Fic: The Hour Between Part 1
Team: Team AU (rs_games)
Title: The Hour Between
Author: rev02a
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst
Word Count: 15,020
Summary: If Dumbledore was right, then a Marauder was the spy and everything James loved was in danger. His decision to change secret keepers will affect the Marauders, his wife and child, and the world at large far more than he expected.
Author's Note: Thanks a billion to my dear friend and beta S.!
Prompt: Orange words
Sirius pushed the door open to the flat and staggered in. He’d tailed Macnair for two solid weeks and consecutively for the last seventy-two hours. He hadn’t changed clothes and he was certain he smelled. Ignoring this, he’d thought it would be nice to stop and pick up some dinner and a bottle of wine. Maybe it would be a nice exchange for a backrub; Remus was a picky bastard sometimes, and often bribery was the only thing that could sway him.
The flat was locked, Sirius discovered. He set down the brown paper take-away bag and stared at the door in confused annoyance. He was simply too tired to try a spell, but definitely too tired to find his keys. He pressed his wand to the door and hoped that the vague inclination of “open” would do the trick.
Some deity must have smiled on him, because from inside, Sirius could hear the lock click and the chain fall away. Sirius sighed gratefully. He collected the food and staggered into the flat.
Candles were lit in the living room, and the lantern in the kitchen bathed the main hallway between the kitchen and bedroom in an eerie amber light. Sirius stumbled on the rug and then on his feet, but he managed to make it into the flat without dropping the curry. Then, he rounded the corner and stopped dead. The brown sack in his hand suddenly felt much heavier, and he flung the meal at the table. The bag slid across the Formica and fell over on its side.
Before him, in the hallway, Remus stood. His robe was open and it fell off his shoulder. Behind him a gangly, dark haired man laved at the three gold earrings in Remus’ left ear lobe. Sirius watched in disgust as the man’s tongue licked a sensually slow path between the earrings and up Remus’ lobe. One of the man’s hands was working a steady motion inside the open fly of Remus’ trousers.
“Fuck it,” Sirius snarled, startling the other two men.
Remus’ eyes opened wide and then quickly lowered to their usual sleepy, half-lidded stance. He took a deep breath, as if to explain, but Sirius shouldered past them both and stormed into their bedroom.
The man with Remus cleared his throat and Sirius heard the stranger ask, “Your lover, I presume?”
Remus ignored the man. “Padfoot,” he called, trailing behind, sounding mildly pleading.
Sirius didn’t turn to acknowledge him. He heard Remus’ zip going up, which made him want to kick a hole in the wall. For the sake of the flat’s deposit, however, he shot a spell at the door so that it slammed shut and locked in Remus’ face.
“Fuck,” Sirius repeated again and again as he stripped out of blood and mud caked robes. His mind replayed the man’s wandering tongue. He cussed again and climbed into a scalding hot shower. Beyond the pound of the water, he could hear Remus repeating his name. The more he repeated himself, the more annoyed he seemed to become. In order to ignore him, Sirius focused on the water on his shoulders and the feel of the rivets of water running off his stomach. He stayed in the shower longer than he usually would.
At last, he turned the tap off. It took effort to climb over the edge of the bathtub, his muscles screamed in protest as he toweled off his back. He was sore. He was tired. He stopped his cataloguing when he realized that the sight of his lover with another man seemed to have curbed his hunger.
Sirius’ legs would barely bend as he exited into the bedroom. He was not surprised to see that Remus was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands folded in his lap. He looked docile, but unrepentant.
Sirius noted that Remus had rebuttoned his robe.
“Who was he?” Sirius snarled, not really wanting to know. “Number nineteen since April?”
Remus rubbed his face with his hand; he glared from between his fingers. “Damn it, Sirius. You know how I deal with stress.”
“And you know how I do too,” Sirius replied, grabbing a pillow from the bed and stalking out toward the sofa.
