Chapter Twelve
Severus left the Leaky Cauldron via the back door, which led into the little, closed courtyard behind the pub. He took out his wand, tapped the correct brick three times and then stood back as a small hole opened up, getting larger and larger until a wide archway stood before him - and the thatched roofs, twisting chimneys, cobble stones and narrow buildings of Diagon Alley were visible beyond.
...
Gringotts was by far the largest building in the street, a towering palace of snow white marble, and it loomed over the other shops and stalls from its position right at the end of the road.
This was where Severus was going, and he headed straight for it - ignoring the busyness and business rumbling on around him: the witches browsing the apothecary; the children with their noses pressed against the glass of quality quidditch supplies, looking at brooms; the happy, young couple sitting in the window of the tea room … none of it interested him.
Instead he marched along the street, not looking either side, and went straight up the steps to the set of silver doors - nodding curtly at the uniformed goblin standing guard.
Once inside, he thrust several wizards out of his way and went up to the counter.
...
The Goblin behind it was weighing a pile of small rubies and did not seem inclined to look up. Severus cleared his throat loudly - and then tapped his foot, growing impatient. The goblin ignored him.
'I don't like to be kept waiting,' he said.
The goblin ignored him.
When it had finally weighed the last of the rubies, and scribbled a number down on its parchment, it finally looked up - though its expression suggested it found Severus' presence there an annoyance. 'May I help you?' it asked - not sounding at all like it wanted to help.
'I sincerely hope so after that wait,' Severus replied. 'I am here on business from Albus Dumbledore.'
The goblin raised its eyebrows but didn't say anything.
'Perhaps you are aware of the news recently of the known Death Eater and spy Sirius Black escaping justice, taking a werewolf and the Potter boy with him?'
'We do not concern ourselves with the business of wizards.'
'But you have heard of this?'
The goblin nodded its assent - just one curt dip of its head.
'Good. I have been charged with tracking him down - now no man can flee justice on love alone … Wherever they are, this pair of traitors will need gold. And Sirius Black has a whole bushel of it - here, in his Gringotts account.'
Another raised eyebrow from the goblin. 'All wizards keep their gold here. We do not check their politics first.'
'Quite so. But you do know - I know you know - every transaction that takes place between every wizard and his account. I want to know: has Sirius Black removed any gold from his account since the night the Dark Lord fell and if so, where was it sent to?'
...
The goblin twisted in his seat and called another one of his kind over. They had a hurried and hushed conversation, both kept glancing across at Severus - who could make out nothing of what they said - and then eventually the goblin turned back to him.
'We can confirm that there have been recent transactions on Mr. Black's account,' it informed Severus. 'However here at Gringotts we respect the sanctity of the relationship between a man and his gold and we are not at liberty to give out any more information to a third party.'
Severus bristled and felt his face turn red in fury. 'This is a matter of emergency. This is a matter of State. Albus Dumbledore-'
'Has no authority here, wizard. None of you do. We keep our own laws, we keep our own ways. And I have told you all I am able or willing to tell you. Good day.'
Severus opened his mouth to argue.
'Good day, ' the goblin repeated, and it got down from its seat behind the counter, and walked away - not looking back.
...
Stymied and fuming, Severus left the bank and returned to The Leaky Cauldron. He ordered a goblet of wine - though it was not yet noon - and took it to his room. The Daily Prophet had been delivered while he was out.
Slamming the door behind him and kicking some of the furniture around, he then sank down into the chair in front of the fire - took a sip of his wine - and began to brood.
...
Dirty little goblins - cursed little blighters. They knew. They knew where Black was and they just weren't telling.
And it was nothing to do with the sanctity of gold, or client privilege or anything else they wanted to claim … It was sheer devilment - taking delight in keeping something from the wizards. Refusing to help when they so easily could.
Well, he snorted, he would see about that. He would write to Dumbledore - tell him what the goblin had said. Maybe the headmaster could speak with the Wizengamot - get them to subpoena every damn goblin in Gringotts if that's what it took. Take them to the Ministry, put them under oath or enchantment and force them to tell.
Yes, he would write his letter as soon as he was done with his wine. But all that would take time, and he was not willing to sit back and wait for results. Oh he would set official channels in motion, but he was keeping up his own hunt at the same time. Keeping the pressure on Black and the beast.
He would need another clue.
...
He pulled the newspaper towards himself and read the headline:
Lupin on the Loose
It was as he suspected, the werewolf catchers had failed to find their man.
