Casualties of War

Lycanthropy exists in every cell of a werewolf's body. Werewolves are normal humans for twenty-seven days out of every twenty-eight, but the curse that infects them, infects every part of them. Werewolves, in their human state, tend to have a keen sense of smell and terrible vision, like true wolves. They are often also deceptively thin and very strong, with vaguely animalistic features.

Peter had been the first to catch on to the regularity of their friend's disappearances, but for Sirius the first sign, the first confirmation that Peter was right, had been Remus' body language. So many of Remus' mannerisms seemed secretive, invasive, until you learned to decode the language of head tilts, expressive eyes and the curve of his mouth. As Padfoot, Sirius had always been the best at understanding their friend, but it was a hard-won understanding, full of mistakes. Moony had nearly had his head more times than could be counted because of canine miscommunication, but Remus would seldom push further than a huffy silence. Since Azkaban, Sirius had noticed that Remus' mannerisms had become less lupine - Remus had said with a laugh that he had become a master of becoming what people wanted to see - but he had not forgotten so much about his friend that he couldn't tell when Remus was simply not fit for company.

Sirius spent most of the day of the full moon as Padfoot. Remus was edgy, snappish, and hadn't lasted until lunch before Sirius had quarantined him upstairs. He was used to it, of course; Remus had been famous for his mood swings during their adolescence, and usually one or the other of their pack would spend the day before his transformation with him, locked away in a quiet corner of Hogwarts. Padfoot was a solid, reassuring presence; once Remus had been banished from the ground floor, Sirius had made his apologies to Harry and Draco and headed upstairs in the guise of a loveable stray, curling up beside Remus on their bed and letting him push his fingers through Padfoot's thick black fur. He didn't need to ask to know that Remus was terrified. Padfoot would be a better companion in a time like this: to Sirius, Remus might feel compelled to talk about his anxiety.

They slept the afternoon away, and when Sirius awoke, he was alone. He sat up slowly, stretching out the kinks in his body that sleeping as a dog had brought. He had fallen asleep with a fist buried in the fur on his neck, and he rubbed at the spot tiredly, yawning as he padded downstairs. Voices floated up the stairwell.

"Did you just put on a polka? You did. I can't believe you just did that."

"Shut up! Just wait and listen."

Sirius' head cocked, and he paused, hand on the banister. What the hell? He paused as he stepped off the stairwell, ears perked for the sound of ... polka. He stepped right instead of turning left into the living room, heading into the little used entryway and the room that stood at the end of it. As he rounded the corner neatly, past the coat space that held a single, filthy cloak, he caught sight of Remus, leaning heavily against the open doorway of the room he affectionately referred to as his den, his arms folded around him. The boys' voices floated out, Harry and Draco themselves blocked by Remus' body. Apparently, they had discovered Remus' records. He paused, and as the teenagers erupted into laughter at the bawdy lyrics of the polka, he realized that Remus was simply watching them silently, and that they were unaware of his presence.

Odd, but not entirely unheard of from Remus, who was prone to doing rather strange things. When they were at school, Remus had been known to suddenly launch into the tail end of a conversation, the majority of which had been carried out in his head, and then be completely surprised when it made no sense to anyone else. That was normal behaviour for him, which would of course multiply exponentially in weirdness - as Lily had once put it, unaware of the reason why - the week around the full moon. One of the things that had startled Sirius most about seeing Remus again was that the man no longer stumbled over words as his brain churned out ideas faster than his mouth could keep up; he was the very definition of the charming, slightly eccentric professor.

Sirius crept up quietly behind Remus. Normally, Remus would have caught his scent as he came down the stairs, but the impending moon, now barely hours from rising, was surely playing havoc on his senses. Thus he was able to thoroughly scare all three of the other occupants of the Farmhouse when he slid an arm smoothly around Remus' waist and said conversationally, "We used to call him Queenie at school."

Harry and Malfoy jumped, whirling around as best they could with the records piled high around them. They gaped openly at Remus and Sirius, standing in the doorway behind him. Remus had turned his head at Sirius' hand on his waist, and his chin had bumped Sirius' nose before he pulled back to smile placidly at him. Sirius looked back to the boys in time to see Draco throw an elbow into Harry's side and give him a knowing look. Harry laughed, stifling it behind his hand, and looked embarrassed. "Hi Sirius, hi - Remus." The other kid gave Sirius and innocent grin. Sirius frowned at him.

Sirius felt rather than heard Remus laugh softly at Harry's hesitation at using his first name. "I see you've discovered my records."

"Did they really call you Queenie?" Malfoy asked, referring to the girl featured in the song, who was always a lady, even in pantomime.

Remus cringed.

"A rather unfortunate incident involving gillyweed, which I refuse to discuss. Sirius, I forbid you to tell them later." Sirius feigned indignation, hooking Remus in closer and giving him a surreptitious caress on the small of his back.

"I would do no such thing. Give them all sorts of ideas, I'm sure." He winked broadly at Harry, who winked back.

