A/N: Right now, we're looking at this story being done at approximately Chapter 40.

xx

Chapter Twenty-Eight: On Your Knees

Fletcher lives up to his word: by the time they get back from Easter break, he's gotten a hold of nine Death's Head moths' chrysalises (extras in case it takes them a few attempts to pull off the spell) and a Portkey scheduled to take them to a grassy cave and back on May twenty-fourth, the date of the full moon after next. To his credit, he doesn't ask them what exactly they need these for—just slips them into Sirius's pocket at the beginning of Potions on Wednesday in exchange for a load of gold. It's a hefty sum—the Marauders had to pool all their gold, and then James had to beg his parents for extra over the break, just to meet it—but for what they're going to be giving Moony in exchange, Sirius thinks it's worth every Knut.

The next full moon—the start of their Mandrake month—is on Friday the twenty-fifth, which gives Sirius just over two weeks to break it off with Marlene. He puts it off, tries to find ways to rationalize to himself not needing to end things—but it's going to be hard enough for him, James, and Peter to conceal that they're walking around and talking and eating with leaves in their mouth for a whole month even without anybody putting tongues in their mouths. There's absolutely no way.

The sex takes on—almost a frantic quality, with Sirius knowing it's going to have to end soon and trying to… get in what he can while he can, or something. He feels bad about it—well, he already felt badly about all of it, but he knows she likes it better slower, and he feels bad about not at least giving her what she likes if they're going to be doing this at all. However, like with everything else about this damn relationship, he doesn't feel bad enough to stop.

But the best part, the part that Sirius is increasingly growing to depend on, isn't the sex itself: it's the moments after, when everything is hazy and happy and Marlene's warm body is in his arms. It hasn't been the same the times he's tried it alone—that just left him feeling lonely—and being with Marlene is the only damn thing in this world that can make Sirius feel cared for, like he can put everything else on pause and just…

It's like falling apart. It's like Marlene takes him completely apart and then puts him back together so the jagged edges don't grate anymore, if only for a few minutes.

He needs those few minutes. It was bad enough getting through Easter without them every other day, and he doesn't know how he's going to survive a whole month of it.

And he feels like an arse because he can't even tell her the real reason that he has to leave. She's going to think he's just done with her, and as much as Sirius never should have gone there with her to begin with, when he does stop it—and he has to stop it, Mandrake month or not—he doesn't want her to think he just… doesn't give a shit.

The thing is, Sirius does give a shit. The more they do this, the closer he feels to her, and the more he feels restless and empty in the hours when she isn't there.

Finally, the night before the full moon, he can't put it off any longer. Before he does it, he knows he shouldn't sleep with her. He knows that much—but he does it anyway.

Afterward, he gives himself a precious ten minutes of bliss with her before he brings it up. "We, um… we've got to stop doing this, Marlene."

"You always say that," she says in almost a teasing voice.

"I mean it this time. It's not fair to either of us. What are we doing, really? It's not like we love each other."

She twists and shifts around and looks him in the face, her easy smile gone. "I know, when we started this, we didn't. But—god, Black, can't you feel it? Every time we… doesn't it feel like you and I…?"

And it does—he knows exactly what she's talking about. It's confusing and jarring, feeling so connected to somebody so suddenly—but he feels it, and it's going to hurt like hell to give it up.

But this has gone on long enough, and anyway, he doesn't have a choice.

"I'm sorry, Marlene. I just… I'm really sorry, but it's over."

"Yeah, okay," she says idly, and he can tell she doesn't believe him.

The next night—the night of the full moon—Sirius walks Moony down to the Hospital Wing on Moony's way to meet Madam Pomfrey. They haven't really talked one-on-one since… whatever that was when Sirius told Moony what sex is like, and the tension has been going on long enough.

"You know you don't have to do this for me," Moony tells him. He's talking quietly, and Sirius can't tell if that's just Moony being his usual self—always rejecting anybody who tells him that he deserves more—or if he's still feeling awkward about their last conversation.

"What, take a walk with you?" Sirius jokes, but his face falls when Moony's lips don't even twitch. "Moony, I told you—we're in this together, and I'm getting you through it. Now that I know how I can help you, there's no way in hell I'm passing that up."

"But I'm not—"

"Worth it? You need to stop telling yourself that. You're worth more than anybody I know."

