Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7866457.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Sirius_Black/Remus_Lupin
  Character:
      Remus_Lupin, Sirius_Black
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Series, First_Time, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
  Series:
      Part 5 of Drawing_Down
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-11-14 Words: 17979
****** Drawing Down: Moon of Longing ******
by Khirsah and Ailei [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     You never forget your first taste of fire.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: This is set in an AU. Sirius’ family as created by
     JKR is ignored. The next chapter will be Moon of Fear.
Drawing Down: Moon of Longing




  The universe was fire, fire and red eyes and heat blazing through his core.
  Memory howled like a demon in his breast, growled like a beast in his heart,
  black and red and copper and fierce as hate, as bloodlust.
  "Remus. Remus Jonathan Lupin, I want you to look at me."
  The words seemed stilted, slow, as if the air had liquefied around them and
  made them incomprehensible to him. He was vaguely aware of a kindly old face
  and bindings on his arms and head, keeping him motionless and-- oh God-
  - powerless on the bed. He shifted, feeling the magical bindings bite gently
  against his wrists.
  No escape there.
  "Remus. Look at me."
  The noise was the buzzing of a fly. Unimportant. Impotent. It couldn't reach
  him here in the fire.
  ~Hurts~ He opened his mouth to take in a deep, liquid gust of breath, then
  winced at the tearing. He could almost taste the pain, ripe and copper-red,
  like blood. ~Hurts. Hurts. It hurts.~
  Pomfrey bustled over, face knitted into a worried frown. "He can't answer
  you, Professor Dumbledore," she tsked, turning Remus' face away from the soft
  infirmary pillows, moving the bindings. He resisted, making a low, animal
  noise in the back of his battered throat, but she gripped his chin and forced
  him towards her, opening his mouth and jamming a potion-laden spoon past the
  resisting wall of his teeth. "His throat is screamed raw."
  "Ah, but he can hear me, Poppy. He can hear me and he can understand me."
  Remus growled low in his throat and tried to spit out the vile potion, but
  Pomfrey held his mouth shut and pinched his nose until he swallowed. Then she
  backed a step away, mouth a pale white line.
  He snapped his teeth at her, threatening. Magical chains rustled as he
  shifted. He'd managed to break them before; all he needed was time and
  strength.
  "I'm not so sure about that, Professor Dumbledore. The poor dear." A soft,
  cold hand brushed hair from his burning forehead, and ooohh it felt so good
  against his skin. He wanted to lean into it, but instead he snarled and
  writhed away, baring his teeth because ~nonono~ no one could touch him ever,
  ever again.
  He knew what happened when you trusted people enough to let them touch you.
  They kept touching and touching and touching and then they said bad bad
  things.
  "Oh, he can understand us all right. He's not quite as gone as he'd like to
  be, I think. In fact..."
  Rustle of cloth.
  "Professor! What are you doing?"
  Wrinkled fingers were on his cheek, and Remus tried to shrug them away, angry
  at being touched. Couldn't they see he didn't want to be touched? That he
  didn't like it? He snarled again, enjoying the pain in his throat, not quite
  dulled by the potion, as Dumbledore turned his head toward him.
  "I'm proving something to young Remus, Poppy dear."
  Blue eyes bore down on his, forcing him to keep still. Sirius' eyes were a
  deeper blue; darker, more pleasing. These were too pale and bright, like
  stars threatening to go nova and destroy the numb, throbbing cocoon of anger
  and animalism that surrounded him.
  ~I won't let you. I'll kill you first!~ His body tensed and twisted, reveling
  in Pomfrey's startled gasp and...
  "Professor, don't!"
  "He needs to see, Poppy." Hands moved over his face, soothing, and Remus felt
  the restraints begin to loosen. He turned his chin and found that he could
  now lift his head from the pillow and open his jaws wider than a meager,
  tamed crack. He smelled cedar chips and lavender, old man smells, mixed with
  the sweet tang of peppermint as Dumbledore met his eyes again and moved his
  thumb along Remus' bottom lip.
  He tensed, eyes narrowing. His body ached and his teeth ground and barred,
  flashing white and dangerous.
  "Professor, please!" Pomfrey pleaded. Remus could smell the fear on her. "We
  don't have any wolfsbane now.... If he bites you...." Remus snarled and
  snapped his teeth, eyes narrowing, but Dumbledore continued to gently stroke
  his face. "He's going to bite you!"
  "Stay back, Poppy." The old voice was low and soothing, yet powerful. The
  bright, disturbingly blue eyes never wavered. "He's not going to bite me. Are
  you, Remus?"
  He didn't want to listen. He didn't want to be pulled back down into himself,
  back away from the place where the Dark Man controlled his movements, jerky
  and fierce, like a marionette.
  ~But if Sirius is right... if Sirius.. If...~
  Remus closed his eyes tight, but cool fingers stroked over his lids and made
  him open them again. He tried to arch away, but strong hands held him in
  place and made him lay still. He moaned, pleadingly, meeting Dumbledore's
  eyes and catching there, ensnared by the hard-looking face and ice chip eyes.
  He'd never seen the Headmaster's eyes look so grim, so demanding. He
  struggled vainly against the hard press of those eyes. His will was melting
  away. Confusion lifted and left him conscious again, himself again, no matter
  how hard he fought to return to the blazing fury that kept him from thinking.
  Remus' jaws ached, his head throbbed, and time condensed into forever as
  Remus lay there, mesmerized by blue eyes and a soft, steady, powerful voice
  that said,
  "Are you, Remus?"
  "No." The word was a moan, and Dumbledore smiled and touched his cheek one
  last time as Remus swallowed down the red-gold fury of the wolf and looked up
  with pained little boy eyes.
  "No, Remus?" It was almost a laugh, almost a scold.
  "No, sir," he amended.
  The grin that spread over Dumbledore's face was blinding. "Thank you, Remus.
  I greatly appreciate it." He looked over his shoulder and gentled his smile
  for the infirmary assistant. "Why don't you untie him completely now, Poppy?
  I have a feeling he's not going to hurt anyone."
  "I... of course, sir." The dark-haired nurse bustled over and made quick work
  of the bindings, cool, gentle hands massaging his wrists and tugging at his
  fingers, bringing life back into them. "Here you go, Remus," she said, no
  longer afraid of him now that she no longer feared for Dumbledore. "You
  should get full feeling soon enough."
  Remus vaguely wondered at the power of Headmaster Dumbledore to make people
  trust him just like that, but the half-formed thought left him as he sat up
  with Madame Pomfrey's help and got a good a look around him for the first
  time.
  He wasn't in the infirmary: he was fairly sure he had seen all of the rooms
  there, and none of them were quite this large or this splendid. The bed was a
  four-poster, like those in Gryffindor Tower, only twice the size and hung
  with thick gold-toned velvet. The stone walls were hung with tapestries of
  unicorns and griffins: peaceful forest scenes that moved from floor to
  ceiling and nearly undulated with life. The floor was smoothed stone covered
  by generously thick rugs, and a fluffy white sheepskin warmed the hearth
  before the crackling fire.
  "Where?" he managed, still not trusting his voice. Had he really screamed his
  throat hoarse? The memories were dull, like a book read years ago and half
  forgotten.
  "These were old faculty rooms," Dumbledore answered, moving to the other side
  and helping Pomfrey sit Remus up, "before they were moved to the other wing.
  We're just down the hall from the infirmary." He pointed to an open walk-in
  closet, where Remus could make out his robes and tee-shirts hanging together.
  "Your clothing is in there, and the water closet is through there. The bath
  is just beyond."
  It had been forever since he had had a bath of his own: he wondered what
  Sirius would say to that.
  The thought made him wince in pain.
  ~I don't want to think about him. Not now. Not yet.~
  "In fact," Dumbledore continued brightly, ignoring the line that appeared
  between Remus' brows, "you'll probably want a bath rather sooner than later.
  If you`re feeling up to it, that is." The last statement was almost an
  afterthought, as if he could see no reason why Remus wouldn't be able to skip
  up at once and bathe. Pomfrey shot the Headmaster a faintly appalled look,
  brows raised in twin arches, no doubt thinking of all that nice, deep water
  and teenage suicide rates.
  Remus ignored her, ignored the pressure of thoughts and memories and instead
  focused on the simple things. A bath. His skin itched in agreement, damp from
  sweat. It would be nice to submerge in cool swirls of water, bubbles floating
  merrily around him, and pretend that nothing had happened. That Sirius hadn't
  betrayed him. That everything was still all right within his small world.
  He shivered, remembering Sirius' words: "Remus-love, the Dark Man is you."
  His head dropped, snarled hair falling about his thin face. Nails dug at his
  skin unconsciously, drawing pink-tender lines before careful old hands
  reached out to trap his wrists.
  "Take a bath, Remus." Dumbledore's voice was kind but stern. "You have ten
  minutes. When you're done, I expect you to get dressed and come back out." He
  let go and stepped back, drawing himself up taller than Remus ever remembered
  him being. He looked so strong and capable then, so formidable. "And then, I
  want you to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day."
  "T-tomorrow?"
  Blue eyes had a way of looking into your soul.
  "Tomorrow, you and I are going to talk, Remus." He touched Remus' shoulder
  firmly, man to man, then nodded, stepped away and seemed to shrink into plain
  old Dumbledore again. "Well, my my," he said, adjusting his gold-rimmed
  spectacles. "I suppose I'll leave you to it, then, Poppy," he added, nodding
  his head to Pomfrey. He cast Remus one last little smile before turning and
  bustling off, whistling a jaunty tune as he slipped out the door and shut it
  firmly behind him.
  Remus stared after the Headmaster, hands gripping the thick duvet. Pomfrey
  bustled around the huge bed, laying out his robe and warming his slippers by
  the fire. It all seemed so surreal or, rather, ultra-real, each whisk of her
  skirt underlying the deep throb of his heart. ~I should get up~ he thought,
  but he couldn't bring himself to move. If he moved, then he'd have to admit
  that he was capable of this. That he was able to stitch everything back
  together again until his life made sense.
  He wasn't sure he wanted to. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to leave this bed
  again.
  "Come along, Remus." Pomfrey grasped his hand and squeezed, leaning down and
  watching him as if she understood why he sat there, frozen. "Sleeping life
  away never fixed anyone's problems."
  Remus glanced up at her and made a face. He really did need to find some
  adults that didn't go about reading his mind all the sodding time.
  "Besides," she added, eyes twinkling. "You smell like a highland cow that's
  been abandoned for lost in the hollows. Phew!"
  Remus squawked in indignation, hopping off of the bed. His bare feet smacked
  against the cold stone. "I do not!"
  "Oh, aye," she said, nodding wisely. She took a few steps back and Remus
  followed, arms crossed over his chest and scowling with as much affronted
  dignity as a 15 year old boy could muster. "And your hair's about as tidy as
  a robin's nest." She reached out to smooth his snarled hair, but Remus batted
  her hands away with a grumble.
  "Hey, cut it out!" he grumped. Somehow she had managed to frog march him into
  the bathroom, and the tiles were cold beneath his feet. The bath, however,
  was enough to give Remus pause.
  It was huge. No, huge didn't quite seem to fit it. It was monstrous, a
  gorgeous, sprawling thing large enough to fit four grown men much less one
  still-growing boy. The sides were dark and slick, there was a shelf along the
  side to sit on (as it was far too deep to sit on the actual bottom) and
  little jets meant to propel bursts of warm water and bubbles at even
  intervals.
  "How exactly does one become a professor again?" he said, and Pomfrey
  laughed, tapping the faucet and making silver and violet bubbles float out
  with the rush of warm water.
  "I'm not sure you'll find a nice bubble bath sufficient trade off for what
  professors have to go through here," she teased, nodding to his robe. Remus
  cast her a look and she laughed and held up her hands, but her eyes were
  strangely serious: he was getting used to people looking at him like that. It
  always made him feel like a threat or, perhaps, a puzzle. "Oh, all right. I
  forgot how sensitive young men could be. I'll be right outside," she nodded
  her head towards the door back to Remus' new room and laid out a huge fluffy
  green towel. "But if ten minutes pass and I don't hear anything, I'm coming
  in."
