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“Oi, where are the onions?” asked James.
“Where they always are, idiot,” Sirius replied, and dodged as James threw a clove of garlic at him.
“No food fights!” Lily warned them, “The first rule of spaghetti night, boys…”
James retrieved the garlic and smiled at her. “Who’s fighting?” he said, and Lily sighed with mostly-false exasperation.
“Spaghetti in five,” Peter announced from the stove, and James started chopping in earnest.
They didn’t all live together, although it often felt that way on Mondays. The Marauders had planned to live together after Hogwarts, imagining a big house of pranks and revelry, but it didn’t work out because James had opted to move in with Lily. Peter was living with his mum, which they teased him about, but he knew they understood because his mum lived alone and the world wasn’t as safe as it used to be. Besides, Sirius and Peter didn’t really get along without James since Sirius made nasty remarks and Peter got sulkily resentful about it.
So, Remus and Sirius lived together and everyone came over for spaghetti on Mondays, with a Two Pint Maximum to prevent hangovers from getting anybody fired. On Fridays they got drunk, initially at James and Lily’s, but she put a stop to that when Sirius and James’ naked singing in the garden nearly got them evicted. Now everybody went to the Leaky or the Three Broomsticks and Lily got sloshed on chardonnay in the happy knowledge that no one was wrecking her furniture.
All in all, things were as good as could be expected given that Remus couldn’t hold down a job and had no prospects of a relationship. Still, a beautiful best mate who didn’t bring too many girls home was probably the best Remus could’ve hoped for and he was grateful for it.
“Spaghetti in two!” Peter called, over the hiss of frying onions and meatballs, and Remus turned his attention to heating the tomato sauce.
But this story isn’t about tomato sauce. This is the story of the most improbable job Remus ever had and how it caused the Chocolate Frog Plague of 1980. It’s also, incidentally, the story of how he got together with Sirius, but that comes later.
Remus’ job, the incredibly improbably one, happened by accident – or that’s what he told people afterwards. One day Remus’ glance strayed from the Prophet’s Jobs listing into the Assorted column and saw the advert for the Psychic, which quoted ten galleons for a personalised reading.
“Blimey, I could give you better advice than that for ten galleons!” Remus muttered, refolding the paper to the sport section.
It occurred to him, lying in the bath that evening that he really could give better advice. And he could undercut the quote.
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“What are you doing?”
Remus jumped slightly and shuffled his papers to cover the piece he was working on. “Er, nothing, Sirius,” he said, “Applying for jobs again. You know how it is.”
“Hmmmn,” said Sirius, looking doubtful. “That’s a lot of paper, for jobs.”
Sirius was right, given that the desk was covered in books, scrolls, rolls of parchment and several notebooks. Despite the open Prophet with which Remus was now hiding some of the more incriminating items, it was an implausible story.
“Well it’s not easy to find something,” Remus replied, throwing in a bitter tone for added conviction. “I can’t keep living off you forever.”
“You can if you want,” said Sirius.
This was part of their routine; the discussion they’d had every couple of weeks since moving in. Sirius’ part – which he played with aplomb – was that of the liberal, aristocratic wastrel with nothing better to do than spend his ill-gotten inheritance on making his mates’ lives easier. Remus’ part was to be fiercely independent and quietly resentful for ever needing help.
They’d acted out this scene often enough that it was starting to get tedious.
“No,” Remus said, shortly. “I’ll pay you back. As soon as I’ve got some cash coming in.”
“All right,” said Sirius, in a tone that implied he didn’t believe Remus would pay him back, but that he didn’t care either. “I’ve made a pot of tea, if you want some.”
“Thanks, yeah,” Remus said. “Just give me a minute to tidy up.”
He waited for Sirius to leave the living room and then collected the papers and handful of books that were spread over the desk, put them into a desk drawer and closed it.
After a moment, Remus added a padlock charm with a password keyed to himself, because Sirius was relentlessly nosy and Remus didn’t want him getting involved. Sirius, he knew, wouldn’t like it.
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“Jobs again?” Sirius asked innocently, as he appeared suddenly at Remus’ elbow.
