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Godric’s Hollow is a sleepy little town with shops that close by seven at night, tucked up against a quiet forest. And as Sirius stumbles off the Knight Bus, he realizes it’s about as far away from London as one can get. Here, people stop to kindly ask you if you’re okay when you’re staggering through their streets in pain, holding your shoulder and dripping blood down your sleeve. This is quite different from London, where the first thing Sirius really remembers with any clarity is his mother’s voice echoed in his ear, asking his father if they should put him down in the backyard or the basement.
Almost every holiday season, Blacks would gather at the Black manor, where everyone behaved like it was still the nineteenth century: children would be relegated to be under the watchful eye of mothers who would be gossiping with tea; men would separate themselves to the parlor, and from there they would take their hunting dogs out. If a hunting dog was disobedient, or if they were too independent, or if they were too old, his grandfather would put it down in front of everyone.
The first time Grandfather Arcturus had put a dog down in front of Sirius, he’d been eight years old and subsequently had nightmares about it for years.
He thinks of that now as he leans against the railing of the four steps that will take him to the Potters' front door. It’s just four little steps before the landing, but his vision swims and his pulse is rapid in his ears. He takes hold of the railing and manages to haul himself up one step with the strength left in his left arm. He wavers in place, then bends over the railing and throws up whatever was in his stomach: blood, a lot of blood, and maybe phlegm. Gross shit, is what. Sirius makes a soft whimpering noise in the back of his throat, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and stumbles up the rest of the steps, smacking his hand into the door more than knocking on it.
He waits, tries to think of what time it might be, waits some more, and is just about to collapse right down the steps when the door swings open to Mr. Potter standing there.
“Sirius?” Monty asks. Sirius swallows hard, letting his head fall back to look at him.
He tries for a grin for levity despite the blood running down his arm beneath his coat and the blood soaking into his shirt beneath the collar. He blinks a few times, struggles to make his mouth work, and ends up making a weird gargling noise instead. Monty grips him by his good shoulder—the one that doesn’t have a fucking bite taken out of it—but Sirius flinches hard under the touch anyway. His legs collapse beneath him, and he would have fallen backward if Monty hadn't reached out and pulled him forward right into his chest.
Sirius swallows—all bile, phlegm, blood—and manages to speak without gargling this time. “Please don’t put me down,” he manages to choke out, and the effort of forcing his vocal chords to work nearly makes him hurl again.
“Effie!” Monty shouts, still holding Sirius up. The panicked crack in his voice is the last thing Sirius hears before everything goes blessedly black.
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place is always gloomy. Whether it’s due to the heavy atmosphere created by the many dark objects clustered in close affinity or just the people who inhabit it, Sirius has never been able to tell. All he knows is, whenever he slips back into the house from an outing in muggle London, the oppressive air of his childhood home makes it hard to breathe; the miasma is so thick. It has been raining something fierce outside all evening, so hard that he can't even see the moon through the cover of clouds. The distant thunder and rain pounding on the roof make it easy for Sirius to slip up the steps to his room, holding his muggle contraband: a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter he thought looked cool as hell.
It’s dark when he creeps into his room. He carefully shuts and locks the door before tossing his soggy coat over his chair and shaking out his wet hair. It’s quiet and still in the room, but something is making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. And this—an instinctual response, a result of the vigilance needed in a house like this—he knows better than to ignore. He whips around in an instant, still reaching for his wand when a large shadow slams him backwards so hard against the wardrobe that the back of his head smacks the thick oak, causing his consciousness to waver.
Sirius gasps awake, eyes snapping open. He lurches upright so quickly it makes the whole room—a bright, well-lit room—spin out of control. There’s a soft mattress beneath him, and a warm comforter, and something is moving to the left of him and— “Fuck,” he swears, flinching hard as the something launches itself at him.
He jerks in panic, smacking whatever it is with his good elbow. There’s a yelp that sounds very familiar in his hindbrain, and when they pull back and Sirius’ vision focuses, he’s shocked to see that it’s James.
“Fuck, Jamie,” Sirius groans, closing his eyes against the spinning room. He blinks his eyes back open and sees James still there, sitting on the side of his bed and staring at him with wide, watering eyes as he clutches his temple.
“No, fuck you, Sirius, that hurt.” James scowls. A moment later, he’s leaning toward Sirius, eyes sincere in a way that makes Sirius’ stomach sink. “What do you remember?”
Pale eyes. Broken glass. A sharp pain in the back of his head. The sound of shredding clothes. Trying to run as the transformation took hold, but recalling that both the windows and his bedroom door were locked beyond a simple spell. He remembers hearing the bone-snapping, flesh-rending sound of the shifting. It had been dark: so dark that he'd only seen the silhouette of the wolf as it stalked closer to him, growling and massive; a great, lumbering beast. Sirius recalls looking into its eyes as it stared at him and how, for an instant, he thought that perhaps the wolf wouldn't pounce on him.
And then: So much pain as— teeth in his— ripping through his—
Sirius clamps a hand over his right shoulder and lets out a sharp breath when his fingers clutch over a thick bandage. He remembers coming to with his mother’s voice, asking where to put him down. Nothing but disdain in her voice, not a single ounce of feeling—just resigned to the fact that Sirius, the dog (the wolf), needed to now be put down in the back garden.
“Oh, shit,” he exhales shakily, wide eyes staring at James and finding fear reflected back at him. It’s not fear because of who he is (now), it’s fear because of what was done to him (probably). “He was in my room.”
"Who?" James asks.
"Greyback."
"Fuck," James growls, hands curling into fists. "That monster."
"Father's been fucking with the legislation. Saying all sorts of disdainful things against werewolves." Sirius drops his head into his good hand, thinking of tiny, second-year Moony and the stilted way he'd confessed how he had been turned. Sirius knows now that he skimped on the detail, but the crux was the same. "'Course he'd want to get back at him. Textbook Greyback."
Shakily, Sirius draws his tangled hair behind his back and analyzes the thick bandage over his shoulder and all the way down his right arm and over the elbow. The sling holds the arm immobile, the linen shirt someone tucked him into loose and hanging on his left shoulder. Effie, he thinks, probably. Hopefully.
“What day is it?” Sirius asks, swallowing hard. It had been a random fucking Wednesday in the heart of summer the last he knew.
“It’s been a week, babe,” James says. “At least, a week since you showed up in the middle of the fucking night looking like you went through a meat grinder.”
"Kinda did," Sirius says, voice tight with the hysterical need to laugh.
"You think you're funny," James says flatly. Sirius grins, the motion feeling sharp on his face. James heaves a sigh. "Merlin, Sirius. Remus is going to go to pieces."
Sirius' smile fades, stomach clenching. He will, won't he? He'll internalize it all, somehow take it all on himself, find some way to shoulder the blame. Sirius can see it in his mind's eye: Remus, shrinking away from him as soon as he finds out, turning inward and never looking Sirius in the eye again.
He releases a weak huff of a breath, straightening up. "It wasn't his fault," Sirius says, though Remus would say that's not the point. The point is: Remus thinks he's a monster, and now Sirius is one too. "Have you talked to him yet?"
James shakes his head. "Thought you'd like to be awake for it." There's an unspoken wasn't sure if you would in the silence between them, and then James wraps Sirius up into a warm, sturdy hug. "I'm so fucking glad you're alright. You lost so much blood, and you had such a high fever, and Mum said you had a serious infection. Bet it was Greyback's nasty teeth."
Sirius tucks his face against the curve of James' neck and shoulder, pressing his nose against flesh and breathing him in: warm spices, summer air, clean mint, and something underlying, deeper than he's smelled before; salty skin, the sweet-sour smell of sweat. Sirius' stomach twists. "Jamie, don't take this the wrong way, love. But you need a shower."
"Fuck off," James says, pulling back. "I didn't want you to wake up alone, you wanker."
He swipes a hand through his hair, mussing it up even more than usual, and when he swallows, Sirius can hear the click of it when his throat bobs. Merlin. Sirius closes his eyes, scenting more, and catches a whiff of himself—the foul smell of his own sweat, distinct from James'. Unhealthy. He stretches out with his hearing, and to his surprise, he can hear what's happening on the ground floor like the whole floor was stripped away to the barest floor boards. He can hear the clinking of dishes in the sink, the rushing of water. If he concentrates, there's a crackling that must be the fireplace wood popping.
It's overwhelming. Sirius shudders, opening his eyes to find James looking at him with his hazel eyes soft and assessing. "I can hear fucking everything," Sirius hisses. "No wonder Remus always knows when we're up to something."
James' mouth quirks into a smile. "No keeping secrets from our dear Professor RJ Lupin."
It takes another week before Effie allows the sling to come off. Sirius sits on a stool in front of the bathroom sink as Effie works behind him, gently pulling his hair to the side and undoing the bandages one at a time. He sucks in a pained breath when she pulls the final layer of gauze away from his skin. The scars are deep and gnarled, like the skin tried to fit back together but a Healer couldn't quite get it right: it's red and inflamed around the teeth marks, which are a deep red that is already scarring over. The bite itself starts at his shoulder and goes downward, the deep canines having crunched through the collarbone and the muscles at his arm. Sirius had yanked back when he'd been bitten: a mistake. A second bite around his elbow, from when he'd used his arm to shield Greyback from his neck.
"Try to raise your arm for me, love," Effie instructs, her gentle touch grazing over his inflamed skin. Sirius does, slowly raising his arm until a sharp, stabbing pain shoots from his shoulder, triggering a chain reaction all the way down to his wrist. His fingers tingle, and when he rotates his wrist, another zing of pain strikes. Effie grips his elbow, holding it in place, and carefully runs her wand over the bites. After a painful moment, she releases him, and he hugs his trembling arm with his other hand.
"What does it mean?" Sirius asks, heart already in his throat.
Effie meets his gaze in the mirror, her warm hands stroking down to his biceps and giving them a gentle squeeze. "It means your range of motion in that arm will be limited as your body heals. I've healed as much as can be healed, love. And if we bring you to St. Mungo's they'll register you on the spot."
A stab of nerves in his stomach, and Sirius inhales sharply. If he gets registered, the ministry will monitor him for the rest of his life, and who knows how much worse the Lycanthropy laws will become. Being a werewolf? That's not the scary part. The scariest part is how society perceives them. "It's fine," Sirius says, reaching his left hand up to grip Effie's right hand, which is trembling a little. She smiles sadly at him and drops a kiss onto the top of his head.
"I'll get out of here so you can take your bath. I'm sure you've been craving one."
"Fuck yes," Sirius breathes, then flushes. Effie laughs and squeezes the back of his neck before leaving him to it.
While the bathtub fills, Sirius rotates back and forth, surveying the bites from the front and back. He tries lifting his arm again but only gets to about shoulder level before the spike of pain shoots down his arm. Lifting it higher just makes it worse, and he swears softly as he lets the arm fall, digging the heel of his left palm into the sore, strained muscles.
The bone-deep ache of his body fades a little when he settles in the tub, sinking down into the warm water until his legs are bent at the knee and he's fully submerged up to his neck. He stares at the ceiling for a while, willing the pain to fade, and while it doesn't all the way, the water helps soothe the muscles. He indulgently scrubs off until the water is tinted red, then empties and refills the tub. By the time the water begins to cool, Sirius is as relaxed and sleepy as he can be.
Once he's done, he dresses slowly in a pair of sweats and a long, threadbare Holyhead Harpies tee that smells like James. Determined to make the most of his new freedom now that he's allowed to be up and about, he heads downstairs and finds James in the kitchen, his broom in hand and leaves in his windswept hair. The moment James sees Sirius, he beams, bounding over and pulling him into a hug.
"Hey, sleepyhead," James presses a kiss to the top of Sirius' head, clasping his good shoulder and giving it a warm squeeze. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
Sirius rolls his eyes. "You think you're funny."
James grins. "I know I am, babes."
They eat lunch at the table, and for the first time, Sirius realizes just how much of an adjustment it's going to be. His arm begins to ache the longer he uses his right hand to lift food to his mouth, and once his hand starts to shake, he swaps to his left, clenching his fist under the table. He's not sure what he's going to do when it comes to writing essays if this doesn't get a little easier to manage.
He swallows. There are options. He can dictate, or he can just learn to write with his left hand. It'll be fine.
After lunch, they decide to get in touch with Remus. "We need to get it over with before next week when you're both going to be affected by your time of the month," James says, pinching a bit of floo powder and tossing it into the fire, shouting Lupin residence.
Sirius groans, rolling his eyes. The time of the month jokes got old ages ago last year, but James has been making them since they learned about periods and mood swings. His nerves flare as James sticks his head in the fire and calls for Remus. He hangs back, lingering behind James and idly digging his fingers into the stressed muscle.
"Oh, hi, Mrs. Lupin, is Remus in?" James asks. Sirius can't hear what she says, but after a few minutes, James calls out, "Hey Moons, can you come over? It's a little important."
James backs out of the floo, and a moment later it flares green again, Remus stepping through the hearth and dusting ash off his worn Bowie tee. He's gotten taller, is Sirius' first thought, blinking up at him. He's also gotten some sun, the evidence in a heavier scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and his shoulders have broadened a little. He's as skinny as always, but he's no longer as scrawny and awkward as the Remus he's familiar with.
"If this was just a ploy to get me over here, I—" he freezes, words failing him as he inhales sharply. His nostrils flare, and his gaze is immediately drawn to Sirius; his amber eyes cut through him, and something slots into place. Sirius inhales, catching the scent of warm sandalwood, pine, and old books. Then there's a deeper, more primal scent; more wolfish. Sirius shrinks back as Remus takes a step toward him.
With a pained noise, Sirius ducks his head, hiding his face in his hair. It feels inexplicably right to not look Remus in the eye, to defer to him. A part of him wants to sink to his knees and prostrate himself on the ground in front of Remus so that he knows he means no harm, so he knows that he's safe, that he's pack.
"You—how?" Remus asks, digging his hands through his own hair and staring, wide-eyed, at Sirius.
James jumps in. "How do you know? Can you smell him?"
"Yes," Remus says simply, and Sirius knows he's omitting so much information, just the richness of scents, the way they nearly overwhelm the brain. "Sirius? Hey, h-how did this happen?" Remus carefully steps forward and slowly reaches out for Sirius, getting his hands on his biceps. Sirius makes a soft noise and throws himself into Remus' arms. That part of him—the longing in his chest, the ache in his bones—it all fades. Remus hugs him back tight, and Sirius realizes they're both trembling.
