Unintended Intentions, Chapter 6: Intransigence
Genre: Romance, Drama, Humor.
Characters: Marauders, etc.
Universe: Set in an AU London, with a King instead of a Queen (will come into the plot later).
Warning: May eventually contain homosexuality, if offended, please do not hesitate to stop reading.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1: Apotheosis | Chapter 2: Antithesis | Chapter 3: Anamnesis | Chapter 4: Adumbration | Chapter 5: Crepuscule
Unintended Intentions
Chapter 6: Intransigence
Anyone bumping into him would immediately regret looking into his eyes. They held a particular hardness, a pinch of cruelty and a dangerous hint of unbridled violence. His thin, pale lips were set in a grim straight line, his beautiful high cheekbones accentuating a certain aristocratic air about him - despite his unkempt beard, shoulder-length hair and grimy, dull-coloured attire. He stood outside the door, body stock still as his eyes scanned the streets for unwelcomed eyes and ears. Satisfied that there were none, he signalled to his other two comrades - a quick, curt jerk of the head and a silent snarl - and entered the pub.
They were greeted with silence, and it was only for a brief moment that they were spared a glance by the pub's clients. Sensing that the trio came without any air of official authority, the rest of the inhabitants settled into their muttered conversations, ignoring their presence. As long as they kept to themselves and didn't attract any attention, they were left alone. They settled down in a better-lit area of the room, knowing that they had nothing to fear since they held some modicum of respect in this area of the town.
The reputation was earned, subtly so but was earned nonetheless. They were the Feared Three, and anyone knew better than to cross paths with them. Especially with Dolohov. His prowess in close-range combat and his unpredictable surges of violence were enough reasons to keep people at bay and on guard at all times.
Yaxley - a stocky, blonde-haired man with an ever-present sneer - signalled for three pints of beer for the three of them. Rowle leaned back in his seat, his blue eyes darting left and right as he watched for their client to arrive. They were expecting an Englishman, and no doubt he would be the perfect candidate to be presented to their superior. He fulfilled all the criteria of a perfect puppet - greedy, ambitious, and extremely short-sighted and therefore a fool - judging from the sound of the letter.
The bell above the door chimed. Rowle and Yaxley turned towards the door immediately, both stilling themselves, looking very much like a pair of cheetahs about to spring upon an antelope. Dolohov remained quiet, and did not look up. Instead, he kept his hands in his pocket, gripping the hilt of his dagger lightly in preparation for an attack. Yaxley let in a sharp intake of breath, and Dolohov looked up - sensing the man's apprehension. Slowly he turned, his lips pressed tighter as his eyes narrowed a fraction - a sure sign that he too was perplexed at the sudden turn of events.
A rough, dirty-looking man limped towards them; the wrinkles around his face making his greeting smile look like a hideous sneer that made them shudder lightly. The man walked purposefully towards them, and they knew better than to think he was mistaken. He held out his hand, his mouth agape at what looked like a friendly smile and his voice was expectedly gruff and bore all hints of uncouthness unaccustomed to propriety.
"Hello, gents. I'm right on time, aren't I?"
"Sit down," Dolohov ordered, gesturing to the seat between Yaxley and Rowle.
"Alright."
Yaxley scrunched his nose, glaring at Dolohov for a moment, who looked unperturbed despite the brief whiff of a familiar aroma of dung, sewer and urine drifted past him and next to Yaxley. He waited until the man was thoroughly settled in his seat, before sparing his two colleagues a brief glance, a faint smirk on his lips indicating that he knew exactly why they wanted to strangle him so badly now. Alas, there was nothing to be done. He was their leader, and they knew it.
"Pardon us, but we were expecting a distinguished," his lips curled in a sneer, though the man was unruffled by the suggestion, "gentleman."
"I'm under his orders," he answered brusquely, bushy eyebrows furrowed rather comically at him.
"I see." He was disturbed by this new piece of information, realising now that despite the English fool's stupidity, he was also a cunning fox.
"So where's the toffee?"
"There is no toffee," Rowle replied, coolly.
"Why not?" The man sounded like a petulant child, his scowl deepening as Dolohov's humourless smile widened.
"We have a proposal for your boss."
"You said we'll have the toffee now."