In his little terraced house in Rickmansworth, Peter scanned the article on the front page until he found his own contributions. He still got a thrill every time he saw his name in print. It still made him feel special and important every time his words were included in a story. To have his name in the newspaper, to have it read by witches and wizards up and down the country … this all felt very sweet indeed.
He was somebody. Finally. And all he had to do was … well all he had had to do was sell his oldest friend to Voldemort, cover up the truth and spread lies about Moony and Padfoot - but that made it all sound like much more hard work than it had been.
...
It had been barely any effort at all. He had just sat there and let events take place around him. He wasn't the one who had named Black as a traitor - well, he supposed he was the one who had made it public, but still - he had done so knowing that Dumbledore would back up his version of events.
And... was it him that had exposed Remus as a werewolf - got them all hunting him? He didn't even remember.
He was just being swept along in the tide of what was going on. Events had overtaken them all…and the truth … Did the truth really even matter any more? Wasn't the truth now what Peter said it was?
Sirius had been the secret keeper. He was the spy. What mattered was what people believed - not what was real. And Peter was half starting to believe this version of events himself.
...
He found his name in the article - and read back what Rita had recorded him saying (which was never quite what he had actually said - but the truth was so malleable these days). Yes - he sounded very erudite. Very wise. Yes - there would be more cakes and cards in the post later today.
True to his word, Sirius had run a bath for Remus once they were both inside and then - though he didn't want to - left his friend to it. Moony was being strange and defensive this morning and Sirius thought it was best to let him have his space, work off whatever was causing him to be all prickly.
Besides, there was more he needed to do for his friend, more ways he could help him recover, this morning - and he could not leave those tasks undone in order to watch with breathless longing as Remus took a bath. No matter how much he might want to.
...
In the bathroom, Remus had put the catch on the door, stripped off his clothes and then sunk beneath the warm water. At first, the heat stung his fresh cuts and made him hiss through his teeth in pain. His body tensed and he closed his eyes, willing himself to just get through the moment … and then it eased, and the water was soothing, comforting, lapping against him.
He settled back and closed his eyes - and remembered Sirius' arms wrapped around his naked body.
...
He had been too surprised, too aroused and terrified by that arousal - terrified of discovery - to savour the moment while it lasted. But now, with the catch on the door and him all alone, he relived the moment and stored it all away in his memory.
The memory of the skin of Sirius' knuckle grazing softly against his bare chest would no doubt get him through many lonely nights.
The fantasy of Sirius dropping hot kisses on his naked shoulder, his lips exploring until they found their way upwards to Remus' own, flooded into his mind again and he felt himself flush with that same sudden heat - and knew it was nothing to do with the heat of the water.
...
He felt the throbbing course through him again, settling down low; the sudden tug between his legs, which was equal parts delicious and painful - the ecstasy of burning frustration. But now - in private and behind a locked door - he allowed his trembling hands to travel south and gave in to his longing.
Down in the kitchen, Sirius boiled the kettle and rooted through the cupboards bringing out everything he was going to need to fix Remus up: all the herbs and spices, plants, bits of insects, a bit of crushed mandrake root and even a dash of lemon juice to make up the various pastes and potions that would help the werewolf heal.
It was a good job that things had turned out this way around, he thought, as he got out the pestle and mortar and ground lippograss leaves into powder. If their situation was reversed ...Moony was terrible at potions. He'd never be able to make this stuff up and help put Sirius right.
He tipped the newly powdered leaves into a bowl, added crushed spine of lionfish and then poured the boiling water over the top and began to stir.
...
He frowned and glanced ceilingward as he thought he heard Remus moaning, wondering if he was OK. Well … he could hardly just waltz into the bathroom and ask him, could he? Perhaps Remus was so fixed in the idea of their having nothing but a brotherly friendship that he could wander in on Sirius in the bath and think nothing of it … but Sirius knew if he tried to do the same then he would give himself away - would not be able to stop staring, would not be able to hide the hunger in his eyes.
He caught himself lost in fantasies- of lying beside Remus last night, of the cuts standing out bright red on Remus' skin, of Remus' deep, regular breathing as he slept - his chest rising and falling, his softness as Sirius had dared to stroke him- just for a moment, a stolen caress… He shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. He had too much work to do, too much was needed to make Moony right - he couldn't idle away time with his breathless imaginings.
...
He added some bitter root to the mixture and then left it to stand while he began crushing nettles for his next potion. The kettle boiled again and he poured the water over the nettles and added the lemon juice.
