Fic: "The Persistence of Memory" (Remus/Harry) for joygoddess
Author:
Recipient: joygoddess
Title: The Persistence of Memory
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Remus/Harry
Warnings: slight chan (Harry is 16), slight AU
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Word Count : 4,113
Summary: It's the summer following Harry's 5th year and Harry cannot escape Sirius' memory.
Author's Notes: Set shortly after OotP. Inspired by Shattered Glass by the wonderful lizardspots (note art is NWS) ♥ As always -- love to my darling betas!
This is supposed to be easier. Hermione says the pain will fade, that it will lessen and everything won't hurt as much if given the proper time to heal. But then again, perhaps she means that it will be years before the pain dulls. Hermione isn't exactly clear on that point and frankly, Harry doesn't want to wait that long. For Harry, the hurt is as sharp now as the day Sirius fell through the veil. The idea that he is being impatient has yet to cross his mind. He simply wants to be free of the guilt and the pain that surround Sirius' death. Is that really so much to ask for?
Harry doesn't think so.
In the passing months, Grimmauld Place has become even more of a hollow dwelling, and Harry has begun to understand why Sirius hated this place so much. Living here is a painful reminder of what Harry has lost. Add to that Order members coming and going as they please and Harry has become downright miserable. Thinking of Sirius in the past tense serves only to re-open a wound that has never really closed. The sight of Remus only rubs salt in the gash. But at least Harry has been able to take a perverse comfort in the fact that he isn't the only one in this state of suspended reality. Remus has become an empty shell of a man now, his eyes have long since lost the light that always sparkled in their hazel depths. Harry now understands that Sirius meant a great deal to the other man and what it must have cost Remus to hold him back and it's Remus' zombie-like state that echoes this point. In the back of his mind, Harry knows he should reach out to Remus to offer the man comfort, but every time he extends a hand, he finds he cannot say the words. Instead, he curls his fingers into a fist and shoves it deep within his pocket.
Why help a man who has yet to lift a finger to assist him in his own grief?
And so, Harry goes about his business at Grimmauld Place as if nothing is wrong. He eats when he is reminded to do so and otherwise he has let his room become his own personal sanctuary. Harry has abandoned the room he was sharing with Ron in order to live alone in his solitude and his slobish ways. Dirty dishes and half finished essays litter the room, a true testament to the absence of Hermione's influence. He has become unable, or perhaps unwilling, to deal with Ron and Hermione. Ron at least has understood, though he hasn't said much. Then again, he's never said much when it comes to emotional things. The emotional range of a teaspoon, Hermione once said, describing Ron to a tee. In Hermione's eyes, Harry can only see pity. It's her pity that he can't abide. The absolute last thing he wants is anyone feeling sorry for him. All Harry wants is someone who understands what he is going through without finding the need to talk about every single detail of his psyche.
Remus's face flashes in his mind before he pushes it away. Perhaps it would be easier if he talked to the other man. Yet once more, when he watches Remus shuffle through the house to prepare a cup of tea, the words die in his throat. Remus pads away and back to wherever he has taken to hiding and Harry is, once more, alone. There's only one other person Harry wants to talk to...
And that person is floating beyond the depths of a piece of drapery.
The broken shards of the mirror are still littering the bottom of his trunk and serving as a constant reminder of what he destroyed in a fit of rage last June. It is still there, bubbling so close to the surface and like the volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. The only feeling Harry has left anymore is anger -- towards everyone and everything that crosses his path. The mirror was his first target, not realising it could have been his saviour. He could have been able to speak to Sirius but he threw the chance away because of his own fury. Harry is pissed with himself for running off and putting Sirius in such a position. If he hadn't been so brash, Sirius would still be alive today. He is furious with Bellatrix for taunting Sirius as she had, making his movements so wild and erratic. Furious with Remus for holding him back.
Furious with Dumbledore for not letting Sirius help. Would it really have been so bad? Harry wonders, for the millionth time. Would it have truly been so bad if Dumbledore had simply entrusted him with a simple task? No, instead, Dumbledore turned Number Twelve into a second Azkaban for Sirius.
Another prison, Harry thinks, closing his eyes. Another prison. All Sirius ever knew were bars. Perhaps it is mercy that killed him, removing him from this hellish existence. With his eyes shut, Harry can picture Sirius -- the youthful, jovial man in the scrapbook Hagrid had given him. A man who had the entire world in front of him -- not the escaped convict that Harry had come to know and love.
The pain renews itself fresh in his chest, so tight it's painful. No matter how he tries to forget Sirius, all he can see are those grey eyes sparkling with mirth, planning one more prank that will never happen. When Sirius fell beyond the veil a part of Harry died with him. A part he will never again find.
Harry lays in bed, like every other night -- waiting and willing sleep to come to him. As it has since June, the Sand Man craftily eludes him; Harry's only company coming in the form of his thoughts. Rolling onto his side, Harry curls up in a small ball, hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes fall upon the picture on his night stand, Sirius smiling and waving from beneath the glass. That smile is the straw that breaks the camel's back in Harry's mind. Harry is tired of the memories and tired of waking up, realising that Sirius will never again be there for him.
