Chapter Text
Regulus greeted Remus when he staggered back into the apartment the next morning, helping him to the sofa and wrapping him in a blanket.
“I made eggs,” he said, stepping back, turning toward the kitchen. “Do you want some?”
Remus could just about manage to nod. Regulus vanished, and a moment later, he returned with a plate full of scrambled eggs, a piece of buttered toast, and a cup of hot tea. Remus took the cup gratefully and sipped on the warm brown liquid within.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“Yeah. No problem.” Regulus sat down on the sofa beside him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “I figured you wouldn’t feel like cooking when you came back.”
Remus never felt like cooking the morning after the full moon, but that didn’t usually mean there was someone to do it for him. Usually, it meant he ended up eating a bowl of cereal. He was sure his friends would have been happy to help him out if he asked, but it seemed like a lot to ask for, when they already went out of their way to make the transformations themselves easier. In any case, they were tired the morning after, too, from the night spent running around in their animal forms.
“Are you alright?” Regulus asked.
Remus nodded.
“Yeah. It wasn’t bad, for a full moon.”
Meaning: his whole body ached, he felt like he hadn’t slept in a week, and he was probably going to be miserable for at least another twenty-four hours, but at least he hadn’t ended up with any physical wounds, or had any close calls with humans camping in the woods.
Regulus seemed to understand that not bad didn’t mean good, and he scooted closer, gently rubbing Remus’s back. It was a nice feeling.
“Let me know what I can do,” he said.
Remus thought he might just break down crying.
He remembered being a young child, when his parents had tucked him into bed the morning after, fussed over him all day, and gone out of their way to take care of him. And at Hogwarts, after his friends had learned the truth, the way they would visit him in the hospital wing, bringing him chocolate frogs and sitting with him before breakfast.
He had never expected such kind and thoughtful behavior from Regulus of all people. But he couldn’t deny, it was welcome.
Regulus stayed close by Remus’s side all day, keeping him company. It was obvious that whatever Remus might say, he wasn’t okay. Or, perhaps, he was simply so accustomed to being not okay after the full moon that he didn’t realize how much he was suffering.
“Does it hurt?” he asked softly as they sat together on the sofa. “The transformation?”
Remus nodded.
“The worst pain I’ve ever felt.”
Regulus thought of the momentarily successful Cruciatus Curse, and something in his gut twisted like someone was squeezing it with a clenched fist.
“Worse than…”
“Yeah. But that might just be you, Reg. No offense, but you made a really crappy Death Eater.”
The words came across more as a compliment than an insult. It ought to have been a comforting thought, probably, that Remus’s most painful memories were not ones of him. But the idea of that much agony, every single month…
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ve said. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“No, not for - I mean, I’m sorry for that, too,” said Regulus. “But I meant, I’m sorry the transformation hurts so much. That sucks.”
Remus nodded in silence. Regulus took his hand and held it, feeling the warmth of Remus’s skin against his.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been a werewolf?” Regulus asked.
For a moment, he didn’t think Remus would answer him. Perhaps such a question crossed an important line. But after a moment of silence, Remus spoke.
“I was five when I was bitten,” he said. “My father was… very anti-werewolf, at the Ministry. And we think that’s why I was targeted.”
“By Greyback?” Regulus asked softly.
It wasn’t really a question. There was only one werewolf known to intentionally position himself to bite children from Wizarding families. If it had been a targeted attack and not an accident, it must have been Greyback’s doing.
“Yeah.”
Regulus shuddered. He had met Greyback only once, and it was one of his least favorite memories. The idea of facing him in his wolf form, as a child…
“Shit. That’s… that’s horrible, it really is.”
Remus hugged him with one arm, and Regulus leaned in, filled with the bizarre feeling that he wanted to personally make sure no one would hurt Remus ever again.
Probably, he ought to think Remus was a monster. He ought to be horrified and disgusted. That was what his family would expect, and Regulus had always done his best to live up to their expectations.
