Sequel to Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks
Title: I Do Not Find the Hanged Man
By: Venilia
HP, R/S, AU, NC-17
Description: Two weeks and three days after Remus’ grand confession, after Sirius finally starts to believe that things might just work out in the end, the world falls apart.
Two weeks and three days after Remus’ grand confession, after Sirius finally starts to believe that things might just work out in the end, the world falls apart. Sirius sits, numb and cold, in Dumbledore’s office and listens to Remus stumble, We just never suspected Peter. He’s always been so - well, not always, but he could be sweet and he’s never been… He never talked about muggle borns or anything, not like that. And for one blinding moment Sirius hates Remus because of course, of course it’s been Peter all along with his softly spoken poison that had turned them against each other, mistrustful and wounding, turned suspicions away from himself. Then Remus turns towards him and catches Sirius’ eye, mirror eye, and, no, he doesn’t hate Remus. He hates himself for not catching the little rat bastard (inside a voice worryingly like his insane uncle Alphard is laughing hysterically at that), for not saving Lily and -
He can’t think. He’s having a hard time thinking.
Dumbledore murmurs something and Remus’ hand (funny, he hadn’t noticed they were holding hands. They aren’t supposed to do that in public). tightens painfully on his own, gives it a sharp tug when Sirius only stares at their clasped hands stupidly. (Pay attention!) He looks up.
Dumbledore, leaning forward with a fierce light in his eyes says, Young Harry’s not dead, Sirius. He survived. No one knows how, but he did.
Sirius gasps, beached fish gasps. James?
An awful, awful silence answers him. Just Harry, then.
Remus scrambles with his words, stuttering, We’ll, we’ll take him in, of course. I’ll have to move out, but Sirius can take him in and I’ll - I’ll… Remus is all at sea, Sirius can see it in his eyes. Realizes in a flash: werewolf. Can’t live with children.
But Harry alive means that Sirius can think again and he sees the days stretched out in front of them in either direction. Sirius and Harry, and on weekends a lonelier and lonelier Remus, fights again, and, You’re not taking care of yourself! You have to let me help you take care of yourself you stubborn, stupid werewolf! all over again, Remus drifting farther and farther away until they are two cordial middle aged men and Harry doesn’t call Remus Uncle Moony anymore and that is that.
Down the other path he sees fights and tears and terror, and having to choose which one needs his care and attention more during full moons, his poor howly wolf mate, scratching himself up in the cellar, not trusting himself to run through the forest pack-less, or little baby Harry with such tender skin, so easy to harm accidentally. He sees Remus packing up and leaving anyway, For your own good, For Harry’s sake, It’s better this way, and himself crying something hurtful, something untrue in return, in utter rage and screaming fear of being left Moony-less. But he also sees toast, tea and the Quiddich section being interrupted by bits of mashed peas and carrots flung from a mischievous spoon, sees Remus worn and pale holding lively little Harry the day after full moon, reading him stories. Remembers Harry tugging on Remus’ nose and the smile on Lily’s face, remembers James’ determination to become an Animagus, keep Remus company, no Marauder left behind. Remembers not trusting Remus, and remembers not having a family when he was sixteen and thinks, No, we can do this. We have to do this.
He turns to Dumbledore, all pureblood down the nose glare for all the times Remus came home with mysterious bleedings poorly patched up, thin ribs, whimpers in his sleep. Remus isn’t moving out. We’re taking Harry in. I want to see my godson as soon as possible. He leans forward, Albus Dumbledore leaning back in his chair beneath Sirius’ words. Adds, Make it happen. You can. You have to. It’s what - chokes, forces his mouth to form the sounds, just like any other sounds - It’s what James and Lily would have wanted.
Dumbledore stands, dignified in his blue robes, says, I rather doubt, Mr. Black, that you know what you are getting yourself and Mr. Lupin into, but then he adds, Harry is in the infirmary. I thought you might want to see him, and Sirius can forgive him. Remus is already at the door, waiting impatiently. If there are students or professors about, Sirius doesn’t see them, or hear them, or notice them. They fly down the halls like two ghosts, or two Patronuses.