With a snarl of rage, Harry reaches for the picture frame and hurls it across the room. The crash it makes as it comes in contact with the wall is satisfying, reverberating in the silent room. To Harry's ears, it sounds like a bomb exploding and he wonders why no one has come to find him. He is only the Boy Who Lived -- why should they care what happens to him? It could be a platoon of Death Eaters come to torture him to the point of insanity -- would anyone care?
What Harry wouldn't give to have that title erased from his name. What he wouldn't give to grow up a normal boy. A boy with parents and a godfather. Not an orphan forced to live with abusive relatives, looking over his shoulder for an Avada Kedavra that has his name on it.
Harry crawls from the bed wearing naught but his pyjama bottoms. They hang low on his hips, loose though the drawstring is tied tightly. Harry knows he isn't eating well, but apparently he has lost a fair amount of weight too. Funny the correlation between food and weight gain and loss. He yanks the bottoms up once more, only to have them slip back to their position on his hips, exposing a trail of dark hair from his navel that disappears beneath the low waistband. Harry gives up on holding up his pyjamas, instead he moves towards the broken frame. He picks it up once more, Sirius' face still smiling and waving from behind the broken glass, completely unaware that his home has been utterly destroyed. In another fit of rage, Harry tosses the frame once more, the crunch of glass just as satisfying the second time around. The fight leaves him then and Harry sinks to his knees, crawling towards the mangled metal to clutch the frame to his chest.
And through it all, Sirius hasn't stopped waving.
"Harry!"
Lifting his head, Harry turns to see Remus standing in the doorway. His eyes are wild, glancing hurriedly around the room as if expecting to spy a Death Eater lurking in the corner. Relief crosses his face when he sees that it is only the shadows lurking in the corner and not an enemy. From the floor, Harry looks up at Remus, saying nothing.
"Harry... Harry are you alright?" Remus asks, taking a cautious step into the room.
"I'm fine," Harry lies, trying to hide the broken frame behind his back.
Remus' eyes fall upon the broken glass and Harry knows his charade is useless. With a sigh, Harry sets it to the side, brushing the glass away from him. Remus steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. His blue robe hangs on his body, loose though it is tied tightly around his waist. Apparently Harry isn't the only one who hasn't been eating well.
Remus moves wordlessly into the room, settling himself on the floor beside Harry. There's a moment of indeterminable silence, both stealing glances when they're sure the other isn't looking. Harry looks up, hearing Remus take in a sharp breath but rather than saying anything, Remus exhales. All it takes is a brush of hands as they fidgeted in the stillness. Without really knowing why, Harry climbs into Remus' lap and rests his head on the other man's shoulder. Perhaps it is the fact that his own resistance has been worn down, or maybe it is the look on Remus' face that warrants the strange show of affection. Remus' hands are cautious, resting lightly on Harry's bare torso. Harry fists his hand in the collar of Remus' robe, no longer wanting to take pleasure in the other man's pain but instead comfort him.
Rather than being pushed away as Harry expects, Remus holds Harry closer. Closing his eyes, Harry takes the comfort that is silently offered. Perhaps it would have been easier if they had done this from the beginning rather than avoiding each other like the plague. He has been foolish to lock himself away -- and judging by the look on Remus' face, the other man feels the same way.
"I'm not fine," Harry confesses at last, burying his face in Remus' shoulder. "I haven't been fine for a long while."
Remus mumbles something against Harry's hair, said too low for him to hear the words. He can feel the rhythm of the words though, lulling him into a rare moment of peace. He's vaguely aware of shifting closer to Remus, burying his face in the crook of the other man's neck. For the first time, he catches Remus' scent -- like the forest after a rainstorm. It's a heady scent that shoots straight to his groin, even as he thinks this is Remus he's cuddling against. His lips move along Remus' neck, tasting the stubble of his day-old beard. Remus' head lowers and soon it isn't jaw that Harry is kissing but another pair of lips. The kiss is hesitant at first, like two ships finding their way to port in the middle of a storm. The cautiousness slowly melts away, the kiss becoming more sure in its direction. It's no longer a chaste press of lips against one another. Heat has somehow entered the equation and both men are giving into the sensation.
With a soft whimper, Harry parts his lips for Remus' seeking tongue, shivering in his arms. Remus' tongue dips into Harry's mouth, Harry's own tongue darting out to meet his. They duel, one thrusting forth and the other retreats, only to change tactics and force an offense from the other side. Harry's hand works its way from the folds of Remus' robe to fist in his sandy hair. Thoughts of comfort have left the kiss. It doesn't matter that Harry is just sixteen and Remus is more than twice his age.
All that matters is this kiss.
Remus' hands run along Harry's torso and his hands feel as if they are on fire. Perhaps it's the heat of his skin amplifying the touch, or maybe it's Remus' inherent body temperature. Whatever it is, Harry's body instinctively arches towards him, twisting and writing in his lap. Through the fabric of Remus' thread-bare robe and pyjama bottoms, he can feel the other man's cock straining against the fabric. He's glad of its presence -- he no longer feels ashamed of his own erection.
