He supposed it was rude of him but niceties seemed useless here with his arse still aching and shelves of books pushing in behind him to absorb every word.

"It is possible that I merely stopped by to visit with old friends," Dumbledore said.

His voice wasn't even mildly chiding yet Sirius flushed anyway, roughly picking up his cup and sloshing scalding tea over his fingers. He sucked his burning fingers clean, abruptly aware that Remus and Dumbledore were both dressed and tidily groomed, and for the first time in it seemed ages, he felt the urge to be a dog, nestled safely in a form where eating out of a dish was the best manners that could be expected. If he hadn't been more than a little afraid the others would seriously misconstrue the action, he might have done it.

Then Dumbledore lifted his cup to sip at it and all thought of manners winged out of his head. Sirius stared at the blackened flesh in horror. "Good god, what happened to your arm?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," Dumbledore said mildly, a gentle smile easing it further.

"Right, right," Sirius mumbled, tossing back the rest of his tea. It was still too hot, the burn made his eyes water but Remus didn't say a word, only refilled the cup. There was only silence and the faint clink of china against saucers, Dumbledore visibly enjoying his tea without a hint of awkwardness. That was the way of the man, though, Sirius thought, with a hint of something like fondness. Unfazed and unruffled by even the strangest of circumstances.

Whatever manners still remained in him allowed Sirius to wait until the second cup of tea had gone the way of the first before he finally spoke again. "Look I know you lot can't tell me what's going on with the war, I do understand that," He ignored the faint snort from Remus. "But I was sort of wondering, whatever happened to Kreacher? He had just as much information about the Order as I did, and--"

He broke off at Dumbledore's faintly apologetic expression, "I'm sorry--"

"No, no, that's fine." He frowned a little, snagging a lemon biscuit from the plate and prying the pieces apart so he could eat the cream-filling first. He slanted a glance at Remus as he licked it away, which was summarily ignored. "Only, I'm not sure what we can talk about then."

Dumbledore smiled. "I suppose that in lieu of an awkward silence, I could offer you the present that I brought."

It was a paper sack with a small stack of the latest Quidditch magazines. The Wasps were on the cover of the topmost one, wizards that he didn't recognize waving their broomsticks and arms energetically.

"Thank you," he said, and meant it, his fingers already itching to page through something that wasn't older than his grandfather.

"You're quite welcome," Dumbledore said, getting to his feet. "I do wish I could stay longer, but I'm afraid a great many things have my attention at the moment,"

"Thank you for stopping in," Remus said quietly, the first words he'd spoken since Sirius had stepped into the room.

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes serious. "At your discretion, Remus," he said briskly, no hint of gentleness to those words. He gave Sirius a nod before he stepped into the fireplace, vanishing up the chimney in a whirl of robes.

Sirius spent the day with sprawled on the floor with slick magazine pages, shining golden pictures of sunlight and snitches and young, eager faces of players he'd never heard about. Savoured each page like it was a pensieve that he could step into and live himself. He went through every one greedily like a child rifling through his presents on Christmas day until each one had been read, again and again, and only then did he finally looked at Remus, watching him with a quilt on his lap and cold tea at his side.

Bone-deep exhaustion lined his face, older than Remus had any right to be and Sirius was not a patient man, certainly not here with anxiety an ever-present itch under his skin and shadow-memories haunting his sleep.

"You going to talk to me at all today, or should I just call myself a bad dog and go stand in the corner?" Sirius rolled over to ask it of the ceiling, staring at the lamp until dark orbs glowed in his vision.

There was a soft creak, Remus shifting in his chair before he spoke. "They aren't looking for a counterspell, Sirius."

His voice was barely audible. Sirius raised his head to look at him, disbelieving, betrayed, they couldn't just leave him here to rot away with the wallpaper. Remus didn't look at him, his eyes focused resolutely on the braided rug at the hearth.

"Why?" Sirius whispered. He wanted to shout it, scream it, he'd done his penance, every sin he'd ever committed had been paid for in spades, payment taken with the rotting hands and breath of dementors.

Remus flinched as if he had shouted, blinking rapidly and staring at the rug as if reading his words from it. "Because they don't believe there is one."

