Chapter Fourteen
Sirius' eyes widened in shock. One minute they were just sitting there and then suddenly - Moony was - was kissing him. He pulled away, detaching lips, and sitting back.
Immediately, Moony sat back too - shuffling away from Sirius and holding himself rigid. Not knowing where to look. His face was flaming.
'Why…' Sirius began to say.
'I'm sorry,' Remus interrupted; his words rushing out and tumbling over each other. 'I didn't mean…'
'You didn't mean to?'
'I-' Remus was looking everywhere but at Sirius, his expression miserable and confused.
'You didn't mean it?'
'I - I just wanted to make you … make you stop feeling so … I didn't…' He ran out of explanations.
'Do you -' It was strange, his voice sounded oddly calm and yet his ears were ringing so he was almost deafened. His heart was banging against his rib cage so hard it was painful. 'Do you - feel - that way ... about me?' He held his breath as he waited for the answer.
...
Not looking at him, his face flushed bright red, Remus nodded miserably. 'I'm sorry,' he said again.
'For - for how long?'
'What?'
'How long have you felt … this ?'
'Always,' his voice was a mumble - he looked like he was going to cry. 'Since ...forever.' He finally dared to look up at the other man. 'Look - I'm really sorry. Please, just forget … I didn't mean …'
...
But his words were suddenly cut off when his mouth was stopped by Sirius' lips. Sirius had lunged at him, wrapped his arms around his neck, twisted his fingers into his hair and was now kissing Remus far harder and far more intensely than Remus had kissed him.
'Me too,' he breathed between kisses. 'It's been always for me too.'
Severus was in a towering temper. He stormed back into his room at The Leaky Cauldron, threw his cloak down on the bed and then kicked the chair until it began to splinter. He picked up a vase and hurled it at the fireplace, he knocked all the contents off his table in one, fluid sweep of his arm and let them crash to the floor.
He kicked his leather holdall around the room, slammed the candlesticks down on the mantelpiece over and over and then gripped the post of his four poster bed and set to alternatively kicking it and bashing his head against it until the very worst of his rage ebbed … and he was left with both a sore foot and a sore head.
Then he sank down onto the bed itself, grasping at his chest and wheezing.
...
One step ahead. They were always one step ahead. No matter what he tried. No matter what he thought of … somehow they were ahead of him. He closed his eyes and their irritating faces swam into view - laughing at him.
Oh, he would get the last laugh yet. He wasn't going to stop - wasn't going to be deterred. He would see them both arrested and sent to prison for the rest of their lives … and for the wolf that wouldn't be very long at all, though he dearly hoped Sirius would live to be 106; spending each and every day locked behind a door with the dementors sucking every happy thought from his mind before it even had a chance to form.
That would be justice. If Severus must live every day for the rest of his life without Lily, then let Black spend the next 80 odd years mourning the wolf.
But for the moment, the revenge was still just out of his grasp - still so close and yet so far.
And if the wizengamot compelled the goblins to talk, then the aurors would be the ones to make the arrest - his triumph and his vengeance would be robbed from him by the proper authorities. And he did not want that to happen. He wanted to look these two murderers in the eyes and let them know that it was he who had beaten them.
For all their torments over seven years, the curses, the jinxes, the humiliations drubbed out four against one … he wanted them to know that in the end it was he who had ended up on top.
And yet - somehow - they still remained just out of reach.
...
Remus Lupin - the filthy halfbreed - had stopped having papers delivered to him in 1976 . Even though he hadn't. Even though Severus had seen him receive papers for two whole years after that. But somehow - for some reason - he had changed the name the paper got delivered to.
Had he known then? Even back then had he known what he would one day do? That he might one day have to hide? Was this yet more evidence of just how far back the treachery went?
1976 - that would have been fifth year.
Severus felt a pain in his heart … as he remembered their fifth year. He remembered that moment - upside down, in front of the whole school - everyone laughing. The moment Potter had taken Lily away from him for good.
And even at the time - Black and Lupin were already watching the growing dark forces outside the school and planning on joining them in secret. Or so it now seemed.
...
Oh - Severus had planned to join too, him and Mulciber, Rosier … all the Slytherins. Malfoy had left a few years previously and was already at the Dark Lord's side. How the lot of them couldn't wait to join … couldn't wait to advance the cause of purity and bring about wizarding supremacy, taking the whole world from those muggle fools.
But they had been open about it.