Remus must have some sort of "spidey-sense", like the Muggle comic books he read as a child. Remus' hand skirts over the plaid fabric, gently caressing his hip with his fingertips. The hesitancy leads Harry to believe that Remus is giving him a way out. But with his arms wrapped around Remus' neck and his tongue mapping the contours of Remus' mouth, stopping is the last thing on his mind. Gently, Harry unwinds a hand from Remus' hair, trailing his hand along the man's bicep and across his bare forearm. It moves to his own body, undoing the drawstring at his waist. Remus freezes in his kiss and his movements, his eye-lids snapping open, staring at Harry wide-eyed. A nod is all Harry gives him in return, his hand wrapping around Remus' wrist and moving it to his cock.
"Please," is all he says.
Remus draws in a deep breath, gently brushing his lips across Harry's eyelids. The tenderness is back in his movements, Remus taking care to not move too fast for either of them. His thumb rubs across the head of Harry's cock, spreading precome around the crown. His other hand slips lower, cupping Harry's bare arse with his left hand and keeping the boy tucked securely against himself. Noises Harry wasn't aware he could make begin to spill from his lips in a long litany. Remus' hand becomes more sure, stroking Harry's cock. Harry's hips buck, his hand clutches at the collar of Remus' robe. His movements are erratic and Remus' robe parts, exposing his chest. A dusting of hair crosses his skin and it's the same colour as what's on his head. Harry's fingers thread through the slightly coarse hair.
His body is on fire, that's the only way to describe it. In Remus' masterful hands, Harry feels safe and content and perhaps even loved. He arches his body upwards, head lolling back against Remus' chest. Still stroking his cock, though now experimenting with different places to touch, Remus runs his tongue along Harry's jaw and the line of his neck to his shoulder. Remus' hand shifts, cupping and rolling Harry's bollocks. Harry is being pulled in several directions, his body like a piece of crystal that's vibrating so close to its breaking point.
When he comes, his crystalline body shatters into a thousand, million pieces. His come spills onto Remus' hand, Harry's body spasming as his cock empties with each stroke of Remus' hand. He grasps at whatever he can hold onto. It turns out to be Remus' hair and Harry pulls him down for a kiss. All uncertainty is gone as Harry's tongue delves into Remus' mouth. He's no longer the uncertain boy of sixteen. He knows what he wants.
Remus is what he wants.
With the eyes of a man beyond his years, Harry's hand encircles Remus' wrist once more. His gaze meets Remus', lifting the come-covered hand to his lips. Brazenly, as if he were licking a lollipop, Harry's tongue flicks between Remus' fingertips, cleaning the other man's hand. Remus' eyes grow wide momentarily then cloud over with lust. Still, Harry continues his movements, licking each digit clean. He should feel self-conscious, tasting his own semen.
Instead, he's aroused, his cock twitching in spite of his recent orgasm.
"Harry... we shouldn't..." Remus' voice sounds hoarse, as if it is taking all of his self control to keep from pouncing and rolling about on the floor like two wild dogs.
Harry wouldn't mind the pouncing to be honest.
"I'm not a child," Harry whispers, his fingertips tracing the outline of Remus' eyebrows and along his cheekbones. Remus leans into the touch, murmuring something that sounds like 'I know' though it's too muffled to tell. "I'm not a child," Harry repeats with more force, hands cupping Remus' face to keep the eye contact between them.
"I know you're not," Remus replies, his forehead resting against Harry's forehead. "But I can't..."
"Sirius would want us to be happy."
The name feels foreign on his tongue and Harry realises it's the first he's spoken his godfather's name since the Ministry. The name reverberates like a shot in the room, Remus' body becoming rigid. Once more, Harry's hand brushes along Remus' features as if trying to reassure him.
"He'd want us to be happy," Harry says once more, trying to put all the conviction in the world behind his words.
Remus looks at Harry for a long moment before his head begins to move, nodding along with Harry's words. His lips move, trying to form the words but no sound comes out. This man who was so strong not three years ago, he looks completely broken. Briefly, Harry wonders if Remus was reflecting his own emotional state. Is this what he looks like to everyone else?
Once more, their lips find each other, sure of their target this time. There's no fumbling in the kiss, Harry leaning back and tilting his head upwards for a better angle. He doesn't know why he never thought of kissing Remus before. In the man's arms he can feel the months of pain sliding away. This couldn't be what Hermione meant by time, could it?
Harry's hands twine in Remus' hair, his lips parting once more to urge Remus' tongue into his mouth. Lightly, it runs along his teeth before slipping in further as if memorising every contour of his mouth. It could be Harry that moaned or the noise could have come from Remus; by this point, Harry doesn't give a damn. He's rocking against Remus, feeling Remus' erection pushing against his hip. The hand supporting his arse begins to move, a finger teasing the cleft of his arse. Momentarily, Harry stiffens but the fear quickly passes and he relaxes into the kiss and the press of a finger. Remus murmurs something against his mouth and his insides feel warm and wet and relaxed. Breaking the kiss, Harry looks quizzically up at Remus.