Sirius usually didn’t get back from work for another half hour, and he was generally as noisy as a stampeding rhinoceros. Remus knew from long experience that if Sirius showed up anywhere silently, then it was deliberate.
Remus’ hand jerked in an attempt to cover the papers but Sirius was right behind him and-
“Why on earth are you reading a star chart?”
“Er, keeping a track on things.” Remus said, desperately searching for an excuse. “With the moon. And…stuff.”
“You know when the full moon is,” Sirius said, in a resolutely logical voice. “It’s twenty nine days after the previous one. They’re marked in your diary.”
They were. Full moons had been marked in Remus’ diary for years and were symbolised by an oddly shaped squiggle, just in case someone other than himself or Sirius got a hold of it.
“Um, just…having a look. At the stars. In case it tells me something.”
Sirius stared at him. “This isn’t divination, is it?” he asked, suspiciously. “Why would you be reading about divination? You didn’t even take it at school – very sensibly - because the whole thing is complete rubbish. I’ve heard Hogwarts will probably stop teaching it now thingumy has retired.”
“Right,” Remus said slowly. “But there’s no harm in looking. Just on the off chance that it tells us something about the Death Eaters and-”
This was the worst excuse in history. Sirius would think he was an idiot.
“If we’re relying on divination for intelligence, then Merlin help us,” Sirius said, wearing an expression that showed he thought Remus was being an idiot. “It has absolutely no basis in fact and no possible rationale. Feel free to waste your time, though.”
Remus added the unspoken words it’s not as though you have a job, or anything.
Screw this; screw Sirius’ charity and patronising comments. From now on, Remus would do it in private.
“I will, thanks,” Remus said, muttering a charm which caused the books and papers to gather themselves up into a neat pile. He picked up the pile and walked to his bedroom with as much dignity as he could muster.
When he turned to close the door, Sirius was watching him with a very sceptical expression. Without rancour, Remus shut the door in his face.
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Remus didn’t really expect anyone to reply to his advertisement, but he was wrong: the next day’s post brought several requests for personal readings, all of whom paid in advance. He spent the first cheque on good chocolate, lamb chops and fresh orange juice, which pretty much committed him to doing the work.
After some consideration, Remus devised a four step process for writing each horoscope.
Step 1: Ensure Sirius is not in the vicinity and cannot surprise you by accident or design.
Step 2: Consult what it says about the given birth-date and star sign in Divination for Dummies and An Idiots Guide to Horoscopes.
Step 3: Discard about half of what the books said and copy down the gist of the remainder.
Step 4: Make the rest up.
The first three steps were working pretty well, but the fourth was hard. Of all the Marauders, Remus alone didn’t have years of practice at making things up because he’d put the effort into doing his homework.
Remus sighed and turned back to Avandia Lovegood’s draft horoscope in front of him.
Why did the language for these things always have to be so vague? “Due to the conjunction of Mercury and Venus, dark misfortune will befall you this month” seemed to be all right, but they never said “On Thursday you will trip over the cat while holding a hot saucepan, necessitating a trip to St Mungos.” How were you supposed to come up with a relentless stream of waffle without repeating yourself?
Remus glanced up at his bookcase in hope of inspiration and it struck him - a thesaurus. Perhaps he could devise a lot of different ways to say the same thing? He knew what people wanted to hear at the moment anyway: your family will be safe; things are getting better; the righteous will triumph. Remus couldn’t promise any of that, though, and he’d feel pretty awful lying about it.
“The last degrees of Scorpio indicates some difficult times ahead, although things are likely to improve with time. Be careful about who you confide in,” Remus wrote. That seemed like good, reliable advice. Over a long enough timescale, things were certain to improve.
Oh hell, he still had to come up with another 2 paragraphs.
Remus closed his eyes and opened his dictionary at random. It landed somewhere in the Es, and a glance at the page showed the word ‘emotional’. Hah.
“Mercury is moving into retrograde, which will intensify life this week. A stressful turn of events may leave you feeling somewhat emotional, mid-month,” he wrote. As far as he could tell from the girls at school, being stressed out and emotional was the normal female state of being about a third of the time, so the odds of him being right were pretty good.
