Disclaimer: Not mine. No money made.
Chapter summary: Sirius risks everything for Remus when Padfoot faces the Wolf.
Part Three: Wolf and Dog
It was just after dusk: the moon wasn't set to rise for a few more hours. Two fifteen-year-old boys tramped along a rough-hewn dirt tunnel, finally emerging on the ground floor of a ramshackle house. Both boys were tall, lean, muscular, and dark-haired. By coincidence, each had decided – independently of the other – to grow his hair long over the summer. The result was that they remained nearly identical in profile and general appearance, and in the faltering light only those who knew both well would not be hard-pressed to tell the difference.
They climbed the stairs, heading toward a room on the top floor. Their feet carried them automatically: it was a journey each had made many, many times before. They didn't speak, not out of mutual anger or fear or worry, but just because they didn't need to. They'd already talked, and nothing more needed to be said: a comfortable silence. In fact, their body language – so closely mirrored in any case – was so casual that they might have been going for a friendly stroll along a lake, or to the village, or possibly just wandering aimlessly.
They reached the top of the stairs, then headed toward the door they wanted. Both had been inside the room on many occasions, but never at night: only at dawn, as they collected the ravaged body of their friend, trying to ignore the blood and chunks of fur on the floor. If Madam Pomfrey, the school's healer, had ever wondered how the exhausted boy she tended to the mornings after a full moon managed to wash and dress his wounds – in at least a rudimentary way – comb his hair, and arrange himself neatly in bed, she never showed it.
At first, all three of Remus Lupin's closest friends – the only ones who knew his secret – were small enough to hide when she came, especially if Peter was doing his job of lookout properly and gave them fair warning. Peter had been assigned the permanent job of lookout because Sirius and James had long since discovered that the smaller boy had no stomach for the task of caring for Remus after a change; they adopted the task themselves. Both boys were from pureblood wizarding families, and had precious little familiarity with Muggle medicine. It was strange to them both, but nonetheless safer than casting difficult healing spells; so they taught themselves the basics for Remus' sake.
In time, as the boys reached puberty, weight gain and growth spurts meant that all three of them couldn't hide in the room any longer: there was only one really adequate hiding place left. So Peter's lookout job changed from warning them of Madam Pomfrey's immediate arrival to letting them know when she left the castle. Then, Peter and one of the other boys – James and Sirius alternated monthly – would head back to Gryffindor Tower, and one boy would stay behind with Remus, hiding from Madam Pomfrey at the last minute. Of course, it would have been much easier for all three to leave together, but somehow neither Sirius nor James seemed to be able to conceive of the idea of leaving Remus all alone, even for a few minutes. And if one or the other the Marauders skived off a morning class from time to time – well, as Sirius had pointed out to Remus, if he personally missed class only one morning every two months, it would be a miracle.
Now it was dusk, and neither James nor Sirius had ever seen the room at that time of day. But if either boy was tentative or hesitant, he refused to show it in front of his friend.
Sirius tapped gently on the door, then opened it. He and James stepped in, greeting a mortified Remus Lupin. Lupin grabbed a pillow –they were savaged and replaced each month – and held it in front of his midsection.
"Such modesty," said James, faintly amused, but not teasing. "We see you naked once a month, you know."
"Yes, but I'm unconscious then. It doesn't count."
"Sirius sees you naked every chance he gets."
"That's not the same," Lupin insisted.
"We were naked all the time during the heat wave, too," James reminded him.
"Still doesn't count. I wasn't about to change all the time. This is just… different, okay?"
Sirius was still staring at him. "I didn't know you took off your clothes to transform."
"Well, of course! I don't have an unlimited wardrobe!"
"I didn't think about that," said Sirius thoughtfully. "I keep my clothes on."
"Congratulations."
"I didn't mean –" Sirius started, then stopped himself. It was full moon night: Remus had every reason to be tense, frustrated, bitter, afraid, angry, or anything else he wanted to be. "I'm going to stay with you," he said simply.
Remus gaped at him. "You're what?"
"Going to stay with you."
"You can't!" He dropped onto the bed miserably. "I never thought it through to this point before, never imagined we'd be here…" His voice faded out.
"Remus," said James reasonably, "that was the whole point of becoming Animagi. I haven't quite mastered it yet – I will soon – but that's no reason Sirius can't stay with you."
Remus' eyes filled with tears. "Sirius, you can't. I'll kill you. I couldn't live with myself."
"Why would the Wolf kill a dog?"
"The Wolf wouldn't," said Remus, "and I wouldn't. But – the – the Between…"
"The Between?"
Remus sighed. He sat down on the ruined bed. "Transforming into a werewolf isn't like your Animagus transfiguration. It… takes a lot longer."
"We know, Remus," said James softly. "We've sat outside that door every full moon night since the middle of second year."