"Lubrication spells," Remus replies to the unasked question. "It will be... easier your first time."
"Is it going... will it hurt?" Harry asks softly.
"It may," Remus answers truthfully. "But if you relax... it shouldn't for long."
Gently, Remus moves Harry into a better position in his lap. He spreads Harry's thighs so that the boy is straddling him, their cocks rubbing together. Once more the spell is muttered and Harry's cock slides against Remus' in the man's hand as he fists their cocks together. Harry feels as though every fibre of his being is calling out for release. That Remus is torturing him with this slow slide of his hand along his aching cock. He knows he is so close and wants only to come, to find his release. Instead, Remus' hand falls away and Harry nearly wants to sob. He's hard and every movement feels painful, he's so aroused.
Once more, Harry finds himself being moved but this time it's to raise his hips up. He feels the head of Remus' cock nudging his arse and instantly he tenses against the intrusion. His eyes are wide and suddenly this no longer feels like such a great idea. Harry's face is pulled forward and Remus' lips are on his once more whispering words of relaxation and comfort to Harry.
"This may hurt... it may be uncomfortable but you have to trust me. If you don't relax," Remus tries to lower him a bit more, "If you don't relax, this will hurt."
Biting his lower lip, Harry nods and wills himself to relax. Inch by inch, Harry can feel Remus' cock sliding into his arse. It's uncomfortable at first but it's through sheer willpower alone that Harry keeps from crying out and demanding Remus to stop. The motion of being lowered stops and Harry realises Remus' cock is completely sheathed inside him. The uncomfortable feeling is beginning to fade as Harry adjusts to the cock in his arse. He gives an experimental wiggle and finds that, rather than feeling pain, he feels something quite different. Maybe that was an anomaly. Once more he moves with a rocking motion and combined with the slight movement of Remus' hips the feeling is far from unpleasant. Growing bolder, Harry begins to lift himself up and lowers himself, finding a rhythm. Remus makes a noise that Harry has never heard before. Licking his lips, Harry repeats the motion and once more hears that sound come from Remus.
Remus' hands come to rest on Harry's hips, guiding the boy as he rides Remus. The angle changes slightly depending on where Remus' hands sit at his waist. The best movement is when Remus thrusts upwards just as Harry is moving downwards and he can feel the head of Remus' cock brush against oh god. Harry has no idea what Remus just hit, but all he knows is he wants him to find that spot again and again. Letting Remus guide his movements, Harry fists his cock, his hand moving in time with their thrusts.
It isn't long before Harry comes, his semen shooting in thick spurts against Remus' stomach. Remus' hands speed up Harry's movements and he's being fucked by Remus with wild abandon. He knows it's going to be hard to walk tomorrow but at this point he doesn't care. Remus tenses beneath him and a moment later Harry can feel Remus come. Gradually their hips slow and Harry comes to rest against Remus' chest. His hair is matted to his forehead and their sweat-slicked bodies glow in the dim light of Harry's room.
"Are you... did I hurt you?" Remus asks at last, finally breaking the silence of the room.
"The beginning... a bit..." Harry answers. He sees the look of near horror on Remus' face and he quickly kisses the man. "But not in the end. The end was..." Harry blushes slightly. "The end was..."
"Yes, it was." Remus replies, hiding a smile. His hips shift, his cock still inside Harry. Harry whimpers in the back of his throat, his body aching for another go. "Soon..." Remus says with a chuckle, lifting Harry off his lap. "I'm not as young as you are."
Playfully, Remus runs a finger along Harry's cock, his thumb circling the crown. Harry whimpers, then, growing bolder, reaches out to repeat the same motion Remus had done. Beneath his touch, he feels Remus' cock give a twitch. Harry looks up at Remus quizzically.
"I said I'm not as young as you are," Remus says as Harry strokes him to hardness once more. "I didn't say that the metabolism of a werewolf wasn't going to come in handy."
~*~
The days following become easier and easier. Harry emerges from his room more often and can even be found playing a game or two of Exploding Snap with Ron while Hermione looks on, pleased their trio is back together once more. They never ask what brought about his sudden mood improvement and even if they did, Harry would never tell them.
Nightly Remus slips into his room. They no longer fumble through sex. Their hands are sure and their bodies know how to react to each other. Harry has found comfort in Remus and Remus has found the same in Harry. It is their secret, one they will both carry with them to the grave.
As the weeks progress, they both find they can talk about Sirius. Entwined in each other's arms, they remember the good times and those they'd rather forget. Remus tells Harry of their school days, weaving stories so vivid that Harry can picture them perfectly in his mind. Sometimes they fuck, other times they simply enjoy the other's presence. Eventually, the void that Sirius has left in Harry's chest is taken over by Remus. It's Remus who holds him close as they fall asleep.