The best thing to do when emotional, in Remus’ opinion, was to drink plenty of hot, sweet tea. That advice was probably insufficiently mystical, though. Instead, he scribbled “You may have to resolve some issues with loved ones or at work; try to remain calm and avoid extra stresses where possible.”
He closed his eyes and opened the dictionary at random again. Ultracrepidarian, ultrafidian, ultramarine. U didn’t seem very promising, so far. Ululate, umbel, umber…
Remus closed the dictionary and tried again. If it took him this long to write a single horoscope, then doing three dozen a month was going to be a nightmare.
The horoscope business might’ve been a nightmare but at least it paid well.
“Here’s the rent,” Remus said lightly, and placed a neatly written cheque on the breakfast table.
Sirius spluttered and nearly choked on his coffee. “What?” he said, “I didn’t think you were working?”
“Well, I am,” Remus said, since he’d done several commissions last week and two more arrived over the weekend. “It’s the rent for this month. I can start paying you back, soon.”
“Who are you working for?”
“That’s really none of your business, Sirius,” Remus said calmly.
It didn’t work, of course. Telling Sirius to stay out of something was like a red rag to a bull. Sirius would spend hours breaking into a locked room just for the sake of it, even if they knew there was nothing interesting inside. Although James and Sirius always insisted the Marauders Map was motivated by pranks, Remus knew at heart that it was nosiness. “Curiosity,” Sirius had boasted once, “Only kills cats.”
Sirius frowned. “Well, what are you doing?” he asked.
“It’s not very interesting and I’m not very good at it, but it pays the bills.”
“Is this thing illegal, Remus?” Sirius said, leaning forward. “That could cause a lot of problems for me with the Aurors if-“
“Leave it, will you!” Remus said. “Why does everything have to turn into an argument?”
Sirius mouth set into a thin line. “I don’t want dirty money,” he said, tersely.
“It isn’t dirty money,” Remus replied, ignoring the flashing pink elephant that was the dubiously ethical origins of the Black fortunes. “It’s legal, all right. Just let me…pay my way.”
Sirius didn’t look very re-assured.
Remus spent a lot of the day worrying that spaghetti tonight would involve a tag team of enquiry from Sirius and James. Luckily, Sirius returned from work with a hilarious story about Alastor Moody accidentally cursing off one of his own buttocks when his wand misfired.
“It took three healers to re-attach it,” Sirius was saying, almost doubled up with laughter, “And he had to stand up the whole time!”
“Bum rap for him,” said James, spearing a meatball.
Peter tried to laugh mid-mouthful and almost choked, spraying tomato and pasta across the table. With a look of resignation, Lily Vanished it.
“Now Moody is completely paranoid about anyone putting wands in their back pocket and he threatened to curse us all if anyone told a soul,” Sirius concluded with evident unconcern.
“There’s not much to fear from a man who can’t find his arse with both hands,” said James cheerfully, and Peter dissolved into laughter again.
Once started with the ‘arse’ jokes, Remus knew they could go on for hours. The minor mystery of Remus’ new job didn’t stand a chance.
Next morning Remus was interrupted in the middle of his porridge by yet another unfamiliar owl. The large, spotted owl waited on the table, picking at Sirius’ toast crumbs, as he unfurled the parchment and saw the Quibbler’s letterhead. Sirius watched suspiciously.
“Excuse me,” Remus said, retreating to his bedroom to read it in private.
“Dear Lunar Legilimens,
Your services have been recommended by a close friend, so I am writing to offer you a position as the Astrologist for the Quibbler magazine. As you likely know, we are a fortnightly publication catering to the more discerning magical population who wish to avoid the narrow-mindedness and censorship of the ministry-approved media outlets. Many of our readers have a close interest in Divination, so this is a position of some import.
Unfortunately, our previous Staff Astrologist has moved to Tahiti at short notice, so we require a replacement for next week’s issue. The position and job contract are detailed below; please reply with your decision at your earliest convenience.
