A/N: first off, this is slash. Boy/boy stuff. Not your cup of tea? Press the back button and drink some coffee. For the rest of you, this is dedicated to everyone who has ever disliked Valentine's Day. Happy Lupercalia.

Disclaimer: none of this is mine; all belongs to either JK Rowling or the Romans.

The Month of February

I hate the month of February.

James and Peter and Sirius, I'm sure, would find this decidedly odd. How, they would ask, could I hate the month of February? February's just another cycle of the moon. February can't be any more painful for a werewolf than another month, can it? And really, wouldn't it be a little less painful, since February's such a short month?

In answer to this, I have an explanation based in selfishness. There is a holiday, a holiday in February, that goes back almost as far as the month itself. Romans created today's calendar, and the holiday of which I speak is a Roman one. Any average person, wizard or Muggle, asked to name a holiday in February, would most likely name Valentine's Day. This Roman holiday is much older than Saint Valentine. This holiday, in fact, links directly to myself in more than one way.

Someone who properly knows their mythology would find my very name a dead giveaway of what I am. Lupin is almost literally wolf, and sometimes I have to wonder if my lycanthropy is entirely coincidental. And Remus is the name of one of the twin brothers who founded Rome, a boy raised by wolves. So it all goes in a mad circular way.

Now, speaking of these boys who founded Rome and its empire, I come to quite a few holidays. One of these holidays is dedicated to the founders of Rome, and is celebrated outside Lupercal, the place where the boys were supposedly raised. It takes place on the fifteenth of February, a festival for fertility in the upcoming year, and is termed, for the place of ceremony, Lupercalia.

Lupercalia is especially important for werewolves, however. It's the day when werewolves choose their mates, and werewolves mate for life. Pertaining directly to me again, that mad circle.

I wasn't really even aware of the import of Lupercalia until the age of twelve. It was then that Peter, Sirius, and James had discovered that I was a werewolf, so, in a way, it was then that I finally really admitted to myself that lycanthropy was really and truly a part of me. It was also at this time when I started looking differently at girls, and it was then that I remembered Lupercalia. There was a girl or two in particular that I fancied, and I spend many a night in the dorm room pounding my pillow in silent frustration at this, yet another way my curse bound me, denying me another enjoyable part of life that anyone else could take for granted.

Because of this, I carefully distanced myself further from everyone but my friends. I didn't want to fall in love and know it couldn't last, but that I was bound to it, and I would slowly die from within once the girl I loved left me. And yet I wanted someone, because I was a teenage boy as well as a werewolf. There was no way out.

Except.

Except that there was a way, and it frightened me at first, before I reasoned that I was insanely lucky to have found a loophole.  I had distanced myself from girls, but never from my friends.

It's very odd, the way things work out. I should've been close to Peter. We were both misfits, friendless until rescued by James and Sirius. But there was too much distancing us, most heavily the fact that I strived and succeeded at being a very clever student, while Peter struggled and failed to do the same. And so, I should've been close to James. He can be quiet, like me, and understands any reserves I might have. He knows what it's like to be awkward, or nervous about girls. But he's very all-around friendly, and as much Peter's friend as mine. Then he had Lily, and I had a fighting time not to be jealous of him for having a girl who obviously loved him as much as he adored her. In the end I could be happy for them, but it was something distancing James and I.

Still, it made no sense why Sirius should've been my closest friend. We really are like polar opposites. He's outgoing, charismatic, funny, attractive, popular, a hit with girls. Perhaps he is what I could have been, had I not been a werewolf, and I saw an extrovert of myself in him, and liked it. Perhaps he saw the introvert of himself in me, because it was he who didn't avoid the fact that I was a werewolf, but rather respected it in a way I might have resented for his questions, but he had no pity. He had only understanding, and no pity.

