Chapter 24

Semantics

Remus stared at the full moon in fear. It would happen. Tonight, he would transform. And Sirius, his oblivious neighbour, will finally discover his identity.

He wasn't sure which would be more painful.

"You there?" he heard Sirius ask him from the other side of the stone wall.

He was almost too frightened to respond. But he did. "Yes," he whispered, eyes glued to the deathly moon, half-hidden behind trailing silver clouds. Any moment now the agony would begin, and Remus could do nothing to stop it.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," Sirius observed. "Sick of me already?"

Remus wasn't able to pinpoint what he felt towards Sirius, if he was honest with himself. At first, it was full, unobscured hatred of James' and Lily's murderer. But over the first few weeks, Remus could feel his hatred abate. He felt angry with himself for letting Sirius get to him a second time, but it couldn't be denied. Even speaking to him was enough to set his memories whirring down paths it shouldn't, igniting feelings and emotions he hadn't felt in twenty years.

"Hello? You there?"

He closed his eyes and wished Sirius would shut up. With his heart beating unnaturally fast for a human, Remus knew the time was almost upon him.

"Hello?" Sirius asked again.

Remus heard him shuffle closer to the hole in the wall, obviously wandering where his talkative neighbour had gone to.

It was then it started.

"Agh!" he yelled as the sudden agonising stab of pain ripped through his back like the steel of a sword. His spine curved uncontrollably like a bow being pulled taut, ready for fire. His pupils dilated, his breath crashed through him with a mighty roar. His hands and feet grew, and his skin developed a layer of thick, coarse, brown fur.

Remus screamed. He couldn't hear anything anymore apart from his own heartbeat and his pain. It was everywhere. Within him. Around him. Through him. Inside him. He couldn't escape it. Like a cage suffocating every ounce of humanity out of him, until all that was left was a hideous monster of the night.

Before long, he was fully wolf. Nothing and no one could have kept him back. Before long, all conscious thought fled him and all that was left was a raving, savage, beastly need to kill, destroy, feed and survive.

Beast.

That's what he was.

And for that night, Remus was gone.

-mp-

Ironically, when he woke up next, fatigue swept over him like a tidal wave. Bone weary, disgusted and sick, Remus felt like curling into a ball and never waking up. The day after a transformation was always horrible. But being alone and cold in a prison made it all the worse. He looked around and saw hideous scratch mark all over the walls. He probably didn't look much better as well.

Then, suddenly, he remembered Sirius.

Oh, god ...

He felt physically sick with worry and fear. Glancing at the hole in the wall with childlike hesitation, Remus could only imagine what his neighbour was thinking now. His secret was secret no longer, but Remus wasn't ready for it. Feeling woefully unprepared and frightened, all Remus could do was hope that Sirius wouldn't speak.

His hope shattered.

"It's you, isn't it?"

He couldn't answer him. Words had abandoned him, along with the strength and will to survive. Never had the desire to die been so strong as in this moment. How was Remus supposed to face him?

"Answer me," Sirius said softly.

The anxiety in his voice sent Remus' heart aching. But how could he respond? What was he supposed to say? To be so cruelly betrayed and abandoned more than two decades ago, and then be thrust together after so long with control was too much for Remus to take.

It made it all the worse because Remus wasn't sure the place inside his heart once reserved for Sirius had gone entirely cold. Whether Remus wanted it or not, his feelings hadn't left him.

"Answer me ... please ..."

It hurt. It physically hurt him. Remus clutched his heart and felt the tears pour down his face with fury. How could this be happening? Could the fates possibly be this cruel to him? Sirius' desperation was like an arrow straight into his heart, and Remus couldn't take it out.

"Please ..." he said again.

Screwing his eyes shut, Remus let out a shuddering breath. "I can't," he whispered into his cell, knowing Sirius could hear him. "Stop it."

Sirius was silent for a long moment and Remus almost thought he was respecting Remus' wish. But then, Sirius spoke again.