  She caught his eye, expression wavering between lighthearted fun and grim
  severity, and Remus nodded, understanding.
  "You don't have to worry, Madame Pomfrey," he whispered, biting his lower
  lip. At her raised brow, he added "I'd never do that to myself."
  "Oh?" Her hand gripped the brass doorknob. "I'm a bit more concerned about
  what you are doing to Sirius." She stepped outside. "Ten minutes."
  The door clicked shut behind her.
  =============================================================================
  It had gone on so long. Days and days. Some small part of Sirius was waiting,
  waiting for Remus to walk back through the front door and laugh at him for
  being such a git and spouting off his big mouth. He heard the rhythms of the
  dorm room ebb and swell outside the comfortable shelter of his bed curtains.
  He heard Jamie's footsteps stop just outside, shuffle, then move on. Food
  appeared, and disappeared uneaten. His forays to the lav were always in the
  dead of night, or during classes. Peter had put charms on his bed, life-
  sensing charms. They thought he didn't know, but he did. They were giving him
  his privacy, but making sure he didn't go too far, too deep, too low. How
  very fucking considerate. ~No. No, Jamie loves me. I love Jamie. Of course
  he's worried. I would be frantic with it by now. Peter, though...~ He sensed
  something from Peter. A formless sort of hunger that set his teeth on edge.
  He dimly thought it was past dinner when he next heard James' footsteps stop
  outside his bed. Instead of a hesitant shuffle followed by a hasty retreat,
  the curtain parted and a messy, dark head popped through, eyes owlish behind
  wire-rimmed glasses. "Hi, Siri," he whispered, conspiratorial. "Can we come
  in?" Peter's fair head popped up over his shoulder. "Bugger off." The words
  lacked any real force, half-hearted and habitual. "Hmm. No. No buggering
  tonight," James shook his head and crawled right over him, stretching out
  along his front as Peter followed, curling at his back. "Sorry to disappoint
  you, mate." Sirius sighed, more comforted than he would have imagined by
  their presence. James smelled faintly of sweat and wind, the twin scents of
  Quidditch. Peter smelled of sweet tea. Sirius' gawky arms reached out slowly,
  almost reluctantly, to wrap around his best friend's waist. "I'm sorry I've
  been hiding," he said. "We've missed you," Peter replied, sliding a hand up
  his back in a way that seemed entirely too familiar and oh-so-wrong. Sirius
  burrowed more tightly into James. "Besides, your bed is starting to have a
  decided funk. They're going to call Filch to come disinfect it soon." Strong
  arms tightened around his lanky frame. "Yes, you are rather beginning to
  reek," Peter echoed. "I just...people are so...everything's wrong right now,"
  Sirius murmured. "It's all broken." "And it will never get fixed in this bed,
  Sirius," James replied gently. "You've got to face it. You've got to fight
  for him." "You sound like a Gryffindor," Sirius snuffled against his neck. "I
  agree with James that you need to get up, Sirius, but I'm not so sure you
  ought to fight for Remus. Maybe this was all for the best," Peter said, still
  rubbing his back in that disconcerting way. "What? How can you say that?"
  Sirius turned in James' arms, facing the other boy, eyes flashing. "He's
  MINE." "But he doesn't want to be yours anymore, does he?" Peter replied
  softly. "I think that's far from being decided," James put in, glaring at
  Peter angrily over Sirius' shoulder. "Remus is just upset right now." "All
  right," Sirius said, voice abrupt, choked, halted. "All right. I'm getting
  up. I'm going to go take a shower." He struggled out of their arms, belly
  roiling. ~No, no, please no. It's not broken forever, it's NOT.~ "I know, I'm
  sure I stink like a yearling goat." James followed him out, concerned, "Do
  you want me to..." "No. No, I want to be alone." ~Alone with my fear, and
  alone with my need, and just...alone.~
  =============================================================================
  During the first week of his counseling, Remus was reluctant to say anything
  to Professor Dumbledore. Part of him, of course, realized that the old wizard
  merely wanted to help him, but a much larger part didn't want to hear what
  Dumbledore had to say. ~How could he know what I feel?~ the sulky voice
  inside would ask, and Remus would shut his mouth tight and not speak for the
  entire session. ~He doesn't understand anything at all.~
  "Why don't you tell me about your family, Remus?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
  He had a way of speaking that was both compelling and frightening, a low tone
  that made you want to tell secrets you never before dared to consider. "You
  were born outside of Ayr, weren't you?"
  Remus stared down at his interlaced hands, idly picking at his fingers. He'd
  bitten the nails back so far that the cuticles bled from time to time.
  Sometimes, he'd make a game of it while Dumbledore was trying to prod
  revelations out of him: tear the skin and let the blood flow. Tilt his hands
  to make intricate tracks of red down his palm, crossing the heart line and
  the life line until it slid over his wrist. Tilt again and let it fall into a
  pattern of perfect concentric circles on his jeans.
  "You were the only child?"
  He barely nodded, squeezing out a drop of blood. He could smell it, warm and
  rich and familiar, could almost taste it. He tilted his hand.
  "How close were you to your mother?"
  Remus shrugged. The droplet trailed across the groove of his life line. The
  days following his wakening from the fires had been marked by sleep and a
  gradual withdrawing. A slowly growing pile of class assignments had gathered
  at the corner desk, ignored. All attempts by his friends and classmates to
  see him, all gifts sent, had been rebuffed. He felt like a turtle retreating
  within its shell. He felt like a kite flung up into the air, connected to the
  earth only by a slender thread. He wondered what would happen if that thread
  was cut. Would he spiral out of control? Would he crash to the ground?
  Across the pad of his palm.
  "Your father?"
  If he sat there silent long enough, Professor Dumbledore always sent him
  away. He supposed that Dumbledore was too busy being a Headmaster to spend
  too much time on him. He was glad for it, really. He just wanted to be left
  alone. He lifted his hand and let the droplet of blood slide slowly down his
  wrist.
  Dumbledore leaned forward, blue eyes bright. "Why don't you tell me about the
  Dark Man?"
  Remus looked up with huge, startled eyes. He dropped his arm, the bead of
  blood dripping down onto the floor. Its splash was as loud as mountains
  crumbling, as oceans screaming and throwing themselves against the shore.
  "How do you know about him?" he whispered.
  "I know a great many things, Remus." Dumbledore's voice was soft and gently
  chiding.
  Remus stared at him in silence, eyes wary and mouth pulled into a tight line.
  His heart was pounding quickly, echoing throughout his teenage body, making
  his temples and wrists ache. He'd only ever told Sirius about the Dark Man,
  and he knew that Sirius would never tell anyone else. No matter how angry he
  was with him, no matter how hurt and betrayed, Remus knew beyond knowing that
  he could trust Sirius never to do that. "I don't..." he began, but he wasn't
  sure what he was going to say. Words and images were a jumble in his mind,
  almost as if someone had stuck a spoon within his memory and was stirring it
  up with firm, quick strokes. "I..." He had to think had to think
  hadtothinkhadtothink.
  "He was your uncle, wasn't he, Remus?" The old voice was tender yet firm. His
  bright blue eyes were traps, and Remus cursed internally as he realized that
  he was being drawn in again. It was like the time when he had been lost to
  the fury, after Sirius had told the tru... after Sirius had betra... After
  Sirius had told him. Dumbledore had met his eyes through the haze of mad fury
  and had dragged him back from the numbness. Those eyes had power to them, and
  resolve, and Remus couldn't look away. ~He's casting a spell on me,~ Remus
  thought, but he knew it wasn't true. Dumbledore would never trick him like
  that, would never force him. Professor Dumbledore was good and he was trying
  to help.
  ~I don't want to tell him,~ he thought, but oh, he did. He wanted to tell him
  everything, wanted to tell him things he'd never told anyone, not even
  Sirius. He wanted to curl up in a tiny ball and spew out all of that darkness
  that made it so hard to breathe at night. He wanted to have old hands reach
  into his mind and cup his brain, drawing out the evil thoughts, the dark
  impulses. He wanted to expel his demons.
  He shifted between the two, reluctant and eager, caught in a snare.
  "Yes," he finally said. His voice was a whisper.
  "And an Auror?"
  "Yes."
  Dumbledore leaned closer, never breaking their gaze. "What happened to him,
  Remus?"
  "I don't..." He tried to shake his head, tried to pull his eyes away. The
  panic was rising, threatening to overtake him. He wanted to reach out and
  grab Sirius' small, cool hands, but Sirius wasn't here. Why wasn't Sirius
  here?
  Sirius wasn't here because Remus told him he didn't want him anymore. That he
  hated him.
  "What happened to him, Remus?"
  "He was bitten." It was almost as if hooks had pierced deep into his
  consciousness and were pulling out the words. The reluctance was winning. He
  didn't want to talk about Uncle Matthew any more, didn't want to talk about
  the Dark Man, didn't want to talk at all. He just wanted to curl up with his
  arms over his head and ward away that voice, those eyes, the memory of Sirius
  sobbing as he raged and raged and raged. "He was sent to take care of a nest
  of vampires. He tracked them in, but was surprised by a werewolf instead. He
  was bitten." His knees curled up to his chest, his arms sliding around them
  as if to pull himself in.
  "I see." Professor Dumbledore steepled his fingers and leaned back in his
  squashy chair. Around them, the Headmasters of the past snored blissfully.
  "And what happened to him, then?"
  Remus wanted to drop his face down to cradle on his knees, but he couldn't
  look away. He could feel the panic rising inside, unfurling like a bird's
  wings, tempered by a desperate resolve not to break before this man he so
  admired. "He was taken to St. Mungos. They couldn't heal him. My mother
  didn't think it was safe for him to live alone, so she brought him back to
  our house in Ayr to live with us."
  He bit his bottom lip, eyes dark and troubled. His hands were clenching the
  arms of his chair as the words came spilling out, pooling out of the shell of
  his body to lay between them. "Brought him back to live with me."
  Dumbledore's eyes were like rainwater circling around a dark drain, pulling
  him in, pulling him down. "To live with you? Your parents weren't afraid of
  him?"
  "No. Oh, no, my mother loved him: he couldn't do anything wrong. And my
  father... he was less willing to have him there, but he'd do anything for my
  mother."
  "What did you think, Remus? Did you want him there?"
  "Early on, sure. I was young and didn't really understand what a werewolf
  was. How could he be dangerous, I thought. He's Uncle Matthew." He fidgeted,
  slowly ripping at his nails again. His fingers were slick with blood. "Even
  when I heard the howls coming from our basement during the full moon, I
  didn't understand."
  "You said your mother wasn't afraid of him." The low voice was gentle. Remus
  started when a large, cool hand reached out to catch his wrist, keeping him
  from ripping his nails. He tried to offer a smile of apology, but he was so
  nervous, so trembly inside that all he could manage was a small, tight twitch
  of his pale lips.
  Telling the truth hurt.
  "What about when you became a werewolf, Remus? Was your mother afraid of
  you?"
  Remus shrugged, then shook his head, then shrugged again. Dumbledore was
  holding his hand, strong yet gentle. He thought vaguely that perhaps he
  should let go: he was getting blood all over the Headmaster. "No. Well, a
  little." He closed his eyes and remembered the way she looked at him, pale
  and pinched and worried. "Yes," he whispered. "Yes, terrified."
  "And why is it, do you think, that she was frightened of you but not of your
  Uncle Matthew?"
  "I don't know." He pulled his hand away, wiping angrily at his eyes. Blood
  smeared across his cheeks, sticky and thick-smelling.
  "Don't you?" Dumbledore sounded so fucking smug, so knowing, as if he knew
  very well why Remus' mum could barely look at him, why his father treated him
  like a stranger or--gods--a burden thrust upon him.