"I just… you know how you say you need Marlene too much? And James?"

"I… yeah," says Sirius. He's only admitted this to Moony a handful of times—it's not like they talk about it every day—and it feels strange to acknowledge it out in the open without some kind of heavy, emotional conversation precipitating it.

"Sirius, that's—that's me with you. And one of these days, you're going to realize it, and you're going to run like hell. All I do is take from you."

Sirius purses his lips and shakes his head and threads their fingers together. "Do you really think that's true? Do you really think I don't need you just as much?"

"But James—"

"—Is my best mate," he says firmly, "but so are you, and so is Pete. You don't know what it's like for me every time I'm trapped at Grimmauld Place over the summer. Even when I get out of there—even when I go and see James—I still feel like I can't breathe because you're not there. And anyway, you're a better person than I am. I'm lucky you even want to hang out with me, let alone—all the rest of it."

"But I'm not—"

"Yes. You are. Furry little problem or not."

They've reached the Hospital Wing, and Moony, seemingly on an impulse, releases Sirius's hand only to fling both his arms around Sirius's neck. Sirius buries his face in Moony's neck and just—breathes.

"Hey," Sirius says, and the words are coming out without forethought or permission as he says, "I know things have been off between us lately, and—I know it's my fault, and I just—"

Moony lets go of him so quickly that Sirius almost loses his balance. "It's not your fault. It's my fault. I'm the one who… asked."

"Yeah, but I could have just told you what I told James when he asked. Instead, I… made it weird. My fault."

"Why, um… why did you—answer the way you did, anyway? I keep going over it in my mind, and I can't…"

It's a great question—one to which Sirius doesn't have an answer. What's he supposed to tell Moony? You were looking at me funny, and I wanted you to keep doing it. Like that'll fix things. And why did Sirius want Moony to keep looking at him funny to begin with? It's not like he even understands himself.

He wishes he could turn the question around on Moony—ask him why he reacted that way to the thought of talking about Sirius's sex life in the first place—but Sirius is pretty sure that either of them acknowledging with words the way they felt, the way they were looking at each other, would just further complicate things and embarrass them both. So he improvises. "You didn't really think your 'late bloomer' story was going to hold up much longer, did you? I guess I just—wanted you to admit who you like to me. I thought if I could nudge you in the right direction… I dunno."

Moony doesn't answer. He looks totally betrayed for reasons Sirius doesn't understand, but all Sirius wants is for things between them to go back to normal, so he adds, "I'm sorry if I overstepped. No—I'm sorry I did overstep. It's your business, and I shouldn't have pushed."

"It's—it's okay."

"So—are we good?"

Sirius is pretty sure they're not good, but Moony shrugs and nods and smiles a little, so he lets it go. The sooner Sirius goes along with it, the sooner they can get back to normal.

Back in the dormitory, James and Peter have got the Mandrake leaves out and are looking at them dubiously. Sirius joins them where they're sitting on Peter's bed.

"That's got to be, what, six centimeters?" says Peter. "How are we supposed to talk?"

"Talking's easy—just shove it in your cheek," says Sirius. "But what about eating? How do you chew your food without it slipping out of place and you chewing on it?"

"One problem at a time, lads," says James. "Cheers."

He passes Peter and Sirius each a leaf, and Sirius scrutinizes it for a second before popping it on his tongue. This, as it turns out, is a mistake.

"Thath ith foul zazing," Sirius attempts to say.

He sounds ridiculous, but James and Peter aren't paying him any attention; they look just as disgusted as Sirius feels. The leaf tastes like the smell of manure, except with a sickly-sweet layer to it that doesn't make the entire effect better—in fact, it makes it much, much worse.

He buoys the leaf over between his teeth and his cheek. "That is foul tasting," he repeats, much more clearly this time.

"Oh my god, I'm—I'm gonna—"

James tries to lean over the side of the bed, but he doesn't quite make it in time, getting vomit all over Sirius's knees and Peter's sheets. Sirius can see both the leaf and chunks of the bangers and mash James had for dinner in it.

"That's bloody disgusting, James."

Peter cries, "I have to sleep in this bed, you know!"

"Well, at least it didn't get on your knees—"

"Scourgify," James mutters and then tucks his wand away again. He picks the leaf up by the stem and positively glares at it. "I can't believe I have to put this thing back in my mouth."

