Chapter Eleven
When Severus awoke, early the next morning, he had breakfast delivered to his room - and sat beside his fire enjoying the quietness of dawn and turning his current predicament over in his mind.
He had searched both their homes, he had spoken to both their parents … he had drawn a blank at every turn. He would have to wait for the Monday edition of The Daily Prophet to be delivered to find out if the Ministry had had any luck in hunting down the beast last night … but he sincerely doubted that their searches would be any more fruitful than his own had been.
Black knew how to protect his halfbreed. He would have kept them both safely hidden, Severus would lay money on it. If the Ministry wanted to capture Lupin in his transformed state, then they were now going to have to wait a whole other month to do so... But Severus was not going to let Lily's murderers enjoy another month of freedom. He would not let them enjoy another day of freedom, if he had his way. They needed to be caught - and caught soon.
But, so far, all avenues had resulted in dead ends.
...
He took a bite of toast and chewed on it slowly, listening to the birds sing just outside his window, and coming to a painful conclusion: it was time to look inside his scrapbook.
For anything - a crumb, a morsel, the merest sniff of a clue. Something, no matter how small: that he had recorded one time in fourth year; the werewolf saying he liked to holiday in Eastbourne; Black saying he had a long lost uncle in the Pyrenees - anything that might tell him where they might go, or give him another lead to follow.
He was going to have to swallow down his pain and heartbreak, he was going to have to withstand the aching grief of seeing photos of Lily, of reading about their lives together - in order to look for anything long forgotten about his oldest enemies that would tell him where they were now.
...
He finished his breakfast first, the crusts of toast seeming to stick now in his oddly dry throat. He didn't rush - but he cursed himself for a coward, for putting this off. He needed to do this. For Lily. She needed him to avenge her death, she was counting on him … he could not let her down. This was all he had left that he could do for her and so - no matter how much it hurt, he would do it.
His hands still trembled as he cleared away his breakfast tray and took out the book, though. His heartbeat felt so thunderous in his chest that he thought it must surely stop or explode … but this was for Lily.
Taking a deep breath, he sat back down in front of the fire, ran his hands over the tattered old book jacket - and then opened it up.
...
His acceptance letter from Hogwarts was stuck on the very first page - the parchment had been yellowish even when fresh, but it was now discoloured with age, the edges of it fraying, the ink faded and the paper brittle. The very next page bore the list of everything he would need as a brand new student: his 3 plain work robes, his pewter cauldron, the standard book of spells - grade 1, his wand…
He turned over the leaf, his heart in his mouth as he knew what he would see on this next page. It was a photo of Lily, the first in the book - in muggle clothes and holding up her own Hogwarts letter. She looked delighted and ever so slightly disbelieving. He had taken it of her, of course. He'd taken two. One for him and one for her. She had never had her photo taken with a wizarding camera before - she hadn't believed him when he told her wizarding photos moved - she could scarcely believe it when he got them developed and showed her. But everything magical that he introduced to her filled her with the same delight that was on her face in this picture … and how much he had loved being her guide to the world.
Underneath the photo of Lily was a similar photo of him - which she had taken. All these years later, he stared down at the children they had been and saw the hope and promise fresh in their faces. How he had loved her then. How he would love her always.
...
But this was all too early - he could not afford to spend time poring over the pages of these earliest memories … He needed to head towards the back; when they were older, when things were darker - when the feud between him and the four idiots had already been sworn in blood. That was where he would find information about the enemies he so hated, the enemies he now hunted. That was the part of the journal he needed to study.
But as hard as it was to see eleven year old Lily - how much harder it would be to catch a glimpse of her at sixteen, seventeen; barely younger than she had been when she died - to see her face, just as it looked the last time he had seen her alive.
But he must - he was doing this for her - and so he steeled his heart and flipped towards the back of the scrapbook.
...
He did his best to ignore the photos - and instead narrowed his eyes, bringing his large nose down to almost the level of the page itself and pored over his tiny, scrawling spidery handwriting. He had purposefully made his handwriting hard to read … in case anyone ever found the book.
