Hiraeth  

From the Welsh hir ('long') and aeth ('pain, grief, sorrow') translated as ‘homesickness’ but can mean much more - a longing, yearning, wistfulness; a nostalgia for the way things once were. Earliest citations of Welsh poetry imply 'grief after the loss or death of someone'. It is often used to describe a place you cannot return to.

 ☽★☾

Did Remus Fucking Lupin just conquer death? It sure bloody felt like it, sitting amongst his mother's cherished lilies with topsoil descending past his belt line. There, he watched in awe as his three years deceased boyfriend regained awareness. 

“It’s happening. You’re here. Merlin’s fucking ghost on a parapet you’re– S-Sirius?” Remus stuttered in honest disbelief. He did not expect it to work. 

Sure, Remus wanted it to work. Spent nearly every waking moment of the past thirty-six months, twenty-five days and eighty-seven minutes pleading with whatever mythical deities one needed to subscribe to ensure the safe return of his heart and soul, Sirius Black. Or rather, to have Sirius Black’s heart, along with the rest of his physical body, reanimated using the same ineffable energy required to be considered ‘alive’.

Tricky thing that, living. Seems like it should be simple enough. Most necessary functions required for it are performed on an unconscious level. Breathing, digesting, circulatory functions and cellular regeneration. Even thinking, language and decision-making are largely set on autopilot. Bodies have stored lifetimes of experience as information in their very cells. They function, ready for action, before the conscious mind can recognise a choice being made at all.

But, looking past the evolutionist-based definition of self-sustaining chemical systems, when Remus set out to bring his beloved back from the dead, he sure as fuck was not going to settle for a body that just happened to function. 

Sirius—or what appeared to be Sirius—stared right through Remus. Fingers grasped at the earth beneath his dirt-riddled denim. His (it’s?) chest expanded and contracted. It certainly left the impression of oxygen being absorbed through lungs. Spasms climbed sinewy forearms until a shiver reached leather-clad shoulders. 

“Hu-hmm,” the moving corpse attempted to murmur. Matted black hair fell forward into his face when a shuddered breath escaped blue-tone lips. “Mmmuh… Mhoo oo-hoon.”

“Sirius.” Remus’ inaudible gasp fell from a desert-dry mouth. He leaned closer, dank compost soaking through his already soggy trainers. 

Scrambling through flora and dirt, Remus stopped just short of the would-be burial plot. “Sirius? Is that you? Pads? Ca-can you understand me?”

Nebulus eyes searched Remus' face in the dim glow of dawn with questionable levels of comprehension. Is it really you? Please let it be you.

The ‘person’ in question tilted their head to the side. A gesture so familiarly puppy-like, Remus flinched at the fierce wave of nostalgia as it rippled through his core. Still-to-be-determined-Sirius’ brow scrunched in concentration while Remus’ tear ducts flooded with memories of his canine-esque companion. 

“Mo-Moony?” – a pause – “Of course I can understand you Moons, it's not like you're speaking Parseltongue… or Welsh” he huffed a timid smile at the old joke. Smokey eyes began to blink away the fog. Still grey in all their glory, but clear enough now to take in their surroundings. 

Remus, stunned and silent, sat between them, words no longer capable of…wording. 

“You mind telling me why we're in the flowerbed? If Hope's going to kill me for digging holes in the garden again, I should probably have an excus–” Sirius broke off, introspectively flipping through pages of his mind in search of an explanation. 

Regaining control of his functions, Remus slowly reached for the confused presence before him, almost brushing the mud-caked mane. His fingers shook with increasing ferocity as they closed the distance. “You’re back,” he whispered, eyes cataloguing every tick and twitch on might-be-Sirius’ face. Padfoot. Pads. PaddyPaddy Pads–

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve wanked off to?”

“That I’ve– What?! Is this a test?”

“Yes. Answer the question.” 

A mix of emotions cycled through too-pale features before settling on sheepish but reluctant acceptance. “Minnie’s graduating Quidditch Team photo we stole over third year hols,” Sirius’ head tilted back resigned. “One of the beaters was scratching his stomach high enough it lifted his kit and you could make out his crab ladder and bulge.”

It’s him! 

Without a second to evaluate any other aspects of this insanely incomprehensible ordeal, Remus’ hands surged ahead, grasping the earthen worn lapels of Sirius’ trademark leather jacket, and dragged him until their mouths smashed together in long overdue convergence. 

Electric charges crackled as Sirius arched for Remus’ all-consuming mouth, a thundering storm of devotion, desperation and doubt. He’s so cold. It’s been so long. But it’s him—I think it’s him—please, please, I need it to be him. Uncertainty still reverberated through his better judgement, despite the aching want sizzling further south. 

“Mmmm…Moony,” Sirius gasped, tongue slipping across his bottom lip. “You okay? What’s happened? You’re all over me—not that I’m complaining really—but it’s clear I’m missing something so maybe–” his sentiment was broken as Remus continued to plough him with kisses. “You should– fill in a few of the gaps— before you have your wolfish way with me.”  

Sirius smirked, smug like he always was when it came to riling Remus up. 

Is. Like he always IS. He hasn’t gone anywhere yet. Or maybe he did for a while but he’s back now. Sirius is back now.

Foreheads braced together, refusing to untangle his fingers from cold-hardened locks at the base of Sirius’ neck, Remus drew in a large breath and held it. Petrichor and woodsy sweet pollen infused with the essence he’d always considered positively Padfoot. Even when he was…away… that quintessential Sirius aroma was constant. 

‘Course the stasis charms likely had a lot to do with that. 

Remus took a moment to contemplate how he would even begin to unravel the snarling mess of events which transpired over the past three years and brought about this most inconceivably improbable reunion of preposterous proportions, in a way that made sense. 

“Uhh… so you know magic?” he started (seemed as good a place as any).

“I’ve heard of it, yes.” Sirius nodded, patiently amused. 

“Well…”

Hogwarts: March 24, 1978 

“Well, are you coming?” Remus panted, sweat beading as a seismic tremor scaled his vertebrae. 

Sirius’ head popped up, silver irises widened over a slack jaw as his brain cells struggled to register the question. The seconds edged into eternity until the young Gryffindor processed what was being asked of him. “Of course Moons– I’m so sorry. Straight away. Let’s get you down to Poppy, ya?” 

Not one to usually show his pain, Remus simply expelled a quick breath of acknowledgement. He could tell Sirius didn’t buy it, reading his expressions as clearly as the Transfiguration texts in front of them. Mentally preparing for the agony he was sure to endure through the simple act of standing, Remus braced himself on the remarkably preserved steadiness of his favourite study table. 

The corridors were thankfully abandoned. Most students had already left for the break and those who remained were predominantly taking advantage of the warm weather outdoors. Few seemed to notice two clinging seventh years as they slowly clambered through the halls. Those who did offered little acknowledgement, given they so often hung from each other regardless.

“I’ve got it from here, Pads.” Gritting his teeth, Remus stopped. They’d arrived at the first floor entrance of the hospital wing. 

Sirius’ eyes jumped between him and the door suspiciously. Maybe he expected it to lash out at Remus in his fragile state. “Happy to wait,” he announced, feigning nonchalance, “Pete said he’d load up at the kitchens before tonight’s festivities, so we’re all set ‘til morning.” 

Too agitated to risk snapping at the boy who was obviously just trying to demonstrate how much he cared, Remus offered a flickering smile in thanks. Godric knows, as Earth slowly rotated away from the protective warmth of their Sun’s rays, and its most prominent satellite laid siege to a darkened sky, he wouldn’t have the patience much longer. 

Still, the excitable mutt seemed to be bouncing in anticipation of the night’s events; twisting his torso, stretching his spine, fluttering his fingers. ‘Full of vim and vinegar’ as they say– Remus wanted to fill him with something else. Moony concurred.

Completely unprompted by the way Sirius shook out his arms, causing his shirt to expose his tantalising V, Remus’ oft-divided mind supplied a singular task which would better help to unify them than standing in pained silence. “Would you like to distract me?” 

“Always.” In his excitement, Sirius nearly tripped as he turned. 

Remus caught him with a warm smile and a creaking back. “In my bedside table is the ring you gifted me for my birthday,” he tongued his teeth predicting the reaction his next words would invoke. “Fetch it for me.” 

Sirius gulped. Then, with cheeks blushing at the sinfully playful tone Remus had carefully selected, he panted. 

“How–” charmingly short on air, “how will this distract you?” 

“I…” Remus touched his nose to Sirius’, meeting his gaze head-on in challenge, “will be timing you.” 

The loveable tramp closed his eyes, savouring the command. A jester-worthy grin broke across his face. His hands came to Remus’ hips as he asked, “And how long do I have?” 

“Well, I’d expect Pop and Mins to be done with their dinner by six-fifteen, and meeting me here shortly after. That gives you less than ten minutes to make it to the top of Gryffindor tower and back. Think you’re up for the task?” Remus was up and raring to go. Why did he come up with this stupid game again? 

As if in answer to the unspoken thought, Sirius palmed him through his denim trousers. Merlin what Remus would do to this mongrel of a man. Would and had done. And would again. Wood. Fuck the moon made him horny.  

Biting his lip, Sirius’ eyes gleamed. Then, with a wink, he was gone.

Exactly eight minutes and forty-three seconds later, Sirius returned sprinting at breakneck speed. It wasn’t a great distance; some might have thought it was by design to construct a hospital wing next to the (objectively) rowdiest house, conveniently separating them from the Faculty quarters. Nonetheless, there were still a lot of stairs.

“I’m impressed– Ooofph, ” Sirius barrelled into him. 

“Woooo!!!!” Hair sticking to his brow from perspiration, the laughing boy cheered with his arms aloft, circling Remus like he’d lap the quidditch pitch after winning a match. 

With an almost veela-esque elegance, he twirled to the ground and knelt on one knee. “Moony, Mooney-tunes, my love, my one, my own, my precious… diamond who likes it rough,” Remus had to brace himself against the stone wall at the ridiculousness of it all. “Moonsy-poo, Moon-pie, my Moonbeam. Moon of my Life…”

The terms of endearment grew more endearing with every syllable. Remus was able to catch his breath as he stood before the complete enigma, and utterly unequalled individual, whom he cherished above all others.  

Before Sirius, Remus had been an unknown underdog with zero interest in being discovered. He’d resigned himself to a non-life. A corporealism. An unfurled roll of film, exposed to sunlight and deemed undevelopable. 

“Moonster—”

“Are you quite finished?” 

“Almost– my Money Honeymoon and Moonflower child. From the day you first moonwalked onto that train and into my life–”

“I stumbled at best.”

“–I knew I would make you mine. Or make you take responsibility for me, honestly, not quite sure, we were eleven after all.” 

“I was a very old ‘eleven’,” Remus mused. Sometimes it was just easier to swim with the tide. 

“Indeed you were,” the quipster nodded. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Eww, as a prepubescent?” he lightheartedly retracted his hands from Sirius’ loving grip. 

“Bleh, no, don’t make it gross.” 

Having snatched his hands again, Remus looked down at the genuflected buffoon who’d pocketed his heart easier than a knut in an alley. There he’d sat, alone aboard the Hogwarts Express, just for Sirius Black to come along and smile like he was the luckiest kid alive.

“Remus,” Sirius’ tone was s– ..ignificant. He took a deep breath and calmingly blew it out. “Will you ma–”

“Oh good you’re here.” The winsome voice of Madam Pomfrey rang down the corridor, spool heel shoes clipped as she approached. Her pace was paired with the bustle of Professor McGonagall’s velvet robes, which further muffled her feline-light steps. 

Sirius’ expression was wide with alarm and embarrassment. It passed quickly though, as he sprang to his feet, hands behind his back and turned to meet the prestigious witches with the respect that was owed. 

“Minnie! Poppy! My two favourite birds.” 

Or perhaps not. 

“Mr. Black, I trust you have a good reason for being here.” McGonagall’s discerning looks had little impact on Sirius these days, beyond coaxing further flattery from his lips. 

“Without a doubt, Mins. You see, I escorted our Moony here, what with him feeling under the weather ,” the other three shared an exasperated but knowing look at Sirius’ allusion. “And while we waited for you fair maidens” –Remus tried to flick his ear but he dodged it– “I thought it best to offer up my promising words of eternal devotion and beg him to be mine for all time. What say you, Moony ol’ boy? Be my forever?” 

What the hell… “Yeah, alright.” 

“Hmm, well that settles it. Guess I’ll be off,” the scamp still had his hands hidden as he nodded to each person with mocking but ultimately adoring respect. “Pom pom, Gi Gi,” he half turned back to Remus wearing that same serendipitous smile he’d succumbed to on a train bound for Scotland. “Moo moo.” 

“Very well,” the two women shared a look of their own, “Mr. Lupin, are you ready?” 

“I’ll be just a moment… if I may,” he added as a polite afterthought. 

“Of course Remus, we’ll meet you just around the corner.” Madame Pomfrey gestured, softly hooking a finger under the professor’s elbow as they continued down the corridor towards the South exit. 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Sirius swivelled back to Remus, “Now what am I supposed to do with this?” Holding the luminescent silver ring he’d been directed to retrieve. 

“What? After all that blathering? I expect you to finish what you started and place it on my finger like a good little pup.” The lanky boy extended his left freckled hand and waited. 

Sirius snuffed the cutest little snort before slipping the bright band around his third finger. “There Moony,” Sirius rotated his wrist and it shrunk to perfect size, “swear you’ll wear it proudly.”

“I solemnly do.” 

The barking laugh was magic itself as it echoed off centuries-old stone. Sirius stretched up for a parting kiss; they’d see each other again in an hour. “What would I do without you?”

Remus hoped they’d never have to find out.

***

Like every other full moon, the Marauder’s refused to leave one of their own to fend for themselves. With another bone-shattering transformation (and three painless, animagusifications) Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs traversed well-worn paths through dense not-so-forbidden forest. 

Crisp air of an almost-rainy night hovered above still-frozen turf; winter refused to release its grasp on the Scottish Highlands. Where the upper canopy gave way to a star-speckled expanse, the curtain rose to a frost-covered clearing – a stage. Here, a wolf, a rat, a dog and a stag, could howl, whistle, bay and roar to a disinterested selenic audience. The choir sang on, ignored but undeterred, basking in the spotlight of a Lunar Halo. 