"Oh, get over yourself. You cleaned up the vomit," says Sirius. Hypocritically, he's still miffed about his knees.

James screws up his face and shoves the leaf inside his cheek. "If either of you swallows it, and we have to start over, I'm not forgiving you," he says darkly.

"Please. There's no way in hell anybody could swallow something this big on accident. Not mashing it up with our teeth is going to be the issue."

Peter grins, but James points at him and says, "Pete, I can see your leaf sticking out when you smile. How are we supposed to go a whole month without letting anybody see any of us smile?"

"Shit. You can? You mean we have to go a whole month without smiling?"

"Well, it won't show if it's on the roof of your mouth, will it?" says Sirius.

Peter attempts to shift the leaf out of his cheek with his tongue and fails dismally. James snickers, "Right. Well, it needs to be in the cheek for us to be able to talk, and obviously, rapidly maneuvering it back and forth in the middle of conversations isn't going to work. You can't bloody win."

"How the hell are we going to hide this from McGonagall?" groans Sirius. "She's been through this whole process before. She's going to know what we're up to if we slip up even once."

James sighs. "We don't have Transfiguration again until Tuesday morning. Let's just… get through the weekend first and figure it out one step at a time, all right?"

It's a Friday night. Sirius loves when full moons fall on Fridays or Saturdays: it means he gets to spend the whole next morning (and sometimes afternoon) tangled up with Moony in the Hospital Wing, without ever needing to leave to get to class. Sure, he's usually starving by the end of it if he skips breakfast or lunch—and with sunrise at half past five tomorrow morning, he definitely won't be going to the Great Hall to eat before he sees Moony—but all that really means is a few hours of discomfort before all the Marauders troop off to the kitchens for a midday meal as soon as Madam Pomfrey is ready to discharge Moony. Sirius can't imagine anything better than half a day curled up with Moony, dozing, listening to James and Peter laugh.

They're even more tired than usual on Saturday morning. Not only do they stay up until three talking, but when they finally do try to sleep, Sirius finds that the discomfort of the Mandrake leaf keeps waking him up every ten minutes. He feels like he's been hit by a train by the time James's WWN starts going off, but he drags himself out of bed anyway: he'll be able to pass out again as soon as they get to the Hospital Wing, and anyway, sleep will feel a million times better when he's in Moony's bed instead of his own.

It's almost six by the time they reach the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey isn't happy with them, of course—they're supposed to still be in Gryffindor Tower for the next hour—but she lets them make their way to Moony with minimal grumbling.

Just like last month, there's an added layer of weird when Sirius gets into bed with Moony, and he doesn't understand why Sirius having a sex life—even if he did tell Moony about it—has to affect his relationship with somebody other than Marlene. His heart is thumping, but this time, Moony doesn't comment on it—probably in part because Moony's heart is thumping, too.

"So how did it go?" Moony asks in an undertone when Pomfrey's out of earshot.

"It tastes nasty—"

"Like shit, literally—"

"James threw up when he first tasted his leaf."

"Shut up, Peter."

"What? You did!"

Moony just lies there with his eyes closed and a bemused expression. "Have I mentioned how much I love you boys lately?" he murmurs.

Sirius presses his forehead to Moony's temple. "We love you, too, buddy. Now go to sleep. You've had a long night, and with this goddamn leaf poking our gums, so have I."

"Yeah, and so have me and Pete," says James with a little exasperation. "I'm kicking you out so I can have a turn in an hour, Sirius. You're not the only one who's tired."

The thing is, the leaf is still poking Sirius's gums, so he's more alert than usual as he shuts his eyes and listens to Moony breathing. He snatches five, maybe ten minutes of sleep, but the next time he fades back in, it's harder than usual to let Peter and James's voices wash over him—he finds himself actually processing the words they're saying.

"I'm just worried about McKinnon," James is telling Peter. Sirius concentrates very hard on not stiffening up his body. "Macdonald says McKinnon's totally expecting it to turn into something long-term and real, but I just… can't see him doing that. Like, did you have any idea Sirius was even interested in her? Because I sure as hell didn't."

"I didn't, either. Even now, it's not like he talks about her like she's somebody he… it seems like it's just sex. He barely ever mentions her, and when he does, it's just in passing—offhand stuff—like what they're doing doesn't even matter to him."

