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part i: WE USED TO BE FRIENDS, A LONG TIME AGO
High school is shit, and Hogwarts Preparatory School, despite its glossy brochures and world-class teaching staff, is, at the end of the day, still a high school. And in the tried and true tradition of any genre-respecting prep school, Hogwarts has lax security, a different set of rules for the progeny of the rich and famous, and a ridiculous set of “extra classes,” that really serve as GPA boosters to help secure that elusive Brown or Columbia spot their grandfather’s endowment just couldn’t.
These very circumstances, however, are how Remus finds himself pressed against a grimy wall as he skips History of Movie Magic (which is really just a video on special effects narrated by Orion Black, six time Academy Award winning film director), the aforementioned progeny of the rich and famous, between his legs.
“So help me God, if I lose out on the Dippet scholarship because of this, I’m looting your inheritance to pay for Stanford,” Remus mutters, his neck tilting back to give Sirius Black more room to work.
“Worth it,” Sirius mutters, sucking on the thin skin of his neck. Remus moans, and rakes his fingers through his hair, gasping when Sirius grinds forward, hard and straining in his trousers. He leans back up, his swollen mouth hanging open, panting. Hooded eyes, strong nose only softened by the beauty mark at the bridge, sleek black curls that fall almost to his shoulders, brushing his high cheekbones. A scar running through the swell of his cupid’s bow, the only imperfection on his ridiculously pretty face. “You think we have enough time to—”
“Time? Yes, don’t kid yourself. Space?” Remus looks around at their cramped and cliché setting—a janitor’s closet. There’s a mop hanging dangerously close to them, almost brushing Sirius’ hair, which he’s sure he’d throw a fit over if he noticed.
Sirius sighs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
Remus certainly wouldn’t. Unfortunately for Remus, his next class is not so forgiving. Sirius groans when he pushes him away with a stern look. He holds up his wrist, the clunky digital his mom got him for his fifteenth strapped firmly around it. “Five minutes till Life Sciences.”
“You’re seriously bailing on me to study the digestive system of a frog? You have got to get your priorities in order, man.”
“As I’ve grown rather attached to both my kidneys, I’m going to have to keep my grades up to stay here on scholarship.”
“Missing one class won’t get your scholarship revoked,” Sirius whines, petulant as he is pretty. His delicate features shift from a pout to a grin, gray eyes bright and cheeks flushed red. “Our love is God, let’s go get a slushie.”
Sirius, as a byproduct of his upbringing, is a secret film fanatic.
“Blowing up our school would make getting into college a bit more difficult.” Remus, by extension, has become one himself. Still, he prefers the nights they spend burning through records. “Some of us can’t get into an Ivy League on name alone.”
“Excuses, excuses,” Sirius mumbles, running a hand through his hair. “You messed me up pretty good.”
“You'll live,” Remus says, hissing when he touches the bruise Sirius had sucked into the underside of his jaw. A hickey. Like they’re thirteen. “What the fuck is this?”
Sirius shrugs, not looking the least bit remorseful.
“Sirius, I didn’t look like this in the morning,” Remus reminds him. “Take me to the Drama department, they’ll have some makeup from last week's show backstage. Maybe I can still make my class before the second bell.”
“Yeah, alright, I’ll take you,” Sirius grumbles after sulking for a moment. Remus rolls his eyes and follows him out. Sirius always gets like this when he doesn’t get his way, an ugly byproduct of growing up with every single one of his whims met. “Then will you skip AP whatever and come out with me? It’ll be fun.”
And therein lies the problem. For Sirius, that’s all this, he, would ever be. Just a bit of fun, Sirius had whispered, winter break of junior year, to kill time. And it had, for a good eight months, until Remus was sick with killing time, and discreet corners, and his heart was coming out of his mouth whenever Sirius kissed him like he wanted him for more than just the night. It didn’t feel like a bit of fun anymore with the way they spent nights in his room, his pool, his bed, not with the way Sirius crawled through his bedroom window, a vintage Billy Joel record under his arm, past midnight on Remus’ birthday and had a black eye to show for it, not with the way Remus is starting to feel. It’s hard to breathe around him most days.
Caradoc Dearborn asks him out for the second time the week after. Remus says yes.
It’s a Potter house party, so of course something terrible happens.
Remus, due to good sense and upbringing, has never been to one before, but these are Caradoc’s people and as a new participant in the teen social scene, Remus agreed to tag along. Also, he had promised his mom he would make an active effort in having a life his last two years at Hogwarts, so here he is. He realizes the mistake he’s made about six minutes in.
For one, Sirius Black is here. Not a surprise seeing as he and Potter have their whole Damon-Affleck schtick they’re committed to seeing through. It’s only that parties like this are precisely where Sirius would go before he’d find himself at Remus’ door, soft and smiling and pseudo-his. Only tonight, Remus is here with a date. Who Sirius doesn’t know about yet.
As Remus dodges his fifth attempt at conversation with his eyes downcast, he misses the steely resolve that comes over Sirius. He gasps, mostly in surprise, but also a little in something else, something he will not —can not— deign to acknowledge because he needs to get it together, when Sirius grips him by the arm and drags him down a long, winding hallway into what appears to be an indoor greenhouse, glass ceiling letting moonlight in, and massive plants and flowers in full bloom on long tables all around them.
Still, the room seems airless when Sirius asks, “What’s going on with you?”
Now, in this moment, he can admit to himself he’s been dreading this. He scuffs at the white marble floor with his shoe. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Sirius echoes, a little mean, a little drunk.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve hardly said a word to me all week, and now you’re hanging out with Dearborn, of all people, and dodging me all night?” When Remus doesn’t reply, or look at him, Sirius sighs this big dramatic sigh, and says, “Look, I’m not, I’m not good with the…signs, alright? If I’ve done something, or you’re angry with me, just tell me.”
Remus shakes his head. “Sirius, I’m not angry with you, I’ve just been busy.”
“Not busy enough to come to a party,” Sirius points out, his voice taking on an odd edge. “You hate this shit, what’re you doing here?”
Remus looks up. “What, embarrassed I’m going to go around telling everyone their beloved Sirius Black is queer?” Sirius looks like he’s been hit. Remus gets a savage sort of joy out of it. “Don’t worry, I’m not your problem anymore. I’m here with someone.”
Sirius sputters for a moment, the red in his cheeks intensifying. “You’re what? Who? What?”
Remus scoffs. “It’s fine, I’m not waiting for anything, I know you’re, whatever, figuring it out, I don’t expect anything, but I can’t, I can't do this, that, with you anymore.”
“Why?” Sirius sounds…off. A little sad, if Remus can bring himself to believe it.
“I’m here with Dearborn,” Remus tells him in lieu of a response. He can’t look at him and say it, but that doesn’t seem important. He can’t bring himself to make it sound anything but defeated, but that doesn’t seem important, either. “We’re dating, I guess.”
“You and Dearborn?” After a long pause, “As in…Caradoc?”
“No, Randall. I’ve always had a thing for older men.”
Sirius doesn’t seem to have even heard him. He’s pacing now, a little frantic. It gets Remus’ heart rate up. He stops in front of him again. “You and Caradoc? But. I don’t understand.”
“It’s not very complicated. He asked me out, I said yes—”
“You said yes?” Sirius rasps. He’s frozen in place, Remus can only bring himself to look at his shoes. Distressed sneakers. Black and red, he wore them to Remus’ last week, left them on the porch to dry off because he’d taken to trudging through the muddy backyards to avoid the porch lights coming on and waking his mom, the town Sheriff, up. “But I thought. I thought...”
“You thought what? That I’d sit around and pine after you like some pathetic cliché?” Remus shakes his head, looks at him. “I’m not your call boy.”
Sirius looks like he’s never seen him before. A little young. Scared. “You were never my call boy.” Remus can’t stand to look at him like this. It shakes him. His eyes drop away and so he sees as Sirius reaches out. He flinches, hard. It stops Sirius dead in his tracks. “Remus… please.”
Remus swallows, his throat thick and dry. Humiliatingly, his eyes are stinging, and he realizes he needs to get out of here now. “I can’t keep doing this with you, it’s not fair. You never think of me.”
“But,” A pause, a breath, “You’re all I think about.”
Remus feels dangerously close to throwing up. It’s everything he wants, but it’s not right. Sirius’ eyes are too glassy and his words are coming out too fast, and he’s all wrong. They’re all wrong.
So, he leaves.
“I have to know, as someone who’s not had the pleasure of ‘going steady,’ as it were.” Sirius plops down across from them, and Remus immediately feels that familiar tension headache wrap around his forehead, almost as tight as Caradoc’s arm around his waist now. “Is holding hands required or is the constant gazing into the eyes and general putting everyone off their lunch enough to be considered in?”
Remus rolls his eyes. Sirius has been one of two ways about him and Caradoc; rolling eyes, snarky comments, patronizing sex ed talks and condoms he leaves around. Or, stone cold silence. Remus isn’t sure which he prefers.
James Potter slides into the seat next to Sirius, nods at Caradoc and ignores Remus completely as is his custom these days. He shoots Sirius an odd look that Sirius ignores. “Wait for me next time. You practically shot out of your seat at the end of Business.”
“Two for one tacos day,” Sirius replies, not sparing him a glance. His eyes, cool and cruel silver, stay on them. He tilts his head to the massive poster hung up near their table, navy blue and reminding them to buy tickets to the annual Yule Ball, the fancy winter dance before Christmas holidays. “Are our resident Brangelina going? I just wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you two weren't there, showing the rest of us how it’s done.”
“I doubt there’s any universe out there where you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself,” Remus replies, his smile saccharine.
Sirius glances pointedly at Caradoc, then back at Remus. He fake-whispers, conspiratorially, “Not while he’s here.”
“Shut up, Sirius,” Remus sighs. “And to answer your question, yes.”
Sirius raises an eyebrow in question, his mouth smiling. His eyes are cold, dead. They’ve been this way since that night at Potter’s, almost three months ago now.
He takes Caradoc’s hand, presses a kiss to the back of it. Sirius’ lip curls. “Holding hands, it’s part of it.”
“There goes my appetite.” Sirius pushes away from the table and stalks off. Potter lasts half a second, then he’s rushing after him. Remus can barely contain an eye roll. They’re like middle school girls, the two of them.
He turns, and finds Caradoc frowning at him. His soft brown hair falls into his eyes and Remus resists the urge to tell him to get it cut. Instead, he asks, “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? Let’s see. How about the fact that one of my closest friends and the son of my fathers biggest shareholder,” one of these descriptors is said with a lot more care and concern than the other, Remus notes, “is clearly in love with my boyfriend?”
“He’s not in love with me,” Remus says, almost bored. They’ve had this fight nearly every week since they’d started up. Remus has managed to wring any feeling from the statement, so now he manages to sound neutral, almost bored, when he says it, instead of sick, or worse, hopeful. Because he knows it's true. Sirius isn’t in love with him, Remus isn’t stupid enough to mistake his peacocking for jealousy. He’s angry his favorite toy was taken before he was finished playing with it. And most days it’s easy to hold onto that fact, easy to believe it, especially on a day like this, out on the open quad of their school, holding hands with another boy. But when they’re standing in a crowded house party or pep rally or football game, and he finds Sirius’ eyes, soft and looking back at him, it gets a little harder.
Caradoc scoffs. “What do you suppose these little displays are about, then?”
“What displays? He barely speaks to us.” Remus lies, fiddling with the loose edge of the laminated paper reminding them to STOP SMOKING and EAT RIGHT plastered on top of their table. There’s another one taped next to it, this one full of pleasant imagery of sexually transmitted diseases to accompany their lunch, which is a welcome distraction in the face of this conversation.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“He put my information up as a stunt double in his dad’s next movie.”
“He said he got you confused with someone else.”
“He tried out for pitcher on the school baseball team and got me benched.”
“He’s always been athletically inclined.”
“He printed up those safe sex pamphlets and stuffed our lockers full of them.”
“It was a health class project.”
“That only he had?”
Remus can’t tell him what he really thinks, so he settles for a half-truth. “He’s an ass.”
“An ass who matters,” Caradoc mutters, more stressed about his father’s multi-million dollar shipping company than any eighteen year old high schooler ought to be.
“Forget about him.” Remus drags him in for a kiss, quick and chaste, as, despite Sirius’ assertions, most of their public (and unbeknownst to Sirius, their private) kisses have been. “Do you have anything to ask me?”
Caradoc kisses him again, with a smile and for a single moment everything shifts, becomes less impossible and gutting and big and Remus forgets him a little. And then Regulus Black vanishes out of his bed Christmas morning, and everything changes.
part ii: SLUG IT OUT
Remus tries his best to slip around the metal detectors at the doors, mainly owing to the bowie knife he has strapped to the back of his right calf, but a hand to his chest halts him.
“Mr Lupin, I’m sure you’re not skipping morning security.” Principal Moore’s voice sounds from behind him. He’s an elderly man, so obsessed with the football team that Remus is half-surprised he hasn’t tried out for it himself. Moore jerks a thumb behind himself, gesturing towards the ten foot tall metal detectors.
Remus squints. “Not wearing my glasses, sorry.”
“For next time, it’s through, not around.”
“Through not around, through not around,” Remus repeats, with his eyes focused on the ceiling. “I never get that one right, but practice, practice is what you always say, right?”
Moore’s deeply unimpressed stare doesn’t waver as he beckons someone over. “Filch. Let’s get Lupin here a personal check, and a locker check while you’re at it.”
“Good morning, Argus. Is Mrs. Norris still having trouble breathing?” Remus twists very carefully while the resident Hogwarts security guard, Argus Filch, a terribly unpleasant man, sweeps the metal detector wand over him.
“No, the trick with the cumin in the water did it.” Filch stands up straight, Remus’ calves forgotten in the face of his beloved Maine Coone’s health.
“It always does, you know another thing you can do—”
“Lupin.”
“Sir.”
“Take us to your locker.”
“Yes, sir.” Remus turns to walk to his locker, multiple sets of eyes turning to look at what has now become a time-honored Hogwarts tradition: Remus Lupin being led down a hallway flanked by security and the Principal.
He undoes his locker and swings it open. Inside, nothing but a photograph of Moore cut in the shape of a heart. Remus sucks air through his teeth. “This is a little embarrassing.”
“Cute, Lupin, very cute. But one of these days I’ll get you.”
“And my little dog, too?” Remus mumbles, emptying half of his book bag into his locker.
“What was that?”
“And a good day to you, too.” Remus smiles politely.
Moore stares him down for another few seconds, before he mumbles something about rich kids and not being paid enough for this gruffly and walks off.
He’s half-right. Hogwarts, a place where there is no middle class, where you have to live in a certain zip code, preferably the 90909 zip code, to qualify for the football team, prom committee, and even friends. Everyone comes from money or is on scholarship. Remus falls squarely into the second, less desirable group.
He’s snapped out of his thoughts when a paper airplane hits him square in the face, almost taking his eye out in the process. Remus snatches it out of the air. There, in ridiculous calligraphy: FREAK.
A ripple of laughs from the students lingering before first period, loudest from the other side of the hall. If Hogwarts were built like a pyramid, James Potter’s group of goons would be at the very top, and Remus would be about six feet under.
Prewett, one of them, Remus has never been able to tell them apart, waves at him, a sharpie hanging out of his smiling mouth.
“For the last time, Prewett, I will not go to prom with you, so stop asking,” Remus calls out, holding up the paper. He rolls his eyes. “Men, honestly.”
Prewett snarls something Remus isn’t paying attention to, because one pair of eyes in that group catch his, and hold. Light blue eyes, freckles, Caradoc Dearborn, sole heir to the Dearborn shipping fortune, and Remus’ ex boyfriend. Before. Before Regulus Black went missing three months ago, before Sheriff Hope Lupin investigated his parents, members of the most powerful family in town, for the disappearance of their son; before Remus stood by his mom, and lost just about everything because of it.
Caradoc was always a little dry for him, it was bound to end eventually. Still, it stung. Caradoc’s fingers twitch into a half-wave, but then he stumbles a little, jostled by none other than Sirius Black, their school's obligatory psychotic jackass, Regulus’ older brother, who now holds Remus’ eyes with a cruel twist to his lips.
