all we ever wanted (was everything) by iamsiriuslyriddikulus (13k, wolfstar, E)
A large, calloused hand settles on top of his, stilling him and keeping him from anxiously picking. Sirius jumps and looks up. Lupin has softened. “It’s not an insult. Nearly all writers leave traces of themselves in their art. I’ve liked getting to know you through your writing. I hope I can continue to do so next semester.” Lupin’s hand is warm on top of his, and perhaps on instinct, Sirius flips his own, entwining their fingers together.
They stay, frozen in time, both staring at their hands. Sirius isn’t sure if his heart has ever beaten so loudly.
- - -
OR: After transferring to a school in New York, Sirius develops a crush on his creative writing professor, Remus Lupin. What starts as a mentorship quickly grows into something else, but there are some lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
This fic! Fucked up teacher/student wolfstar! Subtle manipulation! Unreliable narration! Alcohol! Sex! Lies! Mental illness! Wooooo.
There's something so gloriously boldly courageously meta about a significant thing (motif? maybe not quite motif? Prof Lupin please let me pass lol) throughout the fic being the idea that you can find little bits of a person in fiction and read their fiction to get to know them better. Everyone who writes fics gets it. Letting people read our fiction is so incredibly vulnerable, and I love how this fic uses that.
From my comment -
I love your Sirius, obviously. And your sex scenes! I think I want to study how you write sex scenes and use that to become a better sex scene writer. And of course the classic professor/older person obviously setting up a ridiculously inappropriate moment and then having the student/younger person be invited to initiate so then they feel like they take the responsibility to initiate! it's something that feels so obvious as an adult reader (private dinner??? getting a student drunk then having them share something personal then going in for a hug????? really????) but for Sirius and the Siriuses of the world it's so impossible to understand in that moment.
as a writer you totally make me feel just as charmed and as special as sirius feels here.
@fvckyouimaprophet starting us off strong with i don’t care for the truth (when i’m lonely) (2k, E).
That was how he ended up with his pants pooled around his ankles, his cock in Mundungus’s mouth. The start of the end. Just this once, he told himself. He knew, even then, it was a lie, but he tried to believe it like the fool he was.
- - -
OR: The First Wizarding War hits Sirius hard, and he doesn’t cope well.
I mean look at these glorious tags: Infidelity, Substance Abuse, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Drugged Sex, Angst, First Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter)
summary: “Remus,” the woman says. “Nice to meet you… ?” It’s a nice name, Remus—one that suits her. Sirius nods and belatedly realizes she has to answer.
“Sirius.” She holds Remus’s gaze with a feral intensity, hoping something in her recognizes that they are the same.
OR: On a summer day in the South in 2001, Sirius Black went on a campus tour of the conservative college she would attend in the fall, expecting to be bored out of her mind. No one told her the tour guide was going to be hot—brown curls and snake bites and freckles and visibly queer. She stood out against the manicured hedges, a sharp contrast to the traditional values of everyone around Sirius. What followed was one long day of sticky summer heat and a house party that changed the course of her life. Poor Evan never stood a chance.
length: 9,014
tags: Lesbian Wolfstar, Fluff and Smut, Cunnilingus, Fingerfucking, Riding, Age Difference, Sirius Is 18 And Remus Is 26, Queer Euphoria, Minor Sirius Black/Evan Rosier, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Infidelity (Towards Evan Rosier)
note: For @wolfstarbingo2024 (square: infidelity). You can listen to the playlist here.
Read on Archive of Our Own.
The July air is thick and unbearable, almost as humid as it is hot. Even with her hair up, sweat drips down the back of Sirius’s neck. The thought of ice cold water makes her salivate—anything to cut through the misery that is summer in the South.
Yet Evan insists on holding her hand.
His palms are clammy and sticky, and Sirius is certain it’s as unpleasant for him as it is for her, but he’s always been better at doing what’s expected of him. And with Walburga hardly more than five feet away from them, watching like a hawk, she supposes that she can’t blame him.
“After the original chapel burnt down—unsurprising given that it was made out of wood—a new one was constructed out of stucco in 1832.” The university tour guide points to the columns wrapping around the building. “The Greek Revival style…” Sirius drifts. It’s too hot to concentrate. Besides, she’ll be back in a little over a month to attend school here—not that she has much of a choice. Legacy status opened doors she never wanted. The thought of staying in the South for some private school makes her whole chest ache. She’d applied to NYU and gotten in, but her parents had made it clear they had no intention of paying for any school other than their alma mater.
The saving grace of the day is the tour guide—a cute, lanky woman with short golden-brown curls and tan skin. Her shirt is clearly hand-designed—a faded tie-dye shirt that’s been cut into a cropped muscle tank that shows off her freckled arms. Overtop, she’s thrown on the university vest, though the way it’s draped, her name tag is obscured.
And Sirius desperately wants to know her name.
She’d missed it at the start when the woman had introduced herself, too caught off-guard to see such a visibly queer person on a conservative campus such as this one. When she laughs, the silver of her snake bite piercings reflect the sun and shine. She’s out of place—starkly chaotic against a backdrop of well-trimmed hedges and pristine sidewalks—in the best way possible.
The tour ends in the main quad inside the student center. While the air conditioning is more than welcome, if a little weak, Sirius’s stomach sinks at the realization that the woman is about to walk away, never to be seen again. There’s little Sirius can say about the architecture or campus history, but she’s not ready to say goodbye.
Sirius glances over at the woman as much as her circumstances will allow without getting caught. Her parents stand by Evan’s, grumbling about the heat and discussing what to do next. At first, the woman answers some other families’ questions, but soon enough, the room clears out. With a final wave, the woman leaves. Mumbling an excuse about needing to use the restroom, Sirius shakes off Evan’s hand and makes a beeline to the hallway.
She expects the woman to be further down and nearly runs into her. But she stands three paces from the door, vest off and slung over one arm as she texts on her yellow Nokia.
“Shit, sorry,” Sirius says. She straightens her shoulders and swallows thickly. The woman is even more attractive up close. From this distance, Sirius would guess that she has to be around twenty-five. The woman offers Sirius a bright smile.
“Did you have a question?”
“I, uh…” Sirius hasn’t thought this far ahead, but she isn’t about to let the opportunity slip through her fingers. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Remus,” the woman says. “Nice to meet you… ?” It’s a nice name, Remus—one that suits her. Sirius nods and belatedly realizes she has to answer.
“Sirius.” She holds Remus’s gaze with a feral intensity, hoping something in her recognizes that they are the same. Normally, she dresses how she wants. It’d caused enough issues at the boarding school her mother had shipped her off to, not to mention endless arguments over the holidays. But she hadn’t wanted to make things more difficult than usual and had opted for a simple black dress and black platform sandals—not Walburga’s favorite but not bad enough to warrant a fight.
Remus gives her a warm smile, and the corners of her eyes crease. “What brings you here, Sirius? Applying to colleges soon?” It would have been the proper order of things to attend a tour before her junior year, but her parents knew where they expected her to go. She’d seen the campus enough times when they’d dragged her there as a child to attend football games. Thankfully, her mom had eventually put her foot down on that front, and the long days of tailgating and uncomfortable stadium seating had come to an end.
“I’m attending in the fall.” She grimaces as she says it.
“And it’s your first time on campus?”
“My parents went here too, so I’m sadly familiar.” It’s more than her parents.The law library and a garden both have the Black family name on them, hailing from the days when her great-great-grandfather Phineas was Dean of the university, but it’s not a detail she cares to reveal. Instead, Sirius sneers, hoping it gets across her disdain. “Do you go here?”
It’s hard to imagine Remus on campus, but she nods. “It’s not my favorite environment, but they have one of the best Entomology departments in the country and decent insurance for grad students, which is all I can hope for.” Remus’s phone beeps, and she glances down at it. For a moment, Sirius worries that she might say she has to leave, but then she pockets it instead. “You’ll get tired of this question quickly, but what are you majoring in?”
“English lit and political science.” She sucks in her bottom lip and rolls it between her teeth. It suddenly sounds uninspiring, so she adds, “Political science is for my parents. They said it’s the best pre-law degree. I think if I could choose a different one, I’d go with theater. Though I looked up the shows they typically do, and it’s a lot of classics, so maybe it’d be stuffy.”
“Stuffy’s a safe bet here.” Remus crosses her arms. As she does, her cropped tank rides up. Despite herself, Sirius’s eyes drop to the bottom hem, which falls just above the bottom of her breasts. Judging from what Sirius can see, she’s not wearing a bra. Sirius swallows and draws her eyes back up to Remus’s face, hoping that the way Remus’s lips curl up into a smirk has nothing to do with her indiscretion. “Your parents have high expectations, huh?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Remus’s phone beeps again. She pulls it out and sighs. “I have to head out to meet a friend, but I’ll tell you what—I'll be at a house party later. There’ll be jungle juice and good times and plenty of freaks like us.”
The logistics of that will be hard, but Sirius has never let that stop her before. She nods so vigorously that her neck hurts. The next two minutes are a blur as Remus pulls a notebook and mechanical pencil out from her Mudd messenger bag. She tears a scrap of paper with an address written on it. “I’ll be there,” Sirius promises as a refrain echoes in her head. Freaks like us.
“See you later, then, Sirius,” Remus says. With one final wink, she walks away.
Sirius beams all the way back until she meets Evan, his parents, and her own back in the room where she left them. “What took you so long?” Walburga snaps.
“Got lost,” Sirius says. Evan reaches for her hand, and Sirius bites the inside of her cheek to keep from scowling.
“I didn’t like that tour guide one bit,” Evan’s mother says, shaking her head. “It’s a bad image for the school.”
“I’ll speak with one of the administrators,” Sirius’s father says, and Sirius’s stomach drops. There’s no doubt in her mind that she has to see Remus, if only to warn her. So she turns to Evan.
“What if we went out tonight?” she whispers as their parents continue to speak. Not wanting to risk Evan rejecting down her proposal and ruining any shot she has at sneaking out, Sirius does her impression of an enthusiastic girlfriend. She squeezes his hand and bats her eyelashes in what she hopes is an Oscar-worthy performance. “I want to see what we have to look forward to in the fall.”
It’s almost a little sad how easily Evan falls for it, expression softening. “Leave it to me. I’ll plan the perfect date night.” He lifts Sirius’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. His lips are dry. “Just you wait.”
“Let’s get back to the hotel,” Evan’s father interrupts. “I’m sweatin’ like a sinner in church.” Walburga frowns.
★ ★ ★
Their parents easily take to the idea of splitting up for dinner, though Walburga spends the time they have in the hotel fussing over Sirius’s hair.
“I can do it like you had it for cotillion. Wouldn’t that be a nice surprise for Evan?”
As if Sirius needs to be reminded of her and Evan’s first date. He’d asked Orion for permission to be Sirius’s partner for the night and then, after, to date her. She’d put up a fight—nauseated at the thought of spending weeks practicing the same outdated traditions her mother had already instilled in her and debuting with some boy her parents deemed proper—but Walburga won in the end and shoved Sirius in a long emerald gown. Unbeknownst to her mother, however, Sirius had slipped a few butterfly clips under her gloves. She’d put them on in the bathroom once they got to the venue and refused to take them off, even when the teachers had scolded her. It had been what her mother had called a scene.
Evan, much to her surprise, had stood by her choice. “You looked so sad when we were practicing for the dance,” he said to her. “But now you’re smiling. I like it when you smile.”
She’d decided then if she had to pretend to date a boy, Evan was as good as any. Besides, he was friendly with Regulus. Sirius was relatively sure that Regulus even looked up to him.
Sirius makes it out of the hotel with her hair styled as she wants it. She opts for a low rise maxi skirt and a nice blouse to keep her mother happy but shoves a shirt she got from last season’s Lip Service catalog in her bag to change into later. It’s slightly cropped—enough to show off the belly button piercing she’s miraculously managed to hide from her mother.
Dinner is predictably boring. She’s undoubtedly underdressed for the type of establishment it is, but outside of a glare from the maître d’, no one bothers her. Evan orders oysters despite the fact that neither of them are fond of the texture. She waits until Evan is halfway through his shrimp and grits before she makes her next move. Twisting a piece of hair around her finger, Sirius asks, “Ev, how would you feel about going to a college party?”
Evan’s eyebrows shoot up. As much as he likes to act like a southern gentleman—opening car doors and pulling out chairs—it’s no secret that Evan enjoys the fact that Sirius breaks the mold, that she’s rougher around the edges than other southern girls. “I’d love to, but I’m pretty sure you have to get invited to those.”
Sirius resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Why do you think I’m asking?”
As he leans back in his seat, Sirius can’t help but think that Evan looks slightly impressed. “How did you manage that?”
“A lady never tells.” If Evan knows from whom she’s received the invitation, he might become wary. “Only problem is, I’m not sure how to get there. I have the address, though.”
“I’ll ask the waiter.” He looks curious when Sirius digs through her purse and hands him the scrap of paper with the address on it, but he doesn’t press.
“I’m gonna freshen up and powder my nose.” Sirius stands. By the time she’s back, she’s sure Evan will have paid the bill and gotten directions. He’s nothing if not efficient. Still, she takes her time, changing shirts and reapplying lipstick. Her eyeliner is slightly smudged under her right eye, but she decides she likes it better that way and tries to get the left to match. Other women circle in and out of the restroom, older than her, venom in their eyes as they wash their hands. One shakes the water from hers vigorously and looks pleased with herself when it splashes onto Sirius.
Before she steps out, she pulls the rattling tin of citrus sours from her bag and pops one into her mouth. Her timing could not be more perfect. Just as she turns the corner, Sirius notices the waiter leaving their table.
“Didn’t know powdering your nose was such an involved process,” Evan says, taking Sirius’s new look in. He wets his lips and stretches out a hand for Sirius to take.
As much as she wants to bat his hand away, she knows better. So she takes it and lets Evan lead her out of the restaurant, trying to ignore the way her skin crawls when he places his hand on the small of her back. “The party’s not too far from downtown. Waiter said it was about an eighteen minute walk.” It’s a relief but not necessarily a surprise—everything in this godforsaken college town is walking distance.
“Perfect.”
The humidity’s calmed down, and the night brings a light breeze with it. Sirius feels a mosquito hum in her ear and swats at it, though she knows it’ll do her no use. Still, it’s pleasant when compared to the daytime. With dinner settling in, they walk in silence, and Sirius tries to soak in the ambient noises of the town. It helps distract her from her racing thoughts and nerves.
They hear the party before they see the house. Faint music and voices echo in the quiet street. And then it comes into view. It’s not big, but it stands in contrast to the others, grass not neatly manicured, mailbox painted a bright pink that sticks out against the sea of blacks, reds, and whites.
Sirius can tell by the way Evan’s palm sweats that he must be nervous and is liable to change his mind, but she isn’t about to let that ruin her chances of seeing Remus again. With a tug, she pulls him toward the front door before he can get a word in otherwise.
The music is much louder inside the house than it is from the outside, and from what Sirius can tell, the party’s attracted an eclectic group of people. It’s probably for the best that the entire crowd isn’t queer given that she can’t be sure how Evan would react if that were the case, but the fact that it’s crowded makes it harder to find Remus.
Evan’s eyes are wide as he looks around. “This is no joke,” he says to Sirius, raising his voice to be heard above the music. “This is a legit college party.”
“Obviously.” Sirius gives Evan a playful nudge and extracts her hand from his grip.
“Hey, y’all.” A tall, bubbly white woman with a spaghetti top, rhinestone denim miniskirt, and body glitter walks over. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. I’m Marlene.”
“Sirius.” She does her best to play it cool. The last thing she wants is to declare herself an outsider.
Sadly, Evan’s priorities are not the same. “Evan. We’re attending in the fall.”
For a moment, Sirius wonders who Marlene is talking to. Then, she sees her—a tall Black woman with Fulani braids, a tube top, and bright blue-and-silver eyeshadow that makes her brown eyes pop. She takes them in and smirks. “Dorcas. Where did you all come from?” Sirius watches as if in slow motion as Marlene and Dorcas wrap their arms around each other’s waists, and it hits her.
Evan’s probably blissfully unaware, but Sirius’s eyes stay fixed to the spot where Dorcas’s hand falls—between Marlene’s top and skirt—where her thumb strokes gently at her skin. It hits her with a wave of euphoria that they’re like her and Remus.
“Sirius wouldn’t tell me—” Evan starts but before he can finish, Sirius hears a voice from behind them.
“So, you made it.” It’s low and slightly rough and makes Sirius’s whole body float. She spins around, heart pounding in her throat and beams at Remus.
“Hey.” Sirius usually prides herself on her ability to act cool and collected, even when she feels anything but, but it eludes her now. With Evan beside her, however, she has to figure out a way. She takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “Thanks for the invite.”
Evan looks between them, confused. His mouth opens, and Sirius braces for the flood of questions, but he must decide better because none come.