"Merlin, Moons, I'm sorry," Sirius chokes out.
Remus huffs out a breath, the warmth rushing over Sirius' skin. "What are you sorry for? You didn't become a werewolf on purpose, did you?"
Sirius chokes on his laugh, body shaking. "I mean, I'm sorry that I can't fucking—finish the animagus transformation now."
"It's okay," Remus murmurs into his hair. "It was a nice idea, but it's too risky anyway and—"
"Pete and I are going to do it still," James pipes up, and Sirius and Remus split, though Remus does grab Sirius' hand, as though afraid to let him go. James' eyes go wide. "You're going to have to transform in the Shack together. I heard Dumbledore talking with my parents while Sirius was unconscious."
Sirius nods, glancing at Remus, who seems to be thinking hard, his mouth turned down into a frown, his forehead creasing. "Do you think I'll hurt you?" Remus asks hesitantly.
"No," Sirius says, shaking his head. "I don't feel threatened by you at all." In fact, all he wants to do is be near Remus, but that's not exactly new. Sirius has always gravitated toward Remus in a different way than he has with James, seeking out the proximity of his calming presence.
They end up outside on the grass before the Potter's property pond. None of them feel like talking much, but being inside had felt stifling. If Sirius has to spend another day stuck inside or, Merlin forbid, in his bed, he's going to set it on fire. So they're outside. James has his broom and is polishing the handle, and Remus is sitting cross-legged between the two of them, pulling up bunches of grass and shredding the blades with nervous fingers.
"How are you taking this so well?" Remus asks after it's been quiet for a while.
Sirius, who had been testing the range of motion on his arm again, winces and lets it drop to his lap, massaging the elbow where the throbbing seems to localize the most. "I mean. I'm not alone, am I? I have you… and I have Pete and James, of course."
Remus makes a soft noise, abandoning his grass to cup Sirius' elbow in one large hand, stroking down his forearm to his wrist. He turns the arm so the soft underside is facing up, then gently lifts Sirius' maimed elbow.
"Wanker bit me in my shoulder," Sirius explains with a scowl. "I was an idiot and stuck my elbow in his mouth after."
Another soft noise, the sort a wounded animal might make, and then Remus is pushing up the baggy sleeve so he can get a good look, wincing when he bares the shoulder and the puckered, abused flesh. "Shit, Pads."
Sirius shrugs his good shoulder, pulling away from Remus' gentle hands and shoving the sleeve back down. "It's fine. It's not like I can go back in time and change it."
Something in him settles at saying the words out loud. He can't change what happened. He can't stop his parents from being assholes about it and blasting him right off the family tree. He can't stop any of it; the world is going to keep doing its thing no matter what happens to him.
"Doesn't mean you can't take your time processing it," Remus says softly. "I know—I know our circumstances are different, but it took me a long time to figure out what happened to me and why it mattered. Five-year-olds don't usually think of themselves as monsters unless adults tell them they are."
"Moons," Sirius says softly, squeezing his hand. "You're no more monster than I am."
Remus' eyes are large and sad in his pale face. "But we're still monsters."
"That's not what I—"
"I know, but that's the truth." Remus shrugs his shoulders, hunching, and squeezes Sirius' hand.
The Potters clean out their cellar for Sirius to transform in. It's the manor's second cellar, barely used aside from old paraphernalia and other knick-knacks that aren't affected by dampness, because despite the magic soaking into the old house, it still reeks of damp and mildew. It assaults his senses when they let him down. Someone, probably Effie, had tried to make it look cozy, with a blanket and a soft sleeping pad and some books and even a couple of dog toys.
The sight of the toys makes something twist in Sirius' heart. James and Effie are down with him, Monty upstairs, setting silencing charms over the cellar door. James nearly vibrates with anxiety, wrapping Sirius up in a crushing hug that hurts his aching bones. He's been able to feel the pull all week, growing stronger and stronger, like a weight, a creaking in his bones. He'd woken up with a mild fever that not even a fever-reducing potion had helped with.
James and Sirius had hoped that the Potters would host Remus for the full too, but the adults were not as confident in the lack of risk as they were, and refused.
"Sorry, Sirius," James murmurs into Sirius' hair, cupping the back of his head. "Things'll get better soon."
"Yeah," Sirius presses a kiss to the side of James' head and pushes him gently back, grateful for the support even if he can't say. He knows that James knows. They don't need words between them. Effie hugs him next, smelling of mint and eucalyptus, and he breathes in deeply, hoping he'll remember the scent all night and that it will keep his wolf calm.
"We'll be right here in the morning," Effie says, cupping his face in her hands and pressing a kiss to his temple. "You won't be alone."
The words contradict the loneliness of an empty cellar. It's mostly unlit, with only a single thin strip of light streaming in through the tiny, lone window. Sirius waits, tense, for the shift to come upon him, watching that light shift from golden sunlight toward something wan and colorless. There's a moment before the moonlight touches the earth, in which Sirius briefly wonders if he is, in fact, not going to shift. He ponders if this ache in his bones means nothing, but then a sharp stab of pain slices through his spine like a javelin. He can't help it; he screams at the spine-cracking split, lurching forward onto his hands and knees as his bones start to crack.
There's a moment of trepidation, and then his skin ruptures, his mouth elongates and aches as his human teeth are pushed out of his mouth and replaced by sharp, deadly canines. His nose—no, his snout—touches earth, head bowed to the ground as his bones shatter and rearrange themselves. His screams turn to howls turn to whimpers, and Sirius feels the pull of the wolf beginning to tug at his consciousness. Sirius has built up a strong resistance to pain over the years from his punishments, but this is almost as bad as crucio. To compare the different pains would be useless, though. Crucio is agony in a spell, and this is nothing like that. This is all-expansive, his body rebelling against the boy and morphing to the wolf, and all Sirius can do is attempt to breathe as scents overwhelm him. Hands turn to paws, and fingernails are pushed out and morphed into claws, but it's the way his shoulders shift and his neck cracks forward that finally knocks him out with a crush of pain.
He wakes on the ground on his side, his bitten arm tucked against his chest with a stuffed bear lying near his head, legs twisted in the blanket, and all he feels is aching pain; in his shoulder, in his leg, in his fingers and toes, in his mouth where his teeth had replaced the wolf's teeth. He shifts and attempts to raise himself up on his left arm, but that collapses on him and sends him straight to the ground again. His cheek presses against the cold cement floor. He wants to cry, thinking of five-year-old Moony dealing with this sort of body horror. His stomach rolls, and he chokes out a red, foamy sort of vomit. He has blood caked against his naked skin, mostly on his right side, like the wolf had been clawing at his wounded arm.
He pushes himself away from the vomit, rolling onto his back and staring at the morning light streaming through the small window. His eyes roll in their sockets as he tries to look around, blinking a few times to adjust them; color feels like a shock, like they're getting used to the saturation. He raises himself onto his good elbow, and his entire body shudders, muscles strained. His very bones ache, from his jaw down to his hips, and it seems to take ages before he can roll onto his haunches and sit, letting his head fall back.
He's woozy, like he'd had too much of his mother's wine. But that might be pain mixing with blood loss. All he knows is that when he inhales deeply and takes stock of himself, it's not quite as bad as he thought it would be. Yes, he turned into a wolf last night. But the wolf didn't kill him; the wolf didn't choose to come into being. The wolf didn't choose to be locked away. He swallows, staring at the ceiling for a long moment until he lets his head drop back down, feeling the way the range of motion locks up his neck with a spike of pain before it starts to relax.
Sirius is still taking stock of himself when there's a noise at the cellar door. He has just enough time to grab the blanket and pull it into his lap before Effie is coming down the steps, wand held aloft for light. Sirius blinks balefully at her for a moment, forgetting why anyone would ever want to come down to this mildewy, awful place, but then James appears behind her, face apprehensive, and reality clicks back into place.
"I'm fine," Sirius says, as Effie clicks her tongue and touches his good shoulder.
"Let me be the judge of that, sweetheart," Effie says, and starts to heal the more prominent wounds on Sirius' body. Things he hadn't registered, like the nasty bruise along his hip, and the shredded skin around his already mangled elbow. Effie heals him deftly, sweeping her hand through his disastrous hair, and James barely waits for her to give the okay before he launches himself at Sirius, throwing his arms around him.
Sirius flinches hard before he realizes what James is doing, and Sirius hugs him back, all but collapsing against him with all his weight. "Merlin, Sirius. I was so worried."
"Did you sleep at all?" Sirius asks when they pull away. He surveys the bags under James' eyes. No, he certainly did not. Sirius hugs him again, reeling him in with his good arm hooked around James' neck, and presses a kiss to the side of his head. "I'm alright, Potter. I'm fine."
James sniffs, and in his arms, Sirius feels safe, like all the world's problems and all the body horror can fade away because James is here, and he smells like cardamom and the sweet-sticky scent of sweat and worry, and Sirius is home.
He doesn't voice any of this out loud, of course, but he does allow James to bring him his clothes and assist him in changing into them while Effie backs up a bit once she's ensured that the worst of Sirius' injuries aren't going to kill him. She still forces him to bed, forces him to choke down several potions, and he's so tired he barely registers what he's drinking until the world gets warm and fuzzy and he's fading fast.
"Is this really the only way, Mum?" James asks, and he sounds far away, like Sirius is listening through a layer of water.
There's a soft touch to his hair, brushing it away from his temple, and then warm lips against his skin. "Afraid so, love. It would be worse if he were to get registered."
"He shouldn't—they're not animals." James' voice shakes with the righteous fury against the unfairness of the world. He's so good. He's practically golden. "It's not fair; he's a victim and they'll treat him like, like—"
"I know, love. I know."
Sirius wants to stay awake for more, wants to open his heavy eyelids and sit up and jest and lighten it all for them. Wants to brainstorm how exactly they're going to get the animagus transformation going, wants to do more, but he fades fast. When he wakes, it's to James snoring away at his bedside, slumped over the side with his head pillowed in his arms. Sirius shifts, wincing when his back cracks. His body feels heavier than it ever has before, and sore down to his bones. He wonders if bones bruise, because he feels like they are. The light of the sun is dim, like it's curved down toward nighttime already, and Sirius is so, so tired.
All in all, it went fine, as far as first transformations go; he fucking lived.
He rolls to his side, tucking his wounded arm against his chest, and touches James' hair, carding fingers through the wacky mess of it. James makes a soft noise at the touch, leaning into Sirius' hand. A moment later, his hazel eyes flutter open.
"Morning sunshine," Sirius grins, and James huffs out a laugh, sitting up. He narrows his eyes and looks Sirius up and down, then strokes his hands down his shoulders. Sirius only flinches a little when he touches his bad shoulder, but he has a light hand, and he doesn't want to hurt him.
"You're alright," James says. "Do you remember anything?"
Sirius shrugs one shoulder. "Some. Not a whole lot. I remember transforming—fucking awful, by the way. But we knew that. I kind of went blank after that until I woke up on the floor."
"If it makes you feel any better, I think the wolf liked the stuffies," James says, and reaches down, pulling the bear off the ground and pressing it into Sirius' lap. "It was full of wolf drool so Mum cleaned it up. Cute as fuck, Padfoot."
Sirius' heart leaps to his throat. "Padfoot? Where did you come up with that?"
James grins, leaning back in his chair and looking pleased with himself. "Your big ol' paws, of course."
Sirius clenches his fingers, turning his hand so he's looking at the palm, and notices a few red marks there. "You think you're funny."
"I know I'm funny, babe." James gets up, and Sirius' heart rate spikes. "I'm gonna get you some food. You slept all day."
Sirius bites his lip, glancing out the window at the fading light. "Probably lucky I didn't sleep for three days. I feel like I got hit by the Knight Bus."
It gets easier. Well, that's not exactly true, but Sirius gets used to the aches and pains, works to strengthen his wounded arm until he can hold a fork without wanting to cry. There are things he can't really do yet, like play Quidditch, which they discovered one day when Sirius went to swing his bat and lost his grip on the broom, falling right off with a thump. His penmanship is awful at first, but he writes letters anyway. Casual letters to Uncle Alphard, Andromeda, to Pete, even to Lily and Marlene. He even writes a tentative one to Regulus, though he never hears anything back. He doesn't say anything about what has happened to him; just that he's been disowned and that he's safe, but he wonders what his parents have said and if any of them know the truth.
Despite everything, it's the best summer he's ever had. Being with the Potters tastes like freedom. He can walk through the house without tiptoeing, he can get underfoot in the kitchen without Kreacher snarling at him. He can breathe without being screamed at. The weight of expectations is gone, and while he's worried for Regulus, he isn't sure what he can do but wait for school to start so he can check in with him. He dreams about Reg in that cold dark house all alone, and when he does he wakes up in a cold sweat.
Lils is the first to respond, bored out of her mind and complaining about her sister and her attitude. He smiles through her complaints and, for a pang, wishes he had that kind of normal life. If only an awful sibling were the worst thing in his life. If only his family hadn't tried to put him down, if only he weren't—well.
It's not worth thinking about, really.
He speaks to Remus through the fire, sat on the Potter's hearth rug and toying at the strands as Remus does the same on his end. The talks are tentative at first; Remus can't look Sirius in the eyes, and he doesn't seem to know what to say. But as the weeks start to slide by in a blur, he begins to bloom open for Sirius, showing Sirius the notes he's compiled of his own over the years of mood swings, stiff joints, and things he does to fix them. The fact that he takes his tea with milk isn't because he wants the milk, it's because it's more soothing to his stomach, which is sometimes unruly. He talks about the phantom pain that will strike his bite sometimes, how the cold will hurt.
Sirius' second moon goes better than the first, although that might just be because he knows what to expect now. He still wakes with his right arm feeling like it's been chewed up and spit out, like the wolf wants to fucking gnaw it off at the bone or something, but it's still fine. He's fine. What's a few scars anyway?
They meet Peter and Remus at Diagon Alley for school shopping a week before they go back to Hogwarts, and Sirius finds himself drawn to Remus instantly the minute he steps through the floo. It's nothing new; he's always felt a magnetic pull toward Remus. In first and second year, he was still trying to figure him out, and once he knew the secret, he spent his time trying to make sure he wasn't hurt, wasn't carrying himself too stiffly, made sure he had his tea just how he liked it. Maybe it's some animal magnetism now, forcing Sirius close to Remus' side.