If it had fallen into the hands of the four idiots …
He shuddered just at the thought.
But that made his job more difficult now.
Still it had to be done.
His eyes skimmed over the words, searching out any reference to the boys he hated above all others - coming to a stop and reading more carefully whenever he caught sight of one of their names.
...
There was plenty in there - more about the wolf than he ever realised … His obsession with finding out where it was that Lupin went every month, his suspicions, his plans to discover the truth, conversations between the four of them that he had listened in to when he was safely hidden from view. How Lily would refuse to listen to his rumours. Lupin was nice she kept saying - gentler, quieter, less irritating than the others. There couldn't be anything wrong with him; he was just a nice, normal boy … with the world's most irritating friends. If only she had known how very wrong she was...
But still Severus had not given up.
This began in fourth year - and carried on through the journal right the way up until that fateful full moon when the two murderers had first shown their true colours. The night they had attempted to kill him .
...
And then there was triumph recorded - that Severus had been right, that three of them were harbouring a halfbreed, that he now knew something he could hold over them all until the day they left school - and beyond. But there was also anger - seething, righteous fury that Dumbledore ("the meddling muggle lover" young Severus had called him in the journal) was covering up this attempted murder. That Black was barely punished. That the werewolf was not hounded from the school and exposed as the monster he was. That it was Severus who was sworn to secrecy.
Even just reading it back, he felt some of that rage grow hot inside of himself. If only Dumbledore had seen what was right in front of him. If only he'd valued Slytherin students as much as he valued the Gryffindors. If only he had taken appropriate action to deal with what Black and Lupin had done … then maybe Lily would still be alive, and Severus would not be heartbroken and having to relive painful memories, open up old wounds that were clearly still not fully healed.
Yes, the rot went far back - and the mistakes that led them to where they were today had started early.
...
But recriminations would get him nowhere - and this was not helping. He flipped to a later section of the scrapbook.
He squinted.
This was interesting.
Here … the beginning of seventh year: young Severus had written a passage that almost seemed to spit envy right off the page. Black had returned to school that year with not only a brand new set of the finest dress robes - which of course had made every girl in the castle simper and whimper with longing (if only those girls had known … He wondered if the wolf had whimpered with longing too) - but also his very own secrecy sensor; a dark detector used to seek out concealment, dark enchantments and lies.
They had both been studying for their Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWTS at the time, and Black had shown this sensor to their teacher - and thus the whole class. The teacher - Professor Wimbourne, that year - had been completely taken with the fineness of the instrument (she was very young and had seemed completely taken with Black as well) and had decreed that no doubt he would be top of the class all year, with such a useful possession on his side.
Well - he had shared it with his friends, of course - and the wolf, being the hardest working of the lot of them, usually got the top marks - but all year all three of them (though not little Peter) had been consistently ahead of Severus … and it had eaten away at him.
He had asked Regulus how come Sirius suddenly had all these fine, new things. Sirius was the black sheep of the family - as it were - and had run away from home the year before. He did not normally have much to show off - his parents not being willing to spend on him. It was normally Potter who had the things Severus' envied - from the best broomstick, to his own owl, to Lily. But now Sirius was the one splashing the cash around.
Regulus told him that their Uncle Alphard - another black sheep - had died recently, and left everything to Regulus' older brother. He had inherited an entire, and quite full, Gringotts bank account.
...
Well - in the here and now, Severus sat back in his chair and thought carefully - that was a possible avenue.
Wherever they were, they needed money. And the werewolf had certainly never had any to speak of. It must be Black funding their flight from the authorities. But to do that… he would have to access his gold, he would need to at least be in touch with Gringotts...
Perhaps they would know where he was.
Well, he snapped the scrapbook shut - relieved to not have to look at it anymore - that settled it. Today he would pay a visit to Gringotts - find out what the goblins knew ...
As the comforting black of nothingness began to recede, Remus became aware of two opposing sensations. One was the softness of the feather mattress beneath him and the warmth of the blankets cocooning him. The other was the pain - the bone aching weariness that flooded throughout him - both the transformative hangover of the change itself and then all the stinging cuts he could feel lacerating him, and the dull ache in his ribs - where he could feel a bruise coming up, sore and tender.