Remus moved towards the couch, brushing his hand against Sirius almost apologetically. He sat heavily on the ancient sofa, the worn cushions so flattened out that his knees were roughly at the same level as his chest. Sirius settled comfortably into the doorframe that Remus had vacated, and after a moment, Malfoy picked himself off the floor to claim a spot next to Remus. Harry looked slightly dejected, but when Malfoy gave him a leer he stuck his tongue out and seemed satisfied. Remus watched them avidly, his eyes bright. Sirius knew that look: it meant that he'd be on the receiving end of half an internal conversation that would nearly make sense, if Remus hadn't managed to completely exorcise that habit by now.

"Well," Remus said. "Is anybody hungry?"

Harry grinned unexpectedly, but it was Draco who answered. "We found where you were hiding all that chocolate." Remus' mild expression fell slightly. "We ate some fruit too, and bread," Draco added, completely misinterpreting the look of devastation that had appeared on Remus' face. Sirius grinned, and Remus gave him an evil look.

"There's ... hmm. Roast beef, I think. I'm not sure that I trust you two, or you Sirius so you can take that look off your face right now, with the hamburger meat, so we'll save that for another day. I have full confidence in your sandwich making skills, however, so how does that sound? Roast beef sandwiches whenever you're hungry, and I believe there are some pears. I know that they won't be eaten, but I'm simply mentioning them."

Sirius smiled placatingly, noticing that both boys nodded distantly in acknowledgement that no, the pears would not be eaten. He wondered if he should grab something to eat before the moon rose. He was fairly sure that Moony was not in the habit of snacking on the Dingwall Gins, and he wasn't sure what other sort of fauna the area around the Farmhouse offered that could be a tempting midnight snack for a werewolf and a wizard with very low standards when it came to food.

Remus rose unsteadily, gripping the arm of the couch for balance. "Well, I think I'll have a pear," he said dryly. Sirius followed him into the kitchen, the boys trailing dutifully behind. Remus took a pear out of the cabinet and stared at it, apparently trying to will himself to eat it. Sirius snatched it from his hand and laid it onto the counter top, cutting it into slices and handing them around. Remus nibbled. Harry inhaled his slice. And Draco Malfoy stared Sirius down as they held their portions.

"What?" Sirius asked. Another glance was exchanged between Harry and Malfoy. Sirius raised an eyebrow, directing a glance at Harry. "Something on your mind?"

Malfoy inhaled deeply, and put the pear slice back on the counter top, where Remus eyed it warily from behind his own partially nibbled piece in the brief moment before Draco spoke to him. "We want to be there for your ... transformation."

"No," Remus replied.

Draco transformed instantly in a way that was uncomfortably familiar to Sirius: the spoiled pout, the shifting of weight on the hips, the folded arms. His bottom lip stuck out petulantly.

"Why not?" he asked. "You've got that potion, you're perfectly safe - "

That was actually a fair point, Sirius conceded, but before he could point that out, Remus was shaking his head.

"Mostly safe. I've never experimented to see exactly how safe I am around humans, and I have no wish to try it out now." When what happened last time might happen again, he didn't need to add. Harry stared at the floor. Draco pouted.

"Well," Sirius began, and Draco looked to him hopefully, "We could always have them stay inside for an hour or two after moonrise, and then - "

Remus cut him off abruptly. "Absolutely not." He stalked away, his face set. Harry and Malfoy exchanged woeful glances, and Sirius turned his head to watch as Remus began to rummage through his desk, purposefully turning his back on the discussion. He shrugged when the boys looked to him, and followed Remus into the study.

"Potter, what does it look like?"

They'd been in the attic for hours, and Malfoy kept coming over and putting things on Harry's head. A book, a bit of holiday tinsel. This was the first time he'd spoken for well over an hour, and Harry couldn't even see him from behind where he'd parked himself behind a mountain of boxes.

"What? What does what look like?"

"The werewolf," Malfoy said, patiently, which made Harry feel a bit nervous.

"Oh. Er, it's big. A lot bigger than Snuffles - er, Sirius. When he's in his Animagus form."

Malfoy snorted. "You're so descriptive." Harry tossed a book in his general direction, which earned him a laugh.

"It goes on four legs," he said. "And ... it can grab things with its front, er, paws."

Malfoy emerged from his hiding place and sat cross-legged next to Harry, putting the big folder he held firmly on both of their laps. Harry looked at the papers that spilled from it, searching for significance. "What colour is it?"

"Brown," Harry replied, shifting through the papers. "Well, sort of. I guess. Don't you feel weird talking about Lupin like he's an 'it'?" Malfoy shrugged.

"How is he, if you like that better, only sort of brown?" He pulled an old, faded photograph from the pile, and both boys squinted at it.

"Gross," Harry said. "Are those heads?"

Malfoy nodded. Indeed they were; a fairly neat row of them, with the bodies just behind, and a row of men standing proudly behind them donned in old-fashioned clothes, complete with safari hats.

"Disgusting," he said. "I think it's from Hong Kong. It was in a whole box filled with things in Chinese. Remus said he used to live there." They admired the grotesqueness of the photo for a moment before setting it aside.

"Do you think Sirius will tell us the gillyweed story?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged, passing over his mug of pumpkin juice when the other boy looked pointedly at it.

"There are these brilliant masks over in that box there. Dean had some idea in third year that Lupin had lived with some tribes in Africa. Wish he could see those masks."

Malfoy drank most of Harry's juice in two long sips. "Dean who?" he asked idly. Harry glared at him.