"It's you," he breathed, almost scared and disbelieving.

"Stop, please," Remus begged. He couldn't take it. It ached too much.

"No ... I can't, it's ... I need to know it's you," Sirius said. Remus could hear him coming closer to the wall. "Tell me it's you."

Remus couldn't force his mouth to move; the beating of his heart was drowning all his thoughts. All that remained was the pain of twenty years ago—when the man he loved more than anything ripped his heart out and crushed it in betrayal.

"Tell me please," Sirius whispered, his jaw obviously clenched. "Is this a dream? A nightmare? Have you come to torment me? Tease me? Hurt me?" He paused and Remus suddenly realised they were both sharing the same pain. "You have haunted my mind every day for the past twenty years. I've been insane with thoughts of you; with the memories of you. Your face, your voice, your touch. How can it be you? How can you be here? I don't understand."

"Stop it," Remus said again, finally having found his voice. "Stop talking." Every word Sirius said was a knife to his chest. More painful than any transformation had ever been.

"Remus."

His heart froze.

There it was. His name.

There was no going back.

"Tell me it's you. Please. I beg you," Sirius whispered.

And finally, Remus could take it no more. He uttered one word in reply.

"Sirius."

An overwhelming flood of emotions crashed into him, overtaking his mind, body and soul, and wringing tears he never knew he had. Saying that name aloud after two decades was either a curse or a cure. It either opened old wounds, or healed them. It was too soon to tell.

He could hear Sirius breathing hard on the other side of the wall.

"It's you. You're here," he breathed eventually.

"Yes..." Remus replied, resting his head back against the wall he was leaning against, his emotions having defeated his will to resist the past.

Strangely enough, nothing else was said for the night. With the revelation of their identities, both of them had a whole lifetime of memories to contend with.

Exhausted and drained, Remus finally let sleep overtake him.

-mp-

"You idiotic, stubborn, self-sacrificing Hufflepuff!" Draco yelled at Harry as soon as the Royal Council session had been adjourned and they had been let out.

Harry rolled his eyes. "How can I be stubborn and self-sacrificing at the same time?" he asked.

"Stop it! Stop pretending everything's okay and stop joking!" Draco cried out, hitting Harry on the arm in a surprisingly forceful shove.

Harry frowned and centred himself. "Why? And must you keep hitting me?"

"Do you realise what's going on? Do you realise you're about to die?"

"So sure already? Merlin, I haven't even fought the man."

"Did you see him? He's huge! He'll squash you like a bug and then if you live through that, snap your neck with his bare hands."

Harry was a little insulted. "Hey, you know, I'm not a bad fighter. I can hold my own in a duel. Hell, I've fought a lion and lived to tell the tale. You've seen it to know for yourself!"

"I know, but Harry, he's a giant. He probably learnt how to fight before he could walk. He kills people for a living!" Draco's eyes began darting around the place desperately. Eventually, he refocused them on Harry and shook his head. "And hHe'll kill you."

Harry's defences dropped as he sighed and turned to face Draco straight on. "Think of how much worse it would be if you had taken up the gauntlet."

"What do you mean?"

"If I've got no chance, then neither do you. You would have died too. And I ..." Harry paused, unable to figure out how to finish that sentence. The idea of Draco being killed after all his efforts just seemed wrong and unjust. Draco couldn't die. Harry wanted him alive and safe. The memory of a few nights ago surfaced in his mind, when he heard the King consorting with that unnamed voice. There were more after Draco's blood than just Durmstrang, and Harry had suddenly felt like he was fighting an entire war for Draco. Too many people wanted him dead and it was Harry's job to keep him alive.

Eventually, Harry finished with, "You just ... can't die."

Draco shook his head. "But neither can you."

"Yeah but, better me than you."