Remus nodded miserably. He had never asked them to, never felt more grateful than when they did. "I – I don't go from one to another all at once. It… takes a while. There are different stages." He shivered, though not from cold. "There are different states of existence along the way. For a lot of it, I'm mostly me. Then I'm part me and part Wolf, and then the Wolf finally takes over. But for a long time, in the middle… I'm the Between."
He swallowed hard. "I'm not me. I'm not the Wolf. I can't control myself, but I don't have fully animal responses, either. I'm this… thing."
Sirius sat down next to his boyfriend.
"I'm not afraid, Remus. I'm willing to be here for that."
Remus shook his head again. "You don't understand. When I'm the Between – that's when things get ripped up. Whatever's at hand. I don't do violence to myself 'til I'm the Wolf. But when I'm the Between – anything near me gets shredded." He looked into Sirius eyes. "I'd kill you. I wouldn't want to, I would always hate myself, but I wouldn't be able to stop the Between."
Sirius slid his arm around Lupin's bare shoulders, trying to comfort him. He let his lips brush lightly across his lover's face. "There has to be a way," he whispered. "I didn't become an Animagus so I could sit outside your bedroom and listen to you suffer in dog form."
"We'll both stay behind," said James. "After you've transformed into the Wolf, Sirius will become a dog. I'll open the door for him, and close it again once he's in."
"What if I attack in the meantime?"
"Sirius can cover me."
The other black-haired boy nodded. "It's a plan."
Remus shook his head. "What if I caught you?"
Sirius looked at him gravely. "I won't let you catch him."
"Meantime," said James, pulling a packet of cards from beneath his robes, "Exploding Snap." He looked at two amazed faces.
"We have some time to kill," he said.
As James fiddled with the cards, Remus thought of something, and gently, chastely, kissed Sirius on the lips. "By the way… if the dog isn't my ickle Snuffles… what is his name?"
"Padfoot," answered Sirius.
Sirius decided not to play Exploding Snap; instead, he transformed into Padfoot. Lupin sat on the floor across from James, the pillow in his lap, cradling Padfoot, burying his face in the dog's fur, trying to learn and remember the scent. Every time he inhaled, Remus thought a single word: Mine. He hoped the Wolf would remember. Padfoot, for his part, occasionally gifted Remus with wet sloppy licks, marking the boy as his territory, trying to claim him with scent.
Suddenly Remus gasped. The gasp turned to a groan, and he doubled over at the waist. Padfoot leaped up instantly, barking a warning to James, pushing him up and toward the door. The dog tried to stay behind with Remus; James had to grab him by the scruff of the neck and pull him out.
"Padfoot! I'm going to let you back in, remember? When it's safe."
The dog whined, and scrabbled at the door with his paws.
James sighed, and took his accustomed place on the floor in front of the door. Watching Padfoot rub up against the door, whining, wanting in, James realized something strange: in the years they'd been coming here, he, Sirius, and Peter always sat in the same places in front of the door, as though where they sat as they waited were part of a ritual. The realization made him strangely uncomfortable. He shook his head free of the thought: he was just nervous about tonight, about opening the door to the Wolf, about sending his friend in to danger.
"It won't matter if I'm killed," Sirius had joked before they left the dorm, "My mother won't mind a bit. She might even give you some gold. Wouldn't eat anything Kreacher cooked for you, though. He's the only thing in the house crazier than my mother."
"You're not going to be killed, Sirius," James had said, trying to sound comforting.
He tried to comfort Padfoot now, as the dog whined and moaned, scrabbling against the door. He stroked the dog's back, andthe dogturned and gazed at him with a look so pitiable that James wanted to sob.
"Soon, Padfoot, soon," he said. "Come here. We'll listen together, then I'll let you in when it's time."
James pulled the large dog toward him, circled his arms around him, stroking him. Suddenly the dog pulled away from him, baring his teeth, growling softly. James stared at the dog – at his friend – wide-eyed. The dog whined, thumped his tail on the ground, and made an exaggerated snuffling noise. James realized that the dog didn't want to have a competing scent on its body – only that of the boy in the other room.
"I get it," said James softly.
The dog settled back against the opposite wall, whining. Gradually, the noises on the other side of the door tapered off, but James knew from experience that the transformation wasn't over, not by a long shot: this temporary lull was merely the calm before the storm, before Remus' final struggle to cling on to his humanity, before he would scream at them to free him.
In the quiet, the dog became quite distracted.He lifted a leg above his head, and noisily began to clean his crotch.
James stared at him.
"Sirius, that is easily the most disgusting thing you've ever done."
The dog looked up at him sharply, wearing an expression that looked remarkably like surprise. The look of surprise slowly faded into what James would have sworn was embarrassment; the leg came down, and the dog looked away, toward the window, refusing to meet James' eyes.
The pounding on the other side of the door started, and the dog gnashed his teeth reflexively.
"Bet you're bloody grateful you don't have your cock in your mouth now," muttered James, but not loudly enough to be audible over Remus Lupin's pathetic screams.