"Dean Thomas. He's in our year."

"Ah," Malfoy said. "The artist. Oh please, as if you can name any Slytherins who don't hang around with me."

"There's that, er, stringy looking boy. I know him."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I wish we could see him," he said grumpily.

Harry looked over, confused. "The stringy boy?"

Malfoy smacked him on the shoulder. "The werewolf. Remus."

Harry studied him, and realized with something like horror that something was forming in his mind: an idea that would make the Slytherin very happy indeed.

"How is your research coming?" Sirius asked as Remus undressed, shedding his clothes carefully, folding each piece and setting it neatly on the ground as though he weren't on the verge of panic. Remus glanced at the horizon before replying; they stood outside, on the other end of the pond where, Remus had said, Harry and Draco had quite a heart-to-heart the week previous. Moonrise was barely minutes away. He shrugged with one shoulder, removing his trousers reluctantly.

"I think I've found something that might be useful," he said vaguely, looking around as if trying to decide which hank of grass to lay his clothing on. Sirius took them out of his hands, sending them back to the house with a wave of his wand.

He stepped closer, rubbing his hands in broad strokes over Remus' bare skin, turning his fingers in to scratch lightly over Remus' back. His body was preparing for the change, and for hours before and afterwards his skin wouldn't seem to fit quite right. A bit of a massage was the best thing for it; they had all known how to care for Remus, Sirius thought bitterly, and after Harry was born Lily had always wondered how such abrasive boys could be so gentle. They had learned how years before. Remus swayed towards him, resting his head carefully on Sirius' shoulder. Sirius wrapped his arms around the taller man, bringing him in close, looking over Remus' head towards the horizon, where the moon had started to show its pale face. He couldn't remember if Remus always trembled this much before transforming. He brought his hands up to rub gently at the base of Remus' skull just as Remus brought his arms up to wrap tightly around Sirius. He could feel Remus panting harshly against his neck, and didn't bother to ask if Remus was alright.

"I think that Harry and Draco are up to something," Remus whispered.

Sirius shrugged. "I warded most of the windows shut. And all the doors are warded. Did you really think I was going to leave them to their own devices?"

Remus chuckled hoarsely.

"Draco's wanted it so badly," he said randomly. "He hasn't been able to keep himself from talking to me about it." Sirius frowned, watching the inexorable climb of the moon into the sky, trying to calculate the time they had left to them.

"You really need to clue me in on the entire conversation, Moony," he replied, threading his fingers through Remus' hair. "What are you talking about?"

"Tell you later," came the muffled response. "Oh god."

Remus' legs gave out under him, and Sirius barely managed to catch him around the waist and lower him to the ground. Remus clutched at his shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises, and when they locked eyes Sirius only had a moment to try and convey reassurance, that he was there and he would keep Remus safe before Remus arched upwards in his arms, his head thrown back, mouth open wide in a soundless scream, and the change began.

Sirius had seen the transformation countless times. They had had to wait nearly a year after their first animagus transformation before Remus would allow them into the Shack with him before transforming, instead of coming for him afterwards, and every time he had witnessed it since that first, horrifying time, it had created conflicting emotions within him. It had terrified them, that first time, nearly as much as their very first full moon romp had done. It had made him feel sickeningly guilty for months after he had sent Snape to the Willow. And once, only weeks before Dumbledore had come to them with the idea of the Fidelius Charm, it had made him happy that the traitor, their betrayer, was in the agony that he deserved. He had told Lily and James, afterwards, and Lily had slapped him and wouldn't speak to him for a week.

It started, to the outward observer, in Remus' hands. He splayed his fingers, a gesture that Sirius had never been sure if Remus was aware of, as the bones in them broke and shifted, black claws emerging from beneath his fingernails. It worked its way up his arms and to his torso, the part that had alarmed James the most that first time, when his ribcage collapsed underneath his skin, curling forward and out as they took on the shape of the wolf. For Sirius, the most awful part was Remus' feet, as they splintered and mended themselves into long haunches. He felt Remus' heart shudder underneath his palm and stop, and Sirius counted the seconds breathlessly, waiting for the gasp that would signal the ability to breathe again just before the face would begin to stretch and break apart and fur begin to sprout.

"I love you," Sirius told Remus as his eyes changed from gold to muddy green, and shifted to Padfoot with a pang of guilt for the ease of it. He backed up a few paces, watching Remus writhe through the stages of his transformation. This was when the werewolf was the most dangerous, and when it inflicted the most damage on itself, as it tore mindlessly at the source of its pain or any potential threat nearby. Sirius had found that out the hard way, three full moons after the first time that Remus had allowed them to watch him change, when he had been flung down the stairs of the Shrieking Shack. The impact had broken two ribs, and they had kept their distance afterwards.

The werewolf lay on his side, his sides heaving, and Padfoot whined high in his throat, shuffling his paws. A whimper was his answer, and Sirius trotted forward, pushing his nose into the werewolf's neck and giving him a good sniff-over, licking at a long gash that had opened under the werewolf's arm. The werewolf snuffled, curling inwards as it tried to gather the strength to rise. Sirius nosed it gently, giving little whines of encouragement. With the Wolfsbane potion, it took much longer for Remus to recover; the werewolf, in control, would be up within seconds, pissed off and looking for the source of its agony. Remus' mind took a bit more time to recover. After a long moment, it lifted his muzzle and nuzzled Sirius back, huffing a bit as it stuck his face between Sirius' front paws for no reason that Sirius could discern. Its heavy claws dug furrows into the dirt as it lifted itself to its feet, shaking its shoulders from side to side. Its head lifted up, scenting something, and it barked at Padfoot and set off at a run.