He carried on working steadily for half an hour, adding a dash of this, a dash of that, leaving things to simmer on the stove, dissolving powders and crushing beetles until his potions were starting to take shape.
...
By the time he heard the sounds of movement from upstairs, the sound of the water draining from the bath and Moony's footsteps on the landing, he had made a bowlful of a sticky, orange ointment and a beaker of a gloopy, black liquid which was thick like treacle and smelled heavily of the nettles that made up its base.
Then he took a bottle of Hipworth's Healing Tincture from the cupboard, poured some into a glass and put everything on a tray, carrying it upstairs.
...
He found Remus in his bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. A drop of water trickled slowly down his chest. Sirius found himself watching it - and looked away quickly.
Remus saw the way Sirius averted his eyes- and felt himself flush with shame. He knew he must look awful - all those terrible scars snaking across him, bumpy and white - shining pale against his already pale skin, the way they cut into the hair that clung to his chest - interrupting it and making it grow in strange patterns.
He remembered far too vividly the smooth creamyness of Sirius' own skin - so perfect and unblemished. What Remus looked like in comparison - broken and cut and hairy… he knew it was bad.
But he hadn't realised it was so bad Sirius couldn't even bear to look. And he suddenly found himself wondering if he had woken up under a blanket that morning - not because Sirius was being kind - but because Sirius was trying to hide his ugliness, so he didn't have to look at it.
Feeling his face flush and trying desperately to stop it, hoping Remus wouldn't see, Sirius put the tray down on the bedside table. He turned his back for a moment, trying to compose himself.
Just for a second he let himself conjure an image of Remus in his mind's eye… his broad shoulders, the downy, golden brown hair that curled across his chest, the scars which each told the story of just how brave and amazing his friend was.
God... Sirius' body didn't tell any kind of story - it was just there. Meaningless. Boring. But everything about Remus - everything that made him Remus - was so wonderfully physical, etched onto his skin for Sirius to read like a book - his scars like braille for Sirius to study and memorise with his fingertips.
But then he got hold of himself, forced his lustful longing from his mind and made himself turn back around - a broad grin fixed on his face. 'I made you some stuff to help you heal.'
'You didn't have to.' He saw the falseness of the smile, the forced cheerfulness of it - and knew that his friend had forced himself to swallow down the worst of his revulsion. That he was going to pretend nothing was wrong. And after all, they were only friends as far as Sirius was concerned, it didn't really matter to him if he thought Remus' body was disgusting… it was only Remus who found himself drowning in shame and misery at the thought.
His mind flashed back to the bath - to him touching himself … God what an idiot he was. Who was he fooling? Had he ever seriously thought - dared to hope that maybe …
'I wanted to,' Sirius said. 'I told you I would keep you safe - and that's a full, round the moon service. Before, during and after. Besides...' he forced his grin wider, more cocky. 'If you're gonna be all weak and weepy for days, that means I have to take care of Harry all by myself.'
'You're right. I'm being selfish.'
'That is not what I said, Moony. Here - sit down.' He ushered Remus onto the bed and then handed him the glass of healing tincture. 'Drink this- it'll take care of all the aches and pains.'
Remus took a swig and then pulled a face. 'Madam Pomfrey used to give me this - where did you get it?'
'Bought it from the apothecaries by owl order - same as I got everything else.'
Another swig, another wince. 'You're a wanted man - you can't just have stuff sent to you. The Aurors will be at the door.'
'Relax - it was sent to Mr. Padfoot.'
'Sneaky.'
'I try…' He waited until Remus had drained the glass. Already the werewolf's movements seemed easier, less painful.
'Now,' Sirius told him. 'I've mixed up a paste - I remember seeing it in my old potions textbook and I - uh - ' he flushed deep red - 'I remembered. For you. In case you ever needed it. And now you do, so…'
He picked up the bowl of orange goop. 'It should help soothe and heal your cuts.'
'Thanks,' Remus put his glass down and stretched his hand out for the bowl. 'I'll just - uh…'
'I'll do it.' He felt himself flush again - and cursed himself inwardly.
Remus stiffened. 'You don't have to.'
'It's easier if I do it.'
'Yeah, but …' Remus looked down. Like Sirius, his face was flushed and his words came out as a mumble. 'You don't want to touch me.'
'What?'
He flushed even deeper. 'I know … I know what this …' he gestured to his torso, 'what I look like. You shouldn't have to touch me.'
'What are you blabbering on about?' He couldn't keep the note of incredulity from his voice.'
'I mean - I know what you think. How you feel - it's fine - I get it...'
