Love is at Lame Duck Gardens

by Les Dowich

Remus has created his own slice of heaven in the Muggle world where he spreads his own form of pack living when an injured former student drops in and gives him the one thing he was missing. Written for REmus-Ron challenge run by Nathan

Love is at Lame Duck Garden

Remus/Ron Challenge

Prompt:To dwell is to garden.(Martin Heidegger)

Challenge Mod: Nathan

Synopsis: Remus has created his own slice of heaven in the Muggle world where he spreads his own form of pack living when an injured former student drops in and gives him the one thing he was missing.

Remus stood on the doorstep of the farmhouse and surveyed his little slice of heaven, the early morning sun highlighting the neat rows of plants in the forty acres they had under cultivation. Five acres were devoted to the farm animals; a couple of elderly milk cows that the knackers wouldn't even take and their companion, the bull with the crippled back leg. Betsy and Jane, the mother and daughter plough horses, shared the field with Gordon the donkey. They were under the care of Dahlia Jackson who trundled through the farmyard with a bale of straw over one shoulder and a shovel in the other hand, on her way to clean out the chicken sheds.

Dahlia was one of the reasons he had managed to buy such a large farm at a rock bottom price. Mrs Amelia Jackson, her grandmother, had been feuding dedicatedly with the jumped-up pig-farming Muggle interloper who had bought up six neighbouring farms as the old, magical families were destroyed in the Voldemort war. Amelia was a squib herself and hated to see the area going to commercially faming Muggles but what could she do when her own husband, two sons and their children were all gone, leaving her with Dahlia. Unfortunately, Dahlia had an IQ of eighty-five and just enough magical talent to cause huge problems if she grew agitated or upset.

Remus' arrival had been complete serendipity and Amelia Jackson had struck a deal. It had cost all of Remus' savings, everything he had inherited from Sirius and all the compensation money from the Ministry to buy the land outright, on condition he always gave Dahlia a safe, secure home and never sold an inch of land to the Commercial Pork Fatteners Company. It was a good deal and Remus Lupin, werewolf, became Remus Lupin, landowner to a rundown farm in the Cotswolds, richest farming area in England.

It wasn't easy, farming never was. There was no modern machinery. Dahlia hand milked the cows and shovelled the manure from the sheds by hand. The land had not been worked for half a century, lying fallow and untouched, grazing land for the local deer and an illegal dumping ground for the pig farm's manure. And there were ducks and chickens! It seemed that buying an Easter duckling or an Easter chicken was part of the local tradition in the surrounding towns but what happened to the half grown birds when the cocks started to crow and the cute fluffy ducklings began to poop everywhere? They were dumped at Lame Duck Farm to go wild and feral, food for most of the local fox population which battled it out with the wild Kneazle colonies that lived in the barn and the small wood that used to be an orchard over at the duck pond.

At first, Remus despaired of ever making a go of the farm that had cost him his all. Amelia merely shrugged and pointed out that he was a resourceful young wizard with more magic than either she or Dahlia ever had, surely he could think of something? It was Liam Twitching who gave him his first idea when he caught the local poacher stalking his duck population in November. "Them ducks is givin' half o' the pensioners around here they's Christmas dinner, an' I's makin' sure they old'uns is fed," he snarled indignantly when Remus threatened to turn him into a duck himself.

'Christmas ducks and chickens, two pounds a piece. Pick your own, we'll pluck it.'

The sign at the gate drew in a steady stream of customers, enough so that two of said pensioners had to come and work on the farm with Amelia and Dahlia as duck pluckers. One of the local handcrafters wanted the duck down for handicraft quilts and pillows and so another source of income evolved. The pensioners had their duck Christmas dinners that year - and pudding too - with the profits the farm made. The entrails were put into the compost heaps with the free pig poop the piggery insisted on dumping on their land and by the end of the winter they had enough rich compost to fill two of the neglected fields.

Organic vegetables were all the go, and fresh flowers for the cut flower market. They had the richest soil in the county and a steady stream of income from their 'organic, free-range birds and eggs' produce so, after consulting with Amelia and her cadre of retired farming cronies, Remus bought mixed seed, harnessed the two eager plough horses to the old plough and began operations as an organic vegetable farm.

Mr George Spodsworth, a wizard well into his one hundred and twenties and his good wife gave wonderful advice on companion planting. Rory Cheeseham knew how to restore the old apple and pear orchard to good health, the ancient trees giving 'heritage fruits' which Miss Mary Hapgood made into jams and canned fruit that first autumn, school children earning pennies for picking. The old farming methods were labour intensive but in the very poor area, the least able to support themselves were more than willing to labour for pence or knuts and a share of the food produced.

