I'm about 10 years too late to this party but it was pretty fun writing a WolfStar! :)

Remus shifted in his sleep.

Sirius held his breath as Remus turned away from him and laid flat on his back, his legs moving before they settled comfortably. Only when he saw Remus' fingers relax their clutch on the covers did Sirius let himself draw a breath big enough to expand his ribs. He ever so slowly brought a bent knee up to rest on the bed from where he sat at the end.

It wasn't unusual to find a Marauder leaning over the wrong bed. Between their scheming plans, midnight snacks, failed potions papers and breathless nightmares, it wasn't uncommon to see their heads bent together.

And yet when Sirius sat on James bed, half-listening to James' fail-proof eight step plan on turning Lily's apathy into admiration, he never quite felt like this. When he looked at Remus he felt as if he'd ran up the stairs to the dormitory with a Hungarian Horntail snapping at his heels.

His eyes roam over Remus' form in the dark but he doesn't know what he's looking for. He doesn't know why he's sitting on the edge of Remus' bed like one of the sentinels out of one of those books that Remus always has in hand. With Remus, the fact of the matter is he never knows. Sirius had an unmistakable urge to laugh because Merlin, it's half past 2:00 in the bloody morning and instead of sleeping like all his other dorm mates, he sat perched on the edge of Remus' bed.

By the light of the moonlight that filtered past the curtains around Remus' bed Sirius' eyes traced the fresh scar that wove its way across Remus' cheekbone. He never felt as helpless as he did during those few days of the full moon – when his eyes followed the tired creases around Remus' eyes, and his fingers twitched to steady Remus as he limped across the room.

His nerves sparked. He was restless – he'd been restless from the start – to do something, to find something to help. But reading through texts was never his specialty and half the words he came across were definitely not directed towards a second year wizard and had him running to the other end of the library for a dictionary.

So every month he watched Remus leave for the night – sending them a small wave with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes – and in the morning they'd find a rumpled, weary version of their friend under Madame Pomfrey's care.

He just wanted to do something because there was a tiny itch on his heart that he could never quite reach. There was a tension inside him that was pulled taut whenever Remus' knees bumped against his own under the wooden table in the dining hall. There was a buzzing that filled his mind when Remus would tilt his head and look up at him, his eyes creasing in the corners even though he was just thirteen.

There was no one who confused him as much as his quiet best friend. Because Remus was his best friend. James was more of a brother than anything else. When Sirius was home during the summer he spent most of the minutes leading into sleep building a world inside his mind where he wasn't a Black but rather a Potter. By morning he'd almost half convinced himself.

Sirius was momentarily distracted by an owl chanting on the perch outside their window. He listened to the mournful sounds that echoed off the castle walls and broke the stillness of the night. At the sound, Remus turned and Sirius felt Remus' ankle brush against his bent knee.

Remus opened his eyes marginally and peered at Sirius.

"Sirius?" He was only half coherently. "What are you doing?"

As Sirius watched, Remus was already drifting back to sleep.

"You're just dreaming," Sirius whispered as he gently eased off the bed.

Remus' eyebrows twitched in the slightest of frowns but he was obviously too far along to question anything.

"Okay," Remus murmured. He nuzzled the pillow with his cheek and within the span of a handful of heartbeats Remus was once again asleep.

It's a shame really, because Remus wouldn't remember the way Sirius looked at him from the foot of his bed. He didn't know the way that Sirius reached out and slowly lifted the corner of Remus' blanket and hesitantly smoothed it out so that it covered Remus' foot.

21 Years Later...

Sirius shifts in his sleep.

Remus tenses in his chair and waits to see what he needs to snatch – the sleeping draught, the pain elixir, the basin. But even as he watches, Sirius relaxes against the pillow and his breathing falls into a soft, slow rhythm.

Remus relaxes back into his chair but he can't look away. After all these years – after more than a decade – Sirius is here, in his home, in his bed. And yet, this man, this thin, haunted man is an unrecognizable shadow.

He'd gotten home the night before, hurrying through the pouring rain with his clothes pressed tightly against his skin, scrambling to find his keys in his sagging pockets. With chattering lips and fumbling fingers he'd tried to fit the key into the lock but it fell through his fingers. Muttering a curse he bent down and snatched it up but something else caught his eye as he was straightening.

It was the end of a black tail sticking out from behind the bush beside his door. He caught his breath and sunk his teeth into the blossoming hope that was swelling inside his chest. His hands, fumbling for a completely different reason now, pushed the branches of the bush to one side.