"But--but that's ridiculous!" Sirius sputtered, "There has to be a counterspell." Horror was swelling in the pit of his stomach, a blackened ball of pain. The magazine in his hands tore in half, muffled complaints from the 'special interview section!' unheeded. "They--they think I've joined him, is that it? They think I wanted to--"

"No, they don't." Again, barely able to be heard. Remus was so pale as to be sickly and for the first time since he'd arrived here, Sirius noticed Remus's wand, tucked loosely into his sleeve. "I know it feels like you've been forgotten here but I assure you that isn't true. We've considered every hex and jinx in existence, looked at every possibility and everything has pointed at the same conclusion."

"And that is?"

Remus still wouldn't look at him, the pages of the book in his lap fanned out, wavering under the soft brush of air from his breath. "All of it leads to you being a shade."

It shouldn't be possible to hear words like that and remain upright, Sirius thought dimly, crumpled shreds of glossy paper falling from his clenched fingers into his lap like so much confetti, a mockery of celebration.

"That's not possible," Sirius whispered. "That--that isn't--"

He stared at his own hands, long, too-thin fingers roped with thin scars. Watched them tremble. His hands, not a shade's, it couldn't be.

"Sirius died," Remus continued flatly. "I watched him die."

"Yes, yes, I died," he babbled, scrambling to his feet, only there was nowhere to go, just standing there with his hands hanging uselessly. "And it takes a fragment of a soul to make a shade, how the bloody hell could Voldemort get a hold of that, eh? You don't fucking well leave one of those in your pocket at the laundry!"

"We don't know."

"See there, you don't even know! I can't be a shade!" His hoarse whisper was a shadow of the screams clawing at his throat. "I'm real, Remus, I'm right here."

"Yes, you are. We don't know for certain--"

"But you think it." Remus kept his eyes on the floor and didn't answer. "You really believe it." Weakly. "If I'm a shade then...I'm not real. Not really Sirius."

"Yes." Softly, brutal honesty.

"And you think Voldemort...you think he..." Sirius swallowed hard and managed to say, gruffly. "You think he summoned...me."

"Summoning a shade is nasty business and difficult, the histories on it tell us that," Remus tipped his head back, resting it on the back of the chair. "I doubt there's another wizard who could do it, aside from Dumbledore and he--"

"He would never do something as evil as that," Sirius agreed numbly. He started laughing, shrill to his own ears. "Then why am I even here? Why didn't you just kill me when I asked you to? My god, I'm...I'm..."

"A dark creature?" Remus said harshly. Sirius flinched as Remus met his eyes, not wanting to see what would be in them. Not wanting to see his own eyes reflected in them.

"I'm a lie!" he choked out, gasping with bitter laughter. "I'm a defilement of nature!" He thought he tasted blood, his throat raw with hilarity that scraped its way out of him and exploded into the air, as much a travesty of humour as he was of living. "I'm standing here, raping every memory of...of Sirius that you ever had and all you can call me is a dark creature?"

Hands grabbed him by the shirt and shook him roughly, Remus's face pressed close to his own. "It's still speculation, Sirius, that's all!"

"No," he yanked away, staggering and falling to the floor. "Don't call me that. I'm not Sirius, I'm a plaything of Vold-"

"Stop it!" Remus shouted, raising his voice for the first time. "We don't know, even Dumbledore doesn't know. Doesn't the fact that you're still here tell you something?" Remus pleaded.

"It tells me that sentiment is keeping me breathing when I should be feeding maggots by now," Raggedly. "Just kill me, Remus. I'm unnatural and foul, just the thought of what I might be-- " It was too hideous to bear, not human, not living, just a thing that breathed, an Inferius with stolen memories.

"You listen to me," Remus's face was white and pinched with anger. He fell to his knees next to Sirius and held him up by his shoulders, shaking him so that his head wobbled painfully on his neck. "They didn't want me to tell you, but I thought you deserved the truth. We think, we wonder, we speculate. It's nothing but bollocks, Sirius, we don't have any certainty just yet."