Muggles from London were delighted to buy 'organically grown' food, especially when they could come out to the farm and purchase it for themselves, watch the cows being milked, the horses pull a plough or a cart and even pick their own fruits and vegetables or collect their own eggs, at a suitably inflated price, of course.

"They'uns nuts," Liam spat, flipping a hand at he last departing carload of Muggles who bore off two dozen duck eggs, three jars of jam and a basket of apples and a round of cheese from the dairy."

"They'uns is rich, and now a little poorer but happier," Remus replied, copying his accent with cheerful mimicry, waving two twenties and a crisp ten pound note.

"Aye, true and better in our pocket than theirs, I'm thinkin'."

Remus sipped his tea and waved to the school bus as it trundled past, it was September again and the harvest was about to start, their fifth since that first, shaky day in November when he had caught a poacher, and a future. Oh yes, he had done well for an aging werewolf with no future and no family and no hope. Oh, he knew Harry would always greet him joyfully if he ever went back to the wizarding world but he was about the only one. Werewolves were still distrusted, despite the sterling service they had rendered to the Ministry in the war. Once the war was over, the celebrations and medals given out then the bureaucracy took over and continued to grind on in familiar paths until everything was just as it has always been, as if Voldemort had never terrorised the wizarding world, as if people had not died to keep those who were left safe and secure.

The 'rule of law' they called it. The laws were there to protect everyone and to be obeyed, that's why they were called laws and it would be unfair if one section of the public had the laws suspended just because they had been involved in the war, now wouldn't it? And so werewolves still could not hold down a job, they still could not have or raise children. They still could not own property or have a vault in Gringotts. They were still marginalised and discriminated against and it wasn't worth it any more. So Remus had left as soon as he had a chance and a choice.

Best decision he had ever made! He had his garden-farm and his surrogate family of odd-bods, waifs and strays. He sent his owl Tony to collect Wolfsbane from the Apothecary's every month and spent his transformations in the cellar in quiet comfort, undisturbed by anyone or anything. It was a good life, a fulfilling life and he loved it! Sighing in satisfaction, he tossed out the dregs of his tea, picked up his buckets and wandered off to collect Monkshood which was ready for harvesting.

oo0oo

It was a running battle, hexes and curses flashing and burning as the three Dark wizards did their utmost to escape from the tenacious group of Aurors who had chased them over half the countryside. Four wizards had been caught red-handed, literally, torturing a Muggle family most horribly, raping the children in front of both their parents then torturing the parents to death while the children, two girls and a boy were held fast to witness the gutting and skinning. One of the girls had been partially skinned when the Aurors had blasted into the home, alerted by a Squib neighbour. One wizard had died in the initial exchange of hexes, as had the children who had no way to protect themselves. The last three miscreants had Apparated but not before tracking spells had been cast and had taken.

The chase had moved over two counties, leaving a wake of devastation for the Obliviators to clean up, once the perpetrators had been apprehended. Of the ten man Auror squad sent out to apprehend the perpetrators, only five were left, the others having succumbed to some very nasty hexes along the way and been sent to St Mungo's via Portkey bandage. The perpetrators had ducked into an old barn near the outskirts of Cheltenham and the Aurors had called in reinforcements from the newly created Special Spells, Offensive and Defensive Squad. Outfitted in heavy flack jackets spelled to turn hexes with superbly crafted Protego spells, the four SSODS Aurors used shields and portable barricades to rush the three, A fifth member of the SSODS squad flew overhead, pressing his shield down on the Dark wizards, completing the portable anti-Apparation wards. Once contained, it was just a matter of time before the general Auror squad managed to toss in enough magic to smother the three dark wizards.

"Go ahead, Auror two-five," Squad leader ordered quietly, one of the red robed figures breaking cover, wand at the ready.

He moved forward cautiously, ignoring the muttered spurring of his squad mates. He had a certain amount of caution having been blasted last year which resulted in having to spend three months in St Mungo's having his arm rebuilt. Now he was not so stupid to rush into the drawn wands of the enemy but he knew he was the best qualified of the squad to disarm the Dark wizards before they managed to get away. He slid cautiously past the heavily build SSODS officer and aimed at the nearest patch of grey robe, angling his wand for a ricochet shot. The target moved very slightly and he grinned tigerishly as he sent Diffendo lashing forward, making the target scream and turn, exposing even more of his person to the waiting Aurors.