Then again, they would never have expected him to abandon his duties as a Death Eater, steal the Dark Lord’s Horcrux, and go into hiding under the Order’s protection. So he was well past the point of disappointing them, probably, if they ever found out he was still alive.
He couldn’t bring himself to be disgusted or horrified. Quite to the contrary: he felt pity for the child Remus had been, bitten and transformed due to something that was in no way his fault. And the man he knew now was so kind, so gentle, so steady and reliable, that it seemed absurd to think of him as a monster.
Remus rested most of the day, and he fell asleep on the couch at one point, leaning back against the cushions and snoring slightly, with one arm wrapped around Regulus, holding him close. Regulus remained by his side, dozing off with his head resting against Remus’s shoulder. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but he found that he didn’t want to get up, to wake Remus and end this soft moment of intimacy.
Before he knew it, he was woken by the man beside him stirring and a hand gently caressing his cheek. His eyelids fluttered, and he mumbled something incoherent.
“Sorry,” Remus said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s alright,” Regulus murmured, flushing at the feeling of Remus’s fingers lingering against the skin of his cheek.
Then Remus pulled his hand away. Regulus whined and tried to follow, as if he could recapture Remus’s touch just by shifting his head a bit and stretching his shoulders. He glanced up to see Remus looking at him, his eyes full of something soft and tentative.
He wants me as much as I want him, Regulus realized.
He reached up, shifted his position on the couch, and touched Remus’s face. Remus’s eyes widened, but he didn’t pull away.
Regulus leaned forward and kissed him.
Remus kissed back, very softly, very gently. His lips moved slowly. His hand caught Regulus’s back, pulling him closer. Regulus pushed his tongue past Remus’s lips, and his mouth opened, allowing Regulus in.
It wasn’t his first kiss. But the ones that came before had been quick and hasty, a clash of lips and skin, hidden in the dark shadows of a broom cupboard after curfew or behind the curtains of his bed in the Slytherin dorms. This was different: softer, more tender, and in its own way, more passionate. No need to hurry. Plenty of time to savor his partner’s touch, the warmth of his body, the way that he moved and the way that he held him.
Remus’s arms were strong. Regulus couldn’t have gotten free now if he wanted to, and that thought made his heart pound faster, exhilaration coursing through him. It was an illusion, of course - he didn’t doubt that Remus would stop the moment Regulus tried to pull away, his firm embrace going soft and slack, apologies tumbling from his lips.
Regulus didn’t want apologies, and he didn’t want the kiss to end.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmured when they finally came up for air, nuzzling into the crook of Remus’s neck.
“How long?” Remus asked softly, running his hands through Regulus’s hair.
“Since Grimmauld Place.”
“Me, too,” Remus admitted. “I would never have - I didn’t want you to think…”
Of course not, Regulus thought to himself. Of course Remus was too bloody noble to take advantage of someone forced to seek refuge under his roof, just as Regulus would never have considered making his feelings known when Remus was at his mercy. But the feelings were there, regardless, and he didn’t think he could stand it if Remus got the idea now that they ought to deny themselves what they both so clearly wanted.
“There’s nothing I want more,” he murmured, looking up at Remus. “What about you?”
Remus nodded, looking at him like he couldn’t quite believe his ears.
“I feel the same,” he said. “I don’t know what that says about me, given…”
He waved his hand as if to indicate the bizarre set of circumstances that had thrust them together. Regulus laughed and rolled his eyes.
“I think it means you’re a soft-hearted fool,” he said. “But then again, you’re a Gryffindor, so that sort of goes without saying, doesn’t it?”
Remus smiled at him with such fondness that, for a moment, Regulus almost thought he must be dreaming. But no, this was definitely real. The feeling of Remus’s hand cradling his jaw, his thumb stroking Regulus’s cheek - it wouldn’t feel so realistic in a dream, would it?
Something must’ve shown in his eyes, because Remus paused, drawing his hand back.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just…” Regulus reached out, took Remus’s hand, pulled it back towards his face. “Just trying to figure out if this is all real.”
