Mischief Managed ♦ Fic: A Noble And Most Ancient House [2/2]
Title: A Noble and Most Ancient House
Author: museme87
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 17, 131
Prompt: 96. An encounter with Walburga and Orion.
Warnings: sexual situations, angst, potential AU-ness, general Black family insanity
Summary: Sirius receives a letter from Regulus in 1979, and the life he thought he left behind finally catches up with him.
Author's Notes: One of the most interesting things for me about the Black Family Tree is seeing when all of Sirius' relatives died. I was rather surprised to learn that Orion died in '79 when the First War was really coming to a head. While I doubt that canon!Sirius cared about his father's death, I thought I might play around with the idea of "what if". What if he went back to his family? How would things have changed in canon? And essentially, that's how this fic came to be. At this point, I owe my beta, L, my first born for as many times as she has looked over this fic. Much love to you, my dear.
After following him down the corridor, Remus avoids Sirius' old bedroom for a few minutes. Sirius will likely need time to collect himself after all that, and if there is one thing he's learned about Sirius, it's that he hates anyone to see him coming unraveled.
If he could turn back time, Remus doesn't think he would have given Sirius the letter, not when he's seen how thoroughly shaken Sirius is now that he's back in Grimmauld Place. This is not at all what he expected. All he wanted for Sirius was closure, for him to be able to let go of his past demons. Remus never fully understood how big or terrifying those demons were until now, though. It's as if Sirius has become a stranger, a doppelganger that has stolen his lover's face. And Remus has no one to blame but himself.
When Remus finally does enter the room, he finds Sirius sitting on the edge of his bed, head hanging and back to the door. Any comment could be the wrong one-I'm sorry, Are you alright?, You're scaring the hell out of me - so to bide his time, Remus glances around, taking in first sight of Sirius' room.
In a lighter situation, Remus would be amused by the Muggle posters of half-naked women and motorbikes in the bedroom of a young man distinctly confused by disenchanted Muggle things. An act of rebellion, Remus thinks-a last effort to gain some sort of acknowledgement from parents who were far past responding to their wayward son. The red and gold banners and draperies just serve to accent an already evident point.
Treading carefully, Remus moves to sit next to Sirius on the bed. Sirius makes no attempt to acknowledge him, but Remus knows that Sirius isn't so lost in himself that he doesn't know he's there. They sit in heavy silence, the creaks and groans of the House of Black serving to make that silence all the louder.
"I imagined it to be bigger."
Slowly, Sirius raises his eyes to meet him. "What to be bigger?"
"Your bedroom." Remus shrugs. "It's still a good deal bigger than mine, but-"
"Don't," Sirius begs miserably, voice rough like gravel. "I…I know what you're trying to do, Moony. So just don't."
His thought process-the one telling him to avoid the big issue, the hippogriff in the room-dies a swift death with Sirius' words. Sobering, Remus lets his own head drop and swallows hard, his throat suddenly very dry.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Remus asks in an almost-whisper.
Sirius snorts, as if it's the stupidest question in the world. "No."
Remus wonders if the source of Sirius' distance is due to helplessness, or embarrassment, or something equally as difficult to qualify. And feeling utterly helpless himself, Remus stares blankly at the floor, imagining being in bed with Sirius right now at Sirius' flat-the taste of his smile, the brush of his kiss, the passion alight in his eyes.
"It's complicated, Moonshine," Sirius says eventually, after what feels like a lifetime.
"What is?"
He gives a derisive little laugh. "Everything. Sometimes… sometimes I think I really am mad, just like dear old mum."
"You're not," Remus comforts, placing his hand on Sirius' arm.
They hold each other's gaze for moments until Sirius shakes his head and slips off the bed to the window. Remus wishes he knew more Legilimency than he does-which is to say none. He can't even begin to guess what's going through Sirius' mind. Maybe if he tries to get Sirius to open up indirectly, he'll have success.
"What will happen after your father passes?" he asks, gently. "Your mother will be left everything, I assume. Or will it be Regulus since he's…"
Remus trails off upon the realization that he's nearly breeched a particularly sore subject-Sirius' disinheritance. He waits for Sirius' reaction, bracing himself for anger, and is therefore surprised when Sirius turns to him rather unaffected.
"It doesn't quite work like that. Everything will be left to the entirety of his recognized family, not just one person."
"Recognized family?"
Sirius nods. "My mother, Regulus, and myself, if I hadn't been disinherited. When they were married, a ceremony was performed so that the magic tied to Grimmauld Place will only acknowledge themselves and any children of their shared blood. My father's bastards won't receive so much as a Knut of the fortune or a piece of Goblin-made dinnerware."
"Bastards?" Remus asks, rather louder than he meant to in his surprise.
"He had two mistresses, my father. I never met them, only heard my mother screaming at him about them. Not that taking on a mistress is uncommon, mind. It's rather expected, but Father had a taste for a particular Muggle-born. Kept her for years from what I understand. Needless to say, Mother wasn't exactly pleased."
While that was all very informative, Remus' head is still spinning with the idea that Sirius has siblings other than Regulus. He's never mentioned them, though he obviously knew about them. Remus supposes that fact alone ought to say something about Sirius' upbringing, about how utterly fucked up it was.
"But your siblings," Remus prompts.
"A sister from his Muggle-born mistress. Named after a constellation, which was the final straw for my mother. A mistress and bastard she could tolerate, but my father was showing a bit too much favoritism. Anyway, I think she's seven years old or somewhere thereabout. And a younger brother by his other mistress, who no one speaks of."
Sirius may disregard the fact that he has other siblings, but Remus has the distinct impression that it affects him more than he might let on. Having spent years seeking out his father's affections and approval, it must have dealt Sirius quite the blow to learn about a favored sister, a sister that, as far as Remus can tell, received more support and acknowledgement than pure-blood proprieties deem acceptable.
Rising from the bed, Remus moves to stand in front of Sirius. What he's going to say, he isn't sure. And as he watches Sirius work through what he's just said-the confession of a father's unrequited interest and affection-he sees the thoughts manifesting themselves on Sirius' face through the pulling of his lips and narrowing of his eyes. Maybe, Remus thinks, silence might be best.
"He hated me, Remus," Sirius explains softly, as if coming upon a potential discovery. "He hated me because I chose you over my fiancée where he chose my mother over the woman he loved. And not only that, but I was living proof of that betrayal from the moment I was born."
"I don't think he hated you. Things aren't so cut and dry like that, Sirius."
"It is in this case. He hated me, and I still can't bring myself to hate him." He looks up, swallowing hard. "I wasn't good enough. I should have been a better son, a better heir."
Remus takes him by the arms and gives him a firm shake. "Shut up. I'm not going to stand here and let you beat yourself up over this. For Christ's sake, he's the one with the issue, not you. You're perfect."
A statement that he knows will go straight to Sirius' already swollen ego, Remus says it all the same. And Remus leans in to kiss Sirius-firmly and tenderly, filled to the brim with affection that Sirius was always starved for. As their bodies align and their lips meet, he feels his perfection.
He gets lost in the storm of Sirius' emotions, kissing roughly then softly then hesitantly then fully. And Remus can only try to stay afloat, to meet Sirius with twice what Sirius is giving him. His head spins, internal compass broken, but none of that really matters so long as Sirius is getting lost as well.
~*~
For the remainder of the day, Remus and Sirius stay locked up in the room, mostly in quiet companionship. Dinner arrives promptly at six via an old house-elf-one that Remus thinks is the infamous Kreacher he heard so much about at school-which is then followed by a summons at eight o'clock by Walburga.
Sirius says little when Remus follows him into a small, though luxurious, study on the third floor, something that surprises Remus, as he was expecting an argument. A fire burns in the fireplace, warming the slightly drafty room. It's not long before Remus is tugging at the collar of his jumper to free himself of excess heat.
Walburga arrives shortly after in a bustle of black satin, Regulus trailing directly behind her. Without so much as a glance at him or Sirius, she sits herself in a cushioned, high-back chair near the fireplace, countenance stern and straight to business.
"Must he go wherever you go, Sirius?" she asks bitterly, eyes trained on Remus. "He follows you around like an insipid little house-elf. It's perfectly unseemly."
Sirius rolls his eyes. "I love him. He stays."
"I do not have time to argue with you. We are at great risk of being discovered as it is. I'll permit his presence this once. Though it should be known that if he speaks of anything said tonight, your whore will find that restrictions placed upon him by the Ministry's Werewolf Registry will tighten considerably."
Remus' jaw tenses, and he takes several deep breathes. She would make good on the threat-would perhaps make good on it regardless of whether he talked or not-if it weren't for the fact that she wants Sirius for something. He needs to tread carefully around her because if Remus knows anything, it's that the Blacks have all the sway over the Ministry that they want.
Sirius opens his mouth-perhaps to come to Remus' defense once again-but Walburga silences him with a wave of her hand. She then straightens herself, her back nearly rigid, and smoothes the fabric of her fine dressrobes.
"When your father passes-and I cannot imagine it will be long-we will all find ourselves in a very serious predicament. I am not so much concerned about my own well-being. No, my fool of a sister-in-law and the Malfoy family know better than to cross me. I do, however, have great fear for the safety of my sons," she explains, inclining her head to acknowledge Sirius and Regulus.
"Mother, I'm afraid I still don't completely understand," Regulus says from the chair next to her.
"Your father's line is the line of primary inheritance. It is we who control the family properties, fortune, and positions of power in society. Yet, we are without an heir. Your brother," she looks at Sirius, "failed to marry his bride, failed to get a child on her. And now we are left in a very severe and dangerous position."
"Because we're only left with Regulus as heir," Sirius clarifies, arms folded across his chest as he leans against the grand desk in the center of the room.
Remus is surprised that he's going along with this, surprised at how intently he's listening to his mother. For a moment, he thinks that Sirius may be falling back into the life he left behind. But, no, he wouldn't. He hated that life. Surely this all comes down to getting information. Surely.
"Indeed. It would not even be enough if we reinstated you in the line of inheritance. We need the next generation to ensure our place of power."
"I don't see how any of this affects me anymore," Sirius counters.
"Who stands to gain everything?!"