Sirius followed dutifully. Hopefully Moony was after some food, or a Gin; he was still hungry, after all.

"I never said it was a good idea, you know," Harry said hopefully. His legs dangled out the window; the sill was digging into his butt where he was perched, halfway out the window that overlooked the front of the house. The window in Remus and Sirius' bedroom, he amended, and wondered briefly why they hadn't taken the time to transfigure separate beds, the way they had for Harry and Malfoy's room, and if maybe Malfoy was right.

"Don't be silly, Potter," Malfoy said soothingly. "It was brilliant idea. You're a wizard, you've got lots of good, quality blood in you. You won't break your head or anything silly like that."

Harry twisted around to glare at him. "Then why don't you go first?"

"I need something to land on," Malfoy replied, and pushed him out the window.

Harry landed on his tailbone with a thump. He felt the impact all the way up his spine, but had only managed to wince before Malfoy landed on top of him in a tangle of arms and legs. "You have to be the boniest person I know," he complained as he shoved Malfoy away.

"That's only because you've never been underneath 'that stringy boy,' as you call him," Malfoy replied, looking annoyingly dignified even as he stood up and brushed dirt off of his jumper.

Harry stared at Malfoy as he pushed himself off the ground. "And you have?"

Malfoy coloured and turned swiftly away. "I wonder where they went?" he said idly, his face still pink.

It had taken them quite a bit of time to find a way out of the house. When he had seen that dejected look on Malfoy's face in the attic, finding an escape route out of the house had seemed like a good idea at the time, especially since he had noted that Sirius hadn't gone into the other bedroom when he had been warding the house shut before the moon rose. You don't pay attention to rules anyway, he told himself. And even Sirius said that the potion made Lupin safe.

"Don't think I've ever seen the front of the house," Malfoy remarked. Harry shrugged and moved to stand by him, craning his head to look at the front side of the Farmhouse, which wasn't any more interesting than the back, he thought. The door's in a different spot. But that might be it.

"What did you mean, you've been 'underneath' that boy?"

Malfoy stuck his tongue out at Harry. "None of your business," he said stiffly. "You don't even know his name."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Harry asked, annoyed.

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, and then hesitated. "Did you hear that?" he asked anxiously.

Harry scowled. "No," he said. "Why do you look so scared? This was your idea."

Malfoy turned back to him, his lip curling, and got as far as "It was not, it - " before the werewolf came around the corner of the house and they both froze.

It was bigger than Harry remembered, and it looked less like Lupin then he had thought. He could still see the scars on its face in the same places as the ones on Lupin's face, but other than that it looked much less familiar than he had thought it would be. It craned its neck out towards them, and dimly Harry heard two sounds: the drumming of huge paws that signalled Snuffles' approach, and a soft sigh that escaped from Malfoy beside him. The werewolf growled softly, and Harry wondered how safe 'mostly safe' was.

The werewolf stood almost gracefully on long, powerful legs. Its fur was a tawny colour that was bleached almost silver in the moonlight. It lifted a paw cautiously, stepping towards them, and Harry heard Malfoy's intake of breath at the sight of those huge, deadly paws that still, somehow, resembled human hands. It still looks human, Harry thought, and didn't notice that he had spoken aloud until Malfoy replied.

"Yes," he breathed.

Padfoot rounded the side of the house at a near gallop, skidding a bit on the slick grass. He stopped short when he caught side of Harry and Malfoy, and let out a surprised bark. They looked to him guiltily, and nobody saw the werewolf start to run towards them.

It had a smooth lope to its movements, and Harry was reminded of the nature programs that Dudley had been briefly fascinated by before learning that he could not have a hyena of his own. Harry looked to Malfoy to see a rather dazed expression on his face, as if he had been spellbound by the creature approaching. His expression turned to terror only when the werewolf was mere feet away from them, and by that time it was too late to run.

The werewolf barrelled into Malfoy just as he turned to run, and they both went sprawling. Harry froze, his wand out, as Padfoot shot past him, snarling. The werewolf paid the massive dog no attention; it had Malfoy pinned underneath its great body, its face inches away from his as it took heavy panting breaths.

"Malfoy," Harry called softly, inching forward. Malfoy looked at him and back to the werewolf, his face bloodless. Sirius circled, growling in warning. "Malfoy, are you alright?"

"Help," Malfoy squeaked. Harry couldn't even find it funny under the circumstances; the werewolf had shifted its attention, moving one paw up to Malfoy's collarbone to keep him pinned while it sniffed and snorted its way down his right arm, pushing the sleeve of Malfoy's jumper up with its other paw to get to the bandages. Malfoy whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Padfoot lunged forward, latching onto the werewolf's foreleg and yanking furiously. It shook him off and then paused, one paw still suspended in the air. It looked at Harry, blinking, and Harry thought he could see a spark of confusion deep in its eyes. "Professor Lupin?" he asked. It blinked, and then slowly, carefully, stepped off of where it had Malfoy pressed down. Harry moved forward quickly, pulling Malfoy to his feet and backing away. Padfoot moved in front of them, still growling, but the werewolf had sat down quietly on its haunches, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it panted. It looked quite harmless and possibly a bit apologetic. It made no move to stop them as they moved away towards the house.