Effie leads them through the various shops, making sure they don't wander off too far without her, and after they've purchased their school things, along with a new set of robes for Sirius since his have probably been burned at Grimmauld Place, she takes them to Fortescue's for ice cream.
Sirius finds himself fascinated by the way Remus licks his cone, a heavy weight settling in his gut as he watches his tongue dart out and flick along the cold goodness. He's so caught up watching him that he doesn't realize his own ice cream is melting on him until it plops into his lap.
"Distracted, Pads?" James asks with a roaring laugh, smacking Sirius on the back.
"Shut up, Potter," Sirius hisses, reaching for napkins to attempt to save his jeans.
Effie laughs, cleaning the mess with a wave of her wand, but Sirius' blush isn't from embarrassment. It's something else, something deeper, and he doesn't know what it is but it's driving him a little insane, actually. It really only happens around Remus, which must mean it's something to do with being around another werewolf. Sirius wouldn't know—it's not like there's a whole lot of literature out there about how werewolves interact with one another, or how they feel doing so, after all.
"'Pads?'" Remus asks, gaze bouncing between Sirius and James.
"Figured out a new nickname for our new wolf boy here," James says, throwing an arm around Sirius' shoulders and squeezing. "Padfoot."
Sirius groans, burying his head in his hands. Remus' mouth twitches. "Really, James?"
James beams at him. "It's perfect, isn't it? Look at those long fingers, they must make big ol' paws."
Sirius pulls his hands away and stares at them, palm up. They're the same thin fingers he's always had. They're long, but not egregiously so. One of his piano teachers used to praise them for being perfect piano fingers, whatever that meant. "My hands aren't that big you twat."
"I wouldn't say that too loud, Pads," Peter giggles. "You know what they say about small hands."
Flushing, Sirius clenches his fists together. "Funny, Pete, very funny."
He feels the odd urge to tear up when they have to part, and when he wraps Remus up into a long goodbye hug he sticks his nose against the warmth of Remus' neck and, maybe out of some humiliating instinct, does the weirdest thing he's ever done: he inhales his scent, nosing at the skin as he breathes in the warmth of bergamot, of chocolate, of laundry that smells crisp as the Welsh country air.
"Sirius." Remus goes stiff in his arms, and Sirius jerks himself away, eyes wide and mortification heating his face.
"Fuck, sorry," Sirius says with a soft laugh. Remus' honey-warm eyes are large and sympathetic as he shrugs awkwardly, a sardonic smile lifting one corner of his mouth.
"It's fine."
It's not fine. It's so not fine. Sirius has no idea why his instincts have been going haywire around Remus, but it's driving him a little insane to be around him. He tears himself a step back so they're at arm's length again, and Sirius worries at his bottom lip, gaze locking on Remus and his understanding eyes.
He's hoping he's been marginally normal about the whole thing, but when they get back to the Potters, James grabs him by the good arm and marches him up the steps, scooting the both of them into his room before he closes the door and crosses his arms, leaning back against it like he's afraid Sirius is going to try to make a break for it.
Sirius still could. He could throw himself out James' window: it's not that far to the ground.
"What was all that?" James asks, and Sirius' heart sinks.
"What was what?"
Narrowing his eyes, James shakes his head. "C'mon Pads, you know what I'm talking about. What was the whole sniffing thing?"
"I just—" Sirius scrubs a hand through his hair, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "It felt like the right thing to do at the time, okay? He just smells different."
"It looked like you wanted to ruddy well kiss him," James says. Sirius' stomach swoops, the bottom falling away.
"I'm not bent," Sirius says, though that squirmy feeling is back. "Fucks' sake, Jamie."
"It's okay if you are," James says quickly, hazel eyes going round and earnest. "I just want you to be happy, and if sniffing other blokes is what makes you happy then sure, whatever. Just don't sniff me like that."
Sirius scoffs, a grin overtaking his features. "Or what?" He wraps an arm around James' shoulders and pulls him in, pressing his nose to James' neck and inhaling deeply, just like he'd done to Remus. He doesn't get the same fizzing, warm feeling rushing down his spine, doesn't feel that rush of adrenaline spiking through his veins, just gets a whiff of boy-sweat and grass-flavored beans. "Ugh, you smell disgusting."
"Told you," James says, laughing. He pushes Sirius back gently, but keeps his hands on his shoulders. "Proud of you, Pads."
"Aww," Sirius coos, mussing up James' hair. "For what?"
"You went out in public and you didn't even eat anyone, you wild animal."
"Fuck off," Sirius snaps, but his barking laugh kills the heat.
James hums. "You'd like that, wouldn't you."
Fifth year starts with a heavy thunderstorm, and the train is filled with squeaky shoes, damp students, and a muggy, oppressive air that has Sirius' throat going tight. "It's so fucking humid," Sirius hisses, undoing his tie and popping the top button of his shirt, tugging at it to get some breeze to his flushed skin.
"It's not that bad," Peter pipes up, giving him an odd look. Before Sirius can snap at him, the door slides open and Remus enters, clearing his throat and shuffling awkwardly.
"''Lo, gents," he says in his Welsh lilt, and it takes Sirius a moment to realize what he's so nervous about. But the glint of metal at his chest has him sitting straight up.
"No fucking way," Sirius gapes, staring at the badge.
"Moony! You're a right official swot now!" James cackles, bounding forward and throwing an arm around his shoulder, reeling him into a hug.
With a wince, Remus extracts himself from James and slides into the seat next to Sirius, looking miserable. "I reckon they thought I'm the only responsible one," he says with a small quirk of his lip. "Probably thought I'd be able to keep you in line."
"That's a laugh," Sirius snorts. "Clearly, they don't know you're the mastermind behind half of our pranks."
"That's because I don't get caught," Remus says with a roll of his eyes. "If you weren't so flashy, then maybe you could have the bloody badge."
"Right, 'cause that'd ever work," Sirius grins sharply at Remus, clasping him on the shoulder. That warm swooping sensation returns, pooling in his gut and warming him from within. Sweat prickles at the back of his neck. He feels a little sick, actually, from the heat, and he inhales slowly, letting his eyes fall closed as he leans against the window, slumping in his corner.
"Alright, Pads?" Remus asks, nudging him.
"Fine, just feels too hot," Sirius mutters. He feels nauseous from the way the train bobs back and forth on the train tracks, and the countryside rushing by just has his stomach twisting. It doesn't help that he's in such close proximity to Remus right now, and his wonderful scent. He inhales slowly through his nose, closing his eyes. "I just need a nap, probably."
"If you're sure," Remus says hesitantly, and he presses a warm hand to Sirius' shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. Although Sirius didn't actually mean to fall asleep, the next thing he's aware of his someone shaking him awake. He inhales sharply, gets a whiff of James, and when he opens his eyes he gets a face full of his best friend's anxious expression.
"Alright?" James asks, clasping Sirius' shoulders. "You were muttering in your sleep."
Sirius groans, sitting up and letting his head fall back, swallowing hard around the bile rising in his throat. He can't remember exactly what he'd been dreaming about, but it had something to do with yellow eyes, a rotting scent, a great weight pressing him down. It's been a common theme lately.
"M'fine," Sirius sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and realizes he and James are the only ones in the cart. "Where're the others?"
"Pete went to say hi to his Hufflepuff 'friend' and Remus is at the Prefect meeting," James explains, sliding back into his seat. He surveys Sirius with narrowed eyes. "You're alright Pads, right? Really?"
"Yes Jamie," Sirius sighs, dropping his hands into his lap and twisting his fingers together. He misses the steadying weight of rings on them, but he hadn't wanted to ask Effie and Monty if he could get some since it was their money paying for all of their items. They'd already done enough for him, especially given his new status. He'd never be able to repay them and their kindness. He shoves the melancholic thoughts away, pushing them way down somewhere near his gut, where they settle poorly. He grins around the rising bubble of nausea, "I'm positively spiffing, darling."
He's not sure how he makes it through the sorting feast, just that he can barely stomach any of the rich foods in front of him. He's used to the way Remus packs food away like it's nothing, so the nausea is a surprise. Hopefully it'll pass, but for now, he picks at his plate and drinks his pumpkin juice and tries not to think too hard about anything at all.
Once the feast is over, McGonagall marches down the length of the table until she gets to him and clears her throat. "Mr. Black, if you'll come with me, please."
Sirius' heart in his throat, he gets to his feet shakily. She gives him what could almost be considered a soft smile before turning on her heel and leading him out of the great hall.
"In trouble already, Black?" Marlene shouts after him. "That's a record!"
Sirius grins, throwing her a two fingered salute, and scrambles to keep up with McGonagall as she leads the way to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey is there already, waiting for them. "Alright, Poppy, here he is," McGonagall says, gesturing Sirius forward.
"Hello dear," Pomfrey says with a smile normally reserved for Remus Lupin and sick first years. A lump rises in Sirius' throat as she takes him to her office and gestures for him to sit. McGonagall doesn't join them, probably to help herd students where they need to go, and Pomfrey shuts and locks the door behind them, casting a silencing charm. Sirius bites his lip, taking one of the seats.
He's never been in her office before, and he peeks around wide-eyed at the floor to ceiling filing cabinet, walls of potions and ingredients, and medical supplies. Behind her desk there is a door that likely leads to her bedroom, since she'd probably have to stay close at all times. He wonders, not for the first time, how she manages an entire school of students all on her own.
Pomfrey folds her hands in front of her on the desk. For the first time, Sirius realizes just how young she really is. She can't be much more than thirty, and yet she's saddled with so much responsibility and handles it so well. "I'd like to do a physical before you head back to your dorm, but first, I'm aware that you have known of Mr. Lupin's affliction since at least third year, is that correct?"
Sirius shifts. "Second," he says hesitantly. "It wasn't Remus' fault, we found out on our own!"
"I know, dear." Pomfrey gives him a soft look, then continues, "The two of you will be required to meet me here at the hospital wing two hours before moonrise, as you know. I'll then lead you to the Shrieking Shack, where we've placed safeguards to keep the two of you safe from one another, in case the wolves do not cooperate."
"I think they will," Sirius says quickly. "Cooperate, I mean. Isn't that why werewolves live in packs most of the time?"
"Be that as it may, we need to take safeguards for now, just in case. I would hate for the two of you to hurt one another."
Sirius nods stiffly.
"I trust that Mr. Lupin knows of your affliction?" Pomfrey asks, and Sirius twitches at the word, but nods. "I didn't want to assume, but that does make it easier."
She gently interrogates him for details of the night of the bite, and while Sirius glazes over the whole part about his mother wanting to put him down, he can feel Pomfrey's pitying gaze on him as he looks down at his lap and explains as much detail as he feels comfortable sharing.
Once that is over, she instructs him to take off his robes and shirt, which he does hesitantly. She casts a few diagnostic spells, which feel like a cool glass of water being dumped through his veins, and then she tests his range of motion. She leads him through a few exercises to help strengthen his right arm, and then allows him to get dressed.
Afterward, when he's trembling and exhausted, Sirius steps out of her office to find Remus waiting, sitting on his usual bed in the hospital wing. He perks up when he sees Sirius, scrambling to his feet. "How'd it go?" he asks with a rare earnestness.
"Fine," Sirius breezes before Pomfrey can say anything. "It's official, I'm a full-fledged lycanthrope, in case anyone had any doubts."
"Mr. Black," Pomfrey sighs, rolling her eyes. "Did I forget to mention that discretion is a requirement of your placement here at Hogwarts?"
Sirius winces. "Right," he mutters, then swallows.
He can't imagine the uproar that would happen if even one wrong person found out about what he is now. He's less worried about himself and more worried about Remus though. He'd be fine even if he got expelled, but Remus? Remus always worries about his position and always works so fucking hard to get high marks to prove that he can keep up with everyone regardless of his affliction.
"C'mon, Pads," Remus says, and his voice is so soft and gentle that it has Sirius' throat closing up a bit. "I'm exhausted."
"Aw," Sirius grins, looping his good arm around Remus' shoulders and pulling him close. "That responsibility getting to you already, Mr. Prefect?"
"Ugh, don't remind me," Remus groans, and then nods to Madam Pomfrey. "Thank you, Poppy, we'll get out of your hair now."
Pomfrey smiles that soft smile. "You know where to find me if you need anything, loves."
Potions class first thing in the morning should be a crime. Sirius can barely comprehend the idea of ratios, and he scrubs a hand through his hair in frustration as he measures out the ingredients for their first potion carefully. James is happily humming away beside him, squeezing flobberworms for their mucus. Sirius tries not to hurl at the smell. He's getting tired of being nauseous. Even taking his tea with milk hasn't helped, and when he asked Remus about why, Remus had shrugged and confessed that some months will be better than others. Sirius isn't sure if it's the way his body knit itself back together or if it's just his brain trying to comprehend his newly enhanced senses, but the fumes wafting off the cauldrons is really starting to get to him. No wonder Remus can't concentrate in the class.
"Urgh," Sirius grunts, dumping the first measurement of salamander blood into the potion. As he does, he watches in slow motion as a strand of his hair slips from his fingers and toward their brew. The minute it hits, the potion begins to bubble dangerously, steam starting to waft from it. "Jamie?"
"Yeah?"
"Get down!" Sirius hisses, tugging James down just as the potion explodes over their heads. Sirius feels it splatter against his back and hisses as the hot liquid seeps through his robes.
"Black, Potter!" Slughorn shakes his head, hurrying up the row of desks toward them. "How on earth did you manage to blow up a Wiggenweld Potion? There's only a few ingredients that can have such a horrible reaction, and none of them are in this room."
Sirius' heart sinks as he scrambles to his feet, followed by James. He flushes red as Slughorn berates them, biting at his lip. He glances up at Remus, who is staring at them with raised eyebrows. His gaze slides from Remus and over the tittering of the class, landing on Snivellus, whose eyes are narrowed at him suspiciously.
"Well, we wanted to start this year off with a bang, Professor," James drawls, and Sirius feels a grin spreading across his face despite the fear lodging itself in his gut. He'd bet Galleons he doesn't have that one of the ingredients with adverse effects is fucking werewolf hair.
After class, Remus grabs Sirius by the elbow and pulls him into a secluded alcove in the dungeons, waving James and Peter onward. "Pads, you have to be careful," Remus hisses.
"I didn't know my human hair would cause a reaction like that. What do I have to do, get a fucking buzz cut?"
"And show off your beautiful face?" Remus asks, mouth twitching toward a smile. An odd swooping sensation rushes through Sirius, twisting around below his stomach. "You think you have a problem with girls now, Pads, just wait."
