Never Again

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Harry Potter, or any of the characters mentioned in this story, unless stated otherwise. Rated for possible sexual content, violence and language. Reader discretion is advised. Any similarities to real life are purely coincidence and I will not be held responsible! Thanks!

WARNING: WILL CONTAIN SLASH (male on male) and MATURE THEMES (sex, swearing, violence, etc) and AU-ness!! Ye be warned; seriously, this is VERY mature people. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Author's Note: SECOND WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: strong references of unwanted sexual contact. If this squicks you, please STOP READING at the ** asterisk portion (though feel free to continue after the second set of ** asterisks). If you read it and don't like it, it's not my fault, so don't complain to me. It's not going to be horrifically graphic (because I don't think I could write it like that) but it's going to be written nonetheless, and it will be disturbing. Now, onto our regular programming! This is definitely the second last chapter minus the epilogue…I think. Ehh, either way… Reviews please? 'When we sway I go weak…' Cheers!

PS. – special thanks to the bands Cauterize and Mindless Self Indulgence, for making great music that inspired me to write. LOL XD Oh and if anyone wants some good listening, I suggest 'Slivers'& 'Porcelain' and 'Shut Me Up' & 'Tight' ;D

PPS. – Hugs to I'm Just Drawn This Way (1/2 of Wordnerds2008 – check out the fics!) for all her helping at the sticky parts! *snuggles*

XXX

"I'll show you just what happens to a misbehaving bitch like you."

Remus tried to swallow in an attempt to lubricate his bone-dry throat, but it was like an Impervius had been cast against the flesh. He tried to speak, but no words could come out; his jaw couldn't form them and his lungs couldn't sustain the breath it took to speak them. And still, Michael towed him like a complacent lamb to the slaughter.

It was at the doorway to the bedroom that he balked. He tried to throw his weight backward, two wrench himself free of Michael's unbreakable hold, but all he succeeded in doing was possibly getting whiplash and gaining the blond's full attention. "What's the matter, darling?" he murmured in a sick, frightening emulation of the voice he used to use when he tried to woo the lycanthrope. "We both know this is what you're after you fucking whore. Don't pretend you don't fucking want it."

Remus tried to pull back again, but then both of Michael's hands were wrapped around the tops of his arms. Panic overtook fear as the survival instinct flared brilliantly through him. Fight or flight. He couldn't run, not with those hands like steel bands around him, holding him to the muscled body. Then it came back to him. He was a wizard. A wizard in possession of the wand that had chosen him a decade ago at that…

Michael pulled away slightly, no longer trying to crush Remus' body to him in angry, possession. "What are you smiling for?" he growled. The amber-eyed man's grin merely grew, and Michael's gaze dropped just in time to see the hand wiggling into the pocket of Remus' robes and he had barely articulated the word "FUCK!" before Remus had his wand drawn and stabbing harshly into Michael's chest.

"Let me go," he said softly, trying to force his voice to sound brave and fearless. Instead it was rough, and cracked slightly on the last word. Michael sneered.

"Just like you, Remus, to use your fucking hocus pocus shit instead of fighting me like a real man. I should have snapped that twig in half when I had the bloody buggering chance." He spat the words out, as if they tasted rancid in his mouth, and Remus swallowed. "Besides…I know you can't use magic on me, you little fuck. Unless you want to end up in prison." He laughed, actually fucking laughed, and Remus felt incoherent rage bubble up, even as he strove to shove it down and keep his head. He needed to think to get out of here. But With Michael still gripping his arms, he knew he couldn't simply Disapparate.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, to come and retrieve the magical artifacts he had left in his hurry to abandon this one-time home. But it was stupid, incredibly stupid, and arrogant, to think that there wouldn't be consequences. Who the hell did he think he was? And was it really so much to expect that Michael, who he should have known would be home, would just let him walk away? No… No, he had been the biggest caliber of fool to think that…

His wand wavered slightly, as his mind raced around in accusatory circles, debating what he could do, should do, and would do to get the hell out of this situation. Michael was right, he, being a werewolf, would be sent straight to Azkaban if he used magic upon a Muggle. And even if he were given the courtesy of a 'trial', there was no doubts in him that he would be found unanimously guilty, even if Dumbledore and his connections worked some kind of magic.