Harry is whimpering, fussy, trying not to nap (he probably wants his mother). This is the first thing Sirius notices. He gets like this whenever Sirius visits and gives him horsey rides as Padfoot (very carefully, with James holding Harry’s arms) or sings Beatles songs to him as they danced around the room, reads him Pat the Puffskein, too wound up and having too much fun to give it up for sleep. Lily complains--
Lily used to complain about getting Harry to sleep, after.
Remus rushes forward to pick Harry up, nuzzles him against his shoulder and makes awkward cooing sounds. Remus has always been a bit awkward with Harry, doesn’t really know what to do with babies. Never expected to be a parent.
Sirius is suddenly, achingly glad that Remus can have this, a child, a real family because Sirius could never give it to him and--
He’s a horrible person for thinking this, because James is
James is--
Sirius hurls himself forward, doesn’t want to think. He wants (selfishly) to hold little Harry himself, to be the one running a soothing hand over his (wild. Has his father’s hair, poor kid) hair and bury his nose in the comforting, powdery smell of baby. Instead, he flutters uselessly at Remus’ elbow and gives Harry a finger to hold.
Harry settles down with his two (new parents) uncles now present, people he knows, murmurs Seewus, Wee, and sucks thoughtfully on his fist (Sirius thinks Harry’s name for Remus is hysterical, and teases Moony about it as often as possible).
Remus drops onto the corner of a hospital bed (Sirius has a lot of memories of Remus in these beds, usually scratched up and tired but smiling, happy to see his friends. It’s sad that those were the easy days) and Sirius is tugged along with him by Harry’s strong little hand. He starts to give into this moment, just this one little moment of quietness, when Remus says, Oh Merlin. Oh ancient gods, Padfoot. What are we going to do? We can’t be - we can’t raise a child! He chews on his lip. (At any other time, Sirius would find that fascinatingly sexy.)
Sirius sighs and gives the moment up. He needs for Remus to be calm later (when Sirius realizes… just for later, that’s all) so Sirius will have to do his best calming now. He says, It’s what they would have wanted. He’s not sure if that means anything, (he only said it before because it would work on Dumbledore), so he adds, Who else is there?
On second thought, that may mean even less.
He slings an arm around Remus’ shoulder, uncomfortably, careful of Harry, and says, I want to do this. It’s - I think it’s right, the right thing.
Yes, Remus says, Yes, me too. Then he says, Where will we live?
Our flat, Sirius wants to say, or, we’ll get a house in London, the countryside, near Hogwarts. But he can’t say that. Instead he offers, Muggle London?
Two men and a toddler? Remus shoots back. What about France? Remus has family in France. So does Sirius.
We’re still two men and a toddler, Sirius has to point out. Even France isn’t that liberal. Your parents? Don’t they have a cottage somewhere? The Lupins don’t have money, not anymore, but Remus comes from fairly old blood on his father’s side and there is still some property in the country, Sirius is fairly sure (the Lupin and Potter lines are the only pedigrees he retains any memory of from his mother’s pureblood obsessing).
Remus shifts uncomfortably. It’s not that his parents don’t know, haven’t guessed by now that the one bedroom in their flat means that Sirius is a bit more important than a friend, haven’t seen the way they look at each other across the table at Christmas, or seen their son plastered to Sirius’ back on his motorcycle, but it’s another thing to ask them to live with the idea in their own house (or in the cottage they own, their only retreat). Anyway, Sirius knows, one of the few perks Moony gets now that they’re out of (the safety of) school is having his own place, away from protective, well-meaning parents.
Never mind, Sirius says. Bad idea.
I think we need to get away from -- I mean, there are still Death Eaters out there, Sirius. And, Merlin, the papers. He buried his head against Sirius’ shoulder, tiredly. Harry has fallen asleep, and his drool is making darker red patches on Remus’ jumper (Birthday gift from Sirius last year because Remus is always cold after full moons and Sirius couldn’t fulfill his promise to himself to keep Moony warm).
Remus looks brave in red. Sirius has always thought so. (He wore red the night they first kissed, drunk and sweet and hot.)