"And when you have it?" Sirius asked softly, tipping his head to the side. The laughter was still there, dancing inside him, tearing at the fraying edges of his sanity. "What will you do then, Remus? Hide me away from them? Keep me hidden in broom cupboards or beneath your bed so you can take me out and fuck me whenever you feel the urge."

The first slap hurt, jerking his head to the side. The second was worse, Remus's mouth on his and he tasted his own blood in Remus's mouth, let him push him back on the hard floor, barely warmed by the fire. When Remus stripped him, slowly, with hands that trembled, Sirius moved in whatever way helped him, languid as if through water. Spreading his legs and arching into every touch of tongue and teeth, biting his lip to catch any sound as Remus licked him everywhere he could reach. Too-hot mouth around his cock, sucking him in until all he could do was close his eyes, sifting his fingers through greying hair as he came.

He was still panting when Remus slipped over him, swollen lips against his own and the taste of himself against his tongue. His lashes were still quivering against his cheeks, and Sirius would have let him do anything, anything just then so long as he didn't leave. At the first thrust inside him, his soft cry was caught in Remus's mouth, breathing into his friend like something real.

 

---

 

It was something different to sleep in Remus's bed with him still in it, lying next to Sirius and stroking an idle hand down his bare back. Sirius buried his face in the pillow, muffling the contentment of his sigh. It was no surprise to him that his inner animal was one that loved being petted.

Though it was a wonder that every person Remus had ever slept with hadn't know from the moment his clothes came off that he was a werewolf. Scars and boggarts were nothing of a clue in comparison to the ungodly heat he put off; it was rather like cuddling with a boiling cauldron, only without the nasty burns and Remus smelled a good deal better than most potions.

Hm. Even if he wasn't a shade, there was still a good chance of insanity.

Long fingertips traced patterns over his skin, tenderly circling every bump of his spine. Sirius didn't bother to hide his sigh this time, only arched a little into the gentle touch before asking sleepily, "So how long have you wanted to sleep with me?"

"Oh, I don't know." Remus sounded far too awake for this conversation. "From the first moment I saw you, I suppose."

With great effort, Sirius managed to open the eye that wasn't currently buried in the mattress. The fire was nothing more than glowing coals and Remus was mostly obscured in the darkness, his head resting on the headboard and his hand...Sirius groaned and tipped his head up so that those fingertips could continue down the line of his throat. It took him a moment to remember to speak. "Remus, you were eleven."

"I didn't want to sleep with you then," he agreed. "But I wanted you, just some part of you. You were so..." He pulled his hands away and raised them in a helpless gesture, open as if to grasp some invisible, tangible thing. "I just wanted that."

Sirius made a sound that could indicate agreement or could be a protest at the lack of touch. Either way, Remus complied, shifting to use both hands now, sweeping them lightly over his back. "Why didn't you say something before?"

"Don't suppose I noticed it. I was quite happy being friends with you, you know." He yawned, his voice softer, "I don't think I ever really considered it. Not until you died. By then, it didn't matter. You were gone, wasn't much point in dwelling on it."

"I'm here now," Sirius told him, wondered vaguely if it was true. If belief and doubt could be cousins, then both were shacking up these days in an incestuous little romp in his brain.

"Yes, you are here." His fingertips drifted lower, dipping ticklishly into the hollow at the base of his spine.

"I was gone before, after...after James and Lily."

"Yes. But I hated you too much then to even consider loving you."

Hm, that was something new. "So now you love me."

"Yes," Another yawn. "Never got into the habit of casual sex." Just like that, like he admitted to loving people every other day and twice on Sundays. And people thought he was barmy.

"You love me," Sirius repeated, tasting the word, considering it. He rolled over, Remus's hands following the path of his body as it moved and ended up resting on his stomach. "But are you telling me this now because you don't want to miss another chance? Or because you don't think I'm real?"

Remus didn't answer, only leaned down to kiss him softly. Pushed Sirius onto his back even as Remus moved to kneel between his legs, and he was still slick inside from before, Remus easing in, so slowly that they both sighed, mouths barely touching and breath mingling.

Yeah. Sirius didn't care which it was, either.

