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The war looms up suddenly, like a rising cliff, and throws them off its edge, pitching them end over end, plummeting them endlessly into what feels like an abyss but which Remus, at least, is certain will ultimately turn out to just be a fall of uncertain duration onto a sharp, hard, likely fatal floor.
Sirius is doing his best to not contemplate any future beyond the next week’s – until he wakes up in the middle of the night. Feeling like a responsible adult, he’s tried to stop having anything to drink for two hours before bed to encourage his body to sleep the whole night through, but five nights out of seven it seems like James talks him into a pint at their local.
There’s also the fact that he has very recently started sharing his bed with Remus, who runs about two degrees warmer than your average non-lycanthropic human. (Sirius can’t and won’t ever refer to Remus as anything but human, no matter what the pamphlets they receive from the Ministry say.) When he wakes up in the middle of the night, half of his body sweating and the other half freezing because Remus has rolled over and taken the duvet with him, his mind immediately fixates on what is going to happen to them. Always, he longs to reach out to Remus but doesn’t want to scare him and so he lies there until dawn going over and over and over it, the frantic movement in his mind in strong contrast to his body’s frozen position.
The self-styled Marauders joined up with the movement that Dumbledore started to fight Voldemort almost before they were out of Hogwarts’ protective gates. Their first few months in the Order are more tedious than onerous, and they are lulled into a sense of security that Sirius later realises is so false as to have been laughable. Later, he’ll remember that time with a kind of bewildered nostalgia. He had gone into the Order thinking he would be saving the world – later, he’ll have had to confront so much violence and betrayal that he winds up just clinging on by his fingernails, and sometimes not even that, trying to stay above the surface in this grinding, gruelling war that has been his entire adult life.
The violence starts the autumn after they leave Hogwarts. Throughout Wizarding Britain there have been reports – really just rumours – people gone missing, unexplained explosions, threats and assignations and a kind of creeping, cold fear as the days shorten and the leaves start to curl – but the Order has thus far remained untouched. Remus feels as if they are holding their breath, looking around the vast room of their society to see if anyone has breathed out yet, and the feeling is stifling.
Then, the inevitable arrives.
Remus leaves behind his desk on a cold, rainy night in early September to relieve Sirius, who has been on a stake out with two other Order members after someone reported suspicious activity in one of the large social clubs that line Pall Mall. Remus is relatively new to London – having just moved there after he finished with school – and he still has to use an A to Z to know where he can legally apparate and where the public Floo stations are. He has a long walk in the wet after he Floos, his robe pulled tightly around him to keep out the chill of London’s late summer. He meets up with an Order member he barely knows – an older woman named Celia Roberts, some old friend of Dumbledore’s, wicked with a wand but the rumour is that she hasn’t spoken much since the war against Grindelwald – and together they walk, hunched against the rain, to the massive grey stone building of the Sorcery Society. As they draw nearer, it slides out of the mist in stages, slowly revealing its turrets and balconies.
Remus’s heart has been pounding since he left the flat; now, predictably, it starts pounding even harder.
Frank Longbottom meets them at the corner under a dark streetlamp and says, ‘We’ve got the place under heavy surveillance. Do you want to go relieve the others? Sirius is over there,’ he points around the dark side of the house, which disappears back into fog, ‘and Melissa’s around the other side.’
‘I’ll go relieve Sirius,’ Remus says quickly. ‘Anything to report?’
‘Death Eaters went in about four hours ago, haven’t emerged since – or if they have, we haven’t seen them. That’s about it.’ Frank shrugs and smiles ruefully. ‘Not sure what else there is to say. Fun old night we’re having here. Can’t wait to get to the pub.’
Remus smiles back at him and says, ‘Get on with you then.’ Celia nods to them both and starts in the direction of Melissa. Remus turns away, stomach lurching, and goes around one side of the massive edifice.
Sirius is crouched, beside but not leaning against the building, perfectly still. It is an unmistakably canine stance, demonstrating that he is alert and ready and very much paying attention. Remus thrills to it.
Sirius stands as Remus approaches. He’s tired and wet but can’t stop himself from grinning when he sees Remus. His boyfriend. Not that he’s been calling him that aloud, but he’s working up the courage to do it. Just to Remus, of course, at first. It’s not exactly a term Sirius can use in polite company. He can almost hear Remus’s voice, husky, around a laugh: ‘I’m not exactly someone you can admit to fancying in polite company.’ This thing between them is new and old, tentative and awkward mostly because of the weight of all those earlier years, but Sirius has finally gotten a glimpse of what he wants and he is head over heels with it.
Remus, conversely, has been fighting to stop feeling so out of control, like he’s careening down an icy slope with fingers scrabbling off of anything that might arrest his fall; he feels like one day he blinked and Sirius was so far underneath his skin that he’ll never come out again. He is alternately terrified and elated by it.
‘Good evening,’ Sirius says, all that weight of easy charm settling on Remus and making his stomach lurch. ‘Welcome to my wall.’
‘It’s lovely,’ Remus says, and his small smile is the best thing Sirius has seen all night. Remus looks around, sly, and then steps forward and kisses Sirius lightly on the lips. ‘Then again, maybe that’s the company,’ he adds, drawing back as Sirius exhales with a little catch to his breath.
‘I haven’t seen anything,’ he says. He takes the fingers of Remus’s left hand and twines them in between the fingers of his right. Remus glances behind them, nervous, and Sirius says, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve told Frank everything.’
Remus whips his head back around, shock and a startling amount of relief piercing through him, but Sirius is grinning with the joke and a second later he grins back. ‘Twat,’ he says, affectionately, squeezing Sirius’s hand, and they stand for a minute just gazing at each other, both brimming with words they’re still afraid to say, until a particularly assertive droplet of drizzle falls down the crack between Sirius’s upturned collar and his neck. He draws his shoulders up involuntarily and shivers.
‘Miserable night out here, Moony,’ he says, heart aching because he knows they’re about to say goodbye.
‘Poor Padfoot,’ Remus says, heart aching equally, and right now these things – London weather, minor discomfort, separation for a few hours – are the way the war manifests itself for them. Although it’s unpleasant now, Remus will later look back on these final moments of innocence with a kind of wonder that they ever could have existed. ‘Go home and get some sleep,’ he says, trying to keep his tone light. ‘There should still be some water in the kettle for tea.’
Sirius pulls his collar closer. ‘See you when you get home,’ he says, trying to keep it equally light. He’s infinitely grateful that they live together in his flat. They’d had that plan before – well, before things had happened – and Remus had somehow been persuaded to stick to it. Their other flatmates are of course Peter and James, who thus far seem clueless that Remus and Sirius are giving each other a lot more meaningful glances.
‘Sleep tight,’ Remus says, already envisioning the early morning, when he’ll come home and go through the rather elaborate ritual involved in demonstrating that he has his own bedroom in which he always sleeps alone before he touches the enchanted panel in the wall that connects their rooms and slides into the warmth of Sirius’s bed. Sirius will be sleepy, his skin almost fever hot from the ridiculously heavy duvet he favours, and even though they’ve not even made it out of their trousers together yet, because whenever one of their hands starts to stray downward during long snogging sessions all this feels too weird, the face and voice too familiar, it will be heaven.