Pessimistic Diviniationists would be inclined to identify the ‘eye in the sky’ that night as an omen of great forboden (not the common-enough celestial phenomenon that it was). But like the saying goes: ‘retrospect is a backstabbing cunt pouring hot nettle tea over open wounds,’ or something like that. And if Remus Lupin had had any inclination towards predictive magics on said inauspicious eve, perhaps things would’ve played out differently.

Padfoot was first to let up his harmonies under the watchful moon, panting more harshly than the activity should demand. Heated breath visibly condensed in the brisk air. Moisture clung to his shaggy black coat and, for a moment, it seemed as if the interruption was due to an oncoming sneeze. 

Moony stopped the moment he sensed all was not well with a member of his pack. Werewolfish olfactory sensors more keenly attuned to his partner. Prongs and Wormtail noticed then as Padfoot’s rambunctious energies faded into an unprecedented expression of fear. Moonlight reflected through the nocturnal lenses of wolf and pup, cosmic green eyes locked on glowing amber. 

As Padfoot’s froth-dampened tongue lopped sideways out his snout, his beseeching gaze drifted up and back, breaking from Moony’s now panicking snarl. The hound’s rapid heartbeat reverberated through the glade, a sonic countdown ticking to inevitable collapse. 

No!!! The mind of Remus J. Lupin fractured behind a feral consciousness, prisoner in his own body. Helpless until dawn and a danger to others who could lend aid, Remoony battled with their desire to either curl in closer as a comfort for their mate, or flee with the hope others could carry Padfoot's now-convulsing body to safety. 

Wormtail was the first to take action, rightfully understanding his presence wouldn’t benefit the situation more than scurrying to the castle with life-or-death urgency. His scarpering squeaks startled Prongs from a caught-in-headlights stillness. Panic seemed to set in on the stag, snorting and stomping at the ground as if begging “Get up Pads! Pads, what’s happening?! Moony, help him! What’s wrong?!” 

Canine whines penetrated Remus’ psyche, desperate and fading. Padfoot’s snout nuzzled the rooty forest bed beneath him as he lay on his side, tail tucked but twitching. The convulsions seemed to have stopped, but as Moony moved to assess… short and hacking barks pitched Padfoot further into the dirt, abdomen heaving. 

Nosing closer, both stag and wolf lay next to their sworn friend and packbrother. Settled amongst the trees, dryads and fairies fell silent in mournful commiseration as a nearly inaudible whimper trembled from the chest of Padfoot Sirius Orion Black. 

A final, collapsing breath released the magic which maintained his grim-esque form. Moony growled in disbelief, snorting into the prone human body. The werewolf should be salivating; it was a preternatural instinct. But without a heartbeat, the lycanthropic drive to grow his pack was non-existent. Without a heartbeat, Moony’s interest in the familiarly scented figure caused nothing but confusion. 

Padfoot was here. He could smell Padfoot here. Where did Padfoot go?   

Without a heartbea-

        With.

                   out. 

                              a.

                                     heart……

                                                     beat.

Moony was gone. Remus was aware. Remus was inside the body of a wolf looking down on the unmoving frame of the boy he loved. Of his best friend. Of his favourite person. Of his rebel rebel. His prettiest star. His. His and Prongs’. And Prongs was there. There, but frozen. Until he was thrashing. Prongs was bucking his velvet dusted antlers against ancient oakes as if hitting his head hard enough would wake him from, what was obviously, the worst nightmare any of them could ever imagine. 

Remus clawed at the ground next to Sirius’ lifeless form—still form—not lifeless. Still. He was still in there. Still alive. Right in front of them. Remus just had to wake him up. He’d wake him up and then he’d run away so Sirius was safe from Moony. He just needed to get Sirius conscious first and then Prongs could do the rest. 

Remus licked the nape of Sirius’ neck to startle him back to attention, cold nose prodding in search of a source to this unresponsive behaviour. No thoughts, just action. Remus’ lupine frame began to rattle with low-resonant sounds of despondency, his barking howls sounding the alarm. He pleaded for those more qualified to do what needed to be done and save the love of his life. A distraught Prongs was stuck between bounding for backup and watching over his adoptive brother / other half. Moony continued to howl. Moony was back. Remus was gone. Remus didn’t want to live in a world where Sirius Black’s smile was not the shining feature of his daily existence.

Remus was not inclined to live but Moony wouldn't let him die. Something was wrong with Sirius and there were still four hours before sunrise. 

Wawr (Dawn) 

“So I’m dead.”

“No! No…but I mean, technically you were.”

“Because you brought me back to life.” Sirius’ eyes squinted comprehensively.

“That depends on your definition of ‘back,’ really.” Remus surmised, “As far as I’m concerned, you never left. You were here, with me. Protected by me, as promised. Though at some points I did have to leave, physically that is, just for short periods to acquire a few things. But the magic stayed in place—for the most part—and you were more or less preserved. So, like I said, you didn’t really leave so much as you…slept.” Remus clunkily concluded. 

“Without breathing.” Sirius countered, dipping his head to catch his gaze and seeing straight through Remus’ rambles as he always did. Does. Damnit.

Remus wondered how best to explain. Whether or not it was even worth explaining. Was Sirius owed an explanation? Sure. He could admit that. But after all this time, it wasn’t at the top of Remus’ priority list. He had a certain idea about how this should play out and he wasn’t about to let Sirius’ spontaneity interrup–

“So, you turned me into an Inferi ? And after what happened to my brother?!”

“Wha– NO!” Remus snapped back to the situation at hand “Obviously not. Infiri are mindless, rotting puppets, which clearly you are not." Remus cast the preposterous allegation aside with a flippant wave of his arm. “How could you even– hold that thought. What happened to Reg?”

Sirius was observing his own skin now. He pulled at the back of his left hand, testing its elasticity. His face scrunched in examination until Remus could see the answer flick on like a lumos. 

“Oh wait, that was vampires. Bloody idiot. He walked right into their den down Knockturn Alley. Claimed he was ‘looking for the loo’ or some shit. Honestly don’t know what he was after but I shit you not, they should have left his exsanguinated corpse on my doorstep for the way he spoke to them. Instead,” Sirius gesticulates with familiar wild abandon, “he somehow walked out of the pub with some Lestat-lookin’ cunt promising to crown him the new French monarch.” 

Remus was stunned by the turn in conversation. Though not from imagining Regulus Black on the arm of a centuries-old aristocrat pledging devotion (felt pretty par for the mini-quidditch course, really). 

Wonder if James knows about this? Remus sidetracked.

“Poor Reg was heartbroken when the guy got dusted before he could make it happen.”

Ah…maybe he did know . “We’re getting off topic here.” Remus readjusted himself, still practically straddling Sirius in the backyard garden of his family home. It had gotten warmer. Twittering morning activity hummed around them as finches and tits hunted for their breakfast.

“The topic being ‘my death’ and how you came to circumvent it?” Sirius’ brow sceptically raised, implying Remus really had any other choice in the matter. 

Sirius’ leading tone caught Remus off guard. Tossed into nostalgic reverie by his mannerisms. Merlin, he had missed them. 

“Has it got anything to do with why I'm sitting in Hope's flower bed?”

“That's part of it” Remus regained his footing, or kneeling in this case. They should really get out of the dirt.

“And does it–”

“Look, it doesn't really matter ‘how’ right now. The important part is you’re back. You're alive—in a manner of speaking—and I personally don't want to waste another second squabbling over the intricacies of Necromancy or poorly translated codices when there are so many other activities we could engage in. Together.”

Remus watched the insinuation land but it was clear Sirius was growing frustrated. Aggressively massaging his scalp through matted tresses. Sirius could always tell when Remus was set on being difficult and given enough time, would cleverly work out how to dismantle his defences. It was best to be prepared for whatev–

“Is there a chunk of my hair missing?”

Fuck. “Certainly not,” Remus deflected without question, “but you are in need of a shower. Let's clean you up, shall we?”

Awkwardly coming to stand in the softened upturned soil, Remus bent out of habit to cradle Sirius bridal style, ready to carry him indoors. 

“I’ve got it. Gimme a hand though?” Sirius reached for Remus’ shoulders, needing an extra lift to free his still partially-buried lower half. Remus braced for the incoming fallout. 

“Remus.”

“Hmm?”

“Where is my leg?” 

The slow blinking blankness of Sirius’ expression would go unremarked to all but a few of their inner circle. But, for those who know him, this aloof attitude is an alert. Shields up. Wands at the ready. The calm before the cursing, uncontrollable fiendfyre set to destroy all those who’ve wronged Sirius Black or have withheld pertinent information. 

Remus, undoubtedly, had fallen into the latter category. He predicted this may end badly for him but, with a final meditation to Morganna, affirmed “It’s here. It is right…here.”  

After sifting through broken stems and mycelia woven beneath their feet, Remus stood back up presenting the not-forgotten limb like a trophy hard won. “I wouldn’t leave it behind.” 

“Right…” Sirius eyed the so-called ‘leg’ wrapped in cloth. The parcel was suspiciously smaller than what should be the booted foot and partially trousered calf missing below Sirius’s left knee. “Explain to me what that part of my leg is doing separate from the rest, right the fuck now Remus Elton John Lupin!” He was precariously balanced on his still-attached appendage, holding Remus for support.

“Well, Skele-gro doesn’t work on d– in cases like these, so I was left with few options, I’m afraid.” Remus tried placatingly. “But now that you’re back, it should be an easy fix. We’ll get you cleaned up, knock back some vile-tasting elixirs and be all tickety-boo before you can say ‘Befana’”

“Can I see?” Calmly Sirius reached to remove the stained woven bandages. It was a bit of a challenge with one arm hooked under Remus’ and the other unravelling a preserved tibia. 

Discernibly noting the lack of tissue or muscle expected to surround the desiccated bone, Sirius breathed in deeply through his nose. With his exhale, Sirius let the half-unwrapped bundle fall to the ground. He dusted his left hand off on Moony’s sweater and patted him; a resigned gesture they should carry on. 

Remus moved to act as a crutch while Sirius hopped in the direction of the Lupin home’s back porch, silently anticipating the normally reactive boy to, well…react. 

“So, I’m back,” he started timidly, “Where exactly did I go?” 

“Oh, well, that’s a bigger question than I thought we’d start off with really. Thought maybe, if anything, you might be able to fill the rest of us in… on what to expect, that is.” 

Sirius stopped hopping at the base of the porch steps, looking up at Remus with anxious restraint. “Was it because of what happened? With the Dugbog, the previous moon?”

“S’what we thought too, ya. We didn’t kno– When we couldn’t–” The air had vacated Remus’ lungs. The anxiety he’d been carrying for years suddenly decided to bear its ugly head. He had to stop himself from breaking down like a shattered bottle of doxy eggs though. If he let it all out now he’d be useless and a hazard to anyone who came near. He just. needed…

“It’s okay Moons,” Sirius’ hands cupped the panicking man’s face, “I’m here. Focus on the sound of my voi…”

Hogwarts: February 27, 1978

“Focus Sirius! This is for your benefit, remember, not mine."

“It’s really not,” Sirius argued, because of course he wouldn’t take something like a festering wound seriously. 

“Well, when you suddenly keel over in potions class and lose all your hair to a cauldron of Doxycide , you’ll only have yourself to blame.” 

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Please, Sluggy wouldn’t waste our time with Doxycide prep anymore, if anything it’d be Draught of Living Death , and if that’s the case, don’t bother waking me – I see no point in living if I can’t be beautiful.” Arrogantly he flicked said luscious locks over his shoulder, haughty nose in the air. 

Now it was Remus’ turn to roll his eyes cynically. They were getting nowhere at this rate. It had been four days since the last moon and the gash from where that Dugbog had bit him wasn’t going away. In fact, it looked to be getting worse. 

“Fine, but it matters to me,” Remus endeavoured, reaching across scattered reference texts. He brusquely grabbed a handful of the silky strands for himself, yanking back at the nape of Sirius’ neck. An aroused gasp slipped from Sirius’ lips as Remus earned his full and complete attention. “Because you matter to me.” 

Sirius swallowed. It sounded louder in their secluded corner of the library. Or maybe that was the blood pumping away from his brain. Remus watched as Sirius’ pupils grew wide, a warm blush beginning to stain his cheeks. Merlin, he loved him like this. He loved him all ways truthfully. But in special moments like this, the two of them alone, when Sirius dropped his guard, exposing his softest parts, it was as if to say ‘Moony, these are yours, do with them what you will.’ And well, how could Remus resist such trusting obedience?

“And…” Remus tightened his grip, “because I’m the one who’s got to look at you.” He pulled away, cocking his brow and wearing a knowing smirk. Remus tapped the tome-laden table trying not to chuckle. Take that, Black . “Now quit pontificating and help me figure out what counteracts the effects of Dugbog venom before your beauty withers away like some wrinkled old crone.” 

Sirius huffed incredulously. Remus watched his mouth open, about to retaliate, before it closed in a pout. “Tease,” he mumbled, settling in studiously. As if Remus didn’t already know teasing was part of the fun for Sirius. He loved the build-up. 

The foreplay wasn’t always antagonistic. Sirius liked to be played with. He desired stimulating toys and to get his belly rubbed (both figuratively and literally). Remus loved to indulge him. He loved to watch as, over the course of a day, moments could accumulate like rubies scored for the Sirius House Cup. Remus won it every time, filling the enchanted hourglass until it overflowed.

Finding the Mooncalves was supposed to be another gem for the collection. Moony may not conceptualise in the same way as Remus, but he can recognise patterns of behaviour and cares deeply for his pack – Padfoot especially. He’d smelt the burrow two moons prior when snow still rested thickly in the north, its occupants hibernating within. Last moon was spent exploring caves to the East, avoiding torrential Scottish rains. So with this transformation, when the tremors ceased, releasing the wolf to a cloudless night, Moony set out on a hunt. 

True to form, the pack followed their Alpha. Padfoot, at his flank, sniffed in curious appreciation. 

Moony could smell his excitement. Padfoot was always more affectionate after they discovered something new. Like when Moony scented the Thestral foaling near the brook. They couldn’t see it happening but the olfactory image rendered by their keen senses of smell was worth a million words (that’s one hundred thousand times greater than a humans because that’s just how much better wolves noses are *sniff*) 

Moony could be a right prick to Remus, constantly competing for dominance. They often disagreed, but one point they found common ground on was the desire to make Padfoot happy. They would work together with a goal in mind: Protect Padfoot; Keep him safe. Keep him fed. Keep him . And to do that, they had to keep him happy. 