Sirius slammed the door behind him as soon as they were all safely inside, crowded into the narrow front hall. "What the hell were you doing out there?" he hissed. Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was clutching his burned arm to his chest, his face pale.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

Sirius scowled, turning around to look out through the stained glass. "No idea," he growled, his face pained. "He's supposed to be perfectly safe. Maybe the smell of Draco's arm - sorry - drove him crazy, maybe what happened last month makes the Wolfsbane Potion ineffective ... or maybe his anal, neurotic brain just snapped when he saw that rules had been broken - how the hell should I know? I - haven't been with him, lately. Not transformed." Sirius looked faintly, obscurely embarrassed. Harry moved forward to stand by him by the window, peering outside for any sign of the werewolf.

"Maybe - " he began, but Sirius had turned towards him, glaring.

"Why are we having this conversation," he asked slowly, "Like we were all adults? As if you two didn't just completely disregard what we told you to do, ignore any sort of respect I thought we had between each other, and go out in what we assured you was a very dangerous situation?"

He stared hard at Harry, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry dropped his eyes. He didn't dare look at Malfoy.

"We're all going to talk about this later," Sirius said, his voice tight, when Harry made no reply. He sounded a bit like a parent, a dad, and Harry risked a glance up to see the anger fading away in Sirius' eyes.

I was afraid, Sirius didn't need to say, and when he finally looked away from Harry it was to include Malfoy in his worried gaze. He pulled Harry into a rough hug and then, after a pause, moved forward and grabbed Malfoy too. "Next time," he said, "You listen to us, ok?" Harry nodded, shrugging slightly as he saw Malfoy looking at him with wide, confused eyes.

"Ok," Malfoy said.

Sirius released them and, with a final parental stare, shut the door firmly behind him. They listened to Padfoot bound away, and the werewolf's welcoming yip. They stared at each other in silence.

"I think I have werewolf slobber on my arm," Malfoy said, his voice strained. Harry looked at the bandages that stuck out from under Malfoy's ripped right sleeve; they were indeed a bit damp looking, and covered in earth.

"Oh," he said. "Er."

Malfoy's mouth twisted into a grimace. "I guess that wasn't such a brilliant idea, after all."

Harry shook his head. They stared at the ground.

"I," Malfoy said. He blinked rapidly, and looked up at Harry with an almost desperate expression on his face. A bit of terror still lingered in his eyes. "I," he said again, and bit his lip. "I'm going to get cleaned up." He turned away quickly, trudging up the stairs with his arm clutched against his chest.

Harry stared after him, brain working frantically. Malfoy's fine, his mind insisted. He was just knocked to the ground, no harm done. So why was Malfoy obviously not fine? He stepped towards the stairs, hesitantly, and stopped. He wanted to talk last week. We've talked a whole lot since then. Maybe not about serious stuff, but ...

He made his way upstairs slowly. The tap was running in the bathroom, the light in the bedroom on. He cocked his head as he approached their room. No sound came from inside; the bathroom, then.

Harry knocked, and when there was a muffled response on the other side of the door, he swung it open. The door hit Malfoy on the hip before he could back away, and he glared at Harry as Harry crowded into the small space with him. Steam rose from the tap, but Malfoy didn't seem to have made any attempt to pull the bandages on his arm off, although he had stripped off his jumper and was standing shirtless in the tiny bathroom. Harry blinked, distracted for a moment by the angles of Malfoy's hipbones protruding from the old trousers that hung low on his hips, his skin nearly translucent. The steam had filled the bathroom quickly, and in the humidity Harry could smell the faint scent of Malfoy's sweat, and below that, a faint spice that Harry thought must be Malfoy's scent, the smell of him. Harry felt dizzy. All the steam, he thought.

"What do you want?" Malfoy asked irritably. Harry jerked his gaze back up to Malfoy's face, and blushed. Was he really just staring at another boy's - not just another boy's, but Malfoy's - stomach?

Thankfully, Malfoy didn't seem to have noticed. He was staring at Harry, frowning. "Come up to have a good laugh?" he demanded. "'Oh la, another scary monster that ickle Draco couldn't handle, boo hoo.' Just leave me alone, Potter."

"I came up to see if you were ok," Harry said. He wished that he hadn't closed the door behind him when he came in. The steam was making it a bit hard to breathe, and Malfoy's eyes upon him weren't making it any easier. "So, are you?"

"Fine," Malfoy bit out. "Just peachy." He turned away, fumbling at the bandages on his arm.

"Oh, come off it," Harry said. "I didn't do anything. Why not just tell me what's wrong?"

Malfoy's hand stilled, and he moved it carefully away from his other arm, resting his weight heavily on the edge of the sink. Harry watched the curve of Malfoy's spine as he swayed, the ridges of his shoulder blades, the fine hair at the base of his neck, and swallowed heavily. When Malfoy began to speak, quietly, spitting his words out, he had to think for a moment to figure out what the hell Malfoy was talking about now.

