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Chapter Text

17:43

30th August 1979

Order of the Phoenix Safehouse 3

Harrow and Wealdstone

England 

The semi-basement kitchen was full of chatter and the rustling of paper; with the soft light of evening sunset highlighting each speck of dust in the air and every stray hair on the heads of Marlene and Lily, sitting directly under a ray of light at the broad table. Remus tilted back on his chair, reaching behind Sirius for the wireless on the worktop, twisting the dial so the gentle chat of his friends could go uninterrupted by the newsbeats of Death Eater sightings and mysterious murders. 

Sirius glanced up from the Prophet at the feather-light touch of Remus’ hand brushing through his hair on its journey back and smirked at him, grey eyes alight with wry humour. 

“Depressing, isn’t it?” 

“Can’t stand it. Surely there’s a charm we can put on it. Something that turns it off as soon as Mad-Eye closes the front door behind him.”

“The Prophet's bad enough to be getting on with.” Sirius shook the paper out and held it between them so Remus could read the article headline. 

BORDERLINE VIOLENCE

He rolled his eyes at the ridiculous title for Sirius' benefit, before taking the paper from him to better read it.

Death Eater sightings at the Scottish border have incited further demonstrations outside the Ministry - the third Statute of Secrecy breach from Scottish and Northern demonstrators this year - thanks to the ongoing narrative that the Ministry’s eye has overlooked violence and disappearances in the North…

He flicked it closed and tossed it onto the table, startling Peter from his sleepy stare where he had been letting the girls’ conversation wash over him. 

“More demonstrations,” he muttered, nodding at the discarded paper in explanation. Peter nodded, blinking hard at the headline and rubbing his fingers into the corners of his eyes a little aggressively. Remus worried his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched Peter drag his fingers down his pale face and rest his chin on his knuckles. Everything, from the radio news beats, Prophet headlines, to the little memos appearing in the safehouse fireplaces telling of dark forces infiltrating various Ministry departments seemed to weigh heavily on him, pushing out the excited boy he’d conspired in the Hogwarts halls with. 

He was flitting between leaving Peter be, and trying, once again, to offer him some comfort, when a throat-clearing cough stilled the conversation. In the middle of the tile floor was a silvery apparition. The wisps of magic settled into the form of a housecat and Remus made the link between the familiar cough and their transfiguration teacher. The markings weaved across the little apparition until a bespectacled tabby sat before them. 

“Myself and Kingsley will be arriving in five. Urgent update from the D.M.L.E.”

The cat shimmered and vanished. 

Remus met Hestia’s eyes across the kitchen. She raised her eyebrows at him, a silent communication of trepidation and shameful excitement. 

Minerva’s message had sucked the casual chatter from the room and the leftover silence was filled with the scraping of chairs and the rustling of hurried tidying that only a former teacher could incite in a group of young adults. As promised, the wards pinged at their apparition into the ground floor hallway just as Mary flicked the kettle on. 

Kingsley’s heavy footfalls were obvious on the wooden stairs down to the basement and Remus didn’t realise his hand had been drifting to find Sirius’ under the table until their fingers were laced together. God, I hope it’s not a death.

The constant thrumming anxiety, settled under the surface like a loose riverbed, ready to cloud the water again at the barest hint of disturbance. 

Kingsley bounded in - not smiling, but not morose either. Remus rarely saw him these days, but could still see the head boy from their first year at school shining in his face whenever he rolled his eyes or raised a disbelieving eyebrow. He nodded at Lily, Marlene and Mary before pulling out the seat between Peter and Hestia for Minerva. Lily hopped onto the countertop, for him to take her place at the table. 

“No deaths,” Minerva assured them, shrugging off her travelling cloak and lying it over the back of the kitchen chair. “Just news from Crouch - another breach at the Ministry. Kingsley can tell you the details.” Her voice was clipped and measured, unchanged still from their school days. It had become a comfort to Remus, these days. As though any horror she might inform them of now was no more troublesome than students out of bed, or late homework. 

Kingsley nodded in acknowledgement and pulled a MoM memo from the pocket of his robes. Remus could see the scrawl of some hasty notes from his place across the table. 

“Crouch has been at it again, I caught the end of it, it’s a touch above me in my current position, but I’ll relay all I have. You remember Moyra Schitt? Year below me - Hufflepuff?” 

Remus had no recollection, but Hestia and Mary seemed to be familiar.

“Well, since Moody took out Rosier, there’s been a few suspected of having been under the imperious curse who’ve come back to themselves. Moyra’s been a junior in the D.M.L.E. for a good while - almost as long as me. She’s not high up but, well…” he glanced sheepishly at Minerva. “Apologies, Professor, but she was always a gossip and she's had access to a lot of documents in the past few years. Confessed it all, didn’t even need the veritaserum. Unfortunately, whoever was dealing with her directly was careful about their identity, but she’s been passing information for months. Mostly correspondence between Edinburgh and London.”

Kingsley gestured to the newspaper that was still sitting on the kitchen table, now neatly folded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they had something to do with all the trouble from the North recently.”

Marlene rubbed her thumb nervously across the rim of her mug of tea. “So they’ve gotten plenty from us. Nothing new. Seems like there’s leaks everywhere these days. But surely she had some information, even if she didn’t meet the Death Eater she was passing information to?”

Minerva nodded. “Yes, we’ve at least gotten something in return. Apparently she’d been pulling information on the addresses and families of the Edinburgh D.M.L.E. There’s been a leak from the D.R.C.D.C. too - werewolf attacks. Kingsley and I were discussing on our way - it seems they’re interested in trying a strategy of control from the outside in. Security checks at the main London offices have been higher since the Belfast Outpost was infiltrated. They might well get away with an attack on the Edinburgh offices if they really do have werewolves to work with.”

Mary and Marlene shared a nervous look, no doubt triggered by the data leak. They both had family in the Edinburgh D.M.L.E.

“Schitt said she’d sent the court schedule over too - a good few months’ worth.” Kingsley squinted at his own chicken scratch on the memo, jogging his memory. “I had a look at them after that and it looks like there’s a trial arranged on the fifth of November for a good few familiar faces. Jugson, McNair, Hunter…” he trailed off. 

Sirius shifted next to him and unlaced their fingers, leaving Remus marooned. 

“What, do you think they’re going to try and stage a breakout?” Kingsley shrugged one shoulder in response, his face grim. 

“It’s a possibility.”

Lily chimed in for the first time from her perch on the kitchen worktop. Remus tried to catch her eye, but she was staring a hole into the kitchen tiles below, obviously thinking hard. “There’s not a chance they can get them on trial day - Dumbledore’s said before, the place is swarming for Death Eater trials. When are they being moved? Surely that’s more likely.”

Marlene nodded emphatically. “I would, if I were staging a breakout.” 

Mary snorted, breaking the tension a little. “Glad to know that’s something you have a game plan for.” 

Kingsley waved his hand to quiet the two girls, half turned in his chair to address Lily. 

“I’d agree, but they’re being moved by side-along on the night of the fourth. D.M.L.E has been trying to minimise risk since the last attack. They’re barely being held in Edinburgh more than six hours-”

“That’s a full moon.” Remus interrupted, unable to help himself. The room turned to look at him and he immediately felt his ears go red at the sudden attention, but ploughed on. “The fourth. That’ll be why. D.M.L.E. won’t have cross referenced the dates, no doubt. If they’re planning a breakout, it’ll be on the night of the fourth if you’re right about the werewolf colony. They would hardly be the first to be tempted by the Death Eaters.” 

A moment of silence before Kingsley heaved the sigh of a much older man, pressing his fingertips into his brow until his nail beds turned white. “You might be right there, Lupin.”

Remus sat on his hands to stop himself nervously picking his fingernails. “Think we could convince Crouch to hold the trial?” 

Kingsley laughed. “Not a chance. Not unless I have the bottled memory of overhearing the Minister himself say the building has been overrun by inferi to show him myself. Crouch is not a man for speculation.”

“What if we did have evidence?” Remus’ mind was ticking, spinning, weaving. There was something here for him. Finally something here that he could do - that only he could do. Proof that the McKinnons and the MacDonalds were at risk, so they could justify heading them off. Proof of the dates, and the locations, so they could have the upper hand, for once. 

Sirius seemed to catch on to his thought process and shook his head emphatically. 

“Absolutely not. We’re not doing that.”

“Doing what?” Marlene was looking between Remus and Sirius, hope growing at the spark of a solution that Remus had lit. 