Harry wasn't sure what made him hold eye contact with Draco but he couldn't fight it. Suddenly, all Harry could focus on was the grey of Draco's eyes and the small filaments of silver within his irises, surrounded by fine blond eyelashes. They weren't standing overly close to each other, but in that brief moment, Draco felt like the closest person in the world to him. He didn't know what that meant.

"Why?" Draco asked in the silence.

Harry grappled for an answer. "Because ... you're the Prince of Slytherin. And I'm ... just a soldier."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "That's rather self-deprecating. Where's all your hatred of Slytherin gone, I wonder?"

"Oh I still hate Slytherin," Harry assured him with a mischievous smile. "Trust me, that won't change. I'm just being your bodyguard."

"Champion," Draco corrected.

Harry snorted. "Semantics. Means the same thing: I go fight a giant in your stead."

"But it also means you have to wear my seal."

"Your what?"

"My royal seal. As my representative in a duel, your armour needs to be inscribed with my crest," Draco explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You've got your own bloody crest?"

Draco grinned. "You said it yourself. I'm the Prince of Slytherin. Of course I've got my own crest. And you need to wear it."

Harry sighed. "Knowing my luck, it's probably pink with rabbits on it."

Draco elbowed him in the ribs. "Oi, what's that saying about me?"

"Exactly what it implies, you're Royal Highness," Harry replied smartly with a large grin slapped across his face.

"You know, I'm not sure I like you're newfound snark."

"I'm not sure I like the way you keep hitting me," Harry replied. "I mean, I'm probably going to end up with more bruises from you than that Durmstrang giant."

Draco nodded happily. "Good. It'll put you in your rightful place."

"Bloody ponce," he grumbled. "Nothing I do can ever be enough for you."

"You can always keep trying," Draco said in a tone that suggested Harry's statement had been completely correct.

"How about I win this fight for you? Will that be enough?" Harry asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Draco was silent for a few seconds, staring at Harry in thought, as if trying to weigh up the value of Harry's victory. After the quiet, all he said was, "Yes."

Harry blinked, not expecting that answer. Draco rarely said anything so agreeable. "Yes?" he echoed.

"Yes," Draco repeated. "Win the fight, and I'll stop hounding on you."

"There must be a catch," Harry guessed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course there's a catch. In this case, it's a seven foot tall giant from Durmstrang that eats little children for dinner with an axe and pitchfork," he said dryly.

Harry laughed. "Blimey, then I better hope I win!"

"I know I am," Draco replied. "And I hope you know that I will personally oversee that you spend every waking hour from now until next Saturday training you arse off."

"You're going to oversee my training?" Harry repeated, looking amused. "Have you ever picked up a sword before in your life?" he teased.

"Of course I have!" Draco replied indignantly.

"Really?" Harry asked, dubious.

"Yes."

Harry snorted.

"I've learned sword fighting from the best since my childhood," Draco explained haughtily.

"Well then, I look forward to training with you."

Draco glared at him, because both he and Harry knew Draco never meant to insinuate he himself would be fighting Harry. The idea was almost comical in Harry's mind. He could barely picture the image of Draco holding a sword, let alone using it.

Harry grinned. "Come on then. If I'm going to be training my arse off, I better start now."

"I couldn't agree more," Draco said, a little grouchily.

Together, they ambled down to the Square. Harry wasn't completely sure he wanted to do some more training after his daily morning sessions, but he doubted Draco would get off his back otherwise. Harry succumbed to the notion that he would essentially be living, sleeping and eating at the Square. At least until the day of the Tournament.

When they arrived at the sparring fields, Harry was greeted with the familiar sight of dozens of Slytherin soldiers training under a hot sun. This time, however, there was a new Battle Master Harry had never met before. A neatly trimmed black goatee framed his pursed lips and his sharp black eyes were sharpened to a squint, as if was perpetually trying to look menacing. Harry wondered whether all the Battle Masters were trained to adopt that same expression.