"You wouldn't understand. And I was stupid to think that you would. Perfect bloody Potter, how would you know what it felt like to be so - so disgusting? So filthy that any Dark Creature comes running just to see how rotten you smell. How foul you are. So excuse me. I had forgotten I was the 'evil Slytherin' for a bit." His voice rose with every sentence, until he was nearly shouting. He shoved himself away from the counter and spun to look Harry in the eye, so close that their foreheads nearly touched. Harry's eyes crossed.

"No matter what I do," Malfoy growled. "I can't make you think any better of me. Oh, how fun, planning pranks with a Slytherin, but we've also got to obsess about what he does in his spare time with a boy whose name you don't even know." Harry blinked.

"What are - ?" he managed before Malfoy cut him off again, flinging his left arm up against Harry's collarbone, forcing him backwards against the door. He leaned in close, and Harry sucked in a breath.

"It isn't any of your business, Potter. Just don't even bother, alright?"

Harry paused, sucking in a lungful of air. Malfoy was definitely too close for comfort. "Malfoy," he said as evenly as he could. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about or what that boy has to do with anything."

Malfoy blinked at him.

"It has to do with ..." He trailed off, and stared down at his arm, the one that had Harry pinned, for a long moment before slowly pulling away. "It doesn't matter."

Harry remained where he was, frozen against the door. His fingers pressed hard into the grain of the wood, and as he watched Malfoy, the other boy seemed to shrink into himself, becoming smaller as the seconds passed in silence between them. His mind was nearly bludgeoning itself, trying to figure out what was going on, what was wrong, what he should say, what he should do. He moved, slowly, bracing himself against the cold porcelain of the sink. Malfoy's arms crossed protectively around himself, and he stared down at the floor, his face pink. He seemed to be moving in the same slow motions that Harry was caught in, frozen in the panic and uncertainty of the moment. Harry caught him around the shoulders, as surprised as Malfoy looked that his hands had found their way there. He steered him to the toilet, seating him on the closed seat. He sat down himself on the edge of the claw foot tub and reached carefully for Malfoy's burned arm, cradling it in both of his hands. Malfoy's hand shook.

They sat in silence as Harry gingerly unwrapped the bandages from Malfoy's arm, peeling layer off of layer as he unwound strips of gauze, laying Malfoy's skin bare. Malfoy's arm was limp, unresisting, and he didn't look up as Harry reached behind himself for the bath's tap, turning on the hot water there instead of releasing Malfoy's hand in order to get some of the water from the sink, which was still running. He groped for a washcloth, soaking it in the warm water that spilled from the tap. Malfoy sighed as Harry brushed it against the burn that now reached past his elbow, moving it methodically, lightly over the skin.

"I think it's looking better," he ventured. The steam seemed to make the words linger in the air, and he wrapped the cloth around Malfoy's wrist, his thumb making unconscious circles on top of it. Malfoy stared at his hand. Harry stared at Malfoy.

"Have you really never known?" Malfoy asked, his voice so soft that Harry almost didn't hear him speak. He paused, and in the space between breaths Malfoy shook his head, cutting off Harry's first, impossible thought. "It doesn't matter."

"It does," Harry replied, and Malfoy raised his head. Smiled.

A real smile. The way he had smiled at Snape. His eyes as soft as Harry had ever seen, looking up from beneath his eyelashes with his lips twisted just a little bit, the sharp angles of his cheekbones smoothed beneath the brilliance, the surprising sweetness of that smile, and dimly, as if from very far away, Harry felt his heart clench and then release him, and he leaned forward and laid his forehead against Malfoy's, his fingers still wrapped around Malfoy's wrist.

"It's going to be alright," he whispered, and meant it.

Padfoot lay with his nose between his paws, waiting. The moon had disappeared behind the trees about an hour ago, and Moony grew more restless with every moment. Its heavy paws hit the ground hard as it paced, running up to Padfoot every few minutes to nip at him and then dash away. Sirius was exhausted.

After the incident with Harry and Draco, the rest of the night had actually passed pretty peacefully. They had chased a few Gins, Moony had caught a rabbit, and they had wandered down to the beach beyond the trees to play among the boulders that dotted the jagged shoreline. But worry had nearly paralysed Padfoot, made it impossible to follow the werewolf's graceful run. The grey along Moony's muzzle and eyes had become all the more apparent as the moon rose higher in the sky. The limp in Moony's gait had been impossible to ignore. Worst had been the ragged breathing that didn't even seem to bother the werewolf, the grating of its lungs that Remus had tried so hard to conceal in the last few days.

Remus must think he was stupid. That he wouldn't notice how slowly Remus moved these days, how his hand would clutch at his chest as if a sudden pain had struck him. Could Remus think that Sirius wouldn't know the way he coughed in his sleep, that he was sick after nearly every meal? What was the point of hiding those things?

He harrumphed to himself as Moony bounded up and paced a tight circle around him, nudging at him with its nose, whining deep in its throat. Its skin would be feeling tight by this time, ill-fitting around its body, and it shook its body hard as if to prove Sirius' estimations. It stretched its legs one by one, trying to shake out its discomfort.

