Christmas, 1977

Christmas, 1977

Remus stared at the ceiling; he took in the myriad cracks in the plaster, the burnt lamp, and the faint Spellotape stains. “You know,” he said with sleepy decisiveness, “I do like this place after all.”

The mattress squeaked and dipped as Sirius wriggled about to face him. “Now that’s the fire whisky talking,” he mumbled muzzily, and yawned. “Want another? There’s plenty more. Few more and you may just be willing to move in with me. How ‘bout it, Moonbeam?”

Remus ignored the question and the offer. He continued to survey the ceiling, even after Sirius caught his hand and began to trace slow circles around his palm with his fingertip. “It’s the sex,” he said finally and with utmost conviction, causing the other boy to choke abruptly and stop what he was doing. Only then did Remus turn his head on the pillow and smile into the wide blue eyes of his lover. “It’s the sex,” he said again, so matter-of-factly he could have been answering a question posed to him by one of his professors at Hogwarts. “I can only have sex in a place where I feel comfortable. I have to admit, your spider collection--”

“--Flatmates,” Sirius corrected him. “Can’t toss ‘em out. They eat the midges in summer.”

“--put me off at first. And I’m still convinced something died behind the wall in your pantry, and the windows are all stuck--”

“--It’s winter--”

“--and your rug is more holes than rug. Still,” said Remus with an air of mild bewilderment, “you did just manage to shag me rotten--”

“--Yeah…” A grin sprawled across Sirius’ face.

“So my conclusion is, somewhere deep down in my heart where I don’t even realise it, I must like your new flat after all.” He beamed. With astonishing lack of grace Sirius rolled over on top of him and between deep, languorous kisses muttered something that might have been, “You are so very pissed, lovey.”

Remus wasn’t, at least not very, but the moment Sirius’ fumbling hands found their way into his open shirt and down to his hips the need to clarify sputtered and died and the only things requiring his attention became the smooth, hot skin against his own, the hungry, exploring lips, and the heady, alcohol-laced scent breaking over him.

A little while later, spent once more, they sprawled together, Sirius’ cheek against Remus’ breast, his arms wound loosely around the other’s slender waist, and Remus’ fingers combing slowly through the thick, sweat-tipped black hair.

“Move in with me?” Sirius entreated again, softly. His breath tickled Remus’ skin.

“I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to. My mum and dad want me to stay with them, at least until I’m done with school. Legally, I can do whatever I want now, but... They don’t like the idea of me leaving home just yet.”

Sirius snorted.

“There were extenuating circumstances in your case,” Remus said, stroking tenderly. “And you lived with the Potters until your last birthday. My parents worry,” he regretted having to mention parents, “and I guess I can understand why.”

“I take good care of you.” This, rather petulantly. “Me and Prongs are learning all them healing spells.”

“You take the best care of me.” Remus pushed the dark fringe down over Sirius’ eyes, then smoothed it back again. “I’m not worried. But we can’t exactly tell my parents about Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail.”

“But I’m lonely here.”

Remus paused. The urgency in Sirius’ tone--and the very fact that he would make such an admission--worried him. He looked at the ceiling again, unsure of what to say.

“Don’t stop.”

“What?”

“What you were doing. Playing with my hair. It felt nice. Keep doing it.”

Remus dug his fingers into the shaggy mane; with his other hand he began to stroke Sirius’ bare back, noting the tension there and wondering how best to ease it. Sirius twitched slightly under his touch, and made small half-encouraging, half-plaintive sounds.

“Relax,” Remus murmured. “You were the definition of relaxed just a few minutes ago.”

Sirius muttered something about being dangerous and unpredictable.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Remus laughed thoughtfully. “Six and a half years have given me some insight into how your mind works. And I feel perfectly safe.”

“Is that my cue to prove I’m not a sheepdog?”

“It’s your cue to relax, remember it’s Christmas Eve, we’re together…in this ugly flat…”

“I love you.”