Sirius felt his heart freeze in his chest - just … stop beating, right there - and he didn't quite know how he hadn't fallen over dead yet. 'What do you -' he swallowed, and tried to lick his lips to give them some moisture, but his tongue was raspy, his mouth was completely dry. 'What do you know?'
'Oh come on, Padfoot! You couldn't even look at me at first. You had to turn away and .. and psych yourself up to even talking to me. All these scars, they're awful - I know it. I know how bad I look. I get it - I wouldn't want to touch me either.'
'OK, if we weren't wanted, hunted men on the run with only each other in all the world,' his voice was trembling but he struggled to try and make it sound light and teasing, 'then I'd take you to St. Mungo's and have you locked in the loony ward. You've always looked like this.'
Remus shifted uncomfortably. 'I know,' his voice sounded bitter.
'Which is why you're insane …. Moony - you're - you're Moony. You don't look like anything but Moony. If you really don't want me touching you then I guess I'll leave you to your stubborn pride and let you struggle alone - but if you're saying "no" on my account - there's really no need. I don't think anything about how you look.'
...
Well that was a very definite lie.
...
'And I don't want to not touch you.'
...
Well that was a very definite truth.
...
'Come on - stop being stupid.' He dipped the fingers into the orange ointment and held them up, ready to smear on Remus' cuts, and waited. After a moment, Remus nodded his head and - trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking - Sirius began to rub the paste onto Remus' skin.
...
When he glanced up, Remus had his eyes closed; his breathing was shallow but he didn't look like he was in pain. 'Does that feel good?' Sirius asked. 'I mean - better ? Does it feel better?'
'Uhuh,' Remus said, still not opening his eyes. His voice sounded all choked up.
...
Sirius worked carefully, smudging the ointment into Remus' cuts and then rubbing it in, his fingers circling round and around. And then his hand would drift down to the next cut, the tips of his fingers never quite breaking contact with Remus' chest - and would then start rubbing firmly once more.
He tried to work conscientiously. He tried to make this all about making Moony better and not about himself sneaking what he wanted… But he was still savouring every moment: every heartbeat, the warmth of Moony's skin, the softness of his chest hair and the contrast with the course, roughness of his bigger scars. He was savouring it all and storing it to memory - knowing it would be a long and lonely month before Remus let him get this close again.
...
His heart was thumping in his chest - so loud he was sure Remus must hear it. He could feel the blood coursing through his veins, heating him up from the inside - even his earlobes were burning and he knew every inch of him must be bright red. He was glad Remus had his eyes closed - so he couldn't see.
If he could see, he would know - no two ways about it. This close, this warm, his limbs trembling … there was no way Remus could look at him and not see the desire.
And then he would pull away - and Sirius would never get this close again.
...
'Turn around,' he said - and his voice did not sound like his own. 'I need to do your back.'
...
Eventually, he finished up rubbing the salve into the last cut - wishing there were still more for him to soothe. But then he shook his head and told himself off, internally. More cuts would mean more pain for Remus - more scars for him to feel ashamed of. Sirius could not wish that on his friend, even if the selfish part of him wished they could stay like this forever.
...
'All done,' he said - trying to sound cheerful, upbeat - like this whole thing had meant absolutely nothing to him. He got off the bed, wiped his hands down his trousers and took some deep breaths.
Remus turned back around. 'Thanks … I - I couldn't have reached those ones on my back.'
Sirius' ears must still be ringing, because Remus' voice sounded strange too. He turned to face his friend, still with that manic, rictus grin forced onto his face, and picked up the second glass. 'OK - this one is just a sleeping draught. I thought it would be better if you got a decent stretch of undisturbed sleep. No bad dreams.'
'I can't sleep the day away! I need to help you with Harry.'
'I can manage for a day! Go on, drink it. I'll get you your pajamas…' he took some steps towards the chest of drawers.
...
But Remus stopped him before he could get there. 'No - I - uh - the material will just rub off the paste you just spent ages putting on.' He gave a little laugh - but his voice seemed to crack. 'Would make all that just then a total waste of time. I'll - I'll just get under the covers… as I am.'
Sirius was glad his back was turned. His eyebrows shot up and he felt his face flame again. 'Right, then,' he said - not even daring to turn around this time. 'You drink up, then, I'll let you sleep. Uh - see you later, Moony.' And he headed for the door.
Remus spoke just as he reached it. 'Thanks, Padfoot.'
'No problem, get some sleep.' And he closed the door behind him, took a deep breath and headed back down the stairs.