Of an evening, from third year on, we'd stay down in the common room long past curfew, discussing anything and everything. I knew the silliest things about Sirius, such as his favorite wood for a broomstick and the sort of shampoo he used. When he asked me questions, all he had to do was look at me expectantly with light eyes that were very alive and eager to hear what I might say, and I would practically babble. I, Remus Lupin, master of silence, obscurity, and subtlety, would take one look at those eyes and say every little thing about myself, from my favorite color to things I usually didn't even admit to myself, such as the relationship I had with my parents. Sirius would simply listen, drinking in every word.

I loved it.

I loved him.

That was what frightened me. It had always ran as a deep, loyal love, something of respect for a human friend and a canine pack mate. Of course, my wolf form of Moony noticed something more, not me. I'm quite sure that had Sirius not chosen his Animagus as a dog, Moony would have seen nothing in Padfoot. But on the full moon of December fifth year, Moony realized exactly what Sirius was to me. I didn't realize myself, right away; I only had a vague notion I had learned something important and forgotten about it. At the January full moon I remembered. I wanted Sirius, not as a friend but as much more, and now every time I saw him I turned weak and had trouble walking down stairs without trembling; one look at those eyes of his and not only would I tell him anything, I would turn into a gibbering idiot.

February came.

I decided, very fiercely, that I hated the month of February. With Lupercalia coming, Moony would scarcely leave me alone, and I couldn't be in a room with Sirius without my lupine nature suggesting I do things that were better left undone. Not that I could use that turn of phrase without Moony suggesting yet more. I knew with a certainty that I could hardly tell Sirius how I felt about him; it was the fear of my friends discovering my lycanthropy all over again, but this time I had the foresight to see that while not everyone was prejudiced against werewolves, they could still turn squeamish if they had dated the entirety of Hogwarts' female population and learned that their friend was in love with them.

Valentine's Day on the fourteenth, of course, only added insult to injury.

I don't exactly hate Valentine's Day with the passion I hate February. It's always seemed just a bit silly to me, to designate a day to express affections, but Lupercalia is of the same principle. Lupercalia is the official day to seal the pact that a mate was for life. Valentine's Day was simply an affirmation of affection. And I honestly found Valentine's Day sweet. What hurt was that it was certainly bittersweet.

On the Valentine's Day of my fifth year, I wandered mechanically from class to class, purposefully arriving late to breakfast, lunch, and dinner in order to miss the breakfast owls and other owls during mealtimes sent by errant boy- or girlfriends. I did my best to ignore the grins, melting stares, giggling, sweet nothings, and other sundry saccharine Valentines-like silliness. I did have a private grin at how awkward James was being with Lily, as though he wasn't quite sure how to act with her on this very special day. And I tried my best to avoid Sirius. I didn't want to see the girl he had today.

I made it almost entirely in one emotional piece to the common room, nearing eleven o'clock and finishing up yet another History of Magic essay. Around me were the few unfortunate Gryffindors above the third year who didn't have some romance to attend to. I'd been helping Peter with his essay for a little while, but he'd gone up to bed hours ago. At ten James and Lily had appeared, James no longer seeming half so awkward, and both looking as though they'd had the time of their lives. They bid me a quick hello and went on up the stairs in the direction of the dorms. Gradually people trickled through the portrait hole into the common room, and others headed off up the stairs. Finally the common room felt empty, and feeling rather empty myself and more than a little tired, I rubbed my eyes and put down my carefully picked-over essay.

Immediately I jumped. I'd been too tired to allow my wolf's senses to pick up Sirius's scent, but he obviously hadn't left the common room yet, because he was sitting next to me on the couch, looking at me quizzically.

"Have you been here all evening, Moony?"

The use of that nickname so close to Lupercalia stirred the wolf within me. I trembled slightly. "Yes." I paused, knowing I shouldn't ask it. "And you? Where have you been all evening, Sirius?"

He hesitated, then said very softly, "Watching you."

I blinked, not knowing what to make of this. "No girl for Valentine's Day?"