"Bellatrix. She would be next in line after me with Sirius disinherited," Regulus says.
"You are wrong! That stupid, stupid girl. My brother should have been more careful with her. She is above her head in the Dark Arts, and is now worthless as anyone's bride."
Remus isn't sure what this means, where any of this is going, only that he's concerned for Sirius. If Mrs. Black, mad and spiteful as she is, is worried that something might happen to Sirius, Remus knows there must be a threat to him. But Sirius, as his grey eyes widen, apparently has a better idea of what's happening.
"She's barren?" he asks.
Regulus looks shocked, his mouth dropping open and his eyes immediately drawn to his mother. "But she was pregnant last year!"
"Yes, and the child came early and dead. Tiny, scrap of a thing deformed beyond recognition. As was the child Lestrange got on her before they were wed. Dead and deformed, a mark of a girl who has been hit by too many curses and participated in far too many dark and unorthodox rituals. She's no good to her parents or the Lestranges now. No, Bellatrix is not our enemy."
Suddenly, Remus recalls the way Narcissa looked earlier, the words her father said. And before he can stop himself, he says, "Narcissa."
Everyone looks at him, first in surprise before Walburga's eyes narrow. It's as if by opening his mouth, he's personally offended her. And by acknowledging the fact that he's listening in on the conversation, she becomes suddenly more resentful of his presence in her home. For a moment, Remus thinks she's going to draw her wand, but Sirius clears his throat, reminding her of their unspoken truce, so Walburga continues.
"Narcissa," she confirms. "That dull, obedient girl who lacks the crazed danger-lust of her eldest sister and the rebellious nature of her middle. As far as I can tell, she is in perfect health. Coupled with the ambition of her mother and the Malfoys, we are in grave danger, indeed. Mark my words, she will be with child within the year. We can only hope it is a girl, but the Malfoys are known for producing boys."
"But that would still require something happening to me," Regulus interjects.
"Do you think that difficult to arrange, son? You've agreed, against mine and your father's wishes, to join the Dark Lord's cause, putting you in the middle of the war. If Dumbledore's fools do not strike you down soon, the Malfoys will arrange it. No one will think anything of it on the battlefield. I would rather your brother be brought back into the line of inheritance than let the house of my fathers fall into the hands of a new-money, less-pure family like the Malfoys."
"And I can be killed just as easily," Sirius says, eyes unfocused staring towards the floor.
Walburga nods. "And then we truly are finished."
Remus reaches out for Sirius' hand and squeezes when their fingers intertwine. As if the threat of the war itself wasn't bad enough, now they have to worry about the Death Eaters actively seeking to kill Sirius. The thought of life without him leaves Remus strikingly empty, and he vows to fight to protect Sirius, even if it means his own life. He would rather die than live without him, as cliché as such a sentiment sounds.
"I…I ought to be married," Regulus says hesitantly, breaking the heavy silence. "It is my duty, and I should like a companion very much, I think."
Sirius scoffs. "You're eighteen, Regulus. You don't even understand what you're saying."
"You were just seventeen when you were engaged."
"Yes, and I hated it."
"You hated it because you were already in love with someone else. I've never permitted myself to become so close to a young lady, so this isn't an issue for me."
"Enough!" Walburga shrieks, her patience seemingly wearing quite thin. "Regulus will be betrothed soon. Your father and I were in negotiations with several worthy, noble families before he fell ill. Once he is buried, I will continue them myself. It is no longer a question of if, but when. Still, heirs take time to produce. I will not rest easy until we have a son in the cradle and another in the womb, and neither of you are out of danger until then."
Tightening his hold on Remus' hand, Sirius looks at him, eyes apologetic as if to say he is sorry for dragging him into this mess. Remus shakes his head; there is no other place he'd rather be than supporting Sirius. This isn't easy-being with his family again. And while Sirius is taking it well at the moment, that is no doubt subject to change on a whim.
A pop! startles Remus, and he looks in the direction of the fireplace to see the house-elf that delivered dinner. The house-elf bows deeply before Walburga, but she looks on with complete disregard.
"Mistress was wanting to know if Abraxas Malfoy was snooping around Grimmauld Place. He is looking for Mistress and acting strangely."
"Very well." She dismisses the house-elf with a wave of her hand, and he leaves with another pop!. "Even though we are to be mourning your father, I do not expect that the three of us should be seen alone together. No doubt Abraxas will become more suspicious than he already is. You may go, and quickly."
With the dismissal, Sirius is the first to move, eager no doubt to be out from under his mother's eyes. However, it's Regulus who reaches the door first and exits. Before Sirius can even come in close proximity to it, Walburga has grabbed him by the upper arm, stopping his progress.
"You have failed at your duty as our heir and have forsaken us, Sirius. However, that disappointment will be nothing compared to the disappointment I would feel if you gave Malfoy the pleasure of killing you. For Merlin's sake, use your wits, son, and promise me you will protect your brother. Blood comes before all else. Remember that."
"I won't disappoint you this time, Mother," he says with great conviction. "No Malfoy is going to get the best of me, regardless of how you feel on the matter."
Such obvious defiance-Sirius telling her that her opinion means nothing to him-and yet Walburga looks at Sirius with maternal pride.
~*~
A long night follows that conversation with Walburga, Remus unable to sleep from worry. His mind races with thoughts of Death Eater attacks and the danger that Sirius is now in. Only a day ago he had been thinking how badly he didn't want to see Sirius leave in a matter of days. Now though, Remus thinks that perhaps Sirius leaving for the Greece job won't be such a bad thing after all; at least he's safer away from England. It pains Remus that he can't go along with him due to sanctions on werewolf travel. Sometimes he wonders if they'll ever get the opportunity to be happy.
For hours, he stares at Sirius, tracing his features in the pale moonlight to commit them to memory. Every time a stray piece of hair falls onto pale skin, Remus brushes it out of the way. Sirius moves with every touch of his fingers, curling himself closer and closer still against Remus' chest. Remus' heart aches, threatened by the thought of some permanent separation from Sirius.
He's not quite sure how Sirius can sleep so soundly, so peacefully amongst so much turmoil. His father is dying; his mother is being strangely warm in her own, cold way. Sirius' life is in danger two-fold now, yet Remus is certain that he wouldn't wake even if someone Reductoed the room around them. Perhaps he even loves him a little more for it, despite the fact he doesn't understand.
At dawn, Sirius stirs, greeting him with a lazy smile. They draw soft kisses from each other's lips and even softer moans. Sirius is hard against his thigh, and Remus aches to touch him, to have him. They've still not shagged-a fact that Remus considers entirely criminal.
"Want you," Remus murmurs against Sirius collarbone, placing a gentle bite there.
Sirius grins, sleepily. "I can feel that."
Remus rolls his hips against Sirius, bringing a whimpered oh from him. He watches as Sirius' eyes flutter shut, knowing that Sirius is living in the sensations he's providing. Hand finding its way between them, he nearly has Sirius in his grasp-and he really does love that fact that Sirius sleeps starkers-when Sirius rolls away from him, evading his touch.
"Sirius," he groans.
Sirius brings a finger to his lips. "Wait. I need to get up and show myself, visit Father and the like. You understand, right?"
It would be easier to pretend that he doesn't, to pretend that he's completely forgotten words and have his way with Sirius. But he does get it. Perhaps it's not so much out of obligation to his family even, but to show Malfoy that he's not going to hide from him.
Remus nods, though not without disappointment, "Yeah, I understand."
"You look exhausted," he says, carding his fingers through Remus' hair. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"
"A bit, maybe," Remus replies, shrugging. "Should I go with you?"
"No, stay here. Sleep." He pushes Remus down on the bed. "I'll be back by lunch, and then…"
Grinning wickedly, Sirius draws his finger up Remus' hard length, making Remus shudder pleasantly and want to curse him all the same. He crawls out of bed, rummaging around for fresh clothes in his rucksack. Remus, all the while, stares up at the red canopy of Sirius' bed, contemplating whether or not he wants to waste what little energy he has wanking after Sirius leaves.
"Moony?"
Remus looks to a now-dressed Sirius. "Hmm?"
"I love you. Don't worry so much." He waves his hand about the air. "Sweet dreams, yeah?"
Remus' eyes, suddenly heavy, close. A sleeping charm, he thinks, before he falls into quick slumber, not even hearing Sirius leave.
What Remus does hear midst the haze of sleepiness is the not so subtle closing of the bedroom door. He stirs, thinking Sirius is back, but does not open his eyes or bother moving. No, Sirius will crawl into bed any moment now, and Remus will let him think he's asleep.
Except Sirius doesn't crawl into bed. There is a sharp, impatient, and distinctly feminine, clearing of the throat, and Remus is suddenly very awake. He blinks rapidly, forcing the sleep from his eyes and struggling to focus. When he does, he is confronted by the exceedingly perturbed Mrs. Black, looking immaculately put together. For a moment, Remus wonders if she has ever worn anything besides dressrobes, but that thought is cut short by a heavy pouch that's thrown onto the bed.
"What's this?" he asks, trying to cover himself up quickly after the realization that he's practically naked in front of Sirius' mother.
She lifts her brow. "Payment."
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't understand."
He tries his best to be polite, despite the fact that he isn't following her. However, Remus thinks he knows enough to know whatever "payment" she's offering him isn't for anything good. Not moving to take the pouch, Remus waits expectantly for her answer.
"I want you to take the money and leave my son. I've provided you with more Galleons than you are likely to see in your entire lifetime, werewolf, so I suggest that you take my offer graciously."
"I'm sorry that you think so little of me. What I feel for Sirius can't be bought, Mrs. Black. Keep your gold. I'm not interested, and I won't ever be."
Her moderate good humor suddenly fades, face contorted in anger. "What do you think you can provide him with that no pure-blood woman can? Certainly not a child, no. Or a legitimate marriage. You keep him from his inheritance, his birthright. My son is destined for greatness, and you are doing nothing but holding him back, you filthy half-breed!"