 

---

Breakfast was waffles, hot and crisp with surprisingly fresh strawberries layered over them. Remus tucked into his with the enthusiasm expected from someone who'd been shagging for most of the night. On his part, Sirius was a little more subdued, stirring the strawberries into the cream until it was a pinkish smear across the blocky surface.

At least he could sit in his chair; he'd woken during the healing spells easing most of the ache away, just before Remus had started in again, taking advantage of early morning wood. He was still a tad sore and a little grumpy about it. Over a decade of abstinence didn't make a fellow very resilient and Remus certainly hadn't offered to play keeper to his beater.

And he had wanted an awful lot of sex, even considering it had probably been some time since he'd had any. Not that Sirius had been the gigolo of Azkaban or anything but they hadn't even been...what? Fuckbuddies, his mind supplied but that seemed a little crude, what with Remus confessing to loving him and all.

Lovers, he decided grudgingly. Not even lovers for twenty-four hours and Remus was trying to break the land record on his arse. Maybe it was another werewolf thing. He couldn't remember it from Defence against the Dark Arts but then, he couldn't remember a great deal these days. He did rather like the shagging better than the whole rip and tear human flesh aspect, even if it did make him grumpy in the morning.

Though it was difficult to sulk when a person had fresh waffles.

All the food had been surprisingly good, truth be told. He couldn't imagine most meals-on-brooms programmes would offer more than tinned fruit cocktail with their frozen waffles. And it wasn't like Remus was giving him a snog every morning before heading off to the office.

"Remus, are you on a dole?" Sirius asked, stealing a strawberry from his plate while Remus was distracted by the newspaper Sirius wasn't allowed to read. One of these days, he would have to find out who'd charmed the papers so to him they all read like those rubbishy sex novels that women liked and thank them. It was a fair change from Shakespeare.

He earned a hand slap when he tried for another berry, Remus appearing from behind the paper long enough to say, "No, I'm not."

Instead of vanishing again, he made a little noise of disgust and reached across the wipe a streak of cream from Sirius's hair where it had trailed into his plate, fingertips brushing Sirius's cheek as he tucked the hair behind his ears like a child, where it wouldn't fall again.

It made him grumpier than ever, slouching down over his waffles. "I don't expect you to chat me up at breakfast but you could pretend I'm slightly more interesting than...the Daily Prophet?" He didn't know, actually, to him the title was The Cowboy and the Vixen.

"I'm not on a dole," Remus repeated, giving him a look. "I suppose I might have been, but for you. It was insisted that I use your funds to support you, for which I am grateful because I doubt I could have afforded to feed you. And keep your hands on your own plate, you! The rest of us could use a decent meal, too."

His funds? But he thought Ha...his godson had inherited all his-- "Does he know I'm here, then?" Sirius asked, more than a little surprised. He'd have thought that was the last person they'd give his whereabouts.

"Of course he...he doesn't know you're here but he knows you're with me. He saw you on the lake, we couldn't exactly tell him you'd vanished into the ether...I shouldn't be telling you this," Remus said abruptly, his good humour shuttering itself behind distant eyes.

"Probably not," Sirius agreed softly. He took another bite of his waffle. It still tasted as wonderful but some of his hunger had slipped away.

Remus didn't look at him, pushed his chair back and tossed the paper in the rubbish bin. He'd have to rescue it later if he wanted to find out why the cowboy was leaving his woman behind. Bracing one hand on the counter, Remus twitched the curtains away from the small window and stared outside at the world Sirius wasn't allowed to know a thing about.

"He asks about you," Remus murmured, so low Sirius had to strain to hear. "Often."

It was terribly difficult to think about his godson without...thinking about him, difficult to feel a pained rush of affection and fear. He didn't want to set off anything that would get him hexed at this hour of the day but it didn't stop him from closing his eyes in relief, that his godson didn't hate him after what had happened. In this small moment, Sirius didn't care about shades or Voldemort or any other damned thing in the world except that his godson still cared about him.

"And you tell him?" Sirius asked hoarsely. It was easier with his eyes closed, not seeing Remus's hunched shoulders and white knuckled hands.

