Mischief-Making Fey
August 18th, 1976
“Moony, wake up.” Remus knows, on the edges of sleep, that someone is speaking to him, but all he hears is murmuring, hushed whispers of nothing. “Moony, Moony, Moony.” He opens his eyes and everything looks a little blurry, but he sees Sirius crouched over him, hair wild and eyes glowing, with a finger to his lips.
“Sirius, what?” Remus whispers, glancing over at James and Peter, who are nothing but slumbering lumps in their sleeping bags. “Why didn’t you wake them up?”
“I wanted you. Come on Moony, come away.” He grabs Remus by the hand and pulls at him to get up, and Remus does, because Sirius looks different somehow and he can’t help obeying. They duck outside the tent, Remus barefoot, in his faded red plaid flannel pyjama pants that hang loose around his hips, grey t-shirt. Sirius sleeps in his underwear, and he hasn’t put anything more on for this, whatever this is.
They are camped by the edge of a stream, which pools just below their camp in a round pond. The stream rushes by quietly, and Remus thinks it’s the sort of place you might see some beautiful not-quite-human lady bathing in the pond, who disappears when next you look. It’s like a storybook, one with lovely colourful pictures. It’s like a fairytale.
Sirius is smiling enigmatically, still gripping Remus by the hand. He looks a little fey, not-quite-human, with his high cheekbones and sharp chin, his hair like a woodland creature. His eyes, usually grey, are liquid silver. Sirius always looks like this, but something about the night gives it an otherworldly quality. Even Remus, who usually feels painfully ordinary, can’t help feeling a little strange.
And then they’re walking, and slipping down the rocks toward the pond. Sirius lets go of Remus’ hand and, never self-conscious, slips out of his pants, and dives into the pool. Remus is a little surprised to find he is not surprised. “Come on, Moony.”
It’s going to be cold, Remus knows. He tries to convince himself he likes the cold, as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He steps out of his trousers, too, conscious of the scar at his hip, below his collarbone, across his thigh. Hesitantly, he sinks into the water.
Sirius swims like he was born to it, not a dog paddle as might be expected, but an elegant breaststroke. Remus is forcibly reminded of the selkie stories he learnt as a child, and wonders-if he stole Sirius’ dog skin, would he have Sirius captive? But he doesn’t want a captive Sirius.
“Are you a changeling, Sirius? A faerie child?” Remus murmurs, half wondering whether that isn’t what he wants. He doesn’t think Sirius hears him, but then he comes up, treading water in front of Remus, all pale wet skin and smile like a demon or a mischief-making fey.
“No, Moony. All human.” He spreads his arms wide, holding a bowl of silk night-black water between them. And the next thing Remus knows, Sirius’ hands are on his neck, brushing water across his Adam’s apple and curving round to the edge of his jaw. His breath catches, and he doesn’t know what to do with his own hands, and somehow they wind up running down Sirius’ spine under the water. “All human,” Sirius mumbles into his mouth.
Remus doesn’t remember how they got back up the stream and back to bed. In the morning, he wonders whether it was a dream, moonlight and shadows. In the noon sun, Sirius really does look all human.