Remus pretends like he isn't hearing his own insecurities-his own misgivings about his relationship with Sirius-thrown back at him. Because whether he wants to admit it or otherwise, he is responsible for Sirius' disinheritance. The marriage problem doesn't bother Remus, at least not now. And as of their last conversation on the subject, it doesn't matter to Sirius. But a child… Sirius has been strangely quiet on the subject, which shakes Remus to his very foundations. For all that he hates it, Mrs. Black's points are mostly valid, and Remus can only think to respond with a feeble attempt at justification.
"I love him," he whispers, though loud enough that she can hear.
"Any woman can warm his bed just as well as you. Do not be so stupid to think that makes you remarkable in any way."
"He loves me, too, you know. If he found out that you were trying to buy me, he'd never forgive you."
"Do you think he will ever forgive me for the countless number of other atrocities I've committed against him? I would rather be mother to a strong, brilliant son than to one who loves me. If you are trying to appeal to my maternal sensibilities, you may stop now. It will do you no good."
Once upon a time, Remus wondered how Sirius could fold so easily under his mother's harsh words. He remembers the questions and comments he'd put to his lover-Why do you put up with it? or So just tell her that, Sirius- in those days in Gryffindor Tower. But now, under that same stern gaze, that same infuriated voice, Remus knows. It serves as a striking example of just how determined Sirius is that he was able to tell this woman he was leaving. If it had been him, no doubt he would still be under her thumb.
"You see how futile this is, half-breed? You are only serving to hold him back, but Sirius will recognize it soon enough. He does not have a mind for anyone to chain him as you are doing. He will grow weary of you, mark my words, and will leave. Take your gold and spare yourself the misery."
In Remus' silence, she thinks she's won, her expression shifting back to her usual mask of indifference. In her victory, she turns to the door, and though she may be right, Remus won't give her the satisfaction.
"This relationship may be destined for ruin," he begins, and she pauses, "but I'm going to see it through. I hate to see him unhappy, so if he's going to return to this hell, madam, he'll do it of his own accord. I won't force that unhappiness upon him."
"You fool!"
The glass lamp on the bedside table shatters with a muttered Reducto, shards exploding onto the bed. He covers his eyes instinctually and wonders if the spell wasn't meant for him directly instead of the furnishings.
Apparently even she can recognize a lost cause when she sees it, though, and shuts the door loudly with her departure. Remus lies back after banishing the glass, staring at nothing in particular, mind lost in a faraway place. He thinks it strange how someone can be so out of line and yet so right.
His and Sirius' relationship is far from fairy tale. They've gotten together, broken up, and gotten back together again. They are so remarkably different that it's a wonder that they can get along at all. Perhaps the fates are against them. Perhaps he'll never have that ideal life with Sirius. All evidence suggests that he won't. His whole part in the relationship rides on the fact that none of that matters, that he's somehow enough for Sirius. That Sirius loves him.
And somehow if Sirius does love him like he claims, that is enough for Remus.
~*~
When Sirius does return, Remus is still laying in bed, on his stomach. He stares out the window, pretty sunlight somehow turned grimy as it passes through the glass. A prison, he thinks, and nothing more. It can hardly be a wonder, then, how everyone that lived in this house for their lifetime has gone mad. A cold fog looms in Grimmauld Place, like the icy chill of a Dementor, casting a spell of misery on its inhabitants.
And that very spell of misery has been cast on Sirius, perhaps truly for the first time since they arrived. As Remus moves to look over his shoulder when Sirius slips onto the bed, Sirius gently stops him. He hears Sirius sniff back tears and wetness, hears it and pretends that he hasn't. While Remus can't remember exactly when, he knows it's been quite some time since Sirius was moved to tears, perhaps as far back as sixth year. Suddenly, Remus is grateful that Sirius has denied him a glance.
"Sirius?"
A hot, wet kiss grazes Remus' neck, and then, "Don't, love."
Sirius moves, cat-like, against him, stretching over him and pinning him to the bed by his wrists. Sirius' grip is not hard, just firm enough that Remus won't try to move; Remus thinks Sirius should know by now that he would never deny him this.
This is something uniquely Sirius-a need to work through physically what he's struggling with mentally. It's nothing new to Remus, but it has been a while. Seventh year was a particularly difficult year for Sirius, considering his family drama ending in his disinheritance. Remus cannot count the number of nights Sirius sneaked into his bed, took him gently by the hands, and, without looking at him once, shagged him. Remus, for his part, just tries to meet Sirius' needs-needs that, in all honesty, he can only guess at.
He doesn't hear the lubrication charm, but he feels it immediately, his stomach muscles clenching. Sirius allows him a moment to adjust-always has, despite Remus being long past the point of needing the time to do so-planting trails of kisses down his spine. Remus shivers as Sirius' tongue traces imaginary patterns along a particularly nasty scar on his back. The area being always sensitive, he makes an involuntary whimper of approval.
And then Sirius is sliding back up his body, his cock brushing against Remus' entrance. It's not but a second later that Sirius is pushing past the tight muscle until he's buried deep within him. Sirius moves immediately, quick and hard and pointedly. In. Out. In. Out.
Remus raises his hips to meet the violent thrusts. Sirius pounds into him, and Remus feels utterly raw, as if this is what shagging is at its most fundamental level. It's good, and it's working, and Remus finds himself pushed towards the precipice. As much as he enjoys topping-and he does so frequently in this relationship-sometimes having Sirius filling him brings back the nostalgia of those first few times.
What ultimately breaks that nostalgia is Sirius burying his head in the crook of Remus' neck, letting out a sort of sob. But not the good kind of sob, not an orgasm induced sob. This sob breaks Remus, heart and soul. How he wishes he was not responsible for bringing Sirius to this place again.
A kiss follows in its wake. Then a sob. Then a kiss until they somehow blend into little kiss-sobs that don't make much sense to Remus, yet that's the only way he can describe them. His own erection flags, and it's a testament to Sirius' virility that he can even keep this up in his current condition.
Keep it up he does until he's shuddering and spilling himself inside Remus. Sirius wilts gracefully, first against Remus' back and then to his side. Remus does not stir, does not chance to roll over for fear that Sirius' cheeks are still wet.
Moments pass, Remus waiting for some sign that it's safe, before Sirius mutters, "I'm sorry."
"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he replies, rolling to face Sirius and planting a loving kiss on his nose.
"You didn't even come, Moony."
"Doesn't matter. Are you…?"
He hesitates to voice the full question-Are you alright?-because obviously Sirius isn't. And Remus doesn't expect it to prompt Sirius to speak, so Remus is especially surprised when he does.
"I'm really sorry," he repeats, wiping his face and claiming composure once again. "This house…you know what it does to me. And let's not get started on my family."
"Can you handle this? We could go if you'd like. I should be the one apologizing. I brought you here in the first place."
Sirius shakes his head. "No, I'm glad you did, glad I could see it again with my own eyes. They're all out of their sodding minds. Case in point: my baby brother is a fucking Death Eater and has been since sixteen."
"I'm not quite sure how seeing this again is a positive thing, Padfoot."
"Because I get it now-why my father was the way he was, why mother is the way she is. I guess…I don't have the resentment I had before to muddle my thoughts because I can walk away from it if I want to. My father hated my mother because she was the reason he couldn't be with the woman he loved. And my mother hated my father because he preferred a bastard daughter over two legitimate sons. And Reg and I are fucked up because of it."
"You're not fucked up," Remus whispers, smoothing back Sirius' hair.
"But I am, and I realized it too late. Reg too." Sirius looks into Remus' eyes. "Do you know what he told me?"
"Regulus?"
Sirius nods. "He told me this morning when we were visiting Father that he regrets it."
"Regrets what?"
"Being a Death Eater. He admits that it was a stupid decision made because he was impressed with Voldemort's power. He wants out, Remus, but he's too far involved now. I…I can't do anything for him."
"And that's what has you so upset."
"I'm supposed to be the older brother, supposed to protect him," he says, voice cracking and face a splotchy red. "But I failed at that like I failed at everything else. It's my fault that my family is in the position it's in."
Remus feels his heart pang and sink in his chest. No, it's not Sirius' fault. He was going to be the dutiful son, going to be the heir to the House of Black. He had promised himself to his bride, went through with the engagement. But Remus had forced his hand, had refused to be the other woman when in reality there were probably worse things in the world to be than Sirius Black's mistress.
"This is my fault, Sirius."
"No, don't," Sirius demands, before kissing him with such affection. "If there is one thing I love most about you, Moony, it's that you don't compromise yourself for me. I don't think you can quite understand how unique a trait that is, but trust me on this. Not just anyone would tell the heir to one of the most powerful families in the wizarding world exactly where he could shove it."
"But what if something happens to you? What if your mother is right about the Malfoys?"
"I've no doubt that she's right. Mother doesn't get so worked up over nothing."
"So the Death Eaters will start hunting you purposefully now."
"It's complicated, love."
Remus isn't sure what's so complicated about a question like that. What he knows for certain is that if something happens to Sirius, he will never stop blaming himself. Or even if something happens to Regulus for that matter. This is his fault.
"I don't understand."
"We wait. That's all we can do. If Narcissa can't produce Malfoy's heir, we've worried for nothing. Without a baby of Black blood in the cradle, they need Regulus or me alive to get what they want."
"What do they want?"
"Hush."
Sirius shushes him with a kiss, eyes begging him to drop the subject. Despite the fact that he doesn't want to, Remus opts to let it go for now. He doesn't understand pure-blood politics, which makes understanding any of this mess nearly impossible. He does get one thing though, and as horrible as it is, Remus prays to God as he lies in Sirius' arms that Narcissa Malfoy can't conceive a child.
~*~
Orion Black dies late that afternoon. The news is delivered by the family's Healer, followed by an expression of condolences. Remus is surprised that Orion's wife and sons remain dry eyed-no tears of sadness or relief. Nothing.
As silly as it is, Remus finds his own eyes wet, thinking of hearing those very words said by a Muggle doctor in reference to hisfather. He tries to force his face into stone, like everyone else in this room save Narcissa who sobs melodramatically in a puddle of green silks. However, he can't quite manage it, so he politely excuses himself and returns to Sirius' bedroom.