Sirius wasn’t always like this. They used to be—well, not friends, but something. A long time ago. Something he doesn’t think about anymore.
The rest of that crowd hates him now, of course, terrified of getting on the wrong side of the Black family. Except for James who hadn't liked him even before Regulus went missing, but he mostly ignores him. When he isn’t around, like now, the rest turn to Sirius, the de facto second in command, and things take a turn for the worse for Remus.
Sirius winks at him.
Remus rolls his eyes, hoists his bookbag up his shoulder and heads for the bathroom. He trashes the paper plane, then checks the stalls. He’s just finished rolling up his pant leg when the door swings open. Remus twists his torso around, and finds Sirius there, one eyebrow raised.
“I don’t care what they say, fashion is not subjective, and by God this time they’ve gone too far.”
Remus tears off the knife, wraps the knife up in paper towels, and stuffs it into his bag. “What do you want, Black?”
“Love. Hope. World peace.” Sirius hops up onto the counter, swings his legs a few times. “For now, I’d settle for some answers. Was that a knife?”
“No, I’m just really happy to see you.”
Sirius hums and tilts his head, eyeing him. “I mean, I know it can be tough swinging a prom date for some, but a nice bouquet of flowers and that fitted green sweater of yours should suffice.”
“Noted.”
“You’re really not going to explain the knife?” Sirius sounds incredulous.
“I’m really not going to explain the knife,” Remus straightens up. “Always a pleasure, Black.”
“Wait.” A cold hand around his wrist. He looks down, traces the scars criss crossing over his knuckles, the smooth powder blue spider web of veins close to the surface. Hard stone against his back, calloused fingers gripping tight. “You’re going to do something for me.”
Remus jerks his wrist away. “You get the remote after they chip me. God, it’s like nobody reads the Stepford manual these days.”
“You don’t need a chip just a check, right?”
“I don’t take checks, and I don’t help human wounds. Look at that, you’re two for two.” Remus reaches for the door handle.
“Remus, please.”
He sighs, closing his eyes. He should say no. He should say no and walk out. He’s got no reason to say yes, no reason except Sirius saying his name. Vulnerable. Close. Remus, please. Fuck. Fuck.
“Cash, only.” He holds a finger up when Sirius opens his mouth. “If you make a joke about singles or hookers, I’ll key your bike again.”
“I wasn’t going to!” Sirius holds his hands up, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, where a scar sits. Remus knows how it tastes, how it feels under his tongue. He doesn’t think about that, or him, often.
Sirius’ brow furrows. “Wait, again?”
Remus ignores him. “It’s 300 dollars upfront, rates might vary depending on how difficult the case or client gets.”
“Has anyone ever told you what a joy you are in the morning?” Sirius asks as he reaches into his back pocket and drags out a wad of cash held together with an inscribed money clip. Remus has to suppress an eye roll.
“You’d be surprised."
Sirius makes fake gagging sounds. “Please, I can’t hear about you and Caradoc so soon after breakfast.”
“I didn’t say Caradoc.” Remus pockets the money after counting it. A complicated sort of look goes over Sirius’ face. Remus asks, “What’s all this about, then?”
Sirius sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. After a moment, “Something happened last night.”
“It was Scarlet, with the candlestick, in the observatory. No, dining room, dining room! That’s my final guess.”
Sirius’ nose still scrunches up when he frowns. “What?”
“I’m sure other people have time to stand around and wait through your dramatic pauses, but I’ve got class in a few minutes and I’d rather not have to see Moore twice in one morning. Don’t want him getting the wrong idea.”
“You’ll make AP History, this won’t take long.”
“How do you know I’ve got AP History?”
The light in the bathroom isn’t the best, but Remus is pretty sure Sirius goes a little red. “You said so.”
“No, I said class,” Remus smiles, pressing a hand to his own chest. “You keeping tabs on me now, Black? Aw, I’m creeped out, really.”
“Dearborn basically follows you around like a kicked puppy, drags me around with him.”
Remus’ smile drops. “What do you want?”
“You—”
The warning bell goes off.
“And that’s time. We should do this more often.”
**
It was a stupid mistake, that went unsaid. Nostalgia, cheap beer and a bad night rolled into one.
Four weeks ago, two months after Regulus Black vanished in the middle of the night, one month after Remus’ mom had gotten the boot and the night Remus’ already fragile social existence came falling apart.
Benjy Fenwicks mom owned some sort of PETA-approved synthetic fur line, and was always jetting off somewhere to promote it. His dad did something Benjy wasn’t allowed to talk about, but he was home even less than she was, which made Benjy Fenwick’s house the place to be for every 09er come Friday night.
Remus had gone to meet Caradoc there, and found him on the couch with Emmeline Vance in his lap, his tongue in her mouth. The room had erupted into whispers and barely suppressed laughter. Vance looked confused. Caradoc looked equal parts relieved and apologetic.
Remus hadn’t said a word. Just turned around, and walked away. He found himself in the kitchen, so he grabbed a random unopened bottle out of the fridge, to look like he had a single clue what he was doing, then stalked off and deeper into the sprawling mansion. He found himself in a dimly lit, large room. A guest room designed after a hunter lodge, ironically enough, complete with a fur throw and what Remus hoped was a fake moose head mounted on the wall.
A breeze ruffled the curtains and drew his attention to the balcony. Remus took a swig of his drink, what turned out to be an apple cider, and grimaced at the taste. He stepped outside and put the bottle down on the parapet, dropped his head into his hands, and sighed.
“If you’re about done with this Lifetime moment, would you mind fucking off?”
Remus jolted up, banging his elbow against the stone. “Jesus fucking christ.”
“No, just Sirius, but you know I always get that. I think it's the hair.” Sirius is crouched on the other side of the balcony, his knees folded up to his chest, half his face hidden in his arms, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. “Seriously, fuck off.”
Remus raised an eyebrow, indignant. “Contrary to popular belief, you don’t actually own this town, Black. You want to be alone, you can leave.”
“I was here first!” Sirius said, jumping to his feet, the drama queen that he is.
“And what, finders keepers?” Remus doesn’t know why he didn’t just leave, only that Sirius told him to, which means he couldn’t. “If that didn’t work on me when we were six, it’s not going to work on me now.”
“You were annoying then, too,” Sirius scoffed. “And just as stubborn.”
“I was? You were a nightmare, you were always sticking gum in my hair and eating my homework.”
“I wasn’t that bad,” Sirius brought his cigarette up to take a drag, covering half his face in the process. His hands are big. The thought was as unwelcome as the other man's presence. “‘Sides, you wouldn’t play with me and I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I don’t like being ignored.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Remus muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“You have?” Sirius leaned in a little, all sandalwood and smoke. “Noticed anything else?”
“That you’re handsome and smart and funny and—oh, damn it all to hell, Sirius Black, I’m madly in love with you!” Remus pitched his voice high and fluttered his lashes dramatically and ignored the way his heart thumped in his chest harder than it ought to.
He shook his hair out of his face with a short laugh. It’s longer now, almost at his shoulders. Remus picks at the label on his bottle for something to do.
Sirius’ back hit the opposite wall again, but he stayed standing. The distance was welcome. “It’s never a simple yes or no with you, is it?”
“No.”
Sirius looked up at him through his eyelashes, his mouth curling up. Then, his eyes cleared, as though seeing him for the first time. “What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t think this was your scene.”
“Benjy’s bitching bashes? I live for these. Can’t wait for the fireworks and the cops to show up at exactly twenty after three in the morning.”
“You know, I thought that was you doing a keg stand in the backyard,” Sirius mused. “I think Benjy’s waiting till four to call them this time.”
Remus took a sip. It’s bittersweet. “Caradoc asked me to meet him here, actually.”
“Oh, God.” Sirius’ head thunked back against the wall. “Forget I asked. Forgot I’m talking to one half of Hogwarts' very own power couple.”
“It’ll be exponentially more difficult to maintain power couple status now that we’re no longer a couple, but I'll do my part.”
Sirius’ head snapped up, his eyes clear and bright as the moon. “What?”
Remus dropped his eyes to his bottle, shrugged. “Yeah, it’s over.”
“I hadn’t heard.”
“Given that it happened about five minutes ago, I’d be more concerned if you had. Can’t say I’m surprised really.”
“What happened?”
“You know, the usual,” Remus sighed, “boy likes boy, boy’s mother accuses boy’s father’s biggest shareholder of filicide, boy dumps boy due to withering social status. Tale as old as time.”
“He dumped you? Over that?” Sirius frowned, his nose scrunched up. “That’s stupid. He’s stupid.”
“You know you might be the only person in this town to think so. Why is that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you hate me because of my mom? Seems the thing to do at the moment.”
“Come on, Lupin. Plenty of reasons to hate you, no need to drag poor Hope into it.”
“You really know how to make a guy blush.”
“Besides, you’ve met my family. If anything ever happened to me and nobody thought to investigate them, I’d haunt your asses til kingdom come.”
Remus snorted. Then, “Thanks. Really.”
Sirius shook his head, scuffed his shoe along the floor. “Save it for Caradoc when you two rekindle over the poem he’ll undoubtedly write you come Monday.”
“Mighty supportive of you. Thought you of all people would be celebrating.”
Sirius’ eyes widened, his ears gone red. “Why would I?”
“You’re always telling him he can do better,” Remus frowned, confused. “Now he can.”
“I never said that.”
Remus scoffed.
Sirius shuffled closer, his eyes crinkling at the corners with the look he sent him, his docs nudged Remus’ sneakers until Remus looked up into those eyes again. “Honest, I haven’t. If anything, I always thought you could do better. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Caradoc’s a bit of an idiot.”
A laugh burst out of Remus and Sirius’ mouth edged into a smile. “Rich coming from you. Isn’t that a prerequisite for joining your little club?”
“I’ll have you know, I’ve got a four point oh.”
“I’m going to pretend that isn’t true, for my own peace of mind.” Remus groaned, covering his face with one hand and shoving Sirius away with the other one. The warmth of his chest under his palm was a bit dizzying.
Sirius swayed back with a laugh but stayed put, a newly lit cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. Remus nodded at it. “You mind?”
He watched Sirius’ throat work for a moment, two, then he shook his head.
Remus took it, and took a drag.
Sirius took it back, immediately brought it up to his own lips and inhaled. He looked away quickly when Sirius met his eyes.
“Why are you out here? This is your scene,” Remus reminded him, the heat on his face relentless. Remus took the cigarette back when it was offered to him, suppressing a shiver as their fingers brushed. Calluses and clean fingernails. “Shouldn’t you be shotgunning a beer can or smashing a beer can on your head or defacing a beer can in some way?”
“Thought I’d leave the defacing to someone else tonight,” Sirius said, running his hands through his hair, tugging at it a little. It looked soft. “I saw him at the market.”
“...The little piggy?”
But it’s as though he hadn’t even spoken. Sirius tossed his hair back with a shake of his head, a somber sort of look settling over his face. “Regulus.”
“What?” Remus almost choked on the word.
“I was at the sac-and-pac, and, and he’s been gone for over a month, trust me I’m well aware of the fact, hard not to be with my mom off hibernating in some wellness spa or sweating it out at a yoga retreat, and my dad’s been home maybe once ever since, so I know . But seeing that stupid freshman photo of his on an honest to God milk carton, it just.” Sirius laughed and shook his head. “It’s stupid, I know.”
“Not really. When, when my dad left last year, I didn’t feel a thing, didn’t wanna talk about it or anything, life just moved on. Then, about two months later I drove past a middle school Daddy-Daughter dance. Had to pull over. Sometimes these things take time.”
Sirius sniffed, leaning against the railing, too. His shoulders brushed against Remus’, warm and familiar. “Do you miss him?”
“I try not to but yeah, I do. Hard not to.” Remus opened his mouth twice, before he managed to ask, “Do you miss him?”
“No,” Sirius replied fast, sure. He turned to look at him, all bright quicksilver eyes and determined mouth. “Because I’m gonna find him.”
“I’m sure you will.” Remus chewed on the inside of his cheek, weighing his next words carefully. “If you ever need—”
“Thank you,” Sirius said, when he cut off. “You know, you’re not half bad, Lupin.”
“Be still my beating heart.”
Sirius laughed, and Remus could taste the puff of smoke that left his lips. His tongue darted out to wet his own lips, and he watched Sirius’ eyes drop to them, trace them.
“Remus.”
He shook his head.
“Remus,” a plea.
They would always end up back here. With the space between them shrunk down to a breath, and Sirius tipping his head forward, his eyes flicking up to his for a second, a question in the air. Remus dropped his eyes to Sirius’ lips, red and wet and still familiar, and then they’re touching, light, shuddering breaths passing between them.
Remus inhaled sharply, moving away, but Sirius’ hands are slipping up his back, gripping the back of his neck, sure, desperate, and his lips are on his again, hard and unforgiving. Remus gasped, and Sirius licked into his mouth, as Remus slid his hands up and into his hair. He tugged, and Sirius moaned, pressing in closer until Remus is sandwiched between the stone and Sirius’ body, their lips not disconnecting once. Eventually, they do break apart when the oxygen debt runs too high.
Sirius’ hands shake when he brings them up to cup Remus’ face, tilting his head into the light. “You know, you’ve got freckles,” he said, his voice a rough imitation of what Remus is used to.
“Do I?” Remus barely recognized his own voice, couldn't bring himself to think of anything past the haze of Sirius surrounding him, the black in his eyes swallowing the silver.
“Mm,” Sirius traced a finger down his nose, over the swell of his upper lip. “It’s obvious to anyone who looks. A bit distracting, really.”
“I hardly think that’s the most distracting imperfection on my face,” Remus quipped, but it’s breathless and undercut by the way he leaned in to kiss Sirius again.
Sirius pulled back, his nose scrunched up. “I never said anything about imperfections.”
“Shut up,” Remus whispered, and kissed him again, his hands in his hair. Sirius laughed into it, and Remus pulled back, with a scowl. “Now what?”
“Nothing, it’s just, for someone who makes so many jokes about my hair, you seem to really like it,” Sirius grinned at him. Remus scoffed, and disentangled his fingers from his hair, pulling away, feeling vaguely caught. Sirius’ eyes widened and his hands shot down to grip Remus’. “Where are you going?”
“The balcony hardly seems big enough for the three of us, and I’d hate to intrude.”
Sirius dragged him closer with a laugh, tangling their fingers together and resting them against the rough stone Remus found himself pressed against. Sirius pecked him on the nose. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re embarrassed.”
“You mistake disgust for embarrassment.”
“Might have to do this more often to know the difference.” Sirius kissed him, once. “Practice, practice.”
Remus laughed. “Oh, God, please don’t mention Moore right now.”
“What, that doesn’t do it for you?” Sirius grinned, red high on his cheekbones. Remus hadn’t seen him like this in a long time. Remus hadn’t seen him in a long time. It was nice.
“You know, weirdly enough talking about our seventy year old principal does not put me in the mood.”
“Noted. Though, to be fair to him, he doesn’t look a day over sixty.”
“For the love of God, shut up.”
“Make me.”
“Is this the part where I’m meant to kiss—”
Sirius crashed their mouths together so hard, Remus’ nose smarts. His grunt turned into a soft moan when Sirius took his bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, soothing the place with a soft kiss right after. “Too rough?” he asked, as he guided Remus’ hands to his hips, his own hands finding their way around Remus’ shoulders.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You never change, do you, Lupin?”
Remus kissed him to ignore the implication of that. Of them, before. Before the before, before Caradoc, when this (that is, hooking up in discreet corners at parties, pep rallies, between classes, whenever, wherever, really) was the norm. Before he’d sworn off of him. But here he is again, between familiar thighs, running his tongue over the raised edge of his lip that never healed right, in and over the uneven ridge of his teeth, sighing at his taste, arms wrapped around him tight. He’s missed this. Missed him.
“Missed this,” Sirius whispered between kisses peppered down the length of his throat.
Remus tilted his head back, his eyes squeezed shut. It still hurts to hear. False promises made in the heat of it all. “Don’t.”
“Miss you.”
“No,” Remus pulled away, “no, don’t, just, please.”