“You think I’m lying?” Remus asked, looking confused. “Reg…”
“No, you idiot,” Regulus snapped. “I think I’m going to wake up in a few minutes, still at Grimmauld Place with no fucking way out.”
“Oh.” Remus’s eyes grew very soft, full of pity that made Regulus’s face grow warm. “Well, if you do, you can come find me, okay? Or Sirius. He’d always have helped you get out, I think, if you’d asked him.”
Regulus nodded. The thought of begging for help from his estranged brother was doing nothing to salvage the romantic moment, but it was oddly reassuring nonetheless.
“You’re one of us now,” said Remus. “You promised, remember? You don’t get to back out of that just by waking up and finding out it was all a dream.”
Regulus snorted. It was bizarre logic, the sort that didn’t make any sense whatsoever. But if this was a dream, why did logic have to matter? And if not, well, there was nothing to worry about. He would wake up the next morning right here, on Remus’s lumpy, threadbare living room couch.
Or maybe in Remus’s bed, with an arm wrapped around him and the warmth of another body beside his own.
He smiled and leaned in closer.
“Of course,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into the stubbly skin of Remus’s jaw. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
That evening, Regulus followed Remus into the bedroom, perching on the edge of the bed before Remus even had the chance to decide whether or not to invite him in. He didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make it seem as though he expected anything, but Regulus, it seemed, had no such reservations. Not anymore.
Remus reached out to touch his shoulder, and Regulus glanced up at him with a smirk, a hungry look in his gaze.
“Kiss me again,” he whispered.
“You’re sure?” Remus asked.
“Yes, I’m bloody sure,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes, squirming closer. “Kiss me. Please.”
Something about the way he said it was just too enticing to resist. Remus sat down beside him and took him in his arms, his mouth closing on Regulus’s, savoring the softness of the other man’s lips.
Everything about Regulus was soft. His mouth, giving way easily as Remus nudged his tongue between Regulus’s lips. His touch, gentle where Remus knew he didn’t have to be, not with muscles toned by years of Quidditch and blood on his hands from his time with the Death Eaters.
It struck him then that the man who was kissing him so sweetly had killed people.
Perhaps that thought should have made him stop, step back, shake his head. Perhaps it should have disgusted him.
Instead, it just left him feeling more in awe of the fact that this man was in his arms, touching him so gently, kissing him, holding him.
He slipped a hand under the hem of Regulus’s shirt, caressing his bare skin. Regulus let out a little moan.
“Are you okay?” Remus whispered, pulling back.
“I’m fine,” Regulus murmured, clinging to him as though he was afraid of letting go. “Please, don’t stop.”
“What do you want me to do?” Remus asked with a gleam in his eyes, a sense of mischief creeping up inside of him that he hadn’t known he was capable of. “Tell me.”
“I want…” Regulus hesitated, looked away, his cheeks turning red. Remus smiled. That flush of embarrassment on Regulus’s face was doing things to him that he couldn’t even begin to put into words.
“Tell me, Regulus,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to see what’s under that frumpy sweater you’re wearing,” Regulus said, glancing up at him coyly now. “And I want you to undress me, and touch me, and - and make me feel like -”
He went silent again, and Remus leaned in, placing a kiss on his temple, curling his fingers into Regulus’s hair.
“I’ll do my best,” he whispered.
After that, it was all a blur. Skin on skin, moans of pleasure, clothes abandoned on the floor. Regulus’s fingers traced the lines of Remus’s scars. For a moment, the touch made him pause, searching the look on Regulus’s face - but it wasn’t disgust that he found there. It was something very close to adoration.
“You’re beautiful,” Regulus said breathlessly.
Beautiful?
Coming from Regulus, with his smooth, unmarred skin and Quidditch-toned body, that felt impossible. Remus was scarred and too skinny, plain-looking, average -
“Beautiful,” Regulus repeated.