Yaxley kept his tell-tale fists hidden from view, but Dolohov caught sight of the flexing of the muscles of his jaw, and nudged him with his feet, gently. It would not do to have one of them losing their temper right now. The blonde shot him a quick look, before staring hard at Rowle, who smirked when he perceived what was going on.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Dolohov replied coolly, bringing the mug up to his lips as he took a good gulp of beer. He saw a flash of fear pass the man's eyes, and when he set the mug down again, the man was had already pushed back his chair.
"What are you doing?" Yaxley asked, through gritted teeth.
"You're not Greyback's."
Rowle snorted in contempt. "Of course not."
"You- you're trying to trick me."
"We are not trying to do such things," Dolohov clarified tersely.
"What do you want?"
"Sit down, please."
"Why should I? You're just out to trap us!" He stood up, earning a few curious stares in their direction.
Without a word, Yaxley yanked the man down, squeezing the man's arm as tight as he could to make him understand the scene he was causing could potentially harm them all. The filthy beggar didn't seem to care, though he did wince, and had quietened down into sullenness.
"We are his colleagues, with a very different, but highly profitable business model in mind."
"Yeah? Well you can shove it up your arse."
"Listen, you rat," Rowle spat at him, already losing a bit of his patience.
"The name's Crowley," he spat back, though was generally ignored.
"This, is what we have in mind." As he said it, he took out a folded paper from his coat, and pushed it towards the man. "Can you read?" He smiled congenially, when he saw a flash of annoyance pass through the man's contorted features.
Yaxley relaxed his grip, clearly calmed by the man's silence as he read the document. Rowle lit up a cigarette, offering one to each of them, and both refused.
"I don't understand."
"Don't expect you to," Rowle mumbled, smirking when he saw the rat - as he called him now - glare at him.
"What don't you understand?" Dolohov took over, though even his patience was wearing thin.
"Why'd you need us for this?"
"Ah." He smiled, and leaned back in his seat. "I do not know, either. We are simply under orders, just like you."
The man didn't retort, and scrutinised them one by one in turn, apparently gauging for some bit of trust. "And if he refuses?" He finally spoke.
"Then you may resume your contact with Greyback."
"No consequences?" The man didn't seem to like him, Dolohov thought, as he narrowed his eyes at him now.
"We have nothing to be afraid of."
The man's eyes widened in some fearful understanding, realising the implications of the words. Yaxley and Rowle smirked, and exchanged quick looks.
"Alright. I'll- I'll let him know."
"Very good." In a swift motion, the three men stood up, and walked briskly towards the exit. Rowle took out a few notes, and passed it to the bartender, giving him a warning stare before joining his colleagues outside.
No one noticed the tall, imposing figure at the back of the pub, leaving quietly by the back door.
Crowley, stood up, glared at all the possible onlookers, and limped out the front door. He hadn't gone very far before being pulled into a dark alley, his mouth covered as his eyes widened frantically, searching for help that never came.
***
"Well, well, well. We've struck gold." The familiar smooth voice calmed him, and he stopped struggling. Sensing his calmness, he was released, and he grinned at his captor.
"You heard everything?" He asked quietly, both now walking down the alley, towards the riverbank.
"I can read lips."
"And?"
"Well done, Remus."
"Thank you."
"Let me take a look at that document."
They walked in companionable silence as Sirius read through the papers thoroughly. He turned to Remus, and handed them back to him.
"Well?" His eyebrows were arched in askance.
"We're playing a different game now," Sirius replied, voice tight with tension.
"I thought Greyback only dealt with drugs," he stated, somewhat resigned.
"Maybe it is part of a larger scheme," he suggested, understanding just why Remus felt slightly downcast at the turn of events. "You were brilliant, you know," he added, a genuine smile gracing his handsome features.
Remus looked up, and smiled, albeit smugly. "Thanks. I really got into character."
"I don't doubt it."
"So where do we stand now?"
"On the brink of war," he replied, glancing quickly at his companion who shot him a dirty look.
"Such a terrible cliché, and completely inaccurate."
"It's a different kind of war," he attempted again, though his mischievous smile betrayed his feelings on the subject.
"I suppose he'd know what to do with this information?" He felt slightly unsure at the implications of their findings, though clearly disturbed by it, and very much desperate for some assurance.
He sensed the trepidation, and masked his own with a resolute, "Yes."
"It's almost lunchtime."
"Hungry?"
"Starving. Ravenous. Famished."
"Well, get changed first. You smell terrible."
'It was your idea."
"Well, a mongrel like you isn't supposed to smell like strawberries and citrus and lime," he remarked drily.
"I'm not a mongrel."
"Crowley is."