Blessings be upon your house,
Xenophilius Lovegood
Sub-Editor of the Quibbler”
Remus stared.
This was unexpected, but obviously he’d done something right if one of his clients had recommended him.
The important thing, though, was that the Quibbler’s contract paid a hundred Galleons a month for only two sets of horoscopes. At that rate he’d only need to write a handful of personalized readings and he'd be financially self-sufficient. He could probably afford a new set of robes, even.
Remus took out a fresh sheet of parchment and replied stating that he accepted the post on a provisional basis and would send the first set of Horoscopes by the end of the week. He went back downstairs to where the owl was waiting and found a scowling Sirius who was about to leave for work.
“Who’s that to?” Sirius asked, in a poor attempt to sound flippant.
“My employer,” Remus replied truthfully, and Sirius’ eyes narrowed.
“There was a time when you didn’t keep secrets from me,” Sirius said, and stepped into the Floo.
In anticipation that Divination for Dummies wouldn’t satisfying the ‘discerning’ (read eccentric or crazed) readers of the Quibbler, Remus spent the afternoon in Diagon Alley purchasing several of the more obscure and detailed texts on Astrology. He placed them carefully in a plain brown paper bag, which was just as well because Sirius glanced at the bag with interest when Remus got home.
“I brought you some ice cream from Fortescue’s,” Remus said, heading off Sirius' enquiry by waving the carton. “Cherry-Walnut and Wickedly Minty.”
Sirius’ eyes lit up. “Brilliant,” he said, reaching for the carton. “What d’you say we break it open? No point ruining our ice cream appetites by having supper first.”
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Remus started work on the Quibbler horoscope as soon as Sirius left for work the next morning.
“Remember to ward your home, this month, because the planetary configurations mean there will be turbulence and insecurity,” he wrote, using the now familiar tactic of providing Defence Against the Dark Arts advice disguised as neo-psychic bullshit. “The position of Mars will exacerbate the fiery tendencies of Virgo, but try to keep a cool head.”
This wasn’t that hard at all, Remus decided. Any fool with an imagination and a bunch of textbooks could do it…
Remus was disabused of the notion that Astrology was easy when he received the feedback on his first Quibbler column.
“You’re not as good as Maudlin Moira,” the first correspondent complained, “It needs a few deaths and dire warnings to spice things up.”
“I was very disappointed in your new Horoscope,” wrote Mrs Habbleswait from Mould on the Wold, “The poor man seems obsessed with home security. I don’t want to read about wards and passwords; how about something cheerful for a change?”
He opened the next letter and read “Your predictions were wee a bit repetitive, with all this fuss about world events. I want to know what the weather will be like so I can decide if it’s too soon to plant my tomatoes.”
Remus spread the letters on the desk before him. He stared at the Owls. How was he supposed to respond to that? Less repetition, more deaths and something cheerful. How could he do mutually contradictory things all at once?
Well, Remus thought recklessly, these people have bought a copy of the Quibbler; they would probably believe almost anything. If this article about imaginary magical beasts was anything to go by, they were even more likely to believe things that were implausible. Perhaps he could make things a bit more interesting…
The next issue of the Quibbler bore a rather more unusual horoscope. The Owl which delivered Remus’ copy also included a glowing report from the Editor, who mentioned that he had sent a copy to his acquaintance Dedalus Diggle. Remus felt rather guilty about that since the prediction for Libra had been written with Diggle specifically in mind.
Flicking through the Quibbler to the Horoscope section at the back, he glanced over the page:
Horoscopes for 17 February to 3 March
by Luna Legilimens
Aries – This week you should be on the lookout for unregistered animagi in the form of semi-domesticated avian species; acquiring a Kneazle could be useful, especially as the waning of Mercury dims your psychic energy. If in doubt, duck.
Taurus – There is an un-missable opportunity for cut-price kitchenware this month, but your concerns about shoddy workmanship will prove unfounded. Lucky biscuit: hobnob.
Gemini - The Ministry will continue to deny the existence of Nargles, but don’t be fooled – the threat is as grave as ever. Scattering gunpowder around your trees and potted plants might help to ease your mind.