Sirius shrugged. "Don't really need one, do I? They've probably got better things to do than chase around someone who'll only stay with them for a few days."

"Why?" I asked. "Why do you only stay with them a few days?"

He shrugged again. "Dunno. For the sake of variety, maybe." Crossing his arms, Sirius added, "But you, Remus. You should have someone yourself. Are you letting being a werewolf get in the way of that too?"

I shook my head, coloring. I didn't like the way this was headed. "It's not that simple, Sirius." Seeing his puzzled look, I elaborated, "Werewolves mate for life."

"So?" Sirius asked, brushing it aside completely. "Humans mate for life too, don't they?" He grinned. "I mean, after they've tried a few things."

"That's just it," I tried again, stomach plummeting. This surprised me; I didn't know I could be disappointed at the lack of understanding in someone I could never hope to have. "Werewolves can't 'try a few things'. They love someone. If they do anything, bam, that's it. You're mated. Can't back down now."

"Ouch," Sirius winced.

"Yeah," I echoed quietly, physically feeling a sharp pain of disappointment that I didn't want to explore further. "Ouch."

Sirius inspected his hands. "You know, you really never can tell with werewolf books. One minute they're telling you to kill the evil things, the next they're telling you a werewolf's courtship habits." He looked up at me. "I wanted to get it from the actual source, if you do mate for life."

I blinked again. "You knew that already?"

"I read it," Sirius dismissed it once more.

I wondered frantically what else Sirius might have read.

Glancing at the clock, Sirius commented, "I was also going to tell you happy Valentine's Day. I think I'm a bit too late."

I looked at the clock. Twelve thirty. I swallowed involuntarily. It was Lupercalia.

"So," Sirius continued, "I'll have to tell you happy something else. Would it be happy belated-Valentine's Day? Happy post-Valentine's Day? Happy day-of-letdown after a holiday? Happy nothing? Happy Lupercalia?"

I hardly caught it; I'd been trying to tune out phrases with 'Valentine' in them, but my head jerked up now. "What?" I gasped.

"Lupercalia," Sirius repeated dutifully. "Roman holiday of fertility, I believe, on the fifteenth of February, which, you might observe, is now the date."

I nodded faintly.

Sirius's hands twisted in his lap. "Found a mate then, have you?"

"Er …" I didn't want to say a word. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to go up to bed. I wanted – no. Quashing the wolf's urges, I almost waved the subject away, but suddenly those melting light eyes were fixed on me, and I didn't turn into a gibbering idiot, but I had to tell him. "Yes," I whispered.

"Oh." His expression was as neutral as any of mine; a trick he had learned from me. "So. Want to tell me who it is?"

"I can't," I heard myself saying. "You'll hate me."

Sirius leaned forward, those light eyes of his almost painfully earnest. "Remus … I could never hate you. No matter who you want as a mate, I won't hate you. I can't. You're my friend." I winced inwardly; there was my answer, right there, in the very word friend. Nothing more. Simply friend. "Well," Sirius was saying, "if you said it was Snape, I might be revolted for a while, but I honestly couldn't hate you."

It was the truth. I swallowed again. Moony surged upward within me, a battering urge to simply seal the Lupercalian contract at the very moment, take this boy as my own when he was sitting right in front of me, and I trembled harder, fighting, fighting Moony and myself too –

"Remus?" Sirius's voice asked from far away. I looked up at him through a faintly silver haze. He looked wonderful in the shining nimbus. I blinked, and the silver disappeared. Sirius looked frightened. "You … your eyes got so big," he whispered. "And you were shaking … are you all right, Remus?"

"I …" Swallowing, I regained control of my voice. "I'm fine." I smiled. "And I believe you, Sirius, I know you won't hate me."

"So will you tell me?" There seemed to be nothing in the question beyond helpful curiosity, but I sensed something more. It scared me.

"No."

"Then I have a question for you," Sirius told me. "Could you ever hate me?"