"I think it does matter to him—in a way. I think he just… he's using it as a coping mechanism, and he's going to destroy both of them in the process. He probably just doesn't talk about it because he's ashamed of himself, and he should be."

Tingles run up and down Sirius's spine and limbs.

"Yeah, but you heard what Moony said—Sirius has been heading for a breakdown for a long time now. He's not just an arse who doesn't—I mean, maybe he doesn't really care about her, which I guess makes him kind of an arse, but he's not doing it because he's an arse. He's doing it because—Moony said he said he can't stop. He's in over his head, James. He needs us to help him, not judge him."

"I'll give you one thing: he's going to need our help for the next four weeks if he wants to pull off the Mandrake month. You think he's going to do what he told Moony he'd do and straighten himself out in that time? Or is he going to go back to her when it's over?"

So they've been talking about him when he hasn't been there. This is not new information—all of the Gryffindor fourth years talk about each other all the time, and it's not like anything he ever told any of the blokes was something he expected them to keep confidential from each other. At the same time, however, having told Moony what he did—about not being able to stop himself—and knowing that Moony turned right around and shared that with Peter and James makes Sirius feel more nauseous than he already does with the damn leaf in his mouth.

It's not like Sirius is proud of himself for what he's been doing the last few months. He's spent so much time brushing it off like it's nothing that admitting to Moony what he never meant to admit to anybody—that he's getting just as addicted to Marlene as he ever was to Em or Moony or Peter or James—was major and humiliating and private.

He wonders if Moony has told anybody about their conversation last month—you know the one. Sirius certainly hasn't spilled the beans.

It makes it hard to lie here in this bed with Moony and know that Moony's been sharing all Sirius's secrets (or at least some of the biggest ones)—but if he gets up now, James and Peter will know Sirius heard them, and that's a discussion he really doesn't want to have to have with either of them. Besides, even underneath the hurt he's feeling, the thought of his whole half-day in bed with Moony—of climbing out of his best mate's arms—feels worse.

So he stays put until an hour later, when James shakes his shoulder roughly and demands a turn to sleep. He obediently opens his eyes and rolls out of bed so he can trade places with James—and then something strange happens. When he watches James take his spot in the cot, crowding around Moony in a cot that's only meant to hold one person at a time, Sirius feels—

—It's almost like he feels—

—But that doesn't make any sense. James is as much Moony's mate as Sirius is—just as affectionate, too—and anyway, Sirius is pissed at Moony right now.

Isn't he?

xx

James is still in bed with Moony when Sirius and Peter head out for breakfast around eight o'clock—he offered Peter a turn to sleep, but Peter told him he'd rather eat first and sleep later, to which James agreed as long as they agreed to bring him back some pastries from the Great Hall. When Sirius and Peter get there, they wave to Mary and Marlene, who are eating together in the middle of the table—trying to remember not to open their lips when they smile—but grab seats away from them, at the deserted far end.

Sirius is almost tempted to eat as little as possible, so that he can spend less time trying not to chew his leaf, but it's not like he can manage to just go hungry for the next month just to spare himself a few minutes per meal of discomfort. "Watch me when I eat, and I'll watch you, so we can see if the leaves show," he tells Peter.

"Right. Well, uh… ladies first," says Peter, gesturing to Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Bugger off. Here, uh… here goes."

For those first few bites, he's honestly afraid to bite down on his sausages at all—if he so much as makes a dent in his leaf, does he have to take it out and wait a whole month until he can start over with a new one? It's even harder than he expected it would be to chew with this thing in his mouth—because when he first put it in, it was still very much intact, but a whole night's worth of saliva has started to break the thing down, leaving it loose and slippery in Sirius's cheek. He tries to chew just with the opposite side of his mouth, but it's not like he can bite down on one side and not the other: even if there's no food touching the leaf, his teeth beside it are still opening and closing.

"Try washing it down with some pumpkin juice," Peter suggests.

"Honestly," says Sirius after swallowing very carefully, "I'm afraid that if I try to drink anything, I'm going to swallow it."

"But you said—"

"Yeah, I know what I said, but that was before the thing started to dissolve in my mouth overnight."