Cancer - The turnip-shaped conjunction between Saturn, Mercury and Uranus indicates the need to consume a lot of root vegetables this month. Beetroot will prove particularly fortuitous.
Leo - Mid-air congestion at the Magpies game is likely to cause considerable disruption and the portkeys will be delayed by a minor diplomatic incident. Apparition is advised, particularly since Leos tend to be impatient.
Virgo - You will be startled midweek by a dark figure lurching outside the door. Further inspection will prove that this is not an Inferi, but merely your neighbor entangled in an unruly pair of curtains.
Libra - You are very over-excitable and stupid and persistently wear a ridiculous hat which you should be ashamed of.
Scorpio - Subtle changes in your working environment may affect you as the moon wanes – particularly if you work at the Ministry, where the heaters are likely to break down. Take this opportunity to request a raise – or at worst, several days off.
Sagittarius - Two hags and a banshee walk into a – Oops, sorry, my mistake. It’ll be an uneventful and banshee-free fortnight for you Sagittarians.
Capricorn - Sheep and goats will continue to be important in the lives of Capricorns, but try to keep things in perspective. The presence of Venus in your chart is frankly no excuse.
Aquarius - The stars indicate that Aquarians are enthusiastic gardeners, and as such I remind you that it is well past time you planted your lettuce seeds.
Pisces - It is your birthday soon, which means you are older than ever. You’re probably not as old as Nicholas Flamel, who celebrates his sixth hundredth birthday on the 20th. Does that make you feel better?
Astonishingly, the feedback was much better this time. Remus received letters from several people thanking him for his reminder about the lettuce and only two readers complained about the column, although one of those was protesting about his failure to provide a lucky biscuit for each star sign.
The other was also a frankly deranged Owl from a woman alleging that the unlucky neighbor’s curtains were likely infested with a new and particularly poisonous form of translucent Doxies, and that you could never be too careful since the spreading of Doxies was part of an evil conspiracy by the Norwegians. Remus threw that one away.
Unfortunately, Remus didn’t remember to throw away the complementary copy of the Quibbler, which was why he got back from the shops to find Sirius reading it at the kitchen table. His mouth was open.
“Did you buy this?” Sirius asked, looking up.
“Yes,” said Remus, with a sense of impending doom.
“It’s complete rubbish,” Sirius said. “Totally irrational! I mean, how could you confuse an Inferi with someone wrapped in a curtain?”
“Ah,” said Remus, who until that point had been hoping that Sirius hadn’t actually read the Horoscope. “Yes, sounds implausible.”
“What’s a Nargle? And what could the stars possibly have to do with turnips?” Sirius continued, looking at the Quibbler with mild alarm. “Whoever writes this must be completely unhinged.”
“Obviously,” said Remus, moving around the table to put away the bag of groceries. “I only bought it for amusement value.”
“You’ve got cash to burn, have you?” Sirius enquired, putting the magazine down on the table and reaching out to help with the groceries.
“That’s none of your business,” Remus said, and Sirius gave him an assessing look.
“Why so many secrets?”
“It’s nothing to fuss over, Sirius, I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ll trade you,” Sirius said, putting down the milk. “I’ll tell you my secret if you’ll tell me yours.”
“No deal,” Remus said instantly, “You’ll just ‘fess up to something boring.”
“I won’t,” said Sirius, stepping in closer. “I promise.”
Sirius was standing almost within reach, his head tilted to one side and eyes fixed on Remus. His eyes looked very dark.
There could be a bundle of secrets hidden there; more, perhaps, than even Remus was hiding. He’d never thought of Sirius as someone who was good at keeping secrets before, but it seemed obvious now. After years of living with Sirius and seeing him when he was tired, hungry, nervous or hung-over Remus knew that Sirius’ over-confident behaviour was a pastiche.
Somewhere underneath the act was the real Sirius – the boy who’d walked out on his parents and refused to talk about his brother. That person, Remus realised, could be brittle and rather insecure.
Remus supposed that James knew this already, but then James had provided several years of pastiche himself.
“If you agree to tell me,” Sirius said quietly, “I’ll even go first.”