  "I DON'T KNOW!" He leapt to his feet, fists clenched. His body shook. Tears
  threatened and he fought them back viciously, teeth bared. Dumbledore didn't
  say a word--merely stared at him with those damn blue eyes that demanded too
  fucking much, hands folded serenely across his lap. Remus drew in a hissing
  breath, seeing in his mind himself leaping forward, snarling, slashing at the
  old face, digging out those eyes.... "I DON'T KNOW!"
  The old professor tugged off his spectacles and polished them, not looking at
  him. "Oh, I think you do. Or, rather," he added, perching them atop his nose
  once more, "you know what you believe, which to a boy your age, is just as
  valid."
  "I don't! You're LYING!"
  "I make a point of never lying, Remus, to myself or otherwise." Words
  pointed, features serene.
  Remus took a step back at that, the back of his knees knocking against his
  chair. "No," he said, but the vehemence was fading.
  Nothing. Head cocked, waiting.
  "No," he said again, but bubbling up from his subconscious was the answer,
  the true answer, the one Dumbledore had sensed and was slowly fishing out of
  him.
  He fell back into his seat, limp and breathless.
  "Why was she afraid of you?" Dumbledore asked again, oh so gently.
  "Because... because I'm bad," Remus said dully. He could taste the truth,
  could feel it ringing within him with the pressure of honesty. "She wasn't
  afraid of Uncle Matthew because he was a good man, but I'm not. I'm evil. I'm
  bad. I hurt her. I hurt her and liked it and I'm evil."
  Professor Dumbledore smiled at the admission, but his blue eyes were so sad
  as if beneath dark green robes, his heart was breaking. "And that," he said,
  reaching out to take Remus' chin in his hand and lifting the boy's pale,
  tear-streaked face, "is where we must begin."
  =============================================================================
  "Mr. Black?" Dumbledore called his attention back from the window, back from
  the rainy, abysmal spring day. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. I can't seem to
  concentrate on anything these days," Sirius managed a sheepish grin. "As I'm
  sure my grades will witness." "You're holding yourself together quite
  admirably, my boy." Dumbledore held out the candy dish, ice mice this time,
  but Sirius shook his head, shaggy dark locks falling into his face. He
  appreciated the empathy, really he did. He was touched that Dumbledore,
  James, and Peter loved him enough to look at him with careful, worried eyes.
  But his gratitude wasn't quite strong enough to keep him from wanting to
  scream at them to just fucking STOP already. They didn't know how he felt.
  They couldn't. He drove the person he loved above all others insane. There
  was no comfort for that, and he was beginning to suspect there was no
  healing, either. "Really? Because I feel like a complete wreck," Sirius
  laughed, voice worn and unraveled and hard, now, so hard. There was a long
  pause as the Headmaster took his own turn staring out the window at the rain.
  "You were quite right, you know." The comment, when it came, was almost
  offhand, offered into the gloomy afternoon as very nearly inconsequential.
  Truth was, Sirius had come to understand, quite inconsequential indeed. "I
  know I was right, Headmaster. But I should never have opened my mouth."
  "Respectfully, I must disagree, my boy. You brought Remus to a breaking
  point, yes. But you did it with surprising skill, and now I do believe that
  he can heal, cleanly." The old man regarded him with even, pale blue eyes.
  "Your father would be proud, I think." "My father would be appalled that I
  armchair-psychoanalyzed a deeply troubled adolescent coping with the legacy
  of physical, sexual, and magical abuse." Sirius hadn't meant his voice to be
  so bitter, so angry. None of this was Dumbledore's fault. "How could you help
  it, I wonder? Can you truly turn your intellect off like that? Simply stop
  seeing what's right in front of you?" The Headmaster was unfazed by Sirius'
  outburst. "What does your father say?" "I haven't told him" Another shame -
  it seemed he was hoarding them now, close to his chest, when a few short days
  ago he would have called himself shameless. "I have." The admission was soft,
  but distinct. A gnarled hand pushed a sheaf of letters across the desk toward
  Sirius. Hands trembling, the boy picked them up and looked at the topmost -
  it was a surprisingly sensitive letter from the Headmaster to his father,
  notifying him of the delicate 'situation' between his son and Remus. The
  older man sat quietly as Sirius read them all - Artemis' frantic desire to
  come to his son, Albus counseling him to wait, Artemis confirming that Sirius
  had made the right decisions. It was all here. His father absolving him by
  proxy. Sirius' blue eyes blurred with tears as he finished the last. "I see."
  "I thought you might. So, if you will kindly stop wallowing, I have a
  proposal to discuss with you." The warm voice grew brisk once more. "Yes,
  Sir." A tremulous smile crossed his face as he hugged his father's last
  letter to his chest, bringing his attention back to the Headmaster. "You have
  a rare gift that I would like to train and shamelessly exploit. You have a
  knowledge of Muggle psychiatry, natural empathy, and frighteningly good
  instincts. I have long considered training a group of student counselors to
  work with their peers." Sirius blinked. "And you think I'd be good at this?
  After sending Remus to the infirmary?" "I think, to be uncomfortably honest,
  that you gave the boy exactly what he needed. You can do the same for
  others." "I...well." It was a bit dizzying, all this absolution. "I think I
  would like that." "I rather thought you might."
  =============================================================================
  Sometimes, the bright light of the moon hurt him. Shifting through curtains
  or falling across stone floors, it tugged at his blood as if calling him like
  the sea, pulling at the fragile seams of his body with its demanding white
  rays. He lay curled in his bed, dotted with sweat and trying to close his
  eyes against it, trying to deny its power over the strange core of darkness
  that lay within his breast, opening its petals once a month to bask in that
  cold light.
  He didn't want to respond to the moon. He didn't want to turn his face
  towards it, push back the curtains that hung around his too-big bed and let
  it seep into his skin. Part of Remus was afraid that it called to the
  lycanthropy swimming like silver slivers of driftwood in the sea of his
  blood. Part of Remus was afraid that the werewolf in him was calling to it,
  drawing the moon down like a supplicant to his disease.
  Either way, he could not deny it, even when he wanted to, even when it hurt
  inside. He sat up, tousled hair falling about his shoulders. He'd cut himself
  with his nails in the night and the blood looked almost black in the shadow
  of the curtains, a sickness slicking sweetly against his skin. Remus pushed
  his hair back and kicked aside the thick curtains, letting in the brilliant
  light. He could see the moon through the bars of his window, thick-bellied
  but not quite full. She looked bowed and pregnant in the night sky, waxen and
  hanging low across the cradle of the Forbidden Forest.
  "All right," he murmured, standing. The sheepskin rug protected his feet from
  the midnight iciness of the flagstones and he shivered, arms wrapping around
  himself. It was an unnatural spring, still cold far past when the world
  should have warmed. The cold fit his mood, frozen as an unbroken wasteland,
  but even Remus knew the winter would not last. Spring was like death:
  inevitable and reaching across time towards him. He wondered, when the spring
  melted into summer, whether he would spend the wet and hot months that
  followed longing for Sirius. He wondered whether he'd spend the remaining
  years of his life longing for him.
  He glanced once more at the moon, fattening and content in her bed of sky and
  turned towards the door. The castle was silent in the belly of the night,
  eerie stillness broken only by his small footfalls and the low hammer of his
  heart. He moved through the shadows of the hallways, aware of paintings
  slumbering on the rough-hewn walls, curled against the corners of their
  frames. He didn't bother with the large double doors but instead moved
  towards the small door down the western wing almost-hidden in a curve of
  wall. Sirius, James, Peter and he had found it months ago and had used it for
  some of their schemes, sneaking out through the forgotten doorway. It opened
  easily against his hand, no longer making any noise since Sirius had thought
  to oil its hinges. Remus moved down the three crumbling stone steps, shutting
  the door behind him, and walked through the small alleyway created by the
  tall walls of Hogwarts. Long leaves of grass sprouted up between rocks,
  tickling Remus' ankles as he moved through the alley and onto the lawn of
  Hogwarts proper. It was not a popular area of the lawn, which was what, Remus
  figured, kept the doorway hidden for so long. Down to the west was the lake
  and further north was the forest. Here, close to the Hufflepuff basement,
  there was nothing but rolling hills and rocks.
  A light wind blew, lifting the long end of Remus' shirt and making it flap
  against his thighs. He shivered, arms wrapping about his thin frame, face
  lifted as he began to walk. The moon broke through the shadows cast by the
  castle, bathing across his closed eyes and small nose. It made the few
  smattering of freckles stand out in sharp relief. It made gooseflesh rise
  across his thin, crossed arms.
  Soon, the moon would be full and would demand much more than this restless
  wandering. Soon, the darkness would rise up and spill over and he'd be in its
  thrall again, small and lost and once again alone. There would be no Sirius
  to cling to as the day ebbed and the fierce moon rose, thick and round as an
  angry face. He'd pushed Sirius away, perhaps for good, for daring to say what
  should never have been said.
  "Like Pandora," Remus said, never once stumbling as he walked across the
  grounds. His feet found purchase naturally, toes curling in the cool dirt
  before lifting again to find another foothold, another patch of dirt to curl
  up as if drawing it into himself. "Like Pandora and her box." The image made
  him grin, then laugh, the giggle stifled by a tanned hand. There was blood
  beneath his nails, but that was nothing in comparison to the image of Siri in
  a dress and pigtails, bent before a monstrously gothic box. `Just a peek'
  Pandora-Siri would say, unlatching the box and lifting the giant lid.
  If Sirius was Pandora, then Remus was the box, and if he wanted to be honest
  with himself, he'd have to continue the fantasy past Pandora letting out all
  the evil of the world and to its logical conclusion: Pandora opening the box
  again and setting free Hope.
  But Remus didn't feel like thinking about Hope tonight, not with the moon
  rising thick and high, not with the cold wind blowing against his face, not
  with loneliness clinging to him like a succubus.
  He moved towards the lake, trying to think of other things, but everything
  brought his mind back to Sirius. Thinking about Quidditch reminded him of
  Sirius and James' one-on-one death-matches. Thinking about books reminded him
  of Sirius laying on his belly, chewing on his black hair and theorizing out
  his crazy, beautiful dreams. Thinking about class reminded him of Sirius
  beside him and thinking about summer reminded him of how much he missed him.
  Even his body was betraying him, for when Remus looked up, he realized that
  he was at the foot of Gryffindor tower. He paused and pressed his hand
  against the cool stone, almost feeling the longing slide from his fingers up
  through the weather-worn stone. Could Sirius hear him all alone in their bed?
  Could Sirius feel him?
  Remus shuddered, closing his eyes. The ache that had become a constant
  presence in his heart and belly, clenched tight, doubling, making him draw in
  a deep, ragged breath. He was choking on childish need threaded through with
  something more adult, something more lasting, and as Remus expelled his
  breath Sirius' name was on his lips.
  Oh, God, he missed him so badly.
  He dropped his forehead against the stone, then growled and pounded his fists
  against it. He pushed back, fingers clenched tight and moved away from the
  tower. His steps grew quicker, then quicker still as he began to run. His
  golden-brown hair lashed against his face as Remus raced around the curve of
  the castle and towards the hidden door. A stone struck his foot, but he
  ignored the transient pain, pushing the door open and shutting it quickly
  behind him, no longer caring to be silent. He had to go to him, had to end
  this, had to had to had to or the pain and want would eat him whole. He had
  to do this now while the weakness make his heart pound and his knees quake,
  had to do it before the anger and pride came back.
  He ran up the winding stairs, mouth open to draw in deep breaths. There was a
  bright, red pain deep in his chest, ripping at him, trying to make him
  falter. He'd never run so fast in his life, moved so desperately. Every cell
  in his body urged him forward towards his own bed and his sleeping lover,
  away from the darkness of anger and despair that threatened to swallow him
  whole.
  It didn't matter if Sirius said things he shouldn't; Remus loved him. He
  needed him.
  Remus skidded to a stop at the entrance to Gryffindor tower, breathing hard.