"Sirius, we can't go a whole month without anything to drink. We'll get dehydrated, and we'll probably—collapse in class and get sent to Madam Pomfrey, and she'll catch us. Just—can you try putting it under your tongue, so you can hold it in place while you're swallowing?"

"No way. It's your turn. Ladies first," Sirius sneers.

Peter makes a face at him—the leaf is fully on display in front of his teeth—and reaches into his mouth to reposition the leaf with his fingers. That, of course, is the moment that Alice walks into the hall, makes eye contact with Sirius, and starts heading over to them.

"Abort. Abort. Abort," says Sirius hastily under his breath.

Just as hastily, Peter sticks the leaf inside his cheek again just in time for Alice to take a seat next to him. "Good morning," she says brightly. "Why aren't we all sitting together? Did something happen between you and…?"

"No," says Sirius defensively, but then he realizes he should just go along with this explanation if he doesn't want the girls to get suspicious. "Well… actually, yeah. Marlene and I kind of—broke up last night."

Alice raises her eyebrows. "Don't you break up, like, three times a week?"

"Well, it was for real this time."

She casts a look down the table at Marlene, who's laughing loudly at something Mary's saying with a goblet in her hand. "I don't think Marlene got the message."

"Can you blame her?" says Peter. "It's not like you ever stick to what you tell her."

"You should go sit with them, Abbott," says Sirius abruptly. "Peter and I—have to go. We told James we'd bring him back food, and he's probably starving by now."

"Hospital Wing with Remus?" tuts Alice sympathetically.

"Yeah. Let me just grab…"

They load up on as many danishes and biscuits as they can fit in their robes—Sirius has only had a few bites of sausage, and Peter hasn't had anything to eat, after all. Sirius wishes they could take goblets of pumpkin juice out of here, so they can test what it's like to drink with the leaves under their tongues, but that would look conspicuous, even if they used magic to levitate the goblets in front of them as they walked so they wouldn't spill.

Before they go, Peter's stomach grumbles loudly. "You're both acting very dodgy today, you know that?" Alice calls to them as they start walking away.

"Bye, Alice," Sirius calls without turning around. Peter snickers, then hastily closes his mouth and looks around to make sure nobody saw his teeth when he did so.

As it turns out, the Mandrake leaves are way too big to fit under their tongues: to do so, they'd have to fold the things over a couple of times, and with the way they're disintegrating, Sirius is afraid that they'll break the things into pieces if they try to fold them. "Permanent Sticking Charm?" Peter suggests as they sit there in the Hospital Room and run out of ideas. "At least it'll stay in place that way."

"Yeah, but Permanent Sticking Charms are permanent. How're we going to get the things out of our mouths on the full moon if we do that?"

"They're going to degrade eventually, aren't they?" James pipes up; he and Moony have both awoken for now, and Moony's eating a danish while James is looking longingly at one. "Maybe, even if we use Permanent Sticking Charms, they'll eventually just… fall apart, and there will be nothing left to stick."

"Do you really want to take that chance, though? I wouldn't," says Moony.

"Yeah, but you're not the one who has to eat with this thing in their mouth for a whole month," Sirius groans.

Peter gets a weird look in his eye after that, and he stands up. "Madam Pomfrey? Um—I have a question."

"What are you doing?" James hisses, but it's too late: Pomfrey has rushed over with her wand poised to remedy whatever she thinks must be wrong with Moony.

"Have you ever worked with coma patients before?" Peter asks innocently.

Pomfrey clearly wasn't expecting that question. To be fair, neither was Sirius. "Yes, of course," she says, frowning.

"How do you keep them fed and hydrated? It's not like they can feed themselves or drink anything, can they?"

"Well, there are spells—"

"Can you teach us how?" Peter asks eagerly.

Sirius and James exchange a nervous look. Moony, on the other hand, is somehow managing to look both fond and exasperated at the same time.

"And what, pray tell, would you need such a spell for? If you're planning on putting one of my students into a coma—"

"No, nothing like that. It's just—research."

"Research for—?"

"Research," Peter repeats, rubbing the back of his neck.