“Sirius,” Remus called, exasperated. He followed his lover into the living room. His booted feet were quick and nimble, tapping across the hardwood floors. “Come to bed, you look like you haven’t slept in months.”
“I haven’t,” Sirius replied, tossing the pillow onto the far end of the couch. “But I don’t want to sleep where your other conquests have been made.”
“Then you shouldn’t sleep on the sofa either,” Remus announced, crossing his arms.
Sirius looked from the sofa to Remus in revulsion. He snorted, incredulously, and sank onto the cushions.
Remus rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand and used his right to point at the floo. “I sent him on his way. Look, I don’t usually bring guys home, but-“
“Oh, save my delicate sensibilities,” Sirius snapped, stretching out on the tired cushions naked. The tendons in his legs burned and cramped. He grimaced.
Remus said nothing, but studied Sirius’ body illuminated in the strange orange glow of the streetlights.
“It was just stress,” he said again, resignedly. “Come to bed, Padfoot.”
Ignoring the innuendo in those words, Sirius brought his arm up over his head and covered his eyes with the crook of his elbow.
“People deal with stress by playing Quidditch or going to the pub, Remus. Not fucking anything with legs.”
Remus smiled bitterly. “I’ll have you know that I’m rather picky about who I fuck.”
“Right,” Sirius returned, disbelievingly.
“It’s true,” Remus replied, as he began to pull his robes off. He lowered himself onto the couch and clawed predatorily up Sirius’ legs. “They have to measure up on a 10 point scale-a scale where you hold top marks across the board.”
Remus placed a kiss to Sirius’ hip. As if electrocuted, Sirius sat up abruptly and met Remus face-to-face in a solid glare. “Then why fuck around, Moony? If I’m the perfect ten, just have me-“
Remus cocked his head to the side. He smiled bemusedly, but seemed annoyed. “Sirius, look, I know monogamy is working great for you, but-“
Sirius kicked up and out. Remus lost his balance. He threw his weight forward and made a desperate grab for Sirius’ shoulders. They grappled and fell off the sofa, and, in doing so, crashed into the coffee table. Sirius shouted out in pain and Remus snarled. They hit the floor in a tussle of elbow and teeth.
Remus grabbed Sirius’ hair and pulled. Sirius roared in anger and bit Remus’ arm. They cussed and kicked, pushed and tumbled until Sirius, lying on his back, landed a very solid punch on Remus’ chin. Remus yelled, clutched his chin, and rolled off of top of Sirius. They lay side by side, Remus clutching his face and Sirius rubbing at his arm. Both panted.
“You fucker,” Remus growled, while checking his lip for bleeding.
“You whore,” Sirius returned with equally cold fury.
They lay there on the rug between the coffee table and the sofa, each stewing with anger. The clock over the mantle ticked. A car drove by.
“I love you, you know,” Sirius offered, conversationally.
Remus tensed.
“I used to pull,” he continued, closing his eyes, “but then I realized that I’d rather be with you and, well, I stopped going out without you.”
Remus seemed to quit breathing. Sirius pulled himself off the floor and found a mostly clean blanket lying next to the fireplace. He moved back to the sofa and lay down wearily.
“I would rather be with you, Remus. I love you,” he repeated, as he pulled the blanket over his shoulders.
Remus lay on the floor quietly. Sirius waited for him to reply, but then realized that the words weren’t coming anytime soon. He sighed, long and slow, and closed his eyes. He heard Remus get up and leave the room. The bedroom door slammed.
Sirius stared at the ceiling above him, suddenly unable to sleep.
The clock ticked away long minutes. Finally, Sirius got up and went down the hall. The door wasn’t locked, he found. The candle at his bedside flickered. Remus’ bare shoulder was exposed, but his back was to the door. Sirius could see that he wasn’t asleep.
Sirius stood there, naked, bruised, and more than a little hurt.
“It is customary, you understand,” he began, his tone chiding, “to return those sentiments to someone you’ve been with this long.”