“Okay, hey, I’m sorry, okay,” Sirius kissed him, once. “I’m sorry. Let’s just,” He kissed him again, again. Soft, tender, everything they’re not. “We can just do this.”
Remus lets him lie to him.
**
“You’re not thinking of me, are you?”
Remus blinks and comes face-to-face with none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, their self-proclaimed local celebrity. He’d been the Dyper baby, an environmentally safe, recyclable diaper brand that was shut down twelve years ago by the State after they were exposed to be neither environmentally safe nor recyclable. Last time Remus had seen Lockhart, he’d been signing unsuspecting customers’ diaper packs at the grocery store.
“Gil. Uh, hi?”
He looks more ridiculous than usual in his expensive leather trench coat, a maroon fedora, and massive sunglasses, hanging off his index finger, standing amidst the plain one bedroom apartment-turned-PI office the Lupin’s work out of. The bedroom with the door is his mom’s office, where the Real Cases were taken. Remus sat outside, behind his own tiny desk, a kitchen with a sink, some glasses, a crappy coffee machine and a fridge across from him, and one busted up sofa they’d gotten at a flea market pushed against the wall, where clients usually wait for his mom.
They get decent enough business, considering, and they’ve had a few high stakes cases, but most of the time it’s petty stuff that Remus could do. Sometimes he gets classmates of his cornering him in the school or showing up here with their allowance in one hand, and a deplorable request in the other. Today seemed to be one of those days.
“Oh, Remus, Remus, Remus,” Lockhart drapes himself over the sofa. “I know this is hard for you but I need your help looking into….a potential interest.”
“Meaning?” Remus has learned long ago not to question or ignore Gilderoy Lockhart. He just follows the thread Lockhart provides for the quickest possible exit.
Lockhart actually throws a hand over his forehead, like some soap opera starlet. Which he would be happy to tell anybody he almost was, but turned it down to focus on school and family.
“I’m in love.”
“Uh, that’s great?” Remus ventures. He can never be sure with Lockhart. “And?”
“I’m sorry to do this to you, of all people,” Lochart says, sitting up and facing him, “but I didn’t know where else to go.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Remus admits.
“I know, Remus. I know. But I can not let your heart’s desires impede mine own, silly boy.”
“Why are you talking like that all of a sudden?”
“Hm? Like what?”
Remus sighs. “Gil, what is it you want me to look into?”
“Amelia Bones.”
Remus thinks for a moment. “Blonde? On the pep squad? Maced you in homeroom sophomore year?”
“That’s the one!” Lockhart claps his hands, seemingly delighted. “I’m thinking of going out with her. Sorry.”
“Uh, okay,” Remus says, writing her name down. “And what, you want me to find out if she’s single?”
“What? No, I want you to make sure she doesn’t know about me,” Lockhart raises his eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
“I do not.”
“Remus, come on,” Lockhart sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Men like me, we can’t just accept any fancy thrown our way. I want to make sure she isn’t after me for my renown.”
Remus gapes at him. “Sorry, so let me just see if I’ve got this straight. You’re going to pay me fifty dollars to find out if Amelia Bones is flirting with you because sixteen years ago you were the face of a diaper ad. That no longer runs. For a company that has recalled all its products. Have I got that right?”
Lockhart stands suddenly, sweeping his coat behind him like a cape as he crosses the room and leans over Remus, who leans back in his chair, caught between laughing and reaching for the pepper spray he keeps taped under his desk. “I’m sure this isn’t going to be easy for you, but I would really appreciate it. I’ll sign your Dyper.”
“I haven’t got any on me,” Remus says, then, “Why would this be hard for me?”
Lockhart shakes his head with a laugh. “Oh, you brave, brave boy.” He takes Remus’ chin between his index and thumb, shakes him a little. “I can not love you the way you need, but I will allow your love for me to blossom.”
Remus sends out a desperate litany of thank you’s to the universe for having his mom out of the country for the week, otherwise this already terrible moment might find itself documented and played at Remus’ elopement that she would inevitably find and crash.
“You’d think if hell had frozen over, it’d be on the news.”
Remus immediately takes back any and all thanks he’d sent out. This might be worse than his mom.
He jerks his face away from Lockhart, who just stands up straight. “Ah, Sirius. We’re just about done here.” He smiles down at Remus, “So, do we have a deal?”
Remus considers throwing him out, but then he thinks of the easy cash he’d be throwing out with him, and instead mutters an impatient, “Payment’s upfront.”
Lockhart drops five ten dollar bills on the table, bows and makes his way to the door, side stepping a stony-faced Sirius, who hasn’t moved. Lockhart pauses at the door, and glances over his shoulder, artificially wistful. “In another life, maybe?”
When the door slams shut, Remus drops his face into his hands.
“So, you and Lockhart?” Sirius says slowly. “That explains the knife.”
Remus groans into his hands. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re a great conversationalist, Lupin.” Sirius saunters in, dropping into the seat across from him. “But you’re not three hundred dollars great. Get your Nancy Drew hat on.”
Remus mimes adjusting a cap, and flips open a new page of his legal pad with a sigh. “What do you want, Sirius?”
“I want you to find my brother.”
Remus’ breath catches. His mind goes through a million different things at once, but the first thing out of his mouth is, “Why me?”
“What, you want me to wax poetic about you?”
“Have you been reading my diary?”
Sirius crosses his arms. “Why do you care, then?”
Remus huffs. “I don’t, but you know the bad blood between our families. My family and this whole town, actually. Surely there’s someone else. Someone more appropriate.”
“You're cheaper.”
“Yeah, your V4 really screams recession.”
Sirius leans onto the desk with his elbows, cradling his face in his palms and batting his ridiculously long, soot black lashes at him. “You know which bike I ride?”
“All the better to fuck with you.” Remus opens and closes a drawer to have an excuse to bow his head and look anywhere else. “I’m nothing if not diligent.”
“Hey, don’t say that. You’ll always be a pain in my ass.”
Remus ignores him. “And anyway aren’t you coming into some hard earned trust fund money on your twenty first?”
“Accessed it on my eighteenth, actually.” Sirius winks. Remus sneers, and he puts his hands up, palms out, a smile in his eyes. “Hey, you try being related to Orion and Walburga for eighteen years, it’ll seem pretty hard earned then.”
“Whatever. I know it means you can afford more than this. So, I ask again, why me?”
“I want someone I can trust,” Sirius replies, somber. “Like it or not, that’s you, Lupin.”
“I’m leaping for joy on the inside.” Remus rests his chin behind his folded hands to hide any emotion his face might betray. “What have you got for me?”
Sirius hands him a small white card. “I found this in his room last night. It might be nothing, but I thought. I don’t know, it's the first real thing I’ve had to go on in three months.”
“Where’d you find it?” Remus asks, turning the card over. He runs a thumb over it, feels the bumps, reads the three words on it: seven, cave, shores. “Family trip?”
“Vent above his bed. And doubtful. We’re not really a beach resort kind of family.”
Remus snorts. Then, he processes the first bit of his sentence. “Vents?”
“Just something we used to do,” Sirius shrugs. “I forget sometimes. That I know him, you know.”
He didn’t know. Nobody did, Sirius doesn’t talk about his family often. Regulus Black, for all intents and purposes, is an enigma. He goes to a French boarding school, one Sirius got kicked out of one semester in. Remus remembers him showing up in the second semester of classes in fourth grade with a wink and a missed me, Lupin? (really, nothing had changed) and that was the end of his foreign boarding school experience. Regulus comes home in the winters and summers and he’s been pictured enough with the rest of the Black family during state dinners, town functions, and the such that Remus sort of knows his face.
He’d walked in on him and Sirius in the pool once, and joined them for a movie another time. So, Remus can surmise that there doesn’t seem to be any bad blood, they’re just…private.
“Anything else you found in there?” Remus asks.
“Empty journal, some papers, and, uh, a few photos.” Sirius goes a bit red, scratches at his jaw. “Nothing important.”
Remus frowns. “Okay, I’ll follow up on this, and let you know.” When Sirius doesn’t move, Remus glances pointedly at the door once, then again, and again.
“Are you having a seizure?”
“No, I’m trying to politely tell you to leave.”
“Where are we going?”
“We are not going anywhere.” Remus stands up, pulling his own jacket on. “I’m going to follow up on this lead, and you’re going to do whatever it is you 09-ers do when school is out.”
Sirius stands up. “I’m going with you.”
Remus laughs. Then covers his mouth when Sirius’ face doesn’t change. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m dead fucking serious. This is Regulus, I know my brother and I’m not going to sit back while you traipse into God knows what he’s gotten himself into on your own.”
If his tone isn’t convincing, the fact he’d bypassed making his usual stupid joke is. Remus weighs the pros and cons of arguing to keep him out and bringing him along. He sighs, loudly. When he looks back at him, Sirius is already smiling, smug and satisfied.
Remus points a finger at him. “You’ll follow my rules. Whatever I say, goes. You don’t ever go off on your own. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t look at anyone, and, for the love of god, do not under any circumstance give anyone your real name. Got it?”
Sirius nods, then, “In the interest of full disclosure, I’m a little turned on right now.”
“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t have taken her.”
“I refuse to get on that thing.”
“Your loss.” Sirius tosses his hair out of his face, and leans down to take a sip of his Big Gulp. “It’s better than sex, really.”
Remus hums. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Why, have you forgotten sex? Dearborn never did strike me as the rip your clothes off type.” Remus keeps his eyes on the storefront he’s parked outside of. He can feel Sirius’ eyes on him. “Has he spoken to you recently?”
“Who?” Remus asks, just to be annoying.
“God,” Sirius deadpans. “Caradoc, obviously.”
“Not really.”
“So he has?” Sirius presses, and Remus can feel him turning to properly look at him. “You’re not still pining after him, are you? It wouldn’t be right, if you were. It’s coming up on a month, move on. Trust me, he has.”
“This is embarrassing, I haven’t dug up anything personal or intrusive about you. Next time.”
Then, movement from the store. Remus unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to Sirius when he hears him do the same. Remus points his index at him. “Stay.”
Sirius barks in his face in response.
Remus doesn’t make it two steps away from his car when he hears the other car door slam shut. He inhales, counts to three then he whirls around and stumbles back when he finds Sirius directly at his back, closer than expected. He gathers his bearings, and glares at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you meant stay in the car? You just said stay and I thought it was the more popular by your side. Apologies.” Remus opens his mouth, but then Sirius is gesturing behind him. “Is that our guy?”
He turns around and sees Hugo at the windows, pulling down the blinds. “Yes, fuck, okay, just. Be quiet. No comments, no quips, I don’t want to hear a word out of you, until I introduce you, alright?”
Sirius mimes zipping his lips. The shop is exactly as Remus last remembers it. Peeling navy paint, hardwood floors, rows upon rows of vinyls, cardboard boxes piled high towards the back end, near the beaded back entrance to the bathroom and staff room.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” Hugo, the shop owner, says without turning around. “Come back at nine o’clock tomorrow.”
“To wait another hour and a half for you to come in? I’m not making that mistake again.”
“Only took you about six times to get my schedule down.” Hugo turns around, with a smile on his face. He’s only a few years older than them, with deep olive skin, watery green eyes and a kind smile. His handsome face is interrupted by a pink jagged scar that stretches from his left temple to his right one, right through his pretty eyes. “Remus, how are you?”
“I’m alright, Hugo, and yourself?”
“I’m fine, but I’m a little upset with you. You haven’t been down here lately. Timmy’s been missing you.”
“Ah, I miss him, too,” Remus chuckles, thinking of Timmy, his gorgeous black lab. “How come he isn’t here today?”
“He’s not feeling well, the poor thing, so Nancy’s picking me up in a few.”
“Oh, no, poor baby,” Remus frowns. “Is he alright?”
“He’ll live,” Sirius snaps. “Can we get on with this?”
Hugo frowns. Remus shoots him a glare, and Sirius glares back. He hisses, “You can ask after your boyfriend another time, for the time being can we stay on the task at hand?”
Before Remus can decide between strangling him or correcting him, Hugo asks, “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Hugo, this is Sirius, a, uh, school friend of mine, I guess. Sirius, this is my good friend Hugo,” Remus introduces. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
Remus hands him the card. “It’s got a bit of braille on the back that I figured out, but I can’t make it make sense.”
Hugo runs his fingers over it, and frowns. “I see. This is Oryx.”
“I translated that myself but I couldn’t find anything on it.”
“You wouldn’t. It’s a new Den.”
“A what?” Sirius asks.
They both ignore him.
“I thought so.” Remus thinks for a moment. “You think it’s the Ferret?”
“What’s that?”
They both ignore him.
“Not sure, but I wouldn’t be too surprised. Your best bet is Thursday.”
“Right. There’s some words on there, too. Cave, shores, and seven. I was thinking they could be Dens. You think you can find out anything about it before then, let me know?”
Hugo hands the card back. “If I hear anything, I’ll get in touch.”
“I appreciate that, thanks Hugo. Give Timmy a kiss from me, okay?” Remus calls out, and drags a struggling Sirius out onto the street. Once they’re in the car, Remus turns his glare on him. Sirius has his arms crossed, staring out of the passenger side window. “Care to explain what all that was about?”
Sirius turns on him, his eyes icy gray. “Funny, I was about to say the very same thing.”
“What?”
“What’s a Den?”
Remus shakes his head and starts the car, shifting the gear to D. He drives down the blessedly empty streets. “See, if you’d waited in the car we could have had this same conversation without the anger or confusion. I told you to shut up when we were in there.”
“Guess I’m not a very good dog,” Sirius snaps. “And who the fuck is Timmy? We’re in the middle of a serious case. I don’t appreciate you getting side-tracked like that.”
Remus looks over at him for a beat, then he keels over and laughs and laughs until the light turns green. At the next red light, he turns, still giggling, to find Sirius glaring at him, his arms over his chest. He’s not sure if that red over his cheekbones is him or the lights.
“What,” Sirius grinds out, “is so funny?”
Remus reaches into his back pocket and brings out his flip phone, clicks through his photos until he finds one of them last summer, Timmy in his Service Dog vest licking Remus’ laughing face on the beach.
He hands the phone over, and watches as Sirius’ expression flits from irritation to confusion to embarrassment, then, bizarrely enough, back to irritation. He hands him the phone back. “You shouldn’t let just any dog off the street lick you.”
The light turns green, but Sirius stays red. Remus scoffs, and pockets his phone, shooting him a pointed look.
“I’ve had all my shots, and I’ve got the records to prove it,” Sirius retorts to his look, but his tone is lighter. They park in front of the office, behind Sirius’ bike and Remus turns off the car. “What about the rest of it?”
“This is your last chance to back out,” Remus warns him. “Trust me, some stones are better left unturned.”
“It’s like you don’t even know me.”
“The Ferret is Alecto Carrow. He’s a drug pusher.”
“Carrow? Why? His family’s fucking loaded. Packing peanuts or something equally ridiculous. How’d he get into this?”
Remus sighs, this is the hard part, “He works for Riddle.”
Sirius’ eyebrows fly up to his hairline. “...Riddle?”
“Tom Riddle.”
“As in Tom Riddle? The Tom Riddle? Hogwarts alumnus, most boring man alive?”
“One and the same.”
“You think Riddle’s involved in this?” Sirius asks, with a laugh. When Remus says nothing, he carries on, “No, that’s not right. That can’t be right, he’s—”
“Close friends with the mayor? Head of the biggest Investment firm on the West Coast? The face of the Get Clean movement?” Remus asks. “Yeah, I know. He’s also one of the dirtiest, low down crooks in the country. He’s got his hand in every possible thing you can think of and my mom’s been trying to put him behind bars for years. I’m pretty sure that’s what she lost her Sheriff's position over. He’s just been waiting for the chance. Riddle is dirty, Sirius. You have to believe me.”
This is what Remus had been afraid of. That this would all lead back to Riddle, the way most bad things in this town do, and that Sirius would be looking at him like that, like he’s crazy, like the rest of them do.
“How do you know all this?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this happen,” Remus says. “Riddle, he, he’s involved in the drug trade in town. He uses Den’s, these little clubs that’re paid to waive ID checks, to lure Hogwarts kids in, and get them hooked on whatever designer drugs they’re pushing.”