‘I’d sleep a lot tighter with you,’ Sirius says.
Remus doesn’t even check behind him this time, and as he leans in to kiss Sirius he feels that out of control feeling, tingling in his fingertips, and thinks, Careful, Lupin, but his trajectory is already set, so he kisses Sirius harder than the first time. He says against his mouth, ‘Don’t let the Death Eaters bite.’
Remus’s spontaneous kiss unarms Sirius to the point that he doesn’t even think before he says: ‘Oh, Moony, I love you.’
It’s the first time that either of them has ever said those words aloud.
Remus opens his mouth, startled, panicked, because this is Sirius, gorgeous, successful, wealthy, Sirius, and what on earth is he thinking being in love with a creature like Remus – and Sirius, for his part, is absolutely shocked, because although he’s been thinking them for months, before he’d even had the courage to kiss Remus, he’d had no idea how close they had been to spilling out of his mouth.
And then something explodes on the other side of the building, and the force of it is so strong that it throws Sirius into the wall and Remus against him.
‘Is that…?’ Sirius asks, twisting to look around the corner, ears ringing. Remus’s arm has gone around him protectively; Sirius sees that his other hand is now occupied by clutching his wand.
‘Celia,’ Remus mouths, or maybe says, Sirius can’t hear anything, and Sirius remembers to breathe, shakily, and finds his wand inside of his robes, where he had been clutching it earlier, before Remus’s arrival, trying to heed Mad-Eye, to be constantly vigilant, but he’s scared, and not just for himself. Remus’s hand on his arm squeezes like a vice.
Remus peers around the wall. He can see dark shapes and the flickers of fires burning.
‘Someone’s out there,’ Remus says, as Sirius’s hearing returns. ‘Several someones.’
‘How many?’ Sirius asks. Cold fear grips his spine. ‘What about Celia?’
Remus shakes his head. He has no idea. He feels like all their training is coming down on his head, buzzing between his ears. His hand is slick with sweat and rainwater where it holds his wand; he has to make a conscious effort to release his death grip on Sirius’s arm. ‘Let’s go around the other way, to check.’
Sirius nods. He grips his wand more tightly and then remembers Mad-Eye telling them about a Junior Auror with just this habit who had snapped his wand clean in half; he readjusts his hand and tries to breathe. Remus looks at him, knows his eyes are mirroring Sirius’s, huge and scared, wants to ask him, do you really love me? but knows it’s not the time. They have to find Celia. He says, ‘Follow me.’
On the other side of the building, looking towards the greenery of the Mall, they find her, or rather what remains of her. It’s the first time either of them has ever seen someone who has died violently. Sirius grabs onto Remus for support and Remus swallows hard and shuts his eyes, just for a second, before thinking that she deserves them to see this, her body broken, blood running into the grate, that she deserves nothing less than their absolute witness. He forces his eyes open and feels rather than hears Sirius’s ragged breathing behind him.
‘Hey!’
Sirius whips around, his wand pointed defensively, but it’s not a Death Eater at all – rather a Muggle policeman, tall hat askew, out of breath, obviously having run here, and Remus thinks, oh, fuck, he’s seen us with our wands out, just as things go to hell.
A Death Eater – identifiable as such by the shining mask that hides his face – apparates into the open space between Sirius and the policeman; Sirius yells, startled, as Remus sees another Death Eater appear to his right, and another to that one’s left. The Death Eaters land ready to fight, spells flying from their outstretched wands in colourful arcs. Sirius feels adrenaline like he’s sixteen again and his father has just hit him for the first and last time: enough adrenaline to surge out of one life and into the next, but powered on pure emotion rather than control, and he hits the Death Eater who has spun towards the Muggle policeman with a stunning spell so wild that the cloaked figure is thrown backwards into a phone booth, shattering several panes of glass and slumping down.
The policeman’s mouth has fallen open and he seems paralysed; Sirius wants to scream at him to run, but then he sees another Death Eater, newly apparated, raising his wand towards Remus, and without thinking he lashes out with another wild stunning spell and hits a car parked behind the Death Eater so hard that its tyres explode. Heavy chunks of rubber rain down on the line of Death Eaters, but another one has appeared on the roof and is firing sharp red spells down that Remus knows must be Cruciatus; only the angle of the building is protecting them, and he’s sure the Death Eater will figure that out any moment. Sirius, beside him, is like a live wire, his spells immensely powerful but ricocheting out of control. Remus takes a second he doesn’t have to feel a great surge of love for Sirius, because of course Sirius would run on pure emotion. If he is the head, Sirius is the heart.
‘We have to get out of here! There’s too many of them!’ he screams, and Sirius spins towards him, wild-eyed, nodding. He grabs Remus’s empty hand and thinks a destination, reaching for the step and twirl, but instead he just feels a wrench under his bellybutton so painful that he doubles over, trying not to be sick. One of the Death Eaters makes a noise, and Sirius, clutching his stomach as Remus covers him with spell after spell, realises distantly that this is a cackle, and that it reminds him of a Black family Christmas party, which is probably the worst memory he could have dredged up just now because it would be helpful to send a patronus for aid.
‘What have they done?’ he wheezes to Remus.
‘Some kind of anti-apparition hex,’ Remus says. He’s standing over Sirius, heart pounding, completely locked in as he spins around, looking at the Death Eaters assembled around them. Anti-apparition hexes – it’s a fascinating idea, certainly, and he wants to tell someone, a professor or something, because up until now they’ve been completely theoretical but he’s pretty sure he just saw one in action. Also, he needs Sirius to get up and start helping cover them. He looks around for any vector of escape – they need an exit strategy. It’s amazing how everything shrinks down, he thinks, to this moment. He feels like he could stand here all day, just firing off spells, protecting them, because time has slowed down and the movement of his wand arm is lazy, sure.
Sirius, still gasping from pain, straightens up and grabs Remus’s non-wand arm. There’s no way Remus can cover both of them against the six Death Eaters assembled – and those’re just the ones he can see – though Remus is certainly trying and doing an admirable job. ‘Remus, we have to go.’ Remus ignores him, his face intense, his lips moving as he mouths spells that his wand seems to be obeying a second before the words come out. Sirius twists and sees the policeman is crouched, cowering, by the side of the building, and thinks he sees a way out of here. ‘Remus,’ he snaps, ‘now!’
Remus hears the command in Sirius’s voice and it startles him out of his adrenaline-fuelled trance of spellwork. One of the Death Eaters’ spells catches his robe and it ignites; Sirius yells and together they strip it off, and then Sirius does something that flings the flaming robe back at the Death Eaters, grabs Remus’s hand again, and drags him towards the building. As they approach it, Remus, dazed, sees Sirius reach out and bodily drag the policeman by the arm around the corner of the building.
‘Get out of here!’ Sirius is yelling at him, almost crying with desperation, because it’s early on in the war and the idea of Muggle collateral damage is still new and horrifying rather than the grimly accepted fact that it will come to be. ‘Go!’