And in the end, Remus is the one who's always there to kiss away Harry's tears.
Recipient: joygoddess
Title: The Persistence of Memory
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Remus/Harry
Warnings: slight chan (Harry is 16), slight AU
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Word Count : 4,113
Summary: It's the summer following Harry's 5th year and Harry cannot escape Sirius' memory.
Author's Notes: Set shortly after OotP. Inspired by Shattered Glass by the wonderful lizardspots (note art is NWS) ♥ As always -- love to my darling betas!
This is supposed to be easier. Hermione says the pain will fade, that it will lessen and everything won't hurt as much if given the proper time to heal. But then again, perhaps she means that it will be years before the pain dulls. Hermione isn't exactly clear on that point and frankly, Harry doesn't want to wait that long. For Harry, the hurt is as sharp now as the day Sirius fell through the veil. The idea that he is being impatient has yet to cross his mind. He simply wants to be free of the guilt and the pain that surround Sirius' death. Is that really so much to ask for?
Harry doesn't think so.
In the passing months, Grimmauld Place has become even more of a hollow dwelling, and Harry has begun to understand why Sirius hated this place so much. Living here is a painful reminder of what Harry has lost. Add to that Order members coming and going as they please and Harry has become downright miserable. Thinking of Sirius in the past tense serves only to re-open a wound that has never really closed. The sight of Remus only rubs salt in the gash. But at least Harry has been able to take a perverse comfort in the fact that he isn't the only one in this state of suspended reality. Remus has become an empty shell of a man now, his eyes have long since lost the light that always sparkled in their hazel depths. Harry now understands that Sirius meant a great deal to the other man and what it must have cost Remus to hold him back and it's Remus' zombie-like state that echoes this point. In the back of his mind, Harry knows he should reach out to Remus to offer the man comfort, but every time he extends a hand, he finds he cannot say the words. Instead, he curls his fingers into a fist and shoves it deep within his pocket.
Why help a man who has yet to lift a finger to assist him in his own grief?
And so, Harry goes about his business at Grimmauld Place as if nothing is wrong. He eats when he is reminded to do so and otherwise he has let his room become his own personal sanctuary. Harry has abandoned the room he was sharing with Ron in order to live alone in his solitude and his slobish ways. Dirty dishes and half finished essays litter the room, a true testament to the absence of Hermione's influence. He has become unable, or perhaps unwilling, to deal with Ron and Hermione. Ron at least has understood, though he hasn't said much. Then again, he's never said much when it comes to emotional things. The emotional range of a teaspoon, Hermione once said, describing Ron to a tee. In Hermione's eyes, Harry can only see pity. It's her pity that he can't abide. The absolute last thing he wants is anyone feeling sorry for him. All Harry wants is someone who understands what he is going through without finding the need to talk about every single detail of his psyche.
Remus's face flashes in his mind before he pushes it away. Perhaps it would be easier if he talked to the other man. Yet once more, when he watches Remus shuffle through the house to prepare a cup of tea, the words die in his throat. Remus pads away and back to wherever he has taken to hiding and Harry is, once more, alone. There's only one other person Harry wants to talk to...
And that person is floating beyond the depths of a piece of drapery.
The broken shards of the mirror are still littering the bottom of his trunk and serving as a constant reminder of what he destroyed in a fit of rage last June. It is still there, bubbling so close to the surface and like the volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. The only feeling Harry has left anymore is anger -- towards everyone and everything that crosses his path. The mirror was his first target, not realising it could have been his saviour. He could have been able to speak to Sirius but he threw the chance away because of his own fury. Harry is pissed with himself for running off and putting Sirius in such a position. If he hadn't been so brash, Sirius would still be alive today. He is furious with Bellatrix for taunting Sirius as she had, making his movements so wild and erratic. Furious with Remus for holding him back.
Furious with Dumbledore for not letting Sirius help. Would it really have been so bad? Harry wonders, for the millionth time. Would it have truly been so bad if Dumbledore had simply entrusted him with a simple task? No, instead, Dumbledore turned Number Twelve into a second Azkaban for Sirius.
Another prison, Harry thinks, closing his eyes. Another prison. All Sirius ever knew were bars. Perhaps it is mercy that killed him, removing him from this hellish existence. With his eyes shut, Harry can picture Sirius -- the youthful, jovial man in the scrapbook Hagrid had given him. A man who had the entire world in front of him -- not the escaped convict that Harry had come to know and love.
The pain renews itself fresh in his chest, so tight it's painful. No matter how he tries to forget Sirius, all he can see are those grey eyes sparkling with mirth, planning one more prank that will never happen. When Sirius fell beyond the veil a part of Harry died with him. A part he will never again find.
Harry lays in bed, like every other night -- waiting and willing sleep to come to him. As it has since June, the Sand Man craftily eludes him; Harry's only company coming in the form of his thoughts. Rolling onto his side, Harry curls up in a small ball, hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes fall upon the picture on his night stand, Sirius smiling and waving from beneath the glass. That smile is the straw that breaks the camel's back in Harry's mind. Harry is tired of the memories and tired of waking up, realising that Sirius will never again be there for him.