“So this is why you got all dressed up?” Dorcas poorly hides a chuckle. Remus has changed as well—dressed now in a floral, boxy, short-sleeved button-up. She’s still wearing the same faded, frayed shorts as earlier, a carabiner and keys dangling from a belt loop. It’s hard to tell in the dim, yellow lights of the house, but Sirius belatedly realizes Remus has a small amount of smudged brown eyeliner on as well.
“Jungle juice is in the kitchen, along with some other drinks,” Marlene says. Out of the corner of her eyes, Sirius watches her tug on Dorcas’s hand, leading her away as she mouths, “C’mon.”
“Jungle juice?” Sirius asks. The term had confused her earlier, though she hadn’t dared ask what it was for fear of appearing uncool and out of the loop.
“You just throw a lot of shit into one bowl with some mixers to mask the taste, but be careful. It’ll hit you hard. What did you two get up to after the tour?”
“Sirius wanted a taste of what date night spots this town has to offer, so I took her to dinner at Half Moon,” Evan’s says. “Nice oysters.”
A look of surprise flickers across Remus’s face before she hides it. Brief as it is, it makes Sirius want the ground to swallow her. There’s no clarification she can offer while Evan is standing next to her. “I’ve never been, but I’ll take your word for it.”
“What! You really should.”
Sirius clears her throat and reaches to grab Evan’s hand. “We’ll check out the drinks. Give us a minute.” Evan opens his mouth to protest, but Sirius drags him before he has a chance.
“I think it might be a little pricier than Remus is used to. Don’t be rude,” Sirius hisses as they come to a halt in the kitchen. Two people drinking out of red solo cups and talking share a look and slip out.
“The snapper was only $35. That’s doable..” Thankfully, Evan decides this isn’t the hill he wants to die on, but his next topic isn’t much better. “When did you even have a chance to meet the tour guide?”
“Remus. Her name is Remus. And on my way to the bathroom when all of you were complaining about her.”
Evan shrugs. “I thought the tour was fascinating. Though I can see why she’d rub our parents the wrong way. What was Dorcas implying when she said this was why the tour guide got all dressed up?” The fact that he’s refusing to use her name doesn’t bode well. Evan’s never been an open book of emotions.
“How should I know? I just met them all. Remus and I only talked for two minutes. She said house parties were a right of passage for freshman or something. I was curious.”
The answer must sound reasonable because Evan nods. “Okay.” His attention turns toward the table with beer, liquor, and a giant clear plastic bowl with a ladle and questionably-colored liquid in it. “What do you want to drink?”
Sirius breathes a sigh of relief and opts for a beer. Evan, perhaps trying to prove some sort of point, pours himself a full cup of jungle juice. “Are we okay?” Sirius asks.
After a moment, Evan nods. “Yeah.”
Not wanting to risk anything, Sirius bends over and braces herself before pressing her lips to Evan’s. He always takes it further than she likes, his lips parting as his tongue darts between hers. It’s wet and makes her skin crawl. But it does the trick. When Evan pulls back, his shoulders have dropped, and his smile is more relaxed.
Drinks in hand, they make their way back to the living room. It feels more crowded than when they left, but Sirius soon finds Remus standing in a crowd. For the moment, she keeps her distance. Evan had always been a lightweight, and she knows it won’t be long before his attention will slip from her.
Somehow, he finds a group of geology majors. Despite everything he’s said about his other intended major in finance, it’s never been a secret where his passions lie. “With rocks,” Sirius likes to tease, amused by the way Evan takes the bait and launches into a speech about the universe and the earth and the ancient dust that ties it all together every time. It’s rather progressive given that his parents’ idea of the earth and evolution follows the Bible as far as Sirius is aware.
So she stands by Evan, zoning out as they geek out about their interests. Like clockwork, forty-five minutes in as he takes his first sip from his third cup of jungle juice, Evan’s hand slips from her shoulder, and his speech begins to slur.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Sirius says, excusing herself.
She weaves through the crowd, humming along to a Destiny’s Child song that blasts from a boombox in the corner, until she spots Remus, pulled into a tight circle with Marlene and Dorcas, whispering. Two beers is enough to give her a pleasant buzz while still having her wits about her. Sirius knows she’ll need it for the explanation she owes Remus.
Sure enough, Remus’s eyes narrow, and she frowns and crosses her arms across her chest as Sirius steps toward her. Before she can say anything, Sirius starts. “I’m sorry. That had to have been all very confusing.”
For the second time that night Marlene and Dorcas step away, though Dorcas throws her a warning look before she does, as if to say fuck with my friend’s heart, and you’ll have me to deal with. Somehow Sirius doesn’t doubt her ability to follow through on the implied threat. “You have a boyfriend. Why didn’t you correct me when I—”
“Because I am like you,” Sirius interrupts. “He’s just… Evan.”
“Thank you for clearing that up.” Remus rolls her eyes but softens. “Let me guess—it has something to do with your parents.”
“How did you know?” Sirius offers Remus an anxious smile. “My family knows Evan’s. We started dating when we were thirteen. My parents don’t know that I’m…” She anxiously chews at the inside of her cheek. It’s not a word she says often.
“A dyke?” Remus asks. It’s sharp and abrasive, but Sirius loves the way the word sounds in Remus’s mouth. She nods.
“Evan doesn’t know either, obviously.”
“Thanks for telling me, and sorry for assuming the worst. Thought you might be one of those straight girls who likes to get drunk and experiment.” Remus rubs at the back of her neck, and a light pink flush covers her cheeks, making her freckles stand out more. Sirius stares, mesmerized for a moment, imagining what Remus’s cheek might feel like against hers.
She’d simply used the bathroom as an excuse to get away from Evan, but as she shifts her weight from one leg to the other, Sirius realizes it might not be an excuse anymore. “Hey, mind showing me where the bathroom is?”
“Yeah, of course.”
They turn toward a small hallway where Sirius sees a few people waiting outside the door. “Thanks.”
But Remus shakes her head and sets a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, guiding her toward a door on the right. Her hand is calloused and warm, and Sirius has to stop herself from leaning back into it. “There’s another one. Dorcas and Marlene have their own. Friends can use it during parties, but since it’s through their bedroom, everyone unfortunately has to use mine and Benji’s. It’s always a mess by the end of the night.”
“You live here?” Sirius looks around, taking in the hose in a new light. Remus laughs.
“Yup. It’s just four of us—me, Marlene, Dorcas, and Benji, who I haven’t seen in a while. A little queer commune in the middle of hell.” It sounds incredible—not having to hide in the shadows. The thought of existing without a weight on her chest, without the constant dread of being caught sounds as close to paradise as it gets.
For a brief moment, she considers asking Remus what she has to do to join. She’ll manage without a room of her own—all she needs is a couch. But then the door opens and Sirius loses all train of thought.
One man kneels before another, head bobbing up and down as he blows him. The other—the man being blown—grips the hair of the man kneeling so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
Remus sighs. “Dorcas will kill you if she sees you, Benji.”
“Just need another…” The man who is presumably Benji says as he holds the other man’s head down. It’s impressive, really, watching the way the other man takes it, yet Sirius can’t shake the feeling that she’s intruding. She swallows and looks elsewhere, at the Sade poster on the wall, then over to the odd mix of collectibles on the dresser—an empty Sea Monkeys tank, a Furby, three Troll dolls of varying sizes, and a hot pink Tech Deck.
Benji grunts, and his hand slips from the other man’s hair. Despite her best efforts to give them privacy, Sirius can’t help but watch as he pulls his briefs back up.
“You have your own room,” Remus says.
“And it was occupied.”
It’s hard to believe how nonchalant everyone else is about this—outside of Remus’s annoyed disapproval.
“Who’s the new kid?” The kneeling man asks. He turns and wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand.
“None of your business, Edgar. Now, scram.”
Benji stands and pushes past them, rolling his eyes. Edgar is more apologetic, his lips pulling back into a tight, anxious smile as he says, “Pardon,” and follows Benji out of the room.
“You’ll get used to it,” Remus says. “Benji was caught fucking someone on-campus once—in the bathroom by the student center—and if it weren’t for his family connections, I think would have been kicked out. He’s not exactly what you call subtle.” She shakes her head and motions toward a door. “Anyway, the bathroom’s there.”
“Thanks.”
It isn’t until she’s washing her hands and staring at herself in the mirror that Sirius realizes that she’s more drunk than she thought. She blinks slowly back at herself, trying to ignore the way she feels slightly off-balance. Not wanting to waste time, she splashes water on her face and steps out. Remus waits by the door.
“My parents are going to complain about you to the university. They don’t like gay people very much.” Sirius blurts out the words, surprised herself that they’re spilling out of her at this precise moment. “I don’t know if it’ll affect your job. They have some… sway.”
“I appreciate the heads up. But I hated this job anyway. I find the history interesting, but the administration is a shitshow. Not how I wanted to go, but it is what it is.”
Relief and guilt merge together. “I’m still sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re not your parents..” Remus nods toward the hall. “You ready?”
The thought of going back to the party before they’ve had a chance to spend time alone makes Sirius’s heart clench. Emboldened by alcohol, with all the tact and subtlety of a bulldozer, the words slip out of Sirius’s mouth, “What does your room look like?”
The same bemused look Sirius saw after the tour flits across her face. Sirius’s cheeks heat up as she chews anxiously at the inside of her cheek. “If you want to see my room, all you have to do is ask.” Before Sirius can parse out the full implication of Remus’s words, Remus is out of the room and in the hallway.
Sirius stumbles over a heel on the floor, its twin nowhere to be seen, and by the time she steps out as well, Remus is at the end of the hall, looking back. It’s like a playful game of cat and mouse, yet despite her chasing, Sirius doesn’t feel like the cat. She gets through the few people in her way with a mumbled apology. Then, the door opens, and she’s being pulled into the room.
“Ask and you shall receive.” Remus shuts the door and leans against it. She cocks her head as she looks Sirius up and down.
Remus’s room is small but suits her. A smattering of band posters and art cover her walls, and plastic stars decorate her ceiling. There’s a hand-painted butterfly on the wall with the name Pandora under it like a signature. She has two bookshelves too, both brimming with books that Sirius wants to take a closer look at. But her eyes are instead drawn to a desk in the corner of the room with a Portishead concert poster above it. Sirius stares at it, jaw dropping. “What was it like to see Beth Gibbons in person?”
“Totally unreal. That was three years ago,” Remus says. “I drove to see them with Dorcas and my friend Pandora.”
“And all these people go to school here?”
“No, a good chunk of them are townies or moved here for other reasons. Pandora’s from here. She started an arts collective in the middle of the woods about twenty-five miles outta town. Marlene’s a part of it. Other people are administrators or professors because it was where they could get a job. Other people do other things. Dorcas and Benji are students like us, though. Benji’s actually TAing for some English classes, so you may see him.”
The thought of seeing Benji and having to take him seriously as a teacher makes Sirius’s neck burn. She’s certain that all she’ll be able to picture is Benji on the bed, gripping Edgar’s hair.
“So this is your life?” It’s a level of freedom Sirius hasn’t dared imagine.
“Could be yours too.” Remus reaches an arm behind her and the lock clicks. “It was infuriating watching your boyfriend talk to other people and ignore you.” She steps forward. “If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you. God, the things that I would do to you…”
Sirius’s breath catches in her throat. After she’d left the boarding school, she told herself she’d break it off with Evan. Before college, so she wouldn’t cheat—not again. They’d been separated by gender back in school—taken different classes, only mingling during lunch and on the quad. But now, their lives would be enmeshed. The promise of an engagement loomed over her, as Walburga wouldn’t stop reminding her. In her mind, she moved the end date of the relationship from graduation to summer to as soon as they moved on campus.
But Remus’s eyes are hungry, a sharp contrast to what Sirius has gotten used to—furtive and timid glances, hook-ups usually followed by confessions of guilt. This was a mistake or it doesn’t mean anything or God will judge you for your sins as if they hadn’t come willingly, hadn’t been the ones to throw themselves at her.
Remus wants her, and despite the locked door, she has no shame, no need to hide except to protect Sirius from Evan’s wrath.
Sirius could fall apart just from that thought alone. She whimpers, needy. “What would you do?”
Although she grins, Remus says nothing. She steps forward, closing the space between them, and places an arm by Sirius’s waist. The fabric of Sirius’s skirt bunches in her hand and then lifts up a few inches from the ground. Her skin is warm. The room is stuffy, the fan clicking as it whirs on the lowest setting, but Sirius welcomes the heat from Remus’s touch.
Another few seconds, and the hem of her skirt rises past her calf. Sirius trembles, knees threatening to buckle under her as Remus’s other hand slips under and drags up her thigh. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat and her skin burns, yet she holds her breath, terrified that breathing too deeply might make everything unravel.
But then Remus’s fingers brush against her, and she breaks, a low, breathy moan filling the space between them. Remus’s thumb hooks into the thin strap of her thong and pulls it to the side as her pointer and index fingers run along the length of her cunt, leaving her tense and dizzy. Her touch is light, teasing, careful not to dip in, and it takes all of Sirius’s willpower not to rock against it.
“Such a pretty, little thing,” Remus breathes. “So eager and wet already.” And then one finger rubs a circle over Sirius’s clit. Sirius’s legs nearly give, but Remus must expect it, as she braces and switches positions slightly to support her.
Remus leads her backward until Sirius feels the bed against her calves, and then she’s toppling backward, hands gripping Remus’s shirt so that Remus comes down with her. A laugh bubbles up her throat, the delightful absurdity of the situation hitting her as she thinks, for the first time, that this life might be possible, even for someone like her. Remus grins back at her and laughs.
“What are you thinking about? I can see the gears turning.”
“How much I want to kiss you,” Sirius says.
“Then, do it.”
Sirius weaves her fingers in Remus’s hair. Her neck strains, and then—
Remus’s lips are soft. Beneath the cherry Lip Smackers, she tastes like cheap whiskey and Dr. Pepper, like boozy Cheerwine. Sirius’s eyes close, and she submits to the kiss, gentle at first and then deeper. From this angle, Sirius can feel the cold metal of Remus’s snake bites. She breathes in sharply through her nose and scrapes her nails against Remus’s scalp, drawing a breathy whine from Remus.
The noise makes her thighs clench. Despite her quiet prayers that the movement go unnoticed, Remus’s sudden smirk against her lips confirms otherwise. She pulls back and takes in Sirius’s flushed cheeks and furrowed brow. “Don’t be embarrassed. I like how reactive you are.”
She’s never liked being seen , never liked the way it makes her feel so exposed, but all that goes out the window with Remus. Instead, all she feels is warmth. In her head, she pictures herself as a cat, exposing her soft underbelly as if to say I trust you not to hurt me. It’s entirely absurd. By all accounts, Remus is still a stranger, but Sirius can’t doubt her gut.
When Remus moves off the bed and stands, Sirius nearly reaches for her. But then, Remus drops to her knees, and all protests evaporate from her lips. Remus’s head disappears under his skirt, and Sirius watches, enraptured, as she sees it move through the fabric. She hears a quiet clink of something small and metal dropping to the carpeted floor before Remus slips two hands under Sirius and pulls her effortlessly down to the edge of the bed. Kisses trail up her thighs, and Sirius’s knees drop further apart until—
She gasps, head falling back against the bed as Remus’s tongue traces the outline of her cunt. Gently, Remus sucks at her clit and then dips her tongue in.
She moves slow as molasses, pressing her tongue in until it can go no further, her nose firmly against Sirius’s clit. Sirius gasps, and hands fall to the bed, desperately trying to grasp at something as she marvels at the fact that she can feel Remus in her. And then Remus pulls back. Sirius’s leg quake. She holds her breath and listens to the wobbly fan. Each click seems to bring her closer to something more.
Click. Remus’s left hand slips out from under Sirius, pulling her thong down with it.
Click. Remus places that hand on Sirius’s thigh.
Click. Sirius’s skirt tents as Remus’s head lifts and she places her mouth over Sirius’s clit. All she feels is hot breath against it as a bead of wetness drips out of her in anticipation.
Click. Remus says, “God, you’re a mess,” and her breath tickles Sirius’s skin.
Click.
“Oh, fuck.” Two of Remus’s fingers slide into her, past the first knuckle and the second until Sirius can feel the slight burn of being stretched out. She turns her head to the side and buries it half in the comforter as she groans. Remus’s fingers curl, and she fucks her in earnest, sliding in and out, wet noises filling the room. Her tongue matches her pace—flicking, then sucking, her teeth occasionally grazing ever-so-slightly against Sirius’s clit.
And all Sirius can do is lie there, knees spread so wide that they’re practically on the bed, her body electric as she moves closer toward the edge.
With a shaky hand, she reaches down and pulls her skirt up, bunching it around her hips until it’s no longer obscuring her view, and she can see Remus’s face, eyes closed and lost in pleasure.
Before long, her body tenses and her back arches. Her whole body burns, and sweat drips down her temple. A third finger slips in, and Sirius bites down on the inside of her cheek. She’s not used to being stretched this wide, not used to experienced hands. Sirius grinds down against Remus’s face and clenches around her fingers as she comes. Remus never relents, fucking her until Sirius’s body falls limp against the bed and she squirms, oversensitive.