“He thinks it’ll be useful to go undercover. Idiot.” He directed it at Remus, who set his jaw in frustration. “It’s a fool’s errand. He’ll get ripped apart.”

An awkward silence settled on the table and Remus watched the faces of his assorted friends and allies, trying to determine if they would fall on his side or Sirius’. He’d have to play this carefully. Arguing with his boyfriend at an Order meeting wasn’t going to strengthen his case. 

“I think it would be a wasted opportunity. And need I remind you, and everyone else here, that I am the only one who has gone up against a werewolf and survived. I’m the only one who can’t be turned. I’m the only one they would reasonably trust. I’m the least recognisable, I’ve no family from that area.” He sighed, feeling Sirius’ eyes boring into the side of his head, furious. “If anything were to happen, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for not trying.”

That seemed to turn Mary and Hestia, who nodded gravely. 

“And surely we could provide enough assistance… Minimise the risk-” Sirius cut Hestia off, unable to contain himself.

“There’s no risk to minimise because he’s not going.” The words hissed out from between Sirius’ clenched teeth. “Don’t encourage him.”

Minerva was looking between the two of them, Remus felt like he could feel her thoughts. Working out what she could say that would toe the strange line between war-ally and ex-teacher. It was a few moments before she coughed diplomatically. 

“I’m sure Lupin can decide for himself what risks he is and is not willing to take for the Order, as you do Black. I can’t deny that, if executed correctly, your assistance here could be a valuable asset. I also won’t deny that it may be a monumental risk for little reward.”

There weren’t many people who could effectively silence Sirius, but their head of house, former teacher and transfiguration idol was one. He leaned back in his chair, not appeased, but at least quiet. He tucked his hands between his knees and Remus wondered what he was holding them back from by trapping them there. 

Remus nodded at Minerva in silent thanks and ran a thoughtful thumb over the grain in the tabletop, thinking. 

Not about whether it was worth it. There was no question there. More about whether he could do it - or at least do it well enough to help. He glanced over at Marlene and Mary. They were sitting uncomfortably tight in their chairs, clearly trying not to look expectantly at him, but their anticipation was clear in their bitten lips and knotted hands.

“If we think it’ll help, I’m more than willing.”

He focussed on Kingsley’s appreciative nod and tried to ignore Sirius’ heavy breath of annoyance to his left. 

“We’ll get together again shortly - discuss some options about how to approach this. If you don’t mind, I’ll do some reconnaissance in the area so we have some information about this werewolf group before you go down. It would be unfortunate if you turned up and there was talk of you snooping about the town the week before.”

He stood, clasping his travelling cloak over his chest and raising a hand in polite farewell to the girls. 

“I’d better go back, before Crouch realises he’s missing me. See you shortly, Lupin.” 

McGonagall bid a curt farewell and followed behind him, the seven of her gathered former students listened to the creaking of the stairs and the click of the front door. Remus held a resigned breath, waiting for Sirius’ frustration to bubble over, but it didn’t come. The controlled silence to his left was tangible and he wondered if it would suck him in and consume him, like a black hole - a dying star. 

The hum of the muggle refrigerator filled the room as they sat there in their wake. Peter sighed, shaky and exhausted, and pushed his chair in before bidding them good evening and following. Eventually, unable to stomach the awkwardness any longer, Hestia gave a hesitant cough. 

“Well, Remus - you’ll need an undercover identity…” 

The girls grasped onto this olive branch of relatively neutral conversation and beckoned Remus closer. He glanced over at Sirius - squinting as though he were looking into the sun - and saw only his careful blank expression, before he acquiesced and scraped his chair closer to Mary. She pulled this discarded newspaper closer and rifled through it, skimming the tiny black text.  “You’ll need a cover name.” 

“Yeah, James Bond style!” Lily cut in.

“Who?” Lily waved away Marlene’s confusion and redirected her attention back at the paper. 

Remus let himself be pulled into the excited huddle skimming the paper for likely names, hoping the thrill of it might overtake him and push out the anxiety - fuelled by Sirius’ sullen stare. 

Lily must have sensed the lingering tension. She met Remus’ eyes and they shared a silent conversation - some confusing mix of duty, fear, anticipation and guilt. She flicked her wand and the noisy fridge opened and a bottle of white wine poured itself out into six glasses. Hestia took hers out of the air when it floated past her and eyed the slightly paltry serving.

“Have we only one?” 

Sirius rose from his chair, the back legs scraping dramatically across the tile, and pushed his glass across the table, back towards Lily. 

“I don’t like white. You can top them up. Going to check on Peter.”

He strode around them, his fingers brushing on Remus’ collar in a silent show of I’m annoyed, but I love you and closed the kitchen door behind him. 

The wine helped. The first bottle smothered the anxious fizz. The second (produced from a bottom cupboard) brought forward the excitement. The third - not wine, but a three-quarters-full bottle of cheap vodka - fueled the humour of it all. The ridiculousness bubbled to the top, creating a thick, protective film over the abject horror of reality that lay underneath. Shrieking giggles at the suggestions of “Lemus Rupin”, “Simon Howell” and “Romulus Lupinus” filled the kitchen and Remus lost himself in it, heady with the camaraderie, cheeks flushed with the thrill of his own secret mission, his special part to play. Finally, a gap in the complicated puzzle that was made to fit this frayed and jagged piece that he had to offer. 

The delight was just loud enough to drown out the newsbeats of uncovered bodies and disappearances that fizzed through the enchanted radio. 

~ * ~

Remus leaned against the basement kitchen door frame, still waving vaguely several moments after Lily had shut the front door at the end of the hall. His hand dropped down to his side and his knuckles knocked against the wall, smarting, his fingertips fizzing. 

Sirius.

Head still full of the camaraderie of the kitchen, he staggered up the stairs to the first floor and found Sirius in one of the upstairs bedrooms, open and spider-legged on a spindly high-backed chair. Their eyes met, clumsily. Too late, Remus became aware of the toothy smile still sitting on his face. 

He dialed it down some, hoping for something playful, but Sirius’ face was still stony. All sharp shadows and hard lines. Remus’ eyes roved his face greedily, looking for familiar landmarks to settle in.

“Remus-”

“I think you mean Roman Howell ,” he said cheekily, unable to stop himself and quite pleased with his new alias.

“ Remus. We can talk about this in the morning-”

“There’s nothing to talk about in the morning,” he could hear the slur of his own words and knew it was sapping them of their value. “Because I’ve decided I’m doing it and that’s that.” He raised his eyebrows, feeling quite self-satisfied with the finality of his argument. Sirius was less impressed. He stood (Remus staggered back a little in the doorway at the surprise of his swift movement) and took Remus by the arm. 

“Come on, let’s go back to mine. You can sleep it off and we can talk when you’ve a clear head.”

“I’ve a clear head now,” he hiccoughed, trying to wriggle his arm out of Sirius’ grip. “Don’t manhandle me.”

“You’re coming by side-along. You’re smashed. You’ll splinch yourself.”

Remus wrenched his arm with a sudden burst of force and coordination and freed himself, falling back onto the bed and looking about as threatening as a petulant child - clothes rumpled from a day of nervous slouching and his hair in disarray from many run-ins with his anxious hands. 

“This is your problem,” he accused from his back on the bed, scowling up at Sirius and full of a venomous confidence born from wine and a bone-deep sense of inadequacy. “You don’t think I can do anything.”

There was a pause. Remus was too addled to feel the sting of it. 

“You’re drunk.” 

“I’m right.”

Sirius’ hand was on his arm again, pulling him up with force and bundling him into his stern embrace. “You’re drunk. We’re going home.”

They snapped out of the safehouse with a sharp crack. 

22:57

16/7 Landor Road

Angel Islington

England

Remus staggered out of Sirius’ hold once they cracked into the little kitchen and careened into the counter, thumping his hip on it in a manner Sirius knew would leave a bright bruise the next morning. 

“You can’t just-” he righted himself and fumbled on his words. “You can’t just- just take me.”

“Remus, go to bed.” 

Sirius was determinedly not looking at him and breezed past, aiming for the small bathroom. Remus followed him doggedly, still simmering, having apparently inherited Sirius’ earlier rage and a determination to have him bite back. 

“You just- just want me to sit here in your flat! You just want me to be your- your house-husband or something?” There was a cruel mockery that shone through, sharp and acidic as citrus on a wound, and Remus was alight with the fizzy delight of exercising his rarely used bitter cruelty. “You think- think I can’t do anything-”

“Remus, shut up .” 