Remus’s heart melted. He had never really understood what people meant when they said that, but now he felt as if something was actually going all soft and warm in his chest.
“You too,” he said, reaching out to caress Regulus’s cheek and kissing him again.
It would have been lovely, Regulus thought, to linger there forever in Remus’s arms. In Remus’s bed. In that peaceful moment in time when all was well.
But all was not well.
Whatever happiness he had found in this shabby Muggle flat, danger still lurked beyond its walls. The Dark Lord would kill him if he found him, and it would not be a quick or painless death.
Regulus found himself stuck, unable to do as much as he would have liked to. It wasn’t as if he could personally assassinate the Dark Lord; if he believed he was capable of such a thing, he would simply have done it the moment he decided he wanted him dead. No, the moment he got near him with murderous intent, he himself would be caught and killed. So that wasn’t the best plan, as satisfying as it might have been for just a split second to see the look on the Dark Lord’s face.
What could he do, then?
He could sit with a quill and a sheet of parchment, writing down names, hiding places, passwords, and anything else he could think of that might be of use to the Order. Who knew when they might need to know how to get past the wards that surrounded the Lestranges’ castle or where to find the entrance to the secret chamber beneath the Malfoys’ drawing room floor?
He could decode intercepted messages, laying out the Death Eaters’ plans and secret communications for the Order to see.
He could answer Dumbledore’s questions, of which there seemed to be a never-ceasing supply.
It wasn’t enough to satisfy his burning need to do something, to fight back and get his revenge. But it was better than nothing.
And in the meantime, he wasn’t unhappy. Even stuck inside this pathetic Muggle dwelling, he felt a sense of contentment he had never experienced before. He felt safe here, curled up on the sofa with a cup of hot tea, watching skeptically as Remus showed him how the television worked. It was unlike any place he had ever lived before, but it was warm and welcoming. As Remus sat down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, Regulus leaned into the embrace.
Lights and images flickered on the screen. Regulus raised an eyebrow.
“You mean to tell me the Muggles can capture moving images without magic?”
Remus nodded.
“When this is over, remind me to take you to the cinema. It’ll blow your mind.”
When this is over?
Regulus’s thoughts lingered on the words. Clearly, Remus didn’t mean when the show currently on the TV was over; Regulus didn’t have any idea how long it was meant to last, but he doubted the Dark Lord would turn up dead before they were finished watching the gentleman in the police telephone box run around in…
“Where exactly are they? Some sort of quarry?”
“No - I mean, yes, that’s where it was filmed, but it’s meant to be an alien planet.”
“A - you mean like Neptune or Saturn or - no, it couldn’t be a gas giant, could it? I’d say Mars, but it’s not red, so…”
Remus smiled at him in obvious amusement, and Regulus smiled back. But the question remained.
When this is over?
It must have been the war that Remus was referring to, Regulus thought. The war which, apparently, he actually believed they would win. Even more bizarrely, it would seem that he could envision a future for the two of them even after it was over. One in which they went to the cinema together, whatever that meant.
Regulus wasn’t as certain. He had seen the Dark Lord’s power up-close. He knew better than most how difficult the man would be to defeat. And after they had done so, what then? It was one thing for him and Remus to become so close in private, hidden away from the rest of the world, but once the war was over, they would surely go back to their roles as pure-blood heir and impoverished werewolf, separated by an impossible divide. His family would never tolerate even a friendship between them.
Or, perhaps, it would be the other way around. Perhaps Regulus’s family name would mean nothing in this terrifying new world he had agreed to help bring about. There was every chance they would disown him - and even with Dumbledore to vouch for him, even with the second chance he had been promised, most of society would still see him as a disgraced ex-Death Eater. Perhaps Remus would need to distance himself to keep from being tainted by association.
But for just a moment, he could see the future Remus described: the two of them together, dressed in Muggle clothes and walking down the street side by side, off to explore the world. Friends. Lovers. Equals. Free at last to step outside together without fear.
Perhaps it really would work out that way. Only time would tell.