Spells lashed out from every Aurors' wand, tight focussed on the patch of skin even as the dark wizard raised his wand into the path of the incoming jinxes. When massed jinxes and wand intersected there was an almost human scream as the wand's core reacted badly, twisting and braiding the incoming jinxes and firing them back in a tight focussed beam that hit the SSODS Auror, all but cutting him in two as it spun him aside and twisted his shield end-on to the beam. The Protego shield acted as a prism, concentrating the magic into the Auror behind him who attempted to Apparate before the beam struck. He was almost gone when the beam cut through, vaporising the man behind in a second. The rest of the squad threw Avada Kedavra into the ramshackle building, no longer attempting to take the perpetrators alive.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! That was a right cock-up if I ever saw one! How is the private? Who else is hurt? Where did Auror two-five end up?"

There was a wave of shrugs and everyone quickly activated the communications charms each Auror wore but to no response. Swearing broke out amongst the squad members but there were things to do and procedures to follow. The well trained team members fell back on routine and protocols to carry them through the initial shock of losing two of their own in one failed arrest. There would be a lot of paperwork to do when they got back, and even worse, there was two families that would have to be informed, one a certain death, the other much worse, an MIA.

oo0oo

Dahlia Jackson was a simple soul. She liked her cows who gave her milk to make her cheese. She liked the rhythm and swing of the shovel as she cleaned out the chicken houses. She liked her Grandma's hot scones with butter and jam. She liked her bed in her little room at the top of the house. She sort of liked Uncle Remus who lived with them now and she would like him better when she got to know him, she thought. He was nice and he let her milk her cows and told her she was very clever when she made cheese. Grandma liked him and gave him the back bedroom where the funny wall pictures were. Uncle Liam liked him and told him secrets about the Kneazles in the orchard and how to make sure the ducks and chickens were safe from foxes. Betsy and Jane liked him and pulled the plough for him and didn't try to kick him. Buster the bull liked him and didn't try to hook him with his horns. So, probably Dahlia would like him too.

Nodding to herself, the heavy bodied woman picked up the handles and pushed the full barrow of cow flop and old straw bedding toward the manure piles to tip it out. As she shook the last of the ordure away, she noticed something red on top of the pile and grabbed a handful of the pretty material. It slid toward her and she stopped in surprise, staring down at the red hair and freckled face of the stranger wearing the bright red robes. This wasn't right. People shouldn't sleep on the muck pile, it was smelly and Remus said it was important for all the plants. He was not supposed to be there! What should she do? What should she do? The large woman wrung her hands nervously then bent and picked up the man, dropping him into the barrow. Turning, she pushed it back up the hill toward the house then realised Remus was out in the fields, tending the Heal-All in the herb gardens. Potions ingredients, her mind supplied and she grinned triumphantly. She remembered! They were for wizards to brew potions and they made lots of money.

Remus looked up in surprise as Dahlia came toward him pushing her barrow. It was unusual as the woman worked on routine, doing the same thing day in and day out in exactly the same ways without deviation. It was how her mind worked. Straightening, Remus shaded his eyes then went forward to meet her, his step speeding when he saw her worried expression.

"He's naughty," the simple girl said nervously, hooking a thumb in the direction of the barrow. "He was sleeping in the manure and that's not right," she told Remus in her little girl voice, so out of keeping with her six feet two height and three pick-axes wide shoulders.

"Who was sleeping in the compost?" Remus asked, leaning forward to move the red material aside. His eyes widened in shock when he saw the face, a very familiar face, older perhaps but as familiar as his own in many ways. "Ron!" he breathed almost silently

Memories assaulted the werewolf, almost driving him to his knees. The Trio standing up to Voldemort, curses and hexes lashing around them. Harry holding his wand forward while Ron and Hermione kept the Death Eaters at bay on either side. The utter shock on the Dark Lord's face as Harry's spell actually destroyed him. Ron and Hermione with their arms wrapped around Harry and all three jumping on the spot as they triumphed. Hugs and kisses exchanged on the battlefield, faces going red when they realised what they did. An overheard argument. A heated accusation. Sharp words and a cruel tongue. Footsteps stomping away in two directions, the third set dragging as they too left the hall. Ugly labels, nasty innuendos, cruel whispers in the dark. Harry's strained and bitter eyes, Hermione's tears, the breaking of the pact. The dissolution of the Golden Trio.