But these two … these two - the noble Gryffindors, standing for mudbloods and muggles and regular bowel movements or whatever rot it was they professed to believe in, these two had stood with Potter and tormented Severus for his different beliefs - and it had all been a lie. Since they were boys. At least, it would seem, since 1976.
...
He wondered if they'd always had their eye on killing James. If the friendship had simply been a means to an end. Not that he could blame them, if that were the case. Potter was insufferable and no one would grieve his loss.
He wondered if they had always had their eye on killing Lily as well - or if she was simply collateral. If she had meant nothing to them at all - simply a loose end to be tied up.
...
The rage built in him again - and he snatched up his scrapbook, which lay on his bedside table, and hurled it with all his might at the opposite wall. It smashed against the bricks and then fell to the floor - its pages splayed out, creased and dented.
He took some deep breaths. He was beginning to fear that there was nothing in that journal that could help him - that even if he found another lead somehow, somehow, the gruesome twosome - Black and the Beast - would have found a way - yet another way - to hide.
But he still had to try.
...
Slowly, he got back to his feet and went to retrieve the scrapbook. Then he noticed something loose which had fallen from its pages and was lying out on the floor, flat against the wood.
Frowning, he picked it up... And then the ball of rage in his chest intensified as he saw the pair of them in front of him - their grinning teenage faces, their arms around each other - laughing - just as they had in Severus' mind's eye a moment ago.
It was the photo Severus had taken from Black's home. His first false lead - which he had shown to Walburga hoping it meant something, only to find out it was nothing. That all it meant was that they were secretly a pair of … well, he didn't know a word for what they were a pair of. 'Inverted', Walburga had called it. That seemed about right.
...
Even though it meant nothing - though the gesture would be a futile one - he raised the photo up readying to tear it in two - to cast the two … lovers asunder, in picture form as he would one day in reality - as they had cast him and Lily asunder.
… And that was when he saw the writing on the back:
'Me and Moony at Slughorn's Christmas Party 18/12/77'
...
Severus felt everything freeze. Felt time itself slow down and come to a stop.
Me and Moony.
Not me and Remus. Not even me and Lupin.
Me and Moony.
And this was from 1977 - a year later than 1976. The year after Remus Lupin stopped getting copies of the Daily Prophet.
And he realised.
...
With a sudden whoomping sound - like all his blood crashing into his ears at once - time seemed to unfreeze, the world rushed back towards him - and suddenly he was very aware of everything around him: the fire crackling in the grate, the room destroyed around him, his own heart beating faster and faster...
...
Ignoring the mess, he grabbed his cloak and marched back out of the door. He was headed back to the dispatch centre of The Daily Prophet … He knew what name the wolf was having his paper delivered to.
There was a moment - just a moment - where Remus thought he must still be asleep. That he was still under the influence of the thick, treacly potion Sirius had given him - and this was just a deliriously beautiful dream… where Sirius was kissing him, telling him he loved him … and any moment he would awake, cold and alone in his room.
But the moment lasted just a shade too long, and then longer still - and then the fire crackled and Sirius was still kissing him. His lips were hot and sweet and the kisses were hotter still - warm and wet and tingly against his skin… and they were everywhere, on his lips, his jaw - his eyelids. He'd never thought of having his eyelids kissed, would never have conjured this in a dream… this was all Sirius.
This was all real.
And tentatively, tremulously, he reached out his own hand and caressed Sirius' face with it, sneaking his fingers into Sirius' thick, dark hair and returning the kisses - three kisses for every one Sirius gave him.
...
Their arms tightened around each other, their intertwining becoming more firm - more fierce - and Remus leaned back against the cushions, and Sirius followed; climbing on top of him.
Their mouths crashed against each other, their lips parting - desperate and hungry. Remus felt a whimper of desire building in his chest. He felt like he couldn't touch enough of Sirius - like it was never enough - every inch of him was warm and flushed and going crazy with desire and he needed to draw Sirius closer, pull him closer, hold him tighter - and it would still never be enough.
'This is …'
'Wrong?' Sirius breathed. He kissed Remus again. 'It doesn't feel wrong.'
'No.' He tugged Sirius closer, leaning upwards to claim more hungry kisses. 'It feels right. I never thought…' He broke off to kiss some more. 'I never thought we could have this.' He moaned again, as Sirius lowered his head and nuzzled into his neck, kissing up his jawline and nibbling on his ear.