The policeman gapes at Sirius and Remus. ‘It’s my job to keep law and order,’ he stammers and Sirius yells, ‘Fuck!’ Spells flare behind them and Remus spins, one hand still in Sirius’s, and snaps off a spell that takes out a corner of the building and sends heavy stone crashing down onto the pavement between them and their pursuers.
‘Can you apparate now?’ he yells at Sirius, Muggle witnesses be damned, because the Ministry should be out here by now, they should have noticed the magical explosion and been here immediately, and they’ll take care of the policeman, they’ll modify his memory, if the Death Eaters don’t kill him first, and dealing with him is emphatically not their job.
Sirius brandishes his wand at the policeman. ‘Go, goddamn you!’ he yells at him, and now he really is crying, or maybe that’s the rain. ‘Go or I’ll do something bad to you!’
The policeman finally turns and runs, and Sirius squeezes Remus’s hand to make sure they’re still connected and tries to apparate again. This time it feels like someone is trying to tear his spine out through his stomach, and he almost collapses, but Remus supports him. Remus’s face is white and he’s saying, ‘I’m so sorry, Sirius, so sorry, I didn’t know it would last so long,’ and Sirius wheezes and pulls himself up on Remus’s arm and asks, ‘Do you think it just hit me?’
Remus shakes his head and puts his other hand to Sirius’s face, stroking his cheek and flattening his hair down into his face with his wand still held tightly in three fingers. It’s a strangely soft and intimate gesture amidst all this, and Sirius is so, so grateful for it. ‘All the theories about these kinds of spells suggest they’re across a field rather than aimed at an individual,’ he says, but then some of the broken masonry shoots out towards them and he tries anyway, and staggers with pain. ‘Oh, fuck,’ he says, the words punched out of him, involuntary. Sirius swallows around the pain still lingering in himself, knowing how much that must have hurt Remus, and says, ‘We’ve got to run for it.’
They do, pelting away from the building just as the Death Eaters surmount the broken brickwork. They sprint down the path and out onto a road lined with chauffeur-driven Bentleys. A group of people in Muggle black tie are emerging from one of the clubs at the end of the road.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Sirius chants as they run, and Remus yells, voice wavering out of control, ‘We can’t just go through them!’ so Sirius drags them off to one side and they go around the next building on the block and behind it, streaking past the shrubbery that forms the boundary between it and the pavement of the Mall. Masonry explodes off the side of the building, and Remus hears screaming, and of course the Death Eaters won’t have had the same courtesy, and where the fuck is the Ministry?
They come abruptly out onto a major street. Even though Remus currently knows fuck all about London geography, he can tell that this is a major place: they’re beside an enormous roundabout lined with some kind of huge public buildings. A double decker bus hustles past them, sign illuminated to tell them that it’s a Night Bus, and suddenly a green spell blasted from a point above and to the left of them opens up a hole in the pavement so big that the bus falls into the hole and tips, its back wheels spinning uselessly. The few people in the area start screaming. Sirius jerks his head up and sees that there’s a Death Eater who must have apparated to the top of Nelson’s column. His robe flies up against the pink-grey of the London night sky.
‘Wow,’ Sirius breathes, stunned by the sheer audacity of attacking them in the middle of Muggle London.
Remus has no time for wonder, though, and demands, ‘Where are we? Where do we go?’
Sirius drags Remus to the right, sprinting in the direction of Westminster, past the immense buildings of Whitehall. Death Eaters apparate onto rooftops and they’re like ducks in a shooting gallery, trying to hide under whatever cover they can find. This street is essentially deserted, the offices and pubs having closed hours ago, and Remus thinks they need to keep it that way or else more innocents are going to get caught up in this.
‘Where won’t people be?’ he asks Sirius, frantic, because Sirius grew up here and seems to know every street in London. And Sirius, who has never told Remus or anyone else this, knows them because he used to run away from home whenever he could, and would wander the streets, waiting to inevitably be retrieved by Kreacher and brought back home again, but always hopeful that that time, he wouldn’t be.
‘The river?’ he suggests as they dodge another spell and duck under an awning, gasping.
‘Where’s that?’ Remus asks.
‘Not far,’ Sirius says, pointing to their left. ‘A few more blocks.’
‘How do we get home?’ Remus asks. ‘Where’s the nearest public Floo station?’
‘They seem determined to follow us,’ Sirius says. ‘And the Floo network is closed for the night.’ He squeezes Remus’s hand tightly and tries to get air to his lungs. ‘I don’t want to lead them to the flat.’
‘No,’ Remus agrees, and then something explodes close by, and all becomes ringing and pain. Remus knows about pain, though, and he’s not about to let it master him here, because this is nothing like the wolf, not even close, and he hauls Sirius away, dragging him limping through the streets in the direction he’d pointed. Remus has a thought that Sirius might be really injured but they don’t have time, there’s no time to deal with this, and he can’t hear a fucking thing, not the clap and swoosh of an apparating Death Eater or the rumble of a bus. Sirius manages to find his footing and stop staggering after a block, and Remus’s out-of-breath exhale of relief comes out like a sob. Sirius has no idea how Remus started running so fast, because he aches, like he’s been punched all over, but Remus is exhibiting some kind of inner strength and Sirius loves him so much.
‘Here,’ he manages to say, as the bridge at Charing Cross looms up before them. Across the Thames, the lights of the new National Theatre shine out over the water, while to the east, the river curves away like a black line pointing towards the lit-up dome of St Pauls and beyond that the tall towers rising over the City, their sides dark with scaffolding. It’s one of Sirius’s favourite views in London and he’s been wanting to take Remus here for ages. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it, but Remus yells, ‘Get down!’ and together they duck into a road tunnel beside the bridge as another jet of green light destroys the pavement where they had been standing.
‘Are they crazy?’ Remus demands. ‘Killing curses? In the middle of the street?’ He’s shaking as he looks at Sirius, who is bent over, gasping and spitting blood. ‘Are you ok?’
‘Yeah,’ Sirius says, nodding with his eyes shut. ‘My nose just started bleeding when whatever it was exploded back there.’
‘Oh, Sirius,’ Remus starts, suddenly overcome with the urge to protect him. Another spell hits nearby and Sirius looks up, blood running down his face, and says, ‘We have to get out of here.’
‘Yes,’ Remus says, and they are running again, no longer joined by their hands, and he twists behind him to get a Death Eater and manages to hit one this time, his precise stunning spell dropping him in the road as if a god has just laid a massive hand onto his chest and shoved him to the ground.
‘Nice!’ Sirius yells, looking back, because he has no idea how Remus doesn’t blow up half the street firing off defensive spells right now when he knows that his own are fuelled by his frantic need to protect them both. He veers off to the right and Remus follows him up the stairs of the bridge. His legs feel like lead by the time they reach the top and start to sprint along its slick surface. Two Death Eaters apparate onto the south end of the bridge and behind him he hears two more touch down on the north side. Remus reaches out and grabs his arm and they stop, Remus twisting around and putting them back to back. Sirius feels warm and solid against him and he slumps, just a fraction, to let Sirius know what strength he derives from him. Sirius presses back. They are thoroughly surrounded.