When Padfoot was sad, he would retreat. There were moons where Padfoot was there but he wasn’t. He kept his distance and took a new position behind Prongs.

Moony was upset. And when Moony was upset, Remus paid the price. 

Padfoot’s excitement fed the pack better than wild boar. Hogs were aplenty in the Forbidden Forest but nothing nourished quite like the bounding Beta, ears perked and tail wagging.

When they reached the cragged hill marking Mooncalf territory, Moony slowed. Prongs and Padfoot had followed suit, the former lowering his great rack in an effort to go unnoticed amongst winter-barren shrubbery. It was ineffective. The Mooncalves knew they were there. Even Wormtail, his small form nearly disguised after clambering off Prongs to the sheltered underbrush. They'd approached from upwind, a choice to inform the herd of their intentions: The pack was here to watch. 

As fellow selenically enslaved beings, werewolves and mooncalves shared a sort of kinship. A mutual respect for their monthly excursions, never wishing to trespass on the others’ lunar liberties. Every twenty-nine nights the cycle repeats. The Werewolves howl, the Mooncalves moo. 

They heard them first, having approached from the north. Twapping pitter patters of webbed feet on stone paired with the cooing chirps and bubbling burps of a dozen grazing mouths. The mooncalves didn’t seem to mind as they edged in closer, heads bowed in passing regard. 

The trees were less condensed here, the forest floor more mossy thanks to a nearby reservoir of groundwater which sparkled under starlight. Sleek grey bodies pranced sure-footedly in the shadows, indicating a nocturnal species which thrived between rocky and wet environments. Enormous round eyes evolved to capture as much light as possible in dark habitats, and long necks capable of stretching where their tiny legs couldn’t reach. 

Moony didn’t ruminate too much on the reasons why things were the way they were, but Remus did. What impact a species could have on a landscape and how that, in turn, would affect other species. It was fascinating stuff which only Regulus seemed open to exploring when they mentally sparred through independent study. James would occasionally smile through his ponderings but his short attention span would usually abstract from the original line of questioning. (Do you think they would float if we fed them soap?) Meanwhile, Peter’s facial expressions would typically reflect the thought ‘Why are you feeding me nightmare fuel?’ Remus’ answer was always the same: ‘because it's fascinating’. 

But Moony didn't think so. And at times like this, when the ebullience is too much for his furry body to contain, neither did Padfoot. Moony preened internally, satisfied with the outcome of his hunt. If it wasn’t likely to scare off the timid creatures, Padfoot would likely be zooming around in circles to celebrate their find. As it was, he simply wagged his tail, rubbing up against Moony’s taller frame, and licking affectionately at his muzzle in commendation.

That was, until the log they’d stood beside jumped up and bit him. 

Moony snapped at the log, jaw unable to clamp fully around the wide textured outer shell covered in slippery moss and jelly fungi. Disturbed, the mushrooms let off a cloud of spores while the trunky figure quickly retreated through the brush. 

Moony sneezed repeatedly, shaking his head in dazed confusion. He tried to sniff the forest floor seeking direction towards his soon-to-be victim but the trail was obfuscated by surrounding vegetation. As if the log was one with the woods. Betrayed by what Moony felt was his home turf, he instead returned to Padfoot. The dog lay with one hind leg pulled forward, licking at the joint between paw and stifle. 

Sirius abruptly got up from his seat. Another contemplative hour had passed while Remus ruminated on their current predicament. With all his I’m-a-genius-and-I-know-it smugness, Sirius manhandled ‘A Foresters Guide to Foraging for Fauna’ around the study table, before dropping it indelicately in Remus’ lap. “There,” he pointed at the page with characteristic gravitas.

Dugboggus Virensous, are voracious eaters, known to consume mass quantities of game whether rotting or fresh. Their lack of speed is compensated through stealth and patience. Capable of camouflage amongst the moss covered forests and bog-like terrain for which they are named, Dugbogs may attack larger prey without intent to immediately feed. Though a penetrating wound alone would not be considered fatal, Dugbog secrete a fungally infused venom which acts as anticoagulant around scored flesh. 

There is still some debate amongst Herbology and Magizoology academic communities in regard to the symbiotic relationship between Dugbog and Magifungus and the mechanism for which a bitten beast may be tracked. Some argue blood platelets are inhibited by means of microtransfiguration, gassing off as an olfactory marker unique to each Dugbog, thus claiming their prey and deterring other predators. Alternatively, it has been suggested, Dugbog may have communicative access to surrounding mycelium networks, and as such, can be directed to the specific location of an intended meal for weeks, if not months, post-mordere. One documented case revealed a nearly two year interval between the initial strike of an Abrothallus Dugboggus Virensous and its concluded pursuit whenest it feasted upon a Brazilian Marsh Deer. 

Further research is warranted. At the time of this publication–  

“See, nothing to worry about.” Sirius leaned against the table’s edge as if to demonstrate this was ‘no big deal’ when, in truth, Remus could tell he’d been attempting to keep pressure off his ankle. “It’s a shame we didn’t take it out at the time. Says the page before, their tongues are a key ingredient for Focus Potions. Wouldn’t mind brewing up a bunch of that before NEWTs cramming season.”

“Might get your chance yet,” Remus reached to pull Sirius by his crimson tie, “if it decides to track you back to the castle to gorge upon your swollen flesh.” 

“He’ll have you to compete against for that honour,” the sparkling-eyed boy returned before  ducking down for a literal tête-à-tête. With coy challenge he added, “you gonna let the big bad toad-beast outdo you, Mooncicle?”

Remus inhaled deeply. Sirius’ breath suffused his senses. It hit him like the first shot of firewhiskey promising a night of thrills and debauchery. “Of course not,” he exhaled, whirling through pools of molten platinum. 

Sirius provoked Remus with a swift kiss, but his quick retreat had the desired effect of vexing Remus, and that just wouldn’t do. Increasing his hold on the Gryffindor’s uniform, the taller boy snatched the others’ belted trousers and yanked until he sat astride a wide-spread lap. 

“Good. Well, seems it’s all sorted then. Dugbogs being a ‘XXX’ classification means they’re no trouble to two competent wizards such as ourselves. So you can stop worrying.” 

“Is that right?” Remus slid his hands up the backs of Sirius’ upper thighs, “So you’re saying you don’t want me to carry you back up to the tower? Your foot suddenly doesn’t hurt and you’re happy to walk?” His brow cocked suggestively. 

“I mean… if that’s on offer, I wouldn’t say no. Your stamina has really improved since Christmas.” Sirius pressed their chests together, incrementally closing the distance between them. 

Remus’ nose lightly nudged his boyfriend’s cheek, lips catching on his stubbled jaw. Ghosting kisses haunted towards the pounding pulse point. 

“Hmm…” Remus smoothly and swiftly stood, holding his panting partner, legs braced on hips. “Better get a move on then,” he finished, abruptly unloading Sirius on the tabletop (not the floor though since the plan wasn’t to actually hurt him).

Sirius huffed. “Fine. I admit it. The bite stings and would benefit from Poppy’s expertise.” He lifted his arms. “If you carry me to the hospital wing, we can just say it attacked me down by the lake. Shouldn’t be too big an issue, yeh? Then you can carry me back to the dorm just for the fun of it and ravish me with a great, big ‘I told you so,’ deal?”

Remus could hear the rubies awarded before claiming his mouth in earnest. “Good boy.” 

Boreu (Morning)

Sirius’ head jostled lightly in the crook of Remus’ neck while they made their way upstairs. Thirteen identical steps carpeted in a now-dated damask runner. Unmoving family portraits lined the stairwell, held in frames obtained during each corresponding adventure. Remus watched the story of his life unfold as he ascended:

a young couple’s first date walking the pier at Brighton Beach, 

      a bundle of sandy curls wrapped in green around a holiday tree, 

            a family of three boarding a ferry to the continent, 

                 mother and son sipping tea at Kings Cross Station,

                        a band of Marauders (up to no good) exploring muggle Cardiff. 

                         Finally, a collage of postcards tucked between the carved filigree of a large ornate mirror when they reached the upper landing. 

Sirius’ reflected eyes met Remus’ in neutral curiosity. “Where’s Hope?”

“Vietnam at the moment, I think. Last we heard, she was in Bhutan but was getting ready to fly to Hanoi.”

“Good for her.”

“Yeh, said she might be back for Solstice this year though, but she’s looking into a sailboat in Belize so…we’ll see.” 

An awkward silence fell as they turned into the larger guest bathroom. With carefully practised steps, Remus passed over the raised divider between hardwood and tile, manoeuvred them around the jutting towel rack, and onto a once hazardous floor mat (before Remus reinforced its tacky underside with a sticking charm). 

Remus sat the maimed man in his usual seat, a reinforced shower chair with drainage holes transfigured from his mother’s old broccoli steamer (it’s not like anyone ever uses those). He watched Sirius take in the new addition to an otherwise unremarkable lav. New to him at least, Remus reminded himself, this is going to be an adjustment for us both.

Wordlessly the two worked to remove first Sirius’ muddied clothes, then Remus’. He had paused to consider if maybe it was too much too soon, but ultimately, the choice was made for him. Sirius unbuttoned Remus’ trousers and for a moment looked almost disappointed before a naked vulnerability came over him. There was too much to feel right now, neither of them were thinking with their dicks. Flaccid, anxious and glum they went through the motions, wishing answers and reconciliation would be found when the filth finished funnelling down the drain. 

If Sirius had paid attention to the grimy suds pooling around his feet, he might have noticed the accumulation of dark tresses which prevented the tub from emptying. But, as it was, he stared blankly through the transparent teal curtain where warm water rained down. Remus thought it best not to mention. 

Shower done, Remus dried off a distant Sirius. With salon style delicacy he wrapped his damp inky hair in the fluffiest towel at their disposal before, once again, cradling the frigid form and walking them to his childhood bedroom. 

“Are you hungry?” Remus asked, digging out fleece pyjama bottoms and age-softened band tees from his upper drawers. Queen and Bowie obviously– Sirius needs things to feel familiar . 

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

They laid on Remus’ sagging double mattress, gravity rolling their bodies even closer until, like he always did – does –, Sirius’ cheek rested on Remus’ chest, arms embraced around each other with intense declaration: ‘I will never let go. I will never let go. Never. Ever.’ 

After an aeon, or maybe just an hour, Sirius spoke into the sun-soaked darkness. “So what now?” his voice scratched. 

“Now we’re together.” Remus’ low register comes out stiff. 

“Moons–”

“What do you want me to say, Pads?”

Sirius’ lifted his chin while Remus leaned back, still-damp hair swept into his face. The mid-morning light beamed softly through cracks between navy gingham drapes. Now’s about the time he’ll freak out.  

He was prepared for this. Sirius was known for his explosive reactions. And given the circumstances, he had every right to detonate like a time-delayed dungbomb. Gently Remus tucked a few rogue strands of hair behind a pasty white helix, careful so they wouldn’t catch on the studded piercing. Critical grey eyes flicked back and forth, scrutinising his words, probing his mind.

“You couldn’t live without me.” 

It wasn’t a question. And it wasn’t the answer to Remus’ question either. Sirius had rightly calculated past their conversation into the crux of the matter. Remus could not live if Sirius wasn’t living. That’s it. Simple. Done. Just like Sirius knew a life without Remus wouldn’t be a life at all. So what else could they do? There was one other option, but unfortunately (or fortuitously) for the two present parties, they had support systems in place who would be greatly hurt if the alternative was carried out. Thus, this. Problem solving mode to the umpteenth degree. Remus was always the expert researcher. Sure Sirius was – is – a certifiable genius in his own right, and likely would have found a similar solution if roles were reversed, but after everything that happened, after everything they had promised– well… needless to say it, but he will:

“I couldn’t live without you.”

Hogwarts: February 14, 1978

“Please! Go on without me.”

“Fat chance.” 

“No really, I’m not going to make it. Better to’ve loved and lost than suffer another hour of Binns’ droning ‘bout Medieval Alchemy.” 

“It’s not that bad.” This was becoming a bit of a weekly routine between the two Gryffindor boys heading to their Tuesday afternoon History of Magic lesson.  

“Not that bad?! Last week he spent the entire class lecturing about the historical importance of pseudepigrapha and didn’t even suggest how falsely attributing the work of great witches and wizards to muggle philosophers impacted their way of life.” 

“So you were paying attention! Good, you should use that for your essay topic.” 

“Gah!” he groaned, “Don’t remind me. Can’t be arsed.”

“If you hate it so much, just drop the class. Dunno why you bothered with another course in the first place, to be honest.” They swept by the library towards the Bell Tower but skipped past the stairs and remained on the first floor.

“Well one , Moon of my Life, you were taking it and I could never leave you to suffer an afternoon of the dead windbag’s wheezes without my sagacious commentary.”

Remus rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Don’t be rude–”

“–And two, ” he cut in, waggling his eyebrows, “overheard from last year’s Sevens there’s a segment of the curriculum dedicated to ‘Mischief Management’. Don’t know about you Moonpie, but that feels like an easy O to me.”

Reaching the North Hall, Sirius turned to Remus before entering the classroom. His broom-calloused fingers pressed against the taller student’s chest, lightly catching on his outer robes. “Speaking of ‘easy Os’,” metal eyes met amber as he leaned in to whisper, “what's say we skive off HisOM just this once, hmm?” 

The intent was obvious. That morning, Sirius had presented Remus with a special gift over breakfast. Yes, it was Valentine’s Day, and yes, there was now a mountain of Honeydukes delicacies waiting back in their extremely empty dorm room, but that didn’t excuse absenteeism (no matter how much Moony and Sirius would argue it should).   

Remus had to stop the growl in his throat before it could escape. There was no doubt Sirius could see how his tone took immediate effect when Remus’ eyes dilated. Saliva pooled at the back of his tongue but Remus attempted to swallow subtly, feigning indifference. 

Of course, Sirius knew him better than that. The two were now standing in the corridor, half hard, as their classmates moved around them. Moony’s wolfish purr clawed at Remus’ subconscious, desperate to be let out.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Pads.” 

“Am I?” he smiled with swagger. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Yes,” Moony steered Sirius by the arm, through the door to sit behind the closest two-seater desk, “because we are not bunking off class just so you can lather yourself in chocolate and let me lick it off.” Sirius whined in disappointment but Moony wasn’t finished. “We’re saving that for dessert.” 