Remus slips out. Grinning, she looks at Sirius, wet from her nose to her chin. Her tongue darts over her lips. “That was fast.”
Sirius flushes. She’d been so caught up in the moment that she hadn’t realized how quickly it was over. “Sorry.” Excuses come to her lips—it’s been long since she’s come by another woman’s hands and never like this, but before she can say any of them, Remus shakes her head.
“No, don’t apologize. It’s hot.”
Remus adjusts herself, wincing slightly as she stands, the pill of the carpet visible against her knees. As Sirius pulls herself up further up on the bed, resting against the pillows, Remus bends down and picks something up off the floor. It takes Sirius a second to realize that the sound she’d heard earlier were rings dropping to the floor. Remus sets them on a dresser and undoes the button and zipper of her shorts. They drop to the ground, and Remus steps out of them before getting on the bed, swinging one leg over Sirius’s until she rests on Sirius’s thigh.
Her cunt is hot through the thin, slightly damp fabric of her briefs and feels heavenly.
Her hand reaches for the hem of Sirius’s shirt and pulls it up. Having opted for no bra, Sirius’s breasts come into view. “I knew it,” Remus breathes as she rocks against Sirius’s thigh. No doubt, Remus is talking about her nipple piercings. Sirius grins up at her and lifts her knee so Remus can get a better angle.
“Tongue piercing’s next.” Away from prying, judgmental eyes—at least, those that matter to her—Sirius knows it’ll be easier to get away with, though she doesn’t doubt that Walburga has spies everywhere, ready to report back to her.
“Mmm.” Remus sounds distracted. She bends down, taking a nipple in her mouth. The nub is already hard, but when her teeth graze against the metal, making a soft clinking sound, Sirius feels herself starting to get wet again. As Remus’s eyes flutter shut and she begins to ride Sirius’s leg in earnest, it’s hard for Sirius to know where to focus—on the feel of Remus’s cunt—sticky even through the cotton—or on her mouth—sucking with such reverence—or her face—freckles against a pink flush, hair stuck to her forehead.
With some difficulty, Sirius slips a hand between them. She fumbles with the waistband for a moment and then slips under Remus’s briefs. The position is awkward and hurts her wrist, but Sirius can’t find it in herself to care. Their movements are disjointed and desperate. As best as the angle allows her to, Sirius circles Remus’s clit with two fingers, trying to match Remus’s frantic pace.
Sirius can tell Remus is getting close when her tongue slips from her nipple and her head falls back. Her lips part, and she moans, like a portrait of ecstasy. Sirius watches, enraptured, as Remus’s pace becomes more erratic. All Sirius can do is keep her hand still and let Remus use her, grinding down against it until she comes, her flush spreading from her cheeks to her neck as she trembles.
Sirius’s fingers are sticky and wet. She brings them to her lips, feeling smug as Remus’s eyes open, and she watches, breathing heavily. When she’s sucked them clean, she drops her hand, satisfied, and sighs. “You’re incredible. I never…” Sirius trails off, uncertain how to finish the sentence.
She’s had sex with girls before. And the only time she’s felt any shame about her identity was a short period of three months when she was eleven. She’d been searching for her retired Polly Pockets in the basement and instead found a stack of old Playboy magazines her father had stashed in a box creatively labeled “DOLLS.” The way she felt looking at photos of naked and half-naked women coyly staring at the camera—despite the sermons she’d heard about sin—was dazzling. Everything clicked into place in a glorious way that was cut short by her mother’s scream and the knowledge that her grandfather had, at that precise moment, suffered a stroke.
All fear that her grandfather’s passing was the God’s punishment for her transgressions evaporated, however, when she snuck another peek precisely twenty-four days later, only for the day to be entirely mundane and unremarkable, if not a little more enjoyable than most given that Walburga let her watch an extra episode of Sailor Moon.
“You never what?” Remus asks.
“Never knew it could feel like this—this… good. This easy.” That’s not quite what she means either, but the other thought that comes to mind feels wrong to say aloud—reciprocal. Most girls wanted something from her, but the thought of giving in return seemed to cross an ethical boundary they’d set up in their head.
A knowing look flashes in Remus’s eyes, and she gives Sirius a warm smile. “Knowing other queer people makes all the difference. And even if you’re not out, there’s a whole spectrum between being discreet and hiding in the shadows.” She sighs. “As much as I want to stay here and pretend the rest of the party doesn’t exist, we should get you back to the party before your boyfriend realizes that something’s up.”
It feels tempting to ignore all instincts and lock themselves away, but Remus isn’t wrong. It’s been long enough to draw suspicion, even given how inebriated Evan must be by now. Sirius reaches for her shirt and skirt, adjusting them accordingly as she stands. “How’s my hair?”
“Almost perfect.” Remus reaches out, presumably to fix a strand that’s out of place. Perhaps it’s an excuse to touch her one last time. Remus lingers, her fingers brushing against the back of Sirius’s neck. When she finally pulls back, Sirius nearly whines. Where Remus’s skin had touched hers burns, and she aches for more. But there’s no time. “There.”
“Thank you.”
She makes quick work finding her thong and straightening her clothes. By the time she’s done, Remus has dressed as well. She slips her rings back on and motions to the door. “Ready?”
“Yes.” Sirius is grateful Remus doesn’t call her bluff. Yet judging by the way Remus moves slowly and furrows her brow, she is similarly hesitant. Sirius knows it’s her life she’d be blowing up, which is likely why Remus refuses to suggest it herself, but Sirius knows if she asked to stay, Remus would agree.
Lord, does Sirius find it tempting.
But this isn’t how she wants things to end with Evan. He deserves more dignity than that, and angry as he’d be if he found out now, she can’t see how his mother wouldn’t know by daybreak. And what Evan’s mother knows, so does Walburga. The thought of pretending for even a second longer seems nauseating, but her self-preservation matters more. Sirius isn’t sure what that says about her, but she watches the door handle unlock and turn and promises herself: soon.
The noise of the party floods is louder than before, though the crowd seems a little thinner than Sirius recalls. She weaves through it once more, ahead of Remus, and braces herself.
No amount of bracing can prepare her to turn the corner and see Evan talking to Marlene and Dorcas. There’s no telling what Evan has drunkenly confessed, nor what Marlene and Dorcas have divulged about Remus’s interests. Her fears only seem to be confirmed when Dorcas spots her, a wild look in her eyes. “Speak of Lilith, and she doth appear,” Dorcas says with a breathy, humorless laugh. Beside her, Marlene shifts from foot to foot.
“Sirius.” Evan’s voice has the drunken pout to it that Sirius hates so much. “Where were you?”
Sirius joins them. “I was waiting for the bathroom for a while before Remus took pity on me and showed me Dorcas and Marlene’s en-suite—”
“Did she?”
Sirius ignores the interjection. “And then, she showed me her room.” It’s a lie with enough truth to it to be believable, but Evan doesn’t look entirely satisfied.
“So, you were with her the whole time?”
Before Sirius can defend herself, Remus rounds the corner, and it becomes immediately obvious that this is the real ambush Dorcas has been waiting for. A cold smile plasters itself on Dorcas’s face as she says, “Evan told us the most fascinating thing.”
Sirius looks at Evan, desperately wishing that she could read his thoughts. But Evan doesn’t even look at her. He traces the rim of his beer bottle clumsily with a finger and tilts, off-balance. Given how visibly drunk he is, she considers pulling it from his hands, but she knows it won’t be well-received.
“Spit it out, Dorcas,” Remus says.
“Sirius’s cousin is Bellatrix.”
Sirius blinks a few times, confused. Her cousin had attended the university a few years back, but Sirius can’t imagine what she has to do with anything. Yet Remus’s face says otherwise. Her lips turn into an “oh,” and she rubs at the back of her neck.
After a few seconds, however, another realization spreads across Remus’s face. This time, she looks more upset. “Does that make you a Black?”
The buzz Sirius had felt a mere minute ago has vanished. She sighs and nods. “Phineas was my great-great-grandfather.”
“Well, no wonder you do what your parents ask.” Remus’s words are not what Sirius expects. It’s no secret that her family name is reviled among anyone with half a sense of decency. But she feels like she’s proven to Remus that she’s more than her legacy. Remus must see the hurt in Sirius’s eyes because she quickly adds, “Because you must have a lot to lose. That came out poorly.” The regret in Remus’s eyes tells Sirius that she’s not just trying to cover her ass with a lie. Swallowing the hurt down, Sirius nods.
“You better watch out,” Dorcas warns Remus. “You know what happens with girls from that family.”
The only person in all of this who looks like she’d rather be talking about anything else is Marlene. Her lips are pressed in a tight line, and her finger taps against her leg.
Evan, with the tact of a tractor, blurts out, “Need to piss and then we should head back. It’s late.” His eyes are too glazed for Sirius to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it has anything to do with him reading the energy of the room.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Dorcas says.
Sirius waits until Evan stumbles away before she turns to Dorcas, a tight knot in her chest. “It’s no secret my cousin’s a piece of work, but I don’t see what that has to do with me. I didn’t choose my family.”
“But you haven’t broken from them either.” Dorcas lets out a shaky breath. “Your cousin was the same way, promising things would change, that we’d be together, and then she went off and married the first asshole your parents approved of.”
A sudden buzzing fills her ears, and Sirius stares blankly at Dorcas. Surely, she’d misheard. After all, there’s no way that Bellatrix is anything but straight. She laughs at snide remarks their family has made throughout the years and defines herself through her cruelty. “You… and my cousin? But she’s straight.”
The anger in Dorcas’s face dissipates as quickly as it came on, softening instead into a look of quiet condescension. “Oh, bless your heart. You didn’t know.” It’s not a question. “We dated for two years. She kept promising to tell her family. Said she told her sister Andromeda through a letter, but who’s to say if that’s even true.”
It’s too much to take in. Sirius opens her mouth to say something, but a laugh just comes out instead, choked and hoarse. Before Dorcas can take offense to it, she adds, “I’m not laughing at what she did to you. That’s awful.” Reaching up, Sirius runs her hands through her hair. Her family has always been one of secrets and lies, but they’ve always made sense—been ugly in a way befitting of their temperaments. “I’m sorry she did that to you. Does Evan know that—”
Dorcas shakes her head. “No, it didn’t seem like a good idea to share that with him.” She sighs. “You’re not wrong. You’re not your cousin.” It looks like she has more to say, but before she can, Evan returns.
“Thank you for inviting us and for opening us up to the wonderful world of jungle juice.” Evan stretches out a hand to Dorcas to shake. There’s a large wet patch on his shirt with a small speck of vomit beside it, clearly accidentally missed. Too drunk to realize the chaos he’s caused but not drunk enough to forget the manners that have been instilled in him—Sirius doesn’t know if she finds it reassuring or frightening.
“Yes, thank you. Tonight certainly was… enlightening.” Sirius’s gaze moves from Dorcas to Marlene and finally to Remus, using the distraction of Evan shaking Dorcas and Marlene’s hands to offer her a brief smile.
Remus winks.
Finally, Evan turns to Remus. For a brief, horrifying moment, he simply stares, brow furrowed as his eyes dart about, but manners win out in the end. He stretches out his hand. “I enjoyed the tour earlier.”
“Thanks.” Remus tentatively takes Evan’s hand and shakes it. “I appreciate it.”
“Well, we best be off.” It’s funny to make such a show of leaving in the middle of a houseparty, yet almost no one is looking their way. Sirius thanks the heavens for small miracles as Evan marches through the crowd.
“Sorry again about my cousin,” Sirius says to Dorcas, but she merely waves her hand dismissively.
“It really was lovely to meet you. I know Remus had a good time,” Marlene says, earning a less-than-discreet glare from Remus.
“See you around in the fall?” Sirius asks.
“No offense, but as long as you don’t bring him, you’re always welcome,” Dorcas says, looking at Evan.
“Perhaps.” Remus’s smirk gives her away.
“Sirius!” Evan calls from the front door and motions Sirius over. With a final look around and an awkward wave toward Remus, Dorcas, and Marlene, Sirius turns and follows Evan out of the house.
With each step further away, the music fades until it disappears, replaced by the sound of crickets. There’s no more waiting until they are on campus or the end of summer to end things with Evan. A door has been opened. She’d known as soon as she’d stepped into the house that there was no going back. Her happiness depended on it.
To tell Evan tonight would cast a shadow over her perfect evening, but soon, Sirius decides. Maybe not tomorrow but within the week. Historically, the thought of breaking up and the change and havoc it would wreak on her life made her heart pound and her blood freeze. But now, in this moment, she feels as though she can properly breathe.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Evan asks, nearly stumbling over a crack in the pavement.
“Nothing. Weather’s nice. Cooler.” A breeze makes Sirius’s hair fall forward in her face. She thinks of Remus’s skin on the back of her neck and slips her hand into her pocket before Evan can reach out with his.
Waxing Gibbous, October 1981 (Remus/Fenrir, Remus/Sirius, 6k, E)
Remus finds himself cutting his soul open for monsters.
Tags include: Extremely Dubious Consent, Canon Compliant, In that Remus and Sirius suspect each other and lose all communication ability, implied child sexual abuse survivor Remus Lupin, Dacryphilia, Heavy Drinking, Dissociation
Thank you to everyone who cheered on my foray into Remus/Fenrir, and I'm excited to keep writing this horrible, toxic ship <3
and personally I find it hot -- I wrote it to be hot to me at the very least -- but I do recognize a lot of readers won't and might even be surprised that anyone can find it hot. the ideal impact is the same as it is for remus - arousal and discomfort and a bit of disgust - but all reader experiences are valid :)
sad and heartbreaking might be more universal affective experiences in regards to this fic though haha
summary: A Wizarding War has been raging for several years with no end in sight. When Lily learns how to infuse Dark Magic into her music, Remus and Lily work together to take justice into their own hands.
length: 6,748 (40,047 fic total)
chapter tags: Dom Sirius Black, Sub Remus Lupin, Under-negotiated Kink, Bloodplay, Painplay, Impact Play, Knifeplay, Bondag, Spanking, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Vibrators
note: We've finally come to the end! A huge thank you to @broomsticks and @thatoneguy-logan for your betaing many, many moons ago. And thank you to those who stuck with me despite the fact that I took a break for a whole year. I hope the wait was worth it!
Read on Archive of Our Own.
Remus yawns and rubs his eyes with the back of the hand as he walks down the hall. He smells the bacon before he walks into the kitchen and finds Sirius darting about the kitchen in nothing but briefs and an oversized shirt with a frantic energy about him. For a moment, he waits in the threshold, watching Sirius mumble under his breath. His hair—stray bits sticking in all directions—betrays his stress, and Remus can’t help but chuckle. Sirius turns suddenly, eyes wide.
“You weren’t supposed to be up yet.”
“Well, I am. And your toast is burning.” Remus bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing more as Sirius jumps to grab it, cursing under his breath. Still, Remus’s lips twitch upward, and when Sirius throws him another glance, he scowls.
“Who decided an English breakfast needs this many parts anyway?” Sirius grumbles, tossing one piece of blackened toast in the trash.
“The landed gentry. It dates back to the Anglo-Saxons in the—”
Sirius groans louder, interrupting Remus. “Gods, you would know. Let me complain in peace, without shoving your genius in my face, Remus.” As if to reassure Remus that he means no ill will, he throws Remus a playful look before moving the eggs—still slightly runnier than Remus would like—off the burner.
Remus steps forward, wraps his arms around Sirius, and rests his chin on Sirius’s shoulder. “You look like you could use some help.”
“The whole point was to bring you breakfast in bed and prove to you that I’m not a lost cause.”
“You have many skills,” Remus says, reaching around Sirius and twisting a knob until the flame of the other burner extinguishes. Gently, he turns Sirius to face him. “Cooking just isn’t one of them. Leave it be. I’ll make breakfast soon. I have other ideas first.” He leans in and kisses Sirius’s neck, an inch under his ear, and Sirius’s eyes shut as he lets out a quiet hum.
“Fine—you’ve convinced me.”
It’s one of the mornings where Remus hasn’t woken up with his chest tight or his stomach in knots. And as much as he hates wasting food, most of what Sirius prepared is headed straight for the bin regardless. So he decides to enjoy himself, breakfast be damned.
His fingers trace down Sirius’s sides and hover at the elastic of his briefs. Under him, Sirius squirms and his breath hitches. “Tell me about those other ideas,” he whispers. He runs a hand up Remus’s back and neck and weaves his fingers into Remus’s hair before giving it a light tug.
“Oh, you know—reading the paper, watching the telly…” Remus dips a finger underneath and runs his index finger along the v-shape of Sirius’s hips. “Nothing too special.” He kisses—once, twice, three times—down Sirius’s neck toward his collar, and Sirius’s head falls back and he lets out a shaky breath.
“You’re a prick. You know that?”