With a snarl of rage, Harry reaches for the picture frame and hurls it across the room. The crash it makes as it comes in contact with the wall is satisfying, reverberating in the silent room. To Harry's ears, it sounds like a bomb exploding and he wonders why no one has come to find him. He is only the Boy Who Lived -- why should they care what happens to him? It could be a platoon of Death Eaters come to torture him to the point of insanity -- would anyone care?
What Harry wouldn't give to have that title erased from his name. What he wouldn't give to grow up a normal boy. A boy with parents and a godfather. Not an orphan forced to live with abusive relatives, looking over his shoulder for an Avada Kedavra that has his name on it.
Harry crawls from the bed wearing naught but his pyjama bottoms. They hang low on his hips, loose though the drawstring is tied tightly. Harry knows he isn't eating well, but apparently he has lost a fair amount of weight too. Funny the correlation between food and weight gain and loss. He yanks the bottoms up once more, only to have them slip back to their position on his hips, exposing a trail of dark hair from his navel that disappears beneath the low waistband. Harry gives up on holding up his pyjamas, instead he moves towards the broken frame. He picks it up once more, Sirius' face still smiling and waving from behind the broken glass, completely unaware that his home has been utterly destroyed. In another fit of rage, Harry tosses the frame once more, the crunch of glass just as satisfying the second time around. The fight leaves him then and Harry sinks to his knees, crawling towards the mangled metal to clutch the frame to his chest.
And through it all, Sirius hasn't stopped waving.
"Harry!"
Lifting his head, Harry turns to see Remus standing in the doorway. His eyes are wild, glancing hurriedly around the room as if expecting to spy a Death Eater lurking in the corner. Relief crosses his face when he sees that it is only the shadows lurking in the corner and not an enemy. From the floor, Harry looks up at Remus, saying nothing.
"Harry... Harry are you alright?" Remus asks, taking a cautious step into the room.
"I'm fine," Harry lies, trying to hide the broken frame behind his back.
Remus' eyes fall upon the broken glass and Harry knows his charade is useless. With a sigh, Harry sets it to the side, brushing the glass away from him. Remus steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. His blue robe hangs on his body, loose though it is tied tightly around his waist. Apparently Harry isn't the only one who hasn't been eating well.
Remus moves wordlessly into the room, settling himself on the floor beside Harry. There's a moment of indeterminable silence, both stealing glances when they're sure the other isn't looking. Harry looks up, hearing Remus take in a sharp breath but rather than saying anything, Remus exhales. All it takes is a brush of hands as they fidgeted in the stillness. Without really knowing why, Harry climbs into Remus' lap and rests his head on the other man's shoulder. Perhaps it is the fact that his own resistance has been worn down, or maybe it is the look on Remus' face that warrants the strange show of affection. Remus' hands are cautious, resting lightly on Harry's bare torso. Harry fists his hand in the collar of Remus' robe, no longer wanting to take pleasure in the other man's pain but instead comfort him.
Rather than being pushed away as Harry expects, Remus holds Harry closer. Closing his eyes, Harry takes the comfort that is silently offered. Perhaps it would have been easier if they had done this from the beginning rather than avoiding each other like the plague. He has been foolish to lock himself away -- and judging by the look on Remus' face, the other man feels the same way.
"I'm not fine," Harry confesses at last, burying his face in Remus' shoulder. "I haven't been fine for a long while."
Remus mumbles something against Harry's hair, said too low for him to hear the words. He can feel the rhythm of the words though, lulling him into a rare moment of peace. He's vaguely aware of shifting closer to Remus, burying his face in the crook of the other man's neck. For the first time, he catches Remus' scent -- like the forest after a rainstorm. It's a heady scent that shoots straight to his groin, even as he thinks this is Remus he's cuddling against. His lips move along Remus' neck, tasting the stubble of his day-old beard. Remus' head lowers and soon it isn't jaw that Harry is kissing but another pair of lips. The kiss is hesitant at first, like two ships finding their way to port in the middle of a storm. The cautiousness slowly melts away, the kiss becoming more sure in its direction. It's no longer a chaste press of lips against one another. Heat has somehow entered the equation and both men are giving into the sensation.
With a soft whimper, Harry parts his lips for Remus' seeking tongue, shivering in his arms. Remus' tongue dips into Harry's mouth, Harry's own tongue darting out to meet his. They duel, one thrusting forth and the other retreats, only to change tactics and force an offense from the other side. Harry's hand works its way from the folds of Remus' robe to fist in his sandy hair. Thoughts of comfort have left the kiss. It doesn't matter that Harry is just sixteen and Remus is more than twice his age.
All that matters is this kiss.
Remus' hands run along Harry's torso and his hands feel as if they are on fire. Perhaps it's the heat of his skin amplifying the touch, or maybe it's Remus' inherent body temperature. Whatever it is, Harry's body instinctively arches towards him, twisting and writing in his lap. Through the fabric of Remus' thread-bare robe and pyjama bottoms, he can feel the other man's cock straining against the fabric. He's glad of its presence -- he no longer feels ashamed of his own erection.