Sirius shut up right quick.

Sitting furthest from Professor Binns’ ghostly gaze, with all the privacy a four-postered plank of wood could provide, Remus’ hand slid up Sirius’ upper thigh and Moony’s lupine grin leaned in. “This is more of an appetiser… an amuse bouche if you will.” 

Sirius’ bouche looked very much amused as it parted with a pining breath. Taking a moment to survey the room, every other student had textbooks open. Most were settling in for their customary post-lunch kip, soothed by the haunting tones of Binns’ spectral speech, while those more academically inclined sat closer to the front. 

“Now take out your book and share it with me. Seems I’ve forgotten mine today.” Remus’ free hand indelicately removed his bag, dropping it to the floor. The heavy thunk of bulky leather hitting stone might’ve given him away, but Sirius was not about to call him out on it. Sharing is caring after all.

Sirius scooted close enough their legs were touching from knee to hip (so as better to share notes…obviously). Remus smiled knowingly as he began a slow and torturous caress of Sirius’ inseam. There was no half-ness about it now, Sirius was fully hard. Luckily the thick fabric of their winter robes cast a curtain over Moony’s ministrations if anyone so dared as to drop a quill and peer back. 

Sirius began chewing on his lower lip, silently taking long, slow breaths. The lecturer went on oblivious to the rising storm crackling in the back row. Remus wanted nothing better than to give up the farce, strip his boyfriend down to his ankles, bend him over the hardwood and thrust inside like a strike of lightning while everyone watched in awe. But that would have to wait. 

Moony could smell the salt on Sirius’ skin as his pulse quicked, heartbeat thundering in his breast. How he longed to sink his teeth in. To lick, to nibble, to taste and take. Moony wanted Padfoot forever. He wanted to mark his flesh and own his body. Padfoot was his but Remus could play with Sirius. The wolf and boy would share too. 

Shaft straining in its panted prison, Remus palmed the jutting member harder, giant hands digging into body over a fabric barricade. He angled his wrist so his large thumb could circle the head of Sirius’ dick and was instantly gratified to find dampness seeping through the wool. He toyed with the cock end, fully aware if he could see it weeping, the perfect pink colour would match the blush of Sirius’ cheeks. 

Fearing his heavy breathing would give them away, Sirius inhaled through his nose. Sitting tall, moved with a casual grace while a dishonest hand ‘scratched’ his stomach. Under the uniform’s sleeveless pullover, deft fingers subtly unbuttoned his fly. 

Classmates went on, unknowing, as the history professor continued his diatribe. Meanwhile, Moony’s manly paw reached inside the tented trousers and Sirius stifled a moan. Remus cleared his throat to cover the very audible sound and make brief eye contact warning his impatient partner: noise would not be tolerated. With Sirius’ imperceptible nod accepting the unspoken terms, Remus allowed Moony to continue. 

The wolf shifted their leg to hook around Sirius’ calf. He pulled it close, widening the eager boy's stance and giving them better access. Moony and Remus worked together as Sirius oh-so-naturally stretched with a yawn. He leaned back, covered by the desk, and was further obscured by Remus turning the page of their text. All this a clever subterfuge while Moony liberated the now-throbbing cock. 

It was free. It was beautiful. Remus couldn’t see it, but he knew. Its ample girth throbbed in his palm, hot and pulsing. Sirius opened his mouth, and though not an utterance escaped, Moony could hear the yearning howls of desperation drift as air over Padfoot’s tongue. 

A silencing spell would give them away, the absence of buzzing vibrations would be just as noticeable as cries of pleasure in close quarters. Remus guided his left hand as Moony’s heightened hearing was utilised to assure their clandestine activities remained under wraps. Rolling, lengthy pulls ran from base to tip, coaxing precum to spill over the ridge. Remus’ thumb tip flirted with Sirius’ slip–

Professor Binns asked a question. 

Not daring to move or look at each other, the wanton boys kept their wicked attentions on the chalkboard up front. The question was not directed at them and fortunately a response came from a Hufflepuff in the second row where no heads turned to observe. The correct answer given, Binns recommenced his ramblings. 

Sirius’ excitement was nearing its peak. The thought of getting caught set them both aflame. Remus could feel his own erection, throbbing and untouched, but his pleasure was held on pause for the moment. They had Padfoot exactly where he wanted him: rakish, defenceless and horny.

All manner of obscenities tickled the back of his teeth as Remus circumnavigated Sirius’ stiffness. Merlin, he wanted to drop to his knees under the worktop and take him to the back of his throat, choking and gagging as tears slid down their face, devotedly depraved. Instead, he worked him harder, Sirius lifting the outer edge of his robes so the fabric wouldn’t rustle. 

His cum-slick hand was edging the barrier between echo and ear-splitting, at least to the howling werewolf in Remus’ head. Sirius’ was long past a point of caring but knew the rules and remained mute. His igneous eyes glinted sideways to Remus in warning of the oncoming rush. Moony shivered, lusting to neck and nuzzle Padfoot with his scent, claiming him again and again and again. 

Sirius’ beautiful, perfect face became masked behind a veil of sable waves, likely twisted in ecstatic rapture. Remus felt it then. The hot pelt of spunk erupted over his digits and leaked under his palm. He stroked Sirius through his satisfaction until it ceased. In the same moment, he cast a well-practised scourgify, wandless and whispered. 

With a deep inhale and tilt of his head, Remus could read his partner’s intentions without a thought. Ever the performer, Sirius Black leaned back once more, allowing Remus to tuck him away. On the return, however, a bellowing boom shattered the sedated classroom, startling several sleeping students from their stupor.

“Gesundheit.” 

Sirius snickered, still working to restore his air intake to pre hand-fucked levels. “What’s that mean?” 

“It’s a muggle saying for ‘health’. They wish it when someone sneezes since that’s often their first sign of illness.” 

“Hmm, well, I certainly feel in good health right now, so thank you Moony, for the well wishes.” Fly imperceptibly rebuttoned, he bent in and brushed his nose against Remus’, stealing a kiss in the process. Sirius’ shift in weight led to a balanced hand on the other’s muscled thigh. A stiff, lengthy girth strained inside woolly trousers, aching for release. But as nimble fingers moved to palm him with intention, Remus’ freckled hand rested on top, preventing his efforts. 

“Like I said,” he ribbed, class only half concluded, “this was just a taste. The main course is still to come and I’m saving my dessert” – he bit Sirius’ shoulder through his robes and euphoric daze – “for later.”

Their hands squeezed intertwined, fondling Remus. The pressure from going untouched released enough he could tongue his sharp canines without bleeding. Finally succumbing to the yawnsome monotone of tired teachings, Sirius melted into the desk, dragging Remus’ hand to cradle next to his heart.

Remus’ smile softened as he watched the blissed out boy nod off. He was a vision. A warm radiance now the storm had dispersed to a tranquil peace. The tingly feeling in Remus’ chest extended to his forearm as circulation was slowly cut off, but couldn’t be bothered to move. 

Instead he sat back and thought of the life they would share beyond these stone walls. In a few months time, they would find a flat in London (it’s as good a place as any). Plans needn’t be set quite yet, they still had N.E.W.T.s to get through, and the safety of Remus’ family home to fall back on. The future was boundless. They would figure it out as they went…

Dydd (Day)

Remus couldn’t figure out what was happening. 

He had drifted off for just a moment and now everything was falling apart. Sirius was falling apart. Literally! But only a little-bitty. 

Exhausted after years of sleepless nights researching, and weeks of painstaking preparation, it seemed his magic may have finally reached its limit. 

Though Sirius had argued he’d ‘sleep when he’s dead’ (a joke Remus did not find amusing in the slightest) it was mutually decided a little shut-eye couldn’t hurt. Especially when the dark circles under Remus’ eyes were (to quote Sirius again) ‘baggier than the Bloody Baron’s balls’. But after staring into the oceanic depths of this beloved’s frosty blues, and allowing his mind to settle, lids sank and Remus drifted. Dreams of stargazing washed over him, the flooding tide reached its crest. He’d ebbed into a realm of less worry. The hardships were over, the castaway recovered.

He slipped beneath the surface where cold was all encompassing. Water engulfed him—not just him—them. Sirius was there. The two were struggling to swim with waves crashing on all sides. The pressure weighed heavier with every stroke taken to reach the other. No life rafts existed. This was inevitable nature keeping them apart, a tsunami of torment. A swell of titanic proportions carried Remus away from his safe harbour. Attempts to navigate negated by cleaving whitecaps. Still he searched, straining to hear his siren’s call before succumbing to the wreckage. Remus floundered, fingers frozen but grappling to hold fast. Wailing winds pierced his thoughts and deafened his mind. He woke like a splash to find Sirius asleep beside him. 

Remus shivered, unable to shake the nightmare which clung to his subconscious. He looked for something to anchor him, remind him of reality: Sirius is here. Sirius is alive (again). Sirius is just sleeping. His lips are blue but I feel him breathing, he observed. His skin is sickly but his heart is beating.  

Scrutinising any alteration to Sirius’ appearance since their earlier shower, Remus knew something had changed but could not suss what it was. The gears in his mind churned in contemplation. Apparently his internal detectors operated loud enough they woke the slumbering human pup. Yes, ‘human’. He isn’t something else. There was no need to argue. Least of all with himself. Remus shook his head at the self-chastisement.

Sirius rolled to his front, arms pressed into the pillow as he stretched out his back with a shake. As he flopped back on his side with a wide yawn, Remus' examinations were sidetracked at the thought of what he wanted to do to that mouth. The knowing smirk Sirius met him with announced those thoughts would be well received, but before he could close the distance, a cog slipped into place. 

“You smell sweeter than normal,” Remus determined, “more…fruity.”

Sirius snuffed. “I assure you, I am the exact same level of ‘fruity’ I was the last time we were in bed together,” he moved to position himself over Remus’ hips. “And I’ll prove it to you.” 

With a chaotic grin, Sirius straddled Remus’ knees, his talented fingers tugging at the cotton drawstring of red tartan pyjamas.

This was it. It was really happening. After a gruelling, horrendous, and exhausting couple of years, Remus and Sirius would finally… reunite . 

“Fuuuuck.” The word sprang from his lips unbidden. This was not the reason for getting Sirius back. It really wasn’t. But— dog’s bollocks —he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss being with Sirius intimately and physically. 

Sirius kissed down the length of Remus’ lean body. Much leaner than it used to be, despite his overall features having rounded out from that of a teen to a man. In his obsession, Remus would often forgo meals when engrossed in his research. He’d become a bit singularly-focused once he found an avenue worthy of his time. Goal oriented. James would be so proud. James! Oh, that was a jar of flobberworms he wasn’t ready to open just this exact second. 

Remus’ head fell back on his pillow when Sirius reached the band of his pants. He slipped his fingers along the elastic underside, gaze fixed on the growing outline of Remus’ hardness. Unwilling to close his eyes but too gobsmacked to do anything but stare at the ceiling, Remus nearly fainted. It had been forever since his body had responded to anything this stimulating. He could practically hear the neurotransmitters sending messages like, OXT, DA, and AVP to the VDH... love letters. 

All the effort was worth it. The dead-end rabbit holes with transtemporal tampering, the cyclical lectures leading to muggle masteries that took him far from home, the premature grey hairs, the– actually he didn’t completely mind those. Especially when Sirius seemed to be admiring them from his lower vantage point while mouthing his member through fleece and pants. 

The midday sun brightened the room. Dust sparkled in the air, specks held in stasis like nearly every other aspect of Remus’ life since Sirius… was indisposed. He would have to take strides to correct any bridges he’d– he wouldn’t say ‘burned’, but ‘allowed to fall into disrepair’ might be an accurate summation. The return of Sirius Black would undoubtedly be met with some scepticism. Hopefully not with hostility, but when it came to Regulus, or Lily… well, he would proceed with caution.

For now, he was content to spend time relearning what it was like to live. He’d packaged himself away for a while, not willing to grow old without the man he’d promised to experience everything with. It was time to dust off the ol’ boxes and remember what things go wher– THERE. 

With an unforgotten ease, Sirius took Remus into his mouth, licking him like that’s exactly where he’d left it. 

“Merlin Fucking Jesus Christ.”

Hogwarts: December 4, 1977

“Do you think Jesus was a Wizard?”

“Who's Jesus?” Sirius returned from his spot next to the common room fire, lounging on his stomach. 

Remus took in the view, imagining it could be greatly improved with the addition of a fur rug and the removal of clothing. As it was, studying with friends before the end of Autumn term exams, he would just have to wait until hols.

“Demigod from muggle mythology. Predates Merlin by about half a dozen centuries. Made a splash in the Middle East around the Dead Sea.” Remus was still deeply engaged in his Potions text but answered Sirius before giving Lily’s original question more thought. That would explain a lot.

“Hmm, dunno.” Sirius supplied, honest about his gap in muggle erudition. “Seems likely though. Most those legends are just exaggerated accounts of events that really happened. The Greeks have a bunch of fables about the crazy shit my ancestors got up to,” he supposed, turning back to the essay scroll in front of him. “Think they built a few monuments too.”  

All at once, those who were listening seemed to stop and stare at Sirius as his offhand remark hung in the air. Lily sputtered, “‘The Greeks’? As in the Ancient Greeks? Your ancestors were who they named the stars after ?”

Sirius’ attention snapped back up, looking to Remus for subliminal communication that what he said was okay. “Yeah, why? Did you think it was the other way around?” 

When Lily and her surrounding dormmates nodded, expressions ranging from scandalised to impressed, he continued “Common misconception, but the Blacks came first.” 

Remus read as Sirius continued to divulge some of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Blah blah blah’s horrid history. “‘Course back then we were Μέλας. Wizards of influence long before any Statute of Secrecy existed. Muggles paid tribute in hopes of gaining their favour and the benefits of Magic. Buggering lot of good I’m sure it did them though. My ancient ancestors were just as crazy, incestuous and fucked in the head as my more recent ones, so yeah…”

“So, the muggles named the stars and constellations and whatnot to honour your predecessors… as what? A sign of devotion?” Mary hoped to clarify, somewhat disgusted on behalf of muggle-kind. 

“Uhh… I guess.” Remus caught Sirius’ worried eyes. It’s not his fault the Blacks have kept a detailed genealogy connecting them to three-thousand-years-past narcissistic egomaniacs entertained by the toils of man. “Anyway, how'd we get on this dreary subject, something for History of Magic?” 