“Um,” Remus said, and Sirius reached forward, his fingers encircling Remus’ wrist.
“Say yes,” Sirius said, his pupils huge against the band of blue iris. Remus could feel his heartbeat thudding under Sirius’ grip.
“Yes,” he said thickly.
“I want to kiss you,” murmured Sirius.
For a moment Remus didn’t know what to think. This was the very last thing he’d suspected – well, not the last, but that was because he hadn’t thought of it at all.
This wasn’t in his top 100 suspicions about Sirius, along with the belief that Sirius deliberately left just a dribble of milk in the bottle in order to manipulate Remus into buying more. This was lower on the list than his dark fears that doggie Sirius flirted with the cocker spaniel bitch from down the road. This was absolutely unexpected.
A shock of that magnitude should have provoked something interesting in reply, but Remus only managed to say “what?” in a weak voice.
“I’m hoping you reciprocate,” Sirius said, as Remus’ brain stuttered into gear. “But it’s ok if you don’t. I mean, we can still live together and everything. It doesn’t have to be-”
Remus kissed him.
It felt odd to have his lips moving softly against Sirius’; odd but pleasant. Then Sirius nipped at him and Remus opened his mouth, feeling Sirius’ tongue slide against his own.
For a moment they only touched where their mouths were slick against each other, but then Sirius moaned and shoved him back against the table. Sirius’ hands were moving greedily under Remus’ shirt, roaming over his chest, and the next moment Remus found himself spread-eagled on the kitchen table. Sirius leant over him, wearing a predatory expression.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Sirius said.
“It is longer than the three years I’ve fancied you?” Remus enquired, and Sirius actually growled in response, pinning him against the table and kissing him hard.
There was no ambiguity in the kiss; it didn’t say ‘maybe I like you,’ or ‘I’m afraid we’ll ruin our friendship,’ it just said ‘I want you.’ Right now, Remus was pretty okay with that.
“Three years!” Sirius said when he released Remus’ mouth. “Merlin! So that time we hid from Flitwick in the cupboard…”
“I was hard for you, yes,” Remus panted. “It wasn’t just something in my pocket.”
One of Sirius’ knees pushed Remus’ legs apart and then Sirius was grinding against him, rubbing their cocks together in a way that caused Remus to lose all capacity for rational thought.
“Three years,” Sirius repeated, as he bit a hot line down Remus’ throat, making Remus moan. “To think, I could’ve jerked you off in the dorm or licked sherbet off you in the Honeydukes basement. Or fucked you in the Prefect’s bathroom-”
“You want to fuck me?” Remus asked breathlessly.
“No,” Sirius said, biting down on the pale skin above his collarbone.
Remus stilled. "No?"
"No," Sirius said, pulling back far enough that Remus could see his face. “I want to taste your skin and stroke you and suck your cock and wake up with you in the morning. Then, maybe, I’ll want to fuck you. Is that all right?”
It was more than all right. The measure of how very, very right the idea seemed was that Remus didn’t even consider putting the milk in the fridge first.
Sirius’ body was lean, pale and perfect against the dark red sheets and his cock felt silky against Remus’ palm. Sirius squirmed and moaned as Remus moved his fingers, tracing the veins and ridges with something like reverence. Sirius arched right off the bed when Remus ran his thumb slickly over the head of his cock and they kissed as he came shuddering over Remus’ hand.
It was a moment before either of them breathed again, and then Sirius slid down to take Remus’ cock into his mouth. It didn’t take much, not with Sirius’ hands moving on his stomach, with Sirius’ tongue lapping at him and Sirius’ eyes never leaving his face. His mouth was hot and wet, and Remus grasped at Sirius’ hair as he willed himself to lie still instead of thrusting deeper. Sirius seemed to know what Remus wanted because he took him deep, humming as he did so. Remus moaned and his back curved, hips lifting uncontrollably.
“Yes,” Sirius said thickly, “Come for me, Remus.”
Surely no man could resist that? Remus wished he could savour this experience and memorise every tiny detail, but he had wanted Sirius for too long and it seemed impossible to slow down. With a soft moan, he spilled into Sirius’ mouth and watched him smile even as he swallowed.