  His hair was a wild mess about his face and his fingers were bloody where he
  had dug his nails into his skin, but Remus didn't care. He pounded his small
  fists on the frame of the Fat Lady's portrait to wake her from sleep, drawing
  in desperate, aching breaths.
  The Fat Lady yawned and opened her eyes, blinking sleepily at him. "Why,
  hello," she said, voice still muzzy. "What's..."
  "I have to get in," Remus said, cutting her off.
  "Why, yes, of course dear. What's the password?"
  Remus struggled to remember for a moment, mind blanking. "Singing Zerberts!"
  he finally spurted, dredging the words from a memory that seemed so very long
  ago.
  The old woman looked down at him sadly. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her
  fat, gentle face. "That's not the password."
  "But it is," Remus argued. "I know it is! Professor McGonagall..."
  "I'm sorry dear, but the password has changed. If you could give me the new
  password...?"
  He shook his head, refusing to believe what he was hearing. "No!" he shouted,
  beating his fist against the frame again. The Fat Lady gave a startled cry
  and part of Remus wanted to keep beating until she fell from her perch,
  wooden frame shattering against the floor. Part of him wanted to rip her
  aside and claw open the entrance-way to the tower and fight his way to
  Sirius.
  "Please," he said, doing neither of these things. "Please, you don't
  understand."
  "I'm sorry, dear." She did look sorry, which made Remus draw back and stifle
  a low, mournful cry. "But I can't let you in unless you know the password."
  And with that, the fore of desperation left him.
  "O-ok." His voice was a whisper, cloaked in defeat. Remus' shoulders dropped
  as he took a step back. "Thank you," he said dully, turning. The pain from
  his hard run had fled, leaving nothing but a dull, hollow ache. He walked
  away from the Fat Lady, moving woodenly down the flights of steps. One hand
  gripped the banister and the other hung uselessly at his side as he moved
  through the silent halls back to the hospital wing. He pushed into his new
  room, his empty, echoing room, and shut the door behind him, closing his eyes
  at the deep, resounding noise it made.
  It sounded so final.
  Remus drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. The moonlight greeted him,
  pale and unforgiving as it filtered across the floor. "I hate you," he
  whispered, not sure whether he meant the moon, the Dark Man, the Fat Lady,
  Sirius or himself. "I hate you."
  The moon gave no answer. Slowly, woodenly, Remus moved toward his empty bed
  and crawled inside. There was a rustle of cloth as he gripped the thick bed
  curtains, then a resounding snap as he closed them against the world.
  =============================================================================
  Dear Dad,
  Thank you. Thank you for believing in me, even when I didn't believe in
  myself. Thank you for not judging me. Thank you for trusting me. I know the
  Headmaster has filled you in on what happened with Remus, and I'm grateful. I
  don't know if I could recount it all for you without drowning the ink with
  tears. It doesn't help, really, does it? Knowing that you were right. That
  you figured it out all so cleverly. That you added together observations and
  deductions and came up with the correct answer. Because the knowledge isn't
  what heals, is it? Now I think I understand that Muggle myth about the Tree
  of Knowledge. But what I can't quite figure out is: am I the fruit, or am I
  the snake? I've been shut out of paradise, and I don't know how to get back
  in again. The path is barred with thorns, and there's a terrible angel at the
  gate, beautiful and implacable. I miss you, Dad. I love you.
  Yours,
  Siri
  PS: The Headmaster says I would make a good Soul Healer. He's training me,
  along with a couple of other students, to work with people here at the school
  who need help. I always wanted to follow in your footsteps - and here I am on
  the path.
  =============================================================================
  "Remus, you have to look at me."
  The old voice sounded tired and Remus wondered what troubles rested upon the
  Headmaster's shoulders. Sometimes owls would interrupt their sessions and
  Dumbledore would pause to read them while Remus curled up in his chair and
  sipped tea. His lined face always grew so worried for a moment, his blue eyes
  darkening as they scanned over the words on the parchment. He always brushed
  away Remus' questions, however, setting aside the letters and turning his
  attention back to the troubled boy.
  "Remus."
  Even tired, that voice was commanding, rich and full of the wisdom of age.
  Remus didn't want to look at the Headmaster but he knew his small defiance
  wouldn't last long. In the long month of his counseling, Dumbledore had
  gotten his way every time, tugging confessions from him as if spinning wool
  into yarn.
  "Remus."
  "I don't want to." He relied on the strength of his teenage petulance,
  curling up into a tight ball. A soft hand was on his shoulder, insistent, but
  Remus shoved it away. It was enough that he had to talk about everything:
  actually looking at Professor Dumbledore sometimes made it unbearable. He
  hated seeing the sympathy clouding those eyes. He hated the minute flickers
  of pity that colored his expression.
  "Remus, you know you can't hide from this forever. You know you can't hide
  from the truth."
  He wanted to clutch his hands over his ears and block out Dumbledore's voice.
  He did want to hide from it. He did want to keep denying what more and more
  took the form of truth. Oh God, he didn't want to admit it, didn't want to
  make the dark connections that flowed sluggish and black through his brain.
  He didn't want to.
  Because that would make him evil. Not the Dark Man, not some force outside
  himself, but him, Remus.
  "Remus..."
  "Leave me alone!" He stood up, almost knocking over his chair. It balanced
  precariously on two legs before crashing back upright, banging against the
  backs of his legs. "I don't want to talk about that."
  "Remus, I know it's hard, but you have to consider..."
  "NO! NONONO, STOP!" He turned away, fists clenched. "I don't have to consider
  anything. I don't have to accept anything. I don't even see the point in all
  of this because it's NOT HELPING!"
  Dumbledore didn't lift his voice, even when Remus knocked over a small silver
  instrument, sending it clattering across the floor. "That's because you're
  not allowing yourself to even consider that..."
  Remus interrupted, eyes flashing. "Consider what? Consider that I'm some kind
  of monster? Consider that I'm some kind of freak, some kind of animal? Is
  that what you think I am?"
  The Headmaster stood, eyes flashing. "Remus, calm down."
  "No, I'm a fucking animal. Animals don't come to heel so quickly." He backed
  away from the old man. A large part of him knew that he was overreacting,
  that he was panicking and causing a row because something was hitting too
  close to home, but Remus didn't feel like being rational. All he could feel
  was the anger and the helpless despair and the loathing that curled like
  snakes about his self-consciousness. All he could feel was the fight or
  flight buzzing through his blood, causing him to growl at the old man even as
  he backed towards the door.
  "Remus, please, sit down."
  The moon was singing in his blood, making his cheeks flush, his eyes dilate.
  Even in the shadows of the afternoon sun, he could hear her singing to him.
  His hand curled around the doorknob.
  "Remus. Please."
  He shook his head, fighting against the calm reason in Dumbledore's voice. "I
  can't," he whispered, opening the door. He could hear students far below,
  making their way to classes. "I just... I."
  "You can't run forever, Remus."
  He looked up with large gold-brown eyes, then turned on his heel and ran. He
  almost tripped down the spiral staircase and had to reach out a hasty hand to
  balance himself, palm scraping against the rough stone, almost painful enough
  to center him. He burst through the second door, stumbling out into the
  hallway with an expulsion of breath as if he were escaping something
  dangerous.
  "Hey, watch out!" a voice called, barely giving notice as Remus barreled
  forward. He tried to check his movements, throwing out his arms to form a
  counterbalance as he knocked into another student, sending him hard into the
  arms of the boar statue.
  "Sorry," he murmured quickly, flushed.
  "It's all--Remus?"
  Remus froze, meeting the boy's gaze. Blue eyes stared back at him from
  beneath the sheen of glasses and black hair fell in a messy tangle over his
  brow. "James," he said, staring at his friend as if years separated them
  rather than a month. "I..."
  James was always quick with words. "We've missed you," he said,
  straightening. He winced and rubbed lightly at there the boar's tusks had dug
  into his shoulder. "We barely talk about anything else. Sirius is beside
  himself: when are you coming back?"
  He shook his head and took a step away. "Sorry," he said, trembling. He
  fought the urge to throw himself into James' arms and cling helplessly to his
  friend; he fought the urge to ask after Sirius. "I have to go..."
  "Remus, wait. I haven't seen you in ages."
  "I'm sorry, James. I'll see you soon, promise, I just..." He shook his head,
  then darted around his friend, lips pressed so tight together they bled
  white.
  James stood staring after his friend, head cocked to the side in worry. Remus
  had looked haunted, skittish, almost as if he were afraid of James. "I have
  to find Peter," he murmured, pushing up his glasses. Rubbing his shoulder
  fitfully one last time, James went in search of his friend.
  =============================================================================
  "He looked absolutely horrid. And he was running from something as if his
  life depended on it."
  Peter looked dourly down at his text book. They were out by the lake,
  enjoying one of the few warmish days. James was leaning against a tree, idly
  playing with a snitch, letting it go only to catch it again. "I don't know
  what Dumbledore is doing to him, but it can't be good," James added,
  snatching quickly at the snitch.
  "You think he's hurting him?" Peter leaned back against the roots of the old
  tree, looking out across the lawn. He didn't want to talk about Remus; even
  though they were supposedly friends, he and the other boy had never really
  clicked. "I don't see why he would."
  "No, I don't think he's hurting him, but I don't think he's helping."
  Laughter drifted from the lake, which was finally warm enough for swimming.
  "And if he's not helping Remus, then he's not helping Sirius." James looked
  at Peter. Peter had been acting oddly lately, badmouthing Remus and almost--
  no. It was impossible. He couldn't be moving in on Sirius. He wouldn't do
  that to Remus.
  Peter shrugged, uncomfortable. He idly watched the students milling about,
  not looking at James. "Maybe it'd be better if Sirius managed to move on. If
  Remus isn't really stable, maybe..." He shrugged again. He was acutely aware
  of James' eyes on him. "Never mind," he said, squirming at the weight of that
  disapproving gaze. "I didn't..."
  Peter cut himself off, catching sight of a Ravenclaw girl making her way
  towards them. "Hey, James, isn't that Remus' friend?"
  James looked over and smiled as the red-headed girl joined them. "Hi. Lily,
  wasn't it?"
  "Hello, James. Yes, that's right." She glanced at Peter and gave a small nod.
  "Hello."
  "Hullo."
  Lily turned back to James. "I just wanted to check with you if you'd heard
  anything about Remus lately."
  James shook his head. "No, not really. They've been keeping really quiet
  about this. You?"
  She crouched down, hair swinging over her shoulder. "I'm not sure if it's
  true or not, but Sarah--she's my housemate--thought she saw Remus running
  through the halls late at night not long ago. She said he was running towards
  the Gryff towers."
  Peter and James glanced at each other, brows creasing. "I wonder..." James
  began, then shook his head, looking back to Lily. His mind was turning over
  this information, trying to find significance, trying to fit it into what
  else he knew. "Well. Thanks, Lily."
  She smiled, but she still looked worried. "You're welcome. Hey, if they let
  you in to see him, say hi for me, ok?"
  He grinned. "Yeah, sure thing." He paused, waffling, then mentally shrugged.
  She was Remus' friend, right? It was his duty to set out the welcome mat.
  ~It certainly doesn't have anything to do with the fact that she's attractive
  and friendly. Oh no sir.~
  "Why don't you sit down?"" He motioned towards the ground next to him.
  "I won't be interrupting?" She looked towards Peter who made a strange face.
  "Of course not. I've been wanting to talk to you anyway." James quickly
  dredged through his memory, searching for something he could ask her. "Ah...
  so..."
  "So...?" She hid a grin.
  He laughed. "I'll think of something if I sit here staring at you long
  enough."
  Laughing with him, Lily sat between James and Peter and settled in, unaware
  of Peter's dark glower.
  =============================================================================
  He felt like he was coming apart at the seams.