How far does one have to push their family so that they feel nothing upon that person's death? Remus barely knew him and yet he feels something. A sadness, he thinks, that one should feel at the loss of any human life. But Orion will have mourners, Remus is sure. A Muggle-born woman and a little girl named for the stars. Perhaps another and her son. Yet surely they will not be allowed to attend the funeral. For all that Sirius would disagree with him, that idea strikes him as very wrong. If anyone should bury Orion Black, it should be his loved ones.
For the next hour, Remus sets to cleaning up the bedroom the Muggle way, slipping his and Sirius' things into a rucksack and straightening up the sheets. It's easier to avoid the situation when his mind is somewhere else, and very briefly he is successful.
Sirius returns to him soon enough, softly closing the door and stopping just steps away from him. Miserably, Remus considers what this day would have meant for the Sirius of sixth year, the Sirius who was still heir. He would be the newly crowned head of a family with a frightening amount of power, influence, and wealth at his fingertips. Momentarily, Remus wonders if he regrets his choices, whether he feels the absence of his birthright. Sirius' eyes are unreadable.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Padfoot," he says, draping a button-up over his arm in mid-fold.
"Don't be. I'm not."
Remus nods, defeated. He has no idea how to interact with Sirius just now, sensing that Sirius is going to deflect everything he throws at him. Rather than waste his breath, Remus returns to his folding.
"I've almost finished packing. We can leave whenever you're comfortable."
Hearing Sirius' heavy sigh, he braces himself for what's to come. What that is, he can't even guess. But when he feels Sirius' arms winding around his middle, pulling him firmly against his back, and the kiss to his neck, Remus is suddenly eased.
"I have to ask a favor of you," Sirius whispers into his ear. "I need you to go home right now."
The easiness that came is gone in an instant, Remus turning in Sirius' arms. "Without you?"
"The funeral will be in the morning. I…should show my face. I may have been disinherited, but I'm not disowned. And if I go, it might show the Malfoys that I will still support Regulus, which could prevent them from attacking for a while. I don't think they were counting on my being here."
"I'll stay then and go with you to the funeral."
"I'm sorry, love, but you can't."
Remus senses the bitterness bubbling up inside him, can tell that he's probably going to say something he'll regret. He speaks the words all the same.
"I guess if your father's whores aren't allowed to go, your whore isn't either."
"Oh, come off it. That's not why."
The potential reasons why chip away at him. Is it because he's a werewolf? Has Mrs. Black vowed not to tolerate his presence any longer? Is Sirius having second thoughts about their relationship in light of the recent turn of events? Would he like to avoid having his face on the cover of the Prophet with his male lover?
"Stop it," Sirius demands gently, placing a kiss on his forehead. "You're too adorable when you sulk, Moony."
"Why can't I go?" he asks, directing his attention to the fullness of Sirius' lips since he is unable to meet those storm gray eyes.
"My family is flooing and Apparating in as we speak. Mother has been surprisingly cordial with you, or at least as cordial as that harpy can be. My grandparents, however, will not be. I won't endanger you any further than I already have, love."
"But-"
"You promised me. Please don't fight with me on this."
Remus pulls away and sits on the bed, defeated. He had promised, and he has Sirius' safety to consider as well. It still doesn't make him want to leave, but Remus knows that he has to.
"When will you be home?"
"Tomorrow night," Sirius answers, his relief apparent.
Pulling open his old wardrobe, Sirius begins to look through clothes that he likely outgrew two years ago. Remus watches with interest, unsure of what Sirius is looking for exactly. It's with some surprise that Remus realizes he's choosing dressrobes-clothing that looks rather poncy and outdated compared to Muggle clothing. To wizarding society though, the rich fabrics, intricately detailed and fine, are a mark of prestige.
"I'm sorry we haven't been able to spend much time together," Sirius says, discarding himself of a Muggle tee.
Remus shakes his head, watching Sirius put on an ivory shirt. "Things come up. When are you leaving for Greece again?"
Off come the faded blue denims, replaced with tailored black trousers. "Tuesday."
Two days. By the time Sirius returns from the funeral, they'll have less than twenty-four hours before he has to leave. Remus recalls that it's supposed to be a lengthy job, ancient Greek wards always proving to require a lot of time and great care when disarming.
Looking at Sirius as he puts on a vest of green and black brocade, Remus wonders if they'll ever work out. He's not sure how much more distance he can take, how much more pining away he can do before it transforms into something akin to resentment. He loves Sirius more than anything, and yet…
"Does my hair look alright, love?"
Remus glances up and smiles at the sight of Sirius primping in the mirror. "Flawless."
And he is. It comes as a shock-Sirius, dressed in his old clothing charmed to the right size. It's the first time that Remus has really got a good look at Sirius in these fine dressrobes- garments from his past. He looks inch for inch the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black-gorgeous and dreamy and powerful. With the donning of these clothes, Remus can't help but think that Sirius somehow took on the life and responsibilities he left behind.
~*~
The day Orion Black is buried, it's a media firestorm. Faces of the Blacks fill the front page for weeks on end. One would assume that Regulus, being the head of the house, would appear in those articles more frequently than anyone else. However, it is instead Sirius who claims that honor. Apparently, the return of the prodigal son of the House of Black is far more news worthy.
Remus saves the clippings from the various newspapers and tabloids while Sirius is away in Greece. Every Tuesday he Apparates to Sirius' flat to drop off a sizable pile, and by the time that Sirius is due home-two and a half months after his father's funeral-he will have enough reading material for a week.
When Sirius returns, it's raining. Nothing-not even the rubbish weather-can get Remus' spirits down, though. In front of the cemetery, he waits, searching frantically for any sight of his lover. There is a pop! behind him, startling his worn nerves, and Remus turns quickly.
He's greeted by the sight of grey eyes and pale flesh turned bronze in the Greek sun. Sirius, handsome as ever. Without a thought for decorum, Remus throws his arms around Sirius' neck-discarding his umbrella entirely-and hugs him fiercely. Sirius returns his affection with a one-armed embrace and his bark of a laugh.
"Merlin's bollocks, I've missed you, Moonshine."
"Missed you too. I don't know why in the world you wanted to meet here. You know what point in the cycle-"
"Yeah, four days until the moon and you're bloody insatiable right now. Relax, I won't be long, and then you can keep me in bed for as long as you like."
"So why are we here again?" Remus asks, eager to get this errand over with and Apparate back to Sirius' flat.
"I just want to check up on the grave. All sorts of dark magic can be performed with the right materials, and given that the Malfoys want to take over the House, I'm worried they might have disturbed the grave."
"For what?"
"Hair, skin-anything of my father's really."
Sirius motions for Remus to follow him through the warded gates of the wizarding cemetery where his father is buried. By the looks of things, they are the sole visitors, save for a middle-aged woman and a young, dark haired girl who they pass on the way to the grave.
This, Sirius explains, is the cemetery where many noble, pure-blood families are buried and has been the place of burial for the Black family for centuries. It's well-kept with beautiful grounds and great mausoleums built of fine stone. Unlike most Muggle cemeteries, there is no sense of age just from sight; stones and buildings marked two hundred years previous look like they were only filled yesterday.
Arriving at the mausoleum marking Orion's tomb, Sirius begins to undo the wards-only those acknowledged as belonging to Black blood can get past the spells. Remus notices a small bouquet of flowers left on the steps - the only sign that anyone has visited.
It takes only a few minutes for Sirius to check the tomb for dark magic. Meanwhile, Remus waits outside, as Sirius does not trust the family wards to let him pass. He's eager to get out of this rain, out of these clothes, and into bed. Not quite having mustered the courage to ask, Remus doesn't know when Sirius' next job is-how much time he has to savor this go around.
Sealing the tomb, Sirius joins Remus back out in the rain. He turns, pausing before the grand building, and thinks for several heavy moments.
"My mother sent me a letter in Greece."
"Why?"
"She found a letter my father had written to me before he became too ill. I've no idea why she thought to send it to me. Hell, she didn't even break the seal on it, which is surprising."
In the privacy of the cemetery, Remus takes Sirius' hand. "What did it say?"
"That, while I may have fallen short of following Black ideologies, I was the better man. That he was proud of me, for all that it seemed like I disappointed him. He wished that he would have chosen Elizabeth-his primary mistress-over my mother like I chose you over Vanossa."
Remus searches Sirius' face and sees a particular resolve there. He doesn't see past that, however, because he is too caught up in the details of Sirius' lips and cheeks and eyes. This time of the month always endlessly feeds his sex drive, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.
"He asked me to protect Regulus."
"And how do you feel about all this?" he asks, finally pulling himself from his admiration.
"I'm still as confused as I ever was."
Remus nods his reply, unable to offer any sort of advice or comfort. The Black family is an enigma that he's resigned never to understand.
"I've quit my job at Gringott's."
It's a struggle to process the words, and Remus finally sputters, "Wait, what?"
"I'm joining the Order."
His heart gives a little flutter in his chest, but Remus quashes the euphoria, for fear that he's not understanding fully. Sirius loved that job, loved the adventure and the thrill it brought. It would take something incredible for him to give it up.
"Why? I mean, not that I'm not happy, but Sirius…"
"I've disappointed them since I was eleven," Sirius explains, eyes trained on his father's name inscribed in the marble of the tomb. "I don't care about Mother…or even him, but I can't turn my back on Regulus. It's not too late to save us."
Maybe Remus should be surprised by this sort of renewed allegiance to Regulus; he certainly wants to be surprised. But the fact of the matter is, he's not. He saw Sirius and Regulus together in the newspaper, saw the way Sirius' hand was clapped on Regulus' shoulder, the way that he tried to shield his brother from the cameras and reporters.
Remus thinks for a moment that Walburga was right, that Sirius will never be able to shake the Black legacy. They've drilled a sense of familial obligation into him, and when push comes to shove, Sirius will never be able to completely give the Blacks up. Not his desire for his father's love, not his disgust in his mother's madness, not his sense of responsibility to Regulus.
He wants to warn Sirius about the changes shifting within him, wants to bring to light what going back to Grimmauld Place has done to him. But then Remus realizes that nothing has changed. The protectiveness that makes him want to quit his dream job for Regulus' sake is the same protectiveness that fueled his desire to become an Animagi. Love. Duty. Family-whether by blood or choice. Sirius knows nothing else, feels nothing more strongly than these. And Remus wouldn't change that for the world.