Shaking his head, Remus drove away the past and met the woman's worried eyes with a slightly strained smile. "It's alright, Dahlia, nothing to be upset about. Let's get him up to the house, shall we? Then I think we will have to call Medi-wizard Bombay to check him over for injuries and spell damage."

The woman nodded and turned the barrow, pushing it in Remus' wake like a well trained lackey. The strange procession made its way up to the house and in a matter of ten minutes; Ron was laid on the bed in the spare room. Dahlia escaped as quickly as she could, desperate to get back to her usual routine, leaving Remus alone with the injured wizard who still had not regained consciousness.

Taking a deep breath, Remus was suddenly aware of the smell of pig shit and magic residue, the mixture not very felicitous in the slightly stuffy spare room. Pulling his wand, he Scourgified Ron's Auror robes then carefully peeled the heavy material away from his unconscious body. As he banished it to the wardrobe, he almost laughed when he realised the young man was wearing very Muggle track pants and trainers under his official robes, not at all regulation, he assumed as he carefully stripped them and the skin tight Chudley Cannons tee-shirt away. There was a couple of ugly bruises on Ron's freckled chest and a trail of dried blood from one nostril but no specific lumps, bumps or bruises to account for his unconsciousness. Shaking his head, Remus pulled the covers up over the pants clad form and tried not to drool as he took a seat beside the bed to wait for the Medi-wizard.

Nichodemus Bombay examined the young man Remus had put to bed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. There were a lot of residual curses on the young fellow, some very old, others glaringly new and he speculated that the man was trouble on two legs. "A wild young wizard, probably up to no good, I'd say," the old man huffed as he put his wand away and pulled out a couple of potions. Since Bombay didn't have a good word to say about anyone under the age of sixty, Remus simply nodded and promised not to give Ron more than four drops of the blue potion every four hours.

"So, who is he and where did you find him?" Amelia demanded once the Medi-wizard had been sent on his way with a mixed punnet of strawberries and raspberries.

"His name is Ron Weasley and he used to be a student of mine, back before they found out about my, er, monthly problem," Remus told her carefully. "He had some trouble with his friends and split from them, last I head. He was wearing Auror Robes when Dahlia found him in the heaps…"

"An Auror? Look, Remus, I don't think we want that kind nosing around here, really, do we?" the old woman asked nervously, glancing over her shoulder. Aurors tended to be trouble for anyone not of the wizarding world, and of it too, if the truth be known.

"Agreed, but I can't just turn him away. His family were not really supportive of him through the troubles and his friends, well… Let's just say I was sorely disappointed in their attitude, I thought they would be better than that."

Amelia smiled knowingly. "Kissed the wrong boy, did he?"

Remus opened his mouth in shock then sighed defeated. "Yeah, something like that."

"Humm, prejudice is alive and well and living in the wizarding world, especially amongst the Light and the Hoy polloi! Mind you, the perversions of the upper crust pure-bloods are to be avoided at all cost. So, what did that old fool Nichodemus say?"

"Basically he has no idea and to keep him warm, give him lots of fluids and let him sleep."

"Hah! Think he has a fever, does he? No idea, the silly old fool! Rub some goose grease on his chest, works for most things."

Hiding his smile at the old-fashioned advice, Remus agreed to allow the old woman to tend his young friend while he went back to harvesting the Monkshood for market.

oo0oo

The slight jostling penetrated Ron's deep unconsciousness, the stroke of a finger on his jaw, the cool dampness of potions dripped on his tongue. He could not interpret the sensation except as pleasure and need. He swallowed almost automatically and was rewarded by the touch of cool fingers on his cheek. He nearly smiled then sank back into the 'unbeing' of unconsciousness, those who watched sighing deeply as the small response was enough of a reward for their effort.

oo0oo

Remus studied the slack face on the pillow, stroking the red hair back gently from the high forehead. The man was beautiful, rugged and angled, all the softness of youth burned away revealing a strong bone structure and thick line of neck. The boy had bulked up into a muscled and broad-shouldered man, a pleasing mix his father's willowy height and his mother's squat squareness. In the dead of night, while Remus was assigned to watch him, he could admire the long figure on the bed. The candlelight made Ron's pale skin almost opalescent, the freckles floating like golden autumn leaves on a pond of new milk. The skin itself was so soft, under the curve of his jaw, across his chest, the creased bend of his elbow, every hollow and shadow was dappled and mysterious. Rubbing goose grease onto his skin was both a pleasure and a torment.