He grunted in reply, and they lapsed into silence again.
Their term had almost come to an end. In fact, in two days' time, they were to leave for London - and neither felt particularly pleased at that.
Sirius stole a quick glance sideways, before looking ahead, confused thoughts swirling and coiling around in his mind. He hadn't enough time to comprehend his actions from the day before, given the fast rate at which events were progressing. In fact, after that unfortunate event in the alley, both had walked home silently, air fraught with so much anxiety and confusion that neither said any bedtime pleasantries as they went up to their rooms and slept.
Truth be told, the kiss wasn't exactly unpleasant. Sure - it was quick, and their lips hardly ever moved, and they were so tensed from waiting for danger to pass them by - but he still thought it had some merits of its own. For one, Remus' lips were soft, slightly chapped, and from the choke he heard rather briefly, he wasn't the only one who thought it was at least tolerable.
He let out a soft sigh.
His companion, on the other hand, was lost in thoughts of his own - not unlike those of his, actually, if only he knew. Remus was absolutely livid last night, though he kept it to himself, because his colleague was every bit as thoughtless and reckless as he had previously estimated him to be.
Still, his virtues - protectiveness, intelligence and humour - far outweighed the actions he took that night, Remus reasoned. The nagging suspicion that pecked consistently on his conscience last night as he tried hard to fall asleep simply would not leave him alone. Perhaps Sirius was in denial, or he really was a sneaky bastard who knew exactly what he was doing to Remus. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to believe the second part of his thoughts. They had only known each other for almost two weeks now, and Sirius, Remus found, was every bit a gentleman, though he lacked the pomposity and stifling air of arrogance about him. He was uncharacteristically morose at times, and following his quiet, sombre episodes were bouts of reckless and unbounded energy.
Dawn broke, welcomed by both men as they sat up in their respective beds, their sleep-addled mind trying to comprehend the past night's events.
It felt so hazy, almost dreamlike, and both almost dismissed it as just that - a dream. Strange dream, but at least it was not real - just a product of their overexerted imaginations. The adjoining door was shut, and both felt very thankful for the brief allowance of privacy as they got ready to put their plan into action.
They were dressed fast, and both were shocked when they saw each other standing outside their respective doors, about to leave for breakfast. An uncomfortable silence passed them, and they walked down to the dining room. Neither spoke for a long while - felt like that, though only a quarter of an hour had passed actually - until Sirius resolutely pushed the kiss away from his thoughts and began reiterating their plans for the day. Remus had listened contemplatively, nodding at intervals, and suggesting a few things along the way. By half past seven, both were done and had straightened out their plan.
Only thing left was execution.
They stopped in front of the elevator, with Remus in his normal, but shabby clothes by now. He had discarded the mask along the way, tossing it into an oil drum alight with dying flames that licked at the rubber, turning it into ashes by the time they decided to continue on their way.
"Remus," Sirius began, voice cracking from the brief disuse, and Remus looked up at him. "Good job today," he finished weakly, looking away and shifting uncomfortably where he stood.
"You too." He smiled, though he knew the other man could not see. He was pleased that Sirius strove for some normality - it showed that he was not alone in his struggle with his silly thoughts.
"Thanks," came the muttered reply, before both stepped into the elevator.
Neither thought the ride up as comfortable, though both were unwavering in their resolve not to talk about it.
***
"Look, Sirius, it is perhaps the best solution not to talk about it," he said, for perhaps the sixth time that late morning, to no avail. Each time he interrupted the man, all he received was a deepening scowl, which only made Sirius looked all the more attractive, somehow.
"Remus."
"Sirius, please."
"We're partners now."
"For just this assignment, and could we please get on with the lunch?"
"Fine."
He chanced a look at the black-haired man. Eyebrows shot up when he realised that Sirius was actually pouting, and his lips began quivering as he tried to stifle a smile. He had been so engaged in fending off his colleague's inquisitive inquiries as to how he came into His Majesty's employment that he had forgotten that time was slipping past so fast, and they had only one little task to complete before they could retire peacefully and pack up their belongings. He decided that should Sirius be on his best behaviour - less reckless and definitely devoid of impulsive actions such as kissing - he would most willing to oblige to answer the man's questions. Of course, he did not share this sentiment, lest the other man thought it his place to frequently bother him until he succumbed to his incessant questions.
"Do you know the lay of the land well?" He asked, looking up at Sirius, who momentarily forgot his annoyance.