“You’re bitter you’re stuck back after- after…” His hand was fisted in the back of Sirius’ shirt, begging him to turn around, to take the verbal attack to the face. “After you fucked up with Rosier- you just-”

“For fuck’s sake Remus!” He got his wish. Sirius turned, hands tight on both of Remus’ arms. Tight enough to mark. “Shut up and go to bed.”

He laughed, as though his emotions sat on a roulette wheel, spinning and spinning from rage, to humour, to cruelty. Sirius would have hit him, if he were anyone else. Instead, he shook him, the muscles of his arms tight. Every thread of his self-control pulled taut. 

“I’ll go to bed then, Sirius! You can have it your way. Your flat, your money, your best friends. Your pet house-husband. I’ll go to bed and lie there for you with- with my arse in the air then, will I? And you and- and everyone else can just fuck me up the arse -”

The threads snapped and Sirius pushed him with such force that he met the ajar bedroom door with his full weight and fell through it. It didn’t stop the talking.

“You- you and- and Greyback and Dumbledore and- and every fucker at the Ministry and- you can all come and have a go .” In lieu of anything more satisfying to destroy, Sirius kicked the bathroom door, earning nothing but a throbbing toe and a small dent in the wood. 

“ Remus I swear to God .” 

It was times like these, when Sirius was pushed to the limit by someone he cared about, that he saw the cracks in his own exterior, revealing the wild passion (for good or for bad) that undulated beneath. He had often envied Narcissa in their younger years. She had never revealed even a hint of the Black sea that flowed wild and deep. 

He could hear the maddening laughter, the clattering of a clumsy man maneuvering around a cluttered room, and the rustle of fabric, the tug of zips, the snap of elastic. He pushed his knuckles into his eyes, seeing stars and willing the waves to settle before he did something he regretted. 

“Come and get it then, Black,” the sloppy giggling was infuriating. “You always get what you want.”

Too much. Too much to ask that he would keep his patience. And was it too much to ask that the people he loved would stay close and safe, far away from enemy lines? Was that so unfair? Was it too unfair to have at least a year’s grace between losing his brother and Remus?

Remus’ hiccoughing was audible through the open door. 

There he was, bollock naked and sat on the edge of the bed, slouched and oddly smug-looking. His eyes on Sirius and heavy with desire and self-loathing. 

And he would either hit him, or love him. 

Moving thoughtlessly as though puppeteered by his own emotions, Sirius shed himself of his own clothes and pushed Remus back, hand flat and cold against the burning heat of the other’s eager chest. He flopped back, limp and pliable for the first time that evening - finally content to be manhandled only now that any rational thought had long since drained from Sirius’ body. Remus was laughing again. It was unusually ugly on his face - eyes wide open like a prey animal waiting to be ripped apart, but giddy with the power of bending Sirius to his will.

“Are you gonna fuck me then, Black?”

Sirius wanted to put a hand over his mouth and quiet him by force, or push his face down into the mattress and muffle the noise. Or jam something, anything in there to shut him up before he said something that tipped it too far. Before he said something Sirius wouldn’t be able to wave away with the drink. Remus reached out, closing his fist into the hair at the nape of Sirius’ neck and dragging his face down - forcing their lips together with a malignant sort of desire. When Sirius’ body stayed rigid above him, refusing to melt down onto the bed beside him, he wrapped his legs around his waist - bony heels digging into the small of Sirius’ back. 

His words ghosted over the shell of Sirius’ ear and he was unable to pull away. His mouth was dry and smelled sour from the wine. 

“I’ll lie here and wait for you, will I? Every evening after you’re finished being dangerous and useful , I’ll wait here with tea on the table in your stupid fucking flat and ask you to fuck me up the arse because that’s all I’m good for, ey?” The touch of Remus’ sweaty thighs against his waist and the painful pressure of his spare hand, rooted deep in the flesh of Sirius’ shoulder blade, stirred revulsion in him for the first time. The insistent line of his cock against Sirius’ hip felt invasive and he tried to put an inch of distance between them, but Remus’ legs were like a vice. 

“You’re well used to having someone turn down your sheets for you, ey Black ? Perhaps you’d prefer an elf-”

“Remus if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to do something I regret-” 

“Do it then, Sirius,” that was crystal clear, spoken like a spell - with meaning and intent. “Go on then, crack. We’ll see how useful and perfect you are when you crack like your brother-”

The lights in the hallway sparked and blew and his hand was on Remus’ jaw before he could decide whether or not to move. His palm so hard against his mouth that he could feel the sharp edge of Remus’ teeth against his skin. His fingertips clenched at the angle of his jaw, hooked on the bone. It would mark the next day. 

Ridiculous that Remus was so easy to mark. And he thought himself so indestructible. 

Control having been swept from underneath him in one short moment, Remus lay there, breathing heavily from his nose, eyes still wide like prey, all humour and cheek gone. Sirius leaned in close enough that the cold tip of his nose touched Remus’ flushed cheek. 

“ Shut the fuck up and get out of my bed .”

Taking advantage of Remus’ shock, he wrenched himself free and took off to the bathroom to run a shower that was far too hot - hoping it might sterilise him. And if not that, at least the pain might take up all the space in his head so there wasn’t room for his shameful thoughts.

Chapter Text

16:18

3rd September 1979

Just outside Mindrum

Northumberland 

England

Fresh from the tender scar that had formed over his and Sirius’ days-long argument, he appeared, preoccupied and unenthusiastic, in the nothingness of green-belt that sat between small, rural hamlets at the Northern edge of England. The Autumn wind was persistent there, parting his hair and stinging his scalp. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his woolen travelling cloak and set off at a brisk pace for the National Park - a dark mass of pine trees that decorated the gently rolling hills before him. 

Following Kingsley’s advice, he’d spent a few days over the last few weeks making himself visible in the small collection of cottages and farmland that called itself Mindrum. Ideally, he would have had enough information to recognise and at least strike some conversation with the woman Kingsley had been fairly certain was the werewolf that had been reported in sightings for the last decade in the area. No such luck. 

He’d reassured himself that even if he didn’t know who they were, hopefully they would recognise him. Unsure of how many werewolves were in the area, but at least certain there was more than one, Moony was likely to run into them that night. If everything went to plan, they would be brought together the morning after, when he’d proven his status and bared his belly by appearing freshly transformed before them, and the trust would come easy.

Hopefully, that would be how it would all play out. The idea of turning up back at Sirius’ flat empty handed filled him with horror and he wasn’t sure if he could overcome the embarrassment of it. Not to mention having endured three weeks of awful tension for no reward. 

Up North, the days were still long even with Autumn’s approach, and he had plenty of time to meander his way into a lonely and dense area of woodland, far enough from the village that Moony would hopefully be more tempted by the company of other werewolves than the faint promise of human flesh. 

He scrambled up a steep, leaf-strewn slope until he was quite firmly off the beaten track, surrounded on all sides by tall trees and the intermittent rustling of squirrels and birds. The moon would be out before the sun set proper. It had been a while since he’d endured these long, light Northern moons outside. Not since Hogwarts. He allowed his mind to drift back to the better, simpler transformations as he set about shedding his layers and tucking them safely over a branch just above his head. Stood, shivering and goose-fleshed in his undershirt and pants, he set about casting the charm James had worked so hard on in sixth year to help him find his possessions later. The amount of times they had forgotten where they had shed their clothes before galivanting down the tunnel to collect Moony had become ridiculous. 

He sat on the ridge and waited for the moon to come. 

~ * ~

An unfamiliar place - waning light and harsh wind interrupted by trees. No friends to be seen, no comforts and no walls. 

The downwind masks the smell of vulnerable flesh to the East but carries the scent of a pack. And then the excitement of companionship and challenge.

Thudding footfalls, scrabbling on the uneven ground, the whistle and icy whipping of wind in the face, straining for a glimpse of baying, barking, howling. The thrilling pounding of hot blood behind ears and exhilarating unhampered stretch and power of running full-pelt without boundary or control.

Excited. Pure excitement. Giddy anticipation. Dappled moonlight and suspicious, curious silence. An approach and a flurry of limbs. The crunch and swish of disturbed leaves, clumps of fur catch the moonlight. No room for sight, all white teeth and red tongue and the warm metallic film of blood in the mouth. Scrabbling and screaming and excited, excited, terrified and giddy twisting and writhing and the thrilling cycle of overpowering and being overpowered. And the mist of hot, triumphant breath, and standing over the the belly-up opponent. A moment of silence and stillness in victory. 

Apologetic, or regretful, or thoughtless. Another’s blood on the tongue. And the approaching crunch of feet on dry leaves. 