Remus craned his neck and pressed a kiss into Sirius’ hair. Sirius butted his chin playfully with the top of his head and Remus said, “We’ll be together after school is over. I promise. We’ll get jobs. We’ll get a nice flat--”

“You said you liked this one.” Sirius sounded slightly aggrieved.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Your fridge hums…”

“…but on key…”

“…your mirror whistles at me every time I walk by…”

“--well, I told it to do that.”

Remus cuffed him gently and laughed again. “Did you really?”

“Not in so many words, no. I spent enough time in front of it before you came so it gathered something was up and then it asked what the hell I was trying to accomplish doing that to my hair and so I explained and…” To Remus’ relief, he chuckled. But then he said, “See how lonely I am, explaining my woes to bloody mirrors? I’m a case study. Moony, you’ve got to save me. Move in with me.”

“We’re together all the time at school.”

“S’not enough. I’m possessive.”

“Clearly. We’ll be together. Just a few more months.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Sirius lifted his head and smiled. Remus kissed the gently curving lips and the corners of the half-closed eyes. He felt the whisky in his system and was glad he’d resisted the temptation to match Sirius shot for shot. Had he not, he might now be blurting out all his reasons for not moving into the flat right away. Padfoot, so jealous of Prongs and his wonderful, loving parents that he’d elected to spend Christmas at his wretched flat in York rather than go with them to Spain as he’d have been more than welcome to do, did not, at that moment, need to hear about the fears and doubts that Moony still harboured, even after nine relatively peaceful, mostly fight-free months. That Sirius was sorry for the thing that had happened last March, Remus knew. That Sirius had never meant for it to happen in the first place, and never wanted it to happen ever again he also knew. That Sirius was possessed of a mercurial temper and a rather shocking lack of foresight was a third fact that Remus found difficult to ignore. The memory of waking in a hospital bed, confused and in pain, and learning from James what the wolf--not he, Remus, but the wolf--had nearly done was still raw in his mind. As was the shock of learning who had placed so many people in so much danger that night. As were Sirius’ tears and fervent apologies. James had told him later about how Sirius had stayed with him in the Shrieking Shack holding him and trying by himself to heal Remus’ multiple self-inflicted wounds until Madam Pomfrey came. That revelation and the memory of those tears were what had done him in, finally, after weeks of solitary brooding, and choked the words of forgiveness from his lips. He’d never seen Sirius cry before.

He supposed he’d been testing Sirius this past year, watching him carefully for any hint of a reprise of that confused anger that had made him guide Severus Snape to the Shrieking Shack that horrible night. So far there had been none. Sirius had moved in with Prongs and his parents shortly after the incident--the Trick, they’d taken to calling it--and by mid-summer he’d found this place. The move had been good for him. Remus understood about the loneliness, but they both knew it was better than the abuse Sirius’ parents and brother had heaped on him before he fled.

I should let my guard down, Remus thought, still kissing the smiling, upturned face, and enjoying what the other was doing in response. He’s been good. He’s been so good. But…

Sirius pulled away slightly. “I love you,” he said softly, eyes earnest. “And I’m glad you came. In case I forgot to say it before.”

Remus tugged an askew lock of hair. “Was that a double entendre?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Sirius ducked his head. His chuckles tickled Remus’ bare chest. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you came to stay here for the holiday, and I’m glad you, ah, came--”

Remus swatted him again, but Sirius ignored the blow and, finding his lips already at a convenient spot, he pressed them to Remus’ skin and began kissing his way down the other boy’s shivering body. At Remus’ navel he looked up again. “We should do something.”

“Weren’t we just?”

“Something festive. We got our tree and all. We could go carolling. Run around the city singing, Wreck the halls with huge explosions / Who did that? I have no notion… Fa la la?” he enquired.

“ Hark! Ex-prefect Moony sings / Ye shall do no such thing.”

“You don’t like my song?”

“The song is fine. The dying Diricawl impression put me off…”

“Oh, you. Moony, the Hogwarts werewolf…"

“Now you’re getting personal,” Remus chided. “I’ll have to come up with one for you. Manger sounds enough like mangy…”

“Mangy?” Sirius snorted in disdain. “The very idea. Music lesson’s over. Want to take a shower? The tap’s not the least bit scary.”