“But why?” Sirius asks, after a moment, his voice sounds hoarse. “Riddle’s rolling in it, they all are, but him especially. What would he need to sell drugs to highschool kids for? I’m sure the kind of cash he’s making off them isn’t nearly as much as his actual business, so why?”
Riddle sits in silence. There it is. The why. The one question they don’t have an answer for. Why, indeed. ‘He’s pure evil,’ is too simple, but it’s the only logical explanation, because Sirius is right. Riddle doesn’t need to get involved in narcotics, he’s rich enough as is.
“I don’t know,” Remus admits.
“Why Hogwarts?”
“Because you’re all trust fund kids, I assume. Young, stupid rich, impressionable. And you’ll bring your friends, who bring their friends—”
“But Regulus isn’t a Hogwarts student.”
“No, but he is a Black, and he's young. And…he’s met Riddle, hasn’t he?” It’s a rhetorical question. Everyone knows the heavy ties between the Blacks and Riddle.
“Oh, God. Oh, fuck.” Sirius looks green. He gets out of the car, paces along the length of it. Remus gets out, leans against the driver’s side and watches him. Sirius stops and looks at him, frantic. “That creep’s been to our house. He’s been to dinner parties, he bought Regulus a telescope for Christmas. Jesus. Do you think he gave him that card? Do you think he’s, that Regulus is, is mixed up in all that?”
Remus is caught between relief at Sirius believing him, and guilt at having to bring him into it at all.
“I don’t know,” Remus says, half-apologetic. “I don’t know, I don’t think we’ll get any leads before Thursday. That’s when these Dens are most active, and Hugo usually comes through, so I’ll go and look into it. Sirius, I really don’t think you should—”
“Remus, don’t.”
His mouth snaps shut. “Fine. Alright. Thursday, then.”
“Thursday.”
part iii: YOU BETTER NOT KILL THE GROOVE
Tuesday
Remus has all of two seconds to draw in a breath before he’s being dunked back under water, his arms swishing behind him in a wide arc.
“And one more!”
Under he goes, again. Amidst this humiliation, Remus considers going into politics and banning mandatory gym class in high schools, with an emphasis on mandatory swimming.
“Good job, Lupin!” Merrythought praises, a cruel glint in his small, blue eyes. Ever since Remus turned down his invitation to join the basketball team, insisting that his height would not equate to playing ability, Merrythought has taken to hating him with a passion otherwise reserved for religious practice.
He’s half-convinced the older man's going to stand up and object when his name is called at graduation.
Remus drags himself out of the Olympic sized pool, and trudges over to the lockers, miserable and sopping wet. Once he’s showered and changed, he makes his way out of the P.E. building, calculating the money he’s got to spend, wondering if it’d be enough for the lunch they’re serving in the cafeteria today when he nearly walks right into someone.
“If you want me to hold you, all you need to do is ask.” Sirius tugs on a lock of his hair with a smile. “You’re all wet.”
“I showered.” Remus puts some distance between them, his face screwing up. He looks Sirius up and down, regular uniform, with his tie shoved in his pocket, as usual. “What are you doing here, you don’t have gym.”
“And how would you know that? Maybe I’m here to get my sport on, to enrich my body as I have my mind, to—”
“You’re not in uniform.”
“Alright, yeah.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “I’m looking for you.”
Remus sighs. “I’m hungry, let’s walk and talk.”
“First you practically swoon into my arms, now you’re asking me to lunch? Careful, Lupin, a girl might get her hopes up,” Sirius says, a steely edge to his words. When Remus glances at him, he looks the same as usual, face blank, eyes a little dull. “Have you heard from him?”
“Hugo?” Remus sidesteps a group coming out of the main building. Sirius walks through them, unconcerned, then falls into step with him again, ignoring the odd looks being thrown their way. Remus fidgets with the strap of his bag. “Nothing yet, but it’s only been a day, I’m sure he’ll get back to me before Thursday.”
“Good.”
Sirius follows him into the lunch line.
Remus frowns at him. “Anything else?”
“Nope.” When Remus doesn’t budge over, Sirius looks at him and holds up a juice box. “Just getting my 3 C’s.”
Before he can say anything, a new voice, high and accented cuts in. “Lupin, do you have a moment?”
Remus sees Sirius’ expression shutter, before he catches sight of the swishing pale blond hair and the fur lined coat. Lucius Malfoy, heir apparent to the Malfoy fortune, and rare attendee of the mess hall, is standing a few feet away from them, one pale eyebrow arched in question.
“Sure, Malfoy.”
Remus puts his tray down, but then a hand grips his wrist, and Sirius is speaking, “Actually, we’re in the middle of something right now.”
“Sirius.”
But then he looks at him, eyes big and imploring and gray and Remus has a lot of memories associated with those eyes, and those fingers around his wrists, so he goes momentarily quiet.
“That’s fine, I dropped off the instructions at your locker.” Malfoy walks off before Remus can respond.
“What was that about?”
“I’d like to know myself,” Remus scanned his veggie pasta and salad, swiping a soda from the tray. His neck feels hot. He’s angry. Angry with Sirius for using that. Angry with himself for letting it work. “What exactly are we in the middle of?”
“Lunch,” he replies. Remus just stares at him, and Sirius cocks an eyebrow. “What, did I stumble into some bad lighting?”
Remus rolls his eyes and keeps moving. “If only.”
They’ve just gotten to the end of the line, when a body comes crashing into Sirius, hollering, “Black, you’ll never guess who’s top—what are you doing here?”
Remus fights to keep his expression blank. “I go here.”
Sirius shrugs him off. “I’ll be out in a minute, Fab.”
Fabian, apparently, nods quietly and stalks off. Remus can’t help it. “How are you friends with him?”
Sirius ignores him and picks up a boxed lunch at random, adds it to Remus’ pile, swipes his card, and throws a, “Catch you later,” over his shoulder.
Remus is about to go after him and tell him he can pay for his lunch himself, when he catches sight of curly blonde hair, and the swish of a red-and-white skirt. Bones sans the cheer squad, a rare occurrence in and of itself. He looks between Sirius’ retreating back, his boxed lunch and Amelia, hunched over a BLT and a sketchbook, and sighs.
He stuffs his lunch into his bag, decision made. “Amelia!”
She turns around, and gets that look on her face most kids give him, like they’re trying to place him, then her eyes widen a little (she’s recognized him, his mom, the scandal), then neutral. She’s easy to read, which’ll make this easier.
“Hey,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, what’s up?”
“I just.” Remus pauses. He hadn’t really put as much thought into this as he maybe should have. As ridiculous as the request is, he still has to do it. “Are you going out with anyone right now?”
Her eyes flick away from him, then back, and now she looks slightly panicked. Remus almost laughs. She thinks he’s about to ask her out. He keeps his face neutral. “Uh, kinda? It’s new.”
“New?” Remus asks, raising his eyebrows. Then, he smiles faux-apologetic. “Sorry, I’d heard you were seeing McCormick again.”
A lie. The entire town knows Amelia and Johann had had a nasty break up the year before, but the mention of him, even now, has her going red in the face and sends her careening right into a rant, “As if! I wouldn’t touch that stupid idiot with a ten foot pole if my life depended on it. Not only is he terrible in bed, but he’s an absolute jackass. Did you know he told me that I couldn’t do better? Can you believe that? Me?” Remus tried to look appropriately scandalized, and reckons he manages just fine, because she says, “Exactly! Well, I showed him, didn’t I? Not only is his new girl a hot mess, I swear I saw her at two clearance racks on Rodeo, but she’s an idiot! While I’m dating a model and an actor, that’ll show him.”
Remus walks away, stunned. Lockhart was… right?
He clicks off the recorder and dumps it, along with his now cold lunch into his locker, picks out his Econ textbook, and turns around, looks down the length of the halls, and stuffs the bowie knife back into his bag. He checks the locker combo and location Malfoy had left in his locker, and dumps it in there, glad to be done with that bizarre request.
Theater kids will be the death of him.
Wednesday
Remus isn’t sure what it is about this week, but he’s had more social play than he has in maybe half a year. He leans against the sink of the boy’s bathroom, his unofficial school office, as Peter Pettigrew checks every stall in the bathroom. Then, he turns to Remus, his twitchy eyes unsettling as always. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
Peter Pettigrew, number one in the state in wrestling and Applied Physics. He doesn't remember what kind of money he comes from, but it's substantial enough he can afford to hang around the Potter's and Black's. Diamonds, maybe. He’s not nice, per se, but he’s not been outright cruel to Remus, which is a bit of a distinguishing feature in this school.
“Sure.” Remus scratches at his nose. “Uh, what can I do for you?”
“I dunno how to start this, actually,” Peter says. His skin is irritated around the knuckles, years of wrestling. “Do I pay first, or?”
“How about you just tell me what this is about, and if I can help, then we can discuss payment.”
“I’mnotsurehowtosaythisbutareyouandsiriustogether?”
Remus blinks a few times. “Sorry?”
Peter clears his throat, his ears red. “I, I was just wondering, because I thought, well, you and Dearborn, you know, but Sirius and you have been, uh, closer, which is fine, but also, he’s been around you a lot more, and…and…I don’t know.”
“How is that any of your business?”
“Dearborn,” Peter blurts out, hands wringing together. His white gold Rolex catches the fluorescent lights, and Remus feels a wave of disgust turn his stomach. “He’s a good guy, he’s, he’s good to me. Nice. I just, I don’t know what the situation is. With you, I don’t know.”
“Then you should ask him,” Remus snaps. “I’m not sure what you think this is, but I’m not selling my private life for yours to get a little easier, Pettigrew.”
Peter flushes, his eyes widening. “What? No, that’s not, I don’t, no—”
“Save it, I don’t want your excuses, or your money. Fuck off.” Remus watches him scurry out, feeling a twinge of regret when he mutters a sorry in his rush, which disappears under the weight of his irritation at the request, invasive and stupidly entitled. Just like everyone else here, their requests, the fifty dollars they drop like it’s nothing, the watches they wear, the expensive cars they drive in, the things that keep them up. It’s not fair. It’s never been fair.
He washes his face, splotchy and red, too worked up. Self pity will get him nowhere, Stanford is close, and he’ll never have to think about Hogwarts or anyone in this stupid town ever again once he’s there.
He makes his way out, not intent on missing World History, only his storm out is ruined by running smack into someone who was coming in. “Fuck!”
“Watch it—oh.” The hand on his shoulder goes lax, and Remus can hardly keep his eye roll at bay. “Hi.”
He steps back, righting his bag on his shoulder. “Hey.”
Caradoc hands him his book back, standing closer than Remus thought might be necessary. “Here.”
He takes it, careful to keep their fingers separate. “Thanks.”
Remus goes to turn, but Caradoc says, in a rush, “How’ve you been?”
He furrows his brows. “Fine?”
“Fine is good, yeah.” Caradoc shifts from one foot to another. “Me, too.”
“Great.”
“Not to interrupt this great exchange of the minds, but can I get through? My bladder’s about ready to burst.”
As if the moment couldn’t get more after school special.
“Class act, as always,” Remus mutters, gesturing towards the door neither of them had even been blocking.
Caradoc looks exponentially more uneasy now, though. His eyes can barely hold his, and Sirius is still standing there, leaning against the door. Remus frowns. “Sorry, do you need directions? You go in, unzip–”
“Why do all your directions to me end in unzip? I'm starting to sense a pattern here, Lupin,” Sirius says, faux thoughtful. His eyes slide over to Caradoc, and something odd goes between them, then Sirius smiles. “I’ll be off now.”
Oddly, though, Caradoc is the one who walks away, bathroom forgotten.
“He’s a bit of a squirrely one, never did quite get what you saw in him,” Sirius muses. His eyes turn on Remus, a curious heat in them. “Has Hugo said anything?”
“Shut up.” Remus looks around, shoves him back into the bathroom. He checks the stalls. “He sent me the location. I’m picking you up tomorrow, ten o’clock, and for the love of God, dress down. You’re noticeable enough as is.”
His lips curl up, pleased. “Yeah?”
“That’s not a good thing,” Remus huffs, “I’ll tell you everything, then.”
But when he goes to leave, Sirius stops him with a hand around his wrist. His pulse picks up, and he sends a silent prayer Sirius is too distracted to notice. “Hold on, what did Dearborn want?”
Remus snatches his hand back. “What’s that got to do with you?”
“Just don’t want you distracted writing Mr Remus Dearborn in your diary when you should be looking for my brother,” Sirius sneers, crossing his arms.
“Don’t worry about me, I can multitask just fine.” He points a finger at him. “Don’t be late, and don’t dress stupid.”
Thursday
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
“What, I look good!”
“You look like a goddamn European.”
Sirius laughs. “I am a goddamn European.”
“There’s no way in hell you’re coming with me dressed like that,” Remus says, just barely resisting the urge to let his gaze linger. He runs a hand through his own shaggy hair, messing it up further. Careless and a little messy, that’s the look in the Den, definitely not…whatever Sirius is in.
Sirius, who has just slid into the passenger side in expensive dark wash jeans, a silky button up top, and a sapphire earring in his left earlobe, is staring at him, mouth slightly ajar. “Uh.”
Remus fiddles with the frog charm on his keychain, his skin prickles. “What?”
Sirius clears his throat, twice. “I just.” He shakes his head, his glossy curls move with the motion. “What are you wearing?”
Remus looks down at himself, his old black jeans that have become tighter with age and growth spurts, and his ramones t-shirt, faded from years of bad laundry. “What do you mean? I told you to dress casual, very low key, we don’t want to draw attention.”
“I could wear a knapsack and still not accomplish that,” Sirius says, running a hand through his hair, having clearly recovered from whatever that was.
“Put your seatbelt on,” Remus says in lieu of a response as he shifts the car into drive. Even he has to admit to himself what a losing battle it is making Sirius blend in. Nothing Sirius could wear would draw attention away from his very well known face.
He merges into the left lane. Sirius flips through his cassette collection, with increasing noises of disgust. “How many bad mixtapes can someone make before it can officially be classed harassment?”
Remus tries to snatch it out of his hand, but Sirius only leans away and holds it out the rolled down window. “Don’t tell me you’re hoarding them? You know my cousin Narcissa, she’s going through a bit of a post-adolescent post postmodern anti-consumerist phase, her words, and she's got us all decluttering. It goes like this, you hold something and if it doesn’t bring you joy, you toss it. I think it would do you some good.”
“Don’t.”
Sirius presses the tape to his chest for a second, then tosses it out the window. “No joy.”
“Sirius!”
“Those are the rules,” Sirius argues, the laugh in his voice infectious.
Remus checks his blind spot to avoid facing him. “Go ahead and toss yourself out then.”
“You’ve gotta hold me first,” Sirius says, turning the music up, and leaning out the window a little.
said, my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to / and my eyes don’t recognize you no more
Remus allows himself brief glimpses between stops: pale column of his throat, black curls whipping in the wind, exhilarated smile interrupted by scar tissue, beauty mark under the hinge of his jaw.
and my lips, they don’t kiss, the don’t kiss the way they used to / and my eyes don’t recognize you no more
Remus slows the car, far enough away nobody near the venue can see them. He eyes the line already assembled near the entrance. “We’re here.” He looks at Sirius, only to find him already looking back.
The pale moonlight catches against the expensive silk of his shirt, makes his face stand out, pretty, out of place. “Yeah, you’re going to have to stay in the car. Or shave your head.”
Sirius grins at him, his tongue poking out from between his teeth. “Aw, Remus, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
He scoffs and turns around, busies himself with double-checking his bag: tape recorder, camera, Swiss army knife, fake ID. Perfect. “You can be lookout, I guess.”
“Look out?” Sirius sits up. “You’re joking.”
“Yeah, it’s one of my classic you can be lookout bits.” Remus turns to face him head on and catches his eyes, doesn’t look away. Sirius looks flushed in the dim light, likely indignant. “Sirius, you’re too well known, and Riddle is too paranoid. One whiff of you at a Den and Riddle gets word of it, and any lead we could hope to have would be gone.”
“I don’t care if Riddle knows, let him know.”
“I’m glad we’re being objective and rational about this.”
“You're not going in there on your own. No way.”
Remus scoffs. “I hardly need you to protect me, I've been to a Den before.”