'It hurt so much,' Sirius' voice was a low growl as he kept on sucking and nuzzling. Gasping in pleasure, Remus was barely listening. 'When I thought you were the spy. I thought I'd lost you. I never thought we could…' And then he was kissing Remus' mouth again - deciding to take what he wanted rather than talk about it.
'I didn't think we could -' Remus agreed. 'This is madness.'
'Then I'm happy to be mad.'
...
The fire crackled some more. They were both flushed and panting - their skin red and tingling, their hair mussed, their lips swollen and tender… and the immediate fire - the flames of desire ten years in the stoking- ebbed a little; their movements became slower, less desperate - as their caresses became soft, their kisses more gentle…
Rather than grabbing - fierce and passionate and hungry - they stroked ... and savoured every moment. Their skin was still warm but their caresses were more deliberate, more affectionate … every touch being enjoyed to the full and stored in their memories. There would only ever be one first time, one first night together, and they wanted every second of it to last an aeon of aching delight, to be bottled up and kept fresh where they could keep it forever. They wanted every sensation to be heightened, every possible drop of pleasure to be poured out and shared between them as something piquant and delicious that would last them their whole lifetime. One perfect memory - of perfect happiness - to keep burning inside of them and stay with them forever.
...
Still with his arms wrapped around Remus' neck - Sirius pulled back up, drawing Remus up with him, so they were both sitting up once more. He ran his fingers through Remus' hair and kissed his lips … and then let his hand drift down to the hem of Remus' t-shirt, beginning to tug it upward.
He didn't stop kissing, but Remus moved his hand to block Sirius. 'No,' he shook his head. His eyes were closed - his voice was soft - but he sounded determined.
Sirius kissed his neck again. 'Why not?'
He fought down a whimper of pleasure. 'I know what I look like.'
'So do I - I saw it all earlier.'
'And you were disgusted.' Their mouths were still less than an inch apart, their lips brushing against each other, against their skin … their words were breathy whispers.
Sirius shook his head. 'No. I wasn't.' And he tugged again - and this time Remus didn't stop him ... and a few seconds of pulling later, Sirius had his t-shirt off and Remus was bare chested.
...
Remus let his arms drop from around Sirius, then - and instead brought them up to try and block his body from view. But Sirius shook his head again, pressed his lips to Remus' own and took hold of his hands, dragging them down out of the way - and leaving him exposed.
Then - with the fingers of his right hand still intertwined with the fingers of Remus' left - he brought up his left hand and began to trace Remus' scars with his fingertips - gentle, feather light - a tickle that was barely there and that at the same time was the most intense feeling Remus had ever experienced.
He inhaled sharply and felt the gasp catch in his throat - and his eyes begin to fill with tears as Sirius' fingers brushed against his ugliness and didn't hesitate or flinch away.
'These are beautiful,' Sirius murmured. 'They've always been beautiful…' and he leaned forward, lowering his head and kissing the gnarled bumps that crisscrossed Remus' skin. His lips were as soft as his touch had been - and they skimmed across like butterflies' wings - barely there but burning all the same.
...
Remus could barely breathe. He was completely still - and lost in a bittersweet ecstasy that was bringing him close to tears.
All his life he had wanted so much: to be loved, to have friends - and as he got older to be desired, to be touched … and all his life he had known he could never have it. He was always going to be an outcast, always untouchable and unwanted - shunned and feared and hated… and the loneliness had cut into him like slivers of glass. Especially as he had grown older - as he realised exactly what it was he wanted and could never have, as he began to feel the urges and knew that he would never feel their relief… A werewolf never married. They remained alone, unloved and untouched forever - and nevertheless he had burned with desire and wanted so badly.
Knowing he couldn't have it only made it worse, made him want it more desperately - knowing he could never ask- knowing he would have to forever deny himself, make do with his own hands, his own touch …
And even if he wasn't cast out - forced to live apart - he would never have dared ask to be loved, by anyone, when he looked the way he did. When he knew the disgust that anyone would feel on seeing his scarred and broken body.
But now - now there was this. Sirius. More than he could ever have hoped for, more than he would ever have asked for. Being touched. Being loved. The feeling of fingers on his skin - like he wasn't dirty, wasn't broken … like he was worthy of these soft caresses. It left him breathless and painful and desperately wanting more.
He cried out.
...
And then Sirius wrapped strong arm around him again, the kisses now hard and hungry once more - kissing his lips and pushing him back among the pillows, as the desperate fire took over them again.