His thoughts consumed him as they raced around his brain, making him dizzy. Or perhaps that was the effect of the blood loss… Who knew anymore?

Remus didn't feel the fingers loosening around his left bicep. He didn't see the flash of movement until it was too late. He was barely even aware of the wand leaving his fingers. All he heard was the ear-splitting, heart-stopping sound of his wand, the one defence he'd relied on, that had kept him sane, splitting like a piece of useless kindling.

The core held the dangling pieces together, barely, but even those disintegrated as Michael threw the now-useless wood to the ground and stomped hard on them. His heel splintered the wand further, crushing the unicorn hair core and grinding it to a frayed mess. He could only stare in shock, feeling as though a part of him had died; a vitally important part, like the part that controlled his heartbeats, or breathing.

**

And then his body was slammed hard against the doorframe joining the living room and bedroom, his head cracking ominously as his lifeless form jolted and sagged. He was on autopilot, in a coma…nothing was real to him anymore. The blond's lips were hot and demanding, brash and uncaring over his, and really, where was the use in fighting back anymore? He'd fought, and fought, and look where it had gotten him.

The sharp blow of a closed fist sent a wave of blinding pain through him, but he forced it away. He knew it was only the first of many pains yet to come, and as Michael dragged him by a handful of sandy hair, he tried to think of Sirius, his love, to shield him from the pain.

But Sirius' face wouldn't come. The grey eyes, the elegant drape of hair, the aristocratic nose and plush lips; all evaded him. He turned frightened eyes to Michael, who loomed over him, face set into a demon's leer as his clothing rustled to the ground, and wished, in that moment, that he could just die.

Michael climbed onto the bed, hastily ripping his shirt open, shoving he lycanthrope's hands purposefully away as he tried ineffectually to cover himself. "Stop," he whimpered, in a voice so quiet he didn't doubt that Michael's harsh breathing could have drowned it out.

"I'm going to teach you," Michael hissed, "what happens when you piss me off. I'm going to show you, like I should have done a long ass fucking time ago, just what the consequences are of making me angry." His strong hands pinned Remus down, one of them wrapping threateningly around his throat, while the other relieved him of his belt and trousers.

White-hot tears poured from Remus' closed eyes and he forced himself to ignore the rough, brazen touches Michael's digits layered over his flesh. He wouldn't allow his body to respond to the heated hands, even as images of the few, far-between good times he and Michael shared fluttered from their cages into his mind, the pain of remembering like the hot scalding of bile in the back of his throat.

"You like this?" Michael rasped, dragging cruel fingernails over sensitive skin, and Remus tried to curl away, to protect himself instinctively. Michael grinned, even as his fist came down and smashed against the lycanthrope's skull, blurring his vision. "I know you want this, probably even more than I do… And fuck, do I ever want it."

The rustle of cloth against skin was too loud as Remus' head throbbed angrily, and before he registered movement, his face was pressed into the dirty sheets stretched haphazardly, half-assed, across the mattress. It was no use to fight it. It was pointless to even try. And as the malicious ache between his temples spiked and roiled, as though his brain were boiling and his synapses melting, Remus gave up. What use had fighting ever done anyway, except earned him more pain?

All his life, he had fought against the inevitable. After he'd been bitten, he'd forced himself to disbelieve the changes he could feel within himself. He had fought the wolf, tooth and nail, that first transition, and for the countless others that had followed before Hogwarts had accepted him, and the wolf, in retaliation, had pushed right back. Once his wild side broke free of the physical and mental constraints Remus imposed upon him, he would tear the boy poor boy to pieces, and leave the battered broken mess for Remus to tend to.

And then later, when he had gotten the first trickle of intuition into himself, that maybe he wasn't even as normal as he pretended to be, he'd forcibly tried to confine his mind and body from what it wanted. He couldn't accept being gay. It was like learning he was a werewolf – a freak of nature, a monster, disgusting – all over again. And then Fate, that cruel bitch, had sent his best mate to tempt him, and resistance had been futile. Although that turned out better than he ever could have thought it might in the long run, it had been long months before he could even think the phrase 'I'm gay. I'm a gay werewolf' without cringing.