Remus did not move.
“Love, that is, if you’re confused. See, I said ‘I love you’ a little while ago. And, customarily, you’re supposed to say ‘I love you too.’ Also, I’d love to hear that you’re sorry for hurting me and that you’re ready to get me some bruise-healing paste,” Sirius continued, his arms hanging limply at his sides.
Out on the street, a car’s breaks squealed. The candle flickered. Sirius could see the duvet shift as Remus took a deep breath.
“The bruise-healing paste is under the sink in the bathroom. It’s the blue tube,” Remus replied, stoically.
Sirius closed his eyes tightly. He’d ignored this for three years, he admitted. In the top drawer of his dresser were clean pants. He put a pair on, trousers and followed with a shirt. He moved to the closet and selected a burgundy waistcoat. He found socks on the floor, and struggled to bend his sore legs as to put these on.
Remus sat up and the duvet fell away from his torso.
“Sirius?” he asked, already moving for his wand. “Did Dumbledore summon?”
“No,” Sirius replied, with a hysterical laugh. He laughed again, feeling the madness build inside him and bubble out. “No, no. I’m going to James’s because sleeping on his couch is far better than staying here.”
Remus swung his legs out of the bed, and Sirius noted that he was wearing those stupid boxers with the compasses on them. Even in the pale candlelight, Sirius saw the needles swing wildly about, and though none pointed to north, all pointed to Sirius.
Sirius clasped a hand over his mouth, feeling another hiccup of maniacal laughter bursting out. Even Remus’ underpants knew the truth, he thought. How could the man be so daft?
“I love you, Remus,” he giggled, feeling the prickle of tears. “But you are a fucking idiot.”
Headlights flashed through their bedroom and illuminated the anger in Remus’ eyes.
“Oh really, Sirius? Care to fill me in on why that is?” he quipped sarcastically.
Sirius shook his head and coughed to hold back another laugh. “I’ve loved you for four years, haha! And I always thought that you-heh! I was wrong, oh Merlin, all this time I’ve been completely wrong.”
Sirius staggered down the hall, exhaustion and hysterics coming over him. He fell toward the fireplace. Remus followed at a distance. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Not everyone is tamed by your looks alone, Black,” he replied, as he covered the floo powder tin with his hand. “Surely you’re not that self-absorbed.”
Sirius rubbed at his eyes. Tears wet his lashes. His legs failed him and he sat down involuntarily. Remus sighed. Sirius covered his face with his hands and continued to laugh in subdued and breathy giggles. Remus retreated to the bedroom and closed the door.
His pride commanded that he rise and go to James’ house, but Sirius was simply too tired to move. Sirius curled into a ball on the hearth and fell into a haunted sleep.
-*-
A faint buzzing awoke James. Next to his bed, a tired looking phoenix patronus hovered. James scrambled for his glasses and hooked them over his ears.
“Please come to Hogwarts, I need to speak to you alone,” Dumbledore’s voice rumbled.
James glanced over to Lily, stretched out on her back, snoring softly.
“Alone, please James,” Dumbledore continued.
James ran his hand through his hair before climbing out of bed. He dressed as quietly as he could. Over all, he was doing very well, he congratulated himself. Then, blinded quite well in the dark, he kicked the corner of the doorframe and he cursed loudly.
“James?” Lily asked, disoriented. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
He grimaced and then cajoled. “Dumbledore called me to see him. I should be back before dawn, darling.”
She rubbed her eyes again and rolled into the center of their bed. “Alright,” she replied, yawning, “if someone died, please don’t tell me until morning.”
James smiled. “I can do that.”
The rest of the house was silent. James stopped in the nursery. In the cot, Harry slept on his stomach with a tiny, balled fist raised over his head as he were making some sort of angry demand. James sighed. His son was just like any other infant, except that, like a child king, demands were made on his person long before he was capable of meeting them.