"That you're about two steps shy of a tango." Remus said promptly. It startled Sirius into looking at him, leaning against the counter now with his arms crossed over his chest. "What do you think I tell him? You're doing all right, we've got plenty of wards and protective spells on us. I'd tell him anything he wants to know except where you are. "

"Going to mention we're shagging, are you?"

One side of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "Only if he asks"

"Tart."

"Me?" Remus raised an eyebrow at him. "Was I the one on his knees, arse in the air while he was begging for more, please, please, please?" He raised his voice in a fair imitation of the night before, Sirius admitted grudgingly.

"Slut," he muttered, pathetic as a comeback and Remus's smirk said he knew it. He turned his attention back to his waffles as though they were worthy of every speck of interest he had to offer and wondered again why the cowboy had to leave when he'd spent all of page six shagging the poor girl.

It was the most normal morning he'd had since he'd been dragged off to Azkaban, still screaming laughter because it had been Peter who tricked them all and wasn't that bloody fucking hilarious? The best prank in the universe by that pudgy little piece of filth and he'd laughed about it for days, years, bitter humour that was no meal for a dementor. Even now he could feel it, just under the surface, waiting to explode out with a hot burst of insanity but years on the outside had trained him how to will it away. Tucked underneath whatever tatters of sense he had left to stare out of him with yellowed eyes, waiting for its moment to escape, to rend and tear.

His closest friend, his only friend, sat back down to his own plate and they ate in companionable silence, and no one looking in that dingy kitchen would have thought that either of them carried a monster inside.

 

---

 

In the days that passed, there was a familiar sense of time slipping away, like it had been in Azkaban. Days melting into each other like ice cream drippings in a sleepy sort of trance, time disappearing in between naps and mouldering book pages and steaming plates of food left by invisible hands.

Only when Remus was there did he feel alive. As alive as he could be, anyway, when it was highly possible that he was anything but. It was difficult to think of it that way. He felt alive, felt human, could feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat beneath his hands at night when he woke from screaming dreams and needed to check, needed to feel some assurance of life, even one that might be false. It was easier to forget that he might be something made from diseased hands when Remus was with him in the dark, whispering things that would make even saner men blush stupidly and bury their faces in the pillows to hide their heated cheeks.

Falling into sex-induced forgetfulness was perfectly easy and Remus seemed to have no objections. Somewhere along the line, Sirius had handed Remus the reins to his sanity and trusted him to lead, and he'd done it with deft touches and a slick, hot mouth. If he'd wanted Sirius from the first moment he'd seen him, then he seemed determined now to make up for lost time. Or perhaps he simply wanted to glut himself on it, to take as much as he could before the morning he woke up with Sirius's hands wrapped around his throat.

Lovely thought, that one, Sirius decided sourly, flipping idly through one of the well-thumbed magazines Dumbledore had brought him. He could recite all of them word for word by now but that didn't matter so much as he was barely looking at it, still fuck-stupid with his head resting in Remus's naked lap while the other man stroked his hair.

It was these moments that made forgetting difficult, introspection between orgasms was not a friend of his. He flipped another page that he didn't really look at before pushing the lot off the bed with a sigh. "Not even sure why Dumbledore wanted to talk to me, brought me these. What with the whole 'might be evil' bit."

If there was one good thing about Remus, it was he never shied away from a topic of conversation, so long as it wasn't about the war. If Sirius wanted to speculate on his status as the walking undead or, once, whether Dumbledore had ever had his beard fall in the toilet when he leaned too far forward, Remus was there with calm deliberation, pointing out that Dumbledore was probably quite used to the beard by now and if not, he was an adept enough wizard that he probably knew several dozen good cleaning spells.

At this moment, he brushed his thumb tenderly under Sirius's chin, long, dark hair slipping between his fingers. "Why shouldn't he?" Remus murmured, "If it's not true, then he was doing it for a friend. If it is...you still have his memories, his feelings. It's hardly your fault if you're a shade."

Sirius sighed a little, tipping his head back into Remus's hand. Obediently, he slipped his fingers through the long hair again, fingertips rubbing gently against his scalp. "You're quite upfront about all this, you know."