"Please, please, please! You're my friends! I'm dying! Oh, God, don't leave me in here, I need you… please help me… please…"
Then mindless shrieks: the Between did not speak to them that night.
Finally, the transformation over, James was able to hear the fully-formed Wolf on the other side of the door, snuffling and growling. James stood. The door opened outward, and James planned to stand behind it as he opened it, to give himself what protection he could from the Wolf. Padfoot stood at the entrance, close to the doorframe where the space would be once the door was opened. He sniffed deeply several times, then nodded to James.
James wrenched open the door; the dog bounded in, knocking something over along the way: the Wolf, probably. James slammed the door shut. He hadn't even seen the Wolf.
He sat down on the floor again, and waited. Why had he told them he'd leave once Padfoot was inside? Maybe to comfort Remus in some way; he wasn't certain. He'd wait here, as he always did.
He strained to hear sounds on the other side of the door. There was an awful lot of loud sniffing, but no barks, no growls, no threats being made or challenges being answered.
He waited.
Presently he heard another sound: footfalls on steps. He turned, and saw Peter Pettigrew coming up the stairs.
"How was detention?" James asked as Peter flung himself on the floor.
"Hideous. Worse than hideous. Don't ask." He looked around. "Where's Sirius?"
"Inside already."
Peter exhaled slowly. "Is he okay?"
"He seems to be, so far." James explained about the Between, and letting Padfoot into the room.
Peter shook his head, agog. "How're you going to know when to let him out?"
"Pardon?"
"Well, this Between thing – isn't Remus going to be the Between again when he changes back?"
James stared at the plump boy in horror.
"So how are you going to get him out?" Peter asked again.
The Wolf eyed the dog suspiciously. Wolf and dog circled each other, each looking for any sign of weakness: something to exploit, something to use to claim dominance. Sirius was desperately nervous; he fought to relax, and to let Padfoot's mind – Padfoot's instincts – do the work. If he over-thought the situation, he could send the wrong signals, and get himself into deep trouble.
Dog and Wolf, Wolf and dog: they circled each other, never losing eye contact, sniffing constantly. Suddenly the Wolf stood still, so still that it might have been a statue rather than a living being. But despite the incredible stillness, the animal radiated a sense of power, of force, of motion.
Padfoot blinked.
The Wolf leapt.
Padfoot barely had time to react; then he was flung to the floor of the Shack. He struggled, rolling, trying to flip the Wolf over, fighting for dominance.
Padfoot was a large dog, and very strong; but in the end, the battle went to the Wolf. The Wolf forced Padfoot onto his back, and, laying his full body weight across the dog, clamped his jaws around Padfoot's throat.
Padfoot went stone still. The teeth held his throat firmly, but flesh had not been breached, blood had not been drawn.
The Wolf inhaled deeply. Deep inside its lupine brain, it recognized a familiar scent.
Mine is a simple concept to translate into wolfish understanding, but it is also vague. Mine can apply to different members of the pack, with gradations in importance. Packmates rely on one another, hunt together, fend off attackers together: packmate can be mine, but the relationship is a practical, rather than an emotional, idea. Wolves also know the concept of mate. Mate is the intimate companion, the one you live your life with, even if the rest of the pack chooses to divide and go their separate ways. In its way, mate is more than simply mine.
The Wolf was satisfied that it had demonstrated dominance, but was still trying to understand how it related to the dog: packmate or mate? The Wolf inhaled deeply again, and felt the dog tremble beneath it. Deciding that the trembling represented anticipation, not fear, the Wolf chose: mate.
The Wolf released the dog's throat from the grip of its teeth, pulled itself off the dog. Padfoot had the good sense to remain on his back, belly up, promising submission. The Wolf circled the dog, sniffed it more thoroughly, slowly and carefully. When the Wolf reached the dog's crotch, it inhaled deeply, then began to lick.
Padfoot whimpered.
The Wolf raised its head, and gave a huff that Padfoot recognized as permission to roll over onto his stomach. He did so; and immediately, before the dog could struggle onto his feet, the Wolf mounted him.
For a brief, shocked moment, it was not Padfoot but Sirius who was aware and in charge of the large dog. Sirius, who was used to topping; Sirius, who was used to being a dominant animal.
But still afraid of giving the wrong signals to the Wolf, Sirius forced his brain to shut down again, and made Padfoot to come to the fore.
Padfoot accepted the submissive role, accepted the mating. The Wolf made a few more artless thrusts into Padfoot's body – it was more interested in settling the boundaries of the relationship than in giving or getting pleasure – and then dismounted.
The Wolf gave a happy-sounding bark; Padfoot answeredin kind.
The lines drawn, the mating complete, the Wolf turned to a much more important matter, something it had been deprived of entirely too long. It wanted to play.
Dog and Wolf, Wolf and dog: they wrestled, flipping each other over; they ran around, chasing one another; they exchanged joyous yips and barks.
For the first time in over a decade, the Wolf was too distracted to damage itself.