‘They won’t apparate any closer,’ Sirius says. ‘They know they’ll be vulnerable on the landing.’
‘Yes,’ Remus says. He takes a deep breath.
‘So the way I see it,’ he says, just as Sirius says, ‘Hey, Moony.’
‘You go first,’ Remus says graciously, but Sirius barks a laugh and says, ‘I think you’re about to talk tactics, so let’s hear it.’ The Death Eaters he can see – as he faces back towards Charing Cross – have started to advance to put them in range of their spells. It’s a long bridge, and they’re walking slowly, obviously thinking that they have them trapped – which, to be fair, they absolutely do – and Sirius thinks they probably have a minute, tops, before they’re in range of the Killing Curse. He readies his wand.
‘So,’ Remus says, ‘We have the train trestle to our right. We could try to get onto there and the slats might afford us some protection.’
‘Yeah,’ Sirius says, eyeing it. Logically he knows that trains travel on it, but its criss-crossing wood pattern looks fragile. He’s more ready for a straight up spellfight but lacking the ability to apparate and shift their position without the cumbersome problem of having to physically move their bodies they’re at a serious disadvantage. ‘What else?’
‘Well,’ Remus says, and he takes a deep breath, because he knows it’s the right answer, but, fuck, he really hates it, ‘to the east we have the river.’
Sirius glances back at him, startled, and redoubles his grip on his wand. ‘Like, jump in it?’ Behind him, he hears Remus’s wand issue a spell, and sparks fly off the edge of the bridge. ‘Because…’
‘Yeah,’ Remus says.
Sirius swallows and sends a spell of his own at one of the Death Eaters who has gotten too close. It sizzles as it hits the metal edge of the bridge and a fountain of sparks sprays from the point of impact, making the Death Eater stagger. ‘Ok.’
‘Yeah?’ Remus asks. He loathes this idea. The river is going to be icy, and reflected in the lights off the bridge it has the colour of well-used dishwater, and he can see its movement too, down there in the dark, like a snake slithering through long grass, and the surface is so opaque that there might be anything lurking in its depths. He imagines them leaping in and impaling themselves on rusty metal, or their feet brushing against dead things, or a ship running them down in the night. He directs another spell at the advancing Death Eaters, but they protect themselves with a shield spell and it barely impedes their inexorable advance.
‘You know what’s funny?’ Sirius asks. He gropes around behind him with his non-wand hand and finds Remus’s; takes it and squeezes it tightly. ‘I always wanted to bring you up on this bridge for a date. For a romantic night out. It’s my favourite view in London.’
Remus for just a second looks up and registers Big Ben to his left, partially obscured by train trestle but still shining through, and the long stretch of lights leading to St Paul’s to his right; he can see what Sirius means, and he’s so, so in love with this man and this life and it’s still terrifying but somehow it’s bearable because here they are. They will do this together.
Sirius drags him without another word to the edge of the bridge, and he senses when the Death Eaters realise what they’re about to do, when they suddenly start to run faster towards them, and he throws the nastiest non-fatal hex he knows in their direction and says, ‘Oh, Padfoot, it’s beautiful,’ as they come to the metal bars at the edge. Sirius looks at him and grins, stuffing his wand into the back of his trousers. ‘Moony, don’t let me go,’ he says, scared, putting a foot on the metalwork. Remus nods, throat full, and, stowing his wand, uses his free hand to hoist himself up beside Sirius.
‘Don’t look down,’ he says, and Sirius shakes his head and says, ‘Only looking at you, love,’ and Remus has a fleeting moment of horror when he sees a flash of green behind them that they’ll be hit here, standing like this, and Sirius will be dead as they plummet into the water together, so he leaps forward into nothingness, taking Sirius with him.
They both shout the spell to slow themselves as they fly towards the water, but it’s not that powerful, and there’s no avoiding knifing below its grey surface. Adrenaline hits them both hard, and they have identical instincts to do nothing but get out of the water right now, but their clothes are heavy. Remus is forced to let go of Sirius’s hand to struggle out of his shoes, and he breaks through the water and into the night air gasping and screaming Sirius’s name. He can see only grey waves around him and he screams again, and some of it sloshes into his mouth and he’s spitting and gagging and spitting again, almost sobbing, when Sirius’s head breaks the surface fifteen feet downriver.
‘Moony!’ Sirius yells, and he starts to swim toward Remus, paddling with his hands and feet in the only way he knows how to swim. He’s managed to disentangle himself from his robes and get off his shoes but his other clothes are still sodden and heavy. He’s almost faint with relief at seeing Remus.
Remus reaches him and then can’t decide what to do, because he wants to grab onto him but the waves are cresting shockingly high and he can’t see a fucking thing and he still doesn’t know where the Death Eaters are and if they’ve seen them and if they’re safe from that threat or not.
‘I’m not a very good swimmer,’ Sirius tells Remus. He gasps and spits. ‘Maybe I should have told you that sooner.’
‘It’s ok,’ Remus says. He realises that he is actually kind of sobbing and can’t seem to stop himself. ‘Oh, Padfoot, Sirius, it’s ok.’ He’s so cold. ‘The river’s not that wide,’ he continues, trying to talk himself into reason. ‘There’s stairs on the sides. I saw them when we were getting ready to jump. We’re at high tide so we won’t have far to climb out.’ He can see the south bank, moving crazily from his perspective in the choppy little waves that they ride, and points towards it. ‘Let’s just start moving that way.’
‘Sure,’ Sirius says, teeth chattering so hard it hurts, and he follows Remus. The journey across the river seems to take forever, and the current takes them much further downriver than he would have expected. By the time Remus reaches the wooden banks, Sirius is lagging, so Remus turns back and swims to him.
‘Put your arms around my neck,’ he suggests, and, exhausted, Sirius nods and does so. Remus manages to get them both to a set of stone stairs emerging from the water and they collapse onto them, just out of the waterline, and sit with the river lapping against their legs, gasping. They sit for several minutes, until Remus sees a spent needle floating by their ankles and stands.
‘Let’s go home,’ he says to Sirius. There’s been no sign of the Death Eaters since they jumped. ‘I think we’ve pretty thoroughly lost them.’
Sirius nods, wearily, and lets Remus pull him to his feet. ‘Cab?’ he suggests.
But then no cabs will take them, presumably because they are wearing half of the river, so they take a Muggle night bus, and the driver looks at them with eyes full of suspicion but accepts their money. They sit side by side, rocking on the bus, shivering and staring out opposite windows, and then they squelch through the front door of the flat and into the kitchen just as the sun is coming up.
James and Peter are both seated at the kitchen table, and look up together, their faces going from relief to shock when they see them.
Remus is suddenly ravenous and goes immediately to the cabinets, bypassing the table, opening doors at random and pulling out whatever food he can find, stuffing biscuits and sultanas into his mouth.
‘What happened?’ James demands. ‘We expected you back ages ago, Sirius.’
‘And what is that godawful smell?’ Peter asks. ‘Why are you all wet?’