“Ahh, no, not for a class,” Lily shook her head, returning to her original train of thought. “Though, now that you mention it, I don't think the syllabus covers anything before mediaeval Europe. Feels like a bit of an oversight in our education. I'd love to study something more like the Evolution of Magic, you know–”

“Funny you mention it Lils,” Remus chimed back into the conversation. He had recently come across a compendium on theoretical parallel worlds shaped by registered Time-Turners, in the restricted section (Prefect perks and all that). Unfortunately, he too was cut off by the blundering ambush of Peter and James when they clambered onto his cosy leather three-seater. 

“What are we talking about?” James jumped right in, slapping Remus hard on the thigh (he rubbed it better but that didn’t make it alright). 

“Not sure Prongs, my love–” 

“Hey!”

“Moony darling, I love you more than life itself, but I think it’s safe to say we all know Prongs here also holds my heart.” Sirius soothed before his gaze sharpened lower, “though how he’ll hold it once I’ve removed his hands from his body, remains to be seen.” 

James chuckled, his bronze digits still massaging Remus’ lap. With a final grasp and pat, the offending appendage was lifted away. 

“Better.” Appeased, Sirius continued, “Red was asking about the plausibility of a mythical muggle being a wizard and it snowballed into a Black family history lesson.” 

“Hmm… dreary topic.”

“–s’what I said.”

“Right well, Lily, shining beauty that you are, what inspired such a morose subject to darken our door on what should be a bright and festive day?” 

Remus and Lily shared a vexed look over James’ shoulder before she replied, “Wha– I.. don’t you–” she brokenly grumbled and took a calming inhale. 

“That certainly was not my intention, quite the opposite in fact. My question was in regards to the upcoming holiday. As a muggle-born, I recognise why the schooling system breaks this time of year after grandfathering in antiquated traditions based on religious doctrine.” She paused, ready to meet resistance at the statement, but when faced with none continued. “I was simply curious if Hogwarts follows suit because there are academic merits to taking time off from studies every thirteen odd weeks, or if the magical community celebrates for the same supposed reason muggles do.” 

“So to articulate all that, you asked if Jesus was a Wizard ?” Mary asked disbelievingly, looking up at her friend from the now-abandoned Myomancy texts open on the floor. 

Remus watched Peter eye her homework suspiciously. The practice of reading rat behaviour to tell the future seemed as far-fetched as a muggle walking on water. But if said muggle was a wizard, well, who were they to judge how others explained the unexplainable. Remus pondered this, curious if the original ‘Myomancer’ could have been interacting with either a very astute rodent or another animagus of the murid variety.    

“That is how it came out, yes.” Lily nodded at Mary before turning back to Remus, brows raised in question. Everyone seemed to think he was the keeper of all knowledge. Muggle or Magic, it made no difference. He was a child of two worlds - three if you count his experience as a werewolf but, having never met another besides the man who bit him, Remus didn’t. 

In reply, he worked through what he knew, posing it to the group, open for debate. “Well Hogwarts was founded almost six hundred years after the Roman occupation of Britain, and they were the ones who brought Christianity to our shores.” He measured his friends’ reception. Sirius, James and Peter seemed lost (Purebloods often were when learning how insular their world really was) but curious. Marlene sat quietly next to Mary, her back to Lily. The normally outspoken witch intended to finish her DADA revision early and be free to ‘go for a fly’ (or so she had claimed earlier. Remus knew that was code for meeting a certain Slytherin girl in the Quidditch changing rooms before curfew). “But before them, almost every culture north of the Tropics recognised the solstice in some way.” 

“Hard to ignore a lack of Sun in the sky, to be sure.” James agreed, draping himself over Remus’ shoulders. Sirius stared him down, but James stared right back. Mischief danced behind gold-frame glasses. 

“That’s true, but I guess my real question was whether any of you Purebloods might recognise the name. Someone from your own fables or history books perhaps?” Lily attempted to refocus on her original inquiry. “Going off Sirius’ reaction though, it doesn’t seem to be the case.” 

“Can’t say that I do, Petal.” James’ staring contest with Sirius had caught Peter’s attention and now the two of them were suggestively blanketing themselves over Remus to get a rise out of the irked boy. (It was working, too.) 

Remus was inclined to put a stop to their antics but there was something about the challenge of territorial claim that shone on Sirius’ face. The wolf stirred with a thought: They are pack, but he is Mine.

Since it was obvious he wouldn’t get any more revision done this evening, Remus tucked away his potions notes and made himself more comfortable on the couch. Well, as comfortable as you could get with two sizable teenage wizards taking turns in the uppermost position while they play-wrestled for who could nuzzle into Remus’ chest. 

It was when Peter exclaimed “Oh Moony, you smell really good today,” Sirius finally broke. 

“That’s enough!’ Ta! Yup, up! Okay. Great. Thanks. Glad we’ve all had our fun with–” his hand flailed about in a circular motion gesturing to whatever it was happening on top of Remus. “–All that. But it’s my turn to cuddle Moony, so you lot can just…sod off.” 

James had doubled down through Sirius’ upheaval, nosing into Remus’ neck so his view was blocked by broad Chaser shoulders. Still, he could tell his boyfriend stood in front of them, as menacingly as his Beater’s bod would allow. Luckily his bat was currently taking up residence as a tripping hazard on their dormitory floor.  

Remus finally cracked when Pete’s hand started sliding purposefully down towards his socked feet. James was essentially using Wormy as a tuffet while bracing Remus’ head between scratchy palms. He was a pixie wing’s width away from being slobbered on as James’ tongue reached out to lick his cheek. Unfortunately for all parties involved, Pete’s manoeuvrings set off a chain reaction of yelps, screams and groans when fubsy fingers met ticklish toes.

James got a head to the face and bit his tongue, Remus’ knee collided with Peter’s sternum robbing him of air, and Moony’s carnal edge was temporarily put on hold while Remus palmed a forehead wound caused by James’ glasses. 

All other members of their group had enjoyed the buffoonery immensely, literally clutching their sides and rolling on the floor in laughter while the three retreated to separate sofa cushions.

“Serves you right.” Sirius pointed in James’ face, claiming the seat of honour straddling Remus. “Are you okay?” he added with a chuckle, tilting his face to better make out the bruise. It didn’t break skin, Remus would have smelled blood, so he bowed forward a bit to receive a healing kiss.     

“Mmm,” he hummed, “better now.” 

“Right!” Marleen closed her book with a flourish and stood, “I’m off.”

“Oh Marls! Just gimme a sec, yeah? I’ll grab my broom and join yo–”

“No Potter, you stay here. I get enough of your coaching during practice, ta muchly!” Marlene rushed past a pouting James. Remus caught a look shared between the two remaining girls. He wasn’t the only one aware of Marleen’s preferred choice of flying partner that evening. 

“Yes well, I’m off too.” Remus tucked his hands beneath Sirius and lifted in one swift movement. 

“Oooh, do I get to join you?” The raven-haired boy smiled coyly, locking his legs around Remus' waist.

“Yes, you do.”

“Do we get to come too, Moony?” Peter teasingly called from the couch, well aware the invitation would not be extended. 

“No, you do not.” Remus steeled as he stepped over discarded cushions en route to the boys dormitory stairwell.

“Oh, c’mon Moony, we would make it really good for you!” James jeered and nodded with Peter in solidarity. “Plus, Pads and I had plans tonight.”  

Sirius was less than impressed. “Sorry Prongsy ol’ boy, you’ll just have to find someone else to help you devise the perfect ‘woo Evans’ present,” and winked to the lady in question. 

James scoffed distantly as he tapped his chin in mocking ponder, “Hmm…a Sirius substitute…”

“Bet Regulus is free this evening” Peter quipped. 

“Sounds brill. You lads get comfortable down here for a bit,” Remus smirked, “Mr. Irreplaceable and I might be a while.” They exited to a chorus of hoots from the femmes and boos from the fellas.    

Ascending seven spiralling levels with a reader’s appetite for athletics, and twelve stone of frisky muscle clinging to you, was not as easy as Remus originally thought. Still, he persevered. Upon accessing their dorm, Moony latched his teeth around Sirius’ ear and sucked. The two stumbled through the open doorway desperate and panting. 

Sirius’ hips began to thrust into Remus before they could even reach the bed. Their hardened cocks pushed at the multiple layers of fabric keeping them apart. Impatient as always, Sirius’ hand dove down between them, reaching for the buttons which would set them free. 

Arms shaking from physical exertion, Remus was moments away from dropping his insatiable lover on the bed and laying him out like a feast. Moony’s mouth salivated, ready to devour. Teeth clashed and tongues lashed as they returned to each other once more. This was the person Remus would spend the rest of his life with, he just knew it. Sirius was a singularity. A transcendent mass so all-consuming Remus was powerless to resist. Not that he’d want to. 

Remus dove past the event horizon long ago. A stolen kiss behind his childhood home. He recalled how his fear-induced nerves caused him to shiver. Two young boys, drawn to one another by some otherworldly, gravitational pull. They’d not yet learned a lick about the universe but ultimately moved beyond the point of no return. It had ended so quickly it could only be categorised as a beginning; as if the force which drew them together rebounded only to settle in a new everlasting existence. It had been a day experienced in three plus one dimensions but rippled beyond the boundaries of known and unknown worlds. With something as short as an instance, they’d embraced eternal entanglement. 

And entangled they were again as Remus came crashing down on top of a half-unbuttoned Sirius.

“Oww… What the fuck?” Sirius glanced over a disgruntled Remus’ shoulder in search of what had tripped them. “Oh pants, that’s on me. Mm…” not pausing long before he continued to kiss his way down Remus’ neck, “M’sorry Moons. –‘ll make it up to yeh.”

“Too right you will.” 

Better exposing himself to Sirius’ attentions, Remus retrieved the beater’s bat which had concretely obstructed their path and caused (what would no doubt be) large purple bruises on both knees. He palmed its girthy wood around the worn leather grip. “In fact, you’re going to make it up to me right now…” Moony’s sinister grin unfurled as mischievous retribution sparkled behind amber eyes. “Strip.”

Prynhawn (Afternoon)

The bedsheet lifted off a peach-velveted ass and slid away, offering a much better vantage point to admire grapes of colour left in bunches from pelvis to patella. Dark, curly tendrils bunched around a pallid trunk, shading low-hanging fruit so sweet Remus wished they would be dangled over his mouth like a Roman Emperor. He was intoxicated. So much so, Remus forgot what would happen if that ass and those legs moved much farther off the bed in their habitual ease. 

“MERLIN’S FUCKING ARSEHOLE!”

He didn’t wonder long.

Sliding to the opposite side of the mattress, Remus crawled out after the once-so-graceful man and lifted him back to his feet. –foot.

“I..” with a freshly bruised hip and ego he sighed, “sorry, I forgot.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s been a lot to take in. I’ll get the potions brewing after tea. Have you fetching the Prophet in no time,” Remus attempted to ease the anxious mood which had settled somewhere between multiple climaxes and collapsing on the floor. By the look on Sirius’ perturbed face, however, the joke was unsuccessful.

The worry didn’t seem to lessen as they dressed and made their way to Hope’s dream kitchen. Late afternoon sun reflected on transparent glass panel cupboards with ‘pastel mint’ beadboard frames (not teal, cariad). Birch butcher’s block countertops helped to steady Sirius as he hopped the last few steps to the country table which used to belong to Mamgu Howell. Mam redesigned the entire space around it after Dad had passed.

Remus set about to light the stove. He got the burner lit with his wand but the rest would be done without magic. ‘No substitute for love’, his mother would say. Instead, he set a pot of water to boil and pulled a pan out to caramelise some onions.

“Bangers and mash alright?” 

After a minute with no response, the apron-clad cook turned to his would-be diner. “Pads?” 

“Mmm? Oh, m’sure it’s fine.” Sirius’ distracted reply barely rose above a whisper. He sat reclined in the tall back chair, shoulders folded inwards as he picked his cuticle beds. A nervous habit it seems he never outgrew. Even in death.

Remus chastised his inner self as he retrieved a coil of Cumberland sausage from the refrigerator and went about cutting potatoes. By the time supper was served, he had convinced himself the sullen silence was merely a symptom of hunger. Remus should have forced Sirius to snack on something earlier. It had been literal years since he last ate.

The meal passed with nothing but the clinking of metal utensils on stoneware plates as ambience. 

Music! Remus jumped at the thought and reached to turn on the new Roberts RT22 Hope had organised to be delivered on his birthday since she was away. The radio crackled for a moment while he adjusted the antenna but soon enough the harmonic plucking of acoustic guitar strings played clearly through the quiet kitchen. 

“Does what we just did count as necrophilia?” Sirius questioned out of absolutely bloody nowhere.

“What?! No! Of course not! Why would you even sugges–” 

“Well, I am dead–”

Remus needed to put an end to this line of thinking right now. “No you’re bloody not, Pads! You are sitting at this table of your own volition. You are alive and breathing, and granted maybe you were… dead, ” he struggled to get the word out, “for a little while but you’re not anymore. People die and come back all the time. Check at Mungos if you don’t believe me. Even Muggle hospitals have been known to resuscitate bodies given the right circumstances.” 

“How long?”

At some point in his tirade Remus had begun to pace. He turned to meet a too-pale face fraught with uncertainty. “What?” 

“How long..” an exhale passed over cold chapped lips, “how long was I dead?”

“Doesn’t matter–”

“It does. How long was I dead, Moony?”  

“You weren’t–”

“Remus John Lennon Lupin!”

“Oh, bad news about him–” 

“–Answer me honestly right now. What day is today? What year is it? How long has it been since the Forest?”

Tapping his foot in irritation, Remus inhaled deeply through his nose as he contemplated lying. The truth would only hurt Sirius. Yes, he had intended to have this conversation eventually. No, he wasn’t keeping the truth from him, despite what his calendar and local almanacks tucked away in the pantry may suggest. But he owed Sirius honestly. He deserved to know and they would be stronger in the long run if they got this out of the way now and started off (again) on the right foot. 

“Three years.” 

“Three years .”

“...and a bit, yeah.” 

Remus would let the information sit between them for as long as Sirius needed. He knew this part was going to hurt more than any other obstacle they were bound to face. More than regrowing limbs or explaining to their famil–

“Where’s Reg?” 

“He’s safe, he’s okay. Good even.” The worry which had briefly pierced through Sirius’ hazy grey eyes left just as quickly, only to return a millisecond later. 