Readjusting the fit of his pants, Remus cursed himself for a perverted old man. This… this boy was injured, his student was injured, and he was getting off on rubbing medicine into his skin, waxing poetic about the freckles and shadowed hollows highlighted by the candlelight. 'Did he have freckles on his cock? Did they glow like gold dust when he was hard?' A whine of need and denial broke the still silence of the night as Remus gripped his hands into fists to avoid touching that which was forbidden.

Ron stirred, the tiny noise penetrating his unconsciousness more keenly than a shout. Who was there? Was he dangerous, was it a dark wizard or… A sliver of blue showed for an instant under shadowed eyelids as Auror Weasley surveyed his situation without alerting the watcher or watchers t his growing alertness. He hadn't counted on a werewolf's alertness or keen hearing, Remus sitting straighter when he realised his patient was awakening.

"You're safe," Remus assured the young man who was still faking unconsciousness. "You are at Oddment Garden Farm in the Cotswolds. Do you remember me, Ron? It's Remus, Remus Lupin."

"I-I do." The words were rough from a voice unused but the blue eyes were open and looking into Remus' golden ones, studying his soul.

Remus blinked, breaking the connection as he ducked his head self-consciously, making an aborted gesture to the rest of the room. "We found you out in the fields and brought you in. You were unconscious and the Medi-wizard said you had a number of curses on you."

"The Pellagra gang… The bastards nearly wiped out the hamlet of Murmud on Loch Haven, four families of Muggles tortured and killed for pleasure." Ron ground his teeth when he remembered the devastation he had witnessed.

"Hush, now, there's nothing you can do at the moment but get well again," Remus counselled, and consoled, laying a cool hand on the young man's brow and smoothing his wild red hair aside gently.

Ron twitched then relaxed, smiling slightly as he turned to nuzzle the kind fingers stroking his cheek. "You're right, too late now anyway. Er, how long…?"

"Three days. Sleep now, Ron, you're safe here, there's only me with real magic, a couple of Squibs and a number of magic-aware Muggles, no one to harm you or hurt you, only help."

Letting out a great sigh, Ron went limp as the last of the tension left him limbs and he snuggled down, allowing sleep to take him. He barely felt the gentle hands cup his cheek or the soft lips brush against his but they followed him into his dreams and soothed his soul.

oo0oo

Mornings usually started before cock's crow at Oddment Farm, Amelia cooking home cured bacon and freshly laid eggs while Remus made both tea and coffee for the family and the stream of workers who always came to breakfast. Their motley crew of underage schoolkids collected the eggs and had a good breakfast before the school bus picked them up. For some it was the only meal of the day, unless they came to do the after school shift. The rest of the crew, mostly pensioners would hobble in, grab a meal then go off to the various jobs around the farm, weeding the potions garden, tending the chickens or the flowers for the cut flower market. In summer and autumn there was the roadside stall to attend, flowers, fruit, jams and herbs bundled to sell to the passing tourists.

The farm cook, a strapping lady who admitted to seventy years but was probably nearer ninety came to make lunch and afternoon teas for the hands and the tourists alike. By the time the school bus dropped the afternoon shift off, the farm had been a hive of activity all day, making more money on sales and tours than it spent on feeding the underprivileged work crews that kept it ticking over.

"But how… Why?" Ron asked, following Remus through the huge garden as the werewolf went about his work in the herbs and flowers.

"Have you ever been hungry, Ron. Not 'ready for a spot of dinner' hungry, but the grinding ache of a belly not filled for days and barely appeased for months before that? Have you ever stuffed your shoes and clothes with layers of newspaper because the material was too thin to keep out the cold while you slept under a hedge?"

Ron shivered at the bitterness in one he always accounted as content with his life. "Surely…"

"Don't! Let's have truth between us, Ron. I am a werewolf, a dark creature who must be persecuted and ostracised by our world. I can't hold a job, own property, rent a house, have a child or even walk down certain streets because I am unclean. The Ministry has reduced 'my kind' to animals then wondered why we are so damned aggressive. Here, I can make a difference, here on my piece of heaven. The Ministry cannot take my land because it is a Muggle title and held in trust for all my 'descendants'. Here I have food in aplenty and can earn money to buy what I need, much more than I will ever need so why not share it around? I didn't know how to farm when I came here but some of the older ones did, so, food for knowledge. I can't do everything myself, so, food for labour. Kids need breakfast and I need nimble fingers and bodies, so, labour for meals and the beginnings of a trade for the kids. No one takes advantage, no one takes charity and we all gain something from the arrangement."