“It was making strange, choking sounds when I used the loo earlier.”

“Do you want to just go to a hotel?” Sirius demanded mock-exasperatedly.

“Could we?”

Sirius answered his query with a kiss. “Shower with me, Moony,” he whispered into Remus’ mouth. “Please? I’ll--” kiss “--protect you--” kiss “--from the nasty tap. You posh wanker, you.”

“After you insult me like that?” Remus wrapped his arms around the other’s lean shoulders and pulled him closer. “One condition.”

“Mmm…yeah?”

“I’m washing your hair.”

“Done.”

*

An hour later Remus stood by the window in the bedroom, watching the snow, which had begun to fall while they were in the shower. He’d dimmed the lights, but the hoary glow of clouded moonlight on snow lent definition to the objects in the room: the bed, the battered trunk, the little odds and ends Sirius had collected and left strewn about. Remus felt clean and pleasantly exhausted. Sirius was in the pantry, gathering food by the sound of it, and croaking more of “Wreck the Halls.” Remus heard a crash, then the song broke off as Sirius cursed.

“Prongs always said you had a voice that could shatter glass,” Remus said.

“I’ll shatter you. Reparo!” He resumed singing at the top of his lungs.

Remus grinned, hugged his arms and leaned against the wall, enjoying the view of the cold outside, glad of his warm slippers and thick flannel robe--last year’s Christmas present from Sirius. Nutmeg and cinnamon wafted to him from the pantry; the biscuits from Mrs Pettigrew, he thought, and inhaled deeply.

“Wine?” Sirius called from the pantry. “I have some mulling spices…somewhere…I think. Accio! Ah, brilliant.”

“Sounds good,” said Remus. Not that he hadn’t enough of a buzz from the whisky…and the sex…but Sirius seemed to be enjoying his role as host, so Remus indulged him.

He did like the flat, if only because each room (all three of them) bore Sirius’ messy stamp. He supposed he could come to enjoy living here. Well, he supposed he could learn to enjoy living in a cave if Sirius were there, too. It troubled him that Sirius, who could afford a nice place, had chosen this particular flat. Possibly Sirius was just overdoing the frugality, as he tended to overdo everything; his money, after all, had come as a windfall from his Uncle Alphard and was not an inexhaustible resource. In his heart, though, Remus knew that the flat--muttering pipes and all--was yet another attempt by Sirius to divorce himself from his affluent and narrow-minded family. Several times Remus had tried to get Sirius to talk to him about his parents and younger brother. The response had always been the same: I don’t want to talk about them. Why do you want to know, anyway? It’s not like you’ll ever meet them. It’s not like I’ll ever see them again. You know what my dear old mum would call you if she knew? A goddamn half-breed. Like you’re not completely human or something…

Remus forced the bitter voice from his mind. It was Christmas Eve. He and Sirius were together despite everything, and it was snowing. He could believe, for tonight anyway, that anything that might threaten their peace was very far away and insignificant. Still, he found himself wanting, right then and there, for the other boy to appear and put his arms around him. That would make him feel completely safe and content, as nothing else could. What was keeping Sirius?

His lips had barely formed the name when Sirius was beside him, wearing only his pyjama bottoms, and grinning in the pallid light. In the air behind him, a plate of biscuits and two goblets of hot spiced wine floated.

Remus took the goblets and handed one to Sirius. “You’re such a show-off,” he whispered.

Sirius’ eyes twinkled over the rim of his goblet. “Well, yes. Are you impressed?”

Remus raked the splendid half-bare body with his gaze, and made sure Sirius knew it before answering, “Very.”

“When we talk to Prongs tomorrow morning I want to sing him my song. Bet he’ll like it. Unlike some, he appreciates--”

“Padfoot, if you dare call that cacophony music--”

Sirius laughed. Then sobering abruptly, he said, “There’s no silver in the flat, you know. Not a single piece. The forks and knives are all tin. I made sure. I had some stuff at--you know, where I used to live--but I left it all there.”