His eyes widen. “For..?”
“Drugs? No, just…” Remus trails off, unsure how much he should disclose. He trusts Sirius, embarrassingly enough, that much he knows. But he doesn’t want him too entangled in it. “Just trust me. I can handle myself.”
Sirius gets a little closer, in his space completely now. Remus hasn’t been this close to him since the night of Benjy’s party.
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you can do, I should be in there, too. I know these people—”
“Evidently, you don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t need me, would you?” Remus snaps, his neck heating up. He needs space.
“I mean, I know how they think, and I know my brother, I’ll be able to help.”
Remus isn’t convinced. “Sirius, you don’t—”
“Remus, please.” Sirius leans in a touch closer. “I need to do this, just, please. I’ll stay out of your way, I’ll keep as low a profile as you want. You can trust me.”
He should say no. This is stupid, he can practically hear his mom’s voice in his ear, berating him. You’re smarter than this, kid. He looks up at Sirius, all pleading, wide gray eyes and downturned mouth, and he hears his voice say, “Yeah, okay.”
Sirius perks up almost immediately. Remus holds up a hand. “When I say anything, and I mean, anything, go with it. Don’t ask, don’t question me, don’t hang around one area too long, okay?”
Sirius nods along. “So, what did Hugo tell you?”
“This is Oryx.” Remus slips the recorder into an empty cigarette pack, slips the whole thing into his back pocket. He slides the Swiss army knife into his key ring and then slips it and his phone in his front pocket. “And this Den is run by the Lizard.”
Sirius leans against the passenger side door and watches him. “And I take it that’s his Christian name?”
“No, that would be Rodolphus Lestrange,” Remus says, and watches Sirius’ jaw drop. The Lestrange family started out as a toy manufacturing company, and now runs one of the largest chains of amusement parks in the country. Edmund graduated three years ago from Hogwarts, one year later than expected. He’d turned up at a Den the next year. “Yeah. He’s not usually there, so we should be fine, but still, you should have a story. To be safe.”
“A story?”
“Your story,” Remus clarifies, “I’m a nobody, they won’t bat an eye at me. Sirius Black, on the other hand…”
“They’ll target me,” Sirius finishes for him, his eyes going wide. Then they snap onto Remus, accusing. “That’s why you don’t want me in there?”
”Along with everything else I said, yes, that did briefly cross my mind.”
”I can take care of myself.”
“Funny, when I was saying that, you didn’t wanna hear a word of it.” Remus shakes his head. “We’re wasting time. You’re going to be bait, I guess. Be careful. Be sharp. We’re looking for anyone who deals, this is the Den with the card your brother had on him. It’s our only lead, really. Talk to anyone willing to talk, but don’t be too pushy. Act casual.”
Sirius nods along. “Alright, casual, got it. Do we go now, or wait a while?”
“We do nothing,” Remus says, “I’m going in through the back, and you’re going to act the way you're expected to. Cut the line, order top shelf, that sort of thing.”
“What, we’re splitting up?” Sirius frowns.
“Us, together, we draw too much attention,” Remus explains. “Especially if there’s anyone we know here. We need to divide and conquer, stay apart. We’ll meet back here in two hours. If anything happens, or there’s an emergency, call me and hang up. I’ll come back here. Otherwise, I’ll see you back here at one.”
They both get out, slam the doors shut, and Remus walks away. Sirius hangs back and watches him slip down the back alley, near the car, and knock on a door a few times. Remus shoos him away, and he rolls his eyes and practically stomps off.
When he's sure there's nobody lingering behind the door, he pulls his Swiss army knife out. A few clicks later and he's in. After a quick look around the mostly deserted back hallway, he slips the recorder-cigarette pack behind an empty crate near the bathrooms. Then, he follows the music.
The inside of Oryx is just as Remus is expecting it to be. Standing near the back entrance, looking in there are a few steps leading down to a bar, stocked full of expensive liquor and a dance floor, flanked by tables pushed to all edges of the hexagonal-shaped room. Dingy, pale purple light scattered across the floor with occasional white strobes that illuminate the room, and a few shady looking people hanging around the fringes of people gyrating on the floor, or circling the room, hands slapping against hands, a not-so-discreet exchange.
He finds Sirius, easily. He’s already sitting at a table only a few feet from the overfull dance floor, a crowd already forming around him. His posture is easy, relaxed, with his arms spread across the top of the booth, his hair falling into his face, brushing his high cheekbones, his chin, his lips when he laughs at something a redhead is saying rather animatedly to him. He already has a drink in hand, the other reaching up to push his hard out of his face, and he’s beautiful.
Remus is almost pushed straight down the steps leading to the bar. The person doesn’t spare him a glance, but when he looks back up, Sirius’ eyes have found him, silver and sharp even from here. Remus looks away, and makes his way to the bar. He’s here on a job, he reminds himself. Still, he feels those eyes on him, a prickling, blistering heat at the back of his neck.
The thumping bass beats up his spine, his hairs standing on end. He slumps into a seat. It only takes four tries for the bartender to notice him, a new record, really. He orders a gin and tonic, light on the gin, and one slice of lime. He downs it, and chews on the lime as he surveys the room, noncommittal. Remus doesn’t make it a habit to hang around Den’s, but he’s been in enough to know the bartender doesn’t know anything worth knowing.
So, he moves onto the dance floor, letting the bodies push and shove him around. The beat picks up, something deafening, repetitive. Remus wants to be in bed more than ever right then. He discreetly scans the crowd, looks for anyone who looks too alert to be partying, shrugs off hands on his shoulder, on his waist. Then, a hand, large and warm and familiar, skitters down his back. He shudders, and turns to look at Sirius, his face cast in high contrast here. Remus can’t imagine how he looks.
“What are you doing?”
“Nobody we know here.” Sirius drags him closer by the wrist, their knees knock together, and he leans in. “I checked.”
“Still,” Remus insists, confused. “People will see us.”
“Let them,” Sirius shouts back. His hands go to Remus’ hips, trying to get him to move him in tandem. When he doesn’t budge, Sirius leans in closer. “It’s less suspicious this way. Loosen up, you look like a cop!”
Remus is offended enough he stops struggling momentarily, lets Sirius move him, and slowly, he does loosen up. He loops his arms around Sirius’ shoulders, and tips his head forward, rests it on his shoulder, intent on scanning the room. Only, like this, he can feel Sirius’ pulse, rapid and erratic, and he can smell his shampoo, soap, cologne, whatever, strongest here, and his own heart picks up. It’s distracting. He’s distracting.
Sirius tightens his arms around him, drags him closer, slips a thigh between his legs, and Remus has to press his mouth to his neck to muffle his moan. He gets lost in it, the dark room, the almost-psychedelic bass in the music, Sirius, here, pressed against him, under his hands, his mouth. He feels, rather than hears Sirius groan as Remus’ mouth latches onto his neck and sucks. Then, hands moving down and into Remus’ back jeans pockets, kneading his ass. Remus pulls back to shoot him an unimpressed look, but Sirius' pupils are blown and his mouth is hanging open, wet and desperate, and Remus is kissing him before he can connect to his next thought.
Remus tightens his arms around his neck, his head gone light as Sirius bites down on his bottom lip, then licks into his mouth, Vodka on his tongue, along with the dizzying, uniquely singular taste of Sirius. He presses in closer, closer, kisses him back, all tongue and teeth and he can taste his name on his lips, and still, it’s not enough. His hands slide up his neck, into his silky hair, and tilt his head back to deepen the kiss. Sirius lets him, moaning into his mouth.
A sudden flash of white light and, there, in the corner, hands moving in a quick, practiced motion.
He pulls back quickly. Sirius chases his mouth with a whine, molten silver eyes half-lidded. Remus ducks in close to say, “I think I’ve found him.”
His voice is embarrassingly hoarse. He hopes the music’s loud enough to disguise it. Remus, subtly, twists them to face the man's direction as he turns his body so now his back is facing Sirius’ front, and his front is facing the older man. He tilts his head back onto Sirius’ shoulder. “Five o'clock, black t-shirt, jumpy. He’s probably new.”
A few feet away, an older man, college senior, maybe, black hair, a lazy smile. He’s standing only a few feet away, flicking a lighter on and off. Remus catches his eye, and watches as he runs his eyes over him, appreciatively.
“I don’t like this,” Sirius says, his voice gruff. Remus doesn’t hide the way it affects him, and he watches the man’s face twist into a leer. Sirius’ fingers tighten around his hips. “Don’t go.”
He keeps his eyes on him, and watches as he saunters over, sure and smug. “I won’t have to. Go, act natural.”
Remus almost sneers. Instead, he pushes off of Sirius and meets him in the middle. “Hey,” the man shouts, his hands immediately going to his hips. Bold. He nods a hello back and attempts to fall into rhythm. This is the job, after all.
He can see Sirius lingering in his periphery, just standing there. He shoots him a quick look that he hopes conveys the message act natural.
Sirius stays close, but he does resume dancing. He grabs the next person passing by at random, a boy with a shock of curly brown hair, who seems all too happy to be grabbed. Remus doesn’t mean to watch them, but his eyes track the way Sirius’ hands move over him, the way his eyes slip shut and his head tilts back, the way he sways to the beat. His stomach turns, but he can't look away.
The music picks up, a constant thumping with a rising pitch in the back and the lights begin to flash and the crowd between them shifts and grows. Then, Sirius looks at him, all hard lines and molten eyes. Lips on his neck. Hips pressed tight. Hands dragging him closer. His shirt is drenched in sweat, his hair matted to his forehead, on edge, then Sirius turns the boy around and kisses his neck, runs his hands up his front, his eyes on him the whole time. Remus' mouth falls open on a moan. Remus can’t keep away from him. He’s too far, he wants, needs, him close, closer, on him, back. He wants it so bad it hurts, a sharp familiar ache in his chest.
Sirius seems to understand, suddenly stepping away from his dance partner and moving through the crowd, towards him.
His world zeroing in on that, Remus pulls away.
“First time?”
Remus almost jumps, his head snapping back to the man in front of him. In a nanosecond, the past year flashes before— him, Sirius, Caradoc, Regulus, his mom, Sirius, again, and now, this. He blinks. “Sorry, what?”
“I said, first time?!”
Get it together, Lupin.
“Yeah, it’s a bit of a let down, though!” Remus pulls him a bit out of the crowd, into a new crowd, away from Sirius. “It’s sorely lacking in…certain areas.”
The man looks around, then holds up a small, clear plastic baggie to him with a raised eyebrow. Remus nods, and lets him take his hand and lead him off the dance floor, through the back hallway near the exit, and into a bathroom marked OUT OF ORDER.
Remus pretends to stumble, only to scoop up his tape recorder-cigarette pack and slip it in his back pocket. He clicks it on when the door clicks closed.
“I’m Ian,” the man introduces, popping open the baggie. He does a line, offers Remus a bump, which he pretends to do. Ian sniffs, frowns at him. “You’re not one of those preppy Hogwarts brats are you?”
Remus tilts his head. “Do I look like a Hogwarts kid?”
Ian looks him up and down, slowly, and snorts. “Fuck no.” Another line. “I hate those kids. Fucking bastards.”
Remus almost smiles. It’s perfect. “They come here a lot?”
“Yeah, well they gotta,” Ian says, swiping a finger through the leftover coke, tucking it up into his gums. “Look down on us for using when they’re taking that shit.”
“Tell me about it, I did a job down in Alameda last summer, and the things I saw there, in broad daylight too. They get away with murder,” Remus lies. Well, a half-lie, really. He busted up a coke ring there last spring. “They’re worse than us, but nobody cares, ‘cause they got money.”
The views are his, at least. A small truth he can keep even here.
Ian nods, his eyes wide. “Exactly, exactly! Worse than us, but this town, this whole country, don’t care, ‘cause it’s money first, and always. Me, I was first in my county for soccer, did good on my SATs—” Well, Remus mentally corrects, unable to help himself. You’re such a little know it all, Sirius whispers, teasing, which Remus almost rolls his eyes at before he catches himself, in shock. He’s arguing…with a mental Sirius. Briefly, he considers institutionalizing himself. Not this minute, though. Bigger fish. He tunes back in at, “—unfair! I worked hard, I was smart, I was, but one drug test! Imagine that, only one and I’m out on my ass. But let one of those Hogwarts kids stumble into any college campus with a goddamn needle sticking out their arm, and they won’t get more than a two day suspension.”
Remus almost groans. He needs to get him back on track. “Those Howarts kids really have it that easy?”
“You bet your sweet ass they do,” Ian says, sniffing, his pupils the size of a dime. “It’s why I don’t feel bad with what’s coming their way. About time they understand what it’s like for us.”
Finally.
Interest peaked, Remus asks, “How do you mean?”
But at that moment the door bangs open, and in saunters Sirius, his eyes steely, his jaw set, his top seemingly more undone than Remus remembers it being, a flush high on his cheeks.
If he’s drunk, Remus decides privately, he will kill him.
“Fuck off,” Sirius snaps, his voice a little more Black than Remus is used to hearing.
Ian, for all his earlier bravado, shoves his baggie in his back pocket, grabs Remus by the wrist and starts to drag him out. Remus shoots Sirius a glare when Ian isn’t looking, and finds he’s looking back, just as angry, the muscle in his jaw tick, tick, ticking.
Once outside, a little down the hallway, Ian slumps against the wall. Then, in a sudden bout of fury, he kicks it. “Fucking bastard.”
“You showed him,” Remus says, dryly. And immediately regrets it. Ian is his in. “Who was that? He seemed like a jackass.”
Again, he’s happy for the small truths he gets to keep.
“That’s Sirius Black, his family owns this town,” Ian says, matter-of-factly. He laughs, cold and empty. “Didn’t help him, though, did it? His brother, the one that's been on the news.”
Remus arranges his face to look appropriately awed. “No way. What, he used to come here?”
He nods, slow, smug.
“He was using?” Remus frowns. “Doesn’t seem like his scene.”
“Oh, it wasn’t. He was here with that other kid, he still comes here. He would bring him here, bring loads of them here, really. For him.”
“Him?”
Ian blinks a few times, his eyes a bit clearer. Fuck. “Yeah, sorry.” A jittery sort of laugh goes through him, and he gropes his pockets, his hands shaky. In the distance, a door slams. “Coke makes me a bit morbid.”
Remus nods. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Should we head back?”
“Alright.” They make it two steps, one step away from the bend which would take them down the narrow hallway and to the steps leading into the club, when Ian turns to him with a frown.
Remus frowns. “You alright?”
Ian smiles, a sick smile, and his eyes, Remus is starting to see in the light of the hallway, are not really as out-of-focus as they seemed. “How would you know?”
Remus feels his stomach drop, a chill going up his spine. “Know what?”
“Doesn’t seem like his scene,” Ian says, his voice soft, focused. “That’s what you said, about that kid. How would you know that?”
“It was a figure of speech,” Remus says, a moment too late, tasting bile. “I’ve seen him on T.V. Didn’t think he’d use, is all.”
It’s not convincing to his own ears.
“You’re a shit liar. What’s your name, kid?” He snarls. When Remus doesn’t reply, his hand shoots out, gripping his wrist. He starts to walk backwards, dragging him around the bend. “Forget it. You can explain it to him.”
Before Remus can reach for his Swiss army knife, though, Ian’s face shutters and drops, as his body slumps to the ground.
He barely has a second to catch his breath before Sirius is taking his hand, and sprinting, following the exit signs, out through the back and into the alley. When Remus’ black Le Baron in view, he feels safe enough to keel over and throw up the pasta salad he had for dinner.
When he comes to, Sirius is stroking his back, murmuring to him, “You’re alright, get it out, you’re fine.”
Remus shoves him off, almost staggers when he stands up. “Why did you do that? I had it handled.”
“Yeha, you looked it.” His voice is dry, angry. He holds out a hand. “Keys. You can yell at me in the car. I’m driving.”
Only, he doesn’t feel much like yelling. His hands are shaking and his stomach is still unsettled, he climbs into the passenger seat. Something presses uncomfortably against his backside, and he slides out the tape recorder, and clicks stop.
“He said something,” Remus murmurs, a few minutes into the drive. He plays with the recorder, for something to do. “Ian.”