"Yes, I've been there a few times," he admitted, rather reluctantly. Remus arched an eyebrow at this, conveying his interest subtly, though whether by choice or ignorance, Sirius did not attempt to enlighten him further.
Neither spoke and lunch was over soon enough. As they made their way out of the restaurant, Sirius offered him mint, to which he refused politely. He chose to ignore the dark mumbles of don't need it as Sirius glanced away, though now the memory of their brief kiss in the alley came to the forefront of his thoughts. He had never felt so self-conscious before, especially not when it came to matters such as this, and yet -
"Are you sure?" He blurted out.
Sirius turned to him, the puzzled expression clearly not suitable for his face. "What do you mean?"
In for a penny, in for a pound. "That I don't need it?" He waved casually towards the mint wrapper, still in Sirius' hand, though his tone was very much forced that even the other man could detect it, judging from his smirk and cocked eyebrow.
"Oh? Do you generally ask for a performance assessment after you tell someone to forget about it?" He asked, voice deceptively sweet, though Remus was quick enough to detect the smooth sarcasm in it, as well as something else that he couldn't quite put into words.
"I thought you might want to talk about it," he replied, matching Sirius' tone and wit and arming himself with a genial smile. Sirius narrowed his eyes at this, knowing that Remus was right, but hell, he still didn't want to admit defeat.
"It was satisfactory," he said disdainfully, the haughtiness returning to his features once more as he sought to control himself when he saw the amused look Remus was giving him. The nerve.
"Likewise, if not perhaps much less."
Sirius growled softly, though inwardly he crowed at the veiled compliment. Veiled and sarcastic, but no doubt he rattled the other man's good senses and propriety. Hah. Petty victory, but he didn't care.
***
As they bantered back and forth about various other subjects - both were studiously avoiding the Incident in the Alley save for the brief mention previously - their long walk easily became a short one, and they reached their destination in a span of 15 minutes. Both were silenced at once, their ease dissipating steadily into a mix of anxiety and tension as they surveyed the place.
They were in an unsavoury part of town, they realised, as the various shrill catcalls reached their ears from the balcony above them. Sirius, for all his trained dignity, could not help but to wrinkle his nose in disgust when he heard the various repellent names the distasteful women called them. It was a whorehouse, and he could feel Remus' discomfort at being there. Speaking of whom, he felt his colleague's questioning glance settle on him. He set his lips in a grim, straight line, conveying his utmost reluctance at handling this part of the mission, though its necessity was not debatable. Remus stiffened, though only he could feel it, as it was rather imperceptible and he could feel the resolve emanating from him as he stared resolutely at the entrance.
"Shall we?" Remus asked, voice low and taut, as he was now out of his element.
Sirius did not answer him, but replied by way of stepping forward and pushing the door inwards, cringing when his nose caught whiff of gaudy perfumes and his ears threatened to burst as shrill laughter pervaded his auditory senses. He could feel Remus staying so close to him, as though scared and using him as a shield from these women, wolves as they were. He was sorely tempted to put an arm around the man's shoulder, to comfort and soothe him of his uneasiness. He kept his hands to himself, and decided to be swift with his course of actions. The sooner they were done, the faster they can return to their temporary lodgings.
"Why hello, Duke Wellington!" A raspy voice greeted him from the left, its owner a woman clad in such a garish ensemble of lace and velvet.
He smiled charmingly, easing into his role effortlessly. "Good afternoon, Madame."
"Oh, hush!" She admonished him, eyes wide as though he had blasphemed against her. "It is Fleuretta, sire!" She giggled, lashes fluttering coyly as she swiped him gently on the arm.
"My humblest apologies, Fleuretta, my dear," he acquiesced, bowing a little as he hid a brief smirk when he realised that his colleague was trembling ever so slightly.
"Oh, you know just the right things to say, my lordship!" She giggled again, and gestured to one of the girls to approach them. "She is rather new, and I have no doubt you would like to have a bit of a time to acquaint yourself with her?"
Subtlety was not her skill, Remus thought, fighting back a grimace when the blonde girl who approached them curtsied so clumsily.
"You are most considerate, and I am truly happy to oblige." Sirius nodded briefly at the girl, before pulling Remus to the forefront a little. Both women now looked at him, eyes gleaming with interest as they regarded his new companion. "Unfortunately, I cannot leave him alone. He is a distant cousin," he lied glibly, charming smile back in place as both women turned back to him, "and I simply loathe to be such a terrible, terrible host."