"Oh, shove off," Sirius mutters, scrubbing his hands through his hair. "I'll tie it up or something, fucks' sake."
"It's not sanitary to touch your hair and then brews, that's like, Potions 101, isn't it?"
Sirius ribs him, grinning fiercely. "Shove off, Moony. I never had to worry about this shit before."
"Yes, your dandruff was just seasoning before," Remus rolls his eyes. "Just. Be careful, Pads."
Thinking about Snape's suspicious glare, Sirius resolves to hex him the next time he sees him, just for something to do. It's no more than he deserves for being a nosy, suspicious git. "Sure," Sirius says with a shrug.
As Remus turns to go, Sirius' belly does that weird swooping thing again, and he tugs him back. "You be careful too."
"I'm always careful," Remus says, eyebrows furrowing.
Sirius shakes his head. "I mean, yes, you are. But now I think you feel like you have to take care of me, and I don't want to be your burden."
Snorting softly, Remus wraps an arm around Sirius' shoulders and pulls him in for a hug. Sirius feels sparks behind his teeth, fizzing in his throat, which tightens from the sensation. All at once, it's hard to breathe, and when he does inhale, he gets a whiff of the comforting, easy scent that is so distinctly Remus. "You're not a burden, Pads. We're in this together. Just. You're always the center of attention, and people are going to notice you more than they ever would me."
"Right," Sirius swallows. "But I'm not your responsibility, Moons."
Pulling back, Remus' eyebrows raise. His warm amber eyes flit around Sirius' face, and he's not sure exactly what Remus is looking for, but he's not sure he finds it. "It's not like that," Remus says softly. "I just want to help."
Sirius swallows down fireworks, nodding stiffly. "You always help, Moons."
He's not sure if he's imagining the blush that dusts Remus' cheeks when they duck out of the alcove and back into the hallway, rushing the steps to get to their DADA class on time, but he's definitely not imagining the weird flutter in his gut. He hopes it's not more nausea.
Although classes are clearly attempting to crush them under the weight of O.W.L.s, they fall into a rhythm of sorts. The off-balance feeling every time he sees Remus doesn't really get better, and he almost always has to fight the urge to do something embarrassing like bare his neck with the expectation that Remus will sink his teeth into him. It has something settling into his gut, lodging itself there like some sort of heavy stone. James and Peter are keeping to themselves, and sometimes Sirius joins them just to keep James on track with the animagus potion, because deep down he's still afraid that Remus is going to hurt himself during the moon even if Sirius is right there.
Well, right there on the other side of a magically strengthened door, but still. They'll be able to smell each other. All he can hope is that it will help, not hurt. He has a sneaky feeling that keeping them separated is going to hurt a lot more than letting them be together, but what does he know? He has two whole moons under his belt compared to all of Remus'.
The days leading up to the moon make him even grouchier than usual, slumping down to the great hall and plopping onto the bench, drooping until his face hits the surface of the table, where he idly watches Mary to his right as she slathers hotcakes with syrup and honey. "You're going to get cancer," Sirius comments idly.
"Diabetes, sweetheart." Mary grins down at him. "What's with you? You look like death warmed over."
"Charmed," Sirius replies, rolling his eyes. He turns his head so his forehead rests on the wood and groans at the way his neck twinges. James wraps an arm around Sirius' shoulders and picks him up, lifting him straight. They both wince when his back cracks, and Sirius immediately slumps against James, tucking his head against his shoulder. "It's too early. Why do they make us wake up early? It's inhumane."
"You used to love mornings," Peter says, eyeing him with concern. "What happened to the Black who would wake everyone up?"
Remus huffs on the other side of the table beside Pete, frowning at Sirius.
"Here, Pads. Drink this." He fixes a cup of coffee and slides it across the table to him, which makes Sirius' belly do that weird flopping thing again. Sirius stares at it, made just to his liking, and his throat tries to close up on him. Of course, Remus would know how to make his coffee; he's only sat next to him and watched him make it every day since they'd hit third year and Sirius had decided he was old enough for it. Sure, Sirius knows how Remus likes his tea with milk, but nowadays, he's not sure if that's how he likes it or if that's just how he takes it so his stomach won't rebel.
With how his stomach is feeling right now, Sirius isn't sure if he should even attempt to eat. It's too late for him to say so, though, because a moment later, James dumps a plate with a heaping pile of scrambled eggs in front of him. James pulls Sirius upright, off his shoulder, pressing a hand to Sirius' back until he straightens up and is no longer drooping everywhere. Sirius grunts, picking up his fork with his left hand because his right arm is aching something fierce from the stupid exercises Pomfrey has him doing, and stabs at a small bit of egg.
"I'm fine, you guys. M'just tired."
Beside him, Mary hums, patting him sympathetically on the thigh. "No offense, Sirius, but you look like you rolled out of bed and into a vat of cold water."
"Apt," Remus mutters, so low that no one else but Sirius can probably hear, and Sirius chokes on a laugh.
"Delighted, MacDonald," Sirius grins, winking at her. She rolls her eyes, forever impervious to his charm. Sirius is sure he doesn't imagine the scoff that comes from the other side of the table, but he doesn't look away from her and her big brown eyes and full lips. Mary is beautiful; she looks like she stepped out of one of those muggle modeling magazines.
Despite this, Sirius has never gotten flustered around her the way some lads do. He always figured he was just too used to girls throwing themselves at his feet to really care about that sort of thing anymore, but what with how girl crazy James is—er, Lily crazy that is—Sirius wonders, not for the first time, if it's just another thing his family broke in him somewhere along the way.
Sirius shoves the thoughts about girls, and attraction, and what is healthy in that regard off to the side and takes a sip of his perfectly made coffee. When he looks up, he finds that Remus is staring at him again, those beautiful amber eyes reflecting the warmth of the great hall back at him. Feeling the blood rush to his face, he lowers his gaze back to his plate, once again incapable of feeling normal around Remus. It almost makes him want to cry, how different he feels now, how much the wolf inside of him has twisted their friendship into the need to get on his knees for Remus.
This intruding thought causes him to distractedly take a bit too large a drink, and he nearly chokes himself trying to swallow, falling into a coughing fit that only ends once James pounds on his back until his throat clears. "Merlin, Pads. You're falling apart."
"Sure feels like it," Sirius mutters, because his whole body aches, his legs have a weird tremble to them after all the steps down to the great hall this morning, and he's not looking forward to taking them further to get to potions.
The day is long and full of terrors (the steps), and Sirius is so tired by the end of the day that he nearly sticks his foot right into one of the false steps on his way down to the great hall. His stomach isn't feeling any better; in fact, it's been rolling, especially whenever Remus would lean in and gently tap his knee to wake him up, or squeeze his bicep, or generally get into Sirius' space every time he began to droop.
Sirius wants nothing more than to skip dinner and go crawl into bed. "I don't know how you do this," Sirius mutters on the way down. "How do you take these steps every day?"
Remus' bite had been on his hip, an ugly, large thing that encompassed his whole side. As a child, Greyback nearly bit him in half, and now as a teen, the marks have morphed, but the ache is still there, giving Remus a weird shuffle limp that he somehow manages to make look graceful. Sirius used to be graceful, swanning into rooms, but now he feels like he's just plodding along like some pack animal, getting dragged by Remus from one class to another.
"I've built up strength," Remus says as the four of them take their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. "You haven't had a chance to acclimate to anything yet."
"Well, I better acclimate faster," Sirius snaps, and from the way Remus recoils in surprise, he knows it has too much bite. "Shit, sorry Moons. I'm just so tired."
Remus large amber eyes are soft with sympathy, and it makes his heart rise to his throat. They stare at each other for a moment before Sirius feels how quickly his cheeks are heating up and tears his gaze down to the table, carefully taking his fork into his right hand and attempting to hold it. His fingers are trembling too hard to close around it, shooting spikes of pain up his arm, and he drops the fork to the table after just a couple of meager bites, switching hands instead.
After dinner, they take the trek back to the common room, where the Marauders claim the couch in front of the fire. Peter challenges James to a game of chess, which James readily agrees to, while Sirius flops into Remus as soon as he's sat down. Sirius sprawls out over the rest of the couch, head in Remus' lap and looking up at him. He really is so handsome with his crooked nose and slightly wonky teeth, the freckles dusting his cheeks, and the way his curls fall over his forehead.
Before Sirius realizes what he's doing, he's raised a hand to brush the curls out of Remus' face, threading his fingers through his hair. Remus freezes, eyes going wide as he stares down at Sirius, and Sirius bites his lip, gaze flicking from Remus' hair to his eyes, and inexplicably, down to his mouth and back.
"What are you doing?" Remus whispers, gently taking Sirius' hand from his hair and twining their fingers together. There's a flush beginning to dust his cheeks, crawling up the back of his neck. Remus presses Sirius' hand back to his stomach, then carefully extracts his hand.
"Do you feel that?" Sirius asks, swallowing hard. He's having a hard time looking away from Remus' face, trying to memorize every detail. His scent is intoxicating this close to the moon, and all Sirius wants to do is bury himself in him and curl up. "Please tell me I'm not the only one feeling this."
Remus opens his mouth, then snaps it closed, slumping a little. "What kind of feeling?"
"Like," Sirius struggles to find words that won't make him sound like the world's biggest poof, nibbling at his bottom lip. "It's like I need to be near you. Like when I'm with you, I'm safe, and every other time it's like I'm facing the world alone and fuckin' naked."
"That's the wolf," Remus says softly. "Most werewolves end up in packs for a reason."
"What, aside from safety in numbers?" Sirius asks, gaze searching Remus' face for any sign of unhappiness. "You must have been so lonely."
Remus shrugs. "Nah, I've had you lot this whole time."
With a soft huff of a laugh, Sirius turns his head, inhaling the warm, soft scent that is Remus. Pine, ink, bergamot, and something deeper, something more primal that Sirius cant get enough of. "Well, now you're never going to get rid of me."
"Wouldn't want it any other way, Pads."
A windy, wet Saturday night finds Remus and Sirius following Pomfrey down the hill toward the Whomping Willow. Sirius shivers, wrapping his arms around himself as Remus and Pomfrey move like one unit. Pomfrey levitates a stick to prod at the spot at the roots to make the tree go still, and then Remus is leading Sirius and Pomfrey swiftly through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack.
Sirius stumbles along, feeling the moon clawing at his skin. It makes his stomach twist from nerves. They've been in the Shack a few times, using it as a hangout place more than anything, although they're always careful to pick up their sweets wrappers so that Pomfrey doesn't alert Dumbledore (or worse, Minnie). They've made a few changes to the shack, Sirius realizes, as they're led up the stairs. Where there was once one big bedroom, there are now two, side by side and prickling with wards.
"Here we are now, dears," Pomfrey says. "I'm afraid this is the best way we can think of to keep you separated and safe from one another."
Sirius swallows down the urge to yell that they would be better off able to touch each other, if the longing in his chest from the wolf had any say in the matter. It doesn't, and they're both locked into their respective bedrooms. Sirius' room has a dusty old bed with a surprisingly new blanket folded at the end, and Sirius wastes no time, stripping his clothes and hiding them in the wardrobe before unfurling the blanket and wrapping it around himself. That done, he slides down the thin wall separating the two of them and lets his head fall back with a dull thunk.
"Alright, Moons?" he asks.
He can hear Remus on the other side of the thin wall, shuffling around and getting ready himself. He knows he's imagining the feeling of Remus settling down on his side of the wall, but it feels almost like they're pressed back to back. Fiddling with a loose thread on his blanket, Sirius swallows hard. "I don't think this is going to go as well as they think it is," Sirius says softly.
"You keep saying that," Remus mutters, "But we don't know what will happen. If I did anything to you Pads, I'd never be able to forgive myself. Better this way."
Sirius can feel the drag of the moon beneath his sternum, already feels that hollow loneliness in the pit of his stomach. He swallows hard around the words he wants to say because, of course, Remus would know best. He's been doing this for his entire life.
"Right," Sirius whispers, tucking his legs up and wrapping his arms around them, settling his head on his bent knees.
As the pull of the moon grows stronger, Sirius tries to take slower breaths, but that only keeps him calm until he hears Remus cry out as his bones begin to snap and pop. Sirius turns, scrambling to his knees, pressing both palms to the wall. He's trembling something fierce, and it's not long before his own bones begin to crack and splinter. The pain cuts through him like a javelin, and he tastes blood in his mouth before too long.
"It's gonna be okay, Moons," Sirius hurries to say, as tears prick behind his eyes. He wants nothing more than to push through the wall and wrap Remus up in his arms.
"You can't know that," Remus chokes out.
Sirius' bark of a laugh turns into a wretched scream as his body betrays him. His neck and shoulders snap forward, the pain hooking its claws into his consciousness and dragging him under as the wolf rises to the surface.
He comes to pressed up against the wall, completely naked and freezing cold. His consciousness returns sluggishly; his brain feels like it's moving through molasses, his entire body aches like he's been throwing himself at something all night, and his fingernails feel like they've been scraped raw. His teeth ache, like maybe he's been gnawing at something, his face feels like one big bruise. He thinks the haze of pain is to blame for his lagging realization that there's something very wrong with the way the floor feels beneath his body.
Blinking a few times to get his vision to clear, he attempts to scrape himself off the floor and makes the mistake of putting pressure on his right arm. A sharp, jagged jolt of pain slices through him, running from his hand to his shoulder, pain localizing along his collarbone and the stretch and pressure of strained tendons. He chokes, falling onto his face, and shudders as he realizes the floor is sticky from his own blood.
"Moons?" he whimpers, getting his left hand underneath him and raising himself up to take stock. There's blood smeared everywhere, and the wall has an indent it definitely hadn't had before. There are claw marks in it, shredding through paint and wood. He looks down, gets one look at the odd, unnatural angle of his right shoulder, and nearly hurls right there.
"Pads? Are you alright?" Remus asks, and Sirius nearly sags with relief at the sound of his voice.
"I think I dislocated my shoulder," Sirius grunts, sitting down hard on his knees. He's covered in scratches and he has an awful bruise growing on his right side that he can feel beginning to bloom from his hip to his chest. "You?"
"I'm fine," Remus says, though his voice is strained with pain. "Does your wall look like someone took a chainsaw to it?"
"I don't know what that means," Sirius says, as he distractedly grips his right arm just above the elbow and gently shifts it. A scream wells in his throat, and he nearly blacks out from the pain right then and there.
