My Hands

My hands
They only agree to hold
Your hands
And they don't wanna be without
Your hands
And they will not let me go
No they will not let me go

My Hands - Leona Lewis

Sirius shook himself, then lifted his muzzle to scent the air. The Forest creaked and groaned; the weight of the afternoon rain still dragging leaves to softly land on the floor. The full moon, clearly visible in the cloudless sky, seemed to glare down mockingly at him. He growled at it softly, a little joke between him and its smiling face, then took another huge breath of the rain-chilled air. He stretched his paws then took off towards the Whomping Willow, sitting in the shadows, as he did every full moon, watching the little gap between the roots with excitement.

Mooney tore along the corridor, broke through the gap and leapt into the fresh air, tipping his head back and howling, loud and long at the moon. His beast finally free for a night, he, too, stretched himself out and was half-way through his usual yoga-esque routine when Padfoot leapt out of the shadows, grabbing the werewolf by the scruff of the neck and dragging it a few feet, before they both landed in a heap of legs, tails and yelping.

The werewolf pinned him by the shoulders, glaring down at Padfoot, teeth bared. It was the same every full moon night; for a while, the wolf would forget Sirius, think he was prey, and it took a few minutes, sometimes longer, for that spark of recognition to hit.

Sirius leant up and licked Remus' nose, then laid back on the floor, watching closely. There was an audible pause in the werewolf's growling, then he dipped his head, teeth still bared, to return the lick. Padfoot barked quietly then wriggled out, glancing over his shoulder towards the werewolf before turning back and running, as fast as he could, out of the range of the Willow and into the thicket.

The wolf lumbered after him, faster in an outright race but through the undergrowth like this, the wolf trailed behind, hampered by its considerably bigger frame. Padfoot headed for their favourite place; the lake, where, more often than not, they would swim to the small island and catch rabbits. He splashed around in the shallows, watching the clearing he'd last come through for signs of the wolf, ready to spring into the cool water and remain just out of reach of the werewolf.

After a few minutes of standing there completely still, listening as hard as his canine hearing would allow him, Sirius felt panic rising through him. He couldn't hear a single sound; not a bird, bat or anything else, let alone a werewolf lumbering through the trees. He wished James and Peter were out tonight; he'd asked them to stay back in the castle so he and Remus could get some alone time. Full moons were, more often than not, a social treat for the Marauders, but sometimes, it was nice for the couple to spend them learning about how to control the werewolf when, and if, Sirius would ever have to alone.

He regretted it.

As a howl flew through the forest, one that made Sirius' fur stand on end all over his body, something niggled at him and told him that something was amiss. He cast around for a few moments, locating the direction the howl came from and ran, faster than he thought his paws could move, over the undergrowth, through branches that caught his skin and made him bleed. The sound got louder and more desperate, and he broke through the final barricade of branches into a clearing, and he skidded to a stop, throwing leaves and mud around him.

Sirius attempted to back-pedal away from the scene in front of him, but the nearest witch pointed her wand at him and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!" He felt his muscles all go rigid at the same moment, then he fell onto his side, now completely unable to avert his gaze.

Remus was pinned to some form of table, which Sirius could certainly see. The werewolf's nearest paw hung over the edge of the table at an awkward angle, and he was whimpering helplessly. There seemed to be blood dripping off the side of the table, pooling into a crimson-black disc below the table top. Sirius was glad he couldn't see Remus' face.

"Hurry up, get the bowl ready!" Sirius' attention was drawn away from Remus, his eyes the only part of his body he could still control. He watched two burly wizards carrying a metal bowl, manufactured from what looked like silver and covered in ornate carvings. They placed it at the nearest end of the table, where, Sirius guessed, Remus' head was. That sick feeling was starting to creep back in; he hoped his half-paralysed body wouldn't attempt to throw up, as being sick while under a paralysing curse usually ended badly.

Any thought of himself was driven out of his mind as another ear-splitting howl ran through the forest, rattling his teeth in his jaw. What are they doing to him?

The howl fell silent. Sirius experimentally wriggled his nose, and found the curse lifting, painfully slowly, like a moss growing slowly across his body. He lifted his muzzle slightly, unable to hold the position for longer than a few seconds at a time, and the bile rose up his throat.

From his low vantage point, he could see that Remus was stretched over the table, and held by what Sirius assumed was silver rope, that was burning into the werewolf's skin and, now that he'd seen the injuries, there was the smell of burning flesh, acrid in his sensitive nostrils. He swallowed hard against the threatened vomit, blinking his eyes and desperately trying to remain in control.

The woman who had cursed him appeared to be their leader, and was hurriedly drawing designs across Remus' prone body, using a blade that seemed to match the bowl he'd seen before. Remus was dead silent, and Sirius hoped he'd passed out. Of course he has, he's probably in- He stopped the thought before it could come to fruition.