"Come on, Padfoot, let's go home."
Author: museme87
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 17, 131
Prompt: 96. An encounter with Walburga and Orion.
Warnings: sexual situations, angst, potential AU-ness, general Black family insanity
Summary: Sirius receives a letter from Regulus in 1979, and the life he thought he left behind finally catches up with him.
Author's Notes: One of the most interesting things for me about the Black Family Tree is seeing when all of Sirius' relatives died. I was rather surprised to learn that Orion died in '79 when the First War was really coming to a head. While I doubt that canon!Sirius cared about his father's death, I thought I might play around with the idea of "what if". What if he went back to his family? How would things have changed in canon? And essentially, that's how this fic came to be. At this point, I owe my beta, L, my first born for as many times as she has looked over this fic. Much love to you, my dear.
After following him down the corridor, Remus avoids Sirius' old bedroom for a few minutes. Sirius will likely need time to collect himself after all that, and if there is one thing he's learned about Sirius, it's that he hates anyone to see him coming unraveled.
If he could turn back time, Remus doesn't think he would have given Sirius the letter, not when he's seen how thoroughly shaken Sirius is now that he's back in Grimmauld Place. This is not at all what he expected. All he wanted for Sirius was closure, for him to be able to let go of his past demons. Remus never fully understood how big or terrifying those demons were until now, though. It's as if Sirius has become a stranger, a doppelganger that has stolen his lover's face. And Remus has no one to blame but himself.
When Remus finally does enter the room, he finds Sirius sitting on the edge of his bed, head hanging and back to the door. Any comment could be the wrong one-I'm sorry, Are you alright?, You're scaring the hell out of me - so to bide his time, Remus glances around, taking in first sight of Sirius' room.
In a lighter situation, Remus would be amused by the Muggle posters of half-naked women and motorbikes in the bedroom of a young man distinctly confused by disenchanted Muggle things. An act of rebellion, Remus thinks-a last effort to gain some sort of acknowledgement from parents who were far past responding to their wayward son. The red and gold banners and draperies just serve to accent an already evident point.
Treading carefully, Remus moves to sit next to Sirius on the bed. Sirius makes no attempt to acknowledge him, but Remus knows that Sirius isn't so lost in himself that he doesn't know he's there. They sit in heavy silence, the creaks and groans of the House of Black serving to make that silence all the louder.
"I imagined it to be bigger."
Slowly, Sirius raises his eyes to meet him. "What to be bigger?"
"Your bedroom." Remus shrugs. "It's still a good deal bigger than mine, but-"
"Don't," Sirius begs miserably, voice rough like gravel. "I…I know what you're trying to do, Moony. So just don't."
His thought process-the one telling him to avoid the big issue, the hippogriff in the room-dies a swift death with Sirius' words. Sobering, Remus lets his own head drop and swallows hard, his throat suddenly very dry.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Remus asks in an almost-whisper.
Sirius snorts, as if it's the stupidest question in the world. "No."
Remus wonders if the source of Sirius' distance is due to helplessness, or embarrassment, or something equally as difficult to qualify. And feeling utterly helpless himself, Remus stares blankly at the floor, imagining being in bed with Sirius right now at Sirius' flat-the taste of his smile, the brush of his kiss, the passion alight in his eyes.
"It's complicated, Moonshine," Sirius says eventually, after what feels like a lifetime.
"What is?"
He gives a derisive little laugh. "Everything. Sometimes… sometimes I think I really am mad, just like dear old mum."
"You're not," Remus comforts, placing his hand on Sirius' arm.
They hold each other's gaze for moments until Sirius shakes his head and slips off the bed to the window. Remus wishes he knew more Legilimency than he does-which is to say none. He can't even begin to guess what's going through Sirius' mind. Maybe if he tries to get Sirius to open up indirectly, he'll have success.
"What will happen after your father passes?" he asks, gently. "Your mother will be left everything, I assume. Or will it be Regulus since he's…"
Remus trails off upon the realization that he's nearly breeched a particularly sore subject-Sirius' disinheritance. He waits for Sirius' reaction, bracing himself for anger, and is therefore surprised when Sirius turns to him rather unaffected.
"It doesn't quite work like that. Everything will be left to the entirety of his recognized family, not just one person."
"Recognized family?"
Sirius nods. "My mother, Regulus, and myself, if I hadn't been disinherited. When they were married, a ceremony was performed so that the magic tied to Grimmauld Place will only acknowledge themselves and any children of their shared blood. My father's bastards won't receive so much as a Knut of the fortune or a piece of Goblin-made dinnerware."
"Bastards?" Remus asks, rather louder than he meant to in his surprise.
"He had two mistresses, my father. I never met them, only heard my mother screaming at him about them. Not that taking on a mistress is uncommon, mind. It's rather expected, but Father had a taste for a particular Muggle-born. Kept her for years from what I understand. Needless to say, Mother wasn't exactly pleased."
While that was all very informative, Remus' head is still spinning with the idea that Sirius has siblings other than Regulus. He's never mentioned them, though he obviously knew about them. Remus supposes that fact alone ought to say something about Sirius' upbringing, about how utterly fucked up it was.
"But your siblings," Remus prompts.
"A sister from his Muggle-born mistress. Named after a constellation, which was the final straw for my mother. A mistress and bastard she could tolerate, but my father was showing a bit too much favoritism. Anyway, I think she's seven years old or somewhere thereabout. And a younger brother by his other mistress, who no one speaks of."
Sirius may disregard the fact that he has other siblings, but Remus has the distinct impression that it affects him more than he might let on. Having spent years seeking out his father's affections and approval, it must have dealt Sirius quite the blow to learn about a favored sister, a sister that, as far as Remus can tell, received more support and acknowledgement than pure-blood proprieties deem acceptable.
Rising from the bed, Remus moves to stand in front of Sirius. What he's going to say, he isn't sure. And as he watches Sirius work through what he's just said-the confession of a father's unrequited interest and affection-he sees the thoughts manifesting themselves on Sirius' face through the pulling of his lips and narrowing of his eyes. Maybe, Remus thinks, silence might be best.
"He hated me, Remus," Sirius explains softly, as if coming upon a potential discovery. "He hated me because I chose you over my fiancée where he chose my mother over the woman he loved. And not only that, but I was living proof of that betrayal from the moment I was born."
"I don't think he hated you. Things aren't so cut and dry like that, Sirius."
"It is in this case. He hated me, and I still can't bring myself to hate him." He looks up, swallowing hard. "I wasn't good enough. I should have been a better son, a better heir."
Remus takes him by the arms and gives him a firm shake. "Shut up. I'm not going to stand here and let you beat yourself up over this. For Christ's sake, he's the one with the issue, not you. You're perfect."
A statement that he knows will go straight to Sirius' already swollen ego, Remus says it all the same. And Remus leans in to kiss Sirius-firmly and tenderly, filled to the brim with affection that Sirius was always starved for. As their bodies align and their lips meet, he feels his perfection.
He gets lost in the storm of Sirius' emotions, kissing roughly then softly then hesitantly then fully. And Remus can only try to stay afloat, to meet Sirius with twice what Sirius is giving him. His head spins, internal compass broken, but none of that really matters so long as Sirius is getting lost as well.
~*~
For the remainder of the day, Remus and Sirius stay locked up in the room, mostly in quiet companionship. Dinner arrives promptly at six via an old house-elf-one that Remus thinks is the infamous Kreacher he heard so much about at school-which is then followed by a summons at eight o'clock by Walburga.
Sirius says little when Remus follows him into a small, though luxurious, study on the third floor, something that surprises Remus, as he was expecting an argument. A fire burns in the fireplace, warming the slightly drafty room. It's not long before Remus is tugging at the collar of his jumper to free himself of excess heat.
Walburga arrives shortly after in a bustle of black satin, Regulus trailing directly behind her. Without so much as a glance at him or Sirius, she sits herself in a cushioned, high-back chair near the fireplace, countenance stern and straight to business.
"Must he go wherever you go, Sirius?" she asks bitterly, eyes trained on Remus. "He follows you around like an insipid little house-elf. It's perfectly unseemly."
Sirius rolls his eyes. "I love him. He stays."
"I do not have time to argue with you. We are at great risk of being discovered as it is. I'll permit his presence this once. Though it should be known that if he speaks of anything said tonight, your whore will find that restrictions placed upon him by the Ministry's Werewolf Registry will tighten considerably."
Remus' jaw tenses, and he takes several deep breathes. She would make good on the threat-would perhaps make good on it regardless of whether he talked or not-if it weren't for the fact that she wants Sirius for something. He needs to tread carefully around her because if Remus knows anything, it's that the Blacks have all the sway over the Ministry that they want.
Sirius opens his mouth-perhaps to come to Remus' defense once again-but Walburga silences him with a wave of her hand. She then straightens herself, her back nearly rigid, and smoothes the fabric of her fine dressrobes.
"When your father passes-and I cannot imagine it will be long-we will all find ourselves in a very serious predicament. I am not so much concerned about my own well-being. No, my fool of a sister-in-law and the Malfoy family know better than to cross me. I do, however, have great fear for the safety of my sons," she explains, inclining her head to acknowledge Sirius and Regulus.
"Mother, I'm afraid I still don't completely understand," Regulus says from the chair next to her.
"Your father's line is the line of primary inheritance. It is we who control the family properties, fortune, and positions of power in society. Yet, we are without an heir. Your brother," she looks at Sirius, "failed to marry his bride, failed to get a child on her. And now we are left in a very severe and dangerous position."
"Because we're only left with Regulus as heir," Sirius clarifies, arms folded across his chest as he leans against the grand desk in the center of the room.
Remus is surprised that he's going along with this, surprised at how intently he's listening to his mother. For a moment, he thinks that Sirius may be falling back into the life he left behind. But, no, he wouldn't. He hated that life. Surely this all comes down to getting information. Surely.
"Indeed. It would not even be enough if we reinstated you in the line of inheritance. We need the next generation to ensure our place of power."
"I don't see how any of this affects me anymore," Sirius counters.
"Who stands to gain everything?!"
"Bellatrix. She would be next in line after me with Sirius disinherited," Regulus says.