"What are you doing?" Remus asks, voice frantic and worried. "Pads, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, just. Fucking around." Sirius swallows, getting to shaky legs that nearly buckle on him. His right arm has been clawed up and gnawed on again, like the wolf wants to rip it off. Sirius has a sinking thought that someday it just might. He's bleeding sluggishly, lightheaded, and he has to drop to his ass before he makes it to the wonky bed, pulling the blanket toward him and pressing it down on the worst of the claw marks on his arm.
Sirius' consciousness is wavering by the time Pomfrey arrives, unlocking both doors. He's closed his eyes, eyelids too heavy to open, but he's not imagining her sharp inhale as she takes in the state of their rooms. She seems to waver between the two, then crosses to Sirius in his, tutting softly under her breath. "Merlin's sake, Sirius Black, look at the state of you."
"I know, I'm gorgeous," Sirius slurs, head rolling back against the edge of the mattress and opening his eyes. He has to blink a few times to clear the blurriness.
Her hands are gentle on his skin, and he opens his eyes to watch her pull out her wand. "I'm going to have to set this," she says apologetically.
He nods, head dropping back, and he attempts to breathe evenly, but despite the preparation and the expectation of pain, he still releases a choked-off scream as the magic jolts the limb into place. It crashes through him like a wave, getting its hooks into his consciousness and yanking him under.
Sirius blinks awake to find that he's been shifted to the hospital wing, with its clean, white walls and the prickling scent of cleaning charms and sterilization. His eyes roll in their sockets, taking in the white and yellow morning light starting to poke through the tall windows. There's a pressure on his left hand, and when he shifts his gaze, he sees Remus there, gripping his hand tightly, that warm hand of his calloused and putting such a careful, lovely pressure on his.
"Moons," Sirius says, and his voice sounds like something shredded his vocal chords. "Should you be out of bed?"
Remus rolls his eyes with a scoff, dismissive as always, but Sirius inhales sharply, scenting for blood or, or whatever that smell is that's buried deep beneath his skin. Remus looks okay, big eyes swimming with worry over pain, although he is flushed and his heart is beating a little quicker than usual, which makes Sirius suspect that there's more wrong than Remus is letting on.
"The others will be here soon enough," Remus says, like that's an answer, and shifts to stretch out his back and the leg of his left side.
"You're stiff," Sirius accuses. He makes to move over in his bed and realizes only then that his right arm is back in a sling, bound from the shoulder down to keep it from moving. With a soft noise of annoyance, he flicks the covers from around his legs and sits up, scooting over and patting the bed at his side with an expectant look. "Come on, if you're not going to go to your own bed, at least get into mine."
Remus flushes red, his cheeks coloring prettily, and freckles standing out against them. "You're not serious." Sirius grins, opening his mouth to remind him who he is, and Remus groans, shaking his head. "Don't even."
Remus scowls, but maneuvers from the chair to the bed beside Sirius, carefully straightening out and leaning back against the pillows. He attempts to keep from touching, and for some reason, this makes Sirius' heart give a twist, so he lets his instincts take over; he relaxes, sinking against Remus' warm, long body, and sighs with relief, even after their hands brush and Remus freezes beside him.
"This is much better," Sirius says, ignoring the way his stomach does an odd flip and turning his head to face Remus, starting to realize they're nearly nose to nose and close enough to share a breath. "Isn't it?"
Remus hums, amber gaze flicking from one eye to the other. After a moment, he nods, and a moment later, his pinky comes around to twine together with Sirius' like the smallest stake of claim Sirius has ever witnessed. It makes Sirius feel oddly safe, and it doesn't take long for him to fall asleep again, breathing in Remus' scent and soaking in his body heat.
The next time he comes to, it's to hushed whispers of voices he adores more than any others in the world, a weight at each side, and his head tucked against something soft and warm. Sirius inhales slowly, and he gets a good mix of scents: James, Pete, Remus, the hospital wing, the clear scent that he's come to recognize as a diagnostic spell.
"What do you mean, 'you did it'?" Remus asks, his accent a lilting roll that sounds thicker from sleep.
"I mean, we did it!" James exclaims in Sirius' ear shrilly, loud enough to send Madam Pomfrey over to their bed.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, boys," Pomfrey sighs at them. "Visiting hours aren't until nine."
"It's nine somewhere, Poppy," James says, and Sirius can hear his grin. "Since we're already here, not bothering anyone, we might as well stay, right? Look, our injured friend is asleep."
Sirius instantly lets his breathing deepen, waiting for Pomfrey to realize it's an unwinnable battle.
"Mm," she says, and he can hear the skepticism in her very tone. "Fine. But when he wakes, get me immediately. If the healing potion did its work, we might be able to rid him of that sling before classes."
There's a moment of silence, and then he feels something warm against his ear as Remus breathes out, "She's gone, Pads." His lips brush the shell of his ear, and Sirius goes warm all over immediately, flushing from head to toe.
Sirius blinks his eyes open, peering up into the warm hazel eyes of James Potter, whose mouth twitches immediately. "Well done, Pads. I knew I could count on you." He's bouncing, legs working overtime as he forces himself to sit, and then he looks at Peter imploringly. "Pete, show them!"
Peter's grin is so wide, and he's brimming with confidence as he stands at the foot of their bed and screws up his face. A moment later, where Pete stood just moments ago is a small grey rat, sitting by their feet on its hind legs. Remus sits up in surprise with a loud gasp, and his hand finds Sirius' and grips tight.
"No fucking way," Remus exclaims, louder than he intends. His eyes are wide as saucers, and Sirius can't help the grin that stretches across his face.
"Well done, lads," Sirius says, struggling to sit up. He watches Remus extend a hand to Peter-the-rat. Peter's ears flick, nose wiggles, and then he runs up Remus' arm to perch on his shoulder.
"Christ," Remus shakes his head, patting little Peter on the head. "Well done indeed, bleeding Christ."
Sirius peers at James, who is sitting back with a smug grin, eyes glistening behind his glasses. Sirius remembers the trials and how many fucking times they'd had to start over, and a sense of pride swells in his chest. "How'd you do it?"
"We started over summer," James explains. "I'd show you mine, but I'm um. A bit big."
"Right," Remus cuts in as Sirius opens his mouth to make a crass joke, and grips Peter gently, setting him between their legs. "Best turn back before Pomfrey senses we're up to no good."
Peter scrambles to the end of the bed and shifts back, breathless and puffed up with pride, cheeks pink. "I told you I could do it," Peter says, like Sirius and James hadn't had to drag him through the entire event.
Uncharitably, Sirius wonders what he would have been; something useful to help Remus, or something small like a little rat. He hopes the former—that was the entire idea after all. "I dunno how a rat's supposed to keep you from hurting yourself, Moons." He sees Peter deflate out of the corner of his eye and feels a pang of guilt.
"Us, Pads," Remus says firmly. "It's 'us', now."
A soft noise, and Sirius shrugs his good shoulder. "Sure, love. Whatever you say." In his head and in his heart, the animagus transformation was for Moony, no matter what has happened to him, Moons comes first, no matter what.
"Besides," James cuts in, "having a rat around will be dead useful for getting into all the parts of the castle we can't get to as humans."
Peter flushes with pleasure again, and Sirius fights the urge to roll his eyes, biting his tongue to keep from another scathing remark. He shifts instead, wincing when his right shoulder twinges, but ignores it, scooting to sit up in bed until he can lean back against the headboard. "So what're you, Jamie?"
James grins, winking at Sirius. "Oh no, that's a surprise, Padfoot. You'll just have to wait."
Sirius pouts, giving him his best puppy eyes, but James holds firm.
Eventually, Pomfrey comes back and shoos James and Peter off to classes and forces Sirius and Remus into their own beds again, giving them both doses of pain potion before ordering them to sleep more. By afternoon, Sirius' shoulder has knit itself back together with the help of the potion enough that the sling can come off, and then they're both permitted to return to class.
"What's your excuse?" Remus asks as they take the steps toward DADA after changing in the dorm and grabbing their bags for class. "For being gone."
Sirius blinks at Remus, head tilting while he contemplates the question. "The horrors," Sirius says simply, waving a hand around. "Of being alive."
With a snort, Remus shakes his head, sighing under his breath. "Of course you would," he scoffs, but there's an amused lilt to his words. "You're such a Victorian damsel."
"What's that even mean?" Sirius rolls his eyes. "You can't just make up insults, Moony."
They slip around a throng of third years easily enough and slide into their usual seats in class as though nothing has happened, as though they haven't both torn themselves apart trying to get to one another, as though the cursed moon didn't have a chokehold on their lives.
"Alright, Pads?" James asks, leaning against him, shoulder a warm, solid weight.
"Alright," Sirius says, and sags back against his seat, pointedly ignoring the whispers and stares. Remus had been right: everyone notices him. It makes his skin prickle and the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He's always relished under any attention, but now he wonders just how long he'll be able to keep up a ruse, or if he's going to end up tagged and registered before the end of the year.
The afternoon classes drag on forever, and the minute the last one ends and they're free to go to dinner, Sirius grabs James by the wrist, yanking him into an empty classroom and locking the door. "Well?" he asks, sweeping his good arm around the space. "Is this good enough for you? Or did you turn into an elephant?"
"Ha," James grins, rolling his eyes. He pushes his bag into Sirius' hands and takes a few steps away from him, doing a fun little twirl on his heel and then—then there's not a boy in front of him at all but a young stag, with fuzzy antlers and spots and a cute little tufted tail.
Sirius drops their bags. "Oh Merlin," he gasps, reaching forward and pressing a palm to James' nose, which is cold. Those large brown eyes look at him with an eerie intelligence for a deer, and he does a little prance around the room, nudging Sirius' shoulder in his excitement, his hooves clattering and slipping on the floor. "Oi, watch those prongs, mate!" Sirius staggers back to avoid the pokey bits.
James turns back with a brilliant grin, eyes shining and hair somehow even more mussed up than before. "Well?" James asks, raising his arms. "Does that meet your standards, oh critical one?"
Sirius bites down on his bottom lip, his awe quickly dashed by the reality. "The wolves are going to eat you alive," Sirius groans, tugging his hands through his hair. "Why are you both prey animals?"
With an offended look, James snorts. "I have antlers, babe. And I'm betting you wouldn't care about me or Pete at all."
That is, after all, the reason they did all this, Sirius recalls, and he gives a nod. "It'll do," he says, with a firm nod. "Not like I'd have been any better."
"You'd probably be a cockroach," James says, nudging him in the shoulder and pulling a bark of a laugh from Sirius. "Unkillable thing, you."
"How dare you," Sirius laughs, shoving James' bag at him before he picks up his own. "Merlin, I can't believe you actually did it. It's going to help Moony so much."
James catches him by the good elbow, turning him to face him. "It'll help you, too, Pads. Trust me."
Shaking his head, Sirius' mouth twitches. "They keep us separated so we don't tear each other apart. I don't want to risk hurting him."
"Bollocks," James huffs. "Werewolves travel in packs for a reason, y'know?"
"Theory," Sirius waves off, but his heart swells with a little hope. It throws him back to the feeling he gets around Remus, like everything is going to be okay. He can't help but think about the state they'd left the shack in, and he wonders if they're going to repair the wall before next month. When he thinks about the wolf, he doesn't have terrible vibes, just lonely ones. His throat is always raw from his sad howls, and not for the first time, he wishes there was just some literature that was accurate and not fear-mongering.
James throws an arm around Sirius' shoulders, hugging him close. He smells like boy-sweat and home, and Sirius relaxes a fraction. "It's going to work out, you'll see. Trust me, babe, I've got this."
"With those little prongs?" Sirius laughs, shaking his head. "They're almost as small as your prick, Potter."
James gets Sirius in a headlock, and they tussle right there in the hallway, and for the first time in a long time, Sirius' heart is light, warmth and light and all the weight in the world thrown off his shoulders for an instant. By the time they make it to the great hall for dinner, they're both disheveled and their hair is haywire, but Sirius is grinning when he sits down across from Remus, and for once, he feels it.
The next full is on them before they know it, with their days crammed with O.W.L prep, the professors all doubling down this year. It's so bad that it throws Remus into a tizzy, and when he's not doing his prefectly duties, he's hidden away in the library, and it leaves Sirius feeling bereft and lonely. He's not sulking exactly, but he's also not exactly happy as he reads one of Remus' Mum's trashy romance novels that he swiped from beneath his bed, slumped sideways in a common room chair with his legs hanging off the side, trying to ignore the awful pull of the moon.
"You're probably the only one in our year who isn't freaking out," a familiar voice says, and Sirius looks up to see Marlene throw herself onto the couch in her Quidditch gear. She peers at the cover of his book and rolls her eyes. "Why are you reading a smutty romance novel?"
"Eh," Sirius shrugs. "I have to find out if the Duchess can fit her stable boy's horse-sized cock inside her."
"You're so fucking lewd, Black," Marlene huffs, and stretches her legs out in front of her. Sirius eyes her damp blond hair and feels a pang of loss—he misses Quidditch. He really fucking hopes the arm exercises help so he can grip a broom again soon. It had been a disaster when he'd tried at the Potters, but maybe with a little practice, he'll be able to at least fly again, even if he can't play competitively.
"Ready to stomp Slytherin?" Sirius asks her.
"Sure, as long as your brother doesn't snatch the snitch again this year," Marlene grumbles. "I can't believe you've quit the team. Gid's great, but he's not you. We had a connection up there."
It's true; they spent countless hours honing their coordination, team building, and getting to the point where they could practically read each other's moves with a look. Marlene has always been good like that; they've always gotten along, her brashness giving him no quarter. It's no surprise that she's badgering him—even as lightly as she is.
"I discovered a new fear of heights," Sirius says blandly, dropping the book onto his chest, splayed open to the page he's on.
Marlene snorts again, rolling her eyes, and she sighs. "I'm never going to get the truth out of you, am I?"
"I don't know what you mean, McKinnon." Mouth twitching up into a smirk, Sirius dog ears his page and snaps the novel closed, sitting up and righting himself so his feet are on the floor.
There's a flash of some emotion across her face that he can't quite place as he gets up, muscles and bones protesting, and makes to leave, but she grabs his wrist, stopping him. "We're worried about you, Sirius. We know your family—y'know—and all, but they were wankers, and you're better off without them."
Sirius hesitates, heart in his throat. He shakes his head. "Fuck my family," Sirius says with such vehemence that Marlene flinches back, eyes wide and surprised. "Sorry. Just, you're right, they are wankers."