"I suppose I am." His hand never stilled and Sirius luxuriated in the unaccustomed pleasure of it, half-hard and not nearly motivated enough to do anything about it. Softly, almost a confession, "Sometimes I hate you as much as I love you, for always leaving me the way you do."

"I never meant to," Sirius told him, sleepily.

"No. But you were still gone. And you'll leave again."

"Your positive attitude overwhelms me."

He could hear the tired smile in Remus's voice. "I can't help it. I think--" he hesitated. It was like he was forcing the words out, spitting them in poisoned bursts. "If I let myself believe, just a little, that I could really have this...I don't think I can handle it when it slipped away from me. Again."

Sirius didn't say anything, understood what Remus was saying entirely too well. In a moment like this the world was stable and good, and he could relax, let things seem almost normal and remember sitting in Gryffindor common room with his friends, holding his godson when he was born, flying through the velvety night sky on his motorcycle, the only memories of happiness left to him.

And then it would tilt and he would remember, the ground cracking beneath him and he knew there was a chance if he thought about it too much, let it shattered away and litter sharp-edged pieces of reason around him, that he would climb inside that shoe-lined closet and never come out again.

"I think I'm going insane," he told Remus suddenly, because it was one of those important things a person should share with the one buggering him. Fingertips on his cheek, scraping softly against the stubble that Sirius hadn't bothered to shave away today.

"I think you've been insane," Remus said, soft agreement in his voice. His touch never changed. "I don't mind very much."

"Kind of you."

It was all right if Remus knew, he decided, probably had know for a long time and still wanted to sleep with him, so that was fine. And sometimes Remus would tell him he loved him. Not often and always in bed, but he did say it.

He wondered what he would have done if Remus had told him back then. B.A., Before Azkaban. He didn't know; he'd been a bit of an arsehole back in the old days. Could be that he still was.

"Remus, am I an arsehole?"

His fingers went still. Sirius shifted in his lap so he could look up at him. Remus was looking at him quite strangely. Probably thought it was part of the whole insanity thing.

"Am I?" Sirius persisted.

"In comparison to whom?" Remus asked warily.

"Oh, never mind." He snuggled back into his lap. After a moment, Remus resumed stroking

In a few minutes, he wouldn't be able to resist it anymore, would turn his head until he could feel the damp heat of Remus's cock against his cheek. Warm salt against his tongue and long fingers sifting through his hair, urging him wordlessly on and it wasn't difficult at all to part his lips and take him inside, sucking and licking until his mouth was spit-wet and swollen.

Tomorrow, Remus would leave again and time would melt like clocks and he'd eat and nap and wait.

Again.

 

---

Then there were some days that he didn't read at all. Today he'd spent hours staring at the cracks in the ceiling like a child would stare at clouds. Finding ragged edges of fraying drywall that looked like flowers or lions or his great Uncle Harold.

A water stain in the far corner of the room added to the game. If he lay on his back and tipped his head so that it was upside down, it looked quite a bit like a griffin eating a lolly. Or a teddy bear giving a blow job. Come to think of it, it could be a teddy bear giving a blowjob to a grif--

The crash at the fireplace behind him startled him into falling off the sofa, nearly knocking himself cold on the coffee table. Warily, he crawled around the sofa on his knees, peering around the edge to see Remus on the floor, dousing the fire with a clumsy wave of his wand as he staggered away from it and fell.

"Remus!" Sirius moved without thinking, already trying to help the man to his knees.

"Don't!" He almost fell as Remus pushed at him violently, lurching backwards in an awkward crab crawl until he hit the wall and finally lifted his head enough that Sirius could look him full in the face.

"Fuck!" Sirius whispered. Both of his eyes were blackened and swollen, thin rusty trails of drying blood at each nostril. His already well-worn clothes were spattered with blood, torn open to show stark welts beneath that were already scabbing over.

"No, I'm all right," Remus mumbled, holding up one shaking hand to keep Sirius back. "Just a little tattered at the edges, eh?" He laughed a little, choked on it with a cough and Sirius stood with his hands empty and helpless. Stupid, stupid, Sirius fucking Black, the useless ornament of the Order, maybe not even him at all and all he could do was stand like the worthless lump he was while Remus painfully cast a few healing charms on himself, his breathing easing after the third one.