"You are wrong! That stupid, stupid girl. My brother should have been more careful with her. She is above her head in the Dark Arts, and is now worthless as anyone's bride."
Remus isn't sure what this means, where any of this is going, only that he's concerned for Sirius. If Mrs. Black, mad and spiteful as she is, is worried that something might happen to Sirius, Remus knows there must be a threat to him. But Sirius, as his grey eyes widen, apparently has a better idea of what's happening.
"She's barren?" he asks.
Regulus looks shocked, his mouth dropping open and his eyes immediately drawn to his mother. "But she was pregnant last year!"
"Yes, and the child came early and dead. Tiny, scrap of a thing deformed beyond recognition. As was the child Lestrange got on her before they were wed. Dead and deformed, a mark of a girl who has been hit by too many curses and participated in far too many dark and unorthodox rituals. She's no good to her parents or the Lestranges now. No, Bellatrix is not our enemy."
Suddenly, Remus recalls the way Narcissa looked earlier, the words her father said. And before he can stop himself, he says, "Narcissa."
Everyone looks at him, first in surprise before Walburga's eyes narrow. It's as if by opening his mouth, he's personally offended her. And by acknowledging the fact that he's listening in on the conversation, she becomes suddenly more resentful of his presence in her home. For a moment, Remus thinks she's going to draw her wand, but Sirius clears his throat, reminding her of their unspoken truce, so Walburga continues.
"Narcissa," she confirms. "That dull, obedient girl who lacks the crazed danger-lust of her eldest sister and the rebellious nature of her middle. As far as I can tell, she is in perfect health. Coupled with the ambition of her mother and the Malfoys, we are in grave danger, indeed. Mark my words, she will be with child within the year. We can only hope it is a girl, but the Malfoys are known for producing boys."
"But that would still require something happening to me," Regulus interjects.
"Do you think that difficult to arrange, son? You've agreed, against mine and your father's wishes, to join the Dark Lord's cause, putting you in the middle of the war. If Dumbledore's fools do not strike you down soon, the Malfoys will arrange it. No one will think anything of it on the battlefield. I would rather your brother be brought back into the line of inheritance than let the house of my fathers fall into the hands of a new-money, less-pure family like the Malfoys."
"And I can be killed just as easily," Sirius says, eyes unfocused staring towards the floor.
Walburga nods. "And then we truly are finished."
Remus reaches out for Sirius' hand and squeezes when their fingers intertwine. As if the threat of the war itself wasn't bad enough, now they have to worry about the Death Eaters actively seeking to kill Sirius. The thought of life without him leaves Remus strikingly empty, and he vows to fight to protect Sirius, even if it means his own life. He would rather die than live without him, as cliché as such a sentiment sounds.
"I…I ought to be married," Regulus says hesitantly, breaking the heavy silence. "It is my duty, and I should like a companion very much, I think."
Sirius scoffs. "You're eighteen, Regulus. You don't even understand what you're saying."
"You were just seventeen when you were engaged."
"Yes, and I hated it."
"You hated it because you were already in love with someone else. I've never permitted myself to become so close to a young lady, so this isn't an issue for me."
"Enough!" Walburga shrieks, her patience seemingly wearing quite thin. "Regulus will be betrothed soon. Your father and I were in negotiations with several worthy, noble families before he fell ill. Once he is buried, I will continue them myself. It is no longer a question of if, but when. Still, heirs take time to produce. I will not rest easy until we have a son in the cradle and another in the womb, and neither of you are out of danger until then."
Tightening his hold on Remus' hand, Sirius looks at him, eyes apologetic as if to say he is sorry for dragging him into this mess. Remus shakes his head; there is no other place he'd rather be than supporting Sirius. This isn't easy-being with his family again. And while Sirius is taking it well at the moment, that is no doubt subject to change on a whim.
A pop! startles Remus, and he looks in the direction of the fireplace to see the house-elf that delivered dinner. The house-elf bows deeply before Walburga, but she looks on with complete disregard.
"Mistress was wanting to know if Abraxas Malfoy was snooping around Grimmauld Place. He is looking for Mistress and acting strangely."
"Very well." She dismisses the house-elf with a wave of her hand, and he leaves with another pop!. "Even though we are to be mourning your father, I do not expect that the three of us should be seen alone together. No doubt Abraxas will become more suspicious than he already is. You may go, and quickly."
With the dismissal, Sirius is the first to move, eager no doubt to be out from under his mother's eyes. However, it's Regulus who reaches the door first and exits. Before Sirius can even come in close proximity to it, Walburga has grabbed him by the upper arm, stopping his progress.
"You have failed at your duty as our heir and have forsaken us, Sirius. However, that disappointment will be nothing compared to the disappointment I would feel if you gave Malfoy the pleasure of killing you. For Merlin's sake, use your wits, son, and promise me you will protect your brother. Blood comes before all else. Remember that."
"I won't disappoint you this time, Mother," he says with great conviction. "No Malfoy is going to get the best of me, regardless of how you feel on the matter."
Such obvious defiance-Sirius telling her that her opinion means nothing to him-and yet Walburga looks at Sirius with maternal pride.
~*~
A long night follows that conversation with Walburga, Remus unable to sleep from worry. His mind races with thoughts of Death Eater attacks and the danger that Sirius is now in. Only a day ago he had been thinking how badly he didn't want to see Sirius leave in a matter of days. Now though, Remus thinks that perhaps Sirius leaving for the Greece job won't be such a bad thing after all; at least he's safer away from England. It pains Remus that he can't go along with him due to sanctions on werewolf travel. Sometimes he wonders if they'll ever get the opportunity to be happy.
For hours, he stares at Sirius, tracing his features in the pale moonlight to commit them to memory. Every time a stray piece of hair falls onto pale skin, Remus brushes it out of the way. Sirius moves with every touch of his fingers, curling himself closer and closer still against Remus' chest. Remus' heart aches, threatened by the thought of some permanent separation from Sirius.
He's not quite sure how Sirius can sleep so soundly, so peacefully amongst so much turmoil. His father is dying; his mother is being strangely warm in her own, cold way. Sirius' life is in danger two-fold now, yet Remus is certain that he wouldn't wake even if someone Reductoed the room around them. Perhaps he even loves him a little more for it, despite the fact he doesn't understand.
At dawn, Sirius stirs, greeting him with a lazy smile. They draw soft kisses from each other's lips and even softer moans. Sirius is hard against his thigh, and Remus aches to touch him, to have him. They've still not shagged-a fact that Remus considers entirely criminal.
"Want you," Remus murmurs against Sirius collarbone, placing a gentle bite there.
Sirius grins, sleepily. "I can feel that."
Remus rolls his hips against Sirius, bringing a whimpered oh from him. He watches as Sirius' eyes flutter shut, knowing that Sirius is living in the sensations he's providing. Hand finding its way between them, he nearly has Sirius in his grasp-and he really does love that fact that Sirius sleeps starkers-when Sirius rolls away from him, evading his touch.
"Sirius," he groans.
Sirius brings a finger to his lips. "Wait. I need to get up and show myself, visit Father and the like. You understand, right?"
It would be easier to pretend that he doesn't, to pretend that he's completely forgotten words and have his way with Sirius. But he does get it. Perhaps it's not so much out of obligation to his family even, but to show Malfoy that he's not going to hide from him.
Remus nods, though not without disappointment, "Yeah, I understand."
"You look exhausted," he says, carding his fingers through Remus' hair. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"
"A bit, maybe," Remus replies, shrugging. "Should I go with you?"
"No, stay here. Sleep." He pushes Remus down on the bed. "I'll be back by lunch, and then…"
Grinning wickedly, Sirius draws his finger up Remus' hard length, making Remus shudder pleasantly and want to curse him all the same. He crawls out of bed, rummaging around for fresh clothes in his rucksack. Remus, all the while, stares up at the red canopy of Sirius' bed, contemplating whether or not he wants to waste what little energy he has wanking after Sirius leaves.
"Moony?"
Remus looks to a now-dressed Sirius. "Hmm?"
"I love you. Don't worry so much." He waves his hand about the air. "Sweet dreams, yeah?"
Remus' eyes, suddenly heavy, close. A sleeping charm, he thinks, before he falls into quick slumber, not even hearing Sirius leave.
What Remus does hear midst the haze of sleepiness is the not so subtle closing of the bedroom door. He stirs, thinking Sirius is back, but does not open his eyes or bother moving. No, Sirius will crawl into bed any moment now, and Remus will let him think he's asleep.
Except Sirius doesn't crawl into bed. There is a sharp, impatient, and distinctly feminine, clearing of the throat, and Remus is suddenly very awake. He blinks rapidly, forcing the sleep from his eyes and struggling to focus. When he does, he is confronted by the exceedingly perturbed Mrs. Black, looking immaculately put together. For a moment, Remus wonders if she has ever worn anything besides dressrobes, but that thought is cut short by a heavy pouch that's thrown onto the bed.
"What's this?" he asks, trying to cover himself up quickly after the realization that he's practically naked in front of Sirius' mother.
She lifts her brow. "Payment."
"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't understand."
He tries his best to be polite, despite the fact that he isn't following her. However, Remus thinks he knows enough to know whatever "payment" she's offering him isn't for anything good. Not moving to take the pouch, Remus waits expectantly for her answer.
"I want you to take the money and leave my son. I've provided you with more Galleons than you are likely to see in your entire lifetime, werewolf, so I suggest that you take my offer graciously."
"I'm sorry that you think so little of me. What I feel for Sirius can't be bought, Mrs. Black. Keep your gold. I'm not interested, and I won't ever be."
Her moderate good humor suddenly fades, face contorted in anger. "What do you think you can provide him with that no pure-blood woman can? Certainly not a child, no. Or a legitimate marriage. You keep him from his inheritance, his birthright. My son is destined for greatness, and you are doing nothing but holding him back, you filthy half-breed!"
Remus pretends like he isn't hearing his own insecurities-his own misgivings about his relationship with Sirius-thrown back at him. Because whether he wants to admit it or otherwise, he is responsible for Sirius' disinheritance. The marriage problem doesn't bother Remus, at least not now. And as of their last conversation on the subject, it doesn't matter to Sirius. But a child… Sirius has been strangely quiet on the subject, which shakes Remus to his very foundations. For all that he hates it, Mrs. Black's points are mostly valid, and Remus can only think to respond with a feeble attempt at justification.