Ron couldn't help himself. He reached out and pulled the slighter man toward him, wrapping long, strong arms around the self proclaimed dark creature. "You are a good, kind man," he pronounced as his head dipped and lips met lips in the golden afternoon sun while the bees sang of industry and plenty to the flowers.

oo0oo

'Remus watching' became Ron's favourite hobby while he recovered his strength. The man looked younger and healthier now than he had ten years ago when he had been teaching. The sun still sparked glints off silver hair but the lines of pain and suffering had eased and a healthy covering of flesh filled out the hollows in cheeks and belly. Bending, digging and outdoor work had added bulk and toning to muscle, giving the werewolf a taut and buffed look. 'Yes', Ron thought with a private little smile, 'Remus minus robes plus good life equalled sex on a stick; the latest Athrimancy equation for the scrolls.' Now all he had to do was get around Remus' internal view of 'Ron the student' and seduce the man!

It rained that morning, not a light, soaking rain but a wind lashed, hammering downpour that was disastrous for a lot of the other farmers in the area who had crops in the field. Fortunately the rise of the land protected the gardens and flower field from the worst of the storm but the hay crop and the chicken sheds took a pounding. At breakfast Amelia had been worried and upset but she had calmed down in the face or Remus' serene unconcern.

"So we lose the hay and the chickens are put off their lay, we still have the cut flowers and the herb gardens. The orchards will drop a lot of fruit so we will have to make sour apple jam and use the fallen and damaged fruit in preserves and chutneys rather than fresh fruit and compotes. It will be alright, really, Amelia, it will be okay."

Ron watched the wave of serenity spread from Remus to his partner in the farm, to her daughter and to the group of frightened pensioners who had braved the storm to make sure they were okay. By the time Remus rose and announced he was going to move the hay in the barn, the regular crew had settled down enough to make wet weather plans of their own involving spinning fleece to make wool, cutting out cloth rounds for jam jar lids and other indoor activities. Ron shook his head and followed the smaller man out, casting an umbrella spell over himself as the lashing rain tried to blow him off his feet.

The hay barn was surprisingly warm despite the nasty weather outside, a few globes of fairy glow floating near the ceiling giving off soothing heat free light. The last of the previous year's hay was stacked haphazardly over the floor and Remus explained that it had to be moved to the far end of the barn so it could be used up before the newly cut hay was bailed and stored, if they could rescue anything from the storm.

"We don't do haystacks, not enough land and we don't keep all our hay so we only need the one barn full to last our livestock all year as needed," Remus informed him as he casually stripped off his shirt, much to Ron's surprise and delight. Seeing the slightly boggled look in the younger man's eyes, Remus blushed. "The hay gets everywhere and itches like WWW's best products so best not to get it between you and your clothes. Mind you, the first time I thought to be smart and doffed trou too but hay scratches in the crotch is an experience I would not like to go through again."

Ron burst out laughing and cast his shirt too. He knew he was fit and healthy so it was no shame and Remus' quickly hidden gasp made him grin as he hitched his low-slung jeans up ready for work. "Let's do it, then," he announced then laughed aloud as Remus blushed bright scarlet, his eyes turning golden in the barn's soft light. "Move hay, Rem, move hay," he clarified with a wicked grin.

"Oh… yes… right… hay!" The werewolf stuttered and nodded convulsively before turning and leaping to the top of the closest stack effortlessly. "I… er… I'll just move the top stuff over first, if you want to start on the bottom. Leave an aisle between the two sides so that a barrow can fit through, okay?"

They worked hard, both men physically strong and not averse to using a bit of magic to boost their efforts. Two hours of steady work saw the bales stacked neatly against the walls and steps of hay ranging downward so anyone could access the top layers easily. The floor was strewn with loose hay which Remus spelled into a great pile in the middle of the aisle. Before he could start the baling spell, Ron let out a loud whoop and tackled him in the middle, driving them both off the top of their perches and into the grassy pile.

Spitting grass, Remus struggled against the larger man then accidentally found a weak spot. Ron spluttered with giggles as the nimble fingers coursed up and down his ribs, making him squirm and roll free. Undaunted, Remus followed, until Ron recovered the presence of mind to wrap long arms around him, pinning his arms to his body before rolling on top. Chest to chest, legs entangled, they gasped and laughed until Ron caught Remus' eyes, their laughter dying as awareness flared, tickling fingers becoming caressing touches. Lowering his head, Ron caught laughing lips, his tongue sliding forward, questing permission before plundering the richness of the willing warmth below.