Searing, teeth on flesh and brought to the ground, thudding heavy against soft soil and the solid weight of another creature with heavy misty breath above.

Overpowered, trapped and held, flesh between teeth. And, somehow, still the thudding of excitement.

~ * ~

08:27

Northumberland National Park

Kielder 

England

Remus woke up fizzing with some residual feeling, he had no idea what. Excitement, or fear. Maybe just adrenaline. He was oddly sticky. The kind of uncomfortable stickiness of sweat and whatever other bodily fluids that forced him and Sirius into giggling shared showers at one in the morning. There was no room in his post-transformation-scrambled-mind for wondering what the stickiness was. Just enough room to feel the discomfort of it, to smell the thick loam of soil close to his nose, to notice the occasional tickling of some bug or falling leaf landing on his still body on the forest floor. Just enough room to know that he was aching from head to toe as though he’d run a marathon, or staggered back into Sirius’ flat reeking of that gunpowder smell that seemed to settle in his clothes and hair after a heated battle of spells blasting into flesh and concrete and stone.

He lay there, and time washed by, his eyes half mast, looking out into the shadows of trees illuminated in weak, misty morning light, shivering intermittently, skin tight and rough with cold like a freshly plucked chicken. Damp, weak-limbed and soft-minded like a discarded newborn. 

Perhaps he fell asleep, or perhaps his mind just stopped producing thoughts, but there was a blissful, thoughtless period of waiting for the world to right itself that was interrupted by distant arguing and the crunch of leaves underfoot. 

He didn’t bother to right himself - the effort was too monumental. Instead, he resigned himself to whatever fate might befall him and lay there in acceptance. 

Bare feet, covered by soil and muck from walking across the forest floor, stopped before his eyes and he blinked at them - the effort of processing the noise of conversation and the sight of a stranger too much to comprehend at once. He closed his eyes and decided to listen instead. 

“Chris’ll kill him - better just to leave him-”

“He’s just as bad a state as she is, I’d be a hypocrite-”

“He’ll be a worse state if Chris sees him, honestly Mags, just leave him.”

A moment of silence, then the rustle of fabric. Remus opened his eyes again. Perhaps he’d make sense of what he was seeing now the chatter had stopped. 

The feet belonged to a woman, who was crouched down in front of him. Her legs were bare, but she was mostly covered by a simple brown dress that was easily recognisable as having been transfigured - there appeared to be no stitching. 

“You’re up?” 

He blinked at her. Her long, dark hair obscured most of the detail of her features as she crouched forward, but he could tell she was older than him. Somewhere between him and his parents in age, with a sharp European nose and dark, hooded eyes. 

“Hello?” She waved a hand across his field of vision and, apparently appeased, turned to the person Remus couldn’t see. 

“You might as well help me.” There was a finality in her that reminded him of Lily - once she’d decided something was the right thing to do, you’d be hard pressed to convince her otherwise. He felt cold hands on his shoulder and long, bony fingers wrap around his upper arm. 

“C’mon. I know you’re awake. Get up.” She tugged on him firmly and Remus resigned himself to wakefulness with a great effort. One long blink, and a stern talking to in the moment of darkness, and when he opened his eyes again, he had resolved to be somewhat cooperative. 

Remus planted a hand on the ground and forced himself up into a crouch, beyond caring that he was bollock-naked in the woodland. He caught sight of his own arm and noted instead of the pale skin he’d expected, there was a strange abstract pattern of sticky brown something . 

“Okay, finish the job,” ‘Mags’ insisted, tugging at him again. Obediently, he stood, feeling the deep ache in his legs and the itchy discomfort of leaves and small stones caught on his sticky flesh. Head full of static, he blinked hard, hoping to force away the lightheadedness. 

He was taller than ‘Mags’, but not by much. She was all sharp lines and dark shadow. The man loitered a few feet away. In his arms was a young woman, blonde hair and fair skin marred with that same brown substance that Remus then realised was half-dried blood. Her hair was clumped and streaked with it, hinting at some gruesome scalp wound. The mystery man appeared far too relaxed to be holding the weight of a grown woman, and so he could only assume a feather-light charm was in use. The lack of tenderness in his hold was quite apparent. Her head lolled back, throwing her bloodied neck out at an alarming angle. Her long legs dangled out by his side and had perhaps caught a few passing branches, judging by the fresh scratches on her ankles. 

Wizards, then. 

Hopefully, werewolves. 

Well, hopefully for him. Not for them. 

“That’s definitely the bloke.” Remus noticed the Scottish vowels this time. “The one I seen the other day. Remember I was telling you-”

“Yes, yes I remember.” Mags turned to Remus, still holding his arm as though he were a toddler at risk of running into traffic. “You might as well come with us. Know where your stuff is?”

She pulled her wand out and flicked it. A few seconds later, Remus’ wand flew through the trees and dropped at her feet. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, bending down carefully to collect it, mindful of his throbbing head. “You can let go of me, I won’t run anywhere.”

She did as asked and gestured politely to the man and his cargo. “Irvine and Freya,” she introduced. Irvine sent a frustrated scowl at having his name revealed. “And you?”

So addled by the post-full-moon goings on, he almost forgot. Almost . 

“R- Roman.” He set about summoning the rest of his belongings. “You’re the werewolves I was looking for, I suppose?”

One at a time, his clothes and bag dropped themselves before him and he pulled on the trousers, jumper and travelling cloak with shaky hands and didn’t bother himself with the rest, stuffing them into the depths of his satchel. Their silence was answer enough and he pulled his bag over his head, cringing as the weight of the strap forced the wool of his jumper into the open wound on his shoulder.

Mags looked from Irvine to Remus and Remus was quite sure there was some silent conversation happening that he wasn’t privy to. Without bothering to ask his permission, Mags gripped his arm again and he disappeared alongside her before he had time to object. 

09:32

North Cottage

Mindrum

Northumberland 

England 

He stumbled as soon as they arrived - Remus never had been graceful as a side-along passenger - and steadied himself on a nearby chair. There were no lights on, and the windows weren’t placed so as to show off the room in the morning light, but it was clearly someone’s home. Low-ceilinged and a touch cluttered, the furniture was too imposing for the space and the walls were partly obscured with large sheets of thick paper pegged to string which hung like a washing line between the walls. Once his eyes had adjusted to the indoors, Remus recognised them as drying paintings. 

Irvine deposited the woman - Freya - on the sofa and sent Remus a withering glance as he strode past him into another room. 

“Mags, is it?” Remus asked, feeling distinctly awkward in what he presumed was her house. 

“Maggie. Sit down, before you fall down.” 

Remus took her advice gratefully and dropped down into the chair, shrugging his bag off and rubbing his eyes with a touch more force than necessary - stars bursting behind his eyelids. 

Maggie sat herself on the arm of the sofa and eyed him. She didn’t seem overly suspicious, but perhaps cautious was the word. She must have charmed the majority of the muck off her feet at some point. Remus became aware of his own itchiness again at the memory of the leaves and soil he’d lain in and wished he were at Sirius’ flat under the steaming shower. 

“Is she, er… alright?” He nodded to Freya. Maggie looked over her shoulder at the young woman and levitated a blanket from the back of the sofa over her. 

“She’ll be fine. Stupefied her ‘cause she was getting hysterical. Maybe that was a bit unnecessary but I’m not dragging her through the woods like that with a pounding headache.”

Remus managed to contain his objection to a slight eyebrow raise and moved on. 

“And there’s another of you?” She knew what he meant. 

“Mm. Chris. He’ll turn up eventually, but hope you’re not here when he does. He’ll finish whatever you two started.”

Remus picked at the dried blood that was flaking at the crease of his neck. 

“Started?”

“You and Freya.”

She allowed him a moment for his still-slow mind to put two and two together. The two bloodied werewolves in the unfamiliar woodland and the fleeting memories of teeth and blood and excited fear. 

“I didn’t.” More of a plea than a statement. 

Maggie didn’t answer him, but fixed him with a hard stare. There was no pity in it, but no hint of accusation either. More like a motherly disbelief. The same disappointed annoyance that Hope had fixed him with when he’d climbed the bookcase only to have it fall on him. 

What did you think was going to happen?

“Christ, please tell me that wasn’t me,” he mumbled, dragging his hands through his hair. “Jesus.”

He thought he might vomit. That worst fear had finally come true, in some form. He’d attacked someone. Another werewolf, sure, and he hadn’t gotten away scot-free. His arms and back smarted with the claw and bite marks of a dark creature and his legs and hands were jittery from what he supposed was a mixture of adrenaline and blood loss, but still. 