“Not now,” Sirius grits out, knuckles white on the wheel. “Can we just, not. Let’s take a minute. Are you alright?”
“‘He brings them here for him’,” Remus quotes for him, brow furrowing. “Obviously, he means for Riddle. But who is the other he? Someone Regulus would’ve met. I don’t think looking into Hogwarts—”
“Can you for one minute turn off,” Sirius cuts in, his voice a bit shaky. “You just had a mini exorcist moment out there—”
“It was not that bad,” Remus mumbles.
“—and I don’t even know what that guy gave you, and really, I can’t believe you took it, I mean how stupid—”
“I was doing what you asked of me, if that makes me stupid, then—”
“—and irresponsible! It’s like you’ve got a death wish, or something. Is that it? Well that’s too fucking bad, you’re not dying, and that’s final—”
“So now I have to defer to you to die, as well? Where will the fascism of the one percent end?”
“When will you take this seriously,” he snaps, banging on the steering wheel with an open palm. “That could’ve been a lot worse than—”
“I know! Fuck, don’t you think I’m well aware of just how bad that could have gone?” Remus bursts out, cutting him off. His hands are shaking again. He inhales, runs a hand through his hair. “But this, thinking about the case, carrying on, this is how I deal. So, just. Let me deal.”
A silence. Sirius switches into the right lane, clicks his signal off. “Did he say anything else?”
He sighs, relieved. “He mentioned Regulus by name. He said he used to come down here with some guy.”
“Drugs?”
He starts to shake his head, but the movement makes his stomach lurch, so he stops, breathes for a moment, keeps his eyes on Sirius’ chest, follows the rise and fall of it, times his own breathing with it.
Sirius waits, uncharacteristically patient.
“He didn’t say,” Remus replies. He frowns, thinking hard. Up, down. In, out. “Did Regulus know anybody at Hogwarts? Like, date or party with anyone we know?”
“I have no idea.”
“You’re useless,” Remus groans.
“Why would I have my brother’s social calendar memorized? He went out, we all go out, all the time, that’s normal. You don’t have siblings so you don’t get it.”
He scoffs. “Alright, Sirius, but nothing? You don’t even know who he’s dated?”
“He doesn’t know who I’ve dated!” Sirius defends. His chest stutters. “Except, I mean—”
“Yeah, whatever,” Remus cuts him off, saves him from what was surely going to be an awkward retraction. He doesn’t need to hear it.
Sirius stiffens.
When he speaks again, his voice is a bit more hollow. “We could check his social calendar.” Remus turns to face him as the car slows to a stop. Sirius turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“He keeps a physical social calendar?”
“Yeah.” Sirius is coloring.
“And you didn’t think to mention that sooner?”
“Sorry, I was distracted by your almost-kidnapping,” Sirius snaps, rubbing a hand over his nape. “Won’t happen again.”
Remus rolls his eyes. He could strangle him. He could kiss him. “Where does he keep it?”
“Under a labeled glass box,” Sirius snarks, turning the key in the ignition, the car powers down. “I don’t fucking know. We can look through his room tomorrow after school, see if we can find it.”
Remus looks around, he sees his apartment complex. He hadn’t even realized. “What about you?”
Sirius opens his mouth to retort, then with his mouth hanging open, he blinks a few times. “I’ll call a cab.”
“Cabs don’t come here this late. You can stay the night,” Remus offers. Then, hurriedly adds on, “if you want.”
Sirius hesitates, for a second. “Yeah, alright.”
part iv: WHEN THE PAWN HITS THE CONFLICTS HE THINKS LIKE A KING
Friday brings with it a tension headache, a slew of tests, and a hovering Sirius Black.
“You’re really starting to piss me off,” Remus says, not for the first time. He was hoping they could sleep off the events of the previous night, but Sirius has kept close to Remus as though Ian were going to jump out from behind the Valentine’s decor in Linguistics and drag him away.
“Yes, you’ve said,” Sirius replies serenely, flicking through Othello. He whistles slowly, his eyes fixed on the page. “Poor guy. And I thought I had issues.”
“Tell me you’re not studying for your Classics midterm in the hallway.”
“Hey! I would never lie to you like that.”
Before he can reply, a voice calls out: “Sirius!” James Potter, glasses askew, walks up to them. He shoots a look at Remus, cold and a bit more calculating than usual, then, to Sirius, “What are you doing…here?”
“Not studying for my Classics midterm in the hallway.”
“Right, well, Gid was looking for you. Said you missed first period.”
“He’s keeping track of my attendance, now? Doesn’t he know codependence is our thing?”
“You’re missing classes, ignoring my calls, quitting baseball, and—” James pauses, finally taking him in. Disheveled, bloodshot eyes. He glances over at Remus, briefly, then back at him. “Are you…?”
“No,” Sirius rushes to say. “It’s not. No.”
Remus frowns, looking between them. They’re doing that weird communication with their eyes, hazel on gray, long and intense. Finally, James sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Fine, whatever. Be safe. And call me back so I don’t have to worry.”
With that, James walks away in a huff, not sparing Remus a glance. “Always good to see him. I’m always saying we don’t catch up enough.”
Sirius shakes his hair out of his face, picking at his cuticle. “He’s just a bit protective.”
“Of you?” Remus asks, incredulous, mostly joking.
Only, Sirius’ head snaps up, his eyes narrowed and guarded. “Is that so hard to believe? That someone would care?”
Remus blinks, stunned. Sirius' eyes soften. “Sorry, that’s not what I—”
“No, you’re fine, I’m sorry,” Sirius cuts in. He scrubs a hand down his face. “I guess I’m still a bit wired from last night, and then this morning being a bust. It’s all just a bit….you know?”
This morning, when they’d gone to the Black manor and looked through Regulus’ entire room bit by bit. Sirius had gone through all the usual hiding places, too. They didn’t find a thing, except for an old list of telephone numbers hidden underneath a loose tile. Sirius had slipped it into his pocket all the same.
“Yeah,” Remus says, “I know. It was a long shot.”
The first bell rings, then, and Sirius, for the first time all morning, has to go. He looks uneasy about it, shifting from one foot to another, shooting glances down the hall. It’s a bit endearing. And annoying. Like most things about Sirius, really.
“Morning professor,” Remus greets Professor Slughorn, who, as usual, is standing at the door of his classroom, the words Advanced Econ scrawled on the board. “How are you today?”
“Mr Black!” Slughorn exclaims, ignoring Remus and beaming at Sirius, who nods at him. “Are you thinking of joining our humble class? We could use a mind like yours, sharp and keen, like your father, eh? And an eye for detail, like your mother, I’m sure of it!”
“Er, no, sir,” Sirius replies. “I was just walking Remus over.”
“Ah, in that case, this is as far as you can go, dear boy,” Slughorn laughs, tugging on his suspenders.
Remus thinks he could set himself on fire and Slughorn wouldn’t notice. In fact, he might just step over his flailing, flaming body and offer up his empty seat in the class to Sirius. Sirius meets his eyes, and his mouth twitches, like maybe he can read him, too. It’s not an unpleasant thought.
The second bell goes off, and Sirius swears. “Alright I gotta go.” His body jerks towards Remus, then stops. He waves, turns around and jogs off, muttering something under his breath. Remus catches: stupid, fucking, idiot.
“Strange man…strange, but brilliant,” Slughorn muses, looking at Sirius’ retreating back as well. “Alright, in we go.”
With midterms quickly approaching, Remus tries not to make it a habit to zone out in class, but the events of the week sit heavy on his mind, especially after last night. The vindication he’d felt at Riddle confirmed was dwarfed by panic at his own slip up, but now, he can bask in it a little. He knew it. His mom was right. A part of him knows he ought to loop her in, but he knows how that’ll go. She’ll ask him to back off until she’s back next week, but Remus can’t, because they’re close, so close, to figuring it out. There’s something they’re not seeing. A piece of the puzzle that’s right there, in their face, that they’re missing. The card, the den, the drugs. Five weeks, gone. Seven, cave, shores. Someone working for Riddle, someone here. Regulus, Oryx, Ian. Seven, cave, shores. Riddle, the Blacks, Christmas. Seven, cave, shores. Seven, cave, shores. Seven, cave, shores. Seven, cave, shores.
“Remus!”
He blinks, and he’s back in class, Slughorn’s drawling voice in the back, “—so as the interest goes up, the value of—”
“Remus!”
He turns to face the row behind him; Zabini, slumped in his seat, half-asleep and still gorgeous, Prewett, sneering at him, and…of course. Caradoc. “Hi.”
Remus raises an eyebrow. “Uh, hey.”
“I was just wondering if you had the notes for last Monday's class,” Caradoc whispers. “I was absent, you know.”
Remus did not know, but that would seem petty, and unkind, so he flips back through his notes to Monday, and there, written in his own handwriting, Tax havens and offshore accounts. He almost falls out of his chair. Caradoc shoots up after him, a hand on his elbow.
“Boys? Is everything alright?” Slughorn asks, and there behind him on the board, Havens and foreign banking. Remus could hit himself.
“Yeah, sorry, sir, I just,” Remus hesitates. Any person in this class could be in contact with Riddle, he has to remember that. “Need to see the nurse. It’s an emergency.”
“I can take him, sir,” Caradoc offers.
Remus shakes his head, shakily picking up his bookbag. “I’ll be fine.”
Slughorn frowns, glancing between them. “Alright, off you go.”
Remus flies through the school with his heart beating hard in his chest, he can hardly think straight, the only objective in mind is to find Sirius, he needs to find Sirius. When he makes it to the Humanities building, the bell rings, and the hallways flood with people. The bell is still ringing, ringing, ringing, and he’s wading through, almost in a haze, when someone catches him around the wrist and tugs him out of the flow of people and into an empty classroom.
Sirius’ eyes are warm and happy, smile easy. Something raw and familiar unfurls in his chest at the sight of him, and not for the first time, Remus is almost knocked off his feet by how he wants to lean into him, to let Sirius hold him.
“Remus?” He reads his lips ask. His eyes snap back up to him, and his face has gone a bit pinched, his eyes have turned concerned underneath the dark furrow of his eyebrows. The ringing in his ears has subsided a little. The class is empty. The bell has stopped ringing.
“Are you alright?” Sirius asks. “Let me take you home.”
“No, Sirius,” he holds out his Econ notes that he hasn’t let go off so far to Sirius. “Read this.”
Sirius frowns down at it, then back up at him quickly. “You came all the way here because you want me to proofread your Econ essay?”
“Just read.”
“You know I can’t read your handwriting.”
“Sirius!”
“Fine, I’ll give it a go,” he sighs, looking at it properly. “Okay you’re doing a unit on foreign banking.”
“ Seven, cave, shores. It wasn’t a shore, like a beach,” Remus says. “It was off shore. Regulus found out Riddle had been keeping seven offshore accounts. That's gotta be it.”
Sirius stares down at his notebook, his grip turned punishing. Then, his eyes widen further and his head snaps up. “Remus. The list.”
“Account numbers,” Remus breathes out, the realization hitting him fast and hard. Sirius nods. It was as though they’d been seeing everything oil-stained glass, smudged and not quite right, that's slowly, bit by bit, being wiped clean.
“Reg, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into,” Sirius murmurs, his face gone sallow. “What next?”
“I’ve got a free period, I’ll read up on foreign banking, see if I can find Slughorn and pick his brain on it. What about you—” But then, the second bell rings, and students start coming in, shooting the two of them odd glances.
Sirius follows him out into the hallway. “I’ve got World History now, but I can meet you after.”
“I’ve got double journalism after.” Remus checks his watch. “Is your dad home tonight?”
“Probably,” Sirius says. “He’s filming some pre-Jurassic movie soon, though, and yes that is as awful as it sounds, but it should keep him busy most of the night.”
“Alright, we’ll meet there after school.”
Remus doesn’t manage to find much in the library on foreign banking that isn’t already in his notes, only that technically offshore accounts are not illegal per se, and tracking them and cracking them is almost impossible, especially without access codes. It still doesn’t fit. None of this. What would Riddle want with offshore accounts, besides the obvious. A tax haven, probably somewhere closeby, with how paranoid Riddle is. The Caymans or Bahamas. But then, how would the Den’s, Regulus, all of this, how would it fit into that?
It bugs him.
At the end of it, one thing is clear. They need to find Regulus.
They go back to Sirius’ house after school, a bit more clear, a bit more rattled. The long intimidating hallways of the Black estate are as cold and empty as Remus remembers.
Remus fills him in on what he’s found, and he seems to be just as stumped as Remus is.
They stop in the kitchen. Sirius tosses him a water bottle, his brow furrowed. “What can we do, then? With the accounts and the codes?”
“I don’t know,” Remus admits. “You don’t happen to be a secret computer whizz?”
“I’ve successfully set up Office Word,” Sirius offers. “Does that count?”
“Have you really?”
“I got halfway through. Why do we need a computer whizz?”
“To try and access the accounts, prove that they exist and are under Riddle’s name,” Remus explains. “But that wouldn’t be enough, since offshore accounts are not exactly illegal.”
“James could help.”
“James Potter?”
“No, Brown, he does it on the side,” Sirius deadpans. “Yes, Potter. He's almost been arrested twice over it, too, I’m pretty sure he’s on a bunch of watch lists. He’ll probably be able to help.”
“That’s very reassuring.” Remus chews on his lip, weighing it. “Can we trust him?”
“It’s James.”
“That might be enough for you, but remember somebody Regulus knows, you probably know, got him mixed up in this in the first place.”
Sirius is unmoved. “It’s James.”
He rolls his eyes, swallowing back the irrational irritation he feels at that. “Fine, it’s your gambit.”
Sirius slips his phone out, shoots a text. His phone beeps. “He’ll be home in an hour, we can drive over then and fill in.” Then, he cracks his bottle open, takes a long gulp. Remus watches his throat move until he can’t anymore. “So what now?”
“We find Regulus,” he says, following Sirius down the familiar path to his bedroom. A slow heat unfurls in him, muscle memory. “He’s the only way we connect all this.”
“So, we’re back to square one.” Sirius kicks the door open. “Brilliant.
His room is just as Remus remembers it: photos of bikes plastered up, a turntable and records stand next to it, framed and signed movie posters, cowboy bebop manga strewn on his desk, stacks of books with pristine spines lining the oak bookshelf near the sliding glass door that leads into the backyard, the glistening blue pool visible from here. It’s easy to remember that time, them, here.
“The things you found in his vent,” Remus says, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the room. “Can I see them?”
Sirius walks over to his bed and digs around under, emerging with a white and green shoebox. Remus follows suit, sits down next to him. Inside, a stack of photos tied together with twine, scraps of paper in French, a complicated insignia stamped on the bottom, a leather bound journal, the letter’s R.A.B in gold on the bottom left. He flips it open, but the pages are blank, except for a few birthdays that have been penciled in.
“What’s the ‘A’ for?” Remus asks, thumbing over it.
“Hm?” Sirius looks over. “Arcturus. A great uncle or something, I don’t know.”
“Have you got a middle name, too?”
“My father’s name.”
“So, you’re initials are—”
“Yeah.”
“How refreshingly honest.” Remus muses, reaching for the photos, but Sirius snatches it out from his hand. He turns to him, “What the fuck?”
“Uh,” Sirius’ eyes won’t meet his. He tucks some hair behind his ear, burning red. “Let me just…”
He flicks through them, and tugs two out, slips them under his pillow, face down. “Alright.”
“Sorry.” Remus takes the pile, crosses his legs and leans against the bedside drawer. He flips through them; shots of unfamiliar faces in tailored suits, masks of silver and green, the back of a neck in a sleek convertible, a bloody mouth, a snake in the grass, a massive gnarled tree almost in motion. “Quite the collection.”
Sirius props his head on his hand, laid out across from him now. The setting sun behind him casts a light like a halo around him, and Remus feels it in his chest. It’s unfair.
He wrinkles his nose at the photos. “He’s going through a phase. I hope.”
“What, you don’t want him following in your mom’s footsteps?” Remus asks sarcastically.
Walburga Black, world class supermodel turned designer turned photographer. Her pieces are framed and sold for six figures and her designs hang in the MET. Sirius had failed freshman photography, but Regulus seemed to like it.