He thinks of Regulus, and how he hasn't so much as looked at him once since school started. He wonders, not for the first time, what their parents told him, if anything. Does Regulus know he's a monster? Or did they simply blast him from the tapestry and call it quits? Does Reg think he abandoned him?
"I'm so good I'm great, McKinnon," Sirius says with a jaunty wink. "Need me to show you?"
Marlene cackles, throwing her head back. "Sorry Black, you know you're not my type."
"I'm everyone's type, love."
"You and your big head."
He holds his grin until he gets up the stairs to the empty boys' dormitory and then drops onto his bed face-first, feeling his sore muscles slowly relax. He's still lying there, face pressed into the covers, when Remus comes into the room—he knows it's Remus without opening his eyes: the smells of parchment, old books, and ink are in the forefront, but the soft, warm scents he associates with Remus soothe his racing heart.
"Marlene interrogated me today," Sirius says, in lieu of a greeting. "Nicely, for her, but she said the girls are worried about me."
Remus hums, crouching by his chest to put his things away. "Maybe you should flirt with them. They probably miss it."
With a scoff, Sirius rolls onto his side, watching Remus move around. He's stiff, and his knee cracks when he hefts himself back to his feet. "Are you worried about tonight?"
"Why would I be worried?" Remus asks, pulling off his school jumper. "It couldn't be the fear that I might eat all my friends tonight or anything, could it?"
"You won't," Sirius says with confidence, sitting up. He watches Remus tug his shirt over his head, cheeks flushing at the sight of his long, narrow back. He looks away, knowing Remus wouldn't appreciate being watched, touched enough that he's not sequestering himself in the bathroom to change. "Everything is going to be fine, Moons."
"To have your confidence," Remus mutters, tossing on a knit jumper and moving onto his slacks, changing them out for a soft pair of joggers. Sirius stares at Remus' bony ankles, heart in his throat. He can practically feel the blood rushing in his veins, and his face is hot. He really hopes he's not getting a fever again because last time was hell.
He doesn't feel confident at all if he's being honest, but he trusts James above all, so he just smirks, lounging back on his bed. "It's not confidence, love. I just know."
Rolling his eyes, Remus chucks a pillow at him, and Sirius laughs, batting it away.
Despite his words, Sirius is twitchy in the shack, waiting in his locked room for something to happen. He's not waiting very long when there's a thump from the first floor as the trap door is opened, and then the sounds of footsteps coming up the creaking steps. A few moments later, and his door is swinging open to reveal James, grinning at him ear to ear.
"Ready?"
Sirius releases a pent-up breath. "First sign of danger, you have to run."
James waves his hand in lazy acknowledgement. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry Pads."
"You and Pete should wait downstairs," Sirius says, swallowing hard around the growing anticipation fizzling in his gut. "You're not going to want to see this."
James looks at him with his big eyes, frowning. "Are you sure?"
"Very. You're going to want to do something stupid like help, and there's no helping this." Sirius clears his throat, which is starting to burn.
"Alright, if you say so," James says, though he doesn't look very happy about it.
"And you're going to have to turn as soon as the screaming starts."
"Yeah, yeah."
"I mean it, Prongs," Sirius says, his voice rough like the inside of his throat has been scraped up. "The second you guys hear the screams."
James gives a mock two-finger salute and a jaunty grin. Sirius purses his lips, but waits for James to check on Peter and Remus in the other room before he pulls off his shirt, tossing it onto the bed and following it up with the rest of his clothes, wrapping himself in the itchy blanket and settling in to wait.
He can feel the wolf buzzing beneath his skin, and it isn't long before that anticipation grows. He stares at the open door, fingers digging into the blanket, tense with anticipation until that fire-hot sensation lances through his gut and his body tears itself apart at the seams. He can't stifle his screams as his body morphs, bones breaking and rearranging themselves. He lasts longer this time before his boy-brain wavers, almost too long: he's a snarling, whimpering mess by the time his neck finally snaps forward, and he feels the pressure on each tooth as they're replaced by sharp wolf-teeth. He bites down hard on his bottom lip until his jaw grows and morphs, and he's writhing on the floor, clawing at it, when the wolf's consciousness finally pushes its way to the forefront of his mind, taking on the pain.
The wolf lies on the floor for a long minute, chest heaving and panting as it recovers from its boy-body, and then he scents the air, world so much bigger and expansive, so much more. Everything is more, from scents to sounds to the feeling of the floor beneath his paws, to the painful stretch of his front leg as he gets up. Things start to blur, but he knows this for certain, with every fiber of his being: his alpha is here, and he's not trapped. He can smell the other wolf, can smell other creatures that smell familiar and odd at the same time. It's the wolf he focuses on, limping his way out of the open door, peering into the gloom of the second room, where he finds the other wolf—his alpha, his pack leader with young-old eyes that shine in the darkness, and as he approaches, he bows to him, tilting his head and giving a soft whuff.
The alpha sniffs at him, nuzzling at his face and mouthing at his nose, greeting him, bumping their heads together and wrapping around him, nibbling at his scruff and ears, and grooming him as though they've only just met after a long time. Once the greetings are done, the alpha snuffs the air and leads the way down rickety steps until they get to the bottom, where the odd-scented deer and rat linger. The deer is restless, knocking into old furniture as he prances, and the rat hides on the roof of the old piano. The night gets a little blurry, a tizzy of learning new scents and finally, finally getting to be near his alpha, the one on the other side of the wall, the one he's been crying for all this time, and he feels at peace for the first time in his wolf body.
Things get even fuzzier after that, turning into a haze of instinct. As Sirius is dragged back to consciousness, his body breaking apart and knitting itself back together, all he can do for a long moment is lie in place and gasp for breath. For the first time, he doesn't feel as though he's ripped himself to shreds, and while his body still aches like he's been hit by the knight bus, he's not bleeding out.
In fact, he feels safe, and there's a soft and warm weight at his back and winding around his middle. When he inhales deeply, something settles inside of him at the scent of bergamot, of chocolate, a rich earthy ink, and something deeper, something that curls in his belly and leaves him feeling warm and cared for.
His eyes snap open, and he glances down, catching the golden-brown scarred skin of Remus' arm, and his consciousness blurs around the edges. He can feel Remus pressed along his back, his breathing deep and slow and tickling the back of his neck, and it would be so easy to just lie back down and close his eyes, let himself give in to sleep.
"Aww, you two are so fucking cute, Pads," James says, and Sirius gasps, scrambling out of Remus' arms and away from his warmth.
"What—what the fuck?" Sirius asks, eyes wide as James tosses a blanket over his head and then the other one over Remus' prone form.
With a smirk, James shakes his head. "Something you want to tell me, Pads?"
"No," Sirius grits out, holding the blanket in his lap. He can feel his cheeks flaming, his heart in his throat, and his stomach doing little weird flips at the very thought of something going on with him and Remus. "It's just wolf stuff, probably."
"Yeah," James says slowly. "About that…"
There's a soft snuffling noise, then a low groan of pain that has Sirius sitting up in alarm. "Alright, Moons?"
Remus presses his face against the hand he's curled up against his face, narrow shoulders going tight as he rolls onto his belly and slowly sits up, wrapping the blanket bashfully around himself. "Where's Pete?" Remus asks, going pale.
"Downstairs," James says with a grin. "Something about giving the newlyweds privacy."
"You're hilarious," Sirius says flatly, still flushed. Remus glances between the two of them, and then he seems to recollect something because his ears go pink and he fists his hands into the blanket.
"So it seems they don't hate each other after all," Remus says slowly, running his fingers over his scarred arms with wonder. "—it worked," his voice is hushed and it wavers, raising his head to look at James, eyes red and swimming with unshed tears. "It actually worked."
"Of course it worked," James says, grinning ear to ear. "When have my plans not worked?"
Remus chokes on a laugh, shuffling around and getting to his feet slowly. Sirius stays where he is, not trusting himself to be on two legs when they're still shaking. "You do not want me to answer that."
"I mean, when they're good," James clarifies, waving his hands around. He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, still grinning, eyes shining. "Gents, I think we just might have done it!"
"Too bad you can't tell Evans," Sirius says idly, mouth twitching when James deflates just a little before he grins again, brilliant, and tosses his head. The movement is so deer-like that it makes Sirius snort.
"I'll just tell her when we're married," James says.
"Oh yeah, that'll go over well. I love you, darling, and oh! Guess what? I've got prongs," Sirius rambles, letting his mouth run as he tries not to watch the way Remus has bunched his blanket around his waist, leaving his narrow, freckled back exposed. He doesn't know what is wrong with him.
"Prongs," James grins, snapping his fingers. "Good idea, Padfoot. Great name."
"Wh—" Sirius cuts off with a scoff. "Pervert."
James gasps, putting a hand on his chest, but before they can banter anymore, Remus clears his throat. "You and Pete should get out of here, Prongs. Before Pomfrey comes."
"Right," James sighs, shoulders slumping. "Imagine the look on her face when she gets here and neither of you are bleeding out for once."
"Yeah, that's not suspicious at all," Remus mutters. He makes a shooing motion with his large hand, and James shoots them one last grin before scampering down the hall and taking the steps like a fucking bowling ball. Without James as a buffer between them, an awkward silence falls, and Sirius wonders exactly what Remus can recall of last night. He can't remember much, just scents and sounds, the feeling of a soft nose against his and a warm weight at his side, but nothing concrete, the memories slipping from his grasp.
"Told you it would be okay," Sirius murmurs quietly, and watches Remus' shoulders sag, his head hang.
"You did."
"I knew it would be."
Remus scowls, glancing at Sirius for the first time since he woke up. "What do you want me to say, Pads? You were right, okay? Are you happy? Congratulations. Now it's going to be even worse when we can't transform together. Did you think about that?"
Sirius opens his mouth, then snaps it closed again. "Why wouldn't we be able to transform together?"
A scoff, and Remus shakes his head, crossing to the broken wardrobe and pulling his clothes out. They're in Remus' room, Sirius realizes with a start. He hadn't even thought anything of it, but now that they're in here, all he can smell is Remus, and it curls warmth through his belly.
"What are you going to do in summer? During hols? Da'll never let me transform with another wolf."
"We could just explain the situation, tell them what we've found out?" Sirius finally struggles to his feet, wavering a little. He inhales sharply around the rushing feeling in his head. "Merlin forbid we find something nice for a change."
"It's not nice!" Remus snarls, shoving his shirt over his head. He whirls around, favoring his good hip, and scowls at Sirius. "Nothing about this is nice, Sirius! You've been bit—that's not, that's not okay!"
Remus makes an aborted, sharp movement toward Sirius, and Sirius flinches back hard, falling into the wall with a thump. Remus takes a step back, eyes wide and face going white, but Sirius doesn't let him open his mouth.
"Fine, you're right! Fuck me for trying to find the silver lining or whatever," he snaps, and storms (staggers) out of the room to his own before Remus can do anything else awful like apologize or double down.
"Sirius," Remus calls after him, the weariness in his voice almost palpable. Sirius holds onto the door frame and raises his eyebrows expectantly. Remus looks down, biting his lip. "I didn't mean—"
"Yeah, you did," Sirius says. "It's not like I can go back and change anything, Moony. I'm a—I'm a werewolf—If that is what had to happen for me to be able to help you, then I'm glad."
"You don't mean that. No one would want this."
Raising his chin, Sirius sniffs. "I'm not just anyone, Moons."
With a soft noise that sounds a lot like despair, Remus drops to his rickety bed, pushing his hands through his hair. "God, Sirius. I just—this isn't how it usually goes."
"Maybe there's a problem with how it usually goes, then," Sirius says with a scowl. "Maybe it's not supposed to be getting locked up in cellars or shacks or fucking—a Ministry cage."
Remus bites down on his lip hard, looking up at Sirius with red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. "How are you—how can you just accept this so easily? How do you just—how do you do this?"
"Easy," Sirius laughs softly. "I have you, don't I?"
Pomfrey isn't happy to see their doors open at first, at least not until she sees the unharmed state of them. She still makes them take sleeping potions to rest through the first part of the day, but by lunch, they're both released.
"I'm going to have to report this to Dumbledore," she says with eyes that have an odd sheen to them. Sirius supposes that, after having to go through Remus tearing himself apart for years, this must be a shock.
Sirius can't help it; he feels smug all through their afternoon classes, although Remus seems to withdraw more into himself, hunching over his desk and burying his head in his notes, carefully avoiding Sirius' eye. Sirius decides not to let it affect his good mood, which carries him all the way through to after dinner, where James pulls him aside in the dormitory after class.
"What's up, Prongs?" Sirius asks, already liking the way the new nickname sounds on his tongue.
James runs his hands through his hair, mussing it up even more than usual. He has an oddly serious look in his eye, and Sirius feels a heavy stone sink into his stomach. "You know, it was all jokes this morning, but Padfoot and Moony—they were very obsessed with each other."
Sirius blinks. "So? What do you mean?"
"I mean, Pete and I might as well have been furniture for all either of you cared," James says slowly. "I dunno, Pads. Moony doted on Padfoot all night, it was adorable, but also—it has to mean something, you know?"
"Mean what?" Sirius asks, ribbing James. "What are you trying to tell me, Potter?"
James makes a strangled noise, cheeks flushing. He looks between Sirius' eyes rapidly and then lets out a gusty laugh. "You really don't see it, do you?"
Brow furrowing, Sirius scoffs. "See what?"
"You've been… different around Remus lately," James explains hesitantly. "You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"
"There's nothing to tell, Jamie." Sirius wriggles out of his hold, heart in his throat. "It's our animal magnetism, or something."
"Sure, let's go with that," James mutters, and shoots him a crooked smile. "Whatever you say, Pads."
Damn James for pointing out their animal magnetism, because every time they so much as look at each other, Sirius can't help but wonder if he and Remus are being obvious. Is it an obvious werewolf symptom to be distracted by the way light filters through Remus' hair? Is he obvious when he puts his head in his lap or wraps an arm around him? Is it obvious what they are when Remus runs his fingers through his hair? Sirius doesn't know, but now he feels like he can't enjoy any of these good things that he's always enjoyed with Remus. It's as if his being too close might accidentally blow Remus' cover.
Because Remus is right, while people pay attention to Sirius, Remus tucks himself into the background. He folds himself into his sweaters, and, even when it's all four of them together, he's always the quietest one. Sirius has always prided himself on being able to cut through Remus' swathes of layers to get to the core of what's bothering him, to be able to push him out of the shadows and pull him close, but now he wonders if he should be doing that.