  It wasn't an unusual feeling, really. It wasn't something he didn't already
  know, deep inside and spreading like a sickness. It wasn't something he
  hadn't dealt with since he was a small child, since he had opened a book
  sometime after he had been bitten and found lycanthrope listed amongst the
  dark creatures.
  Remus was used to his world flying apart. He was used to the drop in his
  stomach and the sensation of hurtling towards something far too fast, far too
  recklessly. He was used to the dread and used to the shattering.
  Remus was used to living in fear.
  Tonight was different, though. The entire month had been different, but
 tonight was the crux of it; tonight was when it was to all explode around
  him. He could feel it in the air, electrical currents making the hairs on his
  arms rise as he lay curled in his bed. He could taste it, sharp and sweet
  like blood.
  A confrontation was coming. A change.
  Remus curled up tight and pressed his face into his pillow. He didn't want to
  face anything tonight. He didn't want to turn mirrors to his face and
  understand truths that he had been trying to tell himself from the beginning.
  Maybe tomorrow, he thought, maybe next week, but not now, not tonight... It
  was the same mantra he had been clutching to ever since Sirius spoke those
  words, ever since Dumbledore gripped his chin in his hands and tried to make
  him see. Not now, not now, not now...
  "Oh yesss, little one, now is such a horrible time."
  Remus stiffened at the sugar-sweet words, shoulders clenching tight as
  fingers trailed down the curve of his spine. He thought, if I just ignore the
  Dark Man, he'll go away, but the touch continued, sweet and caressing and
  sinful, nails leaving a fine, shivery trail across his skin.
  He shuddered and tried to slide away. Hands were there to catch him, to
  stroke him, sending waves of revulsion and fear through his body. This
  creature holding him and crooning to him, spooning up behind him like a lover
  with his hard prick and soft hands wasn't real, wasn't here. He couldn't have
  power over him, oh God, no, he couldn't...
  "Go away," he whimpered as clever hands slid down his belly to brush his
  prick. "I don't want you here."
  "You always want me here."
  "No! No, I don't, go away go away!"
  The crooning voice was sinful in its elegance; it rung of truth. "Why else
  would you send the boy away, Reemie? Why else would you be curled up here
  waiting for me, all alone and delicious in that monstrous bed?"
  "NO! Go AWAY."
  "You call to me all the time." His fingers were inside of Remus' sleeping
  pants, stroking his flaccid cock, tugging it to life. Remus squeezed his eyes
  shut and tried to push away the arousal slowly curling within him, but it
  snaked impossibly deep and undeniable through his body. "Your blood calls to
  me," the Dark Man whispered. "Your soul calls to me. Every cell of your body
  is wrapped up tight with mine, yearning for one more dark touch, one more
  excuse to bare your teeth and howl."
  "It's not true. I don't want to be bad."
  His voice was a hiss. "Don't lie to me, Remus. You love to be bad; you live
  to be bad. You live for the moments when the rage bubbles up from where I
  crouch deep within you, the lust spills forth from my wellspring. The rush of
  uncontrollable emotions is what keeps you going and you live for it."
  "I will learn to control it."
  "You'll never control it."
  "I will learn to move past it."
  "It's a part of you, blood and sweat and come and the kill." He tugged his
  cock hard, making Remus moan against his will, so sweetly.
  "I will... I will deny it."
  Tug again, then fingers stroked along the base. "Come now, sweet Remus," he
  murmured, lips against the delicate shell of Remus' ear. "You know you can't
  deny me."
  He folded his arms over his head, curling his body up tight. His eyes
  squeezed shut and shook his head. He wished Sirius were here. Sirius would
  know what to say. Sirius always knew what to say; Sirius could always cut
  through everything and find the truth nestled at the core.
  Sirius always could find the truth...
  "You could no more deny yourself."
  Sirius... Oh, no. Ooooh, no. Nonono it wasn't true it wasn't true it
  wasn'ttrueitwasn'ttrueit...
  It was true.
  Oh, God. It was true. Sirius was right. Sirius was always right.
  Oh, God.
  Like a jolt of light, like the bright sting of electricity, like the sudden
  rush of pieces fitting into place, Remus took a deep breath and let himself
  admit it. It was true. It was true. The Dark Man, who looked so like he
  remembered his Uncle Matthew, wasn't some ghost of his lycanthropy. He wasn't
  some specter brought about by the dark beast crouched within him. It all made
  sense: it's why the wounds he inflicted upon the Dark Man were echoed on his
  own skin. It's why he could never find anything about this no matter what
  book he read.
  He'd created the Dark Man. He'd given him power over him. He'd crafted him,
  molded him, taking the fear and uncontrollable emotion of his lycanthropy and
  making it something he could face down, an opponent he could fear and hate
  and blame. In a deep, basic way, he was the Dark Man.
  Which meant he was doing this to himself.
  He opened his mouth to say something--he wasn't sure what he could say that
  would exorcise his own demons--but before he could say anything, the hand
  around his prick and the pressure along his back were gone.
  Remus lay there, curled into a ball, for several long minutes. He listened to
  the slowly evened-out cadence of his breathing, listened to his calming
  heart-beat, listened to the castle settle around him. He strained to hear in
  the darkness, but all he could hear was the sounds of Hogwarts moving about
  him. There was Peeves singing as he moved down the hallway. There were
  paintings slipping into each others frames and whispering. There were
  children sneaking out of their beds. There were the nurses moving about the
  infirmary.
  The Dark Man made no sound. The Dark Man was gone. Perhaps not forever, but
  Remus would be ready for him if he ever came again. Remus would have words of
  protection prepared and would be ready to face him down.
  As he lay in bed, curled along beneath a mound of covers and staring out at
  the moon hanging above the trees, Remus swore that he would never let himself
  victimize himself again.
  =============================================================================
  "Let me come to you," Sirius whispered, fervent in the warm fastness of his
  bed. He'd woken minutes before, an ache growing inside him that threatened to
  swallow him whole. For the first time weeks, he'd felt the swell of arousal
  washing through his veins, a hunger not for release, exactly, but for skin.
  For his mate's skin on his, his mate's mouth fused to his. It was time, oh,
  it was past time, but still no word. No words at all.
  Only this pull, tides of cells and blood and ether, spun out from his heart,
  his belly, his cock, moon-silver tendrils connecting him to his beloved. Only
  this pull, and no words.
  =============================================================================
  It was nearing the full moon. Remus could feel it, days away, brushing
  against his consciousness every time he looked up from his books to see her
  sluggish and fat in the night sky. He tried to turn his back and focus on his
  Transfigurations homework. He tried to ignore the tug of the moon and focus
  on catching up with his school work. He tried closing his eyes tight and
  willing the tension in his body away.
  Remus dropped the quill and closed his hands into fists. He turned away from
  his school books, disgusted, and cast around the room, looking for something
  to keep his attention. Lying in chairs or corners were his possessions,
  slowly gathering there. He imaged that his chest up in Gryffindor tower was
  nearly empty now, toys and books slowly siphoned away by Poppy's generosity.
  She was willing to do anything for him as he remained an almost-prisoner here
  in this room, unable to attend classes, unable to see other students, unable
  to do anything but talk through the past with Dumbledore and stare wistfully
  out his window.
  Remus stood, hands shoving into his jeans pockets, and moved towards the
  window. He stepped gracefully around his viola where it lay abandoned and
  brushed against the sill. The moonlight was stronger without the bright glare
  of candles to compete with, cold against his face as he threw open the window
  and leaned outside.
  He could smell wood-smoke from the fire the grounds man, Hagrid, kept and
  field maples from the soft borders of the Forbidden Forest. He heard voices
  and saw a Quidditch team coming in from practice. It was too dark to see them
  as they walked in from the pitch, but as they grew closer to the castle and
  the lanterns wreathing the entranceway, Remus could see light reflecting off
  of round glasses.
  "James," he whispered. It had to have been his imagination, but it almost
  looked as if James looked up at this, brow creased, pausing before he was
  elbowed in the side and drawn towards the large wooden doors. "James," Remus
  said, louder, but he had already lost him.
  He sighed and leaned back from the window, then started when an old voice
  behind him said "You miss them."
  Remus didn't turn around. He didn't have to; he knew what he'd see: Albus
  Dumbledore in his white and blue robes, hands folded serenely over his beard.
  "Yeah," Remus said, looking out towards the Forest instead.
  "You should see them."
  Remus snorted. "I can't. I'm practically a prisoner here. The only time I can
  get out is to see you. Or," he added in a fit of honestly, "when I sneak out
  at night."
  Cloth rustled as Dumbledore moved towards the desk. There was the sound of a
  scroll being unrolled and an inkpot being moved. Remus turned, confused to
  see the quill Dumbledore offered him. "Write him," he said, expression
  serious. "Tell him to come to you."
  "What?"
  "You are no prisoner, Remus, except for in the prison you create for
  yourself. Write him."
  "But..." He shook his head, confused. He had thought... But Sirius...
  The headmaster turned and wrote something on the parchment, then stepped
  back. Scrawled there in a spidery hand were the words:
  "Dear Sirius,
  I was wrong to..."
  "You fill in the rest," he said, not unkindly, as he pressed the quill into
  Remus' hand and pushed him towards the desk. "I will deliver it myself when
  you are done."
  Remus slowly sank into the chair, staring at the words. The thought of seeing
  Sirius again, of stroking back his dark hair, of seeing those blue eyes made
  his heart ache. But what if Sirius was angry with him? What if Sirius didn't
  want to see him?
  "Professor, I..."
  "No, Remus. No. He isn't and he does. Now, write."
  Remus didn't ask how Dumbledore had known what he was thinking. Instead, he
  gripped the quill and bit his bottom lip, staring at the words scrawled
  there. He brought the quill tip to the parchment, imagining seeing Sirius
  again. He began to write.
  "Dear Sirius,
  I was wrong to think I could live even a day without you here with me. I was
  wrong to blame you for fears I had about myself..."
  =============================================================================
  "Someone ought to put that creature out of its misery," Peter said, glaring
  after the aged school owl who'd just thoughtfully deposited a letter in
  Sirius' mashed potatoes. "Oh, honestly, Peter, the poor thing can't help it,"
  James replied, laughing as Sirius extricated the missive and licked it clean
  of potatoes. "From your Da?" Sirius' eyes grew wide as he uncovered the
  handwriting. "No...not from Dad." He met James' eyes, and the knowledge was
  communicated: from Remus. Long, delicate, trembling fingers tore open the
  sealing wax. Dear Sirius,
  I was wrong to think I could live even a day without you... Quick, bright
  blue eyes scanned the words, noting the Headmaster's writing on the first few
  words, but just not giving a good goddamn. The intent was what mattered. His
  fingers crushed the fine parchment in a desperate grip, and he stood so fast
  he knocked his chair down, pelting out of the Great Hall to the stares of
  assembled students and teachers. The words he'd needed, more than food, more
  than air, had finally been said, and now his feet couldn't possibly be fleet
  enough to take him where he needed to be.
  =============================================================================
  Remus had never felt so nervous in his life.
  ~What if he doesn't forgive me?~ he worried, long-fingered hands wringing
  together. His light brown hair fell about his face, obscuring the flushed
  cheeks and just brushing the delicate wings of his collarbone as he took in a
  deep, steadying breath.
  He had taken hours to pen the letter to Sirius, quaking under Headmaster
  Dumbledore's kind but firm gaze. Every time he had laid the quill aside as if
  to stop, the old Professor was there, gently encircling his wrist with
  wrinkled fingers, making him pick it up and keep going. Remus knew that he
  could wrench away at any moment, but he had let Dumbledore guide him, making
  him continue. He wanted to continue. He wanted to write to Sirius and tell
  him how sorry he was, how lost he was, how he lay sleepless on his new bed
  all night and wondered what Sirius was doing on the other side of the castle.
  He wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.
  ~Oh, oh please let him forgive me.~
  He leaned back and drew his knees up, arms crisscrossing over his shins
  protectively. He had finally managed to pen his letter to Sirius, which had
  been delivered by Dumbledore himself, and now all there was left to do was
  wait and hope.
