My Brother's Keeper

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I was always my brother’s keeper.

Perhaps I was egotistical. Perhaps I was vain. Perhaps that’s why no one liked me. But he was beautiful. He was my image, my reflection in the moonlit water, my doppelganger, a strange ghost of me, and I of him. I was what he would have been if he had not been bitten, and he is what I would have been had I not been tamed. I wasn’t whole without him.

And now here I stand on the steps of my cabin at the edge of the woods in Hogsmeade, with his lover in my arms, a late summer storm brewing around us. Sirius is thin, and he looks tired, and he carries a message from Dumbledore, but his only concern at the moment seems to be how much he has missed me. How much he has missed Remus.

---

One evening in autumn, our seventh year, I took a walk around the grounds of the school, my feet crunching on the fallen leaves that inundated the soft grass, and the chill wind combing through my hair. There was a copse of trees behind the groundskeeper’s cabin that was separate from the rest of the forest, and so not off-limits per se, and in the centre of the paper-white birches no wider than a man’s arm, there was a huge old oak that had been struck by lightening, years and years ago, and was hollow inside. It was large enough for he and I to climb inside and sit, staring out into the woods, and study or read or just exist.

My feet carried me almost unconsciously to that tree, and when I circled around to the side hidden from view of the cabin and the castle, the side that had split and offered access to the womblike cavern within, I discovered something.

He sat there, within the tree, unaware of my presence, both hands twined with Sirius Black’s, their lips brushing innocently, almost chastely.

I was jealous. It’s terribly stupid, but I was jealous. He was mine, long before he was ever his and he would remain mine long after this little fling was over, and it infuriated me to the deepest core of my heart that he would waste any of his energy on someone who was not his. And he had brought the interloper to our place.

And it was another boy. A girl, that would have been all right. We had both had our share of girlfriends, and that had never bothered either of us. A girl couldn’t take my place, a girl would have had her own meaning to him, her own distinct new niche, but Sirius was too close to what I was, and he could get too close to what I was to him.

I stood, silent, watching them for awhile. They kept kissing, never passionately, just as though they were truly enjoying one another’s presence. They would occasionally pull apart and look at each other for a moment, and then resume the kiss.

I turned on my heel and ran away, back to the dormitory, where I curled up in our bed, waiting for him.

---

He pulls me closer, and before I can shy away, his lips are on mine, his skeletal hands are roaming the planes of my back, and his hips are pressed against mine. Not even twenty years could erase the memory of another cock pressed to mine, it seems, though his slowly hardening length does not stir my own, as my brother’s always did.

---

When we first came to Hogwarts, the transformations were terrible. We had never been apart on a full moon night before. I knew he was no danger to me, but they insisted on separating us. He would return to me exhausted, torn and bloodied, and his skin still bore scars from those days. I used to strip off my pyjamas and crawl into his bed with him in the mornings after Madame Pomfrey had gotten him settled, and my small, smooth hands would trace the wounds, of their own accord, the way a child’s hands must trace anything foreign. He would sleep, and I would watch over him.

It is a habit we were never broken of.

We couldn’t help but sleep wrapped up together. Anything else would have been unnatural. The fifth bed in the seventh-year Gryffindor dorm went unused, just as the second bed in our bedroom at home went unused.

That morning, he stirred, turning in my arms to face me. His hand moved automatically to scratch a small but irritating itch on my hip, and his fingers lingered there, gripping at the curve of my hipbone simply because it was there. His skin was icy-cold under my hands. I could feel our pulse, though, strong and steady and slow, like the rhythm of sex under my fingers, and I was comforted. I pulled him closer to me, so that our bodies were pressed together fully. He pressed his face into the curve of my neck, and I buried mine in his soft hair, murmuring unintelligible words of comfort and contentment.

I pressed my hips into his, and he moved against me for a few moments, settling his erection in the curve of my hip, and mine in his.