As Harry and Draco entered the field, the goateed man bowed to the Prince, looking surprised to see him. Draco quickly explained that Harry would be training here daily for the next week. The man, whose name was revealed to be Lord Victor, obliged.

"Harry! Draco!"

The two of them spun to see Pansy and Blaise standing on one side of the quadrangle, waving at them and ignoring the stares of the onlooking soldiers. Harry and Draco meandered over to them.

"Hello," Harry greeted

"What are you doing here?" Blaise enquired, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

Harry noticed his fellow soldier's face was glistening with sweat, while Draco made a face. "Training so soon already, Blaise?" Harry asked. "We were both here a few hours ago! You better knock it off or you'll make me look bad."

"Yeah, I wish," Blaise muttered with a friendly smirk. "Still plan on whipping your arse one day."

Draco piped up with a suggestion, "Well, why don't you start now?"

"What?" Blaise asked.

"Harry needs to train and you're both here, so have at it! Fight!" Draco exclaimed, looking pleased with himself.

Harry shook his head incredulously at the blond. "You're a right work of art. Sentencing me to a fight already. I've barely just arrived!"

"And time is already running out," Draco reminded him with an innocent look on his face. "You've only got about a week."

Harry saw right past it. "Yeah, and a few seconds delay won't cut too much into my training time," he objected.

"Training for what?" Pansy interjected.

"A Challenge," Harry and Draco answered simultaneously.

"A Challenge?" Pansy echoed, her thin eyebrows arching upward. "That's awfully archaic. Whatever for?"

Draco answered with a small measure of anger, glaring in Harry's direction; which Harry brushed off easily. "He picked up a gauntlet intended for me. And now he's set to fight a Durmstrang giant next week."

"What?" Pansy yelped, eyes wide.

"Blimey ..." Blaise breathed. "An actual Challenge? To the death?"

"Quite," Draco replied dryly. Harry could tell he was already bored with the conversation and wanted the fighting to begin. "Now come on." He impatiently motioned with his hands at Harry and Blaise, before turning, grabbing Pansy's hand and leading her a few steps away to a nearby bench.

Harry watched him amusedly as Draco and Pansy sat down side-by-side comfortably. They look more like they were about to watch a theatre performance than two grown men fighting with the real potential for injury. He shook his head and sighed.

Blaise noticed and laughed quietly. "Annoying little bastard, isn't he?"

Harry snorted. "Don't get me started." He drew his sword and turned to face Blaise. "Now, you said something about an arse whipping?"

"Yeah, yours."

Laughing, Harry twirled his sword, making a clean and controlled loop in the air. Harry grinned broadly, loving the feeling that rushed through him before a fight. "Come on, then. Show your worth."

-mp-

"He picked up a gauntlet for you?" Pansy asked excitedly.

"Shhh!" Draco insisted, looking at Harry's direction anxiously, not wanting his conversation overheard. He needn't have worried. He and Blaise were caught up in their fight. Draco fought hard to keep his eyes off him, inwardly hitting himself for his recent, highly inappropriate, fascination with Harry. "Yes," he confirmed, directing his gaze back to Pansy. "I told him not to."

"So he did it voluntarily?" she shrieked, her eyes shooting open as wide as possible, looking as if she had just heard the best news in the world.

"Yes," he said agitatedly. "Now would you please lower your voice?"

She looked around apologetically before whispering theatrically. "Oh Draco, how ... how romantic!" she gushed.

"WHAT?" he yelped, jerking away from her, before quickly remembering his own admonishes to her. He leant in close to her and hissed. "Romantic? Where the bloody hell did that come from?"

"He's risking his life for you!" she exclaimed, looking put out, as if no other explanation could possibly fit.

"He always risks his life for me," Draco explained, affronted. "It's his job."

"Yes but not like this. This is public. He's fighting a Challenge for you—" She gasped.
"Oh my goodness!"

"What?"

Pansy looked like she was about to jump off her chair. "Does this mean he's your ... you know?"