She was just the same. And at his hand. 

Well, at his claws. But really, the court and his own conscience knew there was little meaningful difference. 

“Is this the first time?” There seemed to be a genuine disbelief in the question. 

He thought back to the long list of close calls. Of Madame Pomfrey coming down the tunnel a little too early, of the clinical trials he’d offered himself up for when the various potions and muggle medicines hadn’t had the desired effect. Of when he’d gone galivanting out with the boys with the naive belief that the excitement of exploring might overshadow the innate bloodlust in Moony. 

And of course, the time he’d nearly ripped Snape and James limb from limb. 

But this was the first time Moony had gotten his wish. It was a small condolence that he’d at least picked on someone his own size. 

He heard the panicked breathing as though down a phone line and only realised it was him when Maggie took out her wand. 

“I’ll knock you out too, if you can’t get a hold of yourself.” 

She seemed quite serious. 

Remus heaved a breath and sat on his hands, trying to be stern with himself. After all, it was hardly the move of an undercover agent to start crying in their target’s sitting room. 

And good thing, because Irvine appeared in the doorway clean, clothed, and with a sandwich in hand. He seemed at home, and Remus wondered if they were a couple. 

“So, what were you doing skulking around last week then?” He fixed Remus with such a direct stare that he wondered if he were searching for his soul. The horrifying notion that he might be a legilimens occurred to him, and Remus swiftly pushed all thoughts of Kingsley away from the surface of his mind. 

“Looking for you.” He coughed, embarrassed at his own lack of tact, and continued. “Well, not you specifically. I’d heard some rumours about this area over the years and well…” he rethreaded the story in his mind as he went, editing the bits that were likely to get him found out and keeping as much reality as possible. He wasn’t a fantastic liar. “I found myself without my usual… arrangement. It’s not a good time to be a lone werewolf - I’m sure you’ll agree.”

And for flavour, the finishing touch of believability, “I didn’t want to end up being picked up by Death Eaters.”

Irvine’s gaze flicked immediately to Maggie, who stared resolutely ahead. Apparently she was much more stoic than him. His guilt was written plain across his face. 

Likely to shake off his own discomfort, Irvine pressed on. “What rumours? We keep to ourselves here.”

That was easy - no need to lie too much. “Muggle conspiracy nonsense. They write about sightings, call in to radio stations, publish their beliefs in gossip columns and the like. It’s easy enough if you’re looking from the other side. If you know what a true sighting is.” Of course, Remus hadn’t bothered with all that. It was Kingsley and Mary who had done all of the leg work in that respect. 

They were silent, so Remus divulged a little more. He nodded to Maggie. 

“I did look up the area in the muggle directory. Not much going on, but I did see an illustrator registered.” He gestured around at the drying paper hanging from the strings. “I suppose that’s you?”

The clunk of Irvine’s glass making contact with a side table turned Remus’ attention and he came back into the room proper, perching himself on the edge of the squat, solid coffee table next to the still-stupefied-Freya. 

“Well, you’ve found us. Well done.” Remus wondered if he always faced everything so negatively. “If you’re behaving so wildly every moon, you can fuck off though. Are you freshly bitten or just an idiot?”

God, how he wished he were in Sirius’ flat, in Sirius’ bed, in Sirius’ arms, sleeping off this headache. 

“Hopefully neither. Had the problem for er... near a decade, but I’ve always had somewhere to hide, until now.” Well, that wasn’t a complete lie. 

A stir from the sofa turned their attention and Freya groaned miserably. 

“Oh brilliant,” Mags rolled her eyes. “This one to deal with now, too.”Irv, go run a bath - then I’ve somewhere to send her to.”

Remus couldn’t quite figure out the dynamic. Irvine and Maggie seemed a similar age, and equally as at home in the little cottage, but there didn’t seem to be a hint of fondness or affection in their interactions with each other. They were like two colleagues sharing an office space. 

Freya seemed young enough to be their child, but surely two werewolves hadn’t been irresponsible enough to have a child? And then there was the careless way Irvine had carried her. And the mysterious ‘Chris’ who would apparently ‘finish him off’.

Perhaps it was something like the Order, then? A strange gathering of people pushed into a similar life by outside forces and congregating in the same building, fighting the same fight, living the same life. Their existences becoming so intertwined that a strange familial feeling took over. And then an arguably unhealthy coupling off that could only happen when people of a similar age were forced to go through simultaneous fear and boredom together. 

Irvine made his escape just as Freya seemed to fully resurface and immediately set her sights on Maggie. 

“Did you fucking stun me?”

“We’ve got fresh meat.” Maggie pointed at Remus instead of answering. “Well, you’ve already had a taste.”

The sun had long since risen proper and unfortunately, the lighting was enough that there was no hiding Remus’ red ears. Freya threw Maggie a dirty look and sat up, the blanket dropping to her waist, revealing her still-naked torso.

“Mags, that the fuck - you could have transfigured me something.”

Maggie had repositioned herself, now cross-legged on the sofa’s arm so she no longer had her back to Freya. 

“Oh please, I’m sure he’s seen a tit before.”

Remus choked and buried himself in his satchel, half to find something for Freya to throw on and half to hide his face. He unearthed the undershirt he hadn’t bothered to put back on and threw it to her. She didn’t thank him, but put it on anyway. 

He would have to be careful. Having decided that Maggie and Irvine were certainly more than seven years older than him, he’d felt quite safe, but seeing Freya awake had confirmed that she could easily have been within Hogwarts years of him. He didn’t recognise her, but that didn’t mean much. There were plenty of students in the years above and below that he never spared more than a passing glance. 

“You’re the one I bit, then?” She asked, nodding to him. Remus’ hand crept unconsciously to his shoulder. 

“Yeah. Sorry. About the fight.” His voice was small and tight, and he couldn’t help but think that Lily or Sirius would have been much better at pulling this off. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like I didn’t fight you back.” She seemed genuinely unconcerned and it was such a harsh contrast to his own sickening guilt that Remus struggled to believe her. “Unless you planned it, I suppose.”

“Of course not.”

“Well then.”

A moment of silence. 

“Haven’t seen him since the moon set,” Mags supplied in answer to some silent question that Remus wasn’t privy to. 

Freya locked eyes with Remus and raised her eyebrows. He recognised the gesture of friendly silent communication, but wasn’t sure how to read the stranger. Peter or Lily were one thing - he’d spent the past seven years learning what their silent expressions meant - but the abrupt casual interaction she was willing to have with him after he’d tried his best to tear her apart a few hours ago was jarring. 

“Hope he hasn’t seen the state we’re in, or you’re fucked, mate.”

Ah . The elusive ‘Chris’, then. 

“So I’ve been warned.”

Mags shooed Freya up from the sofa and she wrapped herself in the sofa blanket like a cape. “Irv ran a bath for you. Get out of here. There’s dittany in the bathroom.”

Freya let herself be pushed towards the doorway, through which Remus could see a staircase in the gloom of the windowless hall. Once they were alone, Maggie closed the living room door. 

“So you were looking for us? You transformed nearby because… what? You wanted to run into us? Ending up here is what you wanted - I suppose?” Again, she was straightforward, and there was no wiggle room for getting out of the accusation, but there was no malice behind it. Remus thought, jealously, of Freya in a nice hot, quiet bath upstairs as he dug around in his throbbing head for an appropriate answer. 

“I didn’t know he was going to attack her. Surely you understand that. I’m not trying to get out of the blame or anything, but just know it wasn’t a plan to-”

She waved a hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, I know that. No one here other than you is surprised or upset about that. I do think you owe us some information. When were you bitten? You said it wasn’t recent.”

Aah, which story to go with? He was safe from Irvine and Maggie, they were definitely before his time, but Freya was a problem. Hopefully, if he didn’t recognise her, she hadn’t recognised him, but it was dangerous ground. 

Much more dangerous was telling a story too close to the truth. He would hate to give away too much and have his father pulled into the limelight. 

“I was thirteen.” He finally settled on, remembering Hestia’s advice that less was more, and to resist the urge to add detail. 

She offered him a sympathetic smile that was not ingenuine, but definitely wasn’t intuitive. Purposeful, to give the impression of sympathy from someone thoroughly desensitised. 

“That’s young. Must have been a similar time to Freya. Greyback?”

“Yes-” it was automatic. He didn’t put it through the filter of what fit into his safe narrative options. He hoped his hair was wild enough to hide his red ears. “Er, how old was she?”

“Eleven.”