Bile rose in James’ throat. This child would one day defeat the great evil that tormented their lives. His child. His son. James squeezed his fists around the bars of the cot.
Maybe Dumbledore would have some sort of answer tonight, he thought, and apparated from the nursery to Hogsmeade.
James pulls his cloak closer to his body as he hurried up the path to his former school. Hogwarts’ gates opened for him without question. He was grateful to see thestral-drawn carriage awaiting him.
Sitting, however, was unsettling. His blood was pounding in his veins, driven by the worry that accompanies any late night “emergency” summons. The carriage moved too slowly. James wished for a broom. The speed might not be much of a change, but at least he would feel that he was in control of something.
The carriage turned and Hogwarts loomed like a dark sentinel against the starry Scotland sky. James felt his heart pause and his breath catch. Sometimes he felt that seven years was not long enough to be part of this place. Often, he longed for the carefree days of his boyhood. What were pranks and laughter when compared to war and death? Dumbledore assured them that love could overcome any great adversary, but sometimes James doubted that.
James jumped from the carriage before it had fully stopped at the main entrance. Wand in hand, he ran up the steps into the castle. He moved through the hallways stealthfully; he knew this place better than most. He cut through two shortcuts and made his way to the Headmaster’s office.
He took the stairs to the office two at a time. The door to Dumbledore’s inner office opened ahead of him and so he simply continued his hurried pace into the room.
“James,” the older wizard soothed when the firelight lit the young man’s face.
“Sir,” James replied, pulling off his cloak and dropping it over the back of an empty armchair, “I came as quickly as I could.”
Dumbledore rounded his desk and shook James’s hand vigorously. He did not unclasp their hands when he had finished.
“Does anyone know you’re here? Does your wife?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
“No, sir,” James lied, still breathless and worried.
Dumbledore seemed exceedingly troubled. He did not bother with any form of introduction to his topic. “James, a report of the most alarming nature has reached me. A spy, a deeply hidden and well-placed spy, has heard a report that Voldemort knows of Harry’s position to become his adversary.”
James slid bonelessly into the chair behind him. His hand slipped from between Dumbledore’s and fell into his lap. He closed his eyes slowly.
“How?” he asked, flatly.
Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses at the young man with concern. “There is a spy among the Order.”
James’s eyes sprung open and he stared disbelievingly at his former teacher.
“I have reason to believe that it is one from your dearest and closest friends.”
James was reanimated. He rose from his chair briskly and his jaw set in a tight and hard line.
“That is impossible,” he asserted, his voice quiet but forceful.
“Nothing, I’m afraid, James, is impossible. While I am glad to see that you seek out the best in people-especially your friends-you must think of protecting Harry now-“
James interrupted him with a sure and sturdy voice, “How would you say I do that, sir, since you had me assure you that not even my wife knows that we are speaking? Would you have me take my son and leave her?”
Dumbledore shook his head. “You misunderstand me, James. I am simply trying to convince you to change your Secret Keeper. Since the trustworthiness of your friends is in question, I will serve inste-“
“Forgive me, sir, but no. Have a nice evening.”
James grabbed his cloak and swept out of the room in a hurried, angry silence. He ignored the Headmaster’s call from the top of the echoing hall. He ran scenarios through his mind again and again. Sirius bowing low before the Dark Lord-unfeasible! Remus taking the Dark Mark-out of the question! Peter pulling on a silver Death Eater mask-impossible! Lily betraying her newborn infant-laughable.
No, he thought, his friends would not betray him. In his mind, he considered flooing to Sirius’ flat and unloading this on him. He made a snap decision and turned left down a lesser-used hall and cut behind a tapestry. A few turns through dusty cobwebbed hidden passages and he was out in the night air, only a few feet from the school’s broom shed.
He broke into the locker and selected a sturdy, newish broom. Without a look behind him, he took flight. It would take hours to get home, but he needed to think.
-*-
Part Two