Sirius watches Remus, who seems determined to relief-eat everything in the kitchen. He has finished the packet of biscuits already and is digging in the fridge, dripping river water from his drenched clothing onto the floor. Sirius, for his part, is shivering so hard that it is manifesting itself as painful spasms that seem to vibrate down the entire length of his spine.
‘Things went wrong,’ Remus says shortly, coming up for air with an apple and a jar of jam in his hands. He looks at Sirius and sees how cold he is and aches to hold him. Part of him is veering rapidly towards thinking, what the hell and just holding Sirius here, in front of the other two, because they’re going to find out sooner or later and why not sooner when they’ve just survived that and they have to survive whatever is going to come after it. He opens the jam jar, retrieves a knife from the sink, and scoops out most of the jar’s contents onto the apple.
‘We just got chased halfway across the city by Death Eaters,’ Sirius says. ‘We had to jump in the river to get away.’
‘The river?’ Peter gasps and James looks horrified.
‘Are you dripping Thames all over the floor?’ he demands. ‘Is that why you smell?’
‘We almost died, you know,’ Sirius says, finally starting to be angry, finally starting to come down from the adrenaline rush he’s been on since the first explosion, back at the Society. ‘No one was throwing stunning spells but us.’
‘But you’re ok now?’ Peter asks. He sounds serious and scared, then swallows and obviously tries for levity. ‘I mean, aside from the fact that if we see any babies we’d better grab them before Remus eats them.’
‘Fuck off,’ Remus slurs around a mouthful of jam and apple. He cannot take his eyes off of Sirius. He needs to be touching him right now.
‘We’re ok, yeah,’ Sirius says, clenching his hands into fists, ‘but in the future, god, it’s only going to get worse isn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’ James asks, clearly trying to sound reasonable and calm. ‘You mean being in the Order? Patrolling for Death Eaters?’
‘Patrolling,’ Sirius snorts, ‘is what they told us it would be. But that was,’ he takes a deep breath, feeling his throat hurt, willing himself not to cry, but it’s tough, because he’s suddenly terrified, because he and Remus almost died tonight, Remus almost died tonight, and he cannot, he will not live with that. ‘That was a bloody battle.’
Remus has always had a keen sense of Sirius’s emotions, and he can see him struggling now, and he gives in, and it feels like falling. He places the apple core and jar and knife into the sink and crosses the room to take Sirius’s shaking hands tightly in his. ‘Come on,’ he says, just to him, ignoring that James’s eyes are suddenly plate-wide and Peter’s are suddenly averted like he knew all along. ‘Let’s go warm up.’
Sirius meets James’s look for a second, and sees just shock, rather than horror, or disgust, or any of the other things he’d foolishly been afraid of seeing. He leans forward to touch his forehead briefly to Remus’s, nodding. Remus puts his other hand onto Sirius’s cheek and kisses him, quickly, and then, without looking back, leads him out of the kitchen and into the small bathroom.
He doesn’t release Sirius’s hand as he starts the hot tap running, but he keeps his back to him. They both seem to be trembling equally, their bodies giving away this tell of nerves through their single point of contact. Remus waits until the water is hot, and regulates it slightly with cold, then flips the tab so that the water starts flowing out of the showerhead. It seems the most effective way to warm them up. Sirius has an idea that they’ll get in still wearing their clothing, but Remus turns to face him and puts his hands on his shirt collar with such determination that Sirius has a sudden flash that this is really about to happen and rests his hands on Remus’s waist to steady himself against vertigo.
‘Sirius,’ Remus says, and then he stops, and doesn’t say a word until he’s stripped Sirius’s sodden shirt off and dropped it onto the tiles, where it slaps wetly. Sirius is still shivering, still desperately cold, but he doesn’t dare say or do anything for fear that Remus will suddenly come to his senses and stop. Then Remus suddenly laughs and says, ‘Oh, Sirius, I love you so much,’ and leans in and kisses him, and his mouth tastes like jam and apples and something ineffable that makes Sirius’s entire body thrum. ‘I should have told you,’ Remus continues, leaning back, hands on Sirius’s trousers now, undoing the buttons and tugging them down, and since things are so wet, of course his briefs come too, and he’s suddenly harder than he’s ever been in his life, and very naked, but still shaking with cold, and he wishes to be warmer and to always be touching Remus and to find enough breath to say that he loves Remus too. He gets his hand under the waistband of Remus’s trousers and then finds the buttons – there’s a hidden one on the inside that gives him significant trouble, and he almost bursts into laughter with the thought that he’d hoped to avoid difficult clothing now that he’s not with women anymore but he can’t seem to get the words out quite right. Remus’s trousers have to be peeled off, and they have to break away to accomplish it, and then to step over the edge of the tub, which is absurdly high, Remus thinks, and kind of a barrier to this, but then they’re in the hot water and Sirius is all over him, pressing his body up against the wall and running his hands up and down his sides and they’re both gasping and trying to devour each other, hands and mouths everywhere.
‘Oh god,’ Remus gasps eventually, breaking away, ‘we have to wash, we’re going to die of typhoid or cholera or something, where is the soap?’
Sirius fumbles around for the bar of soap and rubs it all over Remus’s body, putting his hands everywhere he dares, which is mostly Remus’s chest and back and the sides of his thighs, and his touch seems to be enough to make Remus go limp against the wall and moan anyway, head tipped back to expose his long pale neck and hands clenching Sirius’s arms.
‘I know,’ Remus says, trying to sound reassuring, ‘that it’s very cliché to do this kind of thing after a near-death experience,’ and here Sirius starts kissing his neck, ‘nngh, Sirius oh,’ he runs his hands down Sirius’s long back, feeling his muscles, and it’s sexy, much sexier than Remus had expected it to be, because Remus went into this thing thinking he was a straight man sort of going through a phase by indulging his friend but oh, no, if Sirius’s touch and mouth and, and, his hard, lean body are doing this to Remus then he is definitely not straight. Sirius puts a leg between his and leans into him and Remus realises that he’s suddenly having intimate contact with Sirius’s cock and that it’s wonderful , it’s amazing, and he slides his hands down and cups them around Sirius’s bum without thinking and pulls him in as close as he can and Sirius grinds against him, breathing hard in his ear, mouth hot and needy where he’s sucking at Remus’s neck, and Remus thinks that they’ve been very foolish indeed for not doing this sooner, and remembers that he was saying something. ‘This isn’t, just, oh, Sirius, it isn’t,’ he tries.
Sirius, for his part, thinks he might pass out, or go blind, or explode, because he’s been wanking to fantasies of Remus doing exactly this for well over a year now and it’s suddenly happening and he can feel Remus’s erect cock pressing into his stomach and the entire world is here, now, in this space, so much better than he’d imagined it, and he had imagined quite a lot. ‘What?’ he asks, trying desperately to listen, because Remus seems to be trying to say something important. Sirius kisses his neck again – he can’t get enough of Remus’s neck, the skin is so soft and pliant and tastes so good – and asks, ‘What isn’t it?’
‘Just because we almost died,’ Remus huffs. ‘It’s because I love you.’