There was a shaggy, emancipated black dog lying on its side behind his azalea bush.

Remus froze. For a moment the world held its breath out of compassion, or maybe out of respect. Even the rain seemed to die down, as if every fibre of life was straining to hear what Remus said. He must have said something, of what Remus has no idea, because the dog opened his eyes. The familiar grey eyes wandered searchingly until they collided with Remus. The dog weakly lifted his head off the ground but he was shaking so much that he couldn't maintain movement. He let his head fall back down and closed his eyes, panting from the effort it took to procure the small motion.

"Sirius."

Remus clambered around the bush and dropped down into the rain-softened earth by the dog's head. He placed a gentle hand on the dog's head, feeling the wet fur beneath his hand.

"Ah Sirius, what have you done to yourself?" Remus murmured. The dog whined and Remus felt the dog push his head ever so slightly into his hand.

"Come on, we need to get inside." Remus ran his hand down the dog's side and he could feel the muscles trembling underneath his palm. Remus' heart broke at the sight. He could feel the wet warmth that was once contained in his heart run down the perimeter of his organs until they pooled right on top of his diaphragm. Maybe that's why it was so hard to breathe.

Remus stood up and hurried back to the door as the dog whimpered.

"It's okay, Sirius. We're going to head inside and fix you up." He picked his forgotten keys off the welcome mat and opened the door. "I'm not as good as Pomfrey but we'll manage." He left the door open and went back to the dog. Remus slid one arm underneath the dog's neck and another just below the dog's flank.

"We always manage somehow, don't we?"

After that Remus had carried Sirius into the house. His heart tore a new hole when he realized that it shouldn't have been that easy lifting Padfoot. He didn't know where to set Padfoot so he took him into his bedroom and placed him as gently as he could onto his bed. He'd rushed to the kitchen for some water and hastily grabbed a sleeve of crackers. He felt so useless – crackers were all he had. By the time he went back into the room the dog had disappeared.

In its place was a ragged man with long unkempt hair and dark smudges under his eyes. His clothes were torn and his shirt was open in the front. Remus' swallowed thickly when he saw the way Sirius' chest caved in, with each rib a prominent mound. Sirius was still, save for his hands that still trembled.

He was asleep or maybe passed out from sheer exhaustion, it was hard to tell. Remus set the glass of water and the crackers down by the bedside table. He crossed his room and pulled out a moth-eaten blanket from his closet. He was embarrassed, but like the crackers, it was what it was.

Remus shook as much of the dust off as he could and tucked it around Sirius. His fingers brushed lightly along Sirius' shaking hands, trying to still the motion. When he realized that Sirius was in no way going to wake anytime soon Remus stole a chair from the kitchen and plunked it beside his bed.

Remus has been sitting there for an entire night and the majority of a day. And still Sirius sleeps on. Remus feels himself jump to attention every time Sirius moves, but for the most part Sirius readjusts himself and sleeps on. Sometimes he hears Sirius mumble something in his sleep but he can never quite make out the words.

It nears mid afternoon when Remus notices Sirius' jagged breathing. He leans towards Sirius and sees the muscles in his face twitch and when he looks down he sees that Sirius' hands have started shaking again. A sound is ripped from Sirius' throat and it almost sounds like a growl.

Remus quickly stands up and reaches for Sirius' shoulder. He doesn't expect Sirius to come alive when he touches him. He definitely doesn't expect the blow that Sirius manages to land on the side of Remus' face. He's shocked for a second – Sirius has never once hit him. He manages to grasp Sirius' flailing fists but it's Sirius who regains his voice first.

"Remus?"

Sirius is breathing in gasps. His sunken chest heaves with every breath he takes and his clothes stretch wearily to accommodate the motion. He looks at Remus as if he's afraid to look away, as if as soon as he does Remus will disappear like a mirage. But that's okay, because Remus is afraid to look away too. He lets go of Sirius' hands and Sirius' fists unfold themselves as they reach up towards Remus' face. They hesitate an inch away from Remus' face but then Remus closes his eyes and a moment later he feels shaking fingers on his face. They stutter along the curves of his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Sirius says hoarsely when his fingers arrive at a red blotch on Remus' cheekbone where Sirius' fist has left its mark. "I'm so sorry," he repeats.

Remus shakes his head lightly, Sirius' fingers brushing along his cheeks with the movement. There are no apologies needed. Not for that, at least.

When Remus opens his eyes he hears Sirius' breath stumble before righting itself. With his fingertips trembling against Remus' temple, he asks, "Am I –"

"No, you're not dreaming," Remus whispered.

fin