Comme l'Argent au Loup

1.

Remus thinks it's wrong to be afraid, when there's a full moon and he can hear the howling: he also thinks it's wrong to be afraid when he turns, and all he can see is the dripping muzzle and the yellow, insane eyes: and he thinks it's wrong when the silver burned his skin and they dried to cleanse the wound with the silver cross.

He didn't think it was wrong, though: to scream—and when he looks down at his arm, all he can see is the moon shaped bite and the almost faded cross.

When he wakes from the dreams, his eyes flash once: yellow and insane.

And then he's Remus.

2.

The muggle air conditioning made the waiting room outside the office—'werewolf registry,' in grubby letters on the door outside—icy cold. The bench was metal: and even though Remus' clothes were thick, the shorts rode up and the metal dug into his thighs. It felt almost like silver—burn burn ice-cold burn, slice slice goes a knife, and Remus screamed: 'I don't want to change!'—

But somehow not.

The secretary tapped away on her type-writer—tap click tap, space, tap tap tap, whirl, click: paper comes out—but he couldn't see her face from behind the pile of paperwork. The room was grubby and dirty: 'Low budget,' Remus' father says, and then sighs as he comforts his wife: 'we'll get through it, Nina,'. Then there's a shadow at the frosted glass to the office window.

It creaks open and the secretary winces: she was supposed to oil it last week.

'Mr and Mrs Lupin?' the man's head peers out: he looks nice enough, Remus suppose. When his parents nod the man opens the door wider and steps out. He ushers them in, but when his hands grab the outside nob he winces: 'Kelly!' he yelps, and there's a muffled—squeaks 'yes, sir?'—sound: 'turn that air conditioning off! You don't need to be so fascinated by muggle things.'

The office isn't that bad.

'I'm Pierre Black,' he says: but he looks more Spanish that French. The curtains are slightly parted and the light that streams in seems almost clogged by the amount of dust in the air: the following silence is pierced by Remus' slight sneeze, and his mother squeezes his hand.

'Thomas,' his father shakes Pierre's hand, 'Thomas Lupin. This is my wife, Nina, and my son, Remus.'

'Take a'—seat: they're old and patched, with large, solid backs and arm rests. There's three, so Remus gets to sit in one. He doesn't often get to. He sits on the edge, and he pretends that giants sit in these seats. He resists the urge to swing his feet at first, but when he glances left—then right—no one's watching.

left foot, right foot; left foot, right foot: smile.

They're talking: his parents are arguing and the desk looks cluttered from Remus' low vantage point. He can see a coffee cup with some slogan written on it, but it's on a curve and all he can see are the final two letters: 'ee', and he wonders what the entire slogan is.

When Remus looks up, Pierre is staring at him—with a smile—and Remus stops swinging his feet.

'I'm Pierre,' comes the voice.

Remus' parents can't hear: too busy with same old—same old argument again.

'Remus,' Remus says:—left foot swings, then right, again:—'sir,' he adds. An afterthought.

Pierre smiles at him: 'I have a son about your age,' he said: 'named Sirius. You'll probably see him at Hogwarts in a few years, won't you?'

Remus stops swinging and stares:—'It's rude to stare!' Remus' mother says, 'don't do it.'—'Hogwarts?' he asks. Voice barely above a whisper and then cracked. Pierre smiled at him.

Remus' parents finish their argument and she's almost in tears, but calms herself.

'Yes,' Pierre says—fading whisper.

Remus doesn't remember much of that day later.

3.

'Ah… Remus Lupin. So nice of you to be here.'

'Hello sir,'

'No need for formalities now… I can read your mind. So, no need.'

Meek '…ok.'

'A werewolf well, we haven't had one of them for years. Ministry and its stupid laws—I'm sure you'd do well in Slytherin. And Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff is not for you, however: you're loyal, but stupidly loyal. Slytherin—'

'I don't like Slytherins,'

'—not a good choice, then. Gryffindor or Ravenclaw… one really has to lean towards Ravenclaw. But you've got a dash of courage, quite strong I see.'

'My dad was a Gryffindor,'

'Ah. So it must run in the family?'

Shaken head: 'Mother was a Ravenclaw. Everyone else's been Ravenclaw…'

'That's fine, fine, I think…'—

'Gryffindor,' but not so much screamed as shouted.

4.

Dear Mother,

How are you and father? I'm sure you've heard by now that I got into Gryffindor. They're three other boys in the same year as me, Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, and Sirius Black. The others say that Potter and Black have already got a reputation as trouble makers, and Pettigrew seems to be someone they just know.

I haven't really made friends with anyone yet: classes are wonderful, and the Potions Master seems to think I'll do very well at that, and so does the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. But Professor McGonagall, Transfigurations head, seems to think otherwise about my other skills. I suppose… well. I won't put that down in writing.

I'll be home for the holidays. Missing you lots.

-Remus.

5.

Sirius watches Remus at the end of Potions. He notices how Remus pocketed some of the ingredients that they didn't really need, and he nudged James and nodded when Remus looked guiltily around and pocket a handful of some tree bark from the student cupboard. James just grins and returns to jotting down prank ideas on the back of his homework notes, and Sirius twiddles the quill in his fingers

He hears his name in the roll call in History class: and jots it on the back of his hand 'Remus Lupin' because he thinks that's a nice name, and in his next letter home he includes a note and asks his father to dig up some information on Remus for him.

He says no, of course; but sends him some sugar quills just because.

6.