Six and a half years had taught Remus not to be disconcerted by Sirius’ non sequiturs; he was quite sure he’d never learn to predict them. “I know,” he murmured, searching the other’s face and liking what he found there. “I feel perfectly safe here. I trust you. We’ll live together.”

Sirius flinched, so slightly Remus thought he might have imagined it. “I hate being alone.”

Lowering his goblet, Remus walked to the other boy and touched him, lightly, over the heart. This time he knew the flinch was real. “We’re going to be together,” he said steadily. “For richer or poorer. And--in sickness and in health.” He was glad of the alcohol; it excused his maudlin words.

“For better or for worse?” Sirius asked, eyebrows raised.

“This is worse,” Remus pointed out, meaning the flat, and had for his reward a rather rueful smile. That wasn’t good enough. “This Levitating charm,” said Remus, “will it break if you lose concentration?”

“No, why--?”

Because of Remus’ lips suddenly pressed to his, and Remus’ fist on the small of his back. Sirius sighed into his mouth and let himself be kissed.

When they broke apart, Sirius grumbled, “I hate seeing Regulus at school. Always trotting after Snape like some goddamn lapdog. Reckon Snivellus loves that. Reckon every time he--Regulus, I mean--sees us together he writes home to that bitch--I mean, you know, mother--and tells her all about--”

Remus looked at him exasperatedly. “That’s what you were thinking just now? While I was kissing you?”

Sirius shuffled his feet and stuck out his lower lip. “No. After.”

“You’re too fast,” Remus chided, looping an arm around Sirius’ slim waist again and hitching him close. “I can’t keep up. Let’s just pick a topic and stick with it. How about I love you.”

This time when they kissed a little wine got spilled, Remus’ robe came slightly undone, Sirius’ pyjama bottoms ended up rather lower around his hips, and they both came up smiling.

“Let’s go look at the snow,” Sirius breathed. “On the roof.”

“We’ll freeze!”

“We won’t stay up there long. We’ve got jackets, wands… I’ll do Impervio on the biscuits. Come on. I want you to really see York. The view’s nice.”

They donned jackets, scarves, and boots and climbed the rickety ladder to the trapdoor that let out onto the building’s roof. Sirius floated the biscuits and wine up after them.

The air was bitingly cold, but at least the wind was not strong. The snow fell lightly; it did not obscure the view of the city illuminated by what from that height looked like millions of faeries. Remus knew he was looking at streetlamps and Christmas lights, but the knowledge did not render the view any less magical. He felt something warm being pushed into his hands and looked down to find Sirius’ goblet, drained of wine, now enclosing a Summoned sphere of blue fire.

“Take it,” said Sirius.

“You take it. You’re not wearing a shirt. Idiot.”

“Take it and come here. Idiot.”

Remus did. They snuggled close, their fingers laced together around the goblet, Sirius’ cheek on Remus’ shoulder. Their heights were perfect, Remus thought a little fuzzily. Look at how well they fit together. A sure indication, if ever there were, that this was meant to be. And there was Sirius whispering his exact thought in his ear and not even needing to ask why Remus laughed…

How in the world had he stumbled into this? He was a werewolf. A registered werewolf, which meant that finding gainful employment after Hogwarts would be a near impossibility. He was a dark creature, a beast according to the Werewolf Registry and Werewolf Capture Unit who petitioned Albus Dumbledore yearly for his removal from Hogwarts. Nine months ago, after nearly killing two of his classmates, he’d been very close to giving in to them. He still took little comfort in Dumbledore’s assurances that the only person he’d truly come close to killing that night had been himself.

How then, had he found this love? Being what he was, and now of all times, with the most evil Dark wizard in a century gaining power in nearly all circles, how in the world did he dare feel so secure? Sirius just managed to make every wonderful thing seem possible. Remus had known that since he was eleven. More than that, only Sirius could understand him so well. Sirius, too, hated what he was: scion--despite having been disowned last January--of the noble and most ancient house of Black. Sirius rebelled against his name, his pure bloodline, his family’s history--basically, every expectation the wizarding world seemed to have for him. That March night in the Shrieking Shack, Remus supposed grimly, the beasts inside both of them had broken loose, and the result had nearly been catastrophic.