Sirius wraps a loose thread from Remus’ sleeve around his finger. Dumbledore will figure something out, he says with a loyalty he doesn’t currently feel. Where was Dumbledore when James and Lily-
Maybe, Remus says. And it’s not even funny, not at all, but Sirius giggles. The sound is painful, but he can’t stop and then Remus sort of smiles (little half turn up of his lips that Sirius knew by fourth year meant that Remus found something amusing and was trying not to show it. Not a few pranks pulled on his own to get Remus to smile like that) and that’s it, Sirius loses it.
The loud laughter wakes little Harry up, and he starts crying, and then Sirius realizes that he too is crying, and he falls to the floor, back against the wall in a corner of the hospital and sobs. He sobs and sobs and gasps and he’s crying too hard for there to even be tears because James! Oh James!
There’s a gap, later, in Sirius’ memory. (Probably, Remus called Madam Pomfrey, and they did sensible things like put Harry to bed in the playpen in the next room, and make sure Sirius didn’t hyperventilate or blow something up.) What he does remember is Remus herding him into their bedroom, in their beloved (lover’s) flat with the second hand furniture and piles of books (not only Remus’), into their bedroom, out of his clothing and into their bed where he continues to cry (tears now, because there’s nothing he can do now but mourn) in the dark with Remus curled around his back like a parenthesis.
He wakes up later, while it’s still dark, and gropes for Remus’ hand before he opens his eyes. He plays idly with his fingers in the dark, feeling Remus’ eyes on him. No surprise Remus is awake, watching over him. He shouldn’t have lost it in the hospital wing, should’ve waited, held on longer. Poor Remus, to have to deal with all that.
Up Remus’ pointer finger, down, up his index finger, down. Sirius carefully traces them all, the pinky finger twice because the tip has been torn off before (fifth year. After the Snape incident. Sirius’ fault) and waits for Remus to say something.
But Remus just reaches a hand up to stroke through Sirius’ hair (he’s always loved Sirius’s hair. Loves to pull Sirius’ head back and nibble his neck on lazy mornings as they thrust together. Sirius keeps it long for him) gently, calmingly, like soothing a hurt animal, no accusations at all and Sirius feels tears prick in his eyes (more tears, but these ones are grateful, so grateful for Moony, for his love). He shifts to hold Remus, and they fall asleep again folded up together.
He wakes up a second time when Remus thrusts into him. He’s laying on his belly, his arse up in the air with Remus’ hold on his hips and it’s rough, and unexpected, and Sirius has no idea why it turns him on so much but (he doesn’t want to feel guilty for this) it really, really does. He gasps, all his air leaving him (he can feel his blood rushing away out of his brain like water from a bucket) and thrusts back onto Remus’ cock as hard as he can, grasping the sheets tightly.
Remus laughs in his ear and slows down, holding Sirius’ hips still. My turn, he says, growls, and that shouldn’t even make sense except that Remus isn’t the type to get mad and throw things when he’s (grieving) angry, so it makes perfect sense.
Sirius isn’t complaining. Or, well he is, but only because he’s desperate. Remus, Remus, Remus! R - oh! Remus! he answers, which makes just as much sense. And then Remus’ hand wraps around his cock, and he descends to whimpers and (not dog-like) whines.
Remus keeps going so fucking slowly -- in and out and l o n g shivery pushes in and s l o w aching pulls out again and again and again so the whimpers turn into incoherent nonsense turn into breathless screams and then Remus bites his neck hard, his hands pushing bruises into Sirius’ hips and Sirius feels Remus’ come dripping out of his arse as he continues pumping into Sirius, still hard.
That’s when Sirius comes.
Remus turns him over, pushes back in, but now it’s sweet, just pleasure, nothing else. Sirius is barely awake, really, but he smiles up at Remus to show him that it’s ok, strokes up and down his arms, murmurs, Moony. Remus smiles back tightly (relived) and makes short work of it, collapsing afterwards half on top of Sirius and half on their (now dirty) sheets. He tucks his head under Sirius’ chin and sleeps.
Sirius smiles, tiny smile, and thinks they’ll probably be alright, given time. So long as he hasn’t lost Moony, he’ll survive. They’ll deal with everything in the morning, make arrangements.