A knot of heat flared in Remus' belly, the tang of honest sweat mingling with the sweet scent of hay and fresh air, making a heady combination as he allowed the younger man's invasion before using his longer, stronger tongue to win back ground and return the favour. Ron murmured his pleasure then hummed as Remus broke the kiss. Gasping, they paused, forehead to forehead as hands began exploring chests and backs, twitching a sensitive nipple, stroking a long, strong spine, curving delicately over padded ribs and cradling shoulder blades as tongues and lips explored collarbones and hollows in throats and the curve of necks. Neither spoke, both exploring and discovering in mutual pleasure as hardness rubbed hardness and heightened sensations.

Denim and twill slid across each other but it was not enough! Eager hands fumbled and tugged, unfamiliar zips grated loud as buttons slipped free silently and calloused hands met heated flesh in orgastic pleasure. Who moaned, who gasped, who knew, who cared. Hot hardness met hot hardness and both calloused hands meshed fingers around both members, pressing them together as they both moved simultaneously. It was not delicate. It was not gentle. It was raw and sensual, needy and rough. Ron whined through his teeth, head back, eyes slitted as sensation after sensation skewered through him. Remus growled deep in his throat, wolf and man in harmony for once as they revelled in the raw heat of the moment.

Orgasm came hot and hard, seed spilling across bellies, mingling and surging as both men roared their completion, mouths mashing as they swallowed each other's triumphant joy. Arms collapsed, muscles went pliant, panting and moaning as the last twitches rung them dry. Smiles, soft and gentle after the storm, kisses tender and compelling exchanged languidly as their breathing settled and the sweat cooled on their semi naked bodies. A grimace, a soft chuckle as sticky cum glued bellies and chests together. A wand flick, a muttered Latin word and they rolled apart, shoulder to shoulder, heads rolling so they could look at each other as fingers smoothly meshed and tangled.

"That was…"

"You were…"

They chuckled and paused then started again, a laugh breaking out as they over spoke each other once more. Ron pressed a finger over Remus' lips and sniggered as the man gently bit his finger. "Thank you, Remus, that was beautiful," he murmured. "I… I wasn't sure that loving a man could be accompanied by laughter or joy. It's… it's always been a furtive, hidden thing, something dirty and sinful in the eyes of the world."

Remus sighed. "It wasn't always like that. There was a time when a man loving a man or a woman loving a woman was simply seen as another expression of the love humanity has for humanity. Unfortunately, Muggle influence in the Dark Ages changed all that, made it sinful as it begat no offspring. There have been surges of relaxed attitudes through out the ages but always there is the undercurrent that it is not wholesome and therefore somewhat Dark and that makes it unacceptable. It's just another reason why I left our world. Here in the Muggle world the pendulum has swung in our favour once more and a 'don't ask, don't tell' attitude prevails, which is about as good as it gets."

"Odd to think the Muggles are more enlightened than we are," Ron mused, watching Remus' mouth move, loving how expressive it was. He grinned when the older man made a small moue of disgust or dabbed his tongue on his lip in approval or even pursed his lips like a Matron tasting something sour. But Rem's lips were not sour, they were sweet and wet and willing, and Ron leaned in to take those lips with his, nibbling and sucking until the werewolf groaned in need once again.

"Will you top or bottom?" Ron asked seductively, a hand snaking out to stroke the older man's growing arousal.

"I'll take it any way I can," Remus replied and pounced.

oo0oo

The ideal could not last; it was too sweet, too perfect. As the storm moved away and the sun ventured out once again, a red robed figure Apparated into the farmyard, wand drawn and knees flexed, battle ready. "Point me!" he intoned, his wand spinning toward the barn.

Light flooded into the dim, warm interior, spotlighting the huge pile of loose hay that was industriously turning itself into bales. As Remus completed a bale, Ron was flinging them up onto the steps, both men turning with a frown as the light hit them and squinting at the figure back-lit in the doorway. Both registered the drawn wand at the same time and whipped theirs out, hexes at the ready but then Ron relaxed and caught Remus' writs, gently guiding his wand down.

"Hello, Harry," he called with a resigned note in his tone.

"Ron," came the stiff reply.

"Harry? Is that you, Harry Potter? How are you, my boy?" Remus advanced with an eager step that faltered at the young man's air of disapproval. "How have you been?"