"I love him," he whispers, though loud enough that she can hear.
"Any woman can warm his bed just as well as you. Do not be so stupid to think that makes you remarkable in any way."
"He loves me, too, you know. If he found out that you were trying to buy me, he'd never forgive you."
"Do you think he will ever forgive me for the countless number of other atrocities I've committed against him? I would rather be mother to a strong, brilliant son than to one who loves me. If you are trying to appeal to my maternal sensibilities, you may stop now. It will do you no good."
Once upon a time, Remus wondered how Sirius could fold so easily under his mother's harsh words. He remembers the questions and comments he'd put to his lover-Why do you put up with it? or So just tell her that, Sirius- in those days in Gryffindor Tower. But now, under that same stern gaze, that same infuriated voice, Remus knows. It serves as a striking example of just how determined Sirius is that he was able to tell this woman he was leaving. If it had been him, no doubt he would still be under her thumb.
"You see how futile this is, half-breed? You are only serving to hold him back, but Sirius will recognize it soon enough. He does not have a mind for anyone to chain him as you are doing. He will grow weary of you, mark my words, and will leave. Take your gold and spare yourself the misery."
In Remus' silence, she thinks she's won, her expression shifting back to her usual mask of indifference. In her victory, she turns to the door, and though she may be right, Remus won't give her the satisfaction.
"This relationship may be destined for ruin," he begins, and she pauses, "but I'm going to see it through. I hate to see him unhappy, so if he's going to return to this hell, madam, he'll do it of his own accord. I won't force that unhappiness upon him."
"You fool!"
The glass lamp on the bedside table shatters with a muttered Reducto, shards exploding onto the bed. He covers his eyes instinctually and wonders if the spell wasn't meant for him directly instead of the furnishings.
Apparently even she can recognize a lost cause when she sees it, though, and shuts the door loudly with her departure. Remus lies back after banishing the glass, staring at nothing in particular, mind lost in a faraway place. He thinks it strange how someone can be so out of line and yet so right.
His and Sirius' relationship is far from fairy tale. They've gotten together, broken up, and gotten back together again. They are so remarkably different that it's a wonder that they can get along at all. Perhaps the fates are against them. Perhaps he'll never have that ideal life with Sirius. All evidence suggests that he won't. His whole part in the relationship rides on the fact that none of that matters, that he's somehow enough for Sirius. That Sirius loves him.
And somehow if Sirius does love him like he claims, that is enough for Remus.
~*~
When Sirius does return, Remus is still laying in bed, on his stomach. He stares out the window, pretty sunlight somehow turned grimy as it passes through the glass. A prison, he thinks, and nothing more. It can hardly be a wonder, then, how everyone that lived in this house for their lifetime has gone mad. A cold fog looms in Grimmauld Place, like the icy chill of a Dementor, casting a spell of misery on its inhabitants.
And that very spell of misery has been cast on Sirius, perhaps truly for the first time since they arrived. As Remus moves to look over his shoulder when Sirius slips onto the bed, Sirius gently stops him. He hears Sirius sniff back tears and wetness, hears it and pretends that he hasn't. While Remus can't remember exactly when, he knows it's been quite some time since Sirius was moved to tears, perhaps as far back as sixth year. Suddenly, Remus is grateful that Sirius has denied him a glance.
"Sirius?"
A hot, wet kiss grazes Remus' neck, and then, "Don't, love."
Sirius moves, cat-like, against him, stretching over him and pinning him to the bed by his wrists. Sirius' grip is not hard, just firm enough that Remus won't try to move; Remus thinks Sirius should know by now that he would never deny him this.
This is something uniquely Sirius-a need to work through physically what he's struggling with mentally. It's nothing new to Remus, but it has been a while. Seventh year was a particularly difficult year for Sirius, considering his family drama ending in his disinheritance. Remus cannot count the number of nights Sirius sneaked into his bed, took him gently by the hands, and, without looking at him once, shagged him. Remus, for his part, just tries to meet Sirius' needs-needs that, in all honesty, he can only guess at.
He doesn't hear the lubrication charm, but he feels it immediately, his stomach muscles clenching. Sirius allows him a moment to adjust-always has, despite Remus being long past the point of needing the time to do so-planting trails of kisses down his spine. Remus shivers as Sirius' tongue traces imaginary patterns along a particularly nasty scar on his back. The area being always sensitive, he makes an involuntary whimper of approval.
And then Sirius is sliding back up his body, his cock brushing against Remus' entrance. It's not but a second later that Sirius is pushing past the tight muscle until he's buried deep within him. Sirius moves immediately, quick and hard and pointedly. In. Out. In. Out.
Remus raises his hips to meet the violent thrusts. Sirius pounds into him, and Remus feels utterly raw, as if this is what shagging is at its most fundamental level. It's good, and it's working, and Remus finds himself pushed towards the precipice. As much as he enjoys topping-and he does so frequently in this relationship-sometimes having Sirius filling him brings back the nostalgia of those first few times.
What ultimately breaks that nostalgia is Sirius burying his head in the crook of Remus' neck, letting out a sort of sob. But not the good kind of sob, not an orgasm induced sob. This sob breaks Remus, heart and soul. How he wishes he was not responsible for bringing Sirius to this place again.
A kiss follows in its wake. Then a sob. Then a kiss until they somehow blend into little kiss-sobs that don't make much sense to Remus, yet that's the only way he can describe them. His own erection flags, and it's a testament to Sirius' virility that he can even keep this up in his current condition.
Keep it up he does until he's shuddering and spilling himself inside Remus. Sirius wilts gracefully, first against Remus' back and then to his side. Remus does not stir, does not chance to roll over for fear that Sirius' cheeks are still wet.
Moments pass, Remus waiting for some sign that it's safe, before Sirius mutters, "I'm sorry."
"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he replies, rolling to face Sirius and planting a loving kiss on his nose.
"You didn't even come, Moony."
"Doesn't matter. Are you…?"
He hesitates to voice the full question-Are you alright?-because obviously Sirius isn't. And Remus doesn't expect it to prompt Sirius to speak, so Remus is especially surprised when he does.
"I'm really sorry," he repeats, wiping his face and claiming composure once again. "This house…you know what it does to me. And let's not get started on my family."
"Can you handle this? We could go if you'd like. I should be the one apologizing. I brought you here in the first place."
Sirius shakes his head. "No, I'm glad you did, glad I could see it again with my own eyes. They're all out of their sodding minds. Case in point: my baby brother is a fucking Death Eater and has been since sixteen."
"I'm not quite sure how seeing this again is a positive thing, Padfoot."
"Because I get it now-why my father was the way he was, why mother is the way she is. I guess…I don't have the resentment I had before to muddle my thoughts because I can walk away from it if I want to. My father hated my mother because she was the reason he couldn't be with the woman he loved. And my mother hated my father because he preferred a bastard daughter over two legitimate sons. And Reg and I are fucked up because of it."
"You're not fucked up," Remus whispers, smoothing back Sirius' hair.
"But I am, and I realized it too late. Reg too." Sirius looks into Remus' eyes. "Do you know what he told me?"
"Regulus?"
Sirius nods. "He told me this morning when we were visiting Father that he regrets it."
"Regrets what?"
"Being a Death Eater. He admits that it was a stupid decision made because he was impressed with Voldemort's power. He wants out, Remus, but he's too far involved now. I…I can't do anything for him."
"And that's what has you so upset."
"I'm supposed to be the older brother, supposed to protect him," he says, voice cracking and face a splotchy red. "But I failed at that like I failed at everything else. It's my fault that my family is in the position it's in."
Remus feels his heart pang and sink in his chest. No, it's not Sirius' fault. He was going to be the dutiful son, going to be the heir to the House of Black. He had promised himself to his bride, went through with the engagement. But Remus had forced his hand, had refused to be the other woman when in reality there were probably worse things in the world to be than Sirius Black's mistress.
"This is my fault, Sirius."
"No, don't," Sirius demands, before kissing him with such affection. "If there is one thing I love most about you, Moony, it's that you don't compromise yourself for me. I don't think you can quite understand how unique a trait that is, but trust me on this. Not just anyone would tell the heir to one of the most powerful families in the wizarding world exactly where he could shove it."
"But what if something happens to you? What if your mother is right about the Malfoys?"
"I've no doubt that she's right. Mother doesn't get so worked up over nothing."
"So the Death Eaters will start hunting you purposefully now."
"It's complicated, love."
Remus isn't sure what's so complicated about a question like that. What he knows for certain is that if something happens to Sirius, he will never stop blaming himself. Or even if something happens to Regulus for that matter. This is his fault.
"I don't understand."
"We wait. That's all we can do. If Narcissa can't produce Malfoy's heir, we've worried for nothing. Without a baby of Black blood in the cradle, they need Regulus or me alive to get what they want."
"What do they want?"
"Hush."
Sirius shushes him with a kiss, eyes begging him to drop the subject. Despite the fact that he doesn't want to, Remus opts to let it go for now. He doesn't understand pure-blood politics, which makes understanding any of this mess nearly impossible. He does get one thing though, and as horrible as it is, Remus prays to God as he lies in Sirius' arms that Narcissa Malfoy can't conceive a child.
~*~
Orion Black dies late that afternoon. The news is delivered by the family's Healer, followed by an expression of condolences. Remus is surprised that Orion's wife and sons remain dry eyed-no tears of sadness or relief. Nothing.
As silly as it is, Remus finds his own eyes wet, thinking of hearing those very words said by a Muggle doctor in reference to hisfather. He tries to force his face into stone, like everyone else in this room save Narcissa who sobs melodramatically in a puddle of green silks. However, he can't quite manage it, so he politely excuses himself and returns to Sirius' bedroom.
How far does one have to push their family so that they feel nothing upon that person's death? Remus barely knew him and yet he feels something. A sadness, he thinks, that one should feel at the loss of any human life. But Orion will have mourners, Remus is sure. A Muggle-born woman and a little girl named for the stars. Perhaps another and her son. Yet surely they will not be allowed to attend the funeral. For all that Sirius would disagree with him, that idea strikes him as very wrong. If anyone should bury Orion Black, it should be his loved ones.