And Michael. He had fought and rebelled at first, and believed that he belonged in Gryffindor with the brave and true. But it was only time before the payback came, hard and merciless, in the form of sharp, deliberate blows and harsh, cutting words.

All his life, Remus had fought and fought and fought, and never, ever had it amounted to anything. He was still a werewolf, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise. He would always be gayer than a handbag full of rainbows despite how many boobs he tried to ogle. And Michael would always hurt him, no matter what he did to try and stop it…

A hoarse cry was forced from Remus' throat as he came to, not knowing if he had blacked out from sheer force of will or the blow he'd received to the head. His limbs felt weak and heavy, and even turning his head to the side, to try and gasp a rattling breath in, hurt. Hands, hard and possessive, gripped his naked flesh, and he instinctively wanted to attack, to free himself from those bonds. And then he felt a sharp, painful, burning pain, and his body levered up, thrusting in a last dint effort to be free of the man who pushed him roughly back down, fingers smearing trails of half-dried blood across the lattice work of scars on Remus' back and arms.

The lycanthrope's mind shuddered and balked against the pain before he gagged, feeling the grotesquely pleasurable stretch of being filled. He fought the nausea, fought it like he'd never fought anything more, but the battle was lost, and his stomach clenched and roiled as it tried to force it's contents out the wrong way. Nothing came up, and Remus dry heaved into the filthy sheets, even as Michael continued thrusting.

Closing his eyes, Remus longed to be able to cover his ears as well. But his hands were pinned in an iron grip over his head, and he was forced to listen to the cacophony of sounds that swelled from the invasion against him. The bed creaked and groaned as his blond torturer used his feet for leverage, and the headboard tapped ominously against the wall. His own heart thudded dully in his chest, weaving a complicated melody with the panting gasps of Michael's breathing, and Remus felt a sudden vicious wish that the sonofabitch would die of a fucking heart attack. And, worst of all, was the sound of flesh grinding and slapping against flesh as Michael fucked him deliberately, purposefully, like he was nothing more than a cheap, common whore. Remus swallowed against the tears once more. He felt like a whore.

It wasn't long before Michael finished, crying out and gripping Remus harder as he spurted his completion into his unresponsive partner. The lycan had to battle against the nauseous-ness that rolled over him again, even as he wished he could die and humiliation burned red and fierce in his cheeks.

With a grunt, Michael withdrew painfully, and flopped next to him on the mattress, huffing and puffing. "Enjoy that?" he asked suggestively, laughing as Remus flinched. "I know you did you fucked up little slut." He yawned deliberately. "I think I'm going to catch a few z's…you're more than welcome to stay if you'd like." Remus couldn't reply, even as he watched the blond man's eyelids flutter shut. Exhaustion flared up inside him, pure, heavy, sickly-sweet exhaustion, that weighed his whole body down and threatened to drown him, but, as he always did, he waged war against the dreamy allure of sleep.

**

He stood up and stumbled almost drunkenly to where his clothes had been abandoned, and pulled them on without thinking. His eyes scanned the floor until they fell upon his broken, mangled wand, and he walked as silently as a shadow toward it. He could already hear the chainsaw-esque snores that signaled Michael was asleep, and he crouched with a grimace of pain, cradling the fragments of his wand in his hands.

Sighing, Remus stood, wincing again as he straightened, and the heavy veil of his tiredness swam before his gaze. He had to get away, once and for all. He wouldn't – couldn't – come back here again. It was pure arrogance to do so in the first place. But if there was one thing Remus Lupin was good at, it was certainly Learning From His Mistakes.

Tucking the bits of wood into his pocket, he moved to scoop up the shrunken objects that had tumbled from his pockets when he'd initially drawn his wand in defence. His body ached in strange places and his mouth was dry. Remus felt hungry, but knew that if he even tried to eat, at least while the walls currently surrounding him watched him unseeing like they always did, it would just come right back up. There was still the acrid, burning taste of bile stinging the back of his tongue, and he swallowed dryly.