He sleeps again.
By: Venilia
HP, R/S, AU, NC-17
Description: Two weeks and three days after Remus’ grand confession, after Sirius finally starts to believe that things might just work out in the end, the world falls apart.
Two weeks and three days after Remus’ grand confession, after Sirius finally starts to believe that things might just work out in the end, the world falls apart. Sirius sits, numb and cold, in Dumbledore’s office and listens to Remus stumble, We just never suspected Peter. He’s always been so - well, not always, but he could be sweet and he’s never been… He never talked about muggle borns or anything, not like that. And for one blinding moment Sirius hates Remus because of course, of course it’s been Peter all along with his softly spoken poison that had turned them against each other, mistrustful and wounding, turned suspicions away from himself. Then Remus turns towards him and catches Sirius’ eye, mirror eye, and, no, he doesn’t hate Remus. He hates himself for not catching the little rat bastard (inside a voice worryingly like his insane uncle Alphard is laughing hysterically at that), for not saving Lily and -
He can’t think. He’s having a hard time thinking.
Dumbledore murmurs something and Remus’ hand (funny, he hadn’t noticed they were holding hands. They aren’t supposed to do that in public). tightens painfully on his own, gives it a sharp tug when Sirius only stares at their clasped hands stupidly. (Pay attention!) He looks up.
Dumbledore, leaning forward with a fierce light in his eyes says, Young Harry’s not dead, Sirius. He survived. No one knows how, but he did.
Sirius gasps, beached fish gasps. James?
An awful, awful silence answers him. Just Harry, then.
Remus scrambles with his words, stuttering, We’ll, we’ll take him in, of course. I’ll have to move out, but Sirius can take him in and I’ll - I’ll… Remus is all at sea, Sirius can see it in his eyes. Realizes in a flash: werewolf. Can’t live with children.
But Harry alive means that Sirius can think again and he sees the days stretched out in front of them in either direction. Sirius and Harry, and on weekends a lonelier and lonelier Remus, fights again, and, You’re not taking care of yourself! You have to let me help you take care of yourself you stubborn, stupid werewolf! all over again, Remus drifting farther and farther away until they are two cordial middle aged men and Harry doesn’t call Remus Uncle Moony anymore and that is that.
Down the other path he sees fights and tears and terror, and having to choose which one needs his care and attention more during full moons, his poor howly wolf mate, scratching himself up in the cellar, not trusting himself to run through the forest pack-less, or little baby Harry with such tender skin, so easy to harm accidentally. He sees Remus packing up and leaving anyway, For your own good, For Harry’s sake, It’s better this way, and himself crying something hurtful, something untrue in return, in utter rage and screaming fear of being left Moony-less. But he also sees toast, tea and the Quiddich section being interrupted by bits of mashed peas and carrots flung from a mischievous spoon, sees Remus worn and pale holding lively little Harry the day after full moon, reading him stories. Remembers Harry tugging on Remus’ nose and the smile on Lily’s face, remembers James’ determination to become an Animagus, keep Remus company, no Marauder left behind. Remembers not trusting Remus, and remembers not having a family when he was sixteen and thinks, No, we can do this. We have to do this.
He turns to Dumbledore, all pureblood down the nose glare for all the times Remus came home with mysterious bleedings poorly patched up, thin ribs, whimpers in his sleep. Remus isn’t moving out. We’re taking Harry in. I want to see my godson as soon as possible. He leans forward, Albus Dumbledore leaning back in his chair beneath Sirius’ words. Adds, Make it happen. You can. You have to. It’s what - chokes, forces his mouth to form the sounds, just like any other sounds - It’s what James and Lily would have wanted.
Dumbledore stands, dignified in his blue robes, says, I rather doubt, Mr. Black, that you know what you are getting yourself and Mr. Lupin into, but then he adds, Harry is in the infirmary. I thought you might want to see him, and Sirius can forgive him. Remus is already at the door, waiting impatiently. If there are students or professors about, Sirius doesn’t see them, or hear them, or notice them. They fly down the halls like two ghosts, or two Patronuses.