  Shaky breath. Shiver. Hair falling over eyes and blocking out the entire
  world. Creaking moan of time passing and oh, where was Sirius?
  ~He's not going to come.~ The thought slammed into him, shattering, and Remus
  gasped in a sharp breath and winced at the pain. Sirius wasn't going to come
  to him: he was too angry with him, too hurt.
  ~He has the right to be. The things I said to him... I would hate me too.
  But... But I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it.~
  tick tick tick
  breathe in. breathe out.
  He shivered as if cold, then rose and moved towards the window. It was a
  beautiful day outside, almost-summer, students swarming over the grounds and
  swimming in the lake. Remus caught sight of a dark figure skulking near a
  close copse of trees, and he waved half-heartedly in response to Severus
  Snape's sharp nod. Strange that Snape was out there, so far away from the
  others. There was nothing towards this side of the castle: just the
  infirmary. Was one of the Slytherins hurt? It was the only explanation Remus
  could think of for why Snape would be skulking so far from the herd.
  Remus wondered where Lucius was.
  He was about to lean out and call that question to Snape-- for he really was
  oddly close-- when a short, almost tentative knock on the door startled him.
  ~Sirius!~ He whirled, moving quickly away from the window, curiosity about
  Snape forgotten. His heart pounded within his chest, quick and oppressive as
  he stepped forward, one hand rising to touch his throat. "C-Come in?" His
  voice sounded strange, quaking, as if it were about to fly apart at the
  merest breath. ~Oh oh oh Sirius please.~
  The door slowly opened, creaking on its rusty hinges, and Sirius peeked
  inside, eyes wide and blue and seeming to swallow his face. "Hullo?"
  "Sirius." The name came out on a breath, gusting from his lips as Remus took
  yet another step forward, hands moving behind his back to clench one over the
  other. "I... hi."
  "Hey." Sirius stepped the rest of the way inside and quietly shut the door
  behind him. He looked tired, Remus noted, and thin, as if his body had been
  stretched too tightly until he threatened to wear clear through the middle.
  He was sure that if you held a candle up behind him, the light would pass
  through the transparency of his bones.
  He knew the feeling.
  "Um." He was sure that he had known what to say just moments ago: he had
  practiced it for a week, forming the words and the apology until it had
  become easy and rehearsed. But now, looking up at Sirius through the fringe
  of his bangs, he couldn't remember a single word. "I... Siri..."
  "Remus."
  It was painful, the silence. Painful and wrong. Things weren't like this
  between them. He could count the beats of his heart and Sirius' heart and
  someone had to speak to break this silence.
  "I'm sorry," they said as one, voices low and warm and high and sweet,
  melding together. Remus laughed nervously and Sirius joined in, ducking his
  head to look up at him through his lashes. He was wearing his Clash shirt,
  the one with holes along the shoulders and looked taller and gawkier than
  Remus remembered him.
  That new strangeness gave Remus strength. "Sirius," he said, taking a step
  forward. Those blue eyes, tentative and anxious slid over him greedily.
  "Remus?"
  "I'm sorry."
  "No, I'm sorry!" Sirius moved a step forward, earnest, his too-large hands
  clasped together. "I didn't mean it, really. I shouldn't have said anything;
  I was wrong."
  "Sirius." He moved forward again. Soon, they would be touching. "You were r-
  right. I've been talking to Professor Dumbledore and he's been showing me,
  helping me. And... and you were right. Besides," he added, taking two steps
  now, drawn by Sirius' huge, hopeful eyes, "even if you weren't, you thought
  you were helping."
  "Yes, Remus, I didn't want to hurt you."
  "I know." Another step. Another. He could reach out and brush his fingers
  across the arch of the other boy's cheekbones if he wanted. "I know, you did
  it because you loved me."
  "Love." The use of the present tense was vehement. I love you."
  "You love me. And I love you." Awkwardly and a bit shyly, Remus opened his
  arms. "So.. forgive me, please?"
  "Oooooh, YES!" Sirius launched himself into Remus' arms, knocking his lover
  back a step. He wrapped himself around Remus, face shoving against the arch
  of his neck and breathing in his scent deeply. "Yes, yes, yes! Oh, God,
  Remus, I missed you soo much."
  Remus laugh-sobbed, pressing his nose against Sirius' silken black hair.
  "It's felt so alien without you here with me. It was so wrong."
  "I thought you hated me. I thought you'd never want to see me again." He
  wriggled like a puppy, pushing closer, trying to meld their bodies together.
  Remus tugged him back, pulling him towards the huge gold-hung bed. All he
  wanted was to lay back and curl around Sirius again. His dreams had been so
  lifeless without the warm weight of his lover.
  "I couldn't hate you." He lay back, pulling Sirius against him. Sirius had
  grown taller and thinner, too. The sharp jab of his hipbone would have been
  painful if he weren't so desperately grateful for it. "I tried. I wanted to
  hate you for a little while, but I couldn't. You're..." he searched for
  words, fingers stroking through his hair, carding it, tugging it. He couldn't
  get enough of touching him. He wanted to slide him open and push inside,
  pulling his skin and flesh around him like a sleeping bag.
  "James told me that, but I was scared."
  "Me too, but it's ok now. I'm ok now and you're ok now and we're ok now."
  Sirius sniffled. "Promise?" he said, looking up. He still looked so
  vulnerable, but the Sirius Remus knew, the iron-strong brilliant curious
  Sirius was peeking out.
  "Really."
  "Good." He reached up to touch Remus' hair then leaned in. He paused,
  faltering when his mouth was a mere breath away. Remus licked his lips and
  made a low, inquiring noise, lashes flickering as his eyes brushed closed,
  then open again. Sirius was looking deep into his eyes as if reading him,
  plumbing his consciousness. Suddenly he grinned, eyes brightening, and leaned
  in to press their lips together.
  Ooooh, this was what he had wanted. This was what he had been needing so
  badly. Remus let his mouth fall open just a little, just enough to encourage
  Sirius to open his own mouth. He flickered out his tongue, lapping out to
  taste the sweetness. He shivered as arms wrapped tighter around him, a warm
  body pressing closer, and he had to struggle to fight back tears. He had
  cried too much over the last weeks, curled in his chair or against Dumbledore
  as he talked about his anger, his fear, being touched in the dark and the
  scalding hot of knowledge seeping into his youth and breaking it. So young
  and knowing so much; he was no monster, but he was something darker than he
  should ever have been.
  A child knowing nothing of innocence.
  ~I don't need innocence.~ His tongue touched Sirius', slicked against it,
  tasting him, swallowing him down. ~I have Sirius.~
  He broke the kiss with a laugh, chuckling at his own wild, besotted fancy.
  "Hmmm?" Sirius was grinning in response to his laughter, seemingly unable to
  not react.
  "Just... happy." He nuzzled closer; with each passing minute, the tension was
  seeping away. He knew it would take awhile before they were back to how they
  had been, but he also knew that it would happen.
  "Mmm, good."
  They lay curled around each other in silence, fingers petting, stroking,
  reassuring themselves that this was not going to fade away. Remus drew a deep
  breath, smelling Sirius' blend of salt air and the hidden undercurrent of
  violet and let himself sink down, trusting. Comfortable.
  Excited.
  Deep in his belly, the awareness of Sirius grew, blossoming brightly. He
  twisted, closing his eyes against the growing pressure between his legs,
  trying to push it away. This wasn't the time.... He didn't want his body to
  react....
  But, gods, Sirius was so close, so sweet, and all Remus could think of was
  touching his bare skin, that delicious expanse of pale flesh.
  ~Wanting this is wrong,~ he reminded himself, but the words rang hollow.
  Before everything had happened, he may have believed that, may have talked
  himself into the familiar mantra of guilt. He had done this to Sirius, had
  let him know the dirty, disgusting lust that made his penis lengthen and
  harden and demand wicked adult things.
  "No," he whispered, shaking his head. He had whispered his fornications to
  Professor Dumbledore and had flushed when the older man had laughed. "There's
  nothing to be ashamed of in love, Remus" he had said gently. "There is
  nothing unusual in lust, even at your age. Especially at your age."
  Maybe he was right. But... could he? Could he touch Sirius like that, be
  touched like that, and not feel the sudden ripping fear?
  "Remus?" Sirius looked up, touching his face.
  Remus squirmed, deciding. His heart was pounding thunderously in his ears.
  "Sirius," he said, biting his lower lip. What could he say? Do you want to
  make out? Do you want to let me touch you? I was thinking about my neurotic
  fear of sexual contact and its twin desperate need for it, both born from my
  uncle's scarred hands and oh yeah, I thought maybe now would be a good time
  to explore my sexuality without fear?
  "Remus?" So gentle. So loving and trusting. It almost hurt to be loved so
  completely.
  "Do you want to take a bath?"
  =============================================================================
  ~Do I want a bath?~
  "What?!" Sirius shook his head in confusion. Of all the questions Remus could
  have asked, that was roughly at the bottom of the ones he could have
  foreseen.
  "It's just that I have this tub and it's amazing and I just...never mind."
  Remus flushed.
  "No! No, that sounds wonderful. I would love to take a bath." Sirius shifted
  uncomfortably. "Do you mean together?"
  "Sure, why not?" There was an almost giddy light in Remus' eyes, like he knew
  he was throwing caution to the wind.
  "If that's what you want, love." Sirius slid off the bed in a sinuous glide
  and padded into the adjoining bathing chamber, whistling in appreciation of
  its luxury. The tub was indeed amazing: a huge oval sunk deep in the marble
  floor, easily big enough for two. Or ten. He started the water running and
  laughed when Remus leaned in beside him and tapped a panel to the side of the
  hot water handle, causing iridescent bubbles to erupt into the tub.
  "There. Perfect." Remus started to undress, and Sirius turned away and did
  the same, cock hardening against his will as he saw his mate behind him in
  his mind's eye, remembering how beautiful he'd been by the lake. ~So sweet,
  but too dearly bought.~
  He didn't turn back to the tub until he heard Remus slip into the water.
  Acutely aware of both his nakedness and his arousal Sirius entered the tub at
  the opposite end, keeping as much distance between himself and Remus as
  possible. It seemed only prudent, after all, considering the weird fragility
  that lay between them still. ~Don't push him.~ For two years, ever since he
  was 12, it had been a perfectly acceptable mantra. Sirius supposed it would
  just have to do for awhile longer.
  Sirius sighed and leaned back against the rim of the tub, stretching his
  lanky body out in the buoying water, feeling it working at the tension that
  was so familiar he'd forgotten it wasn't normal. "You know, I think James and
  Peter are at the end of their rope with me."
  "Bad, were you?"
  "A colossal pain in the arse, pretty much. They deserve sainthood." He let
  himself slide down to wet his hair, slicking it back from his face in a heavy
  mass of black silk. "But, well, I'm still here. And you're still here. And I
  think we're going to be all right." Sirius tried to make it sound just that
  simple.
  "I think so too. I want us to be." Remus was silent for awhile, looking
  earnest and awkward, as if there were something he was dying to say. Finally,
  he broke the silence with: "I read an amazing book. I think you'd like it.
  It's Muggle."
  "Mmm...what's it called?" Sirius was languid, sleepy and content. Without
  thinking he slid closer to Remus.
  "Catcher in the Rye. Pomfrey gave it to me. She was tired of me reading old
  X-Men comics and rotting my brain." Remus smiled slowly.
  "Hey now!" Sirius spluttered half-heartedly. "Comics don't rot your brain!
  Look at me!"
  "Mmmm...yes. You're the picture of mental discipline."
  "Just because I'm unconventional..."
  "Eccentric."
  "...and like to think beyond the merely 'normal'..."
  "Freak."
  Sirius sighed. "I know."
  "My freak."
  Sirius beamed. "Woof."
  Remus scooted around the edge of the tub until their sides were touching.
  "Arf." He leaned in and licked Sirius' cheek, provoking a giggle and a short
  bark. "We are freaks."