He wished he'd paid more attention in Potions; most of his attention during that lesson was spent winding Snivellus up. He wished Remus could help him. What potions require werewolf blood? His brain turned through the pages of the textbook he'd crammed in there last time he'd actually revised for an exam, but it came up blank.

Then a howl rose through the clearing, and made his body shake gently. It was silenced; the witch who had cursed Sirius held a whip in her hand, and, from the ragged breathing, Sirius could imagine exactly where that whip-sting had landed.

"What should we do with this runt?" A boot came into contact, hard, with Sirius' side, and he yelped loudly, the pain throwing him back to his own predicament. The wizard standing over him crouched down, peering at him, the stench of alcohol on his breath turning Sirius' stomach even further. "I don't think he's all he appears to be." The wizard's voice seemed to rattle Sirius to the core, his ears already ringing from the kick and the pain beginning to ebb through.

"Bring him here," came the reply, and the wizard grabbed Sirius by the scruff of his neck, his body still held rigidly in the position he had been laying in. His muscles were beginning to ache from being stuck in the same position for what felt like days, though could only be minutes, and he-

Oh God, Remus!

Sirius wished he could move. Wished he could wriggle away, grab every single one of these sick, monstrous people and rip their throats out, hanging onto their bleeding corpses until the light died in their eyes, watch them die, for what they'd done to Remus. His Remus.

The wolf was tied down, and, Sirius realised with a growing dread, that he'd been right; silver thread woven through the rope was burning, slowly, a gentle burn through the flesh, the fur alight and smouldering gently. The burns were gently spreading, like water did over a smooth surface, creeping up the limb the rope held. The clearly-broken fore-paw was dangling at an awkward angle off of the side of table, blood inching through a pierce in the skin.

Sirius' eyes were drawn upwards, and he was glad Remus was, apparently, unconscious. His body was little more than a mess of whipping marks, some only light, as though the whip had gently caught the skin in a playful way, others, he was certain he could see bone gleaming through, winking in the dancing candle light. The patterns the witch had been tracing with the knife were obliterated by the whip marks. There was one across his chest and...

Sirius looked away. The sight of the blood trickling down Remus' sternum in time with his heartbeat made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Put him here." Sirius realised that they were referring to him, and saw the space that had been allotted to him - right beside Remus, close enough to smell the blood, thick and coppery and unnaturally red and-

When he came back to the clearing, eyes struggling open, his first realisation was that Remus was fidgeting again, fighting against the bonds that held him to the table, and against the witch that was looming over him, that silver knife back in her hand. From his new, higher vantage point, Sirius counted five other wizards plus the witch with the knife, and they were all hooded, obscuring their faces. They were chanting something in Latin. While the witch chanted, standing over Remus, another wizard was stirring ingredients into a bubbling cauldron, the contents spewing sparks every second turn of the spoon.

Sirius turned his attention back to the witch standing over Remus, her knife point perilously close to his throat, and suddenly realisation dawned on him; they were going to bleed him dry for something. Sirius would die just because he'd seen what they'd been doing. He didn't want to die for any reason, let alone something this pointless, and, more to the point, he didn't want to lose Remus.

He worked on wriggling his muscles, trying to limber them up. He could move his neck a little now, and one front paw would respond to his requests, but that was about the extent of his manoeuvrability. He nuzzled his nose against Remus' left fore-paw, offering the little comfort he could give, and then he closed his eyes.

He waited, counting seconds flicking by as he waited. A noise occurred somewhere to his right - the cauldron falling over? - then hoof beats. A lot of hoof beats. He opened his eyes, trying desperately to see what was going on, and found himself just able to see, out of the corner of his eye, the back end of a very, very large Centaur.

He wondered what was happening. He could hear something going on around him, but couldn't put a paw on what he was hearing, it all sounded so alien to him. Were they about to be saved? Or where the Centaur's in on it all the way through? They were the only people outside of the four Marauders, Professor Dumbledore and-

Sirius' blood ran hot. Snivellus. Ever since James' stupid bloody prank, Snape had known about Remus, and had even caught the four of them heading out for a full moon night before. He was going to murder that git. Just as soon as he was sure they were safe.

"Who's this, Firenze?" Dumbledore's face came into Sirius' view, leaning over them. The kindly face smiled and winked, then vanished. "I think it's time our two young hostages had a rest." Sirius' mind went completely blank, and, as he dreamed, dreamt about whips, pain and Remus.

~*~*~

"Like I told you, Professor, we had no idea that Sirius was out there on his own." Sirius, just coming around, resisted the urge to grin at James' impeccable lying. "Normally we all head out at midnight, but when we got up, he'd gone."

"It's true, Professor!" Peter was almost hopping from foot to foot. Sirius could imagine the little rat wringing his hands furtively, desperate to impress James.