It had to be done, Remus told himself. They had to do it, and by 'they', it included him too. They had equal roles in this partnership, and therefore he also had an equal share of responsibility when it came to this. Yet, despite all his efforts to remain completely reasonable and logical about the current state of things, he knew that there was nothing more in this world right now that would mean so much to him than an opportunity to strangle Sirius and to kill him slowly and in every agonising way possible.
"Oh," the Madame gasped, understanding at once, and beckoned for another girl, this time a dark-haired beauty dressed fashionably in midnight blue, to come forward and present herself. "This is Genevieve, she is fairly adept in all matters pertaining -"
"He is to be engaged soon, and I do not wish to endanger his union to a fair lady," he murmured smoothly, nodding in approval at Genevieve as though in apology, "so all I ask is that you provide him with a very able conversation partner."
"Ah, that can be arranged," the Madame purred in assent, and summoned another girl, this time a gentle and demure looking girl from a corner of the room. "Dominique is painfully shy," she explained in clipped tones, while shooting the girl a mild glare, before turning back to Sirius, charm returning to her façade, "and I think she would do well to perform in such a capacity." She let her gaze rest briefly on Remus, face softening into an understanding gaze.
"Very well," Sirius agreed, and with that, he left Remus to his task. His job was much more difficult, he thought, as it would require some crafty manoeuvring of conversation and delicate extrication of information.
***
Remus could only imagine what exactly went on upstairs, as he seated himself on an armchair, watching Dominique pouring them two cups of tea. He smiled gently at her, knowing that his quiet and calm mannerism would soothe her nervousness somewhat. He was very much thankful that Sirius had intervened in his favour, knowing that he would be at a loss if he was given Genevieve instead, who had mischievously blown softly into his ear as he passed her by.
"You don't seem suitable for the profession," he began, gentle or not, he was here on business.
She gaped at him for a moment, shocked that he chose to be blunt with her. Recovering her senses, she smiled wistfully, eyes downcast as she stared into her tea.
"I did not have the fortune to be born into a respectable family, sir," she replied, her voice meek as though seeking forgiveness.
He flinched, remembering that he too had once been as timid as her.
"So you did not have the education then?" he asked, and she nodded in confirmation. "Was there not any other job you could do?"
"I have no skills whatsoever, sir; none that could help me obtain other employment."
"I see." He sipped his tea, mind whirling as he quickly chose a smooth transition into his intended topics. "Does the Madame force you …?"
"No, she has been quite kind, albeit reluctantly."
"You sound rather cultured, dear girl."
"We have to take lessons in … propriety," she almost whispered the last word, as though ashamed at the paradox.
"I see." He cleared his throat, discomfort crawling up his skin as he launched his attack. "Forgive me for asking, but do you not get requested by certain men?"
She looked up at him, eyes searching for some sort of judgment - he thought, he wasn't sure actually - and answered quietly, "Sometimes."
He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly disliking the thought that some men were so perverse in their ways. "And do you entertain them?"
"I have to."
"Madame doesn't stop you?"
"She can't. It's business, see?"
"I thought she defends you."
"She does, when she can. But…"
"Powerful men?" He asked, and she looked up at him, questioning him silently. He seemed to know. There was just something in his voice…
"Yes," she replied shortly, though she sounded rather defeated.
"What sort of powerful men?" He asked, barely keeping the growl out of his voice, and she gasped, startled. It was almost an act, to be compassionate with her, but he truly did feel sorry for her.
"Please, I am not at a liberty to tell you!" She pleaded, turning away as she refused to answer.
"I can name them," he said cautiously, and began doing so, his gaze intense as he watched for flickers of emotions to pass through her expression. At the mention of familiar names, her lips tightened, and she would refuse to say anything, but she looked at him in puzzlement when he mentioned unfamiliar ones. She was desperate for someone to talk to, he knew, and he felt almost guilty for exploiting her vulnerability like this. Yet, he did what he had to do.
"How long do they usually stay?"
"A week, or so."
"Do you accompany them elsewhere?" he asked, voice tinged with a mix of sympathy and anger.
"Sometimes, but never to grand parties and such. They usually buy us new dresses, and we just follow them, act properly -"
"We?"
"Well, they come together sometimes, and the other girls and I are expected to be their companions." She began to trust him, this kind and gentle man who just simply cared for her, despite the fact that she held a less respectable profession. He was just so interested in her life, knowing about her that she didn't care anymore about what her job expectations were. Didn't care what it meant to be discrete, if only she could seize this chance to pour out her frustrations.