"I've been well," the young Auror replied awkwardly. "I was looking for Ron. He didn't arrive back at HQ and someone said they thought he had been hurt. I… said I could find him." The stilted explanation was uneasy and harsh.

"What he means is no one else could be arsed to come find me so his 'hero' thing forced his hand," Ron commented harshly.

"Hermione thought that I owed you something for our mutual history." Harry flicked a stalk of blown hay off his robes rather than look at the two shirtless men before him. "Since you are obviously not dying, I'll go report to the chief Auror that I found you rolling in the hay, shall I?"

Ron snorted. "Whatever, Potter. Put any interpretation your twisted little mind wants on what we were doing, you will anyway. Just remember, any trouble you cause me will reflect badly on Remus and his community here, and you wouldn't want to turn pensioners and schoolkids out of food and a job, now would you? It would look very bad on your record, you know."

Harry drew a deep breath to retaliate but Remus stepped between the two bitterly battling men. "Enough!" he roared, pushing them apart. "What happened between you two, you were closer than brothers when I left you both."

"He's a faggot!"

"He's a prude!"

"He attacked me!"

"I kissed him in the heat of victory!" Ron snapped in disgust.

"Like I said, he attacked me!" Harry snarled.

"And he kissed me back!" Ron smirked triumphantly, staggering as Harry grappled him, roaring in fury.

Remus shook his head and skipped back as the two young men rolled over an over, kicking and gouging at each other in a fury of blows and anger. Waving his wand he dumped a couple of buckets of water over the fighting pair making them both splutter and fall apart. "That is enough! You were friends for better than seven years. You were closer than brothers, comrades-in-arms, and you are both acting like two-year-olds at nursery school. Regardless of who kissed whom and whether or not there was a return, it was battle and adrenalin was running high. Surely such a stupid consideration did not destroy such a close and well-established friendship? You should both be ashamed of yourselves!"

Indeed, Auror status notwithstanding, both young men ducked their heads, righteous indignation forgotten in the face of chastisement from a parental figure. Harry rubbed the back of his blushing neck while Ron plaited his fingers and stared at his feet. Remus watched as the affect of his lecture sank in and too many years of close ties pulled the two young men away from their hurt feelings back into a more normal interaction. Finally Harry laughed ruefully.

"He's right, it was a battle and adrenalin makes people do funny things. I'm not saying that you were right or that it was normal but…"

Ron shook his head. "Battle burns away all those layers of lies and self-preservation and lays people bare. I didn't instantly change how I was in a millisecond, I have always been Ron Weasley, queer, but I was always careful to keep that hidden and away from everyone who would have a problem. I don't plan to change that, I can't change that but I do hope you can see past it to the good times we shared in real friendship. I've missed you, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I've missed you too, Ron, but… Why didn't you say something?"

Remus watched as they began to talk, watched as the old comfort and ease crept back into their stances as they spoke long and hard for the first time in years. He finished the baling and closed up the barn, taking his and Ron's clothes up to the house while the two old friends remained oblivious to his actions. They were still talking two hours later when Remus delivered a pot of tea and a stack of sandwiches to them although neither young man seemed to realise he had come and gone. Finally, some six hours later, Ron wandered back up to the house and grinned tiredly as Amelia plonked a plate of food in front of his and Remus handed him a glass of water then poured him some tea.

"So, how do you feel now?" he asked as Ron devoured his meal.

"Lighter. I… we… he doesn't hate me anymore!" There was triumph and relief in Ron's voice as he bent over and kissed Remus without thinking. "He says he still doesn't understand but he can live with it and that I should get myself home soon as my mother is missing me dreadfully. She is missing me, Remus, she forgives me too!"

"That's excellent, Ron. So when do you go home?" Remus asked, the younger man's joy settling like lead in his gullet.

"Any time I like. It's a case of all is forgiven, come home prodigal son," Ron teased then realised Remus was less than delighted. "What? I mean for you to come with me too Rem, really I do."

"No, Ron, I can't go back to that world of poverty and discrimination. It would be the death of me." The werewolf said gently.

"But… what about…"

"Ron, I will always be here in my garden or my fields, this is where I dwell and I will never leave it. However, you are always welcome to come home whenever you like, we are only a though away, you know? And you will always have a place in my garden and in my heart." There was a serenity around the werewolf that Ron could not argue with and he knew that, wherever he went, he was always welcome in Remus' heart and his bed.

Leaning forward Ron caught his mate's lips and kissed him gently. "I don't plan to leave until tomorrow," he reminded with a sensual grin.

End