And then he became aware of something else - a heavy arm flung across him, wrapped around his chest - a bulky shape behind him, pressed against the length of his body - and hot breath blowing steadily on the back of his neck.
...
He tensed up - ignoring the way it made his muscles scream in agony. This was Sirius - curled against him, sleeping beside him…
And all of a sudden he was all too aware of the way the wool of the blanket scratched against his bare skin - and he realised that he must be naked under the covers. Of course he was - he had undressed last night before the change, and had only just woken up in possession of both a human mind and body. There was no chance he had got dressed before this moment.
He was naked - and Sirius was asleep beside him, holding him.
...
He felt everything inside of him freeze - and then flush with a burning heat that left him sweaty and breathless. Worst of all - or perhaps best of all - the warmth bolted straight to his groin, tingling and tantalising and making him want to whimper with frustrated pleasure ... Instead he squirmed uncomfortably and tried to think of cold things to cool himself down. He imagined himself crawling into the large, cold cupboard where they kept the milk - and holding an ice pack to his fevered skin, to his burning ...
...
He snapped his mind away from that thought and wondered if Sirius had realised that he was naked, when he lay down beside him - if he had realised he was falling asleep cradling a naked man. Perhaps, with the exhaustion of the fight - and Remus covered by the blanket, he had simply forgotten.
...
But then flashes of the night before appeared unbidden in his mind's eye. He saw the fabric of the mattress caught between his own teeth, being ripped apart and then a sudden explosion of feathers, which drove him wild as they cascaded down to earth - and he had chased them around, howling and pouncing on them ...
He had destroyed the bed last night. And now here it was in one piece, and he was on it, snugly tucked in in a way that the wolf could never have managed.
...
His eyes snapped open. Sirius must have mended the bed before he went to sleep. And Remus - he must have moved Remus onto it, must be the one who had covered him up… The heat came back, flooding through him; his groin tingling once more, making him squirm with embarrassment and … something more pleasurable.
There was no way Sirius hadn't seen … everything .
And he must have moved Remus when he was unconscious - carried him to the bed and laid him on it … and then got in with him.
But what did that mean? He wondered. Surely ...surely if he knew how Remus felt he wouldn't have done anything so intimate. If he had even a suspicion of how Remus saw him, Sirius would never let them be close like this. If he knew what it was doing to Remus, right this moment; if he knew it was causing Remus to throb between his legs until the pain of his recent transformation was driven away by the pleasurable agony of his wanting...
...
And there could be no chance that Sirius felt the same way - surely not. He must be completely oblivious to Remus' secret yearnings and the possibility of them must never have crossed his mind ... Which must mean he definitely didn't yearn for Remus in return.
This here - right now - this must be friendship and nothing more. Pure and brotherly. And Remus felt ashamed at his desperate longing - that in his secret heart this was not enough.
This was love. Sirius was showing him true and abiding love - and yes, it was not the love Remus felt but it was still important, still precious. And it was all Remus would ever have - all that was on offer. And it was churlish of him to not accept it wholeheartedly and be glad to have someone who cared this deeply for him. Who would go out of their way to perform such acts of brotherly love and ask for nothing in return.
They were friends. Best friends. All each other had in the world - and that was enough. It had to be.
...
He felt the tightness in his groin begin to ebb, the heat to die away as disappointment replaced desire and he fought that new feeling, as being unworthy of him. He let his hand snake upwards and clasp hold of Sirius' own, in a … manly and companionable sort of way - nothing more - and held it to his chest, squeezing tightly.
He felt the body stir behind him.
'Are you awake, Padfoot?'
'Mm - yeah, 'm'wake.' His voice was still thick with sleep, though. 'How are you feeling?'
...
Well - that was the question. This was both the best morning of Remus' life and the most surreal. To wake up held in Sirius' arms … he couldn't even follow that thought to the end in case the heat came back and betrayed him.
Instead - he went for the glib and considerably less confusing answer: 'like all my bones got snapped into a brand new shape twice in one night and then I spent hours wrestling with a massive dog.'