Padfoot lifted his head, trying to gauge the light. The moon was far beyond his sight, but it should be setting soon. Remus wouldn't be fully coherent until the sun actually rose, but in the time between was the best opportunity to get him fed and cleaned up. With the sunrise, he'd be fully lucid but the complete return to his human form would leave him exhausted. With the moon gone and the sun yet to appear, he would be in almost a halfway state, and more active than he would be for several days after the full moon.

Moony stiffened mid-stride. Its head swivelled towards the forest, one paw raised. Padfoot got to his feet, moving towards the werewolf. It moaned as he approached, a pitiful sound that was still more animal than human. Padfoot whimpered sympathetically, nosing along Moony's side to offer some comfort. The change from werewolf to human was much less dangerous to be near than the change from human to werewolf; at this stage, Moony was mainly confused, uncertain of what was happening to it.

Moony sank to the ground, paws arranged haphazardly around its body. It looked up at Sirius pleadingly as the first shudders rocked it, the first bones broke. It cried as its spine twisted and snapped under the transformation, shuddering its way back into its human body. Remus keened softly and curled in on himself, and in a heartbeat Sirius had transformed too and gathered him close.

Remus struggled for a quick instant before he recognized Sirius' scent, and he relaxed into Sirius' arms, making wordless noises. He pushed his nose into Sirius' chest, snuffling deeply as one hand came up to clutch at Sirius' shoulder. Sirius lifted him easily, whispering words of comfort.

He walked slowly back to the Farmhouse, wincing as sore muscles announced themselves to him. He'd never be in as good health as he had been before Azkaban, never be able to keep up with Moony on their all-night romps as well as he used to. But he could still carry Remus, he thought grimly. He could at least do that much.

The house was quiet as he let them in, shifting Remus in his arms gently in order to grasp the doorknob. Dawn's light was just beginning to filter in through the windows, and Sirius sighed. He had never liked the pallor of early morning light all that much, and the daylight simply looked grey to him. Remus loved it, loved watching the sun rise and feeling inevitable exhaustion creep through his bones. It had been something that Lily and Remus had shared, in those days that Sirius remembered only hazily, when Lily was heavy with Harry and slept erratically. Sirius would often wake, when they had all slept at the Potters', to find Remus' sleeping spot empty and the werewolf himself sitting out on the narrow balcony with Lily, both of them wrapped in thick blankets and sharing a jug of grapefruit juice between them as the sun made its entrance into the day.

Harry and Draco's door was open upstairs, and Sirius spared a moment to pop his head in and check on them. He didn't know how traumatizing or icky it would be to see their former professor naked, but it was still better to make sure they had actually slept. Draco was more tangled in blankets than Sirius had thought possible, his badly rebandaged arm flung above his head, the only limb free. Harry's mouth was wide open, his hair spread in a halo around his head, snoring. Sirius smiled, easing his way back into the hallway. He looked down to meet Remus' eyes, open and staring at him. Remus blinked, and sighed heavily. It was a contented sound.

As he made his way down the hallway, Remus' hand tightening around his shoulder made him pause. He looked down again, and saw that Remus was smiling, his eyes nearly closed. "Bath?" he rasped. Sirius nodded.

The bathroom was at the end of the hallway, directly across from the doorway of Remus and Sirius' room. It was small, with two windows and a Muggle mirror that Sirius had demanded responses from for two days before realizing that it didn't talk. The bath was his favourite part; it stood up on elegant claw feet with a soft curtain around it, Charmed so that the water never splashed on the floor.

"Can you sit up?" he asked Remus as he edged into the bathroom, turning to the side so that he didn't bump Remus into the walls. Remus nodded, and Sirius set him down carefully on the toilet while he ran the tap. Remus swayed slightly, and Sirius laughed as he ran the water over his fingers, checking the temperature and watching the tub slowly fill.

"And look, I'm already set for a bath," Remus said vaguely, gesturing at his nakedness. Sirius nodded.

"I noticed," he said. Remus sat up, moving his legs carefully, as though he wasn't quite sure they were going to do what he wanted to do, shifting himself into the tub rather than try and stand. He settled in with a happy sigh, and then opened his eyes to glance at Sirius.

"Aren't you coming in?"

Sirius laughed, startled, a little thrill running up his spine. He pulled his robes off quickly, glancing at himself in the mirror. He had gained weight in the past year, and his hair was shorter than it had been since he had been disowned by his family. His tattoos were less stark now that they weren't stretched thinly across bone, and he rubbed a hand over them, obscurely comforted by their cloaking presence. He turned to look at Remus, whose head was tipped back and eyes were shut. "Budge up," he said.

Remus chuckled and moved forward obligingly until his knees nearly touched his chest, and Sirius slid in behind him, his legs on either side of Remus' body. Remus settled into him, back against Sirius' chest, laying his head against Sirius' collarbone. The tub wasn't nearly big enough for the both of them, but as Remus wiggled contentedly against him Sirius found that he didn't give a whit. He dipped his hands into the steaming water and brought palmfuls of water up to Remus' chest, rubbing his fingers over his wet skin. Remus arched under his hands, baring his throat and Sirius took the hint. He moved his head down to lay warm, open-mouthed kisses along Remus' neck, nipping at the soft spot just under his jaw that always made Remus squirm. Remus made soft noises in his throat, pushing back against Sirius' body. His hand stroked Sirius' leg in lazy circles, the only part of Sirius' body that he could easily reach.