Remus must have some sort of "spidey-sense", like the Muggle comic books he read as a child. Remus' hand skirts over the plaid fabric, gently caressing his hip with his fingertips. The hesitancy leads Harry to believe that Remus is giving him a way out. But with his arms wrapped around Remus' neck and his tongue mapping the contours of Remus' mouth, stopping is the last thing on his mind. Gently, Harry unwinds a hand from Remus' hair, trailing his hand along the man's bicep and across his bare forearm. It moves to his own body, undoing the drawstring at his waist. Remus freezes in his kiss and his movements, his eye-lids snapping open, staring at Harry wide-eyed. A nod is all Harry gives him in return, his hand wrapping around Remus' wrist and moving it to his cock.
"Please," is all he says.
Remus draws in a deep breath, gently brushing his lips across Harry's eyelids. The tenderness is back in his movements, Remus taking care to not move too fast for either of them. His thumb rubs across the head of Harry's cock, spreading precome around the crown. His other hand slips lower, cupping Harry's bare arse with his left hand and keeping the boy tucked securely against himself. Noises Harry wasn't aware he could make begin to spill from his lips in a long litany. Remus' hand becomes more sure, stroking Harry's cock. Harry's hips buck, his hand clutches at the collar of Remus' robe. His movements are erratic and Remus' robe parts, exposing his chest. A dusting of hair crosses his skin and it's the same colour as what's on his head. Harry's fingers thread through the slightly coarse hair.
His body is on fire, that's the only way to describe it. In Remus' masterful hands, Harry feels safe and content and perhaps even loved. He arches his body upwards, head lolling back against Remus' chest. Still stroking his cock, though now experimenting with different places to touch, Remus runs his tongue along Harry's jaw and the line of his neck to his shoulder. Remus' hand shifts, cupping and rolling Harry's bollocks. Harry is being pulled in several directions, his body like a piece of crystal that's vibrating so close to its breaking point.
When he comes, his crystalline body shatters into a thousand, million pieces. His come spills onto Remus' hand, Harry's body spasming as his cock empties with each stroke of Remus' hand. He grasps at whatever he can hold onto. It turns out to be Remus' hair and Harry pulls him down for a kiss. All uncertainty is gone as Harry's tongue delves into Remus' mouth. He's no longer the uncertain boy of sixteen. He knows what he wants.
Remus is what he wants.
With the eyes of a man beyond his years, Harry's hand encircles Remus' wrist once more. His gaze meets Remus', lifting the come-covered hand to his lips. Brazenly, as if he were licking a lollipop, Harry's tongue flicks between Remus' fingertips, cleaning the other man's hand. Remus' eyes grow wide momentarily then cloud over with lust. Still, Harry continues his movements, licking each digit clean. He should feel self-conscious, tasting his own semen.
Instead, he's aroused, his cock twitching in spite of his recent orgasm.
"Harry... we shouldn't..." Remus' voice sounds hoarse, as if it is taking all of his self control to keep from pouncing and rolling about on the floor like two wild dogs.
Harry wouldn't mind the pouncing to be honest.
"I'm not a child," Harry whispers, his fingertips tracing the outline of Remus' eyebrows and along his cheekbones. Remus leans into the touch, murmuring something that sounds like 'I know' though it's too muffled to tell. "I'm not a child," Harry repeats with more force, hands cupping Remus' face to keep the eye contact between them.
"I know you're not," Remus replies, his forehead resting against Harry's forehead. "But I can't..."
"Sirius would want us to be happy."
The name feels foreign on his tongue and Harry realises it's the first he's spoken his godfather's name since the Ministry. The name reverberates like a shot in the room, Remus' body becoming rigid. Once more, Harry's hand brushes along Remus' features as if trying to reassure him.
"He'd want us to be happy," Harry says once more, trying to put all the conviction in the world behind his words.
Remus looks at Harry for a long moment before his head begins to move, nodding along with Harry's words. His lips move, trying to form the words but no sound comes out. This man who was so strong not three years ago, he looks completely broken. Briefly, Harry wonders if Remus was reflecting his own emotional state. Is this what he looks like to everyone else?
Once more, their lips find each other, sure of their target this time. There's no fumbling in the kiss, Harry leaning back and tilting his head upwards for a better angle. He doesn't know why he never thought of kissing Remus before. In the man's arms he can feel the months of pain sliding away. This couldn't be what Hermione meant by time, could it?
Harry's hands twine in Remus' hair, his lips parting once more to urge Remus' tongue into his mouth. Lightly, it runs along his teeth before slipping in further as if memorising every contour of his mouth. It could be Harry that moaned or the noise could have come from Remus; by this point, Harry doesn't give a damn. He's rocking against Remus, feeling Remus' erection pushing against his hip. The hand supporting his arse begins to move, a finger teasing the cleft of his arse. Momentarily, Harry stiffens but the fear quickly passes and he relaxes into the kiss and the press of a finger. Remus murmurs something against his mouth and his insides feel warm and wet and relaxed. Breaking the kiss, Harry looks quizzically up at Remus.