Harry is whimpering, fussy, trying not to nap (he probably wants his mother). This is the first thing Sirius notices. He gets like this whenever Sirius visits and gives him horsey rides as Padfoot (very carefully, with James holding Harry’s arms) or sings Beatles songs to him as they danced around the room, reads him Pat the Puffskein, too wound up and having too much fun to give it up for sleep. Lily complains--
Lily used to complain about getting Harry to sleep, after.
Remus rushes forward to pick Harry up, nuzzles him against his shoulder and makes awkward cooing sounds. Remus has always been a bit awkward with Harry, doesn’t really know what to do with babies. Never expected to be a parent.
Sirius is suddenly, achingly glad that Remus can have this, a child, a real family because Sirius could never give it to him and--
He’s a horrible person for thinking this, because James is
James is--
Sirius hurls himself forward, doesn’t want to think. He wants (selfishly) to hold little Harry himself, to be the one running a soothing hand over his (wild. Has his father’s hair, poor kid) hair and bury his nose in the comforting, powdery smell of baby. Instead, he flutters uselessly at Remus’ elbow and gives Harry a finger to hold.
Harry settles down with his two (new parents) uncles now present, people he knows, murmurs Seewus, Wee, and sucks thoughtfully on his fist (Sirius thinks Harry’s name for Remus is hysterical, and teases Moony about it as often as possible).
Remus drops onto the corner of a hospital bed (Sirius has a lot of memories of Remus in these beds, usually scratched up and tired but smiling, happy to see his friends. It’s sad that those were the easy days) and Sirius is tugged along with him by Harry’s strong little hand. He starts to give into this moment, just this one little moment of quietness, when Remus says, Oh Merlin. Oh ancient gods, Padfoot. What are we going to do? We can’t be - we can’t raise a child! He chews on his lip. (At any other time, Sirius would find that fascinatingly sexy.)
Sirius sighs and gives the moment up. He needs for Remus to be calm later (when Sirius realizes… just for later, that’s all) so Sirius will have to do his best calming now. He says, It’s what they would have wanted. He’s not sure if that means anything, (he only said it before because it would work on Dumbledore), so he adds, Who else is there?
On second thought, that may mean even less.
He slings an arm around Remus’ shoulder, uncomfortably, careful of Harry, and says, I want to do this. It’s - I think it’s right, the right thing.
Yes, Remus says, Yes, me too. Then he says, Where will we live?
Our flat, Sirius wants to say, or, we’ll get a house in London, the countryside, near Hogwarts. But he can’t say that. Instead he offers, Muggle London?
Two men and a toddler? Remus shoots back. What about France? Remus has family in France. So does Sirius.
We’re still two men and a toddler, Sirius has to point out. Even France isn’t that liberal. Your parents? Don’t they have a cottage somewhere? The Lupins don’t have money, not anymore, but Remus comes from fairly old blood on his father’s side and there is still some property in the country, Sirius is fairly sure (the Lupin and Potter lines are the only pedigrees he retains any memory of from his mother’s pureblood obsessing).
Remus shifts uncomfortably. It’s not that his parents don’t know, haven’t guessed by now that the one bedroom in their flat means that Sirius is a bit more important than a friend, haven’t seen the way they look at each other across the table at Christmas, or seen their son plastered to Sirius’ back on his motorcycle, but it’s another thing to ask them to live with the idea in their own house (or in the cottage they own, their only retreat). Anyway, Sirius knows, one of the few perks Moony gets now that they’re out of (the safety of) school is having his own place, away from protective, well-meaning parents.
Never mind, Sirius says. Bad idea.
I think we need to get away from -- I mean, there are still Death Eaters out there, Sirius. And, Merlin, the papers. He buried his head against Sirius’ shoulder, tiredly. Harry has fallen asleep, and his drool is making darker red patches on Remus’ jumper (Birthday gift from Sirius last year because Remus is always cold after full moons and Sirius couldn’t fulfill his promise to himself to keep Moony warm).
Remus looks brave in red. Sirius has always thought so. (He wore red the night they first kissed, drunk and sweet and hot.)