"Bloody hell, Moony, where have they been sending you?" Sirius asked, swallowing back other words that wanted very much to be spoken, like fucking bastards can't even heal you before sending you back to me and a few other things that began with the word fuck. Wanted to swear the air blue if he couldn't whisper spells of his own.

"Doesn't matter," Faintly slurred, his pupils swallowing his eyes. Remus wet his lips, licking away the faint smears of crimson. "Come here?"

Sirius didn't even consider saying no, crouching down next to him and he yelped in surprise when Remus tackled him, pinning him down on the rug in front of the cold hearth.

One of these days when Moony held him down and had at it, he was going to find Sirius's arse gone and a set of canine teeth at his bollocks. But not this time, not with his already bitten and bloody fingers pulling at him pleadingly, fumbling at his belt so long that Sirius finally pushed them away and undid it himself, kicking his pants off and tilting his hips up when Remus crawled artlessly between his legs, almost falling on top of him.

A mumbled spell that he felt go through him, slick and hot, and trust Remus to know a dirty little charm like that, perverted soul that he was showing himself to be. He didn't say anything, couldn't, not with Remus's bruised face over him and his mouth wet, cock already nudging its way inside. Sirius arched up into it, hissing at the abrupt entrance. Mouth against his mouth, too-hot and coppery-warm, Remus's breath was a low whine at the back of his throat and Sirius thought he could taste the need in him in the slippery curl of his tongue.

Surprisingly gentle for all that, more tender than Sirius could really take. He didn't know where Remus had been or what he'd been doing, but he could fairly well fucking guess who'd been involved, the same you-know-bloody-who that was responsible for him being here in this flat getting faint friction burns on his back. It should hurt, he thought, it should hurt for Remus to want him like this. For him to need whatever pathetic comfort Sirius could offer.

"Should hate me, you rotten fucking bastard," Sirius gasped, kept his eyes open, focused on the ceiling and the stain that wasn't a griffin. "Should...ah!...should hate me, oh, fucking god, that's...you should..."

"I can't," Breathed against him, into him. Remus fucked him slowly, slid bloody fingers over him that left crimson trails on his skin but it was cleaner than he felt inside.

Bruised and battered, the both of them, Remus's swollen eyes closed above him, his face tight and pained and, God, lovely. He'd never imagined any of this, never had a daydream and midmorning wank with this face in mind, and that was fine, he didn't giving a damn about any of that, echoes of this were better than anything he could have dreamed anyway.

Sirius clung to him, wrapped the cobwebs of sanity around him and begged him for more.

 

---

A shower could only help Remus's appearance so much but at least he was clean, plasters taped neatly around his wounded fingers and over the various other scratches no longer hidden with ragged clothes. He'd let Sirius help, sitting quietly on the bed while each cut was gently cleaned and bandaged. They were bites, Sirius noted with narrowed eyes, peeling the paper from the Medi-Witch Inc. bandages and carefully ringing his fingers with them.

There wasn't a thing he could do about Remus's black eyes without a wand. He did bite the end of his nose though, just to hear him yelp in pain and pay him back with a smack on the back of the head.

And it was entirely Remus to insist on getting dressed afterwards. The bastard was even wearing shoes.

Insanity wasn't contagious, was it?

"You are aware that today is your birthday?" Remus asked lightly, interrupting his speculations on whether daftness could be transferred with a handshake or if it was more of a sexually transmitted sort of thing.

It made Sirius blink, frowning as he tried to remember if Remus was right. "Is it? I'm not sure if it counts, I was gone for most of the last year."

Remus gave him a faint smile, wincing a little as it pulled on his cut lip. "You don't get to shave off time that easily."

"That's friendly," he snorted. "You'd think I'd get some sort of bonus on it, aside from this lovely rent-controlled holiday home."

"I don't have much in the way of a gift for you," Remus said, "But I can do this one thing. Come on."

Sirius followed him warily out to the sitting room, taking the time to wrap a towel around his waist because even he wasn't nutters enough to get dressed when the possibilities of more sex were right in front of a person. At Remus's gesture, he settled himself on the window ledge and Sirius watched mutely as Remus flicked the curtains back and raised the pane.