“Careful. I’m a dangerous man, Black. I will bite, and it won’t be pretty. Don't test me.” He grins and tugs Sirius by the waistband of his briefs, moving the both of them backwards, away from the stove before they accidentally bump against it and turn it on once more.
“Wouldn’t it be faster to just Apparate to the bedroom?” Sirius complains. His nails scrape against Remus’s scalp, and when their eyes meet, Remus feels a hot flush crawl up his neck. “Or were you planning to kneel on these tiles?”
“Who said anything about kneeling?” A thrill runs through him at his words. They’re purposefully petulant, and they elicit the reaction he hopes for.
“I did.” Sirius’s voice levels out, and he stands still, not letting Remus lead them any further. “What else are those pretty lips good for?” Sirius’s hand loosens from Remus’s hair. His thumb traces along Remus’s jaw and toward his chin before curving upward to Remus’s lower lip. He presses it inward until Remus’s jaw goes slack and it slips past his teeth and along his tongue. “Are you telling me that’s not what you wanted?”
It’s Remus’s turn to squirm. His hand drops to his side, and he nods his head.
“Good.” Sirius pulls his thumb out and presses his hand firmly down on Remus’s shoulder. “Then, kneel.” Remus drops without hesitation, wincing when his knees touch the ground. The cold tile is unforgiving, and he knows he’ll be left with twin bruises, but it’s a small price to pay. Above him, Sirius gives him a hungry look.
Leaning forward, Remus wraps his mouth around Sirius's cock through the thin cotton fabric of his briefs, earning a moan from Sirius. His tongue presses down, tracing over the head before applying pressure, and Sirius's fingers tug once again Remus's hair. A thrill runs through his body, and he runs his hands up Sirius's thighs, appreciating when he feels the muscle seize under his fingertips. Still, he doesn't delude himself into thinking he holds much power. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and lets out a small sigh when Sirius's briefs finally drop to the floor. He stares at Sirius's cock for a moment, half-hard, and feels his own stir. Defiantly, he drops a hand down and slides it into his own briefs. He wraps his fingers around himself and tugs, staring up at Sirius while doing so.
"What do you think you're doing?" Despite the sharpness of Sirius's tone, the way his cock twitches betrays him. Emboldened, Remus gives his cock another tug and lets out a showy moan. "Get your hands off of your fucking cock," Sirius says, accentuating his words with a sharp, painful tug to Remus's hair. "I'm the only one who's going to make you come. Understand?"
Despite—or perhaps because of—the look in Sirius’s eye, Remus can’t help himself. He's always been a glutton for punishment, testing the limit until Sirius breaks. He smirks up at Sirius as he continues stroking himself. Sirius’s gaze darkens, and he lets go of Remus’s hair before bringing the back of his hand hard across Remus’s cheek. A ring catches on Remus’s lips, and a high-pitched noise reverberates in his head as pain blossoms across his face. He blinks rapidly, woozy as he tries to keep his balance. It takes him a moment to recover, but when he does, he runs his tongue over his lower lip and tastes blood. Remus grins as he stands and presses their lips together in a rough kiss. His fists close around the fabric of Sirius’s shirt, and he whines as Sirius draws his lower lip in his mouth and sucks, his tongue flicking over the cut. Sirius rolls his hips, rutting against him and letting out a satisfied sigh when his cock finds some friction.
When they pull back, Remus’s blood is smeared along Sirius’s lips and chin, and he looks at Remus with wide eyes, pupils blown. His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a moment to catch his breath. “You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks. “You wanted me to punish you?” Remus can feel the heat rise to his cheeks once more, giving him away. “I thought so. Look at you, my little slut. Let’s see how much you actually enjoy it.” He takes a step back and runs the back of his hand across his lips and chin, further smearing the blood until he looks like an animal, eyes sharp and hungry. “Bedroom. Now.”
Remus doesn’t dare disobey anymore. Sirius grabs his wand and nods toward the hallway. "The faster you move, the faster you'll come." Somehow Remus doesn't believe he'll be coming anytime soon—not without earning it, as Sirius might say—but he moves regardless, Sirius trailing two steps behind him. They don’t speak, but he feels Sirius’s eyes on him as they make their way down the hall. The door shuts with a loud click behind them, and Remus stops by the bed, waiting for Sirius to tell him where he wants him. “Should I kneel again?”
Rather than responding, Sirius pushes him unceremoniously onto the mattress and lifts his wand. “Incarcerous.” Before Remus can react, binds wrap around his arms and legs, tying him to the bed. With another sharp downward motion of Sirius’s wand, Remus’s shirt and briefs tear open as if slashed. Remus’s eyes move toward the sheets, and he tries to picture himself from Sirius’s point of view—exposed and vulnerable. He swallows thickly.
“Look at you.” Sirius clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and steps over him, tilting his head so that Remus meets his eyes. “Hard for me already, like the slut you are.” Remus just whimpers in response. Sirius steps away once more, and Remus tries to crane his neck, but the position makes it impossible. He hears some movement and drawers opening before Sirius returns once more, ball gag in hand. “Lift,” he commands. It strains Remus's neck to hold himself up, and he trembles from the effort, but Sirius doesn’t help Remus as he fastens it around his head.
It locks in behind his teeth, and Remus feels the familiar ache set into his jaw as his tongue runs across the smooth surface of the silicone. He breathes in deeply through his nose as he feels his cock leak against his stomach. “So obedient,” Sirius says as he gets on the bed and straddles Remus’s hips. “Think that’ll earn you enough good will that I’ll forget your little outburst?”
Remus does his best to shake his head and tries to speak, but the words get caught and tangled in the gag. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you. Pity.”
With that, Sirius brandishes a small knife.
“You’ll have to earn forgiveness with blood, sweat, and tears. Quite literally, in fact.” In one fluid motion, he brings it down, nicking Remus across the cheek. A flash of pain rushes through him, and Remus jerks, letting out a muffled shout around the gag.
“Poor Remus. This is what you do to those bad men before you kill them. Have you been bad, little wolf?” Sirius purrs. He lifts the blade and brings it just above Remus’s right nipple. “I think you’ve been very bad.” With that he lowers the knife until the tip presses against Remus, careful not to draw blood. If he thrashes, Remus knows it’ll puncture the skin. So he waits, trembling as Sirius applies more pressure, his hand steady as he waits for Remus flinch and inflict the cut himself. The metal is cold and unforgiving, and Remus whimpers and bites down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.
But he won't let Sirius win this easily. He breathes as little as he can, careful not to move too much. After a moment, Sirius lifts a brow, impressed, and relents. Remus inhales sharply through his nose, and his muscles finally relax.
Just as he does, Sirius lowers the knife and cuts, shallow but long, just above Remus’s stomach. “Didn’t think I’d let you get off that easily, did you?” The cut burns, and Remus jerks uselessly against the binds.
Sirius drops his head down and runs his tongue along the length of the cut and lower toward the head of Remus’s cock, until the line between pleasure and pain blur. Remus lets out a choked sound and grips at the sheets of the bed as best as he can from his position.
Sirius’s knife moves lower yet, toward more sensitive skin—the point where his leg and hip meet, where it dips in. He runs the blade there as well, pressing harder than before. The metal carves into him with some ease, and Remus trashes once more, eyes stinging as he tries, with some difficulty, to catch his breath.
Sirius’s lips follow his knife, and he dips lower yet and sucks at the skin as if to soothe the marks he’s left. His warm mouth provides temporary comfort before the pain sparks and deepens. Still with Sirius’s mouth so close to his cock, he can’t help the thrill that rides through him.
Sirius pulls back with a wet sound and adjusts himself until he’s once more straddling Remus. He looks down with twinkling eyes and runs his tongue over his lips to taste the last drops of blood, dark red and sticky. “I promised you blood, sweat, and tears.” He accentuates his words by running his tongue up Remus’s neck to a spot behind his ear, sending a shiver up Remus’s spine. “But you’ve yet to cry,” he whispers, his breath tickling Remus’s skin.
Remus grunts, and his body aches as he trembles in anticipation.
“Let’s see if I can rectify that.” Sirius waves a hand, and wandlessly, the binds around Remus’s ankles disappear. Before Remus can adjust, Sirius flips him so that his stomach rests on Sirius’s knee. The cold air hits his ass as it stands pert, obscenely positioned. Remus swallows thickly and braces himself for what he knows must be coming. “Count,” Sirius commands.
The whistling sound of Sirius’s hand moving cuts through the silence. For a brief second, Remus wonders whether Sirius is still wearing his rings. The moment Sirius’s hand makes contact with his skin, however, Remus has his answer. His eyes water and his jaw clenches tightly around the gag as he grunts out the best impression of “one” his position will allow.
“Sorry. What was that?” Sirius brings his hand down again. Remus imagines the welts already forming, more pronounced where the metal and sharp edges of the inlaid stones of Sirius’s rings have made their mark.
“One,” Remus tries again, but the word comes out garbled. “One!” No matter how much he tries to enunciate, it sounds no closer to the word he’s trying to say.
“Again,” Sirius repeats. Another hit. Remus’s whole body convulses, and he whimpers as white spots dance across his vision. “Again.” His head spins as he buries his head in the sheets, letting out a dry sob.
“One.” The muffled noises he’s making sound less and less like words, and he squeezes his eyes tightly shut as he braces. The sound of Sirius’s hand against his skin loudly resonates through the room, and Remus shouts, giving up on trying to count. He focuses instead on trying to breathe, on concentrating past the pain.
“If you won’t obey…” Sirius pushes Remus’s thighs apart. Remus squirms, trying to contort himself to see what’s next, but before he can, Sirius’s hand comes down again, this time slightly, against his balls. Remus’s arms cave underneath him, and he screams as his eyes water. His ears and head ring, and his vision goes in and out of focus as he tries to remember how to breathe around the gag. Perhaps Sirius is speaking, but he can’t quite tell. Tears stream down Remus’s face, mixing with snot and saliva in the sheets below him, and he curls inward as best as he can from his current position.
But Sirius doesn’t hit him again. He flips him over. It takes a moment for the world above him to come back into full focus and for the ringing to abate, but Remus concentrates on Sirius’s face until it does. “You alright?” Sirius asks.
Remus nods, and Sirius bends down to press a kiss to Remus’s cheek. “Blood, sweat, and tears, as I said.” Remus just lets out a small grunt. His body thrums, like a live wire, and past the haze of the pain and the burning skin, he can feel something else, hot under the skin, making his body ache.
As if hearing his thoughts, Sirius lets out a quiet chuckle. "Look at you. The more I hurt you, the more you enjoy it." He reaches out, running a finger along the underside of Remus’s cock and then over the slit. His finger presses in slightly, and Remus jerks and lets out a muffled cry. It’s too sensitive, more than he’s sure he can handle. Anything has to be better than this—he’s sure of it. It’s not enough to provide relief yet too much in a way that feels painfully raw.
Sirius drops his hand to Remus’s hip, digging his fingers in to steady him. “Do you want me to fuck you?” Remus nods and chokes out an mm-hmm around the gag. “Say please.”
Remus’s stomach drops. It’s no more possible than counting was—a fact they both know. His jaw is starting to throb from trying, from being fixed open this wide, and frustration curls in him until his eyes well.
“Fuck you,” he tries instead, but his tongue can hardly move, and the consonants fall off and his vowels bunch together until the sound he releases warps into something animal-like. He whimpers and gives Sirius what he hopes is his best pleading expression.
“Not good enough.” Sirius drops his hand slightly, offering only a second’s reprieve before he starts stroking Remus. “You’ll come. Don't worry about that. But it won't be until I tell you to.” Judging by the wicked look in Sirius’s eyes, Remus knows that won’t be soon. His head drops back against the bed as he does his best to steady his breathing. If he doesn’t pace himself, he won’t be able to follow Sirius’s command.
It’s intentional, of course—Remus knows—always reaching shy of the limit. But Remus doesn’t mind testing it either, so long as he can bear it.
“I think I want to hear you for this,” Sirius muses. He continues to lazily stroke him with one hand as he bends over and reaches out with the other towards the gag. “Lift.” As he speaks, his other hand grips Remus more tightly and runs his thumb over the sensitive head once more.
Remus gasps, oversensitive, and his abdomen tightens as he holds the breath in. He does his best to lift his neck, but it’s hard to concentrate, and he falters, dropping it just as Sirius’s fingers find the clasp.
“I said,” Sirius starts. He moves his other hand up from Remus’s cock to his nipple and twists sharply right. “Lift.”
Remus jerks once more, eyes stinging. His whole body shakes with the effort as he brings his neck and shoulders away from the bed, holding himself half-upright until he feels the leather strap loosen. Carefully, Sirius pulls the gag back, and Remus groans, pushing past the throbbing in his jaw to open it wide and let the silicone ball pop out past his teeth. As Remus drops his head, he takes in a deep, ragged breath through his mouth. It reverberates through his head, and he winces.
“If you misbehave, the next one that I put in your mouth will hurt more.”
Remus knows better than to doubt Sirius. He’s worn those gags on other occasions. He shakes his head against the sheets and scrunches his eyes shut. Phantom pains shoot up his jaw just at the thought. “I’ll be a good boy,” he promises. “I won’t disappoint you.” His heart pounds in his chest, as he hopes he can stay true to his words.
“Good. Flip.”
It’s a struggle to do so with binds around his wrists. But Remus squirms and finally manages to position himself properly, his stomach hitting Sirius’s knee in the process and knocking the air out of him. He groans and cranes his neck painfully from his position against the bed. “How do you want me?”
“You are learning, little wolf.” Sirius gives him a pleased look and runs his fingers down Remus’s back. Remus whimpers and shudders under the touch. “Legs spread, ass up.” When he shifts into position, the cuts along his stomach drag along the sheets and burn. Remus grits his teeth and hisses.
Behind him, Sirius readjusts himself, takes off his rings, and mutters a spell. Remus feels two slick fingers slide back along his perineum and then further. “Oh.” The way his legs quiver and threaten to give in, he knows he’s closer to the edge than he’d like, so he bites down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood and curls his hands into tight fists until his nails dig into the palms of his hands—anything to distract himself.
The fingers slowly press into him, and Remus buries his face against the fabric, letting out a choked moan. It burns as he stretches out and Sirius’s fingers settle past the second knuckle. Still, it takes all his self-restraint not to rock back and feel them deeper. He knows Sirius can feel it in his body—in the way his muscles clench and small beads of perspiration start to form.
Sirius hardly gives him time to adjust before curling his fingers, and Remus jerks despite himself. “Did I tell you to move?” Sirius asks. With his other hand, he holds Remus still by the hips. His thumb presses into the spot where his knife had cut, squeezing until white flashes behind Remus’s eyes and he almost buckles.
“No.” Remus hardly gets the word out, ragged between heavy breaths, and Sirius relents.
“You should see yourself,” Sirius starts as he pulls his fingers out. He sets a slow pace, fucking into Remus with a careful precision that makes Remus feel weak. “Taking me like you were made for it.” He accompanies his words with another curl of his fingers. This time, Remus doesn’t move. “We’re going to play a game. Do you want to know what it is?”
Remus’s breath catches in his throat. It takes him a second to ground himself, but he finally manages to nod.
“Good. You’re learning not to speak out of turn.” Sirius’s fingers slip out, and Remus lets out a sigh, grateful for the reprieve. But the relief doesn’t last long. “You can look,” Sirius says, and by the time he does, Sirius has procured a flared, silicone plug. Remus’s mouth goes dry, and he shudders. “I’m going to put this in you and turn it on the highest setting. If you can last sixty seconds without coming, I’ll give you what you want and let you go. If you don’t, though… Well, let’s just say that you’ll find out what happens then.” He smirks down at Remus.
Remus’s body has been pulled taut for too long. Tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes, and he clenches his jaw shut. As much as he wants to come, he doesn’t want to think about what might happen if he disobeys Sirius’s order. Sixty seconds doesn’t sound that long now, but the second that’s in him, he knows he’ll feel differently.
“Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”
“Fun,” Remus repeats, his voice flat. When Sirius steps forward, he closes his eyes and braces himself. The plug slides in, resisting slightly where it flares out before nestling in him. A fullness comes with it—one Remus’s body has been aching for since Sirius first started teasing him—and Remus clenches around it with a small groan.
And then it turns on.
Remus gasps, and his eyes fly open. Sirius doesn’t ease into it. He skips the first few settings until the vibrations are strong and unrelenting. Remus can feel them deep in him—everywhere, it feels like, even places the plug doesn’t directly touch. His body trembles, and his legs finally give in a little. But when his hips tilt down, the vibrator shifts, pressing against his prostate. “I can’t. Sirius, I can’t.” Remus begins to babble as he stares up at Sirius with wide eyes. His whole body shakes with the effort as he feels a familiar tightness in his abdomen.
“Twenty seconds in,” Sirius announces.