I knew the answer immediately. Sirius could reject me completely, hate me himself, kill everyone in the world, and I would be blind to it, because no matter what Sirius did, I loved him, I could never hate him. "No, I couldn't hate you."

"No matter what I say?" Sirius asked almost pleadingly.

"Yes." I was scared again, of what Sirius might say.

"Then I'll tell you who I think you should choose as your mate," Sirius said determinedly, though his voice dwindled away to almost nothing by the time he had completed the statement.

My heart raced. It was judgment day. "Who?"

Barely a whisper, "Me."

I stared at him. The wolf was back, tearing at me, wanting out, wanting Sirius. "You?" I repeated faintly.

Going a fetching shade of red, Sirius nodded.

"Oh," I said blankly, most of my attention fixed on the battle within. Moony suddenly stopped tearing, repeated Sirius's statement to me. Sirius wanted this. He knew werewolves mated for life, and he wanted me anyway. I couldn't help it; I stopped fighting the wolf. Perhaps when I turned back to Sirius, something of the wolf now pulsing within me showed through, because his eyes widened, but he didn't look anything like frightened. "Well," I murmured, "in that case …"

And I kissed him. The wolf was in that kiss, but it still wasn't a seal to the pact. Part of me was puzzled by this, but the rest was quite preoccupied.

"Oh," Sirius gasped when I was finished, "I think that answers my question nicely." He looked at me intently, then asked in a more normal voice, "Is that it then?"

I looked down. "I don't think so. It didn't seem like it."

Sirius's arms crossed. "Right then. Tell me this. Was that kiss lust or love?"

Slightly surprised at his insight, I answered, "Moony was in it. As far as I know, it was probably lust."

Looking satisfied, Sirius nodded. "There it is. Wrong thing."

I frowned. Didn't the wolf have to be in it? Accordance on a mate between Moony and I?

"It comes down to this, then," Sirius said. "Do you love me, Remus?"

And it wasn't a thing like when he had asked if I could hate him. As much as I wanted to think I knew the answer, I couldn't simply say yes. I had to think about this. Sirius was my friend, the best friend I'd ever known. We'd already shared more than I ever hoped to. But Moony held sway over much of my life, and it was possible that he'd found a kindred spirit in Padfoot and wanted a very close pack mate. Maybe I was so used to letting the wolf help me tune into things that I'd just accepted Sirius as the one I wanted. But that wasn't it, because I remembered I'd been frightened, not from surprise at the revelation, but because I'd known with a certainty some things were too good to be true. And here it was, the answer, because it was true, and even when I'd kissed Sirius a minute ago I hadn't believed it, and now I did. Maybe Lupercalia wasn't an addend to a terrible curse. The consent of Lupercalia was a two-way street.

"Yes!" I found myself saying. "Gods, yes, Sirius!" I swallowed again. "But … Sirius, you. Everyone you've ever been with hasn't lasted. Why should I be different?"

"Because none of them were my friend first," Sirius answered immediately. I could tell he'd had more than a day to work this out himself. I grinned. He truly did know the implications, and didn't care.

"Perfect answer," I said, and kissed him again.

I'm sure it worked this time.

"So, mate," Sirius said, grinning lopsidedly, "I suppose James and Peter are going to stumble across this eventually."

"And Lily," I felt wont to add.

"True," Sirius conceded. "Are we telling them?"

"They're smart enough," I replied. "They'll figure it out on their own. It'll probably be less of a slap in the face, that way."

"Right-o." Sirius glanced at the clock. "Beddy-by time."

I slung an arm around him. "Come on, then."

On the early hours of February fifteenth, my opinions on quite a few things changed, and not least my opinion of what I liked and didn't. I've said I hate February. I'm quite wrong.

I love the month of February, and all it has to offer.

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This being my first posted fic, I could beg you to go easy on me. Please, don't go easy on me. Just tell me what you think. I'd love any reviews you have to give, as long as they aren't flames.