But catastrophe had been averted, Remus was quick to remind himself. No one had died, and only Remus had been injured. In a way it was good that each had seen and recognized the other’s dark side. They could help each other now. That was what they had promised to do. What they continued to do. Remus could remind Sirius that his name was just a word, not a spell; it had no power over him. And Sirius could remind Remus that he was human and…

“Beautiful,” Sirius murmured, breath tickling his skin. Remus squirmed with pleasure as Sirius nudged the damp hair away from his neck and kissed him with his cold, dry lips. “Nnh, and you smell nice, too. D’you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Besides the wind and his heart pounding?

“The bells,” said Sirius. “Listen. I think they’re coming from the Minster. Over there.”

Remus peered in the direction he knew Yorkminster to be, but he couldn’t make it out through the snow and darkness. He strained his ears, ignoring the wind and willing his heartbeat to slow, and then he did hear, faintly in the distance, the bells chiming whatever the hour was.

“Oh night divine,” Sirius sang creakily, “indeed.” He kissed Remus’ neck again. “Indeed.” His cheek. “Indeed.” His temple. “I’m about ready to fall on my knees again. You?”

Remus swatted him playfully. “Blasphemy!” he laughed. “And I was just thinking how wonderful you were.”

“Were?” Hands on his shoulders, Sirius spun the other boy around. In the dim light, Remus could just make out his slightly feral grin. “Were?”

“Are,” said Remus. “Were, are, always will be. Better?”

“Yeah. Moony--look!”

Again Remus was spun about, this time so forcefully he almost dropped the flame-filled goblet. “What?” he demanded. “What?” Sirius was pointing excitedly at the sky. “What?”

“There,” said Sirius. “Look.”

Remus followed the other boy’s finger and saw, where the wind had blown the clouds apart, a small patch of deep blue sky ornamented by a single bright star.

“Make a wish,” said Sirius. “Quick, before the clouds blow over it again.”

Remus was confused. “A--what? Why?”

“Muggle magic,” Sirius explained quickly. “I mean, it’s a kind of magic Muggles actually believe in. Make a wish on the first star you see, and maybe it’ll come true. Lily used to do it when she was a kid, she was telling me. Come on, then. Don’t tell me what it is, though.”

“But it won’t come true.”

“It might. If we wish for the same thing, maybe.”

You’re the one who’s totally pissed, Remus wanted to say, but the earnestness in the other boy’s tone made him hold his tongue. This was such a little whim he’d be a complete git not to indulge it. These flashes of innocence from Sirius were rare enough. Remus looked at the star, and thought about his wish.

Peace, he thought. That would be the obvious thing to wish for. Peace in the wizarding world--and the Muggle one. Or, remembering his earlier thought about his condition, maybe fairness…

Sirius gripped his shoulders and said, quite close to his ear, with that dark, low-pitched tone Remus had never yet been able to ignore, “For god’s sake, Moony, make it a selfish wish.”

This forever, Remus thought automatically and letting his head drop back onto the other’s shoulder, drank in the sweet, dangerous, wild scent that was purely Sirius. This, just this, forever and ever…

* *

Remus dropped his armload of books onto the desk and choked in the ensuing cloud of dust. When it cleared, “Those aren’t mine,” said Sirius, who had come into the study, alerted, no doubt, by Remus’ loud hacking.

“I know,” said Remus, brushing dust off his robes. “They’re mine.”

They looked at each other. After a moment’s uncomfortable silence, Sirius said, “I have enough to read.”

“They’re not for you,” Remus said, meeting the pale blue gaze. “They’re for me. Though of course you may borrow them. Just, kindly, remember to put them back in order when you’re done. I guess I’ll leave them here for the time being. I have quite a few more to bring over. What?”

Sirius continued to stare at him.