Sirius pushed his hands through the water, stroking in long motions over every part of Remus' body he could touch. He rubbed hard over the muscles in Remus' thighs, massaging the cramps and knots out and pushing Remus up slightly to get to his back. His tongue stuck out, just a little bit, as he concentrated on what he was doing. Remus was boneless against him, his head propped on his knees as he sighed appreciatively as Sirius pressed hard against the nerves right above Remus' tailbone. He sighed heavily as Sirius guided him to his previous position, held up by Sirius' supporting weight, and Sirius lifted his hands out of the water for a moment to grab the soap. He lathered it between his hands slowly, kissing the back of Remus' head as he smoothed his soapy palms over Remus' chest. He felt Remus' laughter against his stomach.

It was so strange, Sirius mused as Remus turned his face up, shifting against him as he bit gently at Sirius' mouth; how well he knew the scent of Remus' skin, the way that he shook his hair out of his eyes, the shape of his elegant, perpetually ink-stained fingers, and yet how new everything seemed when they touched. Every stolen kiss, every gasp against his mouth, even the simple slide of warm skin against his own was startling, beautiful. They sat for hours without speaking, anticipating the thoughts and needs of the other before anything could be asked, Remus a solid presence next to him, full of random laughter and smiles that said I know exactly what you mean. Sirius hadn't had a smile like that for quite some time.

But when Remus moved against him in the night, biting at his fingers to keep quiet as if they hadn't cast the strongest Charms they knew to ward against curious ears; when Sirius uncovered a sensitive spot on the inside of Remus' thigh and Remus squeaked rather than laughed; when Remus said those words he didn't think he'd ever hear again from anybody, it was so new and frightening that he shook for hours and held Remus close to him as though he had dreamed the entire thing.

And Remus would hold him, like he was doing now as he turned around and raised himself onto his hands and knees to settle onto Sirius' lap, and Remus raised his hands to cup Sirius' face and lift his chin up to kiss him, and Remus' mouth was soft and his face scratchy, and Remus sighed into his mouth as he lowered himself, slowly, slowly, and a bathtub was really a horrible and restricting place to do this, Sirius thought, and water was no lubricant at all and neither was a bit of spit, and ...

Then it was all light and heat and Remus' breath against his face, Remus' fingers still buried in his hair, and Sirius whispered, "Yes."

Sirius crept downstairs. Every bone in his body ached. His head spun. He was damp and nearly sick from hunger. He thought he had never been happier in his entire life.

Remus had passed out moments after towelling himself dry, and Sirius had carried him to their room and tucked him in. The sun would be rising soon, and Remus was cleaned up and his. Harry and Draco were still asleep - he had closed their door on his way down, and had watched the shadows vanish slowly from their faces as the first light of the day crept into their room, some unnameable feeling settling itself deep into his chest. He rubbed his fingers over the spot, just to the left and below his heart, as he stepped onto the staircase, and smiled. The pallor of dawn seemed to him to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He rounded the banister into the living room and nearly made it to the kitchen before he saw the figure, standing silently beside the bookshelves, staring out into the morning. It absorbed the light and Sirius groped for his wand even as he realized that it was upstairs on the table next to the bed, even as the figure turned towards him.

"Snape," he snarled. Snape's lip curled, and he paused. "What are you doing here?"

Snape drew in a long breath, his back stiff and his jaw set. "Simply checking up on things," he said silkily. It had to be Sirius' imagination that his voice shook, just a bit. "Dumbledore hooked your Floo up for the evening, in case there was ... an incident, despite the perfectly brewed potion that I brought last week."

Sirius' teeth ground together. "He was fine, Snape. Everything is fine. Thanks for your concern."

Snape only studied him, his bony arms crossed over his chest. The silence lay heavily between them. Snape's lips twitched, and his head tilted forward, breaking eye contact.

"I have brought something for Lupin," he said softly. "A book that I believe he might find useful." His hand slipped into his sleeve, and Sirius tensed, but Snape only withdrew a slender volume, its binding cracked with age.

"I hadn't wanted to bring it, before." He paused, looking up at Sirius again. "But I think that it's what he is looking for."

"How would you know?" Sirius sneered, storming forward and snatching the book away from Snape, staring down at Snape's oily face from his greater height. Snape's face was full of contempt.

"I see he hasn't let you in on his secret," he whispered. "What a pity. Hardly a surprise. I see he doesn't trust you any more than when he thought you were the spy."

"He never thought I was - "

Snape cut him off smoothly. "Interesting, isn't it, that he trusts me, over you?" Sirius's breath caught. Snape's lip curled, his expression triumphant. "Out of my way, Black, I want to see my godson before I leave."

He brushed past Sirius and was gone. Sirius felt frozen, his fingers numb where they had clenched around the book Snape had brought. He blinked rapidly, tried to get air back into his lungs. He turned, mechanically, and made his way to the den, sitting heavily on the worn couch. He didn't feel it sink underneath him, and he stared at the records that were still scattered around the floor and didn't recognize them, barely noticed light slowly filled the room, suffocating him. He sat, silently, until the sun rose high into the sky, and another full moon vanished into memory.