  "I was wondering when you'd remember the 'we' part. Grrrrr." Sirius snapped
  his teeth at Remus' nose.
  The answering growl was only part playacting, a deep, sensuous rumble that
  vibrated through Sirius' bones and settled in his cock. Sirius lifted half-
  lidded eyes and looked at Remus, torn between pleading for touch and being
  terrified of the consequences. His response was a little whimpering whine,
  eyes widening when Remus gave him a considering look then dipped down under
  the water. ~What...~
  Remus popped back up a second later, hair wet, and reached past Sirius for
  the shampoo. He seemed a bit flustered, and Sirius recognized the expression
  that darkened his lover's face: he was arguing with himself.
  But over what?
  Remus washed his hair quickly, then rinsed. He turned to look at Sirius and
  offered a somewhat sheepish smile at his lover's look.
  ~That wasn't what you wanted.~
  Remus cleared his throat and waved the bottle of shampoo at him. "Would you
  like me to wash yours?" He looked endearingly hopeful.
  "Sure!" Sirius grinned and turned his back to Remus, nudging back between his
  legs. Soapy hands combed through the heavy strands, working the shampoo in
  deep, rubbing at his scalp and neck. It was not exactly relaxing. In his
  current state, in fact, it was far from soothing. He squirmed against Remus,
  freezing when the small of his back came into contact with his mate's
  erection. "Sorry," he murmured, scooting up just a little, still close but
  not touching. "I didn't mean..."
  "It's all right." Remus smiled gently when he turned his head around to look
  at him. Sirius was surprised at how serene he seemed. Before, he would have
  blushed or turned away, ashamed, but now he looked almost... hopeful? "You'd
  better rinse," Remus added.
  Sirius ducked his head and washed his head clean of shampoo, then moved back
  to sit beside Remus. Their sides brushed, naked skin against naked skin, and
  Sirius bit his lip. "Remus..." he began. "You said that it...bothers...you
  when I touch you." Remus flushed and Sirius cursed mentally. ~You'd think I
  would've learned to keep my mouth shut.~
  Remus looked away across the room, eyes a little unfocused. "Not 'bothers'
  really...I mean, I like it when you...it's just scary."
  Sirius' face fell just a little, but he didn't think Remus noticed,
  considering he was studying a particularly intriguing square of tile. "But
  you're okay when you touch me?"
  "Yes. It's not so hard then."
  "Do you want to touch me?"
  "You know I do."
  Sirius took a deep breath and stretched long arms along the rim of the tub,
  fingers gripping the slick marble as tightly as possible. "So touch me. I
  won't touch you, unless you ask me to."
  Remus blinked. "What was that about kinky?"
  Sirius' grin was almost wolfish. "Whatever it takes."
  "Well." And here, Sirius thought, would come the refusal, the withdrawal.
  "Okay."
  Sirius blinked, then grinned brighter, squirming a bit. "Okay."
  Remus laughed, blushing, and reached up to touch Sirius' face. His fingers
  slid across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, caressing up into his
  hair. "I love your hair," he murmured, voice thick. He was close and warm,
  the brush of his body and--oh God--his cock making Sirius shiver in ever-
  heightening arousal.
  "Mmm?"
  "Yes. It's not blue-black, like in all the gothic stories, but deeper,
  darker. More beautiful. I love the way it feels in my hands." His fingers
  gripped and tugged, pulling Sirius' head back, exposing his neck.
  There was a breathless moment and silence between them. Remus drew in a deep,
  ragged breath and Sirius held his body tight, not allowing himself to thrust
  up like he wanted to--like he needed to.
  "Oh," Remus breathed, and the sweetness was gone, replaced by want by need.
  His fingers slid of out Sirius' hair, but he was shaking, hands creeping
  forward as if he were dying to touch, to caress, to tease Sirius' skin.
  Sirius arched up, aching. "Touch me, Remus. Please, touch me anywhere." He
  shifted, drawing in a ragged breath which caught in his throat at the bright,
  feral sheen in Remus' eyes.
  "Anywhere?" Remus' eyes glimmered wickedly.
  "Anywhere." Sirius' muscles flexed as he gripped tighter still and stretched
  himself out in offering, head tilted willingly back to expose his neck.
  Remus snarled, square, strong hand darting straight to Sirius' cock and
  wrapping around its length. Sirius cried out in surprise, arching into the
  rough grip and shuddering. His mate stroked the weeping flesh once, twice,
  with a punishing rhythm before gentling. He swept his fingers up and down
  teasingly, watching Sirius' face as he reacted. It was obvious Sirius was
  trying to keep some measure of control, some presence of mind so that he held
  to his bargain.
  ~It's funny--the one thing I want more than anything right now is the one
  thing I said I wouldn't do. I'm such a perverse bastard.~
  He gave up on gripping the slick, unyielding marble, and curled his fists
  into tight little balls, nails digging into his palms. The slow, sweet tease
  was pure agony, and the pattern of stroke, stroke, followed by a pinch to the
  exposed head was excruciating, but when Remus bent to take his nipples in his
  teeth, Sirius' universe suddenly centered in the tight, tight circuit of need
  running between his cock and the painfully hard little nubs. There was
  sobbing and begging, and Sirius scarcely recognized his own voice.
  Finally, Remus pulled away hands and teeth and studied what he had wrought.
  Sirius' face was flushed, his head whipping restlessly from side to side,
  hips pumping his aching erection into the water in a vain search for release.
  Sirius felt like an animal, unable to speak but to beg for more.
  Remus slid into his lap, crushing his cock against Sirius' and undulating in
  a serpentine wave, provoking a deep, wrenching moan.
  "Kiss...please kiss me," Sirius pleaded, hands white-knuckled, the barest
  scent of blood tantalizing Remus where nails had cut his palms. He moaned his
  thanks when his lover's mouth covered his, tongue licking past teeth to delve
  deep and demanding. Sirius just opened for him, letting Remus explore his
  mouth, ravage its hot depths with his single-minded, almost bestial
  concentration, the insistent rhythm of his hips driving their cocks together.
  ~Oh, want him in my arms, where he belongs.~ Sirius' lissome body writhed, no
  matter how firmly he told himself to be still.
  "Sirius..." Remus was panting harshly, eyes glowing copper bright. "Hold me.
  God, please, hold me so tight."
  Long arms wrapped around him faster than thought, bringing their bodies
  together until they were completely fused, mouth to chest to cock, blindly
  thrusting together. Sirius fell first, convulsing and almost bucking Remus
  off him, the fury of his climax leaving him shuddering even as Remus followed
  after, the feeling of his mate's hot seed against his cock too much. He made
  a low, growling, sad-sweet little noise and burrowed his face in Sirius'
  neck, licking and nuzzling. For long moments they lay that way, breathing in
  unison, heedless as the water grew cool around them.
  Finally Sirius forced his eyes open a sliver. "See? You can trust yourself."
  "Hmm...but you were such a temptation." Remus smiled against his chest.
  "But not scary?" Sirius sounded so sweetly hopeful.
  "No, not scary in the slightest."
  He grinned in response. "I love you."
  "And I love you." Remus nuzzled the side of his face.
  "I...I should get dressed. It's almost time for lights out." Sirius cradled
  Remus' head gently.
  "Um. You could stay. With me. If you wanted to."
  "Really?" Sirius' arms tightened.
  "Yes. I can't stand sleeping without you. It's just wrong."
  "I know. I haven't really slept in weeks."
  "Then it's settled. Come on, let's get dried off and see if the house-elves
  can bring us some food. I missed dinner." Remus stood and stepped out of the
  tub, toweling off briefly before handing Sirius the spare towel. Sirius
  perched on the edge of the tub and shook out his hair like a dog, woofing at
  Remus as he splattered his newly-dried skin with water droplets. Remus howled
  in mock outrage and snapped the tail end of his damp towel into Sirius'
  belly. Sirius whined and scampered over, shoving his face into Remus' legs.
  Giggling, he climbed to his feet and finished drying off, leading Remus back
  to the bed.
  "Erm." They noted the lovely place setting for two set up on a small table by
  the bed, complete with a hearty dinner. "They don't...watch or anything, do
  they?"
  Remus laughed. "No, but I bet we're all the gossip down in the kitchens right
  now."
  "Yeah, I'm sure they've seen worse than us playing in the tub." Sirius
  crawled into bed naked and still just a bit damp, relishing the feeling of
  the soft sheets against his clean skin. Remus joined him, and they feasted
  slowly, trading bites and catching up, filling in the blanks of the past two
  weeks. When the food was gone, and the hour grown late, they curled up
  tightly and slept, tangled and happy, kissing even as darkness overtook them.
  =============================================================================
  Remus and Sirius drifted through sleep together for several hours, clenched
  together tight. They were curled like two spoons, bare bodies sticky with
  sweat. Sirius' hand was fisted in Remus' hair and Remus' face was pressed to
  Sirius' neck, lips brushing the soft skin as he sighed and slowly surfaced
  from sleep.
  He stretched in Sirius' arms and opened his eyes. He wasn't at all surprised
  to see that the elves had come in at some point in the night to clear away
  the dishes but he was surprised to see that it was still very early in the
  morning, perhaps well before sunrise. He felt oddly rested despite the hour.
  Smiling, Remus nuzzled back down against Sirius, heart pounding at the low,
  sweet noise his lover made. It rocked through his body, tugging at his heart
  and going all the way to his toes.
  God, he loved him. He loved him and needed him.
  Remus tugged Sirius closer and kissed his neck. He wanted to curl inside of
  the other boy and pull him around his shoulders, warm and comforting. He
  wanted to bite at his neck and slide his thigh between his legs. He wanted to
  mate with him and end the deep ache beneath his breastbone.
  He shifted and drew in a breath. The idea was beautiful, intoxicating and not
  just a little arousing. He shifted again and Sirius made a low noise, lifting
  his head to blink blearily at him.
  "Mmph," he said, nuzzling.
  Remus smiled and stroked his hair, urging his head down again. It felt so
  right to have him here. He had been so lost without him.
  "What are you thinking?" Sirius' voice was small in the morning darkness.
  It was strange and silly that he still had a moment of doubt. Ridiculous. He
  could tell Sirius anything. "I was thinking," he began.
  "Mmm?"
  "Of sex stuff." His skin was blushed bright, but Sirius was shifting, perking
  up.
  "What about it?" he asked, leaning in to kiss Remus' forehead. His lips were
  soft and giving against his skin.
  Remus laughed at his own shyness. This was Sirius. He could always say
  anything to Sirius. And, after the bath together, he knew he could say
  anything sexual as well. "I was thinking about sex and what kinds of things,
  you know, turn you on."
  Sirius purred, hips wriggling just a bit. "Oooh...that could take a long time
  to answer," he said. "When I masturbate, I have all sorts of fantasies about
  you."
  "Tell me some of them?" Remus stroked Sirius' long, black hair, fingers
  tangling in its darkness.
  Sirius bit his bottom lip; now it was his turn to blush. "Well...I love to
  imagine us in the woods, with the moon nearly full. I run from you, as fast
  as I can, but you always catch me. And when you do, you shove me face first
  in the leaves and dirt and rake your nails down my back and fuck me until I
  SCREAM."
  ~Oh, God.~ Remus stroked down Sirius' neck, fingers gliding across his
  shoulders and chest. He lightly brushed a nipple, almost by accident, and
  shivered with Sirius. "Wouldn't that hurt?" he breathed.
  "Oooh yes, gloriously." Sirius purred and arched into the touch, whimpering.
  "Perfectly."
  Remus blinked, then rose up onto his arm. He stared down at Sirius, hazel
  eyes wide. "You want me to hurt you?" he asked, incredulous. He'd never
  really considered that Sirius wanted to be pushed down and dominated. He'd
  never thought anyone could want him when he was drawn into the wolf's need.