"My what?"

"Your ..." she leant in closer "... Champion?"

Draco almost winced as he whispered, "Yes," realising this would only fuel Pansy's idea that Harry's whole act of picking the gauntlet was done out of chivalrous protection. Draco paused as a tiny voice in his head suddenly began to question whether this was actually true. Why else would Harry have picked the gauntlet?

Pansy, meanwhile, was grinning widely. "Now this is something else. Not only is he fighting for you, but he's also your Champion!" she explained unnecessarily, as Draco already knew this very well.

"Can you drop it please?" he beseeched her. "I don't understand why this is so exciting!"

"Not for you, maybe. But for me, it's awfully entertaining!"

Draco rolled his eyes and did a double take when he realised Harry and Blaise were circling each other rapidly, their swords flying through the air in silver streaks. Their duel had turned the heads of other soldiers nearby, but Draco was hardly looking at them. Instead, Draco couldn't help but notice the sweat already formed on Harry's forehead. It really was a hot day, he mused, as he saw droplets of his perspiration fly off him as he twirled this way and that around Blaise, performing some incredibly impressive movements. His sword looked menacing in his hand.

Draco's breath caught when he caught a glimpse of Harry's bright green eyes, narrowed in intense concentration, as if nothing and no one can ever come between him and his fight. A flush of something warm swept through Draco as the memory of Harry's eyes burned in his mind.

"Not exciting, huh?" Pansy's voice cut into his daydream prematurely.

Draco jumped and tore his eyes off Harry. "What?"

"Nothing," she said with a cheeky smile.

"What are you on about? I don't know where you come up with your ideas but they're all silly and highly insulting. So what if Harry picked up a gauntlet? He's supposed to! He's my bodyguard!"

"And that's another thing," Pansy remarked, ignoring everything Draco was saying. "It's Harry now, is it? You're not even trying to cover it up anymore."

Draco hated himself for blushing red and tried to cover it with a dignified look. "Well, he doesn't very well have a surname, does he? He's a commoner. With no family, no means and certainly no life without me."

"How do you know that? You know nothing about him," she reasoned.

"That's not true. I know plenty about him!" he defended himself.

"Really? Who are his parents? Does he have any siblings?"

Draco spent an awful few seconds opening and closing his mouth to no avail, realising he knew nothing of Harry's family life. After spending a month with him, day in day out, it was a little disconcerting.

To his horror, Pansy continued. "His favourite pastime?"

Draco cast a look back at Harry, still wielding his sword expertly. Keeping his gaze on him, he guessed, "Fighting."

"You don't know that."

"How can I not? Look at him! The man was born with a sword in his hand," Draco said, glad that he sounded convincing.

"Alright. Let's assume that's true," she murmured and Draco could tell it was only to humour him. "His favourite food?"

Draco shot her a dead look. "What an asinine question. Who cares what his favourite food is? He's just a nobody. A soldier," he declared irritably, mostly to prove it to himself rather than Pansy. He needed to keep reminding himself of his and Harry's place.

"No, he's your Champion," she corrected smugly. "That changes a lot."

"It's just semantics," he muttered, using Harry's line from before, finding it worked well for his flailing argument.

"People won't see it that way. Word will spread, you know. It's not every day something like this happens. Soon, everyone will know him as the Prince's Champion, and people will see your relationship in a different light. It can't be stopped."

Draco slumped and glared at her angrily. "I don't want any of this," he stated. "I didn't plan this."

"Neither did Harry. But he's doing it to save your ..." she trailed off and suddenly looked back out at the Square, her eyes caught on something. "Oh dear merciful Merlin," she whispered.

"What?" asked Draco, following her gaze.

Immediately, his mouth went dry and his jaw went slack.

Harry had decided to take off his shirt.