He wanted home, and safety, and (most of all) warm, comforting arms to hold him. But he didn't have a home – not really. And what was the use in safety once you'd already been completely defiled? And, most of all, what use were warm comforting arms to hold you when your heart was still a frozen chunk of ice.

Sighing once more, he walked with heavy, tired feet back to the front door, when a last ray of evening sunlight, peeking through the kitchen curtains, glittered on something silver and shining. It drew his interest, despite the dark fug of depression he could feel settling around his brain, and his legs carried him toward the flash and gleam of sunlight on metal before he realized it.

His fingers traced over the blade of the knife, hanging halfway out of its block, several of its fellows missing, undoubtedly at the bottom of the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, and then his hand wrapped around the hilt, pulling it slowly from its place. Of their own accord, his eyes darted toward the bedroom, where he could still hear the faint echoes of Michael's snoring, and then back to the faint gleam of sunlight dancing over cold, sharpened stainless steel.

Unbidden, the thought slithered into his mind. He could… And no one would know… He didn't exist in the Muggle world. Would anyone come looking? Surely not; Michael's particular brand of 'friends' weren't the type to expend energy to question his disappearance. He could do it… He could walk calmly back into the bedroom, plunge the shiny, deadly sharp blade into his ex-boyfriend's chest, and no one would ever suspect him.

But could he? Did he have the balls to do it? Would his noble heart be able to bear the thought of so much blood on his hands? Even if the blood belonged to a man he despised, a man who he wished would die a thousand times over, he wasn't sure. He didn't know if he could take Fate into his own hands and do it. End the blond's life.

'Do it,' hissed a voice in his head. 'He deserves it…you know he does… Just do it. No one has to know but you.' But that was the thing. He would know what he'd done…

His hand tightened on the hilt of the knife, knuckles turning white. He was a Gryffindor… He was brave, and daring. He could do it, certainly he could. But would he? His gaze slid back to the bedroom door, standing open, the soft snuffling sounds of deep sleep wafting to his ears. He took one measured step and breathed heavily, before his foot slid out and he took another step.

His breath came easy and untroubled; his heart was calm and relaxed, beating leisurely through his body, pulsing with life. His weariness lifted slightly with the next step, and he actually smiled a little, his feet carrying him to the open doorway, his shadow lying across Michael's gaping mouth and his limbs tangled recklessly in the sheets.

Once more, Remus' eyes darted down to the knife, and his smile widened into a macabre grin. Yes, he could do this. Now it was time to see if he would…

XXX

Sirius paced nervously, his right thumbnail firmly ensconced between his pearly white teeth, being steadily worried away. "Where is he?" he demanded of no one and everyone. "He should have been back by now! I knew this was a stupid idea, I knew it, I told him not to go… Fucking Merlin, what were we thinking, so much could have gone wrong, fucking Godric only knows what's happened to him now… Where is he?"

James Potter, who had been listening to his best mate's rambling for a good half hour, rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Sirius, for the last bloody time, just sit and relax for five minutes, or you're going to wear a hole through the carpet and Lily will murder me." Sirius sighed hugely, but flopped obediently enough into a comfortable armchair. "He's probably just misplaced some of his things and had to go looking for them, I'm sure everything is fine."

Sirius' thumbnail found its way back into his mouth and once more, he gnawed anxiously. "But what if… I mean, the bastard could come home early, or have called in sick or Merlin only bloody well knows what! Are you sure we shouldn't go check on him?"

James was torn. On the one hand, the desire to shove proof in Sirius' face that his boyfriend was fine, really and truly and in every sense of the word, raged through him, but he was a sensible enough fellow to know that Remus wouldn't take nicely to the thought that he had to checked up on.

He sighed and rubbed a temple, wishing Lily was anywhere but out wedding planning with Mary Mcdonald just then. She would have calmed Sirius down with a few words, and they could have had some tea or a Butterbeer or two and pass the time easily while they awaited Remus' return. But alas, he was stuck trying to find the right things to say to calm his best mate down. It really wasn't his forte, and he felt helpless.