“And James?!” 

“He’s good too,” he nodded as the panic eased. “They’re together in fact. Bought a flat in London not far from the Leaky.” 

“Oh,” Sirius’ head tilted slightly to the side in puppy-like confusion, “That is good,” and almost smiled as he sidetracked, “Together? As in, together together.” 

Remus huffed a half laugh, eyes wide and nodded, “Yeah. They uh… They really bonded after you… went away. Organised a wake. Took care of your things.”

“My things?”

“I’ve got most of it stashed away upstairs. Not to worry. I was a bit preoccupied when that all was happening so m’not entirely sure when or how it started between them but,” he shrugged and added, “what they have now… it uh… Well, it works. They seem happy.” 

Perplexed but surprisingly accepting of the knowledge bomb which just detonated in front of him, Sirius crossed his arms in relative comfort and sat back. His stubbed leg lifted as conditioned, intending to cross absent ankle over knee, but then resumed its original place on the rustic chair. 

“There was a wake for me?”

“Yeah, I… I wasn’t in the best place at the time, but they did it up proper.” Remus could tell his smile didn’t reach his eyes, too weighed down by the agonising mass of memory which surfaced with every recollection. “Something you would’ve wanted to attend.” 

“Tell me about it?”

Remus hesitated, “I’d really rather not, Pads. Maybe just not this second.”

“Alright,” Sirius seemed to recognise there was still plenty to go over. Three years was a long time. As far as he knew, the world was completely different beyond the safety of his would-be-Mother-in-law’s garden gate and the surrounding peatlands. “What happened to John Lennon?”

“So, the lads knew you’d want a party over some stuffy funeral…” 

Hogwarts: March 27, 1978 

Yes we’re going to a party

I would like you to dance, birthday

Take a cha-cha-cha-chance, birthday

I would like you to dance

It was tradition. It was a tradition Sir– he started. It was a tradition he started back in third year after Andromeda gifted him a second-hand copy of The Beatles ‘White Album’. It was a tradition they'd implemented for every birthday amongst the four of them, eventually extending to a few close friends as well. It was a tradition every person in attendance knew Si– HE took great pleasure in, while serenading said celebrator with his own particular brand of rock’n' revelry. It was a tradition Remus could happily live without. 

Well… ‘happily’ was a gross exaggeration. He could certainly do without. And by the forced upturn of James’ lips and sad swallow of his throat, Remus guessed James could probably do without it either. 

It was a valiant attempt made by Peter, to pay homage to their absent brother. Remus had watched as the pale-haired boy flipped through their wooden crate of collective records. With red-lined eyes he’d slipped out the second vinyl insert, reverently placed the green apple adorned disc with ‘SIDE 3’ facing up, dropped the needle, and let it play. 

When the hard-hitting snare beats and twang of electric guitar rang through Gryffindor common room, James leaned forward, elbows on knees, head hung but lightly bopping. Remus couldn’t make out his expression, messy hair veiled it from view. But by the second chorus, with no accompanying lap dance or pyromagic display, James had removed his glasses and broken down once more. 

You say it’s your birthday

We’re going to have a good time

I’m glad it’s your birthday

Happy birthday to you

Near everyone was still away but Mary, Lily and Marlene had returned early from their Easter break after hearing the news. They wanted to be with others through their grief. Peter wrote them after Poppy released an official announcement saying ‘arrangements needed to be made’.   

Regulus was already there of course. He never left, despite their parents' protestations. The Black family wished to appear united against the embarrassment of it all, previously shunned as he was. It was the horn that pierced the erumphant’s sack. Regulus refused any owls or floo calls attempted by Bergy & Rye-Rye. He renounced himself as heir, admonishing ‘if they couldn’t give a fuck about the loss of one son, it shouldn’t shock them to be losing another’. 

Remus remembered sitting on his left, James on Regulus’ right, when McGonagall sat them down in her office to ask questions and offer condolences. It had only been three days since…the moon, but every moment dragged into aeons.  

Yes, I’m lonely

Want to die

John Lennon’s bluesy vocals blared through Remus’ psyche as the needle spun to the next song.  

Yes, I’m lonely

Want to die

Truer words, John… Remus thought as he watched his crying friend receive comfort from a boy. A boy who looked so much like the one they missed. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

If I ain’t dead already

Oh, girl, you know the reason why

*

As the castle readied for their final term, Remus readied to return home. He rode an empty Hogwarts Express to London with his large steamer trunk, and caught the connecting train to Cardiff. From there it was a hop, skip and a bus to his Mother’s front door. Sure, as a licensed wizard-of-age, Remus could have apparated. But, as he told those who saw him off and arranged for his departure, he liked the train. He and Sirius met on the train after all, those short six and a half years ago– lifetimes really, but not. What’s more, to apparate under the stress of grief was to invite risk. And Remus had valuable cargo tucked away which he’d rather not see damaged (not that he shared this particular tidbit when the others asked).

As Remus moved from carriage to coach, no one suspected that the sorrowful youth trafficked an unethically obtained human body under the guise of suspiciously-light luggage. But, well, maybe they should have. 

It had been surprisingly streamlined, asking for a private moment alone with Sirius before hiding him under James’ cloak and levitating the invisible boy back to Gryffindor Tower. The only stumble was Remus’ attempt to transfigure a pork roast acquired from Hogwarts’ kitchens (always the helpful sort, house elves) into an indistinguishable decoy. Though he excelled in the subject, homotransmogrification was an elite skill, well beyond N.E.W.T levels. He had the proper motivation but little time to practise. Remus feared he’d been caught after Swine-irius was magically cremated and the entire hospital wing smelt of bacon, but maybe he was just paranoid. 

Either way, Remus escaped unscathed and unharassed with his unconscious (-cough- unalive) partner under stasis. 

He clambered through the crickets quiet entryway of Arallfyd Cottage, thankful his mother would not return from her Okavango safari for another fortnight. It hadn’t felt right to send an owl so far with news so tragic. And if he was lucky, he may not have to recite the lie he’d practised leaving Scotland. Two weeks was not a lot of time to nullify necrosis, so Remus got to work. Time to mend what needs mending.

Subsequent months dithered and disappeared all in one. Remus returned to Hogwarts for exams, a brief reunion, and to pack the remainder of his belongings. After a subdued round of graduation festivities (where most proceeded to slip into sloppy sadness) Remus bid farewell to his all-but-forgotten friends, stone-faced as the castle he was desperate to leave. We’ll be back again someday, Pads. You’ll want to watch our whelps play for the Cup .

Before long the Marauders had assembled once more in celebration. A deathday party Sir Nicholas would’ve lost his head over. One year gone but never far from their minds, Sirius remained a beacon of joy, even if it hurt the eyes when admired too long.  

Remus was obliged to attend for the sake of maintaining appearances. That, and his research had all but plateaued. He was running out of options and the only solution he could see to break through the brain-block was ingesting copious amounts of alcohol. 

Two days later, Remus very much regretted his selected course of action. He had made a colossal mistake. It was only realised after Remus unearthed the should-be completely protected remains of a certain S.O.B. 

Son of a Basilisk! He outraged (internally).

It appeared, somewhere during the window of Remus’ inebriation, his magic had…slipped. Where the untouched entirety of Sirius was expected to lay—warded from head to toe against any manner of predator, vermin, flame, frost or flood—now lay a similarly envisioned physique, sans five of his previously mentioned toes.

Remus spun around in search of an explanation. The peaty marsh remained as it always had, a sanctuary set to guard his beloved until Remus could find a cure. For millennia, humans used saturated acidic environments such as these to preserve those they cherished most (or so anthropologists would have Remus think). That knowledge, coupled with six years of Herbology and Potions extra credit coursework, led Remus to believe this would be the safest place for Sirius in his condition. Science and magic agreed, the fae-veiled bog behind his house should ha–   

The Dugbog. Remus could smell its venom fresh on Sirius’ exposed fibula.

Presumably, sometime after his last re-up, that sneaky, stumpy oversized salamander had finally caught up with Sirius. It could have been here for months (!) laying in wait, biding its time until the protective spells were weak enough to break. Evidence would suggest the wards mostly held. The gorging bite marks stopped short of his knee. This was mendable. Remus could fix this. And he would. Just as soon as he hunted down that hornwarty walking woodpile and cleaved it into kindling! 

Moony tracked it the following Full, no amount of deterring pheromones would mask the monster from him. Not this time. Remus returned to the scene of their revenge and salvaged what he could from its carcass. ‘ Their tongues are a key ingredient for Focus Potions’, he remembered Sirius saying. Exactly what he needed to upend his hangup. 

A week later, Remus had just downed his first batch of Dugbog’s Demise, as he called it, when Hope met him at the kitchen door. “Ready to go, cariad?’

“Are we going somewhere?” Remus took in the basket of lilies and rosemary. “Oh. of course.” 

They made their way to the local cemetery, his mother’s arm hooked lightly under his own. The first warm breeze of Spring gently welcomed them, ramsons and bluebells perfumed the air. 

Lyall Lupin had not been a religious man. Like most wizards (and not enough muggles), the concept eluded him. Why worship a myth when the wonders of reality were right before one’s eyes? True, as a world-renowned expert on non-human spirituous apparitions, the late Mr. Lupin’s scope of substantiated sorcery was well beyond the mundane. But nevertheless, he had been buried a short walking distance from the love of his life and cherished child. 

Remus remarked on the other arrangements left for Sul y Blodau (Flowering Sunday). Hope, ever the authority when it came to native flora, indulged his curiosity. 

The focus potion had taken effect. Remus was studious and single-minded while still open to thinking outside the box. Community members passed to nod their Happy Easter greetings. People who knew Lyall only in passing but had watched Hope grow from a fach blodyn . They shared a kinship as fellow mourners, even years past the initial sting of departure. 

Reminded of his own band of bereaved (bereavers? – no, definitely bereaved), Remus’ neurons networked with a magical efficiency near-comparable to that of liquid luck.

‘Do you think Jesus was a wizard? ’

Noswaith (Evening)

And on the one thousand, one hundred and twenty-third day he rose again.

“The next two years were a blur of archives. Some old colleagues of Dad’s were surprisingly helpful when it came to accessing original sources. Had to make a few trips overseas, a couple south of the Mediterranean, once to Japan. Took me a bit to modify a translator spell for dead languages, but it was all worth it in the end.”

“‘Cause now I’m back. ” Sirius’ tone was at odds with Remus’ gumption.

“‘Cause now you’re back.” 

They had moved to the comfort of Hope’s midlife crisis sitting room. Around Remus’ fourth year at Hogwarts, his mother discovered the joys of do-it-yourself decor. It started simple enough—macrame plant holders and beaded curtains—but at some point morphed into reupholstered velvet armchairs and arm knit rugs. Her most offensive alteration was the vibrant pink and orange turbine twist wallpaper. Sirius had called it ‘charming.’ Remus asserted ‘it’s like if vulvas had volume and they were all yelling at me.’

The bright colours clashed with Sirius’ washed-out complexion. Remus had never seen him look so… depleted. Sirius was effervescence personified but the boy before him had withered like a black petaled rose hung to dry. “Do you want to lay down again for a bit? It must be exhaust–”

“–How long am I back for Remus?”

Feeling like he'd just been hit with a stunner, Remus sputtered, “How– B– uh.. What do y- what do you mean?”  

“I mean–” Sirius’ steely eyes were on the brink of tears as he inhaled deeply. His bottom lip shook, holding back words neither of them wanted to escape. Eventually, he relented. “I mean… I can feel it, Remus. I can feel that this is temporary. It’s not your fault, I know. And it’s probably not what you were hoping for. But I need you to stop pretending like this is the beginning of something big when really–”

Remus lunged across the sofa to remove any distance between them. 

“–really it’s a goodbye .” Sirius’ voice cracked and Remus felt the salty droplets as they dampened his shirt. 

“No.” 

“No?”

“No.” He choked, tightening his hold on Sirius. “No, it’s not goodbye.” 

They sat in sniffle-filled silence while Remus tried and failed to articulate the enormity of everything that had happened. 

“I– argh! I don’t know what you want me to say, Pads! We already went over this. I couldn’t live without you. I wouldn’t live without you, so I worked. I worked every waking moment on a plan to get you back. To have you again. So we could be together. So we could live the life we planned. This was not how things were supposed to go– but hey, that’s life innit? So, here we are now. You’ve come back from the dead and I had to do some shady sodding shit to make it happen but here it is. Our life now. Our Life. Because you are alive! So don’t go giving me this ‘goodbye’ nonsense, thinking you get to leave me again. Because you DON’T! I won’t allow it. You get to stay here! And I don’t care what laws of nature I have to break to make it happen because you are MINE! And I won’t let you go–” 

Somewhere in the span of his hysterical breakdown, Remus had begun to cry. Rivulets cascaded over freckles and fell into Sirius’ thinning mane. They’d also stood. In retrospect, Remus determined he must have paced through another rant, but stopped when Sirius rethrew his arms around him. 

“Now listen here Remus Olivia Newton-John Lupin” 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, now how come–”

“Why not Travolta?”

“The disco guy? Good one for next time I suppose. Where’s the connection?”

Realising his mistake and not wanting his motorcycle-obsessed, musical-loving, leather-jacket-normally-adorned boyfriend to feel as if he’d missed out, he replied “S’not important.”

With a sceptical look, Sirius got them back on track. “Right, well, as I was saying, Remus Joni Mitchell Lupin–”

“That doesn’t even count.” 

“– YOU will not be saying goodbye,” his tear-stained cheeks glistened but Remus noted the way he readied himself. Sirius cleared his throat, resolute. “I will.” 

Remus could feel his nose scrunch in disgust at the very thought. Fuck no. He hadn’t dragged himself through literal Hell (or his best approximation of what Ancient Egyptians believed to be the underworld) to watch Sirius die. Again!

At least he could finally admit that to himself. When the floodgates had opened on his little tirade, the truth poured out. He’d run alongside it for so long, damming it back, only to watch in anguish when it tipped over the falls. 

“I want my ashes spread over the quidditch pitch and forbidden forest.” The way he spoke was all business. Remus had gone catatonic surrounded by hand-crafted accent pieces, and Sirius was dictating his Last Will and Testament. “Maybe save a sprinkle on your person in case you ever meet my Davie so’s you can slip it into his food uh?” 