Sirius wraps a loose thread from Remus’ sleeve around his finger. Dumbledore will figure something out, he says with a loyalty he doesn’t currently feel. Where was Dumbledore when James and Lily-
Maybe, Remus says. And it’s not even funny, not at all, but Sirius giggles. The sound is painful, but he can’t stop and then Remus sort of smiles (little half turn up of his lips that Sirius knew by fourth year meant that Remus found something amusing and was trying not to show it. Not a few pranks pulled on his own to get Remus to smile like that) and that’s it, Sirius loses it.
The loud laughter wakes little Harry up, and he starts crying, and then Sirius realizes that he too is crying, and he falls to the floor, back against the wall in a corner of the hospital and sobs. He sobs and sobs and gasps and he’s crying too hard for there to even be tears because James! Oh James!
There’s a gap, later, in Sirius’ memory. (Probably, Remus called Madam Pomfrey, and they did sensible things like put Harry to bed in the playpen in the next room, and make sure Sirius didn’t hyperventilate or blow something up.) What he does remember is Remus herding him into their bedroom, in their beloved (lover’s) flat with the second hand furniture and piles of books (not only Remus’), into their bedroom, out of his clothing and into their bed where he continues to cry (tears now, because there’s nothing he can do now but mourn) in the dark with Remus curled around his back like a parenthesis.
He wakes up later, while it’s still dark, and gropes for Remus’ hand before he opens his eyes. He plays idly with his fingers in the dark, feeling Remus’ eyes on him. No surprise Remus is awake, watching over him. He shouldn’t have lost it in the hospital wing, should’ve waited, held on longer. Poor Remus, to have to deal with all that.
Up Remus’ pointer finger, down, up his index finger, down. Sirius carefully traces them all, the pinky finger twice because the tip has been torn off before (fifth year. After the Snape incident. Sirius’ fault) and waits for Remus to say something.
But Remus just reaches a hand up to stroke through Sirius’ hair (he’s always loved Sirius’s hair. Loves to pull Sirius’ head back and nibble his neck on lazy mornings as they thrust together. Sirius keeps it long for him) gently, calmingly, like soothing a hurt animal, no accusations at all and Sirius feels tears prick in his eyes (more tears, but these ones are grateful, so grateful for Moony, for his love). He shifts to hold Remus, and they fall asleep again folded up together.
He wakes up a second time when Remus thrusts into him. He’s laying on his belly, his arse up in the air with Remus’ hold on his hips and it’s rough, and unexpected, and Sirius has no idea why it turns him on so much but (he doesn’t want to feel guilty for this) it really, really does. He gasps, all his air leaving him (he can feel his blood rushing away out of his brain like water from a bucket) and thrusts back onto Remus’ cock as hard as he can, grasping the sheets tightly.
Remus laughs in his ear and slows down, holding Sirius’ hips still. My turn, he says, growls, and that shouldn’t even make sense except that Remus isn’t the type to get mad and throw things when he’s (grieving) angry, so it makes perfect sense.
Sirius isn’t complaining. Or, well he is, but only because he’s desperate. Remus, Remus, Remus! R - oh! Remus! he answers, which makes just as much sense. And then Remus’ hand wraps around his cock, and he descends to whimpers and (not dog-like) whines.
Remus keeps going so fucking slowly -- in and out and l o n g shivery pushes in and s l o w aching pulls out again and again and again so the whimpers turn into incoherent nonsense turn into breathless screams and then Remus bites his neck hard, his hands pushing bruises into Sirius’ hips and Sirius feels Remus’ come dripping out of his arse as he continues pumping into Sirius, still hard.
That’s when Sirius comes.
Remus turns him over, pushes back in, but now it’s sweet, just pleasure, nothing else. Sirius is barely awake, really, but he smiles up at Remus to show him that it’s ok, strokes up and down his arms, murmurs, Moony. Remus smiles back tightly (relived) and makes short work of it, collapsing afterwards half on top of Sirius and half on their (now dirty) sheets. He tucks his head under Sirius’ chin and sleeps.
Sirius smiles, tiny smile, and thinks they’ll probably be alright, given time. So long as he hasn’t lost Moony, he’ll survive. They’ll deal with everything in the morning, make arrangements.
He sleeps again.