Remus lets out a dry sob and tries his best to focus on his breathing, but it proves impossible to steady it, and he thrashes. No amount of nails against his palm or biting of his cheek will ground him, not anymore. Somewhere beyond the delirious haze, he can hear himself as though he were a voyeur, whimpering and whining as he tries to find some position that’ll ease the vibrations, even just marginally. He can only imagine how he looks to Sirius, pitiful and obscene. It’s not the thought he needs right now. Remus bites down on the fabric and moans.
“Forty seconds,” Sirius announces.
He collapses fully against the bed as he focuses all his energy on holding back. Just another twenty seconds, he tells himself. His entire body trembles with the effort. Sweat drips down his forehead and back, and he grips the sheets as best as he can. It's all too much. His chest hurts from the way he gasps with each breath.
“Ten seconds left.” With the end in sight, Remus wonders if he’ll be able to accomplish the impossible.
But the thought dies quickly. In him, the vibrator goes up another notch. “Seven, six, five…” Remus wheezes as he chokes on his own spit. It’s too much, unbearable, and just as Sirius announces “one,” Remus comes against the sheets. He lets out a small sob, and his mind reels, drowning, overwhelmed.
Only, the vibrations don’t stop. Remus’s body convulses, and he looks over at Sirius with panicked eyes. “Please,” he begs. His body aches from the way he’s been clenching, but the vibrations continue, and something—more pain than pleasure—sparks in him like a raw nerve. Despite himself, his cock twitches. “Please, Sirius. I can’t take it.”
“I really thought you were going to make it there for a second, little wolf. But I have to confess—I’m glad you didn’t.” Sirius grabs onto Remus by his hair and pulls him off the bed into a kneeling position. “Open those pretty lips of yours.”
There’s no use in fighting, and even if there were, Remus doesn’t have it in him, so he complies. The world around him goes in and out of focus as he settles, knees tucked under him, and the position forces the vibrator deeper within him. His head begins to loll back, but Sirius’s fingers tighten, nails scraping against his scalp. It takes him a moment to adjust Remus into the right position, but when he does, he pushes his hips forward in until his cock hits the back of Remus’s throat.
Remus gags around it, tears dripping down his cheeks. Sirius fucks him with abandon, holding Remus in place as he limply sways with each thrust. Still, Remus’s attention wavers away from that and toward the relentless sensations of the vibrator, edging him slowly toward another orgasm. It doesn’t take long before it tears another one out of him. Snot drips down his chin and only his chest as he comes with a pained moan.
Remus isn’t sure how long they continue like that. His entire body trembles and his vision begins to turn black at the edges when Sirius pulls out, and only then does Remus realize that there’s come in his mouth. Sirius’s fingers release from his hair, and he crumples to the ground. His body feels unbearably hot and is wracked with sobs as the toy pulls another orgasm out of him.
Just as suddenly as they started, the vibrations stop. Remus gasps, trying to catch his breath. He sees the blurred figure of Sirius above him and feels two arms wrap around him lifting him up and then setting him down gently on the bed, on his side. The binds around his wrist disappear.
When Sirius tugs at the flared base of the vibrator, a wave of dizziness washes over him, and he lets out a muffled sound of protest, but it soon slips out, and his ass clenches around the now empty spaces where it used to be. “You’re alright,” Sirius says above him, and Remus nods, even though it wasn’t a question.
It takes him a moment to come to. He does just as Sirius is rubbing balm on his cuts. As he shifts in the bed, he groans as he feels each individual muscle ache in a way not too dissimilar to the morning after a full moon.
“Sirius,” he croaks out, and Sirius bends down, pressing a kiss on Remus’s lips. The sheets in front of him are covered in dried, brown-red patches of blood, and he reaches out, running his finger over one of them.
“Hey there,” Sirius says. “You had me worried there for a second.”
Remus does his best to scoff, the sound catches in his throat, and he coughs instead. “I could have taken more,” he says, although he’s not sure if it’s true.
Sirius’s lips curl up in amusement, but he doesn’t push back. “Okay.”
“You know,” Remus starts as he pulls himself slightly and rests his weight against his elbows. “You never fucked me. You promised you would.”
“Now?” Sirius’s tone is incredulous, and he scans down Remus’s body. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea.”
“I know the safeword. If it gets to be too much, I’ll let you know.”
Sirius chews on the inside of his lip as he takes in Remus. “Are you sure?” When Remus nods, he lets out a breath. “Okay. I trust you.”
When Sirius reaches for the drawer to get a condom, Remus takes his hand and stops him. “I want you to come inside of me,” he says, and Sirius’s eyes darken.
They make quick work of it. Remus stays on his side. Sirius presses in slowly and bites down on Remus’s shoulder when he bottoms out, and Remus lets out a breathy moan. He’s been aching to feel this stretched out all morning. Still, the sensitivity from earlier hasn’t quite faded, and Remus tenses and turns the upper part of his body as much as his muscles allow. His fingers grip Sirius’s hair as he rolls Sirius’s lower lip between his teeth.
They fuck, messy and imprecise, their limbs tangled together. His entire body throbs from the effort as he pushes his hips backward to match Sirius’s movements, so he concentrates his attention on the sound of their breathing and the small, choked noises they each let out. Before too long, Sirius’s hand finds its way to Remus’s cock, and he strokes it along with his thrusts.
Sirius comes first, and Remus watches though the position makes his neck hurt, the muscles pulled taut, past comfort. Watching Sirius—the pint flush overtake his cheeks and neck, the way his lips part just slightly, and he inhales sharply—is enough to bring Remus over the edge. He comes against Sirius’s hand and the sheets once more.
They lay limply against the bed for a moment before Sirius pulls up and stands. He groans and lets out a quiet “fuck,” and Remus hums questioningly, unable yet to speak. “There’s come dripping out of you.”
Remus moans too, and his cock twitches painfully, though he doubts he could come again even if he wanted.
“Do you want to shower first?” Sirius asks, stretching. “You look like you could use it.”
“What I want is to lay here and do nothing.” Remus lets out a long breath. “But yeah, I probably should.” It takes him a minute to gather himself and stand, and his eyes scrunch shut in pain once he does. “Fuck.”
“Hot water will do you good.” Sirius presses a kiss to Remus’s back and drops a hand to his ass, giving it a small squeeze. Remus winces at the touch. “Ah, shite. Forgot you’re bruised.”
“Lucky you.”
With that, Remus leaves. He luxuriates in the shower and takes his time each step of the way, scrubbing his skin raw before letting the water rush over him. He watches the soap circle the drain and then disappear. With the help of the steam, he feels the tension slowly seep out of his muscles. His eyes close, and he stands still, water hitting his face. He’s floating somewhere outside of himself when the noise of the door creaking open startles him. “Sirius?”
“Mind if I join you?” Sirius asks, sliding the shower door open and then closed again once he steps in. “I’ll give you a proper massage later, with the oils and all,” he promises as he kisses across Remus’s shoulders and up his neck. His hand drops to Remus’s thigh and wraps around the front. His fingers graze upward, toward Remus’s cock.
“Someone’s feeling handsy today,” Remus says. “But I’m starving. I think I need to eat first.” When he turns around, Sirius pouts at him but relents.
“Fine.”
“I’ll still take the massage later, though.”
“Greedy.” Sirius raises an eyebrow at him and dips his head backward, wetting his hair.
“You’re one to talk—the way you acted this morning. You couldn’t have enough, could you? You were practically insatiable.” Remus leans forward and gives Sirius a playful nip before opening the shower door once again.
"Of you? Never."
“I’ll give you what you want later if you’re patient.” He doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Sirius is grinning.
Although he could easily clear up the cuts with some quick spellwork, Remus wants to leave them as little trophies—at least for now. He dries himself off with a towel and grabs one of Sirius’s black shirts—one of the ones so worn in that the cotton feels softer than usual—and a pair of joggers. Moments like these—still, away from everyone else—he can almost forget the war.
Almost.
He makes quick work charming the dishes to clean themselves and takes out the ingredients he needs to make scones. It’s not as hearty of a meal as Sirius was planning, but the thought of clotted cream and strawberry jam makes his mouth water. He’s just finished placing them in the oven when he hears it.
Crack.
It shouldn’t be possible for others to Apparate into their house, but the sound is unmistakable. Remus turns, wand drawn, but the sight that meets him is neither a witch nor a wizard.
It’s a house-elf.
His bat-like ears curl downward, and he looks up at Remus with bloodshot eyes. An unpleasant scowl overtakes his face, and he glances around the room as if searching for something or someone in particular. Remus doesn’t drop his wand as he asks, “What do you want? Speak your purpose.”
Before the house-elf can do so, Sirius answers from the doorway, hastily dressed in a robe, his hair still wet. “Kreacher?”
The house-elf—Kreacher—swivels to face Sirius. While he can’t see Kreacher’s face, judging by Sirius’s expression, even though they know each other, they aren’t too friendly. Besides the shock, Sirius stares at Kreacher with narrowed, angry eyes. His jaw clenches, and his hand moves toward his wand. They look at each other for a long moment before Sirius breaks the silence. “What are you doing here?”
“Master Regulus instructed that I come to you once Mistress is no longer,” Kreacher winces at the phrasing but nonetheless repeats Regulus’s words as instructed, “a threat.” Kreacher spits out the words as if he would rather be elsewhere. “It was his dying wish.” His eyes scan to Remus, and he looks him up and down with disdain. “Though I don’t know what he’d want with a filthy blood traitor like you. Broke Mistress’ heart. And now… making friends with a half-breed.”
With the last word, Sirius’s expression rearranges. Remus realizes what Sirius is about to do a split-second before he lunges across the room, arms outstretched. Still, a split second is all he needs, and before Sirius can cause any damage. His spell hits Sirius in his side, and he flies backward, landing against the wall.
It takes him a moment to right himself. He sways and lets out a small groan as he pushes himself upright. Unsteady on his feet, he slips briefly before catching himself, and when his eyes meet Remus’s, Remus feels a flash of guilt ride through him. “He called you a half-breed,” Sirius says. "Why are you protecting him?"
“He also said that your mother’s dead.”
It takes a moment for the words to register. Sirius opens his mouth to argue, but before any words come out, a look of realization crosses his face. No longer a threat can only mean one thing. His shoulders fall, and he looks over from Remus back down to Kreacher as the house elf begins to mutter under his breath and scowl up at both of them.
“Is it true?” he finally asks Kreacher. “Is my moth—" The word catches in his throat, and he sets his jaw before finishing, "she really dead?”
“Poor Mistress. Died all alone,” Kreacher says. “Only had Kreacher by her side.” Remus is almost certain that his wide eyes soften for a moment as he thinks of Sirius’s mother. But the moment passes, and his gaze focuses once more on Sirius, sharp and angry. “There are people Kreacher would rather serve than a blood-traitor and friend of Mudbloods and unnatural beasts." His eyes dart back over to Remus.
Remus can sense that Sirius is two insults away from reaching for his wand and making a terrible choice. “I’m sorry about your mother,” Remus whispers, but when he steps forward and places a hand on Sirius’s arm, Sirius shakes him off.
“I don’t need your pity. She was a foul person.” Despite the hard look in his eyes, Sirius’s voice wavers ever so slightly. It’s certainly subtle enough that Kreacher does not notice, and he bristles in front of them.
“How dare you talk that way about—”
“Oh, shut up,” Sirius says. A cold smile crosses Kreacher’s face as he complies, cutting himself off mid-sentence. "Thought so. Since I'm next of kin, you have to listen to me." Sirius barks out a bitter laugh. With a glare, Kreacher opens his mouth, muttering too quietly for either Sirius or Remus to hear, and Sirius snorts. “I told you to shut up. Just because I don’t know what you’re saying doesn’t mean you aren’t talking.”
“Sirius!” The back of Remus's neck prickles, and he furrows his brow. He hasn’t seen this type of vitriol since Lucius, but Kreacher isn’t Voldemort’s right-hand man. He’s a house elf, and with that comes no power. As nasty as Kreacher may be, Remus can’t help but think he doesn’t deserve this. His behavior has been bred by the people who've raised him.
“You’re going to defend him?” Sirius gives him an incredulous look.
“He said it was your brother’s dying wish for him to come straight to you. That has to mean he knew him pretty well if he was with him just before he died, right?” He looks over at Kreacher, trying to get anything out of the house elf that may help him, but Kreacher stares back in stubborn silence.
“Answer him,” Sirius barks.
“Kreacher did.”
“Maybe he knows something. Kreacher, you traveled with Sirius’s brother during the last few months of his life, then, didn’t you?” Remus asks. Kreacher merely stares back with large, defiant eyes, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath once more.
“Give it up, Remus. What did you think, this half-wit would know what a Horcrux is?” Sirius keeps on speaking, but Remus doesn’t hear him. All his attention shifts because when Sirius utters the word Horcrux, Kreacher’s face twitches, and his eyes stretch wider than before in a look of fear. A low buzz enters Remus’s ear, and his throat dries.
“You know about it don’t you,” Remus takes a step toward Kreacher, but Kreacher moves backward.
“What Kreacher knows or does not know isn’t any of your concern. Master Regulus—”
“Answer plainly, Kreacher,” Sirius interrupts. “Do you know anything about Voldemort’s Horcruxes?” Remus notices Sirius’s expression out of the corner of his eyes—unimpressed and upset—but he ignores it. The feeling in his gut is too much to ignore.
Although Kreacher throws Sirius a hateful look, he speaks more plainly, as instructed. “Yes.” Remus reaches out for a chair to steady himself as the floor suddenly feels as though it shifts under his feet. He’s careful not to move too much, careful not to do anything that’ll make him wake or shatter the illusion and reveal this all to be some cruel dream, mocking him with the first true lead they've had in months. But nothing comes. The silence stretches out, and when Remus looks at Sirius, he looks just as shaken.
Kreacher glances between them, grumbles, and starts to walk out of the room. “Kreacher, wait,” Sirius says, his voice gentler than it has been since Kreacher arrived. “Sit down. We’re going to need you to tell us everything you know.”
summary: A Wizarding War has been raging for several years with no end in sight. When Lily learns how to infuse Dark Magic into her music, Remus and Lily work together to take justice into their own hands.
length: 4,137 (33,261 fic total)
tags: Minor Character Death, Dark Remus Lupin, Dark Lily Evans Potter, Torture, Body Horror, Murder, Kidnapping, Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Sex As a Coping Mechanism
Read on Archive of Our Own.
Sirius lies limply on the ground beside Rodolphus. The blood smeared over his lips looks starker yet against the pale-gray complexion of Sirius’s skin. Though his eyes remain closed, his hand twitches and stills.
Remus watches for a moment, transfixed and immobile, drifting outside of himself. In some muted corner of his mind, he’s aware of the cold sweat dripping down his brow and the bitter taste of bile bubbling at the back of his throat. A strange rush echoes in his ears, like the ebb and flow of waves crashing on the beach; it takes him a moment to recognize it’s coming from him, breathing heavily.
The realization snaps him back into his body. His clothes, cold and wet with sweat, stick to him. His body hardly feels like his own, won’t move like it either, and he nearly trips over himself trying to reach Sirius.
“Come on,” he whispers under his breath, pressing two fingers to Sirius’s neck. The pulse is faint, but it’s there.
A strange rattle from the other side of the room makes him jump, and he turns, wand drawn. Lucius stares at him from the floor, blood dripping from the corner of his lips as he does his best impression of a chuckle—as well as the knife in his chest will allow. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words escape him as his head slumps.
For a moment, Remus considers taking the knife out and slashing Lucius’s throat with it, but—
“Remus?” Sirius looks up at him with a dazed expression. His eyes sink into his face, and judging by the sliver of his lips that are visible without Rodolphus’s blood, they match the same dull, gray pallor of his skin.
“I got you,” Remus warbles. Panic bubbles in his chest as he offers Sirius his best, reassuring smile. “You gotta drink this for me, okay?” Remus cradles Sirius’s head in his lap, and his body hums, nausea seeping into his bones as the room spins about him. Although Sirius’s eyes shut, he parts his lips—not far, but enough so that Remus can tip the contents of the vial into his mouth. He does his best impression of a shushing sound, his voice choking halfway through, as he runs a hand over Sirius’s hair. It’s too matted with blood to comb his fingers through, but he hopes that Sirius finds the gesture soothing nonetheless.
A long, horrible minute passes before anything happens. Remus feels his resolve crumbling, tears burning behind his eyes when Sirius gurgles and then gasps, sitting upward. His body sways, still weak, but his eyes shoot open, darting about, and Remus clutches him, holding him upright.
“You’re okay,” he promises, and presses a kiss to Sirius’s jaw, ignoring the metallic and earthy taste of blood and dirt. They stay like that for a moment, Sirius’s chest heaving as he settles into his body once more. In the quiet of the empty all, all Remus can hear is the rush of blood between his ears and the sound of Sirius’s ragged breaths puncturing the silence.
After a minute, Sirius shifts, groaning as he does. “Fuck, that hurts.”