Sirius shivers against him, not even having known how much he’s been wanting to hear those words, and now, twice in one evening? ‘I’m worried I did actually die and go to heaven,’ he says, just as there’s an urgent knock at the door.
‘I doubt that angels do a lot of barging in,’ Remus says after a beat, while Sirius twists to stare incredulously at the door. Belatedly, he realises that they’ve left the shower curtain open and that water is drenching the tile floor.
The knock comes again, and then James’s voice, muffled: ‘Uhm, can I come in?’
Remus and Sirius stare at each other.
‘Just, uh, it’s kind of, uh, urgent,’ James adds, and Sirius thinks his voice is higher than normal.
Remus sighs heavily and rolls his eyes, and Sirius, taking this as approval, yanks the shower curtain shut and calls, ‘All right, come in.’
‘We have got to work on our boundaries,’ Remus mutters. He should have known that the second James knew about them he’d want to hear every detail, but this seems a little extreme even for the co-dependent duo.
They hear the door open and suddenly find that it’s weird to be touching with James in the room; Sirius steps away and peeks around the shower curtain while Remus savagely picks up the expensive bottle of shampoo that belongs to James and squirts out a quantity roughly necessary for the grooming of a large horse, sloshing all of it onto his head.
‘What’s wrong, James?’ Sirius asks, trying to sound nonchalant.
James has a tortured look on his face. He shuts the door and says, ‘Dumbledore’s here.’
Remus drops the bottle of shampoo as Sirius gasps, ‘What?’
‘He wants to, to, I don’t know, debrief you,’ James says. He gives Sirius a pleading look. ‘Are you guys naked in there?’
‘No, Prongs, we’re showering in our clothes,’ Remus snaps, and then he’s unable to resist adding, ‘Please ignore that other pile of sopping wet clothes on the floor, those are the spares we keep in here.’
Suddenly the door opens again and Petezsr squeezes in behind James, who immediately shuts the door and hisses, ‘What are you doing in here?’
‘Do you expect me to entertain Professor Dumbledore?’ Peter hisses back. ‘I told him you were getting Sirius and that I’d go get Remus.’
James looks horrified. ‘What a terrible-‘ suddenly realising his voice is loud and dropping it, ‘idea!’
‘Why, because you think it was so obvious that those two were going to wind up showering naked together that even he knew it before you?’ Peter snaps.
‘Because we’re in a tiny flat and we disappeared down the same corridor and into the same room!’ James snaps back. ‘And was it really that obvious?’
‘Yes!’ Peter says, throwing his arms up. ‘They’ve been making gooey eyes at each other for years! When one of them leaves the room, the other one stares longingly at the door until he comes back!’
Remus throws the bar of soap at Peter’s head, annoyed more at how accurate his statement is than anything else. The soap misses by a mile. ‘We’re right here, you know,’ he snarls.
‘How, uh, how long would you say this has been going on?’ James asks. ‘Also, is this river water all over the floor?’
‘Is this really the time?’ Remus demands, as Sirius says, both sounding and feeling immensely guilty, which earns him a sharp look from Remus, ‘Just a few months. Since June.’
‘Really?’ Peter asks. ‘Damn, I thought it’d started before then. It took you ages more than it should have.’
‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ James asks. Remus finishes rinsing and he and Sirius dance past one another, still carefully not touching.
‘Someday,’ Sirius says miserably. Everything had been going so well a minute ago. ‘In a bit. I swear.’
Remus yanks the curtain half open and says, ‘James. Make yourself useful. Get me a towel.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Sirius says, managing to overcome one part of his mortification only to experience another. ‘So is Dumbledore just, uhm, standing out there? In the front room of my flat?’
‘I made him some tea,’ Peter mumbles.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ Remus says, reaching for his towel. ‘Someone go fetch me some dry clothes and I’ll go talk to him.’
‘But we need to talk about this!’ James says. ‘Have you two been, uhm, have you been…? In the same flat as us?’ He pauses. Sirius shuts off the water and leans his head back against the tile wall. He wishes fleetingly that he had drowned in the Thames. James is like a runaway train: ‘Is it, uh, is it good? What’s it like?’
Remus knows exactly what Sirius is thinking. He puts a hand on his arm and, grinning at him, says, ‘It is the best, James, and I can give you all the details in a minute but now,’ and he turns away from Sirius, who can’t help but grin back, leans out around the shower curtain and says, ‘if you don’t get Sirius and me some dry clothes right now we will shag on your bed until the springs break, do you understand me?’
James blinks at him while Peter breaks into a coughing fit and doubles over the sink.
Sirius, thinking it might not be possible to love Remus more than he does at this moment, says, ‘James. Clothing. Now.’
‘Got it,’ James says, and disappears. Peter hands them towels and says, ‘I’ll, uh, leave you guys to it,’ but then James reappears and seems intent upon chaperoning them as they get dressed, so Peter sticks around too. Remus thinks that none of this can possibly be healthy from a, like, psychological perspective but can’t be too arsed to care, though he’s saving up a healthy round of I told you so’s for Sirius once they have a quiet moment.
Dumbledore is indeed in their kitchen, sipping tea as serenely as if he was in his own office. Sirius, as always in the headmaster’s presence, has the strong feeling that he has done something wrong; Remus, for his part, has a sudden horrible sensation that Dumbledore knows exactly what he and Sirius have been up to and wants to die. He notices that Peter and James seem to have melted away.
‘Hello, sir,’ Remus says.
‘Remus, Sirius,’ Dumbledore says, nodding at them. ‘Please, sit down.’
Something Sirius has never told Remus –or James, or Peter – is that when they all wanted to join the Order, Dumbledore had called Sirius into his office and suggested gently that maybe he shouldn’t volunteer. It had been the first time Sirius had found himself in the headmaster’s office not because he was in trouble, and so being asked to sit in a plush purple armchair, rather than the hard bench reserved for offenders, had been a surprise. In the kindest tones Sirius had ever heard from him, Dumbledore had pointed out that nearly every member of Sirius’s family – both immediate and distant, from his parents to the cousins he’d played with at every family dinner, and probably someday to include his little brother, if things kept going the way they seemed to be – was on the other side of this war.
‘I don’t doubt your commitment to this cause, Mr Black,’ Dumbledore had said. ‘But if you’re ever in a situation where you have to go against one of them… or choose between one of them or one of your compatriots in the Order…’ Dumbledore had spread his hands upon his desk, as if drawing an impossible situation.
And Sirius, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides, had sworn to protect the family he’d chosen instead of the one that hadn’t wanted him for a long time. Dumbledore had given him a look, but Sirius is good at ignoring those, and then he’d nodded. Sirius has been a member of the Order ever since, but in some way it’s felt tainted, like he has to prove himself every time. He takes out a chair and sits as Remus does so beside him.
Remus, of course, has his own reasons for feeling like an outsider in the Order. He’s heard muttered slurs from some of its less progressive members and he’s possessed of a healthy enough sense of paranoia to see suspicious glances everywhere outside of this flat. Luckily, he’s also very good at smiling around prejudice.