  "Not all the time," he clarified. "I like the thought of slow, sweet fucking
  too. But yes. Most assuredly, definitively YES." Sirius arched up, eyes wide
  and dilated and oh, oh he was getting hard from this, cock firming between
  his legs, unfettered by cloth or inhibitions. He continued, aware of Remus'
  darkening eyes and quickening breath, "I want growling and panting and snarls
  and blood and come..."
  "Oooh," Remus shuddered. His cock ached between his legs, thick and hard and
  demanding his attention. He had to fight not to rub it against Sirius' slim
  thigh or hump it against his knee: he wanted more than that. "You want to be
  pounded into the mattress?" He rose up and flung his thigh over Sirius' trim
  hips, straddling him easily. Sirius' prick pushed against his ass and Remus
  rode back, rubbing hard against it, wringing a startled mewl from his lover.
  He grabbed at Sirius' wrists, spreading the other boy open and vulnerable
  beneath him. "You want to be like this?," he panted. "Is this how you imagine
  it, Sirius?"
  "YES, oh yes, Remus. I want you to be YOU. If you're feeling tender..." He
  whimpered, words ending on a low cry.
  "And if I'm not?"
  "God, YES, PLEASE." He writhed, bucking up, trying so desperately to press
  their erections together. "When you're ready...yes, I want you like this. Or
  draped over my back, or grabbing my hips and bruising them as I ride you...
  Remus, God."
  Remus moaned and shifted, arching his hips then wriggling down until their
  cocks were pressed tight together. He and Sirius cried out together,
  shuddering at the sensation, then cried out again when Remus thrust, rocking
  their pricks together. "How about this? Do you like this?" His breath came in
  quick pants.
  Sirius wriggled, legs moving, drawing up Remus' thighs to circle at the small
  of his back, ankles locking. He moved with the quick, rocking motion, mouth
  glistening and eyes bright with need. "I fucking l-love this, Remus."
  Remus drew in a ragged breath and let go of Sirius' wrists. Instead, he
  cradled his lover's face and brought their lips together, gentle and giving.
  The very tip of his tongue teased against Sirius' mouth and he had to bite
  back a laugh at how eagerly Sirius opened beneath him, heels digging into his
  back and tongue darting out to claim his. Remus growled into Sirius' mouth
  and Sirius returned the growl, arms going around his neck and nails digging
  into his shoulders. His cock jerked slickly against Remus', precome making
  their lower bodies slide messily against each other.
  Sirius wrapped his fingers in Remus' hair and pulled his head up to murmur
  hotly into his mouth "Feel this? Feel how hard I am for you?" He jabbed his
  erection up, hissing when Remus' prick jerked roughly.
  "Yes!" Remus moaned. "Yes, feel it against my own hard cock." He fought to
  break free from Sirius' grip and claim his mouth again. "Driving me insane."
  His hands made a rough trip down Sirius' body even as Sirius let go of his
  hair and gripped his ass, nails raking lightly over the pale curve. Remus
  snarled and dug his fingers into Sirius' hips, nuzzling forward to run his
  lips along the arch of his neck, teeth grazing.
  The taste of Sirius' flesh was too tempting, the sweet curve of his neck and
  shoulder too much for Remus. His nails bit in hard as he growled and sucked
  on the pale flesh, drawing it into his mouth then biting hard, barely keeping
  himself from breaking the skin.
  Sirius' reaction was immediate. His lithe hips shot up violently, nails
  digging red furrows in Remus' ass where he'd been grabbing him, urging him
  closer, harder, rougher. A long, guttural cry ripped from his throat as he
  thrashed, utterly lost, bursts of precome making them slide against each
  other as Remus bit and bit and bit, leaving deep red marks on the tender arch
  of his neck. They were completely lost in one another, arousal complete and
  consuming as they thrust helplessly together, straining for completion, one
  in the other...
  It was then that Remus stiffened, eyes wide, and turned his head. His face
  was transfixed, staring at where the moonlight hit the floorboards, body
  stiff. He was shaking hard, shoulders quaking, making a low noise in the back
  of his throat. Sirius smoothed his palms up Remus' back, confused for a
  moment, arousal-befuddled brain able to piece it all together sluggishly as
  Remus made a low noise and didn't--couldn't--look away. It was only when
  Remus drew in a low sob that Sirius snapped out of the haze of need and put
  it all together.
  The Dark Man was here.
  Sirius reached up to grip Remus' face, drawing it back toward him. "Don't you
  fucking dare stop, Remus," he hissed. "Don't give him that. You're giving me
  what I NEED. What WE need." He paused until Remus was focusing, until Remus
  was looking at him. "Yes?" He added.
  Remus' eyes slowly lost their glassiness and he shook himself out.
  "Sirius..."
  Sirius stroked back his sweaty golden hair. "Remus, please...be here with
  me." He shivered with Remus. "Please."
  Remus slowly leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. His eyes were
  squeezed shut tight but his body was slowly uncoiling, knots loosening. "You
  were right," he whispered, voice trapped between their clinging bodies.
  Sirius made an quelling noise, but Remus continued. "No, you were right,
  Sirius. He's not real. He's not there." He shuddered. "I'm imagining him."
  "He has no power." His voice was clear and filled with conviction.
  "Not unless I give it to him. It's just so hard, Sirius."
  "I know, but you listen to me, Remus." Sirius firmly gripped his head, making
  sure he was paying attention. His legs were still wrapped tight around Remus'
  waist, pressed into his lower back. "I love YOU. I love the wolf IN you. I
  love everything about you, no matter how feral, no matter how wild. YOU are
  my mate."
  "I love you too, Sirius. Oh, so much." He shook his head, nuzzling against
  his lover. "I learned something very important, Sirius, because of you and
  Professor Dumbledore. The Dark Man's not real, but you are. I am. We are
  real, and that's what matters."
  "My brave, beautiful wolf," Sirius whispered, legs tightening around his
  boyfriend.
  Remus renewed his thrusts, slowly driving into Sirius. Sirius gave a low,
  broken moan of pure arousal as he moved with Remus, not quickly but
  feverishly, sweaty and raw and heartbreakingly open.
  "Love you. Want you," Remus panted. His erection moved against Sirius', deep
  and aching and so-so sweet. Their bodies strained one toward the other, hands
  clenching desperately. His mouth met Sirius', kisses deep and sweet and
  vulnerable. He reached between them and wrapped his hand around both their
  cocks, stroking them together. He poured everything he was into this, into
  finding pleasure for the both of them, hand moving around their joined cocks
  harder and harder and faster and faster until all that existed was him and
  Sirius and this building pressure between them. They panted, arched together,
  clinging desperately.
  With a howl, Remus came. Hot seed spilled over his hand and Sirius' cock and
  within moments Sirius was coming as well, thrashing as if he were about to
  fly apart, keening Remus' name. Their nails dug into each others skin as they
  panted and collapsed together, Remus atop Sirius.
  Remus pressed his face into Sirius' bruised and bitten neck and drew in a
  deep breath. He wasn't sure when the Dark Man had gone, but now he didn't
  feel him at all. ~I don't need some symbol to represent my lycanthropy. I
  don't have to excuse my darkness: Sirius loves my darkness. He loves me.~
  And that was all that really mattered.
  "MINE," Sirius murmured, clutching Remus to him.
  "Yours," he said with conviction. "And mine." He lay there atop of Sirius for
  several long minutes, heartbeat slowing, come cooling. Finally, he yawned and
  rolled next to Sirius, stretching. "Good Lord, I am tired. Having sex and
  defying a childhood demon sure wallops you."
  Having sex. With his lover. With Sirius. It was all so new and so perfect.
  Sirius gave a low laugh. "Sleepy time. Definitely."
  Remus rubbed at his belly. "Sticky. Wash cloth?" Before Sirius could reply,
  Remus reached out a hand and said clearly "Accio washcloths!" Because he was
  expecting it to some extent, Remus managed to duck behind Sirius as several
  damp washcloths came whizzing into the room. They hurtled towards the bed and
  smacked into Sirius' face and chest with a resounding slap.
  "Eeep!" Sirius squealed, voice pitched higher than a girl's.
  Remus laughed. "Whups," he said.
  Sirius made a face at him. "Couldn't I lick you clean instead?" he said,
  grumpily, thwapping Remus with a washcloth.
  Remus spread back, arms behind his head. He had lost a lot of weight and his
  ribs poked out against his pale skin, but he still looked beautiful to
  Sirius. "Oh, if you insist," he said with a grin.
  Sirius beamed and moved to straddle Remus. He leaned in, long ends of his
  hair trailing in the sticky pools of come, and laved his tongue over Remus'
  belly.
  "Oooh," Remus said, shivering. "You're going to get me turned on again."
  Sirius look up with a grin and his entire face was transfixed with the joy of
  them together. "What a tragedy," he said with mock concern, then leaned down
  and blissfully continued his work.
  =============================================================================
  "There's the station!" Peter called out, pale face pressed against the
  window. James perked up, one hand running through his messy hair, but Sirius
  moaned and burrowed closer to Remus' warm body.
  "So soon?" he said, arching when Remus tightened his arms around him.
  James shook his head, laughing. "You two have to be the only ones at this
  school not eager for summer holiday."
  "I'm not eager." Peter said, flopping back down in his seat. "Mum's
  threatened to send me to camp this year."
  "Camp's not so bad, Pete. This one time, at Quidditch camp..."
  "A fat camp." He plucked at the shirt hugging his chubby frame.
  James blinked. "Oh. Well. In that case, mate, I suggest you stage an
  uprising. Fight for fat kid rights."
  "You could come home with me," Remus said, smiling. "We'd have great fun
  shackled in the basement together."
  James hooted and Sirius laughed. "Shackled with you?" Peter said, wrinkling
  his nose. "No thank you--I'd rather run laps with the fat kids and sneak
  cupcakes in through hollowed out books."
  Sirius kissed Remus' jaw. "I wouldn't mind being shackled with you," he
  teased, leering cutely.
  "Woof!"
  James shook his head, trying to look disgusted but unable to hide his grin.
  "You two are gross. If you're going to talk kinky sex, you should get your
  own damn train compartment."
  "But Jaaaaamie," Sirius purred, standing as the train drew to a stop. "I
  thought you were my best friend. Don't you want to hear about hot oils and
  whips and paddles and spanking and cat of nine tails and canes and... uh..."
  "Nipple clamps," Remus offered.
  "And nipple clamps."
  "And quirts."
  "And quirts."
  "And rug beaters."
  "And rug beaters.
  "And the seven gates of hell!!" Peter offered and all three boys turned to
  stare at him. "Never mind," he added, quickly busying himself with gathering
  his things.
  "So, what are you two going to do this summer?" James asked as they left the
  train. The station at 9 and was a mass of students and parents, the air
  filled with called greetings and the squawking of owls. Sirius caught his
  father's eye across the bustling crowd and waved eagerly.
  "Dad and I are thinking of going on a trip," Sirius said as Artemis
  approached. "He's been wanting to go to Greece for a long time."
  "And you, Remus?" James waved to a friend.
  "Oh, I don't know, probably just stay around the house." Remus shifted
  uncomfortably, then turned to look at Sirius. "Maybe I can talk my mum into
  letting me stay at your house for a bit."
  Sirius grinned brilliantly. "Really? Oh, I hope so. Summers are so long."
  "Yes." Remus looked around quickly, then leaned in to kiss Sirius' cheek.
  "And I was thinking..." he said as his lips brushed up against the delicate
  curve of Sirius' ear.
  "Hmmm?" He purred, arching towards his lover's warmth.
  "Maybe when I see you next, I could give you a blowjob."
  ~Oh, no fair: now I have to go home hard.~ "Only if I could return the
  favor," Sirius replied, huskily.
  "I'm counting on it." He leaned back, eyes locked with Sirius' and Sirius
  shivered. Their words were light, almost teasing, but something was passing
  between them. A pact. An understanding. Remus was still struggling, but it
  seemed as if, finally, he was beginning to find his way. And Sirius intended
  to be there to guide him.
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