He lifted his face from my neck to look me in the eyes. His eyes were a deep golden brown, brighter and richer than our hair, though basically the same tone, and mine were bright green, the colour of moss on an old oak. It was the only difference between us, that and the little scars that most people don’t notice anyway, and it was the only way even his friends could tell who was who. I remember when even our eyes were identical, before the wolf bit him, even though he had no memories from the first five years of our life. I let my eyes slide closed, and our foreheads bumped together.

I could feel his pain. He was sore from the transformation, though no longer wounded, thanks to James, Peter, and Sirius. I kneaded at the sore spots, one by one, giving him my strength though my hands. As I soothed away his aches, his skin warmed under mine, and he gradually came awake.

He sighed softly into my mouth, and I closed the gap between our lips. We kissed. Yes, we kissed. We touched each other and slept wrapped up together as in the womb and licked out each other’s mouths. Give me a reason we shouldn’t have done. We were one man.

---

One of his hands finds my jaw and tilts it upwards, to achieve a better angle for the kiss he is trying to deepen, and I try to kiss back, I try for all the world to keep up my charade, to picture the last woman I was with and reciprocate his arousal. But something in my smell, in the way I kiss, or in the shape of my shoulders clues him in. He jerks away from me suddenly, looking utterly horrified.

“You’re-” He peers at me, examines me, obviously looking for the verdant green of my eyes, the lack of silver in my hair, or the way I used to hold my mouth, bottom lip cocked to the side in concentration. But all that is gone, in favour of all the little quirks that once made up my brother.

“Don’t say it,” I say slowly, shaking my head.

“You’re not Remus…” His voice is accusatory, like a man who has woken to find his lover’s place in bed supplanted by a poor impostor.

I sigh. How to explain? But he ploughs on.

“Romulus…” He whispers my name, a name I have not heard in thirteen years, as many once whispered the name of the Dark Lord whom he had supposedly served. Then his voice grows louder. “Where is he?”

“Remus is gone,” I state flatly.

“He’s… dead…?”

“No,” I snap, “but he would be if not for me.” He stares at me, puzzled, so I continue.

“It’s your fault.” My voice is rough -near tears, if I care to admit it to myself. “They took you from him the day before the full moon. He couldn’t handle the loss of you, he was so in love with you. You’re a bastard, and I will never forgive you for what you did to him!”

“What are you talking about?”

---

Two sharp raps on the door, all I could afford without dropping the tray, heralded my presence at the door to the cellar. “Breakfast,” I announced, as I opened the door. The bright sunlight cascading in through the open kitchen windows, catching little dust motes, streamed down the creaky old wooden stairs, but the light fell upon the packed earth floor, and not upon a sleeping Remus -I decided he must have fallen asleep in a corner out of sight. I carried the tray with his breakfast -bacon, black and white puddings, and a large steak- down, concentrating on keeping my footing.

I didn’t notice the golden wolf crouched in the corner until his teeth were buried in the flesh of my thigh.

---

“You drove him mad!” I grind out. “You were what kept him human… When he lost you, the wolf won the battle.”

He shakes his head at me, frowning, not comprehending.

“A werewolf fights a constant battle against the wolf in his soul. If he is pushed over the edge, the. Wolf. Takes. Over.” I am growling, my own wolf angered almost beyond my control. “The morning after they took you, he never changed back.” Understanding dawns. I continue. “He bit me when I went to him that morning. I reported in with the Ministry in his stead, because if they knew he had lost himself to the beast… Do you know what happens to werewolves who go mad, Sirius?” He shakes his head, slowly, seemingly in shock. “A silver bullet between the eyes as soon as they can get an executioner on the premises. I’ve been him, I’ve been Remus Lupin ever since.”

He’s gobsmacked. “You taught at Hogwarts, then, not him?”

I nod.

“It was you in the shack?”

I nod again.

“What happened to Remus…?”

“Do you want to see him?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I can only brace myself as he nods in the affirmative.