He thought back to himself, all soft and wide-eyed, excited for the letter, for the trip to Diagon Alley, for the train to come. How painful to have that all snatched away at the last moment. 

“That’s– that’s brutal.” At least his horrifying memories of Greyback’s attack were blurred by time and the loose recollection of a young child, but hers would surely be sharper, clearer and all the more frightening for it. 

“Not the worst of it.” Maggie muttered, not looking at him. Remus decided not to press, so she moved on. “So, what brings you looking for kin now? What happened to your previous arrangement?”

“They’re gonna ask what you were doing before - it’s not like you can claim to be freshly bitten - they would have heard.” Marlene was brushing the end of her quill thoughtfully across her cheek. “And if you even mention having been at Hogwarts as a werewolf they’ll have you immediately.”

Remus nodded, sipping on his glass and twisting his face. He didn’t really like white. 

“Yeah, I’ll have to say I dropped out. There’s no other way around it.”

They were sitting on the counter in Mary’s little galley kitchen and working on Remus’ options for lies that he would feed his soon-to-be-kin. 

“So I can keep Mam - that’s safe enough. She can have kept me until a year or two ago. It’s not that untrue - the coal cellar still worked well enough when I was home for the holidays in sixth and seventh.” 

“Well, can you have stayed with her?” Mary was only half in the conversation, busying herself flipping through The Prophet as though there might be anything useful, or even truthful in there. 

“No, he needs to be alone. Or why would he even go, you know?”

Remus nodded vaguely and the idea came, but caught in his chest. Marlene seemed to sense the thought appear and raised her eyebrows. 

“Oh?"

Suddenly embarrassed by his own anxiety, he forced it out past his lips before he could think further about it. 

“Well, how about a relationship breakdown? I mean, that’s not so far from the truth, right? I don’t have a real job, I do live off Sirius’ money, pretty much. If it weren’t for the Order, if we broke up, I’d be wandering loose across the countryside.”

Mary folded the paper. “Oh yeah, that’ll work actually. Because didn’t you two have an argument recently? The emotion will make it more believable-”

“Thanks Mary.” 

Well, she’d been right, at least. 

The strange, strained truce that had been built between them in the weeks between the Order meeting and his appearance in Northumberland wasn’t enough to hold back the anxious worry that it would all be over in the blink of an eye. Not enough to hold back the all-too-real fear that he was simply practising for what would be the rest of his miserable, lonely life by seeking out those he really belonged with. 

Maggie listened with the detached and practised sympathy of a person who had been through worse, yet understood that it would be unhelpful to act as such. 

He made to stand - the sickening feeling of speaking his concerns into existence screaming at him to walk away from the discomfort - but he swayed, staggered, and blinked the colourful fizzing away from the edges of his vision as Maggie caught him by the arm again. 

“There’s dittany in the bathroom, just knock if Freya’s still marinating in there. We won’t be up to much the rest of the day.”

She pulled him to the bottom of the stairs and gave him a gentle nudge and he understood the invitation to spend that strange, wasted, post-moon day with them. 

12:53

North Cottage

Mindrum

Northumberland 

England 

The already-heavy curtains by the sitting room window had been charmed to a sturdy thickness that blocked enough light so Freya and Remus could kid themselves that it was evening. Clean, dry, bundled in a combination of real and transfigured blankets on a makeshift bed on the floor, his recent injuries smarting with the reassuring sting of dittany, he was quite content. Not as content as he might have been wedged into Sirius’ side, but arguably happier than he had expected. 

Out of Gryffindor gentlemanliness (and a still present sense of unatoned-for guilt) he insisted Freya take the sofa and she had barely offered a polite refusal before burying herself and throwing the blanket over her head to block out the little remaining light. He lay on the carpet, as comfy as he could make himself with the collection of mismatched pillows he’d collected and listened to droning of Irvine and Maggie talking upstairs - their words obfuscated by the thick walls and Remus’ sleepy mind. 

“Mags said you’re one of Greyback’s too?” It was muffled into the sofa cushions and Remus struggled to process it. 

“Mmm,” he agreed, too tired to encourage much more chatter than that. 

Another few moments of stillness cloaked in the comfort of other people going about their lives nearby. 

“Did you get to go?”

He knew she meant Hogwarts. 

And, of course, he was here for information. And of course, if Freya would open up to him in this quiet moment, it was the perfect opportunity to steer the conversation to somewhere more useful to him. 

But above all else, all he could picture was the eleven year old girl who spent that much-anticipated year coming to terms with an affliction that would soil everything in her life that ever brought her any joy. 

“Yeah.”

He heard the rustling and assumed she had rolled over, but didn’t turn to look at her. Some conversations were best held without direct scrutiny. 

“What’s it like?”

“Hmm… Well…” He searched for the right thing to say. Not too truthful - he didn’t want to tease her - but he didn’t want to lie, either. “It’s rather like muggle boarding school I suppose. If the books I read were accurate. But the lessons a touch more-”

“No, I know what it’s like , I’ve spoken to my ma and read books or whatever. I mean what’s it like for, you know, us?”

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. It was mad that he’d been lying since he was five years old, and he still did not have an aptitude for it. 

“I didn’t go back, once I was bitten. I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh.”

Oh. Oh how he would love to share those maddeningly dream-like days where he was permitted to pretend, for twenty-eight days out of the lunar month, that he was just like everyone else. Oh how he would love to share with somebody who understood the achingly brilliant significance of those years where it was all twenty-nine. Of those days where, not only had he found people who loved and cared enough to befriend him despite the affliction, but had made it their mission to fill the most torturous nights of his life with bright, searing light. 

A long stretch of silence - long enough that he couldn’t be sure if he’d fallen asleep or not when Freya disturbed him again. 

“Where did you stay? After you were bitten, I mean.”

“Mmm?” He sat up in the dim light to stop himself from falling asleep mid-sentence. “Well, I lived with my mother a few years after.” Again, he was holding his tongue, lest he give himself away. But Freya was easy to talk to and his mind was soft with sleep. A little encouraging silence was enough to keep him chatting.

“And then after her, I lived with my b-” he stumbled, and corrected himself. “My partner.”

Freya laughed, soft, with a touch of derision. “Being queer is the least of your concerns, Roman . Don’t bother.”

He could feel his ears burning. 

“Right.”

He risked a glance at her. She was still buried in the throw blankets, just her face peeking out, her eyes locked on him and he was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of self-consciousness. The purely vain things - that his hair was probably sticking up at the back from lying on the ground, his face pale in the weak light, that he was slouched like an overworked house elf. But also the sins and mistakes that might be written all over another’s image of him. The monster that came out of nowhere, the snake, the liar, the traitor. A manipulator. Some kind of wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

He plucked at his wool jumper and laughed at himself. 

“Can I tell you something awful?”

The buzzing feeling of another’s eyes on him quietened and he nodded. 

“I- my…” She trailed off and started again, attacking the thing from a safer angle. 

“You seem- no offence, Roman- but you seem a bit, er… a bit soft, like.” He took it without question. She wasn’t wrong. “Well I’m just meaning to say, you shouldn’t worry about the fight. I think you’re worried about the fight, but really don’t bother. And if you run into Chris, don’t let him bother you either.” She paused for breath. Remus knew a self-propelling ramble that would later be regretted when he heard one. 

“If that’s the worst you’ve done in like, I dunno, eight years, your hands are pretty clean, for a werewolf.”

Remus didn’t correct her on the maths. 

“Thanks, I think.”

Chapter Text

7th September 1979

13:19

Mindrum

Northumberland 

England 

The time between one moon and the next was a soupy sludge of mess which saw Remus flitting between the little cottage in Mindrum, various Order safehouses and Lily and James’ flat. Like a ghost visiting old haunts, he couldn’t quite manage to slot into his own life in quite the same way - as though a veil had been drawn between him and his friends. 

After having reported to Kingsley (somewhat smugly) that he was in and choosing to let the information disseminate into the Order and therefore avoiding the pressing issue of Sirius for the next few days, he returned to Mindrum. He spent most of his time talking with Freya. Fond of a long walk and the Autumn chill in her hair (and much more open than either Maggie or certainly Irvine) she was both a sensible option to try and gather information from, and an easy option for Remus, who tended to feel on the backfoot with the older two. 

They talked of Hogwarts, usually. That was the source from which all of their conversations flowed, walking side-by-side through the rolling, gentle landscape and enjoying the rare company of someone similar . 

Talk of Hogwarts would turn to talk of friends and Remus would try and indulge her questions with enough honesty as was safe. He moulded together the personalities of his schoolmates into an even smaller handful, edited their names, their backgrounds, their closeness . The only one about whom he did not lie, was Sirius. 