‘As I think you know, Celia Roberts is dead,’ Dumbledore says, and Sirius looks down, the words like a punch to the stomach, because he’d somehow forgotten that, in light of everything that had happened since, and it feels like such a crucial fact.
Beside him, Remus says, grave, ‘Yes, we know. I’m so sorry, I know she was a friend.’ Sirius is infinitely grateful for Remus when he says that. ‘Did the Ministry catch anyone?’
Dumbledore shakes his head. ‘Unfortunately, no. Their response times seem to be,’ he pauses, and raises an eyebrow at Remus, ‘rather slow, these days.’
‘You think someone inside the Ministry is aiding Voldemort?’ Sirius asks.
‘Yes,’ Dumbledore says. ‘Possibly through the Imperius curse, possibly not.’
Sirius has family who work in the Ministry. He keeps looking down as he hears Remus say, ‘Did they get there in time to clean up, at least?’
Remus is disgusted, and he sounds it. It strikes Remus as even worse than Wizarding civilians for Muggles to be caught up in this. The war, after all, has at its ideological roots the pervasive attitudes of a large portion of Wizarding society towards minorities among them; he can’t feel too bad for the silent majority who casually enforce prejudice. But Muggles – like his own mother, who he’s extremely close to, and her family – always the family he’s liked best, the family who doesn’t know a thing about what he really is and so have no reason to dislike him – Muggles don’t deserve to be caught up in this.
Dumbledore nods. ‘They did. They’re walking a fine line between discovery and having to take a stand against Voldemort. But they know that to be discovered by Muggles would be a disaster of unimaginable proportions.’
Sirius thinks that Celia Roberts’ loved ones have probably just undergone their own disaster of unimaginable proportions, but he understands what Dumbledore means. Remus says, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, ‘We weren’t able to gather any intelligence, either.’
‘No,’ Dumbledore says. ‘Frank Longbottom filled me in on your arrival time.’
Sirius is rapidly losing patience with the conversation. ‘So what information did you need from us?’
Dumbledore regards him in that way that has always driven Sirius insane; a way that in fact seems almost calculated to do exactly that, because Sirius is a man of action and he rarely stops to think before words come out of his mouth and he wants other people to be like that too – and yet it’s clear that Dumbledore is pausing to give him time to run through the gamut of emotions that this kind of behaviour always inspires in him. It’s infuriating.
Then Dumbledore says, ‘Thus far we have had almost no direct violence against Order members, but,’ and here he sighs again, ‘I fear that in future it will become increasingly common.’ He pauses and looks at them, and they both feel multitudes in that look. ‘I was wondering how you had coped.’
And they both say something quickly, something that neither will remember the specifics of later, but the gist of it is that they are fine, will be fine, are prepared to continue being fine. Both of them know that they have to be fine to continue being in the Order. Dumbledore gives them a considering look and Sirius feels the full weight of his judgment because his lies have been so transparent and Remus wonders if he’s been convincing at all or if the terror that is less than an hour removed is still obvious in his face. But shortly thereafter, Dumbledore leaves, seeming satisfied.
Sirius slumps in his chair and puts a hand over his eyes. Remus reaches out to him and touches his leg, lightly, and Sirius takes his hand.
James and Peter materialise in the kitchen as if they’ve Apparated there.
Remus rolls his eyes and exhales a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. ‘Thanks for the support there, wankers.’
‘Are you ok?’ James asks solicitously. Remus shoots him a look to see if he means it and sees that he does.
‘Yes,’ he says, reflexively, because he hates it when people worry about him, as Sirius says, trying to keep the shake out of his voice, ‘No.’
Peter steps around the seat Dumbledore has vacated and sits at the table’s other chair. ‘So what happened exactly?’
James perches on the edge of the counter and brandishes the paper. ‘The Prophet doesn’t have anything to say this morning about any attacks.’
‘We were checking while you were, uh, talking with Dumbledore,’ Peter adds.
Remus sighs. ‘I’m not surprised, I guess,’ he says, ‘based on what he said.’ He uses magic to tug Sirius’s chair closer to his so that Sirius’s leg is pressed up against his. Sirius tucks his head onto Remus’s shoulder and stares at James’s slippered feet. Remus disengages their hands gently and puts an arm around him. James raises his eyebrows at Remus, who rolls his eyes, and gets a wink from James in reply.
‘What did he say?’ Peter asks. He sounds scared but determined.
‘That the Ministry has probably been infiltrated by Death Eaters,’ Remus says, and James frowns.
‘But the Ministry isn’t just one group,’ he says. ‘There’re lots of different people in it. They can’t all be working for Death Eaters, right?’
‘Magical Law Enforcement certainly wasn’t out there last night,’ Sirius snaps. ‘Or anyone else to do any memory modification.’ He pushes himself upright and turns to Remus. ‘Do you reckon that Muggle police man was all right?’
Remus aches to reassure him, but he has no idea. ‘It seemed like you convinced him to leave,’ he says, knowing how weak it sounds.
‘What Muggle police man?’ James asks, and Peter says, ‘Just tell us what happened.’
Remus glances at Sirius, whose jaw is clenched, the muscles in his long neck moving. Remus says, ‘You know I was going to relieve him from observing the Sorcery Club, right?’ James and Peter both nod and Sirius looks at him, now still as a hunting dog. ‘Right when I got there,’ Remus continues, ‘we were talking, and then there was an explosion around the other side of the building. We ran over there and found out that the other Order member there had been,’ he takes a deep breath, as Sirius does the same beside him, ‘well, that she was dead. The explosion had killed her.’
Peter is very pale, hands clenched in front of him on the table. ‘Was it Celia?’ he asks. ‘That’s who you said you were meeting earlier, right?’
Remus nods. Sirius flicks his eyes to the ceiling and then to the side, trying to stop himself from crying.
‘She was so nice,’ Peter whispers. ‘She was – she helped me out. Last time I went out for the Order.’ He’s shaking his head, staring at his hands. ‘I can’t believe she’s dead.’
‘I know,’ Sirius says, now blinking rapidly, because tears are definitely threatening to escape his eyelashes, but he’s furious.
‘Go on, Remus,’ James says gently. ‘After you – after the explosion. What happened?’
‘Death Eaters,’ Remus says, ‘started Apparating. Maybe, I don’t know, six or seven of them?’
James: ‘And it was just you two?’
Remus nods.
Sirius: ‘They put a – what did you call it, Moony?’
‘Anti-Apparition hex, I thought.’
Peter: ‘Do those even exist?’
Remus, grim: ‘They seem to now.’
James: ‘You have to tell someone.’ Remus nods.
‘They had total disregard for everything.’ Sirius reaches out and takes Remus’s hand again, squeezing it for strength. ‘They Apparated into the middle of a Muggle street, where there were lots of Muggles – a police man saw them and came running and almost got killed – and then when we ran for it, they followed us, and they didn’t seem to care what they hit with their spells. It was like it was a game for them. Like they were kids who had infinite control over an ant hill and were stomping all over it.’ Sirius realises that he’s shaking. Remus is looking at him in that Remus way, intent and unwavering. His hand is warm around Sirius’s.
