Idea that came to me when I remembered the goblets Dung stole from Grimmauld Place and what they were made of...

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I had grown to like it at Grimmauld Place. It wasn't the fact that it was hidden from the rest of the Wizarding World, and definitely not the dark and dank atmosphere, but rather the company that was always about.

"Argh! Shit!"

And the voice of said company made its way up to my ears and into my brain, mixing and twisting about with the plot of the book I held in front of me. This exclamation was shortly followed by a loud crash, so, though I longed to finish the chapter, I marked my page, set my book down, and made my way towards the source of all the commotion; the basement.

"What did you do this time, Padfoot?" I asked, when I was met with the sight of the once-handsome man surrounded by goblets and plates and cutlery. I had to fight down a chuckle when I noticed a cabinet door hanging pathetically from his fingers, with its pair barely on the hinges.

"I hate this house!" Sirius exclaimed, slamming down the door on the countertop. I winced as the faint sound of tinkling glass cut through the air.

"I know you do," I attempted to placate, "But that doesn't mean you have to go about trashing the place." I bent down to pick up a goblet that was nearest my foot.

"Moony, wait-!"

But it was too late. As my fingers closed around it, pain immediately shot through my palm and up my arm. With a yelp, I let it go and backed away several steps. The surprise left me short of breath and at a loss for words. I merely looked up at my friend.

"They're silver," he said, bending down and picking up the offending container, which I had ended up throwing right at him, "I think you better let me handle this."

Still slightly panting, I looked down at my hand. It was red and looked slightly burnt. Hesitantly, I flexed my fingers and made a fist. It was stiff and sore, but the contact was brief, so it wasn't too bad. It would be red for a while, but that would be about it.

While I was studying my skin, I didn't notice Sirius walk up to me until he had placed his hand over mine. That worsen the pain a bit, but I did nothing but look up at him. We said nothing, as we often did in these types of situations. Even in school, when he would do something stupid, we remained silent. No words needed to be said; I knew he was sorry and he knew I forgave him. Finally, I found my voice back.

"You should… get this cleaned up."

He looked at me in a way that always made me feel like he was secretly a Legillimens and refused to tell anyone. I had gotten this look several times in the course of our friendship, but had yet to grow used to its calculating stare.

"Right." He said. He looked like he was going to say something else, but seemed to decide otherwise, as he stooped down and started picking up all the things he had dropped. I stayed where I was for a bit, not knowing what do. However, when it was clear he had either immersed himself in his task, or was just bent on not looking up at me any longer, I slowly made my way back up the stairs and into the room that had become mine during the stay.

Once the door was shut, sat down on my bed, next to my abandoned book and placed my head in my good hand. Again, I looked down at the red and raw skin, and the events replayed themselves in my head. As I recalled Sirius being able to pick the items up with such ease, a sense of rage and frustration washed over me. I was suddenly on my feet with no memory of standing. Similarly, I seemed to be on autopilot as I made my way to the drawing room, a room I knew was filled with just as many old Black Family artifacts as the basement.

Tearing open the display case, I glanced over the objects inside. A few stuck out to me as I felt the wolf wince away from them. Now that it knew silver was around, it didn't want to take any chances. But it wasn't in charge. Making up my mind, I reached upward with my already damaged hand to take a hold of what looked like an old jewelry case.

But then I felt fingers wrap themselves around my wrist. I knew it was Sirius, so I didn't bother turning my head to look at him. His touch seemed to be what I needed to bring myself back to reality. I took a half step back away from the case, into him. Without saying anything, he moved his hands to my shoulders and gently steered me back to my bedroom. He sat me down on my bed and then took a seat beside me. I watched as he moved my book to the nightstand before doing so. I paid attention to anything that would allow me to not look at him. I felt ashamed.

"Hey," he said, and I felt his hand on my back, right between my shoulder blades. I rubbed that spot for a second before reaching up to move a lock of hair from my face. I needed a haircut badly, "You wanna talk about it?"

I said nothing, but merely sat there, studying my feet. I honestly didn't know what to say. We sat in silence for a few moments, before he spoke again.

"You're my best friend, Remus." He said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and leaning his head against mine, "I don't want to see you hurt yourself. I know it's hard, but this isn't the answer. I don't know what came over you, and I know you probably don't either, but, let's not do this again, okay? There's a lot of silver in this house; we were kind of famous for it, so you do need to be careful, but you don't have to be walking on eggshells or anything. Still, I don't want to see you get hurt like, I said, so be careful-"

"Sirius," I cut him off, "you're rambling."

He smiled, and I couldn't help but smile back.

"All right?" he said, giving my shoulders a squeeze. I nodded.

I don't know how long we sat there. I didn't care. Only when we heard a voice call up the stairs, inquiring where we are, did we reluctantly break apart and stand up.

"Someone's going to think we were having at it," I said. Sirius merely smiled and laced his fingers through mine.

Without saying anything, he pressed his lips to mine.

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