The messy-haired young man tried to think of what Lily would say were she here. "Do you think Remus would want you to do that?" There…that seemed relatively reasonable and Lily-like.

"He would if he was in trouble," Sirius said, doubtfully. He whined slightly and stood up. "I can't just sit here," he said, starting to pace again. James rolled his eyes.

"Then just go bloody check on him!"

"But if everything's fine, like you keep telling me…" Sirius pouted, looking confused. His best mate threw up his arms in defeat.

"You're going to drive me fucking bat shit, Padfoot. Let's just go and make sure everything's alright, then, shall we?"

Sirius was then pushing him back down into his chair. "No, no," he almost shouted, waving his arms in front of the other Animagus. "No… I'm just… I think I need to go brood. If – when – Remus shows up, will you tell him I went back to the flat?"

"Sure thing Paddy. I'm sure it's all fine."

"Thanks James. See you." And he swirled into nothingness with the usual loud CRACK of Disapparation.

XXX

Sirius materialized in the dank alleyway behind his apartment building and sighed, scrubbing his face roughly with both hands. James was right; he was just being mental… He had always been a little manic when it came to Remus and his well-being, and now was no different.

He made a little detour into the kitchen after undoing the wards around his front door, deciding that he should eat; despite the fact his stomach was clenching and twisting from anxiety. Humming and trying to keep out the horrendous images that flickered and flashed through his mind's eye at what might have befallen his lupine lover, he made himself a sandwich and poured himself a tall glass of milk to go with it. He then wandered back toward his bedroom. His eyes were scratchy-feeling and surely bloodshot; he had slept poorly the night before, even with Remus safely wrapped in his embrace he had worried.

'See, you're overreacting again. You were being a worrywart last night too. He's fine.' Sirius shook his head, trying to cast off the patronizing voice that often contradicted his actions or thoughts. He toed open his bedroom door, trying to balance his plated sandwich and the glass of milk. And then he looked up and both slipped from his suddenly limp grasp, shattering on the floor and spraying milk hitting his trousers and bologna flopping lifelessly with a slap to the hardwood.

"Remus?" he whispered, eyes meeting the hazy, unfocused amber eyes that sought out the sound that ripped him from the lush, glorious sleep.

The lycan flinched backward and Sirius' brow furrowed before his mouth gaped. Remus was lying in his pristine, bed, a blood-spattered shirt hanging stiff and listless from his shoulders. Sirius was by his side in a flash.

"Remus, what the bloody hell happened?" he demanded gently, reaching out for his lover even as he slid into bed next to him. Remus whimpered and flinched away again (tugging threateningly at Sirius' heart strings in the process), before he steadied himself and curled into a ball, knees against his chest.

The honey-haired man's eyes were red from crying and his face was ashen. Sirius reached out again, feeling bolstered when Remus didn't try to pull away this time (even unconsciously), but the feeling turned cold, as the love of his life whispered harshly "Don't touch me."

"Mooney?" the Animagus asked weakly. "Why… What happened? Oh my Godric, why is your shirt covered in blood, and what are you doing here, and…and oh, Remus, what happened?" It was painful, but he somehow managed to refrain from touching the lycanthrope, instead knotting his fingers together tightly and biting the inside of his lip.

Remus swallowed and peered out of cautious eyes at Sirius, relaxing slightly when he saw only concern and love shining back at him in those grey orbs. He didn't know what he had expected. Inhuman rage like the kind he saw in Michael's gaze every time he closed his eyes? Disgusted revulsion? No…none of those things yet, because Sirius was still mostly in the dark about what had happened.

He cleared his throat dryly and his gaze fell to the comforter. He couldn't bear to see Sirius' face when he told him what had happened. "The shirt is bloody because… Well I was getting my Floo powder, and then I…tripped, and it fell, and then I…fell onto the pieces." Sirius fingers twitched toward Remus, but he held himself in check.

"Have you healed the wounds? Can I see them? I think I have come blood-replenishing potion around here somewhere… You sit tight Mooney, and I'll just go g-"

"Sirius. I'm fine for now. Just… I just I have to get this all out," Remus interrupted, still staring at the bedclothes. A silence stretched between them, and if Sirius couldn't put his hands on his lover, couldn't feel him and make sure for himself that he was real and alive and well, then he certainly couldn't keep silent.