“What?” Remus asked again, disconcerted. Once again he was struck by how little the man before him resembled the one who had shown up on his doorstep only a week and a half ago, trembling with excitement and quite unable to stop talking. I’ve rallied the Order. Dumbledore said to lie low at your place. He said he’d send me instructions here. I wonder what he’ll have me do. We’ve got Shacklebolt, Weasley, and ol’ Mad-Eye on our side. D’you reckon I’ll get my trial, finally? Moony, I might be free in a week. Well, maybe it'll take a bit longer. D’you reckon they’ll let me take Harry, then? Won’t Fudge just wet himself? I can be useful to the two of you, finally! Sirius had been thinner then, and nearly as dishevelled as he’d looked after his escape from Azkaban; he’d been travelling hard for days and on very little nourishment and even less sleep. After a little over a week of solid meals and tender loving care Remus had had him looking better physically, but since his return to Number 12, Grimmauld Place on Dumbledore’s orders, the fire had gone out of him entirely.

“‘What’?” Sirius repeated, a growl in his voice. “What do you mean, ‘what’? What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Remus responded patiently. “I’m going back to my place to get some more things. I’ll be back in--”

“You’re staying?” Sirius demanded.

Remus regarded him. “Yes,” he said, and made to Disapparate.

“Here?”

“Where else?” He was losing patience.

“Why?”

The word came out so lacerated with pain and incredulity that Remus winced and closed his eyes. When he opened them again Sirius was still looking at him, but his brows were pinched together, his lips turned downward in perfect bewilderment.

Because of a wish, thought Remus gripping a chair back to steady himself, that didn’t come true when it should have. Because if you’re going to be back in hell, I’m going to be with you. “I just want to,” he managed to say.

Sirius began pacing the study.

Like a caged animal, Remus thought, deeply angry with Albus Dumbledore.

Sirius raked a hand through his hair. “Can’t really stop you,” he mumbled without looking up. “Not my house any more. I mean, it never was my house, really. It’s the Order’s now. You’re in the Order. You can stay if you want. Be nice to have some company, I guess. Can’t stop you.”

“You can,” said Remus slowly, “if you say you don’t want me here.”

“I don’t want you here,” Sirius said. “I really don’t.”

Remus felt the air rush out of his lungs. He thought his knees would buckle again, but to his surprise they did not. Instead, he felt very light, almost unbearably so. “Fine,” he said tonelessly. “Fine. I only thought…” After last week what else could he have thought? “If that’s what you want, I’ll…” Then he realised what Sirius’ distracted pacing had for a few moments concealed: the other man was trembling. Badly. “Padfoot…” he breathed and the world regained its gravity.

“I mean,” said Sirius thickly, tugging at his hair again, “there’s silver everywhere. All them goblets, forks and knives. Candlesticks. Jewellery. Everywhere. You could just open some drawer and-- And of course there’s my dear mother’s portrait, and that filthy little toerag--that Kreacher. There’s him. And there’s-- I want you with me, Moony, but I don’t want you here. I never wanted you here.”

“But we said for better or for worse,” Remus murmured. “It was a long time ago, but do you remember?”

Sirius stopped pacing. His head was down; his shoulders shook. “This isn’t worse, Moony,” he laughed helplessly. “It’s the worst.”

Sirius had laughed, Remus could not help remembering, when the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had come to take him away to Azkaban fourteen years ago. He glanced about the room, took in the dust that caked the floor and furniture, the corroded wallpaper, the cobwebs, and the grotesque, clearly Dark objects the Blacks had chosen to ornament their house. This was barely a step above Azkaban. And for his own safety, Sirius was trapped here.

But things were different now, Remus reminded himself firmly. They were not the only ones with beasts inside them, they knew, but surely after all that had passed they were more than a match for anyone else’s. “Is it still the worst,” Remus asked slowly, capturing and holding the wintry blue eyes once more, “if we’re together?”

Sirius made a small sound, not quite a whimper. “You should've asked, Remus,” he croaked. And then at Remus’ stunned, unhappy look, “I’d’ve tidied the place a bit.”

Neither could ever be sure who made the first move. They debated it for a long time after, but decided in the end that it hardly mattered. A heartbeat after the words had left Sirius’ lips there was no space between them at all; they were in each other’s arms and, Forever starts NOW, thought Remus.

7/22/03