She’s also notoriously flighty and absent. Amusing when she is around, though.
“Hey, he’s got the disappearing act down, at least,” Sirius jokes, shaking his hair out of his face. “Now he’s just got to get into raw veganism and develop a personality disorder.”
“Remember when she asked me if I was aware that sandals shorten people's lifespan?”
Sirius laughs. “That was tame. She tried enrolling me in a mental health clinic when I told her I was taking a gap year.”
“You’re taking a gap year?” Remus furrows his eyebrows. “You never told me that.”
Sirius drops his eyes to the ground. “This was, uh, after.”
“Right.” Remus looks around the room, desperate to escape the moment, the memory, when something catches his eye. “Sirius.”
“Hm?”
“You said you tore his room apart.”
“I did.” He quirks an eyebrow at him. “Twice. You were there, we didn’t find anything else, except the numbers.”
Remus stands up. “What about your room?”
Sirius follows his line of sight across the room and to the vent, above his desk. His throat moves on a swallow as he scrambles up after him. “Shit.”
Remus pushes a footstool against the wall, and gets on it to reach the vent and get a better look at it. “There’s a screw loose,” he calls down, reaching into his pocket for his swiss army knife.
“Might be the first time those words have been uttered in this house without being metaphorical.”
Remus pauses and thinking better of it, holds it out to Sirius. “Uh, maybe you should do this.”
“I haven’t kept my porn up there for years, you’re fine.”
“Always a class act,” Remus murmurs, as he loosens the other screws. He tells himself not to get his hopes up, there’s likely nothing here, but when he pulls the vent away he finds a clunky old black laptop stashed up there. He drags it out, dusts it off, and holds it out to Sirius. “This yours?”
Sirius sets it down on his desk and switches it on. The screen comes to life with a hum and there, under the word welcome, is the word password. Sirius swears. He tries a variation of cliches: birthdays, pets, foods.
Nothing. Sirius runs a hand through his hair. “I’m officially the worst brother, maybe ever.”
“Don’t take that from Cain, it’s all he has.”
“Three months, and I didn’t think, even once, to check my room,” Sirius continues, running a hand through his hair. “And now I can’t even crack his password?”
“Potter’ll figure it out,” Remus assures, only half-sure of it himself. He doesn’t like seeing Sirius like this. “We’ll figure it out. If you can’t crack it, it only means he’s done a good job protecting it, but he left it here for you to find, because he trusts you to find him, because he knows you wouldn’t give up on him. Because that’s the kind of person you are.”
Sirius looks at him, gray eyes wide and a little desperate. “You think we’ll find him?”
“I do,” Remus replies, more sure than he feels. Then, “otherwise this might be the worst three hundred dollars you’ve spent this year.”
Sirius barks out a laugh, a little light back in his eyes. Remus feels the weight off his own shoulders.
A comfortable silence envelops them, only broken by the sound of Sirius’ phone going off. Sirius holds his phone up and shakes it. “That’s our signal, Robin.”
“If anybody’s the sidekick here, it’s you.”
“Hello, brooding billionaire with a cool ride and a weird butler? That’s me. Hold on, I need to piss.” Sirius walks into his bathroom, kicks the door shut behind him. From inside, he calls out, “be a good sidekick and pack the laptop in your bag.”
Remus rolls his eyes even as he walks over to the bed to pick up his bag. He slips the laptop in, and packs the photos and notes back into the shoebox and stands up.
His eyes dart to the bathroom, then back to the bed. He tries to resist, and he does, for a full seven seconds, then he slips his hand under the sheets and drags out the photos Sirius had stowed away, reasoning that if they were personal to Regulus, Sirius would have said so. Sirius’ privacy is another thing entirely, one he feels a bit more entitled to. He doesn’t examine that too closely.
The first photo is a rare family photo, recent from the looks of it. Sirius, with his hair kept out of his face by his ski goggles and a red nose, looks a bit annoyed at whatever his mom is saying to him. Walburga, recognizable even with her ski gear on, is standing over him, hands on her hips. Orion, red faced and angry, is on the phone at the receptionist desk in the back.
A bit odd, a bit endearing. A family trait, Remus thinks, flipping to the next one, which nearly knocks the wind right out of him. He smoothes out the edges, which are a bit worn, like it’s been held a lot.
It’s a dark photo of the back of the house, only illuminated by the pool lights. There, pressed near the edge of the pool, are two figures. Remus recognizes the back of his neck, his hair already frizzing violently in protest to the chlorine. Sirius is smiling at something he’s saying, his head tilted to the side. It’s intimate and private and a bit too much at the moment.
He hears the toilet flush, and Remus drops the photos as if they’ve burned him. He puts them back where he’s found them, silently wondering why Sirius went through the trouble of hiding it in the first place. Why he kept it at all.
He’s looking through his bookbag by the time Sirius comes back out.
“Ready to go?” Sirius asks.
Remus nods, his mind still racing.
Seeing James’ house again, after almost half a year, after that night, should be easy. At least, that’s what Remus tells himself as he drives through the gates, down the brick driveway, around the fountain to park in one of the guest spots. It looks bigger this empty.
Potter meets them at the door, shirtless and drenched in sweat. He’s got a popsicle hanging out of his mouth and a sports drink in hand. He greets Sirius with the hug-handshake that any self-respecting boy their age has long perfected. His eyes slide to Remus over his glasses, narrowed and cold. “What’s he doing here?”
Sirius shoves him in, whispers, “Don’t…” Remus doesn’t catch the rest as they’ve moved into the house without him. He follows the sounds of their hushed voices, hears Potter hiss, “...never think straight with—”
Sirius cuts in, “well, obviously.” Then, the sound of a fist hitting flesh. Sirius yelps. Then, more footsteps and their voices fade.
Remus rounds the corner and finds himself in the kitchen, all brown hardwood and white marble, steel sink, a floating island in the middle, where the two of them are standing. Potter is whispering something too low for Remus to catch, and Sirius is picking his cuticles, nodding along. He looks troubled.
It’s all so obviously private and Remus can’t think of a more awkward situation, interrupting his ex…whatever and his classmate who hates him. Seeing as there’s only so many times he can pray for the ground to swallow him whole, Remus clears his throat.
They both straighten up and the room goes quiet.
“Great place. Love the kitchen,” Remus tries after a moment. “My mom saved it from that one architectural digest article.”
Potter nods. “I’ll let my mom know.” His mom, Euphemia Potter, is an architect who had built their home from the ground up, as well as most of the homes in the 09 zip code. To say the Potter’s are well off would be akin to saying Remus has a bit of trouble making friends. That is, it’s a ridiculous understatement.
“What’s all this about?” Potter asks, directing his question to Sirius and Sirius alone. Lovely.
“Two things. First of all, how hard would it be to get into a password-protected laptop?”
He shrugs. “It’s cake.”
“Great. And if I were to ask you to, say, check the name of a bank account, could you do it?”
Potter glances at Remus, then back at Sirius and shrugs. “Depends. Which bank is the account registered in?”
“I don’t know.”
“Domestic or international?”
“Not a clue.”
“Sirius.”
“You’ve gotta help me,” Sirius pleads. “You’re my only hope, Jamie wan-kanobi.”
A smile twitches the corner of his mouth. “Fine. On the condition that you don’t ever call me that again.” He leans against the counter. “Do you know anything at all about the account?”
“We’ve got the account numbers,” Remus chips in, still standing a distance away from them. James is captain of three varsity sports teams. Remus struggles climbing three consecutive flights of stairs. It’s only practical to keep away. “And we’re pretty sure they’re offshore accounts.”
Potter hums, crossing his arms over his chest, his impressive muscles bunching up with the action. His tight baseball trousers outline his thighs wonderfully, thick and strong. Potter might arbitrarily hate him, but by God, he’s a handsome man.
Sirius shoves Potter suddenly. “You stink. Can you take a shower and meet us back down here with some clothes on, and we’ll fill you in on the rest then, yeah?”
“I just got home from practice, as you well know, but alright. Meet me in the den,” Potter grunts and walks off, his back muscles shifting. Godbless India, is all Remus can think.
“Stop checking him out, he’s, like, practically married to Evans in his head,” Sirius says. “Follow me.”
“Pretty sure she’s applied for a restraining order against him,” Remus points out. “Besides, he’s too chatty for my liking.”
Sirius snorts, and wordlessly leads him down two identical hallways, and into a den with plush white sofas arranged around a low glass table. Ah, page 43, Remus’ personal favorite.
“This house is ridiculous.” Remus drops down into a sofa, groaning at the way it gives. He rests his head on the back of it. “But it’s worth every penny, I’m sure.”
“We have these sofas at my place, too,” Sirius grumbles, dropping in next to him, a little closer than Remus is expecting, his arms crossed over his chest.
Remus furrows his brows and turns his head to look at him. “I’ve never seen them.”
“You wouldn’t’ve, Walburga stashed them away in some storage room or other when she decided we had too many worldly comforts two Christmases ago.”
“Isn’t that the Christmas your family spent in Aspen?”
“The very same.”
Remus nods. Then, “Hey, so, since we’re about to commit a federal crime with him and all, mind filling me in on just what Potter’s issue with me is?”
“He doesn’t have an issue with you.” Remus only narrows his eyes at him. Sirius reddens a little, around his ears, his neck. “He’s just really private, you know.”
“He live blogged his bout of food poisoning.”
Sirius wrinkles his nose. “That was nasty.”
“You set the blog up for him, so you’d stay updated,” Remus reminds him.
"That's how I know."
He shakes his head at the memory. “Sometimes, I do wonder… have the two of you ever hooked up?”
“Hard to hook up when you’re stupid in love with someone else.”
They both whip around at the new voice. James, his black hair pushed out of his face and dripping, in a dark green sweater, and black Nike sweatpants.
Sirius makes an odd, strangled sound.
Remus only nods. “Right. Lily. How’s that coming along? Did your appeal of the restraining order go through?”
James only rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. Touchy. He jerks his head and says, “Follow me. Don’t touch anything.”
He leads them through the house, and into the back where a spiral staircase leads them up and into a room with a deadbolt. While he’s opening it, Remus leans into Sirius and whispers, “He’s not actually on any watchlists, right? You were joking about that, before?”
The look Sirius shoots him is anything but reassuring, but then James is pushing open the door, and they’re stepping into a room straight out of a cheesy spy flick. A dark room illuminated by the glow of three massive computer screens, running on about five PCU. He’s even got a rolling chair.
“Don’t touch anything,” Potter repeats as he drops into the rolling chair and turns it around to hold a hand to them. “The laptop?” Remus hands it over. He immediately gets to work, with a focus Remus has never seen, not even on the pitch. He plugs in an odd device, and places the computer on the table, next to his keyboard. Remus can see passwords inputting, and erasing themselves, over and over again.
“It’ll crack it, don’t worry,” James says, following his eyes. He leans back in his chair. “Alright, talk.”
Remus lets Sirius do more of the talking, only jumping in when he’s forgotten something. The card, Sirius coming to him, the Den, Ian, Riddle, the accounts, the codes, and lastly, the laptop.
“So, just to see if I’ve got this right,” James says when they’re done, “somebody at our school, someone we know, is luring kids out to these… crack houses for Riddle and has taken Regulus there. And Regulus left a card of this place with a few vague words on it, which you’ve taken to mean that Riddle’s got seven offshore accounts?”
“Uh.”
“And then Regulus goes missing, and you’re thinking it’s to do with this, with Riddle? You think Riddle’s hurt him?”
“We don’t know,” Remus answers for Sirius, his voice a little hard. “But do you suppose that Regulus is seen at a Den, and then disappears after and it’s, what, all some big coincidence?”
“I’m just trying to wrap my head around all this,” Potter snaps. His eyes soften when he looks at Sirius, “I’m sorry, man, I’m sure he’s alright, I just. I don’t get it. What does Riddle gain from all this? And how does Regulus tie into it?”
“We have no idea.”
Potter removes his glasses and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” they both say.
“Fuck it, I’m in,” Potter shrugs. Just then, a beep comes in from the laptop, and the home screen loads. In the back, a photo of snowy mountains.
“James, I’ve never said these words to you before, but you’re a fucking genius,” Sirius slaps him on the shoulder.
Potter scoffs, but his eyes are focused on the screen. He flicks the upper right corner. “There's one mystery solved. VBT Bank and Trust, ltd. Cayman Islands, so typical.”
It loads, and then a white login page with two empty fields, demanding NAME and PASSWORD.
“This might take a minute,” Potter says, pushing his glasses up, one hand flying over the keyboard, the other replugging that same device in. “Hand over the access codes. Let’s see if your theory holds, Lupin.”
Remus puts the slip of paper down next to him, then goes to stand next to Sirius, who is leaning against the door now, frowning.
“What?”
“There’s something,” Sirius says, “not quite right about this.”
“We’re watching our future prom king break about a hundred cyber laws, it’s not meant to feel right.”
“We’re missing something.” Remus’ breath catches. Sirius’ eyes dart over his face, knowing. “You can feel it, too.”
Regulus, Riddle, the card, the accounts, the Den. Potter’s right. Their theory was flimsy at best, only given a little more credibility with the bank app on Regulus’ laptop. They’re missing something big. Motive, opportunity. Something, someone, is flying right under the radar, just out of reach. The biggest question, unanswered. Is Regulus alive?
“I do,” Remus confesses. He paces in the small space they’re afforded running through it all again, again. Sirius is chewing on the inside of his cheek, his face hollowed out with the motion. More than anything, more than answers, even, Remus wants to cross the space between them and hold him. Just for a moment. But that’s not an option. All he can do for him is this. So he thinks.
“Guys, you’re gonna wanna see this.” They both turn identical glares at Potter, who smiles sheepishly back. “Sorry, thought I’d try to lighten the mood. It was between that and 'I’m in'.”
“What did you find?” Sirius asks, a bit of tension gone from around his eyes.
Remus feels the first quasi-positive emotion towards Potter since stepping into the room. He’ll reconsider slipping laxatives into his protein powder.
“You were right,” Potter says, “they’re access codes, but what’s weird is this here.”
He points towards a string of repeating numbers and letters halfway down the screen.
Remus, after a beat, asks, “Are we meant to know what those numbers mean?”
Potter scoffs. “You’ve both done Econ, haven’t you? Look at the column these numbers are under. They’re incoming amounts, but they’re all from different accounts.”
“So, Riddle has more than one bank account open,” Sirius shrugs. “Don’t we all?”
Remus rolls his eyes.
“Sure, but these are protected accounts. I can’t trace them, whenever I try I hit a wall. And look at the time stamp on each one. August first, August fourteenth, August twenty-seventh, September third, September nineteenth, October first, fourth, eleventh, thirty-first, November—”
“What’s your point?” Sirius interrupts.
“They’re sporadic, not monthly, not like a regular paycheck, at the start or the end of the month, when you’d expect.”
Remus frowns, understanding dawning on him little by little. “So, this is where he stashes the money he makes off the Dens?”
“That’d be my guess,” Potter says.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Sirius shakes his head. He points to the screen. “Look at the discrepancies. Here, here, and here, he’s got fifty to a hundred and thirty thousand deposited. But then, look here, here, and here. Seven million. Two million. Three million.”
Potter whistles slowly. Sirius continues, “I don’t care if they’re slinging pure grade meth in there, he’s not making that off the Dens.”
And suddenly it all clicks. Remus gasps.
“I know what happened.”
They both turn to look at him.
“It’s something Ian said that didn’t add up,” Remus says, his voice a bit shaky. “He said, ‘it’s about time they understand what it’s like for us,’ and I thought, even back then, how weird that was. Rich kids will never understand what it’s like, drugs don't change that. Ship them off to Paracelsus for a few weeks and they’re good as new. But that’s not what he meant. The drugs, that’s not what any of this has been about. You said it yourself that very first night, Sirius. Why would Lestrange, or Carrow be working for Riddle. What have they got to gain?”
“I don’t understand,” Potter frowns. “I’m not following.”
Sirius has gone even paler, connecting it all.
“Riddle uses the Den as a front, lures rich kids in and then he siphons money out of their trust funds and funnels it into his offshore accounts. The random large chunks of money, the protected accounts the money comes in from. Trust funds are estate accounts, they’re sealed and almost impossible for a third party to access. Unless the trustee hands the access over. That’s where he’s getting his money, that’s what he’s hiding.”