‘Did you recognise any of them?’ James asks Sirius. He’s looking hard at him too. ‘The Death Eaters, I mean.’
‘What?’ Remus asks, startled. ‘They were wearing masks.’
Sirius shrugs at James, trying to keep his voice casual. ‘I have some guesses.’ He feels Remus’s gaze again, sharper this time, but keeps looking at James instead. ‘Bellatrix Lestrange.’
‘Who’s that?’ Remus asks.
‘Né Black,’ Peter says, looking up, and James’ lips have quirked, because he knows it too. ‘Right?’
Sirius exhales, nods, and looks away, towards the door. He feels like a disgusting, dirty thing, like all of the blood in his body is tainted and crawling. He doesn’t know how often Remus feels exactly this way.
‘Padfoot’s cousin,’ James says. ‘I’ve never met her but I’ve heard she’s a nasty piece of work.’
‘She is,’ Sirius says, way too quickly, and Remus’s hand tightens around his. Remus is slowly learning what Sirius’s family means to him – all those years saying he hated them, but Remus has realised that he can’t, and that the shame of it shakes him to his core. Remus knows a thing or two about wanting to hate some irrevocable, unchooseable thing about yourself and not being able to, no matter how shamefully awful it is.
‘How did you know it was her?’ James asks.
‘I’m not certain it was her,’ Sirius says, ‘but she has quite a distinct laugh. I thought I heard it.’
‘And then,’ Remus says, before James can ask any more questions about the Blacks, ‘they chased us to a bridge.’ He looks at Sirius, trying to communicate with his eyes that he loves him, and adds, ‘Sirius guided us perfectly. I was completely lost.’
Sirius stops gazing at the floor and looks back at Remus, eyes wide. ‘Your defence spells were amazing,’ he says. ‘And you had the idea to jump into the river to escape.’
Remus laughs. ‘I almost killed us both with that.’
‘It was better than certainly being killed by Death Eaters,’ Sirius says, fervent.
‘Well,’ Remus says, embarrassed, ‘you got us to the bus stop to get home.’
James: ‘Should we just leave you to this? Are you going to start snogging?’
Peter: ‘Someone please take a compliment here, it’s very awkward for the rest of us.’
Remus rolls his eyes at Sirius and stands up, letting go of his hand. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he says. ‘And yes, I know it’s the middle of the morning. Near death experiences are exhausting.’
James, clearly thinking he’s Sherlock Holmes and about to catch Remus in a lie: ‘Whose bed?’
And Sirius, standing too and taking Remus’s hand again, eyes aimed at the floor, mumbles, ‘Mine.’
James whistles as Remus laughs, suddenly blushing, and says, ‘I’m going to brush my teeth,’ before disengaging himself gently from Sirius and disappearing into the loo. James reaches out and puts a hand on Sirius’s shoulder.
‘You sure you’re ok, Padfoot?’ he asks quietly. Sirius looks across at Peter, who is looking up at him solemnly, and feels so much love for his friends that he thinks he might burst.
‘I will be,’ he says. ‘It was – I thought something bad would happen to Remus. It was awful.’
James squeezes his shoulder and Sirius thinks a sarcastic comment about him and Remus is coming, but he’s wrong. Instead, James says, only a little bit awkwardly, ‘I’m glad you have each other,’ before squeezing his shoulder again and giving him a little shove towards the door. ‘Go get some sleep. Twat.’
‘Thanks, Prongs,’ Sirius says, ‘Bell end.’ And then he exits stage left before he starts really crying.
He finds Remus already in his room, sitting on the floor with his hands wrapped around his knees. Remus smiles up at him when he comes in and says, ‘Felt weird to get in your bed first.’
‘Our bed?’ Sirius suggests. ‘Maybe?’
Remus’s stomach lurches. He’s terrified of commitment, and he knows that it’s because admitting how much he loves Sirius feels like admitting to a weakness, and one which the world will love to exploit. ‘What are you going to do with my room?’ he asks, stalling for time. ‘Are you so urgently in need of a guest bedroom?’
‘I’m more urgently in need of sharing this one with you,’ Sirius says.
Remus looks up at him. Sirius has a particular way of looking like a lost puppy that pushes every button that Remus has, and he’s wearing it now.
Remus remembers so clearly that summer day, only a few months ago, when their NEWTs were over and they were lying alone in the long grass by the lake, waiting for James and Peter. They’d been having one of those nonsense conversations that people who know one another much too well have just for the pleasure of hearing each other’s voices, pointing out clouds and speculating on the phallicness vs yannicness of their shapes, when Sirius had suddenly lurched up onto an elbow and pinned him with exactly that lost puppy gaze.
‘What will you do when we’re not here anymore?’ Sirius had asked him, and Remus had initially thought that Sirius had been making what passed for discreet enquiries into his financial situation, presumably to determine if he was going to be solvent enough to let a room from him. But then Sirius had said, ‘It’s just that, well,’ and then he’d leaned down and, oh, that was his mouth on Remus’s mouth, and, double oh, that was his tongue in Remus’s mouth, which for some reason seemed intent upon opening and participating in this insanity, and when he’d pulled away, Remus’s eyes had been enormous, his heart had been pounding, and Sirius had said, more shy than Remus had ever seen him, ‘I’ve just been thinking.’
James and Peter had come bounding into view then and it wasn’t until two days later, when Remus had thought about it from every angle possible and had (mostly) stopped panicking about the fact that Sirius was outside the boundaries of the rigid control that he places on every aspect of his life, that Remus had sidled up to Sirius in a quiet moment and had kissed him back, feeling insane, before saying, ‘I think it’s a good thought.’
Now Remus stands. ‘Ok,’ he whispers, and he sheds his clothing, self-conscious as ever about all his scars, but Sirius has been seeing them for years and Sirius knows him inside and out and apparently loves him anyway, and somehow it’s ok.
Sirius watches him, wide-eyed, until Remus is completely naked before him, and then he steps forward and pulls him close, kissing him hard. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he tells him, and he means it. He has always found Remus someone whom he never wants to look away from, which seems to him the very definition of beauty. Remus helps him out of his clothing and then they are in his bed, kissing frantically, bodies touching everywhere they can, Sirius tugging the duvet up around them to form a cocoon as the damp autumn air chills the room.
They have this, Remus thinks, this moment here, and here’s another, here, as he finds himself atop Sirius, whose long legs are wrapped around his thighs as he grinds up into him, and this moment, and this, and the next, and Remus longs for these to be enough. He feels inevitability washing over them, despite their best efforts to keep it at bay with their mouths and hands and he knows that it won’t be enough, because how could anything ever be enough, compared to the way that Sirius’s hands hold him, pull him in and then reach between them to stroke him. He wants to tell Sirius that it won’t be enough but it’s already too much, in the other sense, and he buries his face into the strong lines of Sirius’s neck and gasps and grinds and forgets, for once, to think. And Sirius knows that it isn’t enough and never will be but he’s not thinking about tomorrow, he’s thinking about right now, and Remus’s body above him and around him and in his hands and if that’s all he can have then he’ll still be the luckiest man who has ever lived.