And suddenly, every single thought in Draco's mind shrivelled into nothing so that all he could do was stare at Harry's impossibly muscled and sweaty back, and suddenly wonder what it would be like to run his fingers over it. Was it as smooth as it looked? Harry shook his head hurriedly to clear his fringe out of his way, creating a chaotic black mess on his head that had Draco itching to bury his fingers into.

"Now I've seen it all. I could die a happy woman," Pansy breathed out, sounding as if she were hyperventilating.

A brief spark of unqualified jealousy tore through Draco at Pansy's shameful ogling of Harry before he realised that she was talking about Blaise. He too had shed his top armour. Funny, Draco hadn't even noticed.

Harry bent over, stretching the material of his black trousers over his backside and causing his muscles to ripple. As he picked up his sword, Draco felt a wave of heat suffuse him at the view before him. He was sure his cheeks were bright red, and dimly wondered how far he'd have to dig back out of the pit he'd put himself in. None of them would ever let him live it down if they saw his glassy eyes and inability to look away.

"You ready to go again?" he heard Harry ask Blaise, twirling his sword in his hand once more with ease and grace.

Blaise nodded briefly, and suddenly, their fight continued as normal.

As if they hadn't just shed half their clothing.

As if fighting without a shirt was usual.

As if Harry's body wasn't the most perfect thing in the world.

The muscles on Harry's back shifted and contracted with every lunge of his upper body and Draco had to swallow to ensure his tongue was still in his mouth. As Harry and Blaise walked circles around each other, Draco was afforded a good look of Harry's front half, ensuring both his front and back was equally extraordinary. His stomach muscles looked like they wouldn't give way for anything, surrounding his bellybutton in firm ripples. Heavy biceps swelled from each tanned arm, confirming that his upper torso was built for strength and power. Draco wondered how anything can look so mesmerising.

Suddenly, Draco realised just what he was doing. What is wrong with me? he thought desperately in one far corner of his mind that wasn't taken up with the view before him. Why am I thinking these things?

Draco sighed miserably and screwed his eyes shut, deciding the less he watched the better. It was possibly the hardest thing he had ever had to do. He slumped his neck and determinately looked away.

It wasn't right. What's more, it was perverted. He was a man, for crying out loud, and thinking such thoughts about another man would send him on a one-way trip to the gallows.

Looking about him, he suddenly realised that Harry and Blaise had attracted a larger crowd, a few of whom were some of the young ladies of the court, the daughters of nobles and masters. They appeared to have their eyes trained on Harry. The roar of anger and jealousy from before rose up in Draco again which he fought to suppress, trying to pretend that it didn't matter if anyone looked at Harry, because he certainly didn't have the right to.

But try as he might, he couldn't look away. His heart was racing.

Damn it, Harry, he thought internally. He shouldn't look this good!

The duel changed pace as Harry stepped it up a notch and performed a particularly impressive ducking move, dodging Blaise's parry and striking cleverly in the region of his opponent's chest. In a real fight, Blaise would be dead.

The two men broke away with panting laughs, the duel now over. Draco noticed with dismay that the female bystanders persisted to remain and continue to watch Harry in his half-naked glory.

Oh god, I need to stop thinking these thoughts, he moaned silently.

Draco was certainly unprepared when Harry suddenly turned to him and asked, "How's that?"

It took a few seconds to rediscover his ability to speak—while Pansy laughed quietly—and his snark to say in an indifferent tone, "You can do better." He was glad the phrase came out in an uncaring and unimpressed manner, especially when Harry's chest and abdominals were in plain, wondrous sight.

But when Harry's shoulders fell at Draco's disapproving remark, Draco couldn't help but feel a small stab of guilt.

In fact, he suddenly felt the insane desire to shout out to Harry that he was the best bloody fighter he had ever seen, just to assure Harry how amazing he truly was.

Of course, no such thing happened.

Draco had a reputation to uphold.

-mp-

Next Chapter: When his parents try and demean Harry, Draco gets angry and defends his bodyguard. Meanwhile, Remus begins to thaw.