“You would like me to feed you to David Bowie?” It was ridiculous enough of a request to snap Remus to attention. 

“I would like to know you did everything in your power to ensure he’s had a taste of me, yes.” 

“Are you serious?”

“Dead Sirius.” 

Remus’ formerly cocked brow flattened in annoyance. Really, he should have seen that one coming but he’d been out of practice. 

“Fuck off,” Remus threaded his fingers at the base of Sirius’ skull and pulled him in for another hug. He breathed deeply, absorbing every molecule his nose would whiff. On the exhale Remus compromised, “Fine, but I can’t promise I won’t lick you right out of his mouth once I’ve done it.” 

It forced a chuckle from Sirius. Merlin I love that laugh.

“Mmm… ménage à trois avec mon idole. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Sirius tipped onto his toes and reached for Remus’ kiss. Minutes slipped by as they moved from sweet to snogging to sedated– at least for the moment. 

They sank back into the extra wide sectional, Remus’ arm rested over Sirius’ shoulders. With their heads pressed together, as if to pass brain waves from one noggin to the next, Remus finally addressed the rest of Sirius’ request. “You know we did that once already. James, Pete, Reg and I.” 

“What? My ashes?”

“Yeah, our last night at the castle. We let Wormy fly your broom so I could ride on back. James carried the urn and Reg cast what they thought were your remains around the goalposts. Then we flew over the clearing you uh– that you died in.” Remus kissed the side of his forehead. 

“Hmm… Well,” a wet snicker snorted out of Sirius, “at least I can go into the afterlife knowing my final resting place is stocked with scratchings.

It was Remus’ turn to laugh, “Maybe not as much as there should be, I’m afraid. Poor Pete. He got a little too close at one point, just when the wind picked up. Had his mouth wide open for a face full of Pigfoot .” 

Together, Remus and Sirius cackled with such gusto, if anyone had peered through the sitting room window, they’d think them deranged. When Remus settled down just enough, he remembered the best part of the entire tragicomedy. “‘ I can still smell his morning breath’,” Remus squeaked (through hysteric giggles) his best attempt to impersonate Wormtail. “‘ The way he used to sleep on my shoulder at breakfast -*sniff*- half a rasher of bacon hangin’ out his mouth!’” 

Sirius was a crowing ball of black. He’d fallen to the ground, collapsed under the image of their oldest friend mistakenly mourning pork rinds. 

When the laughter subsided and only the soft static of the kitchen radio filled the air, Sirius asked, “So what was it? In the end, that is. What killed me?”

Remus’ eyes moved between Sirius’. They were aglow with acceptance. Something about his lover’s conviction allowed Remus to finally swallow the truth for what it was. No more pussyfooting around, best to just come out with it. “Chocolate.”

“Fuck off.” 

“Right? Sodding chocolate. Haven’t been able to touch the stuff since I found out. Don’t know if anyone has. Doesn’t feel right after knowing what it did to you.” Remus tucked a limp lock behind Sirius’ ear. 

“M’sorry, are you telling me Remus ‘Fudge Flies til I die’ Lupin, Mr. HandmethatChocolateWand at four in the morning, right after he brushed his teeth—” Sirius' disbelief continued to escalate, “—Professor Honeydukes himself! That man has given up Chocolate for life?! For what? For me?"

“Yeah.”

“Why?!”

“Because it killed you!” Remus didn’t want to trudge through this again. The reality of the situation was ridiculous enough. He couldn’t believe it when Poppy had explained. It didn’t seem possible. Improbable to such a degree it should never have occurred, but it did. It had. Something so outlandish even time-reversal magic couldn’t alter its course. And it had cost Sirius his life. “That bloody edible paint from Valentine’s! Do you remember?”

Sirius’ bewilderment was palpable, “Our saucy dessert sesh? How the fuck did that kill me? Was it poisoned? But– you ate it too.”

Remus ruffled his curls frustrated. “It took us a while to sort out, honestly. Had to come clean to McGonagall ‘bout you beast boys.”

“Was she impressed?” Sirius’ attention span was short at the best of times, but bringing up Minerva was like a dog sniffing out a squirrel.  

Remus indulged him. “She was. Gobsmacked, I’d say. Though visibly upset given the circumstances. She hid it well.” 

“Knew it. Classic Minnie.” 

“Yes, you're very clever.” Another forehead kiss and Remus felt a shock of fear as he wondered how many more of these he’d get to give. 

Sirius preened but soon rested his head on Remus’ chest. Maybe the blow would be less if absorbed with a cushion. 

“The night you died. It was the first time you’d turned since my birthday.”

Understanding settled slowly. Eventually, Remus felt Sirius’ nod. “So it was poison. In a manner of speaking. At least to me.”

“Padfoot…” 

“S’okay Moonbeam. I’m okay.” Belatedly recognising the absurdity of his statement, Sirius amended, “Well, I’m not. I’m dead. Or at least, I will be again soon enough. Not sure how long we’ve got but…” he expelled a deep sigh, “it doesn’t feel like much.” 

Breathing in his boyfriend’s breath, Remus’ frayed mind finally seamed together. The air escaping Sirius’ lungs carried with it the fruity bouquet of decomposition. 

“Pads–” Remus choked. He felt the onrushing tide of emotion. This would be it. This would be the last time he could be with Sirius. 

His dearest knew it too, it seemed, as desperate kisses were pressed along his clavicle. 

“Moony,” sweet lips stimulated Remus’ nerve endings and sank lower and lower down the couch. “My Moony…” 

Hogwarts: March 10, 1978 

“Mmm… Pads… feelsogood.” Remus wasn’t sure his words were completely intelligible. His mouth was muffled by a pillow as his mind melted into mush. Sirius had moved onto ‘Phase Four of Moony’s Birthday Ambushes’, which so far included decorating their first period Charms classroom with his favourite band memorabilia, enchanting a hallway of armoured statues to ‘ do The Hustle!’ , and levitating an army of chocolate frogs over lunch to perform a synchronised dance (swim?) Spelling out the words: Happy , B-day, & Remus .

In Remus’ opinion, phase four outranked its predecessors by a wide margin. James and Peter had been barred from the dorm under the pretence of setting up for the party later. All four Marauders (and most other Gryffindors) were well aware this was a courtesy granted to the young couple who rarely received a full afternoon of privacy. Remus basked in it. Especially when, as a follow up to the elf-prepared picnic spread, Sirius set out to prepare Remus, spreading him on the bed. 

The soulful tones of Marvin Gaye’s ‘ Let's Get It On’ had lulled Remus into a state of blissful submission. Not a common occurrence, but when Sirius coaxed Remus into stripping and laying face down with promises of a back massage, the quasi-crippled celebrant nearly bounced right off the bed in his eagerness to be pampered. 

The record kept spinning as rough hands dug into deep tissue, working knots out along his spine. Remus could feel how his scar tissue caught Sirius' scratchy calluses but the pressure was delicious enough to endure it. Working his way higher, Sirius shifted to press his elbows on the inside of Remus’ shoulder blades. The sound it elicited was just short of orgasmic.  

Remus was a puddle. “Sweet Cerce, right there. Yes.” 

“Mmhmm… You like that?” 

“Uhgnh…” confirmed Remus with the only sound he was still capable of making. 

Having received a positive response, Sirius redoubled his efforts. He knuckled his fists around tense trapezius while Remus reminded himself to breathe. Strong thumbs alternated a circular pattern along his neck, easing the worries of essays and exams away. 

If I should die tonight, oh baby

Though it be far before my time

I won’t die blue, sugar yeah

‘Cause I’ve known you

This was it. If Remus died with the tough loving hands of his favourite person buried in his hair, cock hard and resting on his arse, he’d die a happy man. 

Sirius straddled his thighs, naked and aroused, hot plums warming his crease. Every so often, Sirius’ movements would have Remus’ cheeks spreading just enough to house his shaft before the sly boy would let it slip out again. Fucking tease. 

Teeth nipped at Remus’ freckled shoulders, sucking his cinnamon sprinkle complexion. Luscious waves slipped over sensitive skin. Sirius’ chest crushed down on top of Remus, compressing him further into the mattress. The effect was euphoric. Remus’ brain buzzed and floated in a bath of endorphins. 

Sirius must have sensed his labours towards making his boyfriend one-with-the-blanket were a success. Remus felt Sirius's weight lift as he reached for the bedside table and opened the top drawer. 

“yagunnafuckme?” he mumbled. 

“Not yet,” Remus could hear his smirk, “we still haven’t finished our picnic.” 

The hollow sound of unlidded glass piqued Remus’ interest. If not their chemist-sourced plastic bottle of lubricant, he wasn’t sure what Sirius would open. At least until the blended fragrance of whipped chilli chocolate wafted towards him. 

“Mmm, yum… ‘ow is there even any left of that?” Brain still not fully computing, Remus wasn’t sure why he bothered to ask. Only, he seemed to remember nearly emptying the wide-corked jar of Eros Lovegood’s Lickable Emulsions last month, shortly after it was gifted. 

“Replenishing Charm. Topped it up since you nearly polished it off.” Warm fingers glided over Remus’ back. The slick pillowy substance left a tingling trail which further relaxed the strained scapulae. 

“Hmm… lucky me,” Remus hummed. “You know it’s ‘Refilling Charm,’ yeah?” His neurons may be goop but clarity of language is still important to him.

“Is there a difference?” Long fingers painted delicate designs, woven between his vertebrae. 

“Dunno. Just know in Standard Book of Spells it’s ‘refilling’.” 

“Huh, must be printed differently in Extreme Incantations , I just brushed up,” Remus felt Sirius’ playful digits dip low as they drew. “No matter…” The hot whisper behind his ear sent a spark straight to Remus’ groin. 

Remus was done with words. Over them completely. The only thing Remus craved was for Sirius to quit his taunting and fuck him already. It was his birthday dammit and he was ready to be split in half. 

Sirius must have noticed his impatience. How could he not, what with wiggling his arse back and forth like he would grab hold of Sirius’ dick using his asscheeks alone. (In his own defence, he probably could.) 

SMACK! The spank scorched Remus’ right buttock. The little sadist dug paint-chipped nails into red-raised flesh, his handprint already discernible. “That’s quite enough of that Moony my love. Now be good and stay still while I clean you up.” 

Sirius ‘the brat’ Black had just told his big bad wolf of a boyfriend what to do. In bed. Remus could see this going one of two ways: Either Moony would wake, take, and show Padfoot what he’d said was a mistake . (Likely). Or… Moony would relinquish control for the evening; willing to watch his Pup play at being in charge. Remus kind of hoped for the latter. 

Long licks sucked and savoured Remus’ skin. He could feel every twirl of Sirius’ tongue as it retraced painted lines on the chocolate-covered canvas. Evidently Moony was content to be groomed. Remus relished a rare inner quiet as his wolf retreated to the recesses of consciousness. The wolf’s only parting remark: Let Padfoot have his fun tonight.  

Giddy over Moony’s act of capitulation, Remus wiggled again in glee, smiling into his pillow. 

SMACK! The left side this time. “What did I say?”

“Stay,” Remus supplied. He knew the rules. He’d made them up after all. 

“Good boy.” 

“Isn’t that my line?” His eyes had been closed in blissful surrender but Remus peeked over his shoulder to catch Sirius’ reaction. 

Sirius was sex incarnate, bringing his index and middle fingers together in his mouth. They went in still coated in charmed cocoa cream but came out clean. “Not tonight,” he displayed the whipped whiteness, cupped in his clover-flexed tongue, then slackened its hold so sticky wet saliva spilt past his chin. It landed right at the entrance of Remus’ hole and he could have come from the sight alone. “Tonight, you’re mine to do with. And I will be doing quite a lot.” 

As if to punctuate his calmly articulated statement with an exclamation point, Sirius plunged that same devilishly dexterous organ straight into Remus, hands widening him to grant better access.

“Bleedin’ Baron’s balls, yes !” Remus’ curses were smothered by cotton-contained feathers and a barrier spell on their door. But if anyone ventured above the fifth spiralled landing of Gryffindor tower and stuck their head out a window, they’d have heard moans to rival Myrtle’s.

Sirius was dangerous. He had the power to conquer worlds sitting right in the middle of that smart mouth of his. Empires could crumble, dynasties disintegrate, all because of what he kept trapped behind his teeth. 

Remus unravelled, ribbons on the floor. Except somehow he was still atop his maroon comforter. Odd, considering he, honest to Godric, thought for a second there he’d been floating mid-air. Luckily, Sirius still had hold of his tether. Remus felt the tug on his liminal leash when those same two seductive fingers started to circle his entrance. Talk about getting grounded. Remus’ hips ground into the bedspread. He wasn’t sure he would last much longer. 

“Nuh-uh-uh, now none of that,” the hellion chastised in a tone ringing with mischief, “If I catch you trying to finish before I’m finished with you, there will be Sirius trouble.”

Remus refused to acknowledge the pun. Sirius was not to be encouraged. He did, however, cease his grinding. But Morgana’s tits, did he want to keep going. Maybe if he begged?

“Pleeeze,” his lips had dissolved. He was no longer a puddle. Instead, he was so sodding bothered and hot he’d evaporated into water vapour. He would only recondense if his criminally erotic masochist of a boyfriend promised to quit taunting him and fuck him already. Maybe threats would be the stronger approach. “Padfoot, if you don’t fu-uhH!”  

Sirius slid in both fingers at once. The tantric tingle of magic emulsion and Sirius’ salacious taste buds had opened Remus. His tight passage loosened under tentative and tortuous digits. They scissored back and forth to make room for what was to come. And oh Merlin, did Remus want it to come (in more ways than one). 

Having not made any movement towards ending Remus’ suffering, nor to alleviate a pascal of pressure from his now throbbing member, Remus squirmed. Sirius would retaliate but Remus couldn’t help it at this point. His body had gone from string to strung out under Sirius’ entwining touches. Remus was on the verge of whining. If he whinged, the sadistic non-fucker would only prolong this aphroditic agony but he was nearing a precipice. 

Sirius retracted his fingers. 

“Helena’s handbasket–” Remus was a whimpering wreck, “Siri, please. Please, pup, please . Iloveyousomuchbutforthelovegodric I.need.your.cock.right.now.”

That did it. 

“Mmhmm… much better,” Sirius’ smug smile was audible. “Look at you Moony, my slobbering little slut.” 