Sirius finds himself withdrawing before he really realizes he is, drawing back from Remus' touches, breaking their eye contact first, throwing himself in James' lap instead of Remus' when they're hanging out in the common room, even though James is too wiggly to be comfortable. Sirius knows that he notices; whenever they make eye contact and Sirius drops his gaze, the look on Remus' face after is almost devastating.
It reminds Sirius of growing up, of being the loud one so that Regulus wouldn't get in trouble, taking the blame and heat away from him.
For Sirius' sixteenth birthday, they sneak a case of butterbeer from Hogsmeade, and some older classmates (likely the Prewetts) procure a few bottles of firewhiskey to pass around. The house elves are more than happy to provide party snacks and a cake for the occasion, though that's partially because Peter is so good at sweet-talking them. Despite it being a Monday evening, it winds up being a rowdy common room party, with banners and streamers and the couches and chairs pushed back from the fireplace to create a space for dancing. Music is curated by Remus in the corner, who has provided his bewitched record player for the event, and the last time Sirius saw him, he'd been bent over his case of records with Mary, choosing music.
Somehow, the night's events led Sirius to end up with a whiskey bottle that he's now taking burning sips straight from the bottle (out of some sort of rebellion to his upbringing, of course). He dances with a couple of sixth years, gets roped into a sort of drinking game with Marlene, and by the time the clock strikes midnight, he's feeling very loose and languid, and he's more than a little tired of all this avoiding and keeping away from Remus.
Sirius finds him where he left him, sipping on a bottle of butterbeer, cross-legged on the floor in front of the record player, shuffling sleepily through his records for the perfect songs. Sirius drops down beside him and leans heavily against him, hooking his chin over his shoulder.
Remus freezes, but then practically melts into the touch, wrapping an arm around Sirius' shoulders so that Sirius can lean even more weight on him, tucking himself against his chest. "Good birthday so far?" Remus asks, and Sirius makes a soft noise of contentment when fingers stroke through his hair.
"It is now," Sirius says.
He's physically incapable of staying away from Remus; he misses him, misses his scent and the soft way he speaks and the way his fingers feel along his scalp. Sirius turns his head until his nose is pressed in the crook of Remus' neck, then he inhales slowly, deeply, taking in as much of his scent as he can, letting the warmth flow through him. They're just off to the left of the fire, tucked into their own cozy little corner like this, and it's the most peace Sirius has felt since… well. Summer.
"Sirius," Remus murmurs softly, fingers stilling in Sirius' hair. "What are you doing?"
"I missed this. I missed you," Sirius admits, firewhiskey loosening his tongue. He takes another sip straight from the bottle and feels the burn of it down his throat, the warmth welling in his belly. He tries to burrow deeper into Remus' arms and winds up with his mouth pressed to the pulse point on the side of his neck.
"I haven't gone anywhere," Remus says, allowing Sirius' indulgences as he always does, fingers resuming their task of running through Sirius' hair, tracing gently over the shell of his ear.
"I know. But I have. I don't want to get you hurt, Moony," Sirius admits.
"I won't." Remus is so smart, yet so faithful, so trusting. His eyes are warm and soft, and Sirius knows if he were to look him in the eye, that would be it, it would all be over. Whatever it is has been welling in Sirius' chest, twining through him and urging him to get closer, burrow deeper, tuck himself inside Remus' skin, or cup his face in his hands and press their faces together, to kiss him until they fuse together or settle in his lap until they have no choice but to be one.
Sirius' breath hitches.
He sits up abruptly, nearly dumping his firewhiskey all over the rug but just managing to save it, trapping it against his hip, and then he turns to Remus, eyes wide. Remus' hand is still raised, poised to run through Sirius' hair, and his body is still curved around Sirius. The world tilts beneath Sirius' knees, and he makes a soft noise, digging his hand into the carpet.
"What is it?" Remus asks, his amber eyes warm from the fire, luminous and wide, pupils wide from the dimness of their corner of the room. At once, Sirius hears the noises of the party slam back into him, like the bubble between them has burst and the world has come crashing down across Sirius' shoulders.
It's not animal magnetism that has Sirius feeling this way. Sure, it could be part of it, it might be a thing, but there's something much deeper at play. He swallows a few times, shaking his head. "I'm gonna—" his stomach turns, and he clamps a hand over his mouth.
"Shit." Remus hurriedly scrambles to his knees, going forward rather than back, pulling Sirius' hair from his face and turning him toward a potted plant. "It's okay, it's okay, just aim for this, yeah? Pretty sure this plant feeds off vomit anyway."
With a soft, whimpering sound, Sirius vomits spectacularly into it, clinging to the edge of the pot as he empties the contents of his stomach. He falls back on his haunches after, breathing heavily, cheeks flaming, and Remus cards his fingers through his hair again. He can't believe he just—all because he— "Moony," he whimpers.
"It's okay, Pads, you're okay." Remus hugs him. "I didn't think you drank that much, or I'd have gotten you some water."
"I—" Sirius clamps his mouth shut. Instead, he tucks his head against Remus' shoulder and closes his eyes, letting Remus do all the work of hefting him to his feet.
"C'mon Pads, let's get you cleaned up and get you to bed," Remus says.
Things get a little wonky, a little fuzzy, and Sirius isn't sure, but he thinks he brushes his teeth and changes into pajamas, but when he wakes in the morning, his mouth tastes like something died in it and feels dry as a desert, and he's crammed against something soft and warm that moves beneath his head. His eyes snap open, and he jerks a little to see where he is. He's in the dorm, that much he recognizes from a quick glance at the curtains hanging closed around the bed. He inhales sharply, catches those warm scents that curl pleasantly around his breastbone; bergamot, pine, ink—and slowly looks up to Remus' wonderful face, so relaxed in sleep. He's snoring slightly, each inhale coming with a soft rumble, and each exhale a gust that blows gently against Sirius' face.
They're tangled together, arms wrapped around one another; Sirius' hands are clutching at the back of Remus' shirt, like he'd fallen asleep clinging to him, and Remus has one hand tangled in his hair and one pressed against Sirius' lower back. Their hips are pressed together and their legs are a mess of limbs beneath the blanket. Sirius drops his head back to Remus' chest, listening to his heartbeat and slowly recollecting what happened.
He'd been hanging out with Remus—bad move—and they'd been talking? No, cuddling. They hadn't even been cuddling for very long, but all of a sudden it was like Sirius' brain had exploded at the realization that—that…
That he's in love with Remus.
In the cold light of day, the realization is less horrifying, more like a warm weight in his gut, turning and making his stomach churn with it. It's not an unpleasant feeling, to have warmth run up his spine, to let it pool in his chest and spark through to his fingers and toes. His mind goes pleasantly fuzzy with each inhale, drawn to the way Remus sleeps, the way he's twisted around him. Sirius thinks back to the jumbled parts of last night and vaguely remembers Remus helping him brush his teeth, change into pajamas, suffering when Sirius immediately latched onto him and apparently never let go.
He releases a shaky breath, his body feeling uncomfortably hot being buried in Remus' warmth and the blankets, and undoubtedly the firewhiskey from last night. He doesn't want to extract himself from the warm, safe arms, but he also feels the urgent need to run, to deal with this bombshell of a realization.
Before he can do any of that, though, Remus' fingers tighten in his hair, and he takes a deep, steady inhale. Sirius raises his head just in time to see those amber eyes flicker open. They blink dazedly for a moment before Remus looks down, and their gazes meet. A beautiful flush immediately dusts Remus' cheeks, and he groans, turning his face into his pillow. "I thought maybe it was a dream."
Sirius laughs, his cheeks heating up as his heart does a little twirl in his chest. "Afraid not. I really did throw up in the vomit tree."
"Ugh," Remus groans, hand tightening in Sirius' hair. "How do you feel?"
"Like I threw up in the—" Sirius breaks up into a laugh when Remus groans at him again, swatting at him with a light hand.
"It was a good birthday then?" Remus asks, and have his eyes always gathered the light like that? Has he always had those cute freckles on his nose? His smile is a little goofy, turning up at one corner when he's amused, like he's trying not to be.
Sirius wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. Instead, he sags all his weight against Remus and feels him wobble onto his back, taking Sirius with him.
With a soft noise of surprise, Sirius rises and straddles Remus easily, the comforter bunched up between their legs like an awkward barrier. Sirius pins Remus to the bed, hands pushing down on his shoulders and holding him in place while Remus' hands drag through Sirius' hair, holding him by the back of his neck.
"Birthday was great," Sirius says absently, dragging the thread of the conversation along, even though all his thoughts are suddenly going south, all the way to his prick, which is chubbing up in his pants. He squeezes his legs around Remus' waist and gasps when Remus' hips shift beneath him, and at once he feels a longer, harder pressure against his thigh. "How do you feel?"
"Me?" Remus asks, blinking in surprise. "I barely drank, Pads."
"Doesn't matter," Sirius says, not sure what his mouth is saying. "I mean like, existentially, I guess?"
Remus' face, if possible, gets even redder. He grips Sirius' shoulders and twists his hips, tossing Sirius onto his back, where he sinks into the mattress with a breathless oof. Remus' weight on his legs and pressing down on his groin make Sirius release an awkward, low groan.
"Existentially?" Remus asks, voice cracking as he locks onto Sirius' gaze, those amber eyes piercing through to his soul. Sirius wriggles beneath him, his cock giving a hearty twitch. His breath catches in his throat, and he goes hot all over like he's been dumped into boiling water. Remus must feel him, because Sirius can definitely feel Remus' erection against his hip, and when Remus sinks down onto him a little more, their cocks brush through the fabric and Sirius loses his grasp on language.
"I—you—Moony," Sirius groans, fingers grasping fruitlessly at Remus' hip to hold him in place. His hips flex up, and they both groan at the pressure.
"Fuck," Remus hisses, shuddering hard. "This—Pads—what is this?"
"I… I dunno," Sirius groans, swallowing hard around the heavy weight of his heart pounding in his throat. "What is it for you?"
Remus gives himself a little shake, eyes wide. He twists his fingers into Sirius' shirt with one hand, and the other comes up, traces over Sirius' cheek, down his jawline, all while tilting his head down. Sirius goes still, eyes wide, as Remus explores his face, as if looking for something. He must find something, because he makes a half-feral growl and leans down, crushing their lips together.
It's a mess, more teeth and tongue than lips and warmth, and neither of them seem to know what they're doing, mouths battling, hips grinding together as Remus rocks down onto him, that pressure pinning Sirius down. When he twists his hips, they both gasp against each other's lips, mouths damp with spit, and Remus gasps, his cock giving a pulse against Sirius' hip. Remus' teeth sink into Sirius' bottom lip, pulling lightly before he releases, and he's breathing heavily when he pulls back just enough so that Sirius can see his wide eyes.
"I gotta go," Remus chokes out, breath wavering, and he throws himself out of bed, tangling himself in the curtains a moment before he manages to break free. Sirius' chest is still heaving as Remus hurries across the room, and he flinches at the slam of the bathroom door.
He feels a little sick as he looks down, noting his erection bunching up his pajamas at his crotch, at the wet spot starting to show on the front. He drops back onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and willing himself to calm the fuck down.
"Fuck," he hisses at the cobwebs on the ceiling.
Sirius lasts four days, three hours, and four minutes of trying not to look Remus in the eye as Remus avoids him like Sirius is going to eat him alive before he breaks the fuck down, grabbing James by the wrist and hauling him into a hidden passageway.
"James, Jamie, Prongs," Sirius chokes out, dragging his hands through his hair. He hasn't slept in days, he feels like he's falling apart, and he's more or less made his peace with the fact that he's in fucking love with his best friend. "You have to help me."
"Who are we killing?" James asks, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.
"What?" Sirius blinks, giving his head a strong shake. "No, no, not this time, love," Sirius says with a chuckle that sounds a bit hollow. He feels so old and weary, far too achy for his sixteen years, and he grips James' shoulders, squeezing them tight. "I have a problem. A really, really big problem."
"Okay," James nods firmly. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it. Or make it right, whatever."
"I don't think this is that kind of problem," Sirius whimpers, beginning to pace in front of him. It's dark in the hidden passageway, but they're both so familiar with it that they don't need a lumos. Sirius casts it now, though, holding his wand aloft so he can see James' face: trusting, jaw set, ready to take on the world for him. Sirius' heart twists; what would he do without James Potter? He huffs out a stressed breath, and in a rush confesses: "I'minlovewithRemus."
James blinks, squinting at him through the light. Sirius draws it away from his face so he can see, and when James' gaze finds his own, even and without a single iota of panic, Sirius feels his heart sink. "You knew?"
"I told you," James says, grasping Sirius' shoulders and stopping him in place. "Pads and Moony are different around each other."
"I thought you said that was animal magnetism," Sirius does air quotes.
"You said that. I was trying to tell you that it's okay to be in love, Pads."
Sirius groans, burying his face in his hands. "I'm not a—I can't be, I just. Fuck, Prongs. Even if I'm queer, Remus would never go for it; I've already scared him off."
James shakes his head. "You don't see what I see, babes. He's besotted. Trust me, from one besotted person to another, we can sense each other."
"Oh, shove off," Sirius rolls his eyes with a soft huff of a laugh, pushing James lightly. James' grin is magnetic, and if Sirius' guts weren't swimming with nerves, he just might grin back. He whines, burying his head in James' shoulder. "I don't want to corner him to get him to confess. I'll scare him off and he'll never go for it."
"You know our dear Moony. He always runs first. He'll come around, Pads."
Sirius sighs, wrapping James up into a big hug, where it's safe. "So you're saying I should wait."
James pulls Sirius back, squeezing his shoulders. "Well… yes. But no one said we can't push him a little bit."
It's not a plan so much as it is Sirius just encroaching on Remus' space wherever possible. Remus is doing homework in the library? Sirius makes sure to go out of his way to find him, to set up across from him and tuck into his own as though he does it every day, ignoring Remus' stare of disbelief. Remus is trying to enjoy dinner alone? Sirius makes sure to sit beside him, close enough that their legs brush. He does his best not to react to the warm weight of Remus' thigh against his, ignoring when Remus does a double-take. Remus is reading in front of the common room fire? Sirius makes every effort to seek him out, plopping down beside him, and taking over the rest of the couch. He even goes as far as dropping his head into Remus' lap as though it belongs to him.