Remus swallows and glances over at Sirius before he adds, “and Regulus figured it all out.”
“That's his motive,” Sirius says, his face going utterly blank.
“Fucking hell,” Potter mutters. “We need to get the police involved.”
“And tell them what?” Remus asks. “Everything we have is circumstantial. Unless we’re also willing to serve time for breaking into Riddle’s accounts.”
“So what now? We just sit on this?” Potter asks, furious. Sirius has slumped into himself a little.
“Yes. No.” Remus cracks a knuckle. He pauses. “Ian said someone brought Regulus there.”
“So we find the bastard and force them to testify,” Potter says, authoritative and sure as always. “The Den, has it got cameras? CCTV?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know if Riddle would be stupid enough to set them up.”
“Thought so.”
“But there’s a stoplight,” Remus says, remembering. Sirius had smiled at him there. “About a block away. Those have cameras built in don’t they?”
“Worth a shot. Give me the address, I’ll run the footage there and for any other cameras I can ping in the areas.”
Remus scribbles down the address for him. “Thanks.”
Sirius is not here, not really. His eyes have that far away look in them. Remus isn’t sure what he can do.
Silence stretches around them, only broken by Potter typing frantically every now and again. Then, the typing ceases and he swivels back around to face them, his brow furrowed. “There's still something I don't get. The cave.”
“What?” Remus asks, his mind still in overdrive.
“You explained everything except for the cave.” Potter scratches at his ear. “The card, the one Sirius found. The third word on it was cave. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I,” Remus pauses, trying to make it fit, failing. “I don't know.”
“Huh. Weird.”
Then, he goes right back to typing, muttering under his breath. But Remus isn’t paying attention to him anymore because Sirius is straightening up, his eyes going wide. His voice comes out high-pitched, a bit strangled. “Remus.”
“You alright?”
“You still have that card on you?”
Remus hadn’t let it go since he found it stuffed in the bottom of his book bag on the way over. He digs it out and hands it over to Sirius now with a frown. Sirius’ face breaks apart, the blank look slipping away. Remus wants to shake him, incredibly impatient. “What? What is it?”
Sirius grins, a slightly manic edge to it. “I know where he is.”
part v: SLOW DOWN, YOU’RE DOING FINE
“Where are we going?” Remus asks, not for the first time.
After his dramatic revelation ten minutes ago, Sirius had run right out of the room, down the stairs, across the house, and right into the Potter’s, who were getting ready to sit down for dinner. Remus declined the invitation to stay for the both of them. James had tried to get out of it, too, but since he couldn’t very well tell his mom the truth of what they were up to and he was physically incapable of lying to his mom, he was forced to stay.
Remus, grateful he wasn’t afflicted by that particular handicap, promised to give him hourly updates.
“I’m so stupid,” Sirius mutters, switching lanes at warp speed. “It was right there the entire time.”
Remus gripping onto the handle above his seat for dear life, tries to sound casual when he asks, “What was there the entire time?”
“The cave.” Sirius does a dangerous left turn, ignoring the honking. Remus mouths an apology to the car they’d cut off, and gets flipped off for his troubles. Win some, lose some. “When I was ten and Regulus was nine, my parents were going through their first divorce. They were constantly fighting over us. Mom would say she had just had us for a whole week, and it was Dad’s turn. And he would reply something along the lines of, well, how are my boys going to survive the Appalachians, woman, we can’t all be cold-blooded reptiles. Then she would say cold-blooded reptiles can’t survive the cold, you stupid idiot. Those were the good years, you see.”
He merges into oncoming traffic, missing a semi-truck by an inch. Remus has half a mind to leave a slightly panicked voicemail on his mom’s cell, but the fear of Hope Lupin finding out he’d directly disobeyed her and has been actively lying to her the better part of her trip is a fate far worse than death.
“So, Dad’s deep in the mountains, filming, screening her hard and Mom is just not having it, she’s losing it, so she charters a helicopter, packs us our overnight bags, straps us in, sends us over to him and disappears.”
“Fucking hell.”
Sirius laughs. “It was horrible. Dad was furious, of course. But he stuck us in a hotel with a filming assistant for the month, and carried on filming.”
Remus isn’t sure what to say. “Was the movie any good?”
“It was panned, and almost ended his career, actually.” He pulls into a parking spot outside an unfamiliar building on an unlit street. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Some pseudodocumentary on a hibernating bear. Halfway through the movie, two kids wander into the cave, for whatever fucking reason, I don’t know, but instead of ripping them apart, or taking care of them, she sort of just ignores them. Carries on hibernating.”
“What happened to the kids?”
“They died. Whatever, that doesn’t matter.” Sirius turns the car off, and turns in his seat to look at him, expectantly. “So, the filming wraps up, we fly back, but my mom's not home. A few weeks pass, and still nothing, until finally, my dad tracks her down to an asylum, admitted under her maiden name.”
It takes a second, then it all clicks into place.
“Dishes, now!”
“Just a second, mom,” James calls out, his eyes beyond exhausted now. He clicks to the last video, marked 12/22, and starts the process, pausing and examining every vehicle caught on camera.
“James, now!”
“TWO MINUTES!” James calls back, rewinding, because he's almost positive....there! That’s Regulus’ car, he's sure, and that’s Regulus with—
He narrows his eyes and enhances the image, sure his tired mind is playing a terrible trick on him. But no, it's clear as day. “Fuck.”
He scrambles for his phone, dials Sirius, and gets voicemail: “You've reached Sirius and here's today's inspirational message: Adversity is the diamond dust with which Heaven polishes its jewels.”
“Fucking bastard,” James mutters, hanging up. He tries Remus, who called him, slightly hysterical and without any real update about five minutes ago, and gets voicemail, again. Damn. “Hey so I think I’ve found a way for us to stay out of federal prison. For now, at least. Call me.”
“JAMES HRIDAY POTTER, IF YOU’RE NOT DOWN HERE IN TWO SECONDS, I SWEAR—”
Meadowes Psychiatric Facility is really not so bad for a mental institution, Remus thinks. With a paint job, and a few plants, he could certainly see his hypothetical troubled ward here.
A sharp elbow to the ribs brings him back. He finds two sets of eyes on him. “Sorry?”
“I asked if you had any questions, Mr Johnson?”
“Uh,” Remus glances at Sirius who is wearing a hoodie to hide himself better, and not completely give away their ruse of concerned guardian and troubled teen. “He’s a bit of a handful, but he’s just darling around people his own age. Is there any opportunity for socialization here?”
“Of course,” Lisa, the manager, perks up, as though she’d just been waiting for an opportunity to gush about the social scene at her psych ward. “We have three hours of free time divided throughout the day, usually after they’ve had their meals. In fact, they should all be out of supper now, if you’d like…”
Again, Remus marvels at the powers of a Black Amex card. Sirius and him had all but had security called on them fifteen minutes ago when they’d first walked in, but one flash of Sirius’ card, while Remus was pretending to look for his (fake) ID, and he had immediately been ordered to put away his ID and offered a walk through the facilities.
“That would be lovely,” Remus agreed, slinging an arm around Sirius, who stiffens in response. “Anything for my little, uh, Nigel.” Another elbow to the ribs. “Also, if at all possible, could we get some plastic covering for the mattress? He’s not one to stay dry, if you know what I mean.”
It’s tough keeping a straight face when Sirius pinches the skin on the back of his arm, but the look on the manager’s face is well worth it.
Lisa’s smile falters momentarily, but then, seemingly remembering what was on the line, a limitless credit card she could trump up charges on, that is, her smile steadies. “Here at Meadowes, we accommodate every need. And I do mean every.”
Remus almost takes a step back. “Uh, thanks. Can we see the rec room?”
“Certainly!” She snaps right back into hostess mode, ushering them to the left. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
“Tone it down,” Sirius mutters, “you’re supposed to be a grieving widow.”
“I thought I was your foster parent?” Remus asks, shooting a placid smile at Lisa when she glances over her shoulder at them.
“No, I've decided you’re widowed and grieving now. So stop flirting with her.”
“I was talking about urinary incontinence, in what world does that constitute flirting?”
“Well you’re batting your eyes at her and smiling, so cut it out, this isn’t the time!”
“You know I think you ought to spend a few nights here, since we made the trip and everything.”
“Oh, I bet you’d love that.”
“What?!”
“Here we have our dining hall.” Remus immediately straightens up, and nods, thoughtfully. She walks them to a pair of oak brown double doors. “And right through here is our rec room.”
The door opens to reveal a large, rectangular room, with a piano in the corner, a TV mounted on the wall, broadcasting the weather channel, a shelf stuffed full with books and boardgames, and a pool table.
There are a wide age range of people all walking around, or reading, or sitting and chatting, in normal everyday clothes.
“It’s not as girl-interrupted as I’d imagined,” Remus mutters to Sirius, when Lisa’s back is turned. She’s saying something about how they keep the grass outside at exactly four inches. Remus is contemplating the propriety of asking to stay himself when Sirius storms off, heading across the room.
It takes a second to catch up, but when he does he finds Sirius has tackled and now has his hands fisted in the blue robe of one Regulus Black, who elbows Sirius right in the face. And then they really start fighting, a crowd forming around them.
Lisa is hysterical, of course, and all three of them get thrown out, black Amex cards and all.
The drive back is…awkward to say the least. Neither brother is speaking to the other, their words, but when they do give in and speak, it’s in rapidfire French.
Remus pauses at a Stop sign, glances in the rearview mirror. Regulus looks…fine. Furious, a bit annoyed, but otherwise unharmed. He glances over to the passenger seat. Sirius is seething. Jaw clenched tight, nostrils flared, red high on his face. He’s holding a bloodied tissue to his nose. Regulus’ lip is bleeding and he’s got the beginnings of a black eye forming.
“Go, already,” Regulus snaps.
“Don’t speak to him like that,” Sirius bursts out. “He just saved your life, you spoiled ingrate.”
“And he’s a shit driver,” Regulus retorts, the French lilt heavy in his voice. “The two are not mutually exclusive.”
“He’s a fantastic driver,” Sirius snarls, half-turning in his seat to properly argue. The rest is in French, which, frankly, Remus is too tired to even attempt to decipher. Regulus is alive and safe. Sirius, despite his current state, is happy.
Everything else can wait.
BREAKING NEWS! Tom Riddle, founder of Purepoint Investment, has been arrested on seventy three counts of embezzlement, racketeering, tax evasion, and drug distribution. This arrest comes only days after the arrest of Hogwarts senior Peter Pettigrew, who was found on a speeding ticket camera with Regulus Black, days before the young Mr Black disappeared. Pettigrew, son of chief of security to the Mayor, David Pettigrew, is being brought up on charges of fraud, embezzlement, and coercion. More to come on this harrowing tale after the break.
Remus shakes his head at the screen. “Just shocking the things that happen in this town.” Hope crosses her arms and stares him down. He takes a sip of OJ. “So, how was Vancouver?”
As Remus looks up into an ice sculpture of Regulus Black mounted in the middle of an ice tub full of bottles, he calculates how much longer he has to stay before it’s socially acceptable for him to go home. With Riddle behind bars, pending trial, and Regulus alive and well, it seems the town is willing to let imagined bygones be bygones, and Remus is trying to avoid damaging that good will by slipping out of the unofficial-official party being thrown in honor of Regulus too early.
A party thrown and funded by the Fenwicks of course.
“I’ve always wondered.” Sirius appears next to him like a phantom. This isn’t the first time they’ve seen each other since finding Regulus two weeks ago, but it was the first time they’d spoken. Sirius had stayed home for most of that time. Remus had gone back to school.
“What is it his dad does?” Sirius asks.
“He’s a well-respected plastic surgeon.”
“I don't believe it. There are no respected plastic surgeons.”
He’s gained some weight, and the shadows beneath his eyes have started to fade away.
“How’re you—”
“Can we—”
“Sorry,” Remus says, after a second. “You can go first.”
Sirius looks around. “Come with me.”
“Intrigue.”
He follows Sirius up the stairs and into yet another guest room, this one with tall windows and glass paneling, no curtains, and a view of the grounds. Remus leans against the wall near the bed and waits.
“Sorry, I couldn't talk with that stupid sculpture. Remind me to take a picture, that’s going to be our Christmas card.”
“Already took one,” Remus says. He smiles a little. “Actually, his face is melting a bit in it and the angle is just awful. I’ll send it over.”
“You’re a saint,” Sirius breathes out, then he drags him in and kisses him hard, and Remus, weak, stupid, confused, lonely, a little in love, a little unstable, kisses him back. For a second, then Sirius is shoving him away with a gasp.
“No, that wasn’t—no.”
Remus swipes a hand over his mouth, clenches the other around headboard so he doesn’t reach out for him. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry, that’s not what I asked you up here for,” Sirius says. He inhales and seems to steel himself, a little. “I wanted to say thank you. And, and I’m sorry, about before. With Caradoc, and, you know.”
Remus nods along, although he doesn’t know, not really, doesn’t seem important next to the sinking feeling in his stomach, sick at the horrible sort of finality to his words. Like, goodbye.
Sirius laughs a little, and runs a shaky hand over his face. “I don’t know what it is, I really, really didn’t mean to kiss you just now.”
“Something about Benjy’s party’s, I guess.”
“Right, yeah. Also, I’m in love with you, so it could be that.”
Remus blinks. It’s like a fucked up dream sequence. “You’re not.”
Sirius’ laugh edges on mad. “I wish I wasn’t, I’ve tried not to be, really, but it’s like my brain can’t leave you alone, even after you broke up with me at James’ houseparty for fucking—”
“Sorry, what? Sirius, we weren’t together.”
“We were.” Sirius blinks at him now, quiet. His chest stutters on an inhale, his eyes a shiny gray. “Don’t say that. We were. Eight months, what was that?”
“You said it was a bit of fun,” Remus reminds him. If this is a nightmare dredged up from his damaged psyche, he would like to wake up now. “Is this one of your pranks? Because it isn’t funny, alright?”
“No, it’s not,” Sirius agrees. “A bit of fun? You’re so fucking stupid.”
“You’re stupid,” Remus shoots back, petty and thoughtless. “How was I meant to know you’d arbitrarily fucking decided we were dating when you’d never said anything?”
“It was obvious!” Sirius bursts out, a vein in his neck bulging. “I was obvious! What other reason—why else would I have—”
“No, no,” Remus shakes his head, backing away from him. “You didn’t, you don’t. We were a secret, something you were ashamed of.”
“I brought you home, I, I told you everything,” Sirius says, closing the distance between them, his eyes darting between his, desperate, earnest. “And then after, I tried to let it go, let you go, I wanted to try, especially after Regulus, but summer’s almost here, and we won’t see each other at all. Then you’ll leave town, and then… it’s over. So, I'm not sorry. And I love you. And that’s it, really.”
Remus shakes his head. “Sirius.”
He nods, his eyes dropping away. “Yeah, I figured.” He backs away a step, and another one. “Thanks again, and, uh, good luck with Stanford and…yeah. Okay.”
“Sirius,” he says, again, his voice a bit thicker. It’s hard to breathe around it all. “Of course I love you.”
He freezes. “What?”
Remus closes the distance between them, and kisses him once, hard. “I only said yes to Caradoc, because I thought you weren’t ever going to…that we weren’t going to...you know. I was really sad about it.”
“You love me?” Sirius echoes, stuck on that, eyes wide. His hands sweep up the back of his neck, to cup his face, a fine tremor to them.
"I do." Remus laughs, wet and probably a little ugly. “I love you."
"Yeah, me too," a kiss, "I love you," another kiss on his eyelids this time that Remus has to blink against, giggling. "I am so," a kiss on his nose, "in love with you."
Remus shakes his head. "The things a guy'll say to get past second base."
Sirius tilts his face and kisses him, and it’s wet and a messy and desperate, with too much tongue and teeth, with their noses crushed together and their bodies pressed tight and a small part of Remus is angry, furious, really, because it’s not fair, because they could have had it all so much sooner, because of all the time wasted. Mostly, though, he’s kissing the boy he loves, the boy who loves him, and he’s happy.