“You’re the one who decided to drag yourself across the floor like an idiot, just to prove a point.” Remus lets out a warbled laugh and nods toward Rodolphus’s mangled body. His glassy eyes stare up past them. It’s a message to Bellatrix if Remus has ever seen one, and despite the fact that his hands are still shaking and the panic hasn’t fully left his body yet, he can’t help but feel a warm sense of satisfaction in looking at it.
“After what Bellatrix did to you, it’s the least she deserves. And I always hated Rodolphus, anyway.” Sirius laughs, but it quickly gets lost as he chokes and coughs. His grip tightens around Remus, and his eyes shut as the crease between them deepens. The Blood Replenishing potion may have kept Sirius from bleeding out, but it could not be more obvious that it’s done nothing for the pain.
Nonetheless, they can’t leave quite yet.
“I’m going to prop you up against this wall,” Remus says. He expects Sirius to protest—to roll his eyes and insist he isn’t fragile—but Sirius just clutches his leg and braces himself. As he leans Sirius against the wall, he tries to remind himself that they’ll be home soon enough.
With Sirius steady, no longer in any immediate danger or risk of bleeding out, Remus turns his attention to Lucius. Judging by how limp his body is, he’s still out cold and unlikely to wake anytime soon, but Remus cannot—will not—chance it. All he wants is to twist the knife in his chest and watch him bleed out, helpless and in agony, but to do that would be spitting in the face of everything they’ve risked.
Nausea bubbles in his gut as he looks at Lucius. He points his wand at him and hisses, “Incarcerous.” Binds wrap around him, and his body jerks into a new position, pulled taut. The new angle of the knife must be enough to jar Lucius out of his stupor, and his eyes open as he glances around frantically.
Remus steps toward him and kicks Lucius’s wand so that he can see it from the angle he’s lying in. And then he stomps hard. It splinters into three pieces, and Lucius’s jaw sets as he weakly struggles against the binds. “How dare you!” Lucius snarls, face turning pink as he pants. “Half-breed.”
Behind him, Remus hears a scuffle, followed by a wheeze. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Sirius is trying to get up, but the last thing they need is for Sirius to hurt himself anew. “He’s not worth it,” he tells Sirius. “Besides, I can handle myself.” Remus kicks out a foot, grinning—feral and delighted—as it connects with Lucius’s nose and lips with a sickening crunch. Blood pours down his face and pools around him, the red stark against his pale skin. Lucius’s eyes close once more, and Remus wipes his boot against Lucius’s robes, cleaning it of any filth.
“Let’s get out of here before anyone else shows up,” Remus says, and Sirius nods, his eyes still fixed on Lucius.
When Remus hooks an arm under Sirius’s and pulls him up to his feet, Sirius looks at him, not letting the fact that his eyes won’t quite focus keep him from smirking. “You’re hot when you’re angry. You know that?”
Despite the absurdity of the situation, a rush of affection runs through Remus. “You’re something else.” They hobble over to Lucius and bend down to pick up his limp body, teetering for a moment until they regain balance. “Now, hold on tight. We don’t want him to splinch.”
For a moment, Remus feels nothing but pressure around him, squeezing him from all directions, and then they resurface outside of their apartment. Remus makes quick work, expanding the ward around it so that any strangers passing by won’t see them or—more important—the unconscious body they’re carrying. “Let go of him,” Remus demands, and Lucius drops to the ground like a doll. He wheezes but doesn’t wake.
With a swish of his wand, Lucius levitates behind them, and Remus focuses his attention on getting Sirius back inside and seated. Sirius’s furrowed brow and silence betray the pain he’s in, but before long, the front door shuts, and Sirius is—finally—able to sit down. “Don’t worry about me,” he grunts. “I’ll be fine. Just make sure my shitstain of a cousin is secure.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Lucius’s hair is dark brown, matted with blood. Remus stares at it as he levitates him down the hall into a small room through the guest bedroom. Sirius had fashioned it for full moons, if necessary—only possible to enter with blood magic, with the option to seal it from the outside. Remus unceremoniously lowers Lucius by the wall where he knows the door will form and slices his hand open with his wand.
He smears his blood against the wall and spits out the spell that opens it. The adrenaline in his body is beginning to fade, and with it, his strength is fading too. Everything goes in and out focus as he stares down at his palm, watching the blood drip down his wrist. With some delay, he remembers to heal it and steps into the room, dragging Lucius behind him.
He knows how the room must look, claw marks on the walls, but Remus hopes it only adds to the atmosphere when Lucius comes to. Remus steadies himself with a deep breath and then waves his wand again, sending an electric shock through Lucius’s body. “Time to wake up,” he hisses.
He waits until Lucius jerks awake to transfigure the binds around Lucius’s body into a leash and fixes him to the wall. His heart beats loudly against his chest, and a metal taste coats his tongue as he watches Lucius slowly come. Weakly, Lucius reaches for the binds around his neck, and then his eyes widen as the severity of the situation settles.
“Who’s the dog now?” Remus asks and bears his teeth.
- - -
Lucius’s mind is easier than expected to penetrate, but he has little information to give. Voldemort moves with enough regularity that anything they can extract is out of date. And he doesn’t even know about Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Unfortunately, Lucius is also not good enough at Occlumency to send back to Voldemort—whether under the influence of the Imperius Curse or not.
Yet again, they’ve hit a dead end.
Remus’s head throbs as he sits in the bedroom. He runs his hands over his face and rests his palms over his eyes. When he closes his eyes, no light seeps in. His body aches. He rolls a muscle and feels the pain, up the middle of his back and side into his shoulder and down his arm past the elbow to the wrist. He hasn’t slept in almost two days.
“How are we supposed to figure out anything if his second-in-command is this useless?” Sirius’s voice is sharp and bitter. Remus opens his eyes to see Sirius throw the locket against the wall. He braces himself just before it hits the wall with a hard crack, but the noise reverberates through the room and his head, and Remus flinches.
“I know you this is personal,” Remus starts, and Sirius scoffs, “but I’m just as frustrated as you are.”
“They didn’t kill your brother.”
Remus feels something in him snap. Perhaps it’s the fact that he hasn’t slept or that the full moon is six days away or that his head hurts. Perhaps it’s none of those at all, but Remus stands, anger coiling in his stomach. “Do you know what they want to do with half-breeds like me? With Muggle-borns like Lily? People have had their whole families wiped out for having the wrong blood. I wish I could bring Regulus back. It’s a crime what Voldemort did and that you didn’t have a chance to spend more time with him, but look at you.” He motions around the room. “You have money. You’re a Pureblood. You have a family name that means something in the wizarding world, even if you don’t believe what it stands for.” Sirius’s eyes darken, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Remus continues before Sirius can interrupt. “You got to make a choice, and I’m not saying it’s an easy one. But I never did. So many of us never did.”
Sirius stares at him for a moment with his jaw clenched. Then, he turns on his heel and exits. After a moment, Remus hears a loud scream. He jumps and runs to the room where Lucius is being kept, his heart pounding in his chest.
Lucius’s body lays limp in the chair, a deep cut running down his throat to his crotch. His organs spill out of him, intestines unraveled along the floor. Blood pours out of him, soaking the floors around him. Lucius’s eyes stare vacantly at the ceiling, and his mouth hangs open as if he were still screaming.
Sirius doesn’t come home for several hours. By the time he does, Remus is fast asleep and the room where Lucius once was is as clean as if he’d never been there.
- - -
“We should move.” The thought had been weighing heavily on Remus’s mind, but it’s Sirius who brings it up. He looks around the room with tired eyes. There are too many variables—too many risks involved with staying here after everything that’s happened—and they both know it. And as much as this has become his home, Remus is certain what he feels pales in comparison to what Sirius does. So for Sirius to suggest it, they must be out of options.
“I’m sorry,” Remus says, reaching out to lay a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, but Sirius shakes him off.
“It’s fine.” From the tone of Siruis’s voice, it is anything but fine, but Remus knows better than to push. “It gives me an excuse to go through my things and get rid of stuff. I’m overdue for that anyway.”
“Sure.” Remus can’t imagine that Sirius is likely to toss much, but he holds his tongue again. “I can’t help but feel like this is somehow all my fault.”
“It’s not. Don’t do that.” As he stands, moving off the couch, Sirius squeezes his brow. His back turns to Remus, and his shoulders hunch. “It is what it is. Like you said, my family—”
“Sirius.” Remus’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and the dull buzz of a headache starts to brew behind his ears. He’s hardly gotten any sleep in the past few days—not since Sirius killed Lucius—and even with the Wolfsbane, he can feel the impending ache of the full moon in his bones. “Look at me.”
“I feel like we haven’t done anything.”
“How can you say that? We have more people on our side than we did a few months ago, and we’ve managed to kill some of Voldemort’s most loyal Death Eaters. Voldemort’s scared. I can feel it.”
Sirius turns and shakes his head. “Never mind. Just drop it. I’m not in the mood for a pep talk.”
Remus opens his mouth, but before he can think of something to say, Sirius closes his eyes and moves closer until his forehead rests against the top of Remus’s head. He breathes in deeply, and a hand closes around the front of Remus’s shirt. “I don’t want to feel anymore. Can I fuck you?”
Logic tells him that he should say no, but Remus can’t or doesn’t want to. He’s not sure if he knows the difference.
- - -
They move to a house in the country—one large enough to keep as headquarters, and Remus asks Lily to be their Secret Keeper. “I know you would never betray my trust. There is no one I trust more than you. No one.” He places a hand on her shoulder, and Lily nods. Although she doesn’t smile, there is a warmth in her eyes.
“I would be honored.” She pulls him into a hug and adds in his ear, “I hope you know I feel the same about you.”
Later that night, Remus finds Sirius unpacking in the library. He watches for a minute—how gently Sirius handles each text, the slight frown he gets when he first sees a book and tries to recall its proper place, how he aligns the books with a concentrated precision so that their spines are flush with the front of the shelf.
When he clears his throat, Sirius jumps. “How long have you been watching?” he asks, a slight flush rising in his cheeks.
“Not long.” Remus steps forward and presses a kiss to Sirius’s jaw. “Come to bed. The packing can wait.”
Sirius shakes his head and moves toward another box, pulling out more books. “Can’t. Too…” He trails off and worries at his lip. “My mind’s elsewhere.” His finger taps against the front of the book he’s holding, and he doesn’t meet Remus’s eyes.
“Can I stay with you, then? Keep you company?”
Sirius stops and glances up at Remus, smiling for the first time in days. “I’d quite like that.”
- - -
Remus weaves through the people in their living room toward Lily and James. He takes a sip from his beer and lets out a long sigh. “It’s amazing how many people we’ve managed to recruit in the last few months,” Remus says quietly enough that only Lily and James can hear.
“Still getting used to it,” Lily admits. “It’s a gamble.”
“One we can’t avoid if we want to win,” Remus says. He glances across the room. It’s filled with new faces—something that makes Remus anxious as well, but he knows if he allows it to consume him, they’ll never move forward.
“I actually have something to share on that front,” James says. “Can we go somewhere a little more private?”
They walk over to the library. He decides against asking Sirius to join. Sirius is deep in conversation with their newest recruit—one of his cousins, a younger person with spiked pink hair and grungy Muggle clothes. It’ll be easy enough to update him later, and judging by the stern look on James’s face, what he has to share is urgent.
They wait until the door is locked, and James casts a Muffliato charm for added security. James takes a deep breath in and starts, “I’ve been invited to join the Order.” Lily gives James a nervous, tight-lipped smile and squeezes his arm.
“Dumbledore’s operation?” Remus asks. James nods.
“It’s a good opportunity to see what they know. And since Voldemort's been more quiet since Lucius and Rodolphus, uh, disappeared, I think the Order is trying to build its defenses and come up with a strategy to strike while they're weak.”
“Do you think they know the truth about Lucius and Rodolphus?” Remus asks.
“I’m sure they have guessed that they’re dead, but no one has said so explicitly.” James pauses and Remus can tell that whatever he has to say next must be difficult. “If I’m going to spend time around Dumbledore—”
“You can’t be around us,” Remus finishes the thought.
James gives him an apologetic smile and nods. “I received the invite from a fellow Auror, Alastor Moody. I’ve mentioned him before. I’ve suspected he was in the Order for a while. He’s incredibly skilled and not opposed to using force. He’s already killed Evan Rosier and a handful of other Death Eaters. I think I can turn him to our cause, but it’ll take time.”
For a moment, Remus says nothing, letting the words wash over him. The Order operates with more visibility than they do, and with James working undercover, it puts James in even more danger than already comes with the territory of being an Auror. Remus swallows thickly, and a heaviness settles over him. His thoughts begin to race, and he does his best to quell them and steady himself before he speaks so that his voice doesn’t shake.
“You’re like a brother to me. Please take care of yourself, James.”
“I will.”
Remus steps forward, pulling James into a hug. James’s breathing is slightly faster than usual, and he holds onto Remus for a few moments longer before letting go. There’s fear in his eyes, and Remus has known James long enough to know that very little shakes him. “You’ll be okay.” It’s as much of a reassurance to James as it is to himself.
“He will, or he’ll have to deal with me,” Lily says. She puts on a brave face, but her act is no more convincing than Remus’s own. If he can tell, he’s certain that James can as well, but regardless of that, James hides it well. He presses a kiss to Lily’s temple and lets out an uneasy laugh.
“I think I’m going to pour myself a drink.” James starts walking toward the door. “And then, I think, it’s time for an impromptu concert.”
“That’s not where people are here for,” Remus groans and rolls his eyes.
“Maybe not, but they’ll be delighted to hear it anyway.” James chuckles and throws them both a toothy grin. There’s a nervous edge to him still, but he relaxes slightly as he walks out of the room, hands in his pockets. Remus and Lily exchange a look. He motions for Lily to go first. As soon as she’s crossed the threshold and can no longer see him, Remus drops his smile and runs his hands over his face. His heart thumps in his chest, and he does his best to steady himself.
“You coming?” Lily calls out.
“Yeah.”
Just as they rejoin the party, James calls out, “Who wants to hear these two play?” There are a few cheers, and Peter lets out a whoop. “Told you,” James mouths toward both of them.
“I don’t have my fiddle,” Lily says.
“Ah, but you do, my love.” James reaches for his satchel and pulls out the fiddle in its case. “Extension charm. You taught me that one, my love.” Lily glares at him and reluctantly takes it. Given what James has told them, it’s not like they can refuse his request given that none of them know when they’ll next be together again in this capacity.
Remus grabs his guitar, and they play a few songs. He half-expects them to be rusty. It’s been a while since they’ve taken the time to practice together; training new recruits is time-consuming, and even with its original purpose, their music has hardly seemed important in the face of an escalating war. But they find their footing quickly, even performing new material. Sirius beams at him from across the room and lifts his beer up and winks when the last few notes of the final song ring out.
Down at the bottom of the lake, where the Grindylows lie,
You'll find my body, where my lover left me to die.
But little did he know I cast a curse
That the one who kills me shall suffer worse.
“I was worried I’d never hear you play on that guitar,” Peter says to him when they’ve finished. “It’s a thing of beauty. I’m glad it’s in your hands.” He smiles warmly up at Remus, and Remus can’t help but smile back. When he takes a sip from his glass, his body lets go of some of its tension.
“I can’t thank you enough for working your magic to find it for me so quickly.”
“No magic involved. Just doing my job.”
“Well, you’re damn good at it.”
People begin to leave soon after that. Remus does his best to make the rounds, but he winds up next to Lily soon enough, sipping at another glass of whisky and leaning against the wall.
“It was nice to play with you again—though it’s almost a little bit like edging, playing without the promise of a kill afterward,” Remus teases. Lily bumps her elbow against him as if annoyed, but her lips twitch upward.
“Yeah, it was pretty fun. I almost forgot that’s why I learned to play in the first place. It just became a means to an end after a while—finding the right person, making sure I infused the magic properly, all of that. Not that I wouldn’t get caught up in the songs from time to time, but it stopped being about that a long time ago. Around the time I killed Severus, I suppose.”
Remus knocks back the last gulp of his drink as the distraction of the gathering slowly melts away and fear pools in his stomach once more. “Next time we have people here, it’ll be all strategy. Maybe that’s better, though. Who would we be if we were just drinking and joking while the world as we knew it collapsed around us? Like the French aristocrats, partying up until their heads were in the guillotine.”
Lily laughs dryly and moves toward Remus. Remus lifts an arm and places it around her shoulder as Lily leans against his side. “Sometimes I feel guilty for singing or drinking or even smiling. You’re right. What gives us the right when there’s a war with no end in sight? When so many of us have lost our friends and family? But…”
“But what?” Remus asks.
“I have to keep reminding myself that if we can’t create our own moments of joy to cut through all the heartache and the suffering, they’ve already won. We’re not just fighting for a more just world. We’re fighting for a happier one too.”
Having returned from her honeymoon, Narcissa sits on the balcony in Malfoy Manor -- her balcony -- and reflects back on the love of her life who is now fighting against Narcissa's family and all she believes in.
summary: “Now what?” Remus flicks open the blade.