Remus manages to avoid him in class, taking up with Lily wherever possible—or in Charms, sitting with fucking Caradoc Dearborn, from Hufflepuff. Sirius huffs his outrage, nearly sending a charmed quill shooting at Caradoc's face on accident when he laughs too loudly at something Remus says. That should be Sirius that Remus is talking to, tilting into his space to whisper, should be Sirius getting to lean against him and laugh in his ear.
At first, Remus fights back silently, withdrawing even farther into himself until, even when they're close, he's barely there—drawn inward, his jaw set and cheeks flaming, he's tense around Sirius, as though if he's standoffish enough, Sirius will give up and go away. Well, Sirius isn't going away, Remus should know that.
The standoff lasts until the next moon, where they follow Pomfrey to the shack side by side, making their way through the passageway and inside silently. Well, Remus is silent, Sirius keeps up a steady stream of chatter—gossip from Mary, James' latest quidditch catastrophe, Peter charring his homework to try and get out of finishing it for McGonagall's class. Stuff Remus surely knows, but he's still quiet on, barely twitching.
"Merlin, Moons," Sirius says when they're sequestered in their own bedrooms, doors open. Sirius pulls off his boots and strips out of his robes with easy gestures. "You'd think I killed someone with the way you're ignoring me."
"I'm not ignoring you." Remus' voice is soft, softer than regular hearing would pick up on, but Sirius catches it and releases a bark of laughter.
"Sure, love. Whatever you say. You haven't said two words to me since my birthday."
There's a poignant silence, and then Remus sighs, long and low. "I don't know what to say, Pads. You're not—I can't, we can't—"
"Can't what?" Sirius asks, wrapping the blanket around himself and settling down on the ground in front of the bed, resting his head back against the mattress. "Can't even look at each other?"
Remus is quiet for so long that Sirius begins to wonder if he's just going to wait for the moon to take both of them and avoid having to answer any questions. He can feel the tug of it on his bones, weighing them down and making his muscles ache something fierce. He swallows hard around the sensation, and he strains his ears for any answer from Remus, listens for James and Peter to arrive, for anything but the pull of the moon.
Finally, there's a soft sigh, and the quiet creak of floorboards under feet as Remus approaches Sirius' room, and when he appears in the decrepit doorway, his eyes are dark and stormy, his mouth pursed. And when their gazes finally meet, that familiar warm swoop slides down his spine, pooling in his stomach. All at once, this dredges up the sensations of what it had been like to have Remus' weight on him, the desperation in that kiss, their hands fisting in each other's clothes.
He aches for Remus' touch, and he knows it's not just the wolf, knows it to be more. Sure, the wolf might be part of it, but Sirius has always felt some sort of pull toward Remus, and now it's just stronger than ever before. He swallows hard, jutting his chin out stubbornly.
"Are you just going to stand there? Or are you going to get in here?"
Remus huffs, shuffling the few steps forward until their feet nearly touch, and then he kneels, clad only in his own scratchy blanket. He swallows hard, then inhales deeply, so deeply that Sirius watches in real time as his pupils dilate, and then Remus cups Sirius' face in his large hands.
"You're like a dog with a bone, Sirius."
Sirius snorts. "A wolf, maybe."
Remus' mouth twitches into a smile, and he leans forward until he's bent over Sirius' lap, touching their foreheads together. Sirius feels a quickening beneath his ribs, and it's all he can do; he cups Remus' face in his own hands, then drags them down his neck until they're balling in the blanket wrapped around Remus' shoulders. Remus sighs, eyes fluttering closed, and after a moment, he tilts his chin until their mouths touch hesitantly in an open-mouthed, wet kiss.
"I just don't want to lose you, Pads," Remus says against Sirius' mouth when they part some minutes later.
Sirius makes a soft noise, licking into Remus' mouth messily, desperate to convey every feeling whirling inside him before the moon seizes them. He can feel Remus' heartbeat against his chest, the solid weight of him in his lap, and he's still holding onto him when there's a familiar thump-crash from the ground floor and the sound of James shouting, "Honey, we're home!"
"You'll never lose me, Moons," he says insistently before they can be interrupted.
Before Remus can so much as open his mouth to say more, the moon slices through both of them. Remus gasps, releasing Sirius' face to grip the mattress on either side of Sirius' head, entire body shuddering in Sirius' lap. Sirius' grip on Remus' blanket tightens at the wave of pain, then Remus is abruptly rolling off him to the side as they both contort with pain.
Sirius watches, wide-eyed, as Remus collapses beside him, body twisting and morphing into the wolf. The wave of pain hits him, burning down his spine and sending him writhing, curling in on himself as the changes take root, snout extending, bones cracking, fur bursting through his skin. Sirius can't help the scream that rips, short-winded from his lungs, face burning, hands turning to claws, feet morphing. He gets a look at Remus before his head snaps forward low on his shoulders, and he whines, canine-like, and reaches for Remus' shifting paw.
Remus growls at him, gets his still-contorting mouth around Sirius' wrist, and he clamps down, grip light, until Sirius' screams turn to howls and Sirius' awareness wavers as the wolf takes control. Each inhale sends whorls of heat through the wolf, and when his alpha whines, he lifts his head to acknowledge him and finds his snout in his fur, breathing Padfoot in, nibbling at his ears, mouthing at his muzzle, rubbing against him, and curling around him to claim him.
When the deer and the rat come, Moony simply lifts his head and huffs out a soft noise before resuming his ministrations, nipping at Padfoot's scruff and lapping at his scarred leg. When the deer stamps his foot impatiently, Moony growls low in his throat. Things get hazy as the wolf-mind gets stronger, pulling Padfoot down like an undertow in his own body. His alpha doesn't leave him alone all night, even when they've found their way out of the shack and down the tunnel.
The rat stops the tree from maiming them, putting it in its stasis. The four of them chase each other through the forest, and for the first time, Padfoot feels the rush of the forest beneath his paws, the stretch and burn of his legs as he lets himself free, yipping and playing with his Moony, leaping onto him and letting the joy of freedom buoy his soul. The wolf is far beyond happy like this; the forest as his playground, a deer that smells like friend, a rat that feels safe, and his alpha at his side.
They trail each other in turns all the way into a clearing, the glow of the moon bright in Moony's eyes when he knocks Padfoot onto his back and pins him in place. Moony gets his jaws around Sirius' neck and gently clamps down around him until sharp canines just barely break skin. Padfoot goes still beneath him, body going rigid and then melting, warmth curling through him, and it's a long moment before Moony licks his neck and jumps off, nudging him to his feet.
Elated, the wolves run together until the stag corrals them back to the tree and into the shack, back up the steps with antsy hooves on floorboards. The wolves go willingly, docile to the friend-scented deer, and they curl up together until the changes come, where they whine and keen and morph together in a pile of limbs. Awareness wavers during the shift, but when Sirius comes to he's on the floor with Remus' naked form wrapped around him from behind, face tucked into Sirius' neck, mouth pressing soft kisses into Sirius' skin.
"What was that?" Sirius croaks out once his vocal chords return. "What is this?"
Remus stills, clutching Sirius so close that their sweat-slicked skin sticks together. "I don't know," Remus murmurs into Sirius' hair, even as he inhales Sirius' scent deeply. Sirius sags in his arms, settling back against his chest, and neither of them can bring themselves to move, even after there are footsteps on the stairs and Peter and James burst into the room.
"Merlin, lads," James yelps, hastily grabbing a blanket and tossing it over their naked bodies. It takes a moment for Sirius to get his limbs to work, but eventually he manages to force his bruised and battered body into motion. It's the last thing he wants to do, but he rolls away from Remus with a soft whine, dragging himself upright. He swallows and, when his neck throbs with the motion, jolts, bringing a hand to his throat. He runs his fingers over the skin gently, and is surprised to feel raised skin and puncture marks; he vaguely remembers Moony biting down on his neck and his breath hitches.
"Fuck," Sirius grunts out, voice coarse and gravelly. Remus sits up beside him, takes one look at Sirius, and pales.
"God, Pads. I'm so sorry," Remus says with a quiver, reaching out a tentative hand and stroking down the side of Sirius' neck. The touch sends that same blistering heat down Sirius' back.
"You two were all over each other last night," Peter says, and when Sirius snaps his head up he's not sure he likes the keen look in his eye. "You're always all over each other, actually. D'you think werewolves mate for life?"
Feeling his cheeks heat up, Sirius lifts his chin, heart in his throat. "So what if we were, Wormtail?"
"You are not calling me that!" Peter squawks in alarm, as James lets out a loud guffaw and throws an arm around Peter's shoulders, reeling him in.
"Wormtail. I like it," James grins, waggling his eyebrows at Peter. "It suits you."
"I don't know if I should be insulted or not," Peter scowls.
James ruffles his sandy blond hair. "Could be worse, mate."
Peter opens his mouth to complain more but is interrupted when Remus clears his throat. Sirius is sure he's not imagining the way everyone turns to him on command, like flowers turning to the sun. "You two should get out of here before you're caught," Remus reminds Peter and James, who waves off his concern.
"S'what the cloak is for, Moons." James grins broadly, glancing between Sirius and Remus with a slightly more pointed look at Sirius. "But if you lovebirds insist…"
"We do," Remus say quickly, blush dusting his cheeks, which just makes James let out another loud laugh.
"Alright, alright."
Once James and Peter are gone, the trap door closing behind them with a soft thump, Sirius turns to Remus, heart thumping hard in his chest. "What do you remember?"
Remus runs his fingers gently through Sirius' hair, curling over the shell of his ear and drifting down until he's tilting Sirius' chin up. "Everything," Remus confesses softly.
"What do you think it means?" Sirius asks, scooting closer to Remus until their thighs are touching beneath the blanket. This allows Remus to wrap a long arm around his shoulders, reeling him in until he can press a kiss to the side of Sirius' head.
"I don't know, Pads. It just felt like the right thing to do. Like I was marking you, or making sure you knew you were mine."
With a soft laugh, Sirius turns his head until their noses are touching, mouths breathing the same air. "Merlin, Moony. I think the wolves are telling us we're idiots."
"You think?" Remus lightly knocks their foreheads together, tilting his head just enough that he can mouth at Sirius' lips. It's the shadow of a kiss, and yet it rends Sirius speechless, a shock of warmth lancing through him. "I think they might be onto something."
It's hard to part from each other's embrace, and when they finally do it's only because Pomfrey is due to arrive any second and they need to redress. Sirius allows her to fuss over him, takes the potions he's given, but despite the lack of sleep he's still wired when she leaves him to rest, waiting until she's gone to help a student who miscast a spell before he slips out of bed and crosses to Remus' curtained off section, poking his head inside with a giddy grin on his lips.
Remus is awake and waiting, and when their eyes meet, he smiles that adorable half-smile of his and pulls the covers aside, scooting over to make room for Sirius in his bed. Sirius' grin turns into a full smile, and he all but throws himself into bed beside Remus, heart light and in his throat. They turn to their sides to face one another, Remus' warm hand coming up to push wayward strands of Sirius' hair out of his face and stroke down his jawline and over his neck, where the puncture wounds have been slathered with ointment by Pomfrey, who had tutted at them both.
Sirius inhales shakily, pressing one hand to Remus' chest where he can feel the steady thump of his heart beneath his palm. "What are we, Moons?" Sirius asks.
Remus' brow creases, and Sirius can't help but give into the urge to kiss him, tilting his head forward until he's pressing his mouth to the corner of Remus' lips in a tentative, slow kiss. He feels Remus exhale shakily under his mouth, and the hand on his pulse-point tightens just enough to send a swell of heat through his body.
"What do you want us to be, Pads?" Remus asks, voice so soft it's nearly inaudible.
"Together," Sirius says at once. "I want to be together, whatever that looks like."
"I don't think I can just settle on whatever," Remus admits, eyes red rimmed and shiny, he's trembling beneath Sirius' hand, and Sirius realizes with a start that it's because he's terrified.
Sirius kisses him again, this time more insistent, pushing until Remus returns it, tongue sliding past the seam of Sirius' lips. It deepens quickly, Remus' hand curling against the back of Sirius' neck as Sirius' hands fist in Remus' shirt, holding him close as they trade desperate, messy kisses. Its only the insistent need to breathe that forces Sirius to break off, and when he does he tilts his forehead against Remus' and inhales deeply.
"How about you be mine?" Sirius asks, heart in his throat. "Boyfriend, lover, mate, however you'll have me."
"Only if you'll be mine too," Remus whispers, voice wavering.
"Like I could be anything but." Sirius noses forward for another kiss, which Remus returns sweetly. They're still exchanging kisses when the exhaustion finally hits and Sirius slips into slumber.
"Lads, dinner's ready!" Hope Lupin calls from the ground floor.
Sirius starts from his position half in Remus' lap, hands falling from Remus' face to his chest and pushing him back with a laugh when Remus leans in for another kiss.
"C'mon love," Sirius says, sinking back into the kisses, feeling Remus' hands in his hair, cupping the back of his head. "I'm starving."
Remus hums in acknowledgement, but licks past the seam of Sirius' lips instead of letting up, thumbs stroking the sides of Sirius' head. He steals the breath from Sirius' lungs, then parts with a soft smack, pressing their foreheads together with a huff of a laugh and a brilliant smile that spreads across his face like sunshine.
"I'm glad you're here, Pads."
Sirius can't help it; he kisses Remus again, a desperate, quick thing, and when they part Remus' lips are flushed and his pupils glow in the dim, orange light coming off the lamp on Remus' desk.
Technically, Sirius has his own bed on the floor of Remus' bedroom, but Sirius hasn't parted from Remus' side since he arrived for the full two days ago. He's due back to the Potter's on Christmas Eve, but for now, he has Remus and is not about to let him go while they've got this time together. Even a few days apart is nearly too much for Sirius to bear.
"I never want to be anywhere else," Sirius murmurs against Remus' lips, touching Remus' chin with the tips of his fingers and guiding him in for another lasting kiss.
Tonight, when they're tucked into the Lupin cellar together—the dingy, cement place smelling of potatoes and onions—they'll transmute and warp under the moon's pull. And as wolves, they'll groom each other in turns and play, probably tug at Sirius' stuffed bear like pet dogs. Whatever form their night takes, Sirius knows without a doubt that they're going to wake up twined together after it, so close that they can feel each other's heartbeats, and Remus' pulse in Sirius' ears will beat a steady mantra of mine, mine, mine.