“Moony,” Sirius said in a voice of wonder and sprawled on the bed, chin nuzzled against Remus' shoulder.
It occurred to Remus as they drifted to sleep, Sirius’ head resting in the hollow by his collarbone, that he hadn’t upheld his side of the bargain about secrets. He wondered lazily if it counted as reneging if the other party hadn’t noticed.
Life settled into a new and greatly improved equilibrium which involved sex, affection and tea in bed if Sirius was feeling generous.
They went to James and Lily’s wedding, and at the reception a suspiciously sober Lily admitted that she was already two months pregnant. Inevitably, James was drunk and sung cheesy love-songs with a tuneless, unembarrassed joy that made many of the guests flinch. He stumbled around clapping people on the back, beamed at the sight of Sirius’ hand resting on Remus thigh, and cheered loudly when Peter Flooed home with one of Lily’s mates from Hufflepuff.
Even when plastered, James was visibly protective of Lily and the look on his face suggested he was the happiest bloke in the world.
“If they were any sweeter, I’d be sick,” Sirius said afterwards, in wounding summary.
Things with the Order weren’t good, exactly, but they were recruiting people and having meetings and… well, it could have been worse. It might still get worse, but Remus had no faith in predictions at this point, so he dismissed those thoughts as irrelevant.
The Astrology business was tolerable and the money was good. The full moon hadn’t been a problem because Remus simply worked around it, filing his Quibbler piece early if necessary. The biggest problem – apart from the lack of job satisfaction – was Sirius, who still looked askance at the strange owls and unidentified paperwork. Remus decided that he was prepared to tolerate a bit of sulking for flexible hours and a steady income.
In summary, Remus was happy against all the odds. He should have known that Murphy’s Law would cock things up.
It was about two months after the night of Sirius’ revelation and the equally memorable sex when a letter from the makers of the Chocolate Frogs arrived. The letter, which was addressed to the Lunar Legilimens c/o The Quibbler, explained that sales of Chocolate Frogs had risen 14 percent since Remus begun recommending them in his columns. As such, the manufacturers proposed to negotiate a contract with him for continued product placement.
Remus gawped.
This made no sense. Well, nothing about this job made sense, but amongst the nonsensical things he’d witnessed in the past few months this took the lucky biscuit.
14 percent. That figure was completely illogical. If he’d mentioned Chocolate Frogs as the lucky snack for one and only one star-sign – which he had – then only 1/12 or 8 percent of the population would be affected. Assuming everyone read the Quibbler, which surely wasn’t true. Was somebody stockpiling frogs in case of a bad luck emergency?
Besides which, Remus couldn’t recommend sweets in return for money – that would be completely dishonest! Unlike what you’re doing at the moment, his brain treacherously chipped in, which is basically just lying to people for profit isn’t it?
Shut up, Remus told himself. This was crazy, he needed some fresh air.
He dropped the letter, put on his shoes and opened the door, coinciding with the arrival of two more owls carrying a large parcel. Remus released the owls and brought the parcel inside, hoping that it wouldn’t contain –
But it did.
As a gesture of our goodwill, said the business card tucked into the string of the box. Remus loosened the string which held the box closed, untied the knot and lifted the lid.
Dozens of frogs sprung out in all directions.
In general, Remus recalled, chocolate frogs only had enough magic for one of two decent jumps. Since these frogs were still leaping enthusiastically, he deduced that frogs which came fresh from the manufacturer were a lot friskier.
Several frogs were under the dresser, and at least two had hopped into the bookcase where they were leaving brown smudges on the books. A gaggle – or whatever the collective term was for frogs – were moving towards the living room, where three of them would meet sticky, melted deaths in front of the fire. Five were heading for the kitchen door and one particularly determined frog was leaping up the stairs.
Fuck, this was chaos!
Remus abandoned the empty box and rapidly escaping frogs on the hallway floor and fled, slamming the door behind him.