"Lubrication spells," Remus replies to the unasked question. "It will be... easier your first time."
"Is it going... will it hurt?" Harry asks softly.
"It may," Remus answers truthfully. "But if you relax... it shouldn't for long."
Gently, Remus moves Harry into a better position in his lap. He spreads Harry's thighs so that the boy is straddling him, their cocks rubbing together. Once more the spell is muttered and Harry's cock slides against Remus' in the man's hand as he fists their cocks together. Harry feels as though every fibre of his being is calling out for release. That Remus is torturing him with this slow slide of his hand along his aching cock. He knows he is so close and wants only to come, to find his release. Instead, Remus' hand falls away and Harry nearly wants to sob. He's hard and every movement feels painful, he's so aroused.
Once more, Harry finds himself being moved but this time it's to raise his hips up. He feels the head of Remus' cock nudging his arse and instantly he tenses against the intrusion. His eyes are wide and suddenly this no longer feels like such a great idea. Harry's face is pulled forward and Remus' lips are on his once more whispering words of relaxation and comfort to Harry.
"This may hurt... it may be uncomfortable but you have to trust me. If you don't relax," Remus tries to lower him a bit more, "If you don't relax, this will hurt."
Biting his lower lip, Harry nods and wills himself to relax. Inch by inch, Harry can feel Remus' cock sliding into his arse. It's uncomfortable at first but it's through sheer willpower alone that Harry keeps from crying out and demanding Remus to stop. The motion of being lowered stops and Harry realises Remus' cock is completely sheathed inside him. The uncomfortable feeling is beginning to fade as Harry adjusts to the cock in his arse. He gives an experimental wiggle and finds that, rather than feeling pain, he feels something quite different. Maybe that was an anomaly. Once more he moves with a rocking motion and combined with the slight movement of Remus' hips the feeling is far from unpleasant. Growing bolder, Harry begins to lift himself up and lowers himself, finding a rhythm. Remus makes a noise that Harry has never heard before. Licking his lips, Harry repeats the motion and once more hears that sound come from Remus.
Remus' hands come to rest on Harry's hips, guiding the boy as he rides Remus. The angle changes slightly depending on where Remus' hands sit at his waist. The best movement is when Remus thrusts upwards just as Harry is moving downwards and he can feel the head of Remus' cock brush against oh god. Harry has no idea what Remus just hit, but all he knows is he wants him to find that spot again and again. Letting Remus guide his movements, Harry fists his cock, his hand moving in time with their thrusts.
It isn't long before Harry comes, his semen shooting in thick spurts against Remus' stomach. Remus' hands speed up Harry's movements and he's being fucked by Remus with wild abandon. He knows it's going to be hard to walk tomorrow but at this point he doesn't care. Remus tenses beneath him and a moment later Harry can feel Remus come. Gradually their hips slow and Harry comes to rest against Remus' chest. His hair is matted to his forehead and their sweat-slicked bodies glow in the dim light of Harry's room.
"Are you... did I hurt you?" Remus asks at last, finally breaking the silence of the room.
"The beginning... a bit..." Harry answers. He sees the look of near horror on Remus' face and he quickly kisses the man. "But not in the end. The end was..." Harry blushes slightly. "The end was..."
"Yes, it was." Remus replies, hiding a smile. His hips shift, his cock still inside Harry. Harry whimpers in the back of his throat, his body aching for another go. "Soon..." Remus says with a chuckle, lifting Harry off his lap. "I'm not as young as you are."
Playfully, Remus runs a finger along Harry's cock, his thumb circling the crown. Harry whimpers, then, growing bolder, reaches out to repeat the same motion Remus had done. Beneath his touch, he feels Remus' cock give a twitch. Harry looks up at Remus quizzically.
"I said I'm not as young as you are," Remus says as Harry strokes him to hardness once more. "I didn't say that the metabolism of a werewolf wasn't going to come in handy."
~*~
The days following become easier and easier. Harry emerges from his room more often and can even be found playing a game or two of Exploding Snap with Ron while Hermione looks on, pleased their trio is back together once more. They never ask what brought about his sudden mood improvement and even if they did, Harry would never tell them.
Nightly Remus slips into his room. They no longer fumble through sex. Their hands are sure and their bodies know how to react to each other. Harry has found comfort in Remus and Remus has found the same in Harry. It is their secret, one they will both carry with them to the grave.
As the weeks progress, they both find they can talk about Sirius. Entwined in each other's arms, they remember the good times and those they'd rather forget. Remus tells Harry of their school days, weaving stories so vivid that Harry can picture them perfectly in his mind. Sometimes they fuck, other times they simply enjoy the other's presence. Eventually, the void that Sirius has left in Harry's chest is taken over by Remus. It's Remus who holds him close as they fall asleep.
And in the end, Remus is the one who's always there to kiss away Harry's tears.