So they sort out how they're going to eat—or, rather, how they're going to manage not to eat—for the next month. They debate for a while whether it would be better to skip meals entirely or to show up in the Great Hall and just not eat anything: will it look more suspicious if nobody sees them at meals or if nobody sees them put food in their mouths at those meals?—and ultimately decide to skip breakfasts but at least try to give the appearance of eating at lunches and dinners. It was a stroke of brilliance on Peter's part to ask Madam Pomfrey how they can survive without eating or drinking directly—even though they realize by the end of the first day that just because they're getting enough nutrients doesn't mean they're not going to be hungry.

Not smiling, however, is even harder than not eating is. You don't really realize how many times you automatically smile or laugh in a day until you're not supposed to do it anymore. "We'll just have to spend all our time in the dormitory," James eventually concludes, "and minimize social contact with other people. No more pranks—no more chilling in the common room—no more sitting with the girls in classes."

"And what am I supposed to do in Muggle Studies, huh?" Sirius protests when they realize this. "The three of you aren't taking it—I can't get around sitting with girls in there."

"Well, you're just going to have to do it without smiling," says James briskly. "Doesn't Quirrell usually just lecture the whole time in there? It's not like you'll have a lot of time for chitchat, anyway."

He's right—Quirrell does lecture the whole time in there—but before he fell out with Em, they used to talk all the time in Muggle Studies regardless, and for the last few months, he's been doing the same thing with Marlene. He's going to have to start sitting with Alice instead, he realizes suddenly: Marlene's not going to want his company now that they're broken up.

Or—supposed to be broken up, anyway. Sirius knew it was going to be hard, knew how badly he was going to miss his moments of bliss, but what he didn't expect was how much he was going to miss Marlene—talking to her, holding her, making her laugh.

When did that happen? When did this become about more than just the physical? And why does he suddenly feel like something is missing when he isn't seeing her, touching her, every night or two?

He makes it six days.

They've just left Charms class on Thursday afternoon when he catches up with her. "We need to talk," he says, and his voice is low and urgent.

Everybody's headed to Ancient Runes except Sirius, Marlene, and Mary, who hisses, "Marlene—"

"It's fine, Mare. Yeah, we can talk."

"But—"

"I said it's fine," Marlene snaps.

And this isn't their pattern: it's still the middle of the afternoon, and there are students all around them in the corridors who will know what they're doing if he just—drags her into a broom closet somewhere to start shagging her. Not that they're going to shag, he tells himself: he just wants to talk. He just needs something from her. He can go another three weeks without sex if he can just…

They stop in an empty classroom. Sirius locks the door—just as a precaution, he tells himself; he just wants some privacy; he doesn't want them to be interrupted. "I'll give you this," says Marlene; "I didn't think we were going to make it more than three days."

"I just…"

"What is this to you, anyway? I don't understand what you want from me, Black. We were friends, but not good friends, and then suddenly you're coming onto me out of nowhere. You keep saying you want to end it, but you never do. I thought you'd just—I thought you were just shy or something, that you were too anxious about what you were doing to admit to yourself that you wanted it—but then you blow me off for six days, and you act like I don't even exist while I've been going through hell. What's it going to be? Do you want this or not?"

"You've—this has been hard for you?"

And for the first time, Sirius fully recognizes how badly he fucked up when he picked Marlene to do this with—because they may not be best friends, but he does know her well enough to know that she's got the same codependent tendencies as he does. If he can't let go of her, then of course she can't let go of him. He'd thought doing it without promises would mean nobody would get hurt—that they could have something that felt good without repercussions—but there are always repercussions. He doesn't know how not to get attached, and neither does she.

"Of course it's been hard for me," says Marlene now. "What we did—what we were doing—it was a really big deal to me. I can't just jump straight from—that—to pretending you don't mean anything to me."

He's got to end this, but not because his parents taught him to feel guilty, or because Emmeline broke his trust in anybody, or for any of the other reasons he thought it needed to be over. He's got to end this because he's done Marlene enough damage—she deserves better than any of this.

But—they can't go back to what they were. After this—if he ends this—she won't forgive him, and he'll lose her entirely, their incidental friendship gone. He thinks about what it would feel like to lose her—not just her friendship, but the intensity of the thing, the feeling of her breath in his ear and the sheen of her sweat—and it feels almost, almost, as bad as losing Em felt.

He can't go through this. Not again.

"You can't kiss my mouth," he tells her.

"What?"

"Anywhere but there. Not my mouth. Not—for now."

So she doesn't.