Professor Dumbledore surveyed them both, peering at them over his glasses. "I think that once Mr Lupin and Mr Black are well, we need to have a conversation, don't you both?" Sirius' heart dropped, but he could hear the smile in the headmaster's voice.

"Yes sir," Peter and James chorused together, and Sirius heard Dumbledore leave.

"Is he gone?"

"Yep, crack out the Butterbeer," James replied, collapsing into a chair beside Sirius and popping the cork out of the bottle loud enough to wake the dead.

"Hey, some of us are recovering here?" Sirius said, making James jump slightly where he sat. Sirius opened his eyes and went to sit up, groaning loudly and clutching his ribs awkwardly. "Ouch!"

"Four ribs, Padfoot, honestly," James said, jokingly chastising his friend.

"Shut up," Sirius replied, contenting himself to lay flat in the bed, pushing back the thoughts of Remus. The last thing he needed was for Potter to get more teasing ammunition if he got all upset and girlie. "Gimme one of those."

"Don't even think it, Mr Potter." James jumped again and turned his head, seeing Madam Pomfrey bustling into the ward with a small bowl. Sirius internally flinched at the sight of the bowl, a reflex action after what he'd seen earlier, but maintained his composure. "Could you and Mr Pettigrew wait outside, please?" James shrugged and got up, muttering something about Madam Pomfrey being related to a toadstool. Sirius smiled as he watched his friends leave, then turned his attention to the nurse watching him enquiringly.

"Remus. Is he-"

"No, he's not dead, or close to it, any more, at least," Madam Pomfrey replied, straightening the bedclothes around Sirius. "What do you remember?" Sirius shook his head, not trusting his voice to speak without shaking, showing the emotion that bubbled underneath. "In your own time, then," she finished, then smiled gently at him. "Mr Lupin keeps asking about you. I said you'd visit, if you feel you're up to it?" Sirius was already getting out of bed, all pain forgotten.

Madam Pomfrey lead him slowly along the ward to a curtained off area at the end, and then left him at the curtains. She smiled at him reassuringly, then walked back to her desk at the far end of the ward, pointedly not watching him but he knew she was keeping an eye on him. He steeled himself; prepared that Remus might be considerably different, disfigured, scarred, hating everything.

He pulled the curtain back and nearly yelped in shock. Remus was sitting up, reading a book one handed. His right arm was tightly bandaged and held in a sling, and from what Sirius could see, his left wrist was also bandaged. He was covered in plasters and bandages, but seemed pretty comfortable. "Who knew that, after all that, you'd still be lording it up? And... Are you studying?"

Remus looked up and gave Sirius that tired smile he knew so well. "It's good to see you, too, Sirius," he said, his voice a little hoarse. Sirius pulled the curtain back around and took the seat beside Remus. "How're the ribs?"

"They'll be fine," Sirius replied, hoping his voice and face weren't belying his worry. "How are-"

"I'll be fine, too. Madam Promfrey reliably informs me that I'll be back in classes by the end of the month," Remus responded, putting a bookmark into his book and placing it on the sideboard, wincing slightly at the motion.

"You should have let me do that," Sirius said emptily, staring at the wall just beyond the other side of the bed.

"I'm not an invalid yet, Sirius." Sirius glanced up then looked away again. He wondered why he couldn't look at his boyfriend, and why he felt so damn guilty.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so quietly he was hoping, afterwards, that Remus didn't hear. His gaze dropped to the bedclothes, where he picked at an imaginary piece of dirt. He paused as Remus' hand landed on his.

"Why?" Remus asked, hazel-brown inquisitive. Sirius resisted the urge to pout petulantly.

"Well... Because it..." Remus laughed, a proper laugh and one so rare that it finally made Sirius look up. "What's funny?"

"You. The Witch-hunt would have tracked me down one way or another, Sirius."

"But I just... She cursed me and I couldn't protect you." Sirius was looking down again, and Remus leant over and lifted his chin up.

"And died in the process? Considering there were six adult wizards, and just you, I think we know how that would have worked out." Sirius risked a smile.

"I could have taken them," he said, the spark of cheek back in his eyes. "I would have," he finished after a pause, a fierce look to him and Remus whole-heartedly believed him.

"I know." He tugged on Sirius' sleeve gently, then patted the side of the bed. Sirius glanced up and grinned from ear to ear, almost jumping onto the bed and wrapping his arms around Remus, kissing him gently everywhere there wasn't some form of dressing.

~*~*~

Poppy Pomfrey, having finished her paperwork, was beginning to feel the early evening drowze come over her, and she would be glad of the early night - after all, she'd been up most of last night, tending to Sirius and Remus.

She walked quietly along to Remus' bed, pulling the curtains back gently and quietly, then smiled broadly. Remus was curled on his side, fast asleep, his book forgotten on the bedside cabinet, with Sirius wrapped around behind him, also asleep. She stepped forwards and blew out the solitary candle, before making her way to bed herself.