“Do you trust me?” Sirius asks.
She shouldn’t, not after everything. Logic tells her a demon—of all creatures—can’t be reliable, yet she can’t help herself. “Yes.”
Sirius places a hand on top of hers, and Remus spreads her legs.
- - -
Or Remus accidentally summons a vengeance demon, and it awakens something in her.
length: 4,575
tags: Demon Sirius Black, Sirius Black Uses It/Its Pronouns, Knifeplay, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Body Modification, Sirius possesses Remus and makes her carve runes into her skin but then Remus does so willingly, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con (not between Sirius/Remus), Face-Sitting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat
notes: Kinktober prompt by @aspiring-artist-em: blood and body modification. I promised you lesbian Wolfstar, and there's no better time than the present!
Read on Archive of Our Own.
Remus stumbles across the book by accident, the runes on the cover catching her eye. It hardly stands out in a store like this, filled with crystals and trinkets. In fact, she is about to set it down when a chapter title jumps out at her.
THE VENGEANCE DEMON
Difficult to summon. Impossible to control.
She looks down at the drawing on the page—black hair and eyes to match, as well as an inscrutable expression. Strangely mesmerizing, beautiful in fact. Remus swallows thickly, and her fingers trace the curves of the black ink. Even still, there’s something chaotic about the demon. Remus smiles as she reads the subtitle once more. Even still, the payoff might be worth it, she thinks, despite herself, as a face flashes in her mind. She’s so lost in thought that she nearly misses what happens next. But the movement registers in the corner of her eyes, and she glances back down at the page.
The drawing, the demon, meets her eyes as it grins back at her.
The book drops from Remus’s hands. The cover catches on the sharp edge of a statue on display and tears. Just her rotten luck. From across the room, the store owner clears his throat. “You break it, you buy it.”
Technically, you can’t break a book, Remus wants to argue, but she’s too distracted. Her heart pounds in her chest as she bends down to pick it up. Unease prickles at the back of her neck, and she counts to three in her head before she flips the book over. Miraculously—or perhaps impossibly, as this feels as far away from a miracle as Remus can imagine—it’s still opened to the page of the vengeance demon.
But the drawing is back to how it had been before, blank and lifeless. She lets out a sigh of relief. Perhaps she’d smoked too much. Or slept too little. There’s no other explanation she can think of. Remus stares at it a moment longer, just to be sure, and when nothing happens, she shakes her head and flips it over to the back cover for the price.
£49.95. Fuck.
- - -
She starts having strange dreams not too long after that. No matter how they begin, they end the same way. Remus’s vision goes black as her hand wraps around the hilt of a knife. A voice whispers in her ear in a language she doesn’t know. Pressure builds in her gut as her cunt gets wet. And each time, she lowers the blade to the inside of her thigh, waking before she breaks the skin, drenched in sweat with her sheets clinging to her, her body flushed and hot.
She always wakes right before she breaks the skin. Until she doesn’t.
Although she can’t see it, she moves her hand in a strange, familiar motion, as if tracing a pattern. Pain blossoms, rips through her, but Remus bites down on the inside of her cheek, holding back a scream. The metal feels cold against her skin, and she whimpers. Hot breath tickles her ear as the demon chuckles. “That’s it. Carve yourself up nice and pretty for me.”
Remus comes, legs quivering, driving the knife deeper into her skin, and wakes up.
It takes her a minute to realize she’s not still dreaming, mistaking the combination of nighttime and blackout curtains as the same lack of sight as in her dreams. But her eyes adjust, and she feels the bed beneath her. And a sharp pain between her legs.
Remus bolts upright, gasping as the fabric brushes up against her, and turns on the lamp on her nightstand. Even against the black silk sheets, the dark, damp stain is obvious. Nausea builds in her gut as she rips the sheets off of her. Carved into her flesh is a rune, punctured in the middle with a deep, gaping wound.
Remus’s head spins as the pain blossoms, viscerally sharp now that she can see its source. With some difficulty, she pulls herself to the edge of the bed, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as her thighs brush against each other.
Despite not having looked at the book since she bought it, she knows where the symbol is from and stands, her vision going white as she places pressure on her wounded leg. It takes her nearly two minutes to cross the room and another eight to find the book, buried under printed stacks of guitar tabs, but eventually she does.
When she flips through it, blood smears across the pages, but she doesn’t stop until she finds what she’s looking for. The vengeance demon is no longer confined to the box it was once in and sits instead on top of the lettering of the chapter title, smirking up at her.
“I’m fucking dreaming,” Remus says and sets the book down. Her stomach clenches, and she clutches onto the back of a chair as she dry heaves. A cold sweat overtakes her body, nearly drowning out the pain from her cuts.
“Afraid not, sweetheart,” a voice—the voice—purrs in her ear as the drawing’s mouth moves. Despite herself, Remus’s stomach clenches, and she feels a familiar heat pool in her gut.
“No, no, no,” Remus mumbles. Without thinking, her hand drops to her thigh, and she presses a thumb against the cut, trying desperately to jar herself out of this nightmare. But it doesn’t work. Instead, the pain grounds her, and she settles back into her body. Remus lifts an arm up to her mouth, and she bites down as she screams. Tears finally spill over, and her body trembles. It’s too real to be a dream, a different kind of pain than the one she’s used to—not one her mind could imagine with such clarity. The pain in dreams is always muffled, breaking the carefully constructed illusion of the world she’s constructed.
The drawing, the demon, twists its black hair around a finger and cocks its head. “You can’t be that surprised. A part of you must have known what you were doing when you summoned me.”
“I didn’t summon you,” Remus spits. Her eyes fall once more to the rune in her leg. “I wouldn’t do this to myself.”
“Well, I may have lended you a helping hand with that,” the demon admits, “but summoning me was your idea. Back in the magic shop, or don’t you remember?”
It had been the briefest of thoughts. She hadn’t even let herself fully think it, not to completion. “I didn’t…” She trails off, a bubble growing in her throat until her whole chest aches.
“Who is he, anyway, the man you pictured?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Remus’s body tenses, and she hisses as the muscles in her thighs clench. But she can’t help herself. Even with the endless therapy she’s sat through since she was sixteen, Remus hasn’t learned how not to pick at these thoughts. Fenrir’s face flashes in her mind, lips curled in a horrible smile as she feels the weight of his body. Her eyes stare at the fan as she tries to follow the blur of the blades and the stench of alcohol fills the space between them.
“It just matters that I hurt him as much as he hurt you.” Its voice jars Remus out of her thoughts, and she counts in her head, trying to match the rhythm of her breaths—in for four, hold for seven, out for eight.
“I really didn’t mean to summon you,” Remus says. Exhaustion seeps into her bones, and she pulls out the chair, sitting carefully in it, her leg stretched out so that the rune doesn’t touch anything. With that, she drops her head in her hands. “His name was Fenrir.”
The silence stretches for so long that Remus starts to wonder whether the demon is still there, but before she can look at the pages of the book, its voice whispers in her ear once more. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you. You haven’t finished the summoning ritual.”
A bitter laugh bubbles up in Remus’s throat, and her hands drop to her lap. “Oh?”
“In order to be… effective, I have to be corporeal. I just gave you a slight nudge, but it’s up to you to complete it.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?” The words slip out before Remus can stop them, and she realizes, with some horror, that the demon has piqued her interest. Thoughts of revenge, whatever they might have been, always brought her some comfort. But in the past, that had been all they were—thoughts. Shame floods her as she accepts her desire.
“Don’t do that,” it scolds her. “Wanting him to hurt doesn’t make you a bad person. Not after what he did to you.”
“You can read my mind?” Her throat dries, and she glances down at the page. The demon furrows its brow. It now stands in the top left corner of the page as it peers up at her. There’s a kindness in its eyes that hadn’t been there before—at least as much kindness as a drawing of that size will allow.
“Let’s not get caught up in the details.” It waves a hand dismissively. “Do you want me to help you or not?”
Remus doesn’t let herself think. “Yes.”
The demon rubs its hands together. “Excellent. And, you know, you can stop referring to me as the demon. It says my name right here.” It jumps down to the second line of text and points: Sirius.
“Sirius,” Remus repeats.
“Brilliant, now that we’ve got that settled, you can focus on getting me out of this book.” The demon—Sirius—jumps down a few more lines and points at where a set of instructions begin. “You’ve already carved one rune into your right thigh, thanks to moi . Now you just need to do the other leg.”
The other leg. Remus startles, wincing as the pain ripples up her leg at the sudden movement. “You want me to carve into my other leg? Are you mad?”
Sirius smirks and leans forward, as if pressing against the page, trying to escape. “You enjoyed it a little. Don’t lie.”
Remus’s breath hitches. “I didn’t.” The lie sounds obvious, even to her. And even if it didn’t, the damp patch in her underwear gives her away. She drops her gaze to the ground and sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth. There’s no use in pretending otherwise when Sirius can read her thoughts. Heat crawls up her neck and into her cheeks, and her pulse quickens.
“No need to be embarrassed. I think it’s hot.”
She can feel its breath against her neck, and— “Wait, a moment. If you’re non-corporeal, how can I feel you?”
“I’m straddling the two universes, half-alive in you already. Can’t you tell?” Even though she sees nothing, Remus senses a hand trace slowly up her arm and shivers. “I had to give you a nudge with those runes. You were stubborn about it too. Too scared to entertain the idea that you might actually want to cause someone harm. But this world has denied you justice long enough. You shouldn’t feel guilty taking matters into your own hands.”
She should hate it, but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans into Sirius’s hand and closes her eyes. Its touch is light, almost teasing, and Remus swallows thickly as the pain dulls, giving way to something else. It seems like the sort of decision she should take time to consider, but she’s tired of picking at each thought until her mind hurts. So she nods. “Okay. Let me get my pocketknife, and you can guide my hand again.”
She’d long kept a Swiss Army Knife attached to her keys, insisting that one day they’d be useful. But Remus had never imagined it’d be like this. She hobbles over to the closet and fishes the keys from her jacket pocket before making her way back to the book. She sits down in the chair and, hands shaking, pulls the knife from the keychain, dropping everything else haphazardly on the desk.
“Now what?” Remus flicks open the blade.
“Do you trust me?” Sirius asks.
She shouldn’t, not after everything. Logic tells her a demon—of all creatures—can’t be reliable, yet she can’t help herself. “Yes.”
Sirius places a hand on top of hers, and Remus spreads her legs. “Then let’s get started.”
Remus squirms, arousal pooling between her legs. Her body trembles, muscles pulled taut in anticipation. Slowly, Sirius guides her hand down until the blade is firmly against her skin. To an outside eye, she knows it would look as though she intends herself harm. Perhaps, in a way, she does, choosing to relinquish control knowing the consequences fully, but Remus can’t be bothered to care.
“Last chance.” Sirius’s breath is hot against her neck, and Remus nods, not trusting her voice to come out steady. It laughs, delighted. “That’s what I like to hear.”
The pocketknife slices into her with surprising ease given the size of it. With how long she’s had it, Remus is sure it can’t be sharp, though the throbbing in her thigh tells her otherwise. She gasps, gripping her collar and neck with her free hand as she digs her nails into her skin, trying—unsuccessfully—to distract herself from the pain. Despite this, Sirius’s motions are slow and precise, and when Remus looks down, her head spins. Two-thirds of the blade has lodged itself within her. The chair beneath her is already soaked in blood and stained a dark red.
“You’re doing such a good job,” it says and nips playfully at her earlobe.
It strikes Remus that cuts this deep are likely to scar, but the thought only makes her cunt clench around empty air. She has to fight against instinct not to press her hips down, seeking friction or relief. It takes every ounce of self-control she has. Her body burns, pain and pleasure contorting into something new as Remus watches blood drip off the chair and onto the floor. She’s desperate to be marked, to be claimed. Yours, she thinks, and the hand on top of hers grips her more tightly as Sirius breathes in sharply. Lips press against her neck, and Sirius’s teeth—sharp and inhuman—scrape against her neck before it sucks with enough force to leave a bruise in its wake.
Here—eyes closed, lost to a delirium of exquisite agony—Remus can’t quite decide where she ends and Sirius begins.
“And done.” The knife slips out, and Remus whimpers, overwhelmed by a sense of dreadful emptiness. But her disappointment is short-lived. “There’s one more step.”
Excitement blurs with shame as heat pools in her stomach at the promise. It’s hard to tell where the blood ends and her own wetness begins—especially with the blood soaking through her underwear—but she’s certain what she feels slick against her is both. “What is it?” she asks and opens her eyes. Black spots dance at the corners, and the pain in her thighs dulls as she feels herself slip toward the edge of consciousness. There isn’t too much more she can take, but she wants it.
“Do you trust me?” There’s something to its tone that scares her.
“What is it?” she repeats.
“I’ll take care of it. I just need to know if you trust me.” It isn’t—shouldn’t be—enough, but the thrill of the unknown is too hard to resist. Even if it kills me. But the realization still isn’t enough to shake her out of her stupor. She lets out a groan, and her head slumps to the side, the drip of her blood hitting the floor suddenly loud in her ears.
“Yes.”
Sirius’s hand rests on hers, and then it lifts the knife in her palm and cuts right into her sternum. She should scream, but she can’t, blood gurgling up her throat and into her mouth as it pulls the knife down, through her chest, to her stomach, gutting her. Her vision goes white, and she crumples in the chair, past the point of pain. I’m going to die, Remus thinks.
“No, you won’t.” The voice comes from within her, rumbling in her chest, and Sirius’s grip on her hand vanishes. Faintly, as if from outside of herself, Remus hears the pocketknife clatter to the floor.
Without warning, pain balloons within her, and Remus gasps, choking as blood slips into her lungs. Her eyes fly open, and from the position she’s in, she watches as a hand reaches out from her chest. It happens both slowly and all at once, through the smudged red filter of her own blood, splattered across her face and dripping down her eyelashes. Another hand joins it, each holding onto different sides of her. They grip her flesh and pull, stretching her open until she’s sure she’s going to tear.
Remus gurgles, helpless to do anything but watch as a head—Sirius’s—appears from the chasm that was once her chest. It pulls itself from her slowly—a neck, an arm, a leg—Remus’s intestines wrapped around it like a mummy. Until finally, it emerges.
Blackness overtakes her as she slips past consciousness, toward death. It’s as though she’s falling endlessly, soaring and flightless all at once. So this is how I die.
“I already told you. You’re not dying.” Sirius’s voice is so faint that it’s hard to hear.
She stops falling, and there’s nothing but stillness. As if from outside of herself, she senses as hands hold her shut, and something wet and long slides across her wound. It burns, searing her flesh. Remus thrashes until two hands clamp down on her, holding her in place. Liar, she wants to shout, but she can’t, so she thinks it.
“You and I are one and the same. I could never lie to you.”
As suddenly as the pain in her chest started, it stops. She settles back into her body as if waking from a dream. Awareness of each sore muscle, of each line the knife left in her thighs washes over her. Remus opens her eyes just in time to see a long black tongue curl into itself and pull back into Sirius’s mouth. It grins at her, its body caked in gore, hair stuck to its forehead—completely naked. And fuck if it isn’t somehow prettier in real life than it was in the drawing.
Remus moves to sit up but can’t seem to find the strength. She flops instead, utterly graceless, and lets out a pained grunt. What happened?
“Isn’t it obvious?” Sirius lifts an arm to its mouth and bites down with razor-sharp teeth, piercing its flesh. Blood, black as its tongue and slick like oil, oozes out from around its teeth. “Drink up. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Something tells her that drinking demon’s blood will come with consequences, but she supposes she’s made worse decisions tonight. And I’m still alive.
“That’s the spirit.” It offers her its arm, presses it up against her lips, carefully nudging them open until blood pours into her mouth. “Now swallow.” She does, obedient as a dog being told to sit. Although it’s metallic like human blood, the similarities end there. There’s more to its blood—salt, bitterness in the back of her throat. It’s also cold as ice. It goes down her throat, thick and viscous, but once it settles, she starts to feel strength come back to her, bit by bit.
Soon, her body thrums, and she blinks rapidly as she sits up, strangely aware of the humming of the lamp on her nightstand and the tick of her watch. In fact, she’s more aware of everything. The outline of each item in her room looks sharper, more in focus. Her mind drifts to the cut down her chest, and she glances down, pulling apart the remaining shreds of her shirt. But the only indication that she had been torn open is a jagged scar running from between her breasts down to just below her navel. Remus wets her lower lip, wincing when she tastes her own blood dried upon it.
“Let me get that for you,” Sirius offers, and it leans down. Its lips meet hers, as cold as its blood, and Remus lets out a muffled sigh as a hand cups her cheek. It nips at her lower lip and rolls it between its teeth, the sharp edges, cutting her lip open anew. Remus hisses in pain, and Sirius pulls back with a satisfied smirk. “I can help you with other things too.” Help—like it isn’t enjoying watching Remus squirm.
“Oh?”