I lead him into the cottage, firmly shutting the door behind us, and through into the kitchen. He peers around, obviously recounting his own days here, the days the three of us would spend here, sequestered from the world, not quite a ménage-a-trois.

---

We had inherited the house from an aunt -or rather, I had. Remus had been cut from the family inheritance when he was bitten. There were two bedrooms, and for the first year, the smaller room in the loft went unused.

And then Sirius moved in. I abdicated my place in my brother’s bed to him, of course. He still didn’t know what we did; it had never occurred to either of us to allow him the knowledge. Then, we didn’t even think of it; it was simply the way things were.

It was the first time in all my twenty years that I had slept without my twin on a regular basis. I took a lover; a young girl who worked at the Hog’s Head Inn, and though she graced my bed more often than not, I couldn’t sleep without him in my arms.

Remus knew my need, and after a few nights of sneaking away from his own lover to wrap himself around me like a blanket, he told Sirius of the dilemma. And fey, generous, kind Sirius welcomed me with open arms.

One night I remember particularly. Remus woke from some little discomfort -not a nightmare; those had stopped in the weeks since my return to his bed- to find himself stretched between his lover and his brother, warm, naked skin surrounding him, lulling him. Sensing that he had woken me, he turned to me and kissed me, softly, his warm, dry lips pressing chastely to my own. I tried to deepen the kiss, but he shook his head slightly against my mouth, so I simply pulled him to me, held him so tightly that I could have forgotten that there was skin separating us. He couldn’t suppress a moan as my erection ground against his.

The little noise of his pleasure woke Sirius, or woke him partially, anyway, and another pair of arms soon engulfed Remus from behind, as his lover spooned up against him. I watched the dark creature press his lips to my brother’s shoulders and neck, his lean hips working slowly against Remus in a blind search for tactile contact.

I have never appreciated the male form as Remus did -my preferences run strictly to the fairer sex. In our embrace, there was nothing of passion, nothing of the sexual. There was only love. Our caresses were never more than masturbation, in essence. As Sirius’s own passion quickened, the enormity, the full implications of my invasion of their bed struck me full in the face.

I disentangled myself, and, once again, fled. They invited me back the next night, but I never slept with my Remus again.

---

I release the wards on the door to the cellar, slide the bolt open, and turn to him. “You’ll want to take advantage of your -talent. Gold eyes wouldn’t go with your complexion.” He swallows, obviously trying to hide his fear from me, and transforms. I glare down at him for a moment before I open the door. I have never been afraid of my Remus.

He slips through the gap between the door and the frame, and I can hear his paws fumble slightly on the stairs. A challenging growl rises from the depths of the cellar, accompanied by the jingling scrape of Remus’s chains on the hard ground, and dog-Sirius whines loudly. All noise from my brother ceases for a long moment, before an ear-splitting howl rends the air. Before I set up the silencing charms, those howls could be heard night and day. The black dog rushes down the steps, into the shadows, and I hear my brother growl again, then whine. There is further silence, and then, the snapping of jaws, a yelp, and Sirius returns to my line of vision. He cocks his head at me before he climbs the stairs, tail between his legs.

Remus attacked him. The bite didn’t break the skin, probably didn’t even hurt at all -the yelp was been a cry of shock and outrage, rather than of pain. I was hoping that he would attack. I close and lock the door again, replacing the wards, and Sirius becomes a man again. “I told you he was mad,” I whisper.

Before I quite know what is happening, he has me pinned against the wall. “How can you keep him chained up like that, like an animal?”

“He is an animal,” I hiss, freeing myself from his grip and pushing him away. “The human in him is gone! If I weren’t taking these precautions, he would run amok, and he would be killed. I keep him safe.” He glares at me as though I am the one who has fallen prey to madness, but of all of us, I am the only one who has not. I am the one who remains human… I lean close to him, to my Sirius, to my lover, and whisper into his ear, “I am my brother’s keeper…”

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