Merlin’s beard, the mouth on him. It was working for Remus. Normally it would be him, pulling his slender lover’s hair, arching him back, nibbling sweet nasties into his ear. Biting his neck, claiming Sirius as his own. He’d bottomed before, but it wasn’t often, and Sirius had never spoken to him like this in the past. Happy birthday to me.  

Sirius hoisted Remus up by the hips, arse angled so his long legs stayed squeezed between Sirius’ burly broom thighs (well, burly for him). Remus could feel his heart flitting like a snitch in his chest as Sirius slicked the head of his shaft over the silky opening. Until suddenly, Remus was on his back. Disorientated, he looked up at a pixelated version of his partner. Remus’ vision focused, and the raven-haired master of mischief himself descended from skies on high. 

“I know you want a taste.” Ceremoniously Remus’ lips parted around the dripping tip of Sirius’ perfect prick. Salted caramel conformed to his palate, a candied wand of confection. 

Remus wanted more than a taste. He wanted to devour the entirety of Sirius Black from the cock up. He would suck him like a Sugar Straw dunked in Butterbeer, fast and desperate to swallow him whole or face a sticky explosion– though the second option was equally as tantalising in this case. 

Now that he thought about it, Remus was more inclined to pick what’s behind door number two. He ceased his ministrations momentarily to deliver this very important message. “Pads, I want you to come on me.” 

Knelt over him, cock rested on Remus’ stubbled jaw, Sirius’ hazy expression grew sharp. For a moment, Remus thought he could see the silver-eyed submissive creep back to centre stage. Sirius loved taking orders. But this wasn’t a demand, it was a request. A wish made by a wanton mortal beneath the celestial light that was Sirius-in-charge.

“Alright…” he crooned, combing back Remus’ frizzy fringe, “But not yet.” 

The grip at his nape was followed by a tug, and Remus found himself almost choking around Sirius’ sublime base. His eyes reflexively watered while a halo of dark curls tickled his nose. Rough, confident hands forced Remus to take it deep for five, six, seven pumps before pulling him back to check in. 

Tears refracted the sun's soft Spring rays as it set outside their dormitory window. Kaleidoscopic beams seemed to emanate from Sirius himself. The light of his life , as cliche as that sounded. Sirius didn’t say anything but waited for Remus to signal how they would proceed. Sirius was in control but that control was a responsibility. 

Without prompting, Remus lapped at the slit sitting mere centimetres from his tongue. A droplet of precum had formed while paused in their play. He sucked again, lips locked around the thick heart-shaped head. Who needed birthday candles? Remus already got his wish. Still, he continued to blow fourteen, fifteen, sixteen… At eighteen Sirius rashly tugged him off and crashed their mouths together. 

Smooshed on top of Remus, their dicks aligned. Pleasure pulsed as they each began to rut feverishly. Sirius relinquished his hold on Remus’ hair, only to replace one hand on his throat and slip the other between them. 

Just as a spit slick Remus began to think all the prep had been for nothing, Sirius squeezed them together forcing their movements to cease. 

“Now, now, Moonshine, what did I say about trying to finish before it was time?”

He wasn’t going to say it verbatim, but an answer still had to be given. “T-trouble,” Remus heaved with unobstructed airways, attempting to reclaim his tormentor’s mouth. 

The fiend arched an arrogant brow and leaned away. Clearly defined abdomen stretched as Sirius reached for the side drawer once more. Remus’ attention followed a stick-poked forearm to showy fingers as they presented him with a gift. “Trouble indeed.” 

At first glance, Remus thought he was being offered one of Sirius’s hair ties. But as the evil little imp scooted back down the bed Remus’ eyes quickly widened in realisation. 

“No.”

“No? Actually, no?” Sirius immediately pulled back his puckish persona, concerned eyes on Remus, ready to stop. 

“Uhh…” Remus took a moment to survey himself. Was he opposed to using a cockring? Upon reflection - he was not. In fact, the idea excited him. The ‘no’ had been a reflex. He’d been worried Moony might stir, then Remus would yield to the wolf for their usually scheduled program. But he didn’t want that today. Today was Remus’ day, and today Remus was ready to get fucked. Having mulled that over, Moony remained sedate and Remus’ pulse quickened. Anticipation built, “No, not ‘no'. Yes. Yes, please. Padfoot please put the cockring on me.” 

He didn’t know how to make his intentions clearer than that. 

Sirius’ face broke into a wide, wicked grin. “That’s my Moony.” 

The gifted band was obviously magical in nature. It expanded, unbound by muggle laws of physics, and shrunk around his shaft and sensitive sack. Remus looked down at the silver circlet. It was smooth and warm but not metallic. More like an artist had drawn a beam of moonlight only to pull it off the page and wrap it around his gonads. It glowed like it too, and… crackled. Like lightning. Soft shocking static started vibrating from the ring. Rowena, Helga, Godric and Salazar the toy was buzzing his balls. 

“Oh fuuuck!” Remus’ head fell back in immediate ecstasy. “Buggaring bastard, where did you find this!? Uhgh!” 

Sirius’ responding smirk was downright pornographic. He wet his lips and bent over to wet Remus’ too. “I’m so glad you like it,” teeth nipped at his bottom lip, “you’ll be wearing it until I say you can come.” 

With that, Remus was liquid once more. 

Sirius hoisted his lanky calves up over his shoulders and bit just above his right knee; it caused Remus to gasp. He’d lied before. THIS was how he wanted to die. The new position pushed Remus’ already weeping cock into his stomach. Whirring sensations resonated from navel to taint. Sirius lined himself up. 

Still slick, Remus’ hole offered little resistance as Sirius finally entered him. The euphoria Remus felt was mirrored on his long-haired lover’s face. He breathed as deep as he could, willing himself to receive. 

Sirius was inside of him. He was in his very bones. Remus didn’t know if it was possible to be physically any closer with another person but if he could will it, the two would fuse together on a subatomic level. It’s possible there was a spell for that but Remus would have to research it later. Right now he was crystallising; saccharine particles building towards something monumental. 

Sheathed to the hilt, Sirius’ demonic mask wavered, “Fuck, Moons, you feel amazing.” Ebony waves fell over porcelain skin, head back and heavy with delirium. The humming crown burred around their coupling. 

“Uhngh, I fucking love you.” Sirius began to move. Honeyed words coated carnal cries as he thrust into Remus with reckless abandon. “I’m going to crack you open and drink your insides.” 

“You’re my everything. You sweet—ugh—sick bastard.”   

Perfectly shaped, as if sculpted specifically for this purpose, Sirius’ head rubbed against the creampuff’s prostate. Over and over again. Sirius had him by the thighs, nails leaving crescent marks in peachy-fuzzy sweetmeat. He was a teetering tower of croquembouche, whipped and filled to bursting.  

Remus was incapable of movement from the waist down. Everything had ignited past the threshold of sultry and moved closer towards volcanic. He wasn’t going to last. The only thing preventing his inevitable eruption was Sirius’ explicit permission.

The time for begging was over. Remus knew how to wring the words from the man he worshipped. He wrapped a hand around his throat. “Say it.”

Returning the gesture in kind, his angel of darkness choked back, “Not. Yet.” 

Paresthesia danced through Remus’ extremities. Every nerve ending alive with numbness. He could breathe but asphyxiation was never the point. Sirius knew exactly where to crimp below his jaw to set the world on fire. 

It was Armageddon. Ragnarok. His Day of Reckoning. Remus struggled to keep his eyes open. Desperate to welcome Death’s corporeal form. He was the embodiment of magnificence. Magic itself. Sirius thrust into him with measured assaults, reaching his apex each and every time. 

Hooking the bicep of his free arm around his molten mess of a boyfriend, Sirius waved his wrist. “Come for me, Moony.” 

Untouched, the argent halo expanded enough for Remus to feel an almost instant flood of release. White syrupy glaze erupted past his solar plexus and into decorative golden chest hairs. Cake batter and bruised, Remus recovered in time to look up and receive his just desserts. 

Sirius pulled out from his jelly-slick arse. Hand now off Remus’ throat, instead gripped around the base of his own cock. He knelt aloft, eclipsing the rest of existence from their bed. With a gasping holler, Sirius spilt over Remus' trunk, frosting him as a heavenly delight.            

Remus soared above the clouds, the tail end of a kite. His cut-to-ribbons body tied in bows. He felt so pretty finished in Sirius' pipework. Too many metaphors. Remus was in love. And was coming down from his high. 

“That. Was…” 

“Yes?” Sirius waited. 

“Om… om…” Remus couldn’t get his mouth to work in tandem with his brain quite yet, “Omniferous.”   

“You sure you’re using that correctly?” Sirius laughed, flopping down on top of him. They were sticky, disgusting messes, and Remus couldn’t care a tick.   

“Dunno. Don’t care. Love you.” Remus kissed the sweaty boy’s brow as he settled in for a cuddle.   

“I suppose they don’t call me Sirius 'Omniferous’ Black for nothing.” 

“Your middle name is Orion.”

“Thinking I might make the change permanent, as an ode to this evening’s events.” 

Remus’ snort was obviously the intended response. No one could coax a reaction out of him like Sirius. 

“Don’t laugh, you’re just jealous your middle name isn’t as great as mine.”

“Hey, there are plenty of great John’s in the world. John Deacon, John McVie… 

“Superb bass players, I’ll grant you that.” Sirius lifted himself off of Remus’ tacky chest, “But none of them,” he kissed with the softness of a veil between worlds, “are as great as you.” 

“Just great?”

“The greatest.”

…

They sat lazed in the moment. Indulging in sweet whispers and rhapsodic hums. Once the euphoria settled some, Sirius made moves towards a shower.  

“C’mon, time to get ready for your party.” 

“And if I’d rather just stay up here with you?”

Covered in their combined spend and Merlin-knows-whatever was in that jar of love-goop, Sirius plopped back down like he was made to be there. 

“Then we stay,” he shrugged, “I’ll stay with you always,” – a kiss to Remus’ nipple – “…Omniferously.” 

Remus snorted again. “Twat.”

Cyfnos (Dusk)

The sound of the screen door tapped and twatted as it closed behind them on the back porch. Crepuscular rays extended from the west as twilight came to rest on the peat-mossed moors. Remus held Sirius close. His single leg had wobbled while they excited the house. He’d rather let him rest inside, maybe they could sneak just a little more time. But Sirius wanted to watch the sunset, likely his last. 

Remus wasn’t going to argue. He could feel the full moon rising, masked by the last bits of daylight. At least Moony would have his chance to say goodbye too. Thirty-seven cycles had passed since the wolf and hound howled together. It had been easier once they left Hogwarts. Remus cast the necessary muggle-deterring wards outside his mother’s gate. Moony would roam the boglands alone most moons. Remus insisted the others need not come. He would reach out though, after tonight. Sirius wanted him to. 

As they stumbled to sit on the step, Sirius' pained expression wavered between melancholic and mischief. Remus knew that look. The trickster’s eyes always seeking a way to find something playful beneath the sorrow, however scary a situation they faced. That’s how he knew. In some sad way, he’d already known; this was it. 

Where did you come from Sirius Black? Remus wanted to ask. His eyes poured into his dearest love’s. Like ripples on a pond when the rain poured in autumn, he saw the turmoil and longing splash about. Wherever it was, I’ll find you there.  

Wistful and quiet, Sirius looked through the window of Remus’ soul. The same sentiment seemed to read behind his eyes. 

“Love like ours isn’t meant to last just one lifetime.”

Remus was on the verge of blubbering. He turned away, attempting to bury what was rising from within. The chirping beetles and singing skylarks soothed him for a moment. Recomposed, he turned back to the boy who was trying to wish him hwyl. 

“So you are just going to have to live this one out as is.” Sirius would dig these feelings out of him regardless, in the effortless way that only he could. “Watch out for James and Reg for me yeah? I know you will…” Remus nodded; a promise. “Just like I know you’re going to be happy.” 

There it was. Creeping up from the earth where Remus thought he had laid it to rest. Remus hadn’t been happy in years. He wasn’t sure he could be anymore. Until today. Until this morning. Until Sirius came back. And when he’d come to terms with the fact this was not a dawning, but a farewell, Remus thought that happiness would die with it. With him. Until Sirius said that.

“Let others in ya? Show them when it hurts and when it doesn’t.” Remus was a wreck. “You’re going to grow up. Be an old man. Bet you’ll look fit as fuck with more of this grey hair.”

Sirius squared off, playing with the silver-streaked curls at Remus’ temple. 

“Maybe Lily and you will decide to pop out a few pups like she said she would for us, hmm? Just ‘cause I’m not there to love, doesn’t mean you can’t find others to show it with. You could be the best dad. I just know it. Or uncle or whatever you want. I’ve always known it. And maybe it’s not the life we planned on, but in the grand scheme of things, it won’t be long before the next one huh? ‘Cept maybe next time around we could be like… Rockstars or something eh? Like Mick and Bowie, whatcha think? Or we could open a queer bookstore together in Muggle London. I bet we’d be great at that.”

Once again, Sirius ‘Omniferous’ Black had left him speechless. Remus never really knew what was going to come out of his mouth. And in that exact moment, he didn’t really care. He grabbed the soothsayer with both hands and kissed him like it was the end. Rapture had come, and he would be judged, but as Sirius wove his words, Remus willed them into existence.

When they finally broke apart, the sun was nearly set. Remus felt Moony pacing the bars of his cage. Sirius transformed. It was time. The three-legged dog made his way to the garden from which he’d been unearthed not fourteen hours ago. 

Remus removed his layers, setting them aside with his wand for when the next day broke. He peeled back the flesh which housed his heart, leaving him open and raw. The man was armourless, his ardour exposed. Sirius had excavated the site where passion, mischief, fun and love were temporarily entombed.  

Sirius’ bark of laughter even translated in dog form, echoing from the marsh. Remus walked naked across the yard, the wolf in step, playfully nipping at his heels. Padfoot presented them with a sapien shank, tail wagging at his own comic cleverness. The bone was his own. 

Understanding, Remus shook his head with a mirthy growl and tossed the gifted tibia. 

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Hwyl 

A healthy physical or mental condition, good form, one’s right senses, wits (read: temper, mood, frame of mind). Often translated as passion, fun, mirth or hilarity, but can also be used in accordance to one degree of success; ‘goodluck on your task’.  Alternatively describes a fervour (esp. religious), ecstasy, gusto, or zest; characteristic of a sing-song cadence formerly popular on the Welsh pulpit. More commonly, it means ‘goodbye.’