"Remus, are you sure you're okay? What happened? I mean you don't have to tell me – not if you don't want. But look at you! You're all covered in blood, and you were supposed to come back to James and Lily's place and… And it was supposed to be so quick and easy! Sneak in, get your stuff and sneak out! What happened? Are you in pain? Tell me where it hurts… Oh stupid me, it probably hurts everywhere. Remus, please, are you all right? I just… Oh Moonshine, I really think you should let me see your cuts, broken glass can't be good, and I don't think it's good to have bits of Floo powder in you either – did you clean the cuts yet? I don't want you to get an infection or something." The words tumbled out, fast and unedited, as his brain darted back and forth and tried to fill the gaping void of Remus' silence.

"Sirius!" he finally shouted, shocking them both. Sirius fell silent after a quickly murmured apology, and looked at him with doleful eyes, the mental chatter scrolling plainly across his face as various avenues opened to him that he hadn't yet explored, each more horrifying than the last. Had the lycan been jumped on his way back? No, he would have Apparated. Could Floo powder cause infections? What had happened? Remus took a deep breath and tried to summon his non-existent Gryffindor courage. "I… Michael was there," he whispered.

Sirius expression was instantly stony. "What?" he asked in a flat emotionless voice that was far too familiar to be any comfort. He chanced a glance up and winced at his lover's expression. Sucking in another breath, he reached out and took Sirius' hand. The Animagus looked like he wanted nothing more than to jump up that very second, find Michael, and turn him into a seashell so he could hear the satisfying crunch he would make under his boot when he squashed the bejesus out of him.

So Remus let his breath out in a gusty whoosh, and placed a tentative hand over Sirius'. Part of him rebelled against the touch, and that part grew larger as Sirius turned his hand and interlaced their fingers, but the majority of him took strength from those warm fingers, and he pushed the words out of himself. "And he…he found out I was there."

Sirius, who had been frowning down at Remus' too-cold hand, whipped his head up and met Remus' startled gaze. The words his mind started screaming stuck hard in his throat, painful and cutting, even as an shiver of inkling streaked through him. He hoped against hope that Remus would not tell him what he was thinking, that Remus would assure him the very worst, most wretched thing had not happened, but he doubted it. It was all explained now – Remus' chalky pallor, his cold body, the shock and almost-muteness; and most importantly, his aversion to physical contact.

Taking his surprisingly silent response, Remus ploughed onward, hoping he could do this calmly (at least before he broke into hysterics). The shock had worn off with sleep, courtesy of a few generous pulls from the bottle of Ogden's best in the door of Sirius' Muggle fridge-freezer. "And he broke my wand."

Sirius' face went impossibly harder, and his fingers clenched slightly around his amber-haired counterpart's own digits, but again, he couldn't speak. "And then…" The dam cracked and a tear trailed down Remus' cheek. He was going to lose it…

"Just say it Mooney, anything it is, please. I love you, please…" His tone was gravelly with gallantly controlled emotion.

"When Michael found me…" he choked, before having to pause. He couldn't say the words aloud. Sirius' hand tightened to almost pain (his fingers were too numb, like much of the rest of him, to feel anything) around his own.

"Please?" Sirius whispered, long-lashed lids falling over his intense eyes. When he opened them they blinded the lycan.

"And I think… Please don't hate me," he admitted, eyes falling to the bedspread once more.

Sirius reached out slowly and deliberately, and Remus gasped at the tenderness, barely there, guiding his head back around.

"Remus you gorgeously silly man… How could I ever hate you? I love you way too fucking much for that to ever be possible."

Remus sucked in a breath. "He…r… Michael raped me."

XXX

Author's Note: *dodges sporks and other sharp implements* SO NOT MY FAULT! This is what happened, and so it must be told… I promise though it will end happy! Really!! And even though I'm horrid to ask… Review? Maybe? :D 'May I have this dance, before the moment's past, I hate this song, but I hope that it lasts, I'll sing in your ear, off tune, out of key, you're just not happy being miserable with me' Cheers!!