The world out here looked pretty normal, as far as he could tell. There were post boxes, pigeons, and some cross-looking women collecting their children from the primary school opposite. One of the kids punched its older sibling and promptly burst into tears, causing their mother to scold the elder. That seemed like typical kid behaviour, all right. So it was just Remus’ life that had gone insane, then?
Remus walked to the end of the road and chose a direction at random, followed by another. He walked until his mind stopped racing and a semblance of composure had returned. What on earth was he supposed to do? Sending him chocolate just wasn’t fair – money was one thing, but it was beneath the belt to tempt a man with chocolate.
“Let’s say I accepted,” Remus said, thinking aloud, “Will things get even crazier? Can one get kicked out of the thoroughly fraudulent Astrology profession for taking bribes?”
He stopped suddenly, realising both that he was lost and that he was talking to himself – reputedly, the first sign of madness, though working for the Quibbler probably counted. Perhaps this walk wasn’t helping.
Covertly checking that there were no Muggles around, Remus cast a quick concealment charm and Apparated home. When he opened the door, the hallway looked just as it did every day. It wasn’t until Remus walked into the kitchen and found Sirius sitting at the table with the parcel in front of him that Remus realised that he should’ve noticed its absence on the hall carpet.
Oh dear. Sirius hated the horoscopes, he’d mentioned it on several occasions. What if he broke things off? What if he hated Remus for not telling him? What if-
“Remus,” Sirius said, slowly, without looking up. “Have you been writing these horoscopes in the Quibbler?”
“Er,” Remus said, as his heart hammered away and his brain threw up a range of implausible excuses. “Um, that is…I have, Sirius. Yes.”
There was a pregnant pause as Sirius stared at the contents of the table. Then he reached out and grabbed a chocolate frog, which was crawling along the countertop in the direction of the toaster.
“And this?” he asked.
“That, um. Wasn’t deliberate.” Remus said, getting more worried by the second. “Look, I can explain-“
“You don’t have to explain,” Sirius said, looking up. His eyes were bright and Remus could see a gleam, the look Sirius always had when he was planning some sort of havoc. “I can see what’s going on. You have been writing spoof horoscopes for wackos in exchange for chocolate. It’s brilliant, Moony!”
“Um,” said Remus.
Sirius broke off two of the frog’s legs before it could escape and stuffed them into his mouth. Then he threw the rest at Remus, who caught it.
“This,” said Sirius around a mouthful of chocolate, “Is the best prank I’ve heard in ages! Years, maybe! I can’t wait to tell James.”
“You don’t have to tell James,” Remus said quickly, “It’s not a big deal.”
“No?” Sirius asked, waving a piece of parchment at Remus. “You’d better take a look at their third Owl then. They’ve offered you a spot on the Chocolate Frog cards.”
“What?!” Remus exclaimed and grabbed the parchment with his free hand.
He scanned the words, eyes bulging, and then read them again. This was madness, utter madness; clearly the world had tilted over the abyss.
“You could make a fortune at this,” Sirius said, grinning widely. “Course, Dumbledore will never forgive you if you take them up on the Frog Cards. He’s been trying to get onto them for years. It probably says something about the irretrievable breakdown of values in our society when-”
Remus groaned and laid his forehead on the tabletop, making an audible clunk.
“Nil desperandum, my prophetic friend,” Sirius said cheerfully. Remus heard him take a few steps and then felt breath billow hotly against the back of his neck.
“I’m glad this is your secret,” Sirius murmured, his lips barely inches from Remus’ earlobe. “I think it’s quite sexy.”
“Sirius Black approves of Divination. Now I’ve heard everything,” Remus said, in a voice muffled by his face full of table.
“A good prank always did turn me on,” Sirius said quietly, and then his teeth nipped at the skin on Remus neck. “Come upstairs and I’ll show you just how much.”
“Is this really the time, Sirius?” Remus asked weakly, sitting up.
Sirius right hand slid round the side of Remus’ neck and across his cheek. He grazed a thumb slowly, teasingly across Remus’ lower lip.
“This is exactly the time,” Sirius replied, his voice low and sexy. “Based on the conjunction of you, me and all this chocolate, I foresee a very good night.”