Remus, on the other hand, was slightly taken aback by this new revelation. So these men were not averse to flaunting their mistresses and questionable lady company in this part of the world. Nor were they afraid of showing themselves as a united front, rather than a bunch of bickering noblemen clawing their way to the thrones of their respective nations. Names he had had listed showed that they all came from different parts of Europe, though each held equal amount of influence where they came from.
"I hope they don't do anything to -"
"No, not yet so far."
"Not yet?"
"Yes. I overheard from some other girls, and they've all kept to the same story." She paused. "If they like you enough, they'll bring you there, and… and-"
"I apologise. I should not have asked."
"Thank you." They drank their tea in silence, and a short while passed before she spoke again. "They are rather frightening sometimes, with all their talk of rebellion and anarchy."
"Ah, men with ambition," he commented nonchalantly.
She turned to him, eyes imploring him to take her seriously.
"No, you don't understand."
He arched an eyebrow, playing the part of a sceptic rather convincingly.
"Oh?"
"They- they intend to start a war, a war to end all wars," she whispered timidly, her doleful eyes peering nervously at the door, afraid that they would be found out.
He closed the distance between them, patting her back soothingly, as he spoke. "Men tend to have such brutal delusions when they are heavily imbibed with wine and liquor, my dear. Don't take it to heart."
"But you see, sir, it scares me! Not too long ago… my family was taken from me…" She sobbed harder, and he struggled to find the right words to say. He felt almost cruel to manipulate her like this, but it was for the greater good. He grimaced, remembering that such words were once uttered by his benefactor, His Majesty.
"I understand," he remarked gently, and she pulled away, puffy eyes rimmed with redness.
"I wish there was something I could do," she murmured, longing and regret evident in her voice.
"You can run, and hide."
"I wish to fight, or at least know how to stop them."
"It is too dangerous for you, or anyone else for that matter."
"I know. They are dangerous men." She let out a heavy sigh, and her expression changed when a peculiar thought struck her. "Perhaps, perhaps if I could solve the riddle first…"
His sharp hearing instantly picked up on her strange muttering. "Riddle?" He asked quizzically, feigning confusion.
"Yes, they said they had to consult a riddle first, though I think they meant solving one," she explained, smiling in slight amusement, "There were some foreign men among them, and I thought since they did not have proper command of English, they…"
"Naturally," he affirmed, nodding as he made a mental note to share this piece with his colleague.
She was about to say more on the matter when a loud knock shocked them both, and they jumped in their seats.
"I apologise for interrupting," a mocking voice called out to them, "but the agreed time is up!"
"Yes, Belle, we're almost done!" She answered, straightening her dress as Remus stood up swiftly. She smiled at him, and gave him a quick hug before thanking him. "Thank you, kind sir. It has been too long since I've had a proper conversation such as this."
"Ah, the pleasure is mine also, dear Dominique." He pulled away, grinning at her. "I wish you a prosperous life ahead."
"And I, you."
***
"Your turn," Sirius told him, finally finishing his succinct report, as they packed their belongings.
He told him, of Dominique, of what she heard, and of the strange phrase - consulting a riddle.
"Lord Riddle," his colleague stated firmly, eyes narrowing in concentration as he mulled over this piece of news.
"I thought so too."
"Did they say anything else?"
"No, our time was up."
"Shame. She seemed rather talkative."
"Only under duress," he replied vaguely, slightly annoyed that his colleague seemed to belittle her. He was replied with just an arched eyebrow and a smirk, and he rolled his eyes. "She has dreadful memories of her past."
"Ah, you old wolf." A mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes, as though realisation dawned upon him at last.
"I did nothing of the sort!" He widened his eyes, realising what was being implied.
"So you say," Sirius replied smugly.
"Sirius!"
"It is nothing to be ashamed of, dear Remus," he remarked with false assurance, patting his back - much to his infuriation.
"I'm not like you," he sneered, almost regretting his tone and words when the air around them seemed to tense, and Sirius removed his hand from his back, face hardening into an inscrutable look.
"Good night, Remus," he said coolly, retreating into his own room as he rebuffed the other man's attempt at an apology.
"Sirius-" His tone was pleading, and he let his arm fall limply to his side, when he was swatted away roughly by his companion. "I -"
"Good night," he said firmly, tone harsher than he had ever heard from him before, and this jarred him so much that he did nothing to respond to the slammed door.