Initially, his thinking was that; as Sirius was already a part of his story, he could exist as himself. Over several conversations, he realised that it was more than that. Freya wanted to draw it out of him, like a parasite, or some other such affliction, and he would yield - a part of him recognising that he was better for it. He’s brilliant, witty, so handsome, skilled. A temper on him, but none of us is perfect. The most loyal man you would ever meet-

“And so what finished it all?”

Well, how he’d tied himself up in knots there. 

Because I wanted to make myself useful at the expense of his feelings . 

“Just a domestic, really. I was drunk, and said things I shouldn’t have. Brought up his brother when… I should never have. He died recently. I was an arse, to be honest.”

She laughed a knowing kind of laugh - hollow and without humour. 

“We’re similar people, I think.”

“Oh?”

As far as he could see, it was untrue. In the four days they had spent on and off in each other’s company she had been bright, forgiving and stubborn. 

He was hardly known for sticking to his morals. 

“I love a man like that too, I suppose.” Again, she laughed at herself. 

“You’re talking about Chris?”

Remus still hadn’t really met him. He’d heard him talking to Freya in the street outside Mag’s house. He’d heard of him, here and there, never anything too positive. He’d even caught a glimpse of him from a good distance coming into the little hamlet. He was quite recognisable - there weren’t many black men in rural Northern England. 

“There’s been times we’ve argued and we haven’t spoken for several moons - but we always end up back together. I suppose some couples are just like that. It’s like we can’t help ourselves.”

Remus would have been lying if he’d said he didn’t relate to that feeling. Even after the incident in fifth year that had nearly ruined his and Severus’ lives, when he’d been angrier than he ever knew he could be at another - at a friend…

They had somehow, through the thornbush and the sludge, trudged back to one another. 

The whole guise of their trek had been under the promise of Remus teaching her some handy duelling spells but neither of them had so much as reached for their wands in the half hour that they’d been safe in the solitude of the countryside. 

“Chris lost his brother, too.” She stole a sideways glance at him when she said it and he met her eyes, but kept quiet - leaving space for the details. It was a while before she continued.

“He got loose. Killed a muggle boy.”

Remus sighed, heavily. He remembered sitting on the stairs, eight years old, and listening to his parents’ whispered arguments stemming from the same fear. 

“Fucking hell.”

“Yeah.”

She quickened her pace, setting off determinedly uphill so she could catch the cool breeze face-on. Remus lagged behind her, quietly wondering if that inevitable day would come for him too. There were only so many years you could hold a loaded gun without pulling the trigger. 

“Did the Ministry get him?” He'd heard rumours - mainly from his own father in the aftermath of his rash registration a few months ago - that the Ministry would vanish werewolves that had been caught after attacks - particularly in the last few years when the Ministry had begun to match the brutality of the forces they opposed. 

“No.” She turned, and the wind caught her dirty blonde hair, tangling it across her face. “Killed himself.”

He didn’t know what the appropriate reply was to that, so he said nothing, watching the wind play with her hair and wondering if a similar existence waited for him in the future, if he ever made it out of the war. 

“I think most werewolves have tried.”

He understood that this was her revealing to him that she had done exactly that. She brushed her hair impatiently out of her face and corralled it into a knotty ponytail. 

Sirius would accuse this mission of being his own, thinly veiled attempt

“We can use this tree trunk.”

“What?” Freya turned to where he’d wandered too, standing in the sparse shade of a young tree.

“For throwing the shield charm. You still want me to teach you?”

10th September 1979

16:03

17 Miller Court

Marville Road

Angel, Islington

England

Lily was boneless in the corner of the sofa, her socked feet on the coffee table, absently stirring a cauldron perched on the just-visible kitchen countertop with a lazy continuous spin of her wand. 

“Have you spoken to Sirius?” 

“What do you think?” Remus was immediately grumpy at the mention of Sirius and tucked himself further into the safety of the opposite corner, his chin to his chest. “It’ll only end in tears.”

“Not if you admit you were a prick.” She was realistic as always. Sometimes Remus envied James for that - for a partner who knew themselves, was sure of themselves, and made it clear where they stood and what they thought. 

But it was all part of Sirius’ allure (and he assumed the same nonsense must be part of his own). 

“Easier said than done.”

“It’s really not. C’mon Remus, I mean, you must see how he sees it-"

“I know I was rude, but Lily, you must see - I’m not wrong ! He does treat me that way. Stay home, stay safe, stay out of it - it’s ridiculous. Would you believe he was the one pulling me into nonsense back in school - now, all of a sudden, he’s the one dragging me out.”

“This isn’t school, Remus.”

He knew that. 

He knew that - he wasn’t foolish. 

He studied her - the frizzy haired girl he had shared the past seven years with at a much safer distance than the boys. Safe enough to see the full image - to see things plainly. 

“I wish it were. Not exactly, but… I’m worried that the best I’ll ever have is behind me.”

She studied him right back. He watched her twirling wand instead of look into her careful gaze. He wondered what she saw. Maybe the reality of him. A useless almost-man. A mangy dog, sullying her sitting room sofa upon which she undoubtedly laid, cleanly, innocently, morally good, with her handsome fiance. Here he was, pitiful, tremblingly grateful to be let into a space he didn’t belong - a dirty, scrawny thing. 

But then, where did he belong? Because Mag’s house was hardly a refuge for him, either.

“I know you’re sitting there thinking untrue things to yourself,” she accused, dryly. “Stop it. It’s not attractive.”

“You’re engaged.”

“I still know when a man is being unattractive, Lupin.”

He could see it, if they ever made it out of the war. The two of them, in a sweet little house somewhere, sickeningly well-adjusted (other than the horrors of conflict, that is) with a child or two. 

If only that ruling to force sterilisation on registered werewolves had gone through. Then these wistful possibilities would be cut off at their source and he could stop kidding himself that he might someday have that too. 

Twisted and cursed as it might be.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself on my sofa. Jesus.”

In retaliation, he grinned maniacally at her, and she stuck out a leg to kick him in the thigh. 

A muggle timer dinged and she stilled her hand abruptly. 

“Well, it’s moon-bathing time, I suppose.”

“You- what?”  

Lily jumped up and disappeared into the little kitchen, her voice trailing after her. 

“This bloody potion - would you believe the faff? Every other night it has to sit outside under the bloody moon. I’ve never had to baby-sit a potion like this.” She returned with the small cauldron levitating in front of her. 

“You better get us some good intel, Remus.”

23:07

16/7 Landor Road

Angel, Islington

England

Remus turned up the collar of his cloak against the wind that assaulted the barely enclosed doorstep of Landor Road flats and screwed his eyes closed in the hope that, if he didn’t look at what he was about to do, it might make it easier. 

His finger found the bell for flat 16 with the same practiced ease of pulling on his own socks every morning and the distant, tinny buzz that echoed through the block was final. No going back. 

He waited, and it felt like too long. Perhaps he was out, maybe at the safehouse. Perhaps he, rightfully, was not going to answer the muggle buzzer at eleven at night. 

Footsteps on the stairwell. 

The front door opened and there he was, cast in the gentle orange glow of the streetlights. A rumpled, unbuttoned pair of jeans and bare feet. He’d been in bed and pulled on the first thing he’d found on the floor, most likely. 

“Did you lose your key?”

“It felt rude to barge in.”

“It didn’t feel rude to buzz me after dark in wartime?”

Remus turned his face away, rightfully chastised.

“Well, show me your patronus.”

Remus obliged, going through the security check with a wave of his wand. Moony materialised at Sirius’ side in the dark stairwell and shot Remus one apologetic look before bounding up the stairs and fizzling out of existence. 

He followed Sirius up to their flat. 

It was messy, but that wasn’t uncommon. There were no lights on, and Sirius’ open bedroom door revealed his recently vacated bed. Parchment littered the low coffee table - notes, newspaper, interior maps. Sirius lazily waved his wand and they re-bound themselves and stacked up in a shadowy corner. 

Lily hadn’t mentioned any progress with the Edinburgh office head-off. 

Surely they didn’t think he was compromised?

Surely he wasn't going to take that to heart?

He chastised himself - he’d been the one volunteer himself to go undercover. He could hardly expect to be privy to all the details of the Order’s intentions. 

It still stung. 

He shirked off his cloak and slung it over the back of a chair. Sirius was watching him with careful eyes. He advanced, one step, then two. Remus didn’t step back, willing to take whatever might come - a kiss, a telling off, a slap. He flinched when Sirius’ arm reached past him, but he only flicked on the light. 