“You’ve got quite a mess between your legs.” Whether Sirius means the blood or something else, Remus isn’t quite sure. Hearing her thoughts, it chuckles. “Why don’t you find out?”
Remus’s cheeks burn red, and she rubs the back of her neck, surprised at her capacity to feel embarrassed given everything that’s happened. “Okay.”
Sirius wastes no time, dropping to the ground. It rests a hand on each of her knees and spreads her legs wide enough that its head can fit between her thighs. When it leans forward, cheeks dragging against the runes on her legs, her breath hitches and her hand drops to Sirius’s hair. She weaves her fingers into it, past the gore.
It presses its nose against her underwear and breathes in deeply, letting out a satisfied grunt. “You died for a few seconds, you know,” it says, its voice rumbling against her. Remus shudders and closes her thighs around its head, wincing at the pain. “I can smell it in you.”
“Don’t you mean on me?”
Sirius doesn’t respond. It simply tugs at her underwear until it rips and pushes it to the side. Remus watches in rapt fascination as its lips part and its tongue unfurls once more, black and pointed at the tip. It has to be at least several inches long. The thought of it on her, in her, makes her body feel hot. She lifts her hips until its nose nudges against her clit and scrapes her nails along its scalp.
"Fuck.”
Relishing in the control it has, Sirius pulls back. Its tongue darts out and runs over the rune it carved in Remus’s sleep, tracing over the design with such reverence—as if the wound, and by proxy, Remus herself is worth worshiping—that Remus wants to cry. The same burn as earlier, as if swallowed by flame, engulfs her leg, and Remus whimpers, holding onto Sirius’s hair with such ferocity that she’s sure it’s going to say something. But it doesn’t. It licks until the burning subsides and the wound heals into nothing more than a scar.
And without wasting a breath, it turns its attention to the other wound as well—this one deeper. It takes more time for it to heal, but by the time it does, Remus’s breaths are shallow in her throat, and she rocks her hips in rhythm with each lick, as though that might bring Sirius’s tongue closer to her cunt. “Need you inside of me,” she whines.
“Ask and you shall receive.” It turns its head, its tongue slowly reaching out, and gently teases the skin around her cunt, where her leg meets her thigh. All it would take is for Remus to grip its hair and grind down, but she doesn’t dare, knowing her good behavior will earn her a reward.
Soon enough it relents, its tongue dipping inside of her, slow at first before working her open. Blood smears across its lips, and it presses them around her clit and sucks. Remus cries out, head falling backward as heat coils in her stomach. It’s too much all at once, and she knows she won’t last long. Its tongue fucks her, lazily at first, waiting until sweat drips down her neck and she begs “Sirius, please” before it speeds up, curling in a soft spot inside of her, deeper and deeper until—
Remus comes with a soft moan, body trembling. Sirius, for its part, fucks her until she’s depleted, nothing but a shaking mess, limp in her chair. And when she looks down, it stares back up at her with hungry black eyes.
Its lips and chin are smeared with blood and slick wetness, and Remus weakly reaches for its hand, pulling it down. She revels in the taste of herself, of life and death itself, mixed together into a bitter, metallic mess. Sucks it out between its teeth.
Only when Sirius has been licked clean does she ask it, “Let me taste you.”
But Sirius doesn’t need convincing. It wraps its arms around her and pulls her to the ground. And Remus lets herself be used. She watches as Sirius straddles her and positions its cunt over her face. She barely manages to take a breath in before she feels its weight on top of her and tastes it on her lips.
It rubs itself off on her mouth like she’s nothing more than an object, the slickness of its labia wetting her from nose to chin. It takes some effort, but when she can, she opens her mouth and licks Sirius’s cunt, her tongue catching on its clit. Its thighs stutter and then quiver around her ears. Something about it is oddly reassuring, almost human.
Reaching up to help steady Sirius, Remus places a hand on its hips and presses her tongue inside of it. Sirius lets out a whimper and arches its back. A hand drops to Remus’s hair, and it tugs as it begins to rock once more, setting a steady rhythm.
Remus could watch Sirius forever—jaw slack, chest heaving—but before too long, its pace quickens, frantic and uneven. Her chest feels tight, blood rushing between her ears as she struggles to breathe. But Sirius is too close for her to relent. She focuses her attention on its clit as much as its movements will allow, sucking and licking until Sirius’s fingers tighten, and Remus gasps against its cunt in pain.
It comes hard, pressing its full weight down on her until it finishes, and Remus gasps for air. Sirius clumsily dismounts before slumping backward against a wall, trying to catch its breath.
Soon, they do, and a comfortable silence falls between them. For the first time, Remus looks about her with some clarity, her thoughts no longer marred by pain or fear. The first thing she notices is that she’s laying in a pool of her own blood. Panic begins to creep into the corners of her mind, but she pushes them away. Best not to go down that path now.
“I won’t hurt you. I think I’ve proven that.”
Somehow, Remus believes it. She laughs softly and groans as she sits up, sore from being pushed against the hard floor. She props herself up on her elbows and stares up at it, taking it in properly for the first time—from the curve of its breasts to the mole above its hip.
“So, do you do this with each person who summons you, or should I feel special?”
Sirius barks out a laugh and cocks its head to the side. “Take a guess.” Its eyes trace up her, hungry once more, and Remus thinks she knows the answer.
pairing: wolfstar (sirius-centric)
wordcount: 312
warnings: knifeplay, dysphoria, body horror as gender euphoria
link: read on ao3
It had started simply enough one day in Potions class. Sirius watched as Remus wiped the thick, silver juice off of his dagger and thought: You could be my maker.
They'd begged Remus to carve into their flesh, the sharp burn of the knife reminding them of their body. They had learned to be a ghost in the house that was their flesh, but the pain brought with it a new kind of clarity. And as Sirius watched the blood stain the floor beneath them, an odd sense of calm washed over them.
The wondered what it'd be like to be cut open down the middle like a corpse and have their organs removed. They thought of the wolf from the Muggle story Remus had told them about, whose stomach had been filled with rocks and sewn back up. Of the double-ended newt that, as a child, they'd watched a man in Knockturn Alley dissect, its body so different than their own.
"We can brew something to keep me alive, but I want to feel the pain," they begged. Remus had never been able to tell them no, but he'd wanted to. They could see it in his eyes.
The Room of Requirement provided nothing more than a bed and a mirror, each facing the other. Sirius swallowed the potion in one gulp, and the taste of licorice and aluminum coated their tongue. Worry creased Remus's face as he dug the blade in, heaving as he cut through sinew.
Sirius stared at themself as they reached into the chasm that was their chest. Between their legs, Remus's tongue lapped at their cunt. Their fingers closed around their heart and they felt it move—a living thing. And then they came, legs squeezed tightly around Remus's head. For the first time they could remember, the reflection in the mirror felt like their own.
You mentioned fanon turning barty crouch jr. into an uninteresting character. I don't know much about what the new fanon characterisation has really done with him, but I'm curious for your thoughts on why he's a canonically interesting character. I agree that he is, but it sounds like you might have some interesting thoughts on it that are already fleshed out.
thank you for the ask, @jamesunderwater, and i'm sorry for taking so long to drag myself around to answering this.
as you may have gathered if you’ve read my views on jegulus or wolfstar, the common fanon interpretation of marauders-era characters and i don’t really get on.
this is not a new development - me and goofy fanon sirius have been beefing for over a decade at this point, i fear - but our enmity has taken on a new form since (roughly) 2020, when the emergence of what we might call the modern marauders subfandom brought with it a whole series of expectations about characters, ships, personalities, and appearances in first war stories which, let me state my position immediately, have absolutely nothing to do with the characters as they are in canon.
i could talk about sirius or regulus or james or snape or lupin until the cows come home - as, i’m sure, could many of us - but i also dislike the expectations the marauders subfandom has around its supporting cast. these characters - who largely fall under the categories of women, slytherins, or both - have names that we might recognise from canon, but they are - to all intents and purposes - original characters.
to do some marauders fan defending, i do understand the rationale behind this. hogwarts is a school, and it needs to be filled with the sort of incidental characters that lightening-era writers can pull from the canon text (shoutout to ernie macmillan, the mvp). if you’re writing about lily, then she needs friends - why not have them be alice, marlene, dorcas, emmeline, pandora etc.?
[well, because dumbledore isn’t running a child army. it makes no sense for the entire order of the phoenix to be in the same school year - and the idea that alice is probably around ten years older than lily, that pandora is around the same age as narcissa malfoy and isn’t a pureblood, and that marlene, dorcas, and emmeline are hard-nosed ministry bitches in their fifties who can have mad-eye moody quaking with just a look is something which can be prised from my cold, dead hands.]
and if you’re writing about the epic highs and lows of high-school football going to school during a sectarian conflict, then you need some antagonists. which is to say, you need some slytherins.
the issue i have is that the three key slytherins who seem to have been elevated to principal cast in the marauders pantheon - regulus black, barty crouch jr., and evan rosier - get what can only be called the smol bean treatment. that is, that three teenagers who all canonically join a terror organisation are turned into soft and tiny babies who thought lord voldemort was just feeling silly when he said, ‘my aim is the eradication of the muggleborn population through violent means.’
and even fics which do acknowledge that the three willingly become terrorists often go out of their way to provide justifications for this which don’t contextualise their decision (something which is important - you can’t write about snape becoming a death eater without acknowledging the way that poverty, loneliness, and a sense of hopelessness make someone an easy target of radicalisation) but which minimise it. sometimes, their violence is turned into romantic vengeance - i’ve seen a fair amount of suggestions that barty goes to torture the longbottoms because frank was the auror who killed evan. sometimes, authors imply - or even outright state - that there’s no need to see these boys as aspiring villains: voldemort is right; the class system is good and should be maintained; and purebloods (usually james, sirius, regulus, barty, evan and maybe a token woman or two) should stick together while the half-breeds and the mudbloods go hang.
this - like all aristocracy wank in this fandom - annoys me enough with regulus and evan. but it’s particularly grating when it comes to barty crouch jr. because - unlike evan, who is literally just a name in the text, and regulus, who isn’t much more - he actually has a canon personality.
and it’s fascinating. indeed, i would even go so far as to say that barty crouch jr. is the greatest villain in the harry potter series.
[my apologies to lord voldemort.]
after all, even though he’s been imprisoned under the imperius curse for over a decade, barty is still so lucid and powerful that he is able to:
produce magic capable of tricking the goblet of fire, which is treated by all the adult characters involved as unprecedented.
pull off a year-long impersonation of a man whom dumbledore evidently knows extremely well without being clocked until his mission has been successful, even though his opportunities to observe the real moody can have been virtually non-existent. he is in character within seconds of his ambush on moody’s home - after the intruder-alert dustbins are set off - and is able to persuade ministry personnel who can be presumed to have met moody personally (including both amos diggory and arthur weasley, who appear to know him not only personally, but well) that he is the real deal. he maintains his performance even under close scrutiny from the teaching colleagues he has to interact with daily at hogwarts, despite the fact that he presumably can’t get a great deal out of the real moody, since he’s having to be kept deliberately weak and docile under the imperius curse.
manipulate multiple people into become accessories to his crimes, without ever being suspected of doing so. with the hindsight of knowing who he is, the first defence against the dark arts lesson in goblet of fire, in which ‘moody’ deliberately distresses neville by using the cruciatus curse directly in front of him, before swooping in to be the person to cheer him up so that he can plant information which will help harry win the triwizard tournament and deliver him to voldemort, is chilling. he just gets unlucky that harry has the biggest martyr complex in human history.
commit murder on hogwarts’ grounds without ever being suspected of wrongdoing.
execute lord voldemort’s plan to kidnap harry and use him in his resurrection ritual flawlessly. the plan itself may be convoluted - but dark lords are allowed to have a flair for the dramatic, as a treat - but, crucially, it works, and barty succeeds in every respect.
but, i concede, we’re talking about the adult barty here. perhaps he was once a sweetheart who went unfortunately off the rails after his father sent him to prison and then - in effect - drugged him for years. that wouldn’t be a ridiculous suggestion.
except for the fact that - canonically - the teen barty was just as clever, sly, manipulative, and - above all - ardent in his support for voldemort as his adult self.
at his trial in the early 1980s, young barty gives the performance of a lifetime. he screams, he shakes, he looks terrified of the dementors, he is pale and weak and harmless-looking, he begs his mother to help him, he pleads with his father for mercy, he maintains his innocence as he is dragged off to his cell. he gives off the impression of simply having been in the wrong place at the wrong time so well that harry potter is almost certain that his conviction is illegitimate. so too, it is implied, is albus dumbledore.
indeed, barty plays the part of the wrongfully imprisoned so well that - as canon tells us - he not only influences public opinion to be broadly in favour of his probable innocence (or, at least, his diminished culpability - sirius suggests that the widespread view was that he was probably there, but that he only ended up involved in what was clearly bellatrix’s idea because of his father’s failure to relate to him properly), but also changes public opinion against the government’s anti-death-eater strategy entirely. following his imprisonment, his father - a man who never met an extrajudicial punishment he didn’t like, and whose ruthless approach to dealing with the death eaters in the first war (such as his use of internment for suspected terrorists, his order to aurors to shoot to kill) was, we are told, enormously popular with the wizarding public - is forced to resign in disgrace from his role as head of the department of magical law enforcement. crouch sr. is quietly shuffled off into a boring bureaucratic position, his ambitions to be minister in tatters, and his only way forward to free his son from the prison cell where he is languishing for the crime he very literally did.
[as an aside, i do think that we are supposed to read that bellatrix is the ringleader of the torture of the longbottoms. but, all too often, that gets reduced to her doing everything while rodolphus, rabastan, and barty just stand there gormlessly. they were clearly performing the curses too!]
now, barty’s unusual cunning can - of course - be explained by narrative reasons. the text needs to conceal that he’s the villain (since, as with philosopher’s stone, it wants to imply that the dark lord’s faithful servant at hogwarts is severus snape) until the very end - and this naturally requires dumbledore to not think too hard about whether his good judy alastor is behaving even more strangely than usual.
the text also needs to suggest that he is innocent in order to properly stick the landing on the narrative role of his father - barty crouch sr. as with dolores umbridge in order of the phoenix, crouch sr. exists to show harry (and the reader) that the rot in the wizarding world was not caused by - and will not stop with the defeat of - voldemort. his ruthlessness and inflexibility, his lack of respect for due process, his astonishingly cruel treatment of winky (brutal beyond even the standard way in which wizards abuse their enslaved elves) all serve to teach harry that the anti-voldemort cause can become just as easily corrupted as the disillusioned young men in voldemort’s orbit. the suggestion that crouch sent his own son to azkaban without good reason, simply because he would not deviate from his beliefs, is an important lesson to harry about what ‘justice’ actually means.
but, despite this, barty is also able to pull off his deception because he’s spectacularly talented. it’s not all just narrative.
and his talents are caused by characteristics which aren’t good or bad in and of themselves. he’s clearly very intelligent (he got twelve owls, the series’ benchmark for genius). he’s hyper-observant, creative, adaptable, good under pressure, and possessed of nerves of steel. he shares these traits with other villains in the series - voldemort above all - but he also shares them with plenty of the heroes. harry, for one.
which is to say that all of his personality traits could be put to non-criminal uses. but - as with harry, who is capable of being quite sinister when he wants to be (for example, when he manipulates slughorn into giving up the horcrux memory) - they would give a non-criminal barty an edge. and this doesn’t seem to be present in his standard fanon persona - as sweet and goofy as all marauders-era men - to any great extent.
finally, there is another aspect of barty’s character which is absent from his fanon version - that he clearly has some sort of childhood trauma, but that this does not excuse any of what he does. even if crouch sr. is right to send him to azkaban, he was clearly also a cold and distant father, who had absolutely no idea how to relate to his son.
[as another aside, this emotional negligence is bad enough without it needing to be written as having been accompanied by extreme physical and/or sexual abuse. there seems to be a real tendency in fan-fiction - not only in marauders-era stuff, although the exaggeration of orion and walburga black into despotic villains is one example of this - to make childhood misery ‘worse’, in order to justify a character’s later actions.]
voldemort demonstrably uses barty’s terrible relationship with crouch sr. (and his absolutely flagrant daddy kink) to groom him into taking the dark mark (not least because there’s otherwise no explanation for why he cheerfully informs him that he too is named after his dad), which he may very well end up taking when he’s still at school. my reading is that he’s recruited to inform on his father - since voldemort would undoubtedly wish to keep the head of the department of magical law enforcement under constant surveillance - and that this is why the dark lord pays him the attention he is so obviously lacking.
but, as with snape and regulus and draco malfoy and all the other young death eaters, barty also colludes in his own radicalisation. voldemort is a master at ensnaring recruits, sure, but he’s also a busy man. he only bothers to make the effort because the clever, creative, cunning, manipulative young man - who wishes to avenge himself on the father who never paid him attention (sound familiar?) - he finds before him is very much determined to become a spectacular part of his terrorist organisation. and stories which feature him owe it to him to give him that dark complexity of character