'I don't think it was too bad a night,' Sirius murmured.
With their hands still clasped, he began to move his own up and down so the knuckle of his thumb softly grazed Remus' bare chest, caressing his skin. 'I've seen you worse. Do you think maybe it wasn't so bad? For you?'
...
But Remus was barely breathing. The soft strokes of skin against skin had driven the air from his lungs and he just lay there in a tense and silent ecstasy - his whole body rigid with his wanting.
Sirius must have noticed something was wrong, because the stroking stopped - though their hands remained joined, their fingers intertwined - and his head lifted from the pillow so he could look down on the other man. 'Moony?'
'Hmm?'
'Was it not that bad for you?'
Remus closed his eyes - though he could still feel Sirius looking at him. With Sirius propped up on one elbow, looming over him - so close - watching him so keenly - Remus could just imagine his friend lowering his head slowly and planting a soft kiss on Remus' naked shoulder. And then trailing down his arm with yet more soft kisses, until Remus rolled over, took Sirius in his arms and their lips finally pressed together, passionate and desperate …
...
His eyes snapped open again. 'It wasn't too bad,' he gasped - 'it wasn't as bad as when I'm by myself.'
'That's why I wanted to be with you.'
He was still so close - and once again Remus got lost in the fantasy of being kissed all over; of hot breath and parted lips and tongues grazing skin.
But then that made him think of the cuts and the bruises - new scars to add to the old ones. And although he realised now that Sirius must have seen every mark on his body when he moved him to the bed - he still felt ashamed at the thought of letting Sirius see him so disfigured - and imagining he could kiss and caress such ugliness…
...
He had to get his feelings under control. He couldn't lie here and do … this any longer. They needed to get back to Harry. Remus needed to get himself under control.
He shifted uncomfortably. 'Thanks - I'm glad you were here,' and he meant it too. He shifted again. 'But I should probably get dressed. We should probably be getting back.'
There was a pause - a long moment of silence while he felt Sirius' eyes on him, and then Sirius pulled away. 'Right - yeah. Harry. Responsibility. The rest of our lives. I'll - I'll get your clothes. Stay here.'
He rolled off the mattress and crossed the room to where Remus had safely stashed his clothes away the night before. Then he brought them back - handing them across. But Remus … unable to stop seeing his wild imaginings of kissing and stroking and throbbing in his mind - kept his eyes averted as he took them.
Though he still felt the puzzled look Sirius gave him as he handed the clothes over. 'I'll - uh - give you some privacy then. You get dressed and I'll undo the seal charm.'
...
Once Sirus' back was turned, Remus pulled his boxer shorts back on - and took a deep breath - feeling better now he was a bit more decent. He reached for his T-Shirt and winced as he tried to pull it over his head.
Immediately, Sirius had turned back to him. 'Are you OK? Are you in pain?'
'Just... sore. The cuts …Makes everything sting.' He struggled into the t-shirt, hissing in pain as the cotton clung to his fresh scrapes and scratches. Then he picked up his robes. His arms ached and the heavier material made it difficult for him to manoeuvre.
Sirius was still watching him. 'You know - if you want any help...'
'I don't need any help,' he said quickly.
'I know - but if you want it…'
Remus managed to pull the robes over his head. 'I'm fine,' he said, getting to his feet. 'Honestly, Padfoot. You don't have to worry. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself.'
'But you don't have to ,' Sirius said to him, his voice was quiet - but intense. 'That's the whole point.'
...
But Remus forced a smile on his face and shook off the other man's words. 'We need to get inside,' he said, changing the subject.
'Well, when we get in, I'm running you a bath.'
'You're such a worrywart. There's no need. I'm not an invalid.'
'You're not well either. Not at the moment.'
'I'm fine,' Remus repeated firmly. And before Sirius could answer, he began to climb up the ladder and out of the air raid shelter. Sirius followed him and, once they were both up in the fresh air, they apparated out of the back garden and back to the front door; pretending they had just arrived back on the island after their night away, and heading inside to relieve their babysitter of Harry duty.