Remus uses a drop of water from his goblet to trace the design for the charm against demons at breakfast on hot summer morning: the third year nods—happy—and copies it into his notebook. Remus is fast becoming the 'one to talk to' even though he's only in first year the teachers have him studying up to fifth. But McGonagall still insists that—even though he's slow he's getting behind—he stays in the same year as everyone else in her class.

He resents her for that. But not too much.

Sirius thinks it strange that Remus is always away one night out of the month: away visiting sick relatives, sick himself. Always some excuse, but he throws the matter out of his head because he has other things to concentrate on. And that morning the Slytherin house bursts into feathers and everyone's laughing/glaring and looking for the culprits.

And behind his glass, even Dumbledore's smiling.

Remus knows he did it though, and secretly, he watches Sirius just like Sirius watches him.

Dear Remus,

I'm glad to hear that you're feeling well: Pierre popped by to tell us that they've hopefully got a new reform for the werewolf registry. It's not public information yet—which is good, or the school council'd have Dumbledore's head on a platter—but everything is proceeding nicely. I'm very glad that you're feeling quite well; as well as normal can be, and I suggest that you dispose of this letter once you've read it.

Your mother sends her love, and can't wait to see you.

-Father

It disappears in a puff of smoke when he mutters 'inflammare', and later he dodges Severus Snape and his gang of bullies.

7.

'You know,' she says, sitting in the corner of the commons room. 'If that Remus Lupin wasn't a bit older and didn't have his head in the books all the time, he'd almost be cute,' and her friend turned to look at her: shocked.

'Jo!' she cries, 'He's a first year!'

Jo shrugs: 'Look at Snape. Everyone's swooning over him. He's actually older than his year, apparently; but nobody really cares. He's got a brilliant mind, they say…'

'Talk about it,' another girl pipes up, 'he and Remus are tied for first place in the Potions marks. I peeked a look at the chart this morning…'

'You did?' Jo turns, 'did you get my score?'

There's a smirk.

8.

The day before the train leaves for the holidays Sirius corners Remus in an unused hallway: fourth year went well, like all of the other years, but Remus just wants to get home to the comfort of his own bedroom. Even though the basement has bars on the window and there's a cage, and he still has the burns from the silver pendant that he wears around his neck. It was a birthday present from Sirius, and he can't stand to take it off.

'Remus?' Sirius asks.

'Yeah?' they're somewhat friends. He supposes.

'Why do you go away so much?'

Remus looks down—'I… er'—and Sirius sighs.

'No need to play dumb. You're a werewolf, aren't you?'—but raises his hands—'I don't mind! Honest! Neither do James or Peter! We all think you're great. If it means that you get a little fur once a month well… it's a lot better than I can come up with.' He rubs the side of his face gently: sideburns are all the rage, but Sirius seems to have a little problem in the growth department. 'Either way,' he says, 'we still want to be friends.'

Remus is shocked and doesn't know what to say at all.

9.

He's even more shocked when Sirius kisses him in the same unused hallway next year.

10.

It was a half-moon that night, but he doesn't think that it really matters. He wakes on the sofa, a little blood but that's not unusual: his teeth are so sharp that even his lip bleeds when he bites it, and the silver is still burning around his neck but he's long since gotten used to it. It's the comfortable weight on his back that really makes him smile, and he rolls over and Sirius nuzzles him under the chin.

'I still don't know why you wear that pendant…' Sirius mutters.

'You gave it to me—'

'—I didn't know it would hurt—'

'—and I've gotten used to the pain. It's quite comforting, really. It doesn't burn…'

Sirius looks at him for a moment, thoughtful but at the same time smiling. 'What does it feel like?' he asks.

'What does what feel like?' Remus is bewildered for a second. 'Oh, the pendant? The silver, you mean? Er… no worse than when…' He blushes and makes a gesture with a circled finger and his thumb. And Sirius leers down at him. It's not until Sirius pushes him back onto the couch and whispers into his ear:—

'Show me,' and then 'again, let me feel it…'—

And the burning sensation is all over Sirius' lips.

Later, when he's making coffee and sighing and looking out the window, Sirius comes up behind him and wraps his arms around the upper part of Remus' half-naked body. It feels warm and Sirius can feel the slight tingle that still reverberates through the chain around Remus' neck: it's cold, and at the same time it's icy hot, and the lips that trace his neck make him giggle.

Remus shushes him: 'We need to get going,' he says, 'Lily's giving birth sometime in the next couple of days… need to get enough sleep.'

Sirius rolls his eyes and tosses ear-length hair. It swirls like the dress on a dancer, and he struts back to the couch: 'Well, if it's sleep you want, it's sleep you get…'

—'and besides,' Sirius says, much, much later, 'they've all been false calls, you know that…' and Remus smiles up at him and kisses him.

11.

'Is he ok?' Remus asks, Sirius clutching his arm and James standing next to his wife and cuddling the baby boy with shining green eyes tightly in his arms: Lily smiles, and the nurse said that it was a brilliant and quicker—but Lily still complains—than usual, and she nods her pretty red head and Sirius punches James on the shoulder.

'You lucky chap you,' he says.

But it's Remus that asks the question: 'What are you going to name him?'

And they all peer down into his face. 'Harry,' Sirius mutters.

'What was that?' Lily looks up.

'Oh, never mind—' Sirius blushes.

'Harry…—' Lily likes that name.

12.

Harry James Potter, he signs the birth certificate as Godfather.

And Remus smiles at him.

13.

If Remus licks his lips fast enough, they tingle. But sometimes he's afraid.