A few tugs and Sirius too was divested of his t-shirt … and Remus repaid the favour, kissing along his collarbone and down his flawless skin, his hands stroking Sirius' biceps. 'I wish I could look like this for you,' he whispered, still dropping kisses on the ivory perfection of Sirius' body.
'I don't.' Sirius' voice was a growl again, hot and heavy and right beside his ear.
Remus shook his head, 'you're flawless.'
'So are you.'
...
And then talking was stopped as mouths met again - and hands wandered lower. Buttons and zips were undone, pulled down and then trousers thrown to the floor, discarded with the t-shirts.
Underwear came next.
And then they were tangled together, naked limbs wrapped around each other, twined together - and every inch was on fire, tingling, burning, throbbing - and kisses came hot and heavy, reaching everywhere - acres of bare flesh being explored and caressed by groping hands and hungry mouths.
Remus felt the tug between his legs - the same as earlier. The sudden burning and heaviness and the jolt of aching desire … frustration and longing and desperation for relief … and as his hand wandered down to satisfy himself, he instead encountered Sirius' hand in the way.
...
With one arm around Remus' neck - and their whole bodies flush against each other, naked and perspiring, Sirius' hand crept between Remus' legs, took hold, and tugged. Firm. Gentle. Skin slick with sweat rasping against delicate skin.
Remus cried out again. This was … it should not feel so different to when he did this for himself and yet … and yet … it was like sparks going off in his mind, he saw bright colours and shooting stars and every nerve in his body screamed in pleasure and jolted - as if pure magic had shot right through them.
Sirius kept on stroking and tugging. Sometimes harder, sometimes softer. Sometimes fast, sometimes agonisingly, toe curling slow... and Remus was breathless, gasping and squirming as the pleasure built inside of him, threatening to boil over, erupt out in an explosion of ecstasy - but he wasn't ready yet … He wanted this to last longer. Wanted more. Wanted this delicious aching wonder to go on and on and on…
He needed to slow Sirius down.
And - unable to think of any other way to do it - he let his own hand reach out and grasp between Sirius' own legs, repaying the favour. He felt Sirius jolt on top of him - as that same pleasure crashed through him, that same unbridled experience of longing and building of rapture … A slow mounting of budding delight that made his knees buckle and his eyes roll up … a crescendo of agony and ecstasy, the feeling of popping like warm champagne.
...
They kissed and caressed and stroked and moaned and gasped and squirmed and felt every tingle, every tickle, every tongue lick against salty skin. Years of wanting and longing and loneliness and shame poured out into their touch until they were on fire, burning outside and in. The pressure and the pleasure building, mounting, toe curling, muscle clenching, hot, heavy, gasping, writhing … And then - when they were near exhaustion, sweaty, sated; their sinews and their skin screaming - then came the relief, the release, the realisation of all that wanting crashing over them, flooding through them. A tidal wave of satisfaction, joy, screaming ecstasy … And then the comforting darkness of sheer contentment.
The door to the dispatch centre slammed open - and the man with the spiky moustache looked up in alarm, relaxing when he saw the young wizard from earlier framed in the doorway. 'Back again?' he asked.
'Moony,' Severus said.
'Whassat?'
'The name I want you to look up - on your records. I want to know if you deliver to a Mr. Moony.'
The small man shrugged and took out the scroll with his records on and scanned down to the Ms. 'Uh - yeah - Mr. Moony. Funny name that. Been delivering to him since…' he wrinkled his nose and squinted down at the parchment, '1976.'
...
Triumph swept over Severus - sweet and glorious triumph. But on the outside, he only smiled grimly. 'That's what I thought you would say. Which bird delivers to Mr. Moony?'
The man checked his records again and then pointed to a tawny owl, third shelf from the left, 'Nyra delivers Mr. Moony's paper - has done since she was a chick.'
'And what time will Nyra set off in the morning?'
'Around dawn - same as always.'
'I'll give you a galleon if you keep her back tomorrow morning until I am here.'
...
The man huffed and puffed - making his moustache flutter. 'Well I don't know about that - paying me to tamper with the deliveries - sounds like bribery…'
'Ten galleons. '
'Done.' He leaned forward on the counter, his expression was curious. 'So - what do you want Nyra for anyway?'
Severus smiled his grim smile again - and turned to leave. 'I'm going to follow her.'