For the next hour, Remus sets to cleaning up the bedroom the Muggle way, slipping his and Sirius' things into a rucksack and straightening up the sheets. It's easier to avoid the situation when his mind is somewhere else, and very briefly he is successful.
Sirius returns to him soon enough, softly closing the door and stopping just steps away from him. Miserably, Remus considers what this day would have meant for the Sirius of sixth year, the Sirius who was still heir. He would be the newly crowned head of a family with a frightening amount of power, influence, and wealth at his fingertips. Momentarily, Remus wonders if he regrets his choices, whether he feels the absence of his birthright. Sirius' eyes are unreadable.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Padfoot," he says, draping a button-up over his arm in mid-fold.
"Don't be. I'm not."
Remus nods, defeated. He has no idea how to interact with Sirius just now, sensing that Sirius is going to deflect everything he throws at him. Rather than waste his breath, Remus returns to his folding.
"I've almost finished packing. We can leave whenever you're comfortable."
Hearing Sirius' heavy sigh, he braces himself for what's to come. What that is, he can't even guess. But when he feels Sirius' arms winding around his middle, pulling him firmly against his back, and the kiss to his neck, Remus is suddenly eased.
"I have to ask a favor of you," Sirius whispers into his ear. "I need you to go home right now."
The easiness that came is gone in an instant, Remus turning in Sirius' arms. "Without you?"
"The funeral will be in the morning. I…should show my face. I may have been disinherited, but I'm not disowned. And if I go, it might show the Malfoys that I will still support Regulus, which could prevent them from attacking for a while. I don't think they were counting on my being here."
"I'll stay then and go with you to the funeral."
"I'm sorry, love, but you can't."
Remus senses the bitterness bubbling up inside him, can tell that he's probably going to say something he'll regret. He speaks the words all the same.
"I guess if your father's whores aren't allowed to go, your whore isn't either."
"Oh, come off it. That's not why."
The potential reasons why chip away at him. Is it because he's a werewolf? Has Mrs. Black vowed not to tolerate his presence any longer? Is Sirius having second thoughts about their relationship in light of the recent turn of events? Would he like to avoid having his face on the cover of the Prophet with his male lover?
"Stop it," Sirius demands gently, placing a kiss on his forehead. "You're too adorable when you sulk, Moony."
"Why can't I go?" he asks, directing his attention to the fullness of Sirius' lips since he is unable to meet those storm gray eyes.
"My family is flooing and Apparating in as we speak. Mother has been surprisingly cordial with you, or at least as cordial as that harpy can be. My grandparents, however, will not be. I won't endanger you any further than I already have, love."
"But-"
"You promised me. Please don't fight with me on this."
Remus pulls away and sits on the bed, defeated. He had promised, and he has Sirius' safety to consider as well. It still doesn't make him want to leave, but Remus knows that he has to.
"When will you be home?"
"Tomorrow night," Sirius answers, his relief apparent.
Pulling open his old wardrobe, Sirius begins to look through clothes that he likely outgrew two years ago. Remus watches with interest, unsure of what Sirius is looking for exactly. It's with some surprise that Remus realizes he's choosing dressrobes-clothing that looks rather poncy and outdated compared to Muggle clothing. To wizarding society though, the rich fabrics, intricately detailed and fine, are a mark of prestige.
"I'm sorry we haven't been able to spend much time together," Sirius says, discarding himself of a Muggle tee.
Remus shakes his head, watching Sirius put on an ivory shirt. "Things come up. When are you leaving for Greece again?"
Off come the faded blue denims, replaced with tailored black trousers. "Tuesday."
Two days. By the time Sirius returns from the funeral, they'll have less than twenty-four hours before he has to leave. Remus recalls that it's supposed to be a lengthy job, ancient Greek wards always proving to require a lot of time and great care when disarming.
Looking at Sirius as he puts on a vest of green and black brocade, Remus wonders if they'll ever work out. He's not sure how much more distance he can take, how much more pining away he can do before it transforms into something akin to resentment. He loves Sirius more than anything, and yet…
"Does my hair look alright, love?"
Remus glances up and smiles at the sight of Sirius primping in the mirror. "Flawless."
And he is. It comes as a shock-Sirius, dressed in his old clothing charmed to the right size. It's the first time that Remus has really got a good look at Sirius in these fine dressrobes- garments from his past. He looks inch for inch the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black-gorgeous and dreamy and powerful. With the donning of these clothes, Remus can't help but think that Sirius somehow took on the life and responsibilities he left behind.
~*~
The day Orion Black is buried, it's a media firestorm. Faces of the Blacks fill the front page for weeks on end. One would assume that Regulus, being the head of the house, would appear in those articles more frequently than anyone else. However, it is instead Sirius who claims that honor. Apparently, the return of the prodigal son of the House of Black is far more news worthy.
Remus saves the clippings from the various newspapers and tabloids while Sirius is away in Greece. Every Tuesday he Apparates to Sirius' flat to drop off a sizable pile, and by the time that Sirius is due home-two and a half months after his father's funeral-he will have enough reading material for a week.
When Sirius returns, it's raining. Nothing-not even the rubbish weather-can get Remus' spirits down, though. In front of the cemetery, he waits, searching frantically for any sight of his lover. There is a pop! behind him, startling his worn nerves, and Remus turns quickly.
He's greeted by the sight of grey eyes and pale flesh turned bronze in the Greek sun. Sirius, handsome as ever. Without a thought for decorum, Remus throws his arms around Sirius' neck-discarding his umbrella entirely-and hugs him fiercely. Sirius returns his affection with a one-armed embrace and his bark of a laugh.
"Merlin's bollocks, I've missed you, Moonshine."
"Missed you too. I don't know why in the world you wanted to meet here. You know what point in the cycle-"
"Yeah, four days until the moon and you're bloody insatiable right now. Relax, I won't be long, and then you can keep me in bed for as long as you like."
"So why are we here again?" Remus asks, eager to get this errand over with and Apparate back to Sirius' flat.
"I just want to check up on the grave. All sorts of dark magic can be performed with the right materials, and given that the Malfoys want to take over the House, I'm worried they might have disturbed the grave."
"For what?"
"Hair, skin-anything of my father's really."
Sirius motions for Remus to follow him through the warded gates of the wizarding cemetery where his father is buried. By the looks of things, they are the sole visitors, save for a middle-aged woman and a young, dark haired girl who they pass on the way to the grave.
This, Sirius explains, is the cemetery where many noble, pure-blood families are buried and has been the place of burial for the Black family for centuries. It's well-kept with beautiful grounds and great mausoleums built of fine stone. Unlike most Muggle cemeteries, there is no sense of age just from sight; stones and buildings marked two hundred years previous look like they were only filled yesterday.
Arriving at the mausoleum marking Orion's tomb, Sirius begins to undo the wards-only those acknowledged as belonging to Black blood can get past the spells. Remus notices a small bouquet of flowers left on the steps - the only sign that anyone has visited.
It takes only a few minutes for Sirius to check the tomb for dark magic. Meanwhile, Remus waits outside, as Sirius does not trust the family wards to let him pass. He's eager to get out of this rain, out of these clothes, and into bed. Not quite having mustered the courage to ask, Remus doesn't know when Sirius' next job is-how much time he has to savor this go around.
Sealing the tomb, Sirius joins Remus back out in the rain. He turns, pausing before the grand building, and thinks for several heavy moments.
"My mother sent me a letter in Greece."
"Why?"
"She found a letter my father had written to me before he became too ill. I've no idea why she thought to send it to me. Hell, she didn't even break the seal on it, which is surprising."
In the privacy of the cemetery, Remus takes Sirius' hand. "What did it say?"
"That, while I may have fallen short of following Black ideologies, I was the better man. That he was proud of me, for all that it seemed like I disappointed him. He wished that he would have chosen Elizabeth-his primary mistress-over my mother like I chose you over Vanossa."
Remus searches Sirius' face and sees a particular resolve there. He doesn't see past that, however, because he is too caught up in the details of Sirius' lips and cheeks and eyes. This time of the month always endlessly feeds his sex drive, making it hard to concentrate on anything else.
"He asked me to protect Regulus."
"And how do you feel about all this?" he asks, finally pulling himself from his admiration.
"I'm still as confused as I ever was."
Remus nods his reply, unable to offer any sort of advice or comfort. The Black family is an enigma that he's resigned never to understand.
"I've quit my job at Gringott's."
It's a struggle to process the words, and Remus finally sputters, "Wait, what?"
"I'm joining the Order."
His heart gives a little flutter in his chest, but Remus quashes the euphoria, for fear that he's not understanding fully. Sirius loved that job, loved the adventure and the thrill it brought. It would take something incredible for him to give it up.
"Why? I mean, not that I'm not happy, but Sirius…"
"I've disappointed them since I was eleven," Sirius explains, eyes trained on his father's name inscribed in the marble of the tomb. "I don't care about Mother…or even him, but I can't turn my back on Regulus. It's not too late to save us."
Maybe Remus should be surprised by this sort of renewed allegiance to Regulus; he certainly wants to be surprised. But the fact of the matter is, he's not. He saw Sirius and Regulus together in the newspaper, saw the way Sirius' hand was clapped on Regulus' shoulder, the way that he tried to shield his brother from the cameras and reporters.
Remus thinks for a moment that Walburga was right, that Sirius will never be able to shake the Black legacy. They've drilled a sense of familial obligation into him, and when push comes to shove, Sirius will never be able to completely give the Blacks up. Not his desire for his father's love, not his disgust in his mother's madness, not his sense of responsibility to Regulus.
He wants to warn Sirius about the changes shifting within him, wants to bring to light what going back to Grimmauld Place has done to him. But then Remus realizes that nothing has changed. The protectiveness that makes him want to quit his dream job for Regulus' sake is the same protectiveness that fueled his desire to become an Animagi. Love. Duty. Family-whether by blood or choice. Sirius knows nothing else, feels nothing more strongly than these. And Remus wouldn't change that for the world.
"Come on, Padfoot, let's go home."