“What’s that?”

“Hmm?”

“Remus, what the fuck is that mark?”

Sirius took him by the shoulders and pulled down the collar of his jumper, hands rough with fright and concern. His face twisted as he revealed more and more. Remus batted his hands away when the fabric of his clothes complained. 

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Remus don’t fuck with me-”

“Really, Sirius-”

“Take it off.” 

“What? No-”

“Take it off, Remus what the fuck-”

Sirius’ face was frightful. Wide, grey eyes like a frightened child, but his mouth was set - lips pale. It was hard to know whether to feel protective or fearful when he looked at him like that. 

And so he obliged, pulled off the jumper, and stood awkwardly, half dressed in Sirius’ front room. The overhead light shone unfavourably on him and the change in temperature had the gooseflesh prickling over him. Sirius returned his hands to Remus’ neck, but much more gently this time, tracing the uneven, ragged marks that were still smarting and red with careful fingers all the way down past his shoulder blade. 

“Moony didn’t do this.”

“No.”

Sirius’ fingers were still hovering on his shoulder and Remus resisted the urge to lean into it like a touch-starved dog. Despite the avoidance, he’d been missing Sirius like a physical ache and even this prickly, frightened Sirius was welcome - like a trickle of water on parched lips.

“Are… are you alright?”

His voice was hoarse, as though the words were painful on the way out. Remus nodded, but it didn’t ease Sirius’ wide-eyed expression. 

He sighed, and took Sirius’ hands in his, pulling them away from the lingering marks from Moony’s fight with Freya. 

“Sirius, I’m fine. I’m obviously fine, I’m right here.”

He nodded, dumbly, staring straight through Remus.

“Sirius.”

He was flailing madly, out in deep water, and Sirius was giving him precious little to hold on to. 

And so they stood there, hand in hand under the bright, yellow glow of the ceiling light, underdressed and missing each other, despite being as close as they had been in the last few weeks. 

“I missed you.”

Sirius didn’t answer, his eyes drifted off away from Remus’ face to the dark window. 

“Did you miss me?”

God, he sounded pathetic. 

“I was worried about you.” Were Sirius’ eyes wet?

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Someone attacked you- a werewolf-”

“It wasn’t like that-”

Sirius’ hands clenched in his. “Remus, you’ve turned up on my doorstep in the middle of the night- you’ve been avoiding me for weeks - you’ve seen James, Lily, Peter, Mary, whatever, but now you turn up at my door and it looks like someone tried to peel you like an orange Jesus Christ can you stop waving it off ?”

Despite his bristling with Lily, now that Sirius was in front of him, he found that his heart was unexpectedly soft. He recognised the anger, the sharp tone, for what it was. Blatant fear, fed over the last few weeks, months, even years, by the series of disappearances, deaths, traitors, captures and torturings. That desperate need to both have the things you loved held close to your chest at all times, but yet to keep them distant and at arms’ length, lest you become more deeply attached than you already were. Lest it hurt, even more if that were possible , when the inevitable came. 

It occurred to Remus, then, that they weren’t going to make it out alive. 

Of course, the thought had entered his mind plenty over the last year. The knowledge that people died at war - the knowledge that people that they knew had died. Regulus was still fresh in both of their minds, after all. This was different. Like a promise, whispered to him like his mother would whisper I’ll see you in the morning each night. 

He allowed himself the simple pleasure of a calming breath - filled with the smell of Sirius, concentrated by recent sleep - and a long, slow look at the man he loved. 

The likelihood that the two of them would see the end of the war - that they would be able to stand like this, hand in hand - was slim to none. And rather than filling him with dread, or panic, or the notion that there might be something he could do to stop it, instead the inevitability soothed him and he pulled Sirius closer. 

To his surprise, Sirius obliged, falling into his arms with careless grace - his face pressed into the fresh marks that marred his neck. 

“You can’t keep me under lock and key. We both chose this.”

Sirius hummed his reluctant agreement into Remus’ shoulder.

“Thank you for having me back.”

20th September 1979

10:15am

Mindrum

Northumberland 

England 

Sitting in Mags’ house in Mindrum, or sitting in the Harrow and Wealdstone Order safehouse - what was the difference, really?

Particularly as he was perpetually on the edge of his seat, so to speak, in both. 

They had all joined together. As soon as they were permitted. Fresh out of Hogwarts, heads full of hexes and not enough bad guys to test them out on. Fuelled by the attractive notion of resistance and undercover and doing their bit . 

Well, he was part of the undercover resistance right now, doing his bit, so why did he feel more like his childhood self, following his father to work for the day and sitting awkwardly in his office, watching people who knew each other talking than he did the freedom fighter he’d fancied himself to be at seventeen?

She was painting. 

The paintings were good, actually. Remus had never been an artist. Peter had an eye for accuracy, but he had never witnessed him draw anything other than diagrams and maps. Mags’ artwork had a much different quality. Not existing, as Peter’s did, for the purpose of literal illustration after all, he had been the one with the steady hand who had drawn their final version of the Marauder’s Map ) but to pull out a feeling. He stood from his awkward spot on the sofa and craned his neck to appreciate one that was drying, pegged to the twine that ran from one doorframe to the other across the sitting room. 

A woodland, blue-dark, with the ethereal glow of a unicorn illuminating the tree trunks. 

He remembered the short, soft fur of its nose on his palm back in first year. That, and the feeling of irrefutable validation that he was good and that he belonged . 

Perhaps those notions were relegated to Hogwarts, but it had been good (maybe too good) while it lasted. 

“Freya said you and your boyfriend broke up.” Mags didn’t look at him when she spoke. Her eyes were still fixed on the paper she had pinned to the rickety easel by the small window. 

There was no point refuting it. 

“How many people know you’re a werewolf, Roman ?”

He didn’t like the unnecessary use of his fake name, and wondered, as he did whenever he heard it, if they really believed it to be true. 

“My parents, and the partner in question.”

“No one else?”

No accusing. More like, disbelieving. 

“Well, not unless Greyback told people, I suppose.”

“And us.”

He turned to face the back of her head. Her hand was still - hovering over the paper. 

“And you.”

She went back to her painting and Remus settled himself back onto the sofa, feeling the weight of too much time pressing on him. 

It was one thing, at the full moon, to spend the day with these people - one chaotic day that gleaned a wealth of information. But this post-moon period, this month of quiet, normal-ish life that he was intruding in felt cruel and deeply dishonest. 

Well, he supposed it was deeply dishonest. 

Sitting on the living room sofa with Mags while she calmly did her actual job was not what he’d imagined being undercover would be like. 

“You spend a lot of time with wizards.” A bland observation. 

“I suppose. What do you mean?”

She finally turned to look at him, and dropped the brush into a cup of murky water. 

“I mean you don’t spend time with other werewolves. This is the first time, isn’t it?”

He nodded and shrugged, not bothering to elaborate, but there was no point contesting what was obviously the truth. He waited for her to go further, feeling the conversation stretched out before him like a dark forest path. 

Safer to let her lead the way.

“How is it, to double the number of people who know?” 

While it hadn’t truly doubled, there was something there - it was a frightening card to lay on the table. A frightening hand to play. 

“It’s less frightening than before.”

“Because we’re also werewolves?”

He nodded, even though she hadn’t turned to look at him. 

“You should know that werewolf colonies are not exclusive, Roman.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“The four of us- well, the three of us, usually- this is an unusually small group.”

That seemed accurate. Whenever a colony had been found out (and subsequently brutally attacked until the Ministry showed up to brutally attack them in a more legal manner) it tended to be groups of between ten and twenty - sometimes even with children. 

“Is it safer this way?” 

Mags shrugged. “Safer from wizards. Less safe from other werewolves. And so we aren’t exclusive. Irvine and Chris spend a good bit of time in some of the larger colonies over the Scottish border. Freya won’t risk mixing with Greyback-” an involuntary shudder overtook him at the thought of being face-to-face with him . “But it’s a necessity - you understand?”

“I suppose. Why…?”

“Well, I thought it best to be transparent, if you’re going to be around.”

Around . 

It had been one moon. 

“I’m not proposing to you, Howell.”

Right . 

“I just don’t want you to be under some… delusion, I suppose, that this is a closed group. That secrets are safe. I would hate for you to be caught out from being wet behind the ears, but as much as colonies keep us from being completely socially outcasted, at the end of the day-”

“It’s every man for himself, yeah. I get it.”

He wondered if the Order would dissolve into a similar kind of paranoia.