The sun was only just setting, crimson and gold spilling over the horizon. It was cold outside, colder than he'd expected and his breath clouded around him, smoky air and the smells of London like an embrace from an old friend, like that day in the shrieking shack when he'd been in someone's, Remus's, arms for the first time in twelve years.

Sirius leaned out as far as he could without even a warning hand on his shoulder, sunlight falling on his face and he laughed, breathing in the bitingly cold air. He watched the sun sink away and bury itself behind the neighbouring buildings, leaving him in shadow and only then did he slowly slip back inside.

The click of the window lock made him wince and he wished suddenly that he'd waited, taken a moment to feel the crisp night air while he'd had the chance.

His face felt damp, far too cold to be sweat and he realized with some embarrassment he was crying. He swiped at his cheeks roughly with the back of his hand, muttering hoarsely. "Moody would have your arse made into a rug."

"Dumbledore is slightly more understanding. I'm sure I'll only get the 'terribly disappointed' speech."

"Yeah," His chuckle sounded suspiciously watery and Sirius took a moment to breathe, willing it back to normal. "That was..." He meant to make a joke, let it die on his tongue. "Thank you," he said finally, softly.

"Please, don't thank me for that," Remus told him roughly. "Just...don't." He took a deep breath and seemed to collect himself. "Well, shall we see what they left us for dinner?" he said with shaky brightness. "I know for a fact that dessert--"

He broke off as Sirius came up behind him and pressed against him. "If you're worried about poor gifts," Sirius whispered, letting his lips brush the delicate edge of Remus's ear until the man shivered against him. "I can think of another one you could give."

His hands moved from their resting place on Remus's hips to his arse, squeezing suggestively.

Remus cleared his throat and stepped away, his eyes low. "I can't."

"You can't," Sirius repeated flatly.

"No, I--" Remus tore his hand nervously through his hair, damp tufts standing in awkward angles. "It's not about wanting, I could...it's just that I'd never be able to get the scent off of me. They'd know."

"They?" Sirius repeated slowly, dawning awareness rising in him along with his voice, "They?" He looked at Remus through narrowed eyes as the man muttered a particularly foul curse under his breath. "Who the bloody hell is 'they'? Tell me that Dumbledore doesn't have you--"

"In any case," Remus interrupted him loudly. "I do have one more gift for you. From," he smiled crookedly. "Well, I'm sure you can guess who it's from." His robe was still crumpled into the corner where they'd tossed it earlier and Remus picked it up, pulling something from the inner pocket. It was a small box wrapped clumsily with bright paper and ribbons.

He offered it to Sirius, who didn't even look at it, glaring at Remus. Tired apology was in his dark eyes, pleading with him to let it go. Yeah, let it go. As the saying went whenever anyone spoke to Sirius, I can't tell you.

With a sigh, he took the package, peeling the paper back to reveal a box. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, one side blared, the other proclaiming it to be a daydream charm, guaranteed!

Remus smiled at his questioning look. "They were afraid you might be bored and thought you might like some entertainment. I gather that it was Ron who convinced them not to get you a book."

"I always did like that boy," Sirius murmured.

"There are three charges on that one, and you shouldn't have a problem using it through the wards."

He was admittedly impressed. "Tell them I said thanks, would you?"

Later, when he had Remus sprawled across the bed on his belly while Sirius knelt behind him, licking at the base of his spine and then lower, he listened to the increasingly desperate sounds that Remus was making with a certain resentful satisfaction.

"Don't--don't--" Remus's voice faltered and he was sweat-damp and shuddering, pushing back against Sirius's tongue.

"They can't smell this on you," Sirius lifted his head enough to say. "You should know that."

He worked a hand beneath Remus, wrapped it around his cock while he flicked his tongue against the puckered opening, laving at it until Remus whimpered and clawed at the sheets. Couldn't fuck him, maybe, but Sirius knew exactly what this little slippery touch felt like, used his tongue like he couldn't use his cock until Remus came over his hand in a rush of glossy wet heat.

Two days later Remus left, still faintly bruised at the eyes and that afternoon Sirius used the firs