Kellanine

Remus rolls his eyes, but smiles. "Careful. I have a strong, sexy husband and he gets jealous." 

The bartender is busy and nods at Remus to indicate he’ll be with him shortly. He’s wearing red demon horns paired with white angel wings. Remus and Sirius had intended to throw costumes together too, but they’d gotten too busy sucking each other off and then having a nice nap after Remus railed Sirius into their mattress.

Remus nods back, and turns to Sirius, whose chin is propped in his hand. They’ve been married for a week, and seeing the delicately etched wedding band on Sirius’s finger, identical to his own, makes Remus’s heart swell.

Sirius’s gaze is mischief, and his lips are quirked in a half-smile. Remus wants to kiss them. But it's not that kind of place. 

"If I had a husband who looks like you," Sirius quips, "I'd get jealous too."

Remus can't think of a good comeback, so he puts his hand on Sirius's cheek and pushes his face away, laughing. "You're a menace."

"But you love me."

"God help me, I do."

Sirius straightens with a grin and tilts his head, stretching his neck. There's a still-healing mark there from a Death Eater’s curse. It had shot straight through him and he'd been a heap on the ground before he'd even known he'd been hit. It had been the most terrifying moment of Remus's life.

"I need the gents'," Sirius says. "Be right back.” He squeezes behind Remus, and as he passes, he draws one hand across Remus's lower back, then drops it for a tiny slap on his arse. Because the room is packed, they can get away with it. 

Or so Remus thinks. While his eyes trace Sirius's retreating form, a presence slides in next to him, filling the space Sirius left. When Remus turns, a stranger’s eyes are on him.

The man is a few years older, tall, with a patchy, scruffy beard and hazy eyes. When he plants his elbow on the bar and waves a hand at Remus, he sways a little, and Remus knows he’s drunk.

“So,” the man says, motioning in Sirius’s direction. “You two queer?”

Remus feels all the blood drain from his face and turns to look straight ahead. He clears his throat and swallows.

“Hey. I asked you a question.”

A surge of adrenaline floods Remus’s limbs, the same fight or flight reflex he’d felt so many times during the war.

“Yes, a very rude one,” Remus says, still not looking at the man. He’s afraid of what he might see in his eyes if he does.

Thankfully, the bartender picks that moment to make his way to Remus. “Sorry for the wait. What’ll you have?”

“Two pints, please. Whatever’s on tap.”

The bartender walks away and Remus takes a breath, fisting his hands on top of the bar. The man’s penetrating gaze scorches the side of his face.

“You’ve got some balls, I’ll give you that.”

Remus clenches his jaw. “Meaning?”

“These. In public?” The man reaches over and taps one fingernail against Remus’s wedding ring. When his touch grazes Remus’s wrist, Remus thinks he might be sick. “What’s it like?”

“Excuse me?”

“I said … what’s it like?” The man lowers his voice and leans in. “Getting fucked in the arse? Fucking someone else in the arse?” Remus’s stomach contracts and turns over. “Does it feel like pussy?”

A heavy weight lands on Remus’s shoulder and he jerks in surprise, instinctively reaching for his wand before he remembers the war is over. The weight is Sirius’s hand.

“Everything okay?” Sirius asks. His voice is light but his eyes are shrewd and cold.

Remus gives him a tight smile. “Fine.”

Sirius’s eyes are on their neighbor. He doesn’t move his hand from Remus’s shoulder.

“Was this man bothering you?”

“It’s fine,” Remus replies quietly. “He’s drunk.”

Remus sees the man register Sirius’s muscle mass with a single sweep of his eyes. He raises his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, mate, I didn’t mean anything. Just curious, you know?” He points at Remus. “What’s it like to fuck him? Is his hole nice and tight?”

Sirius has the man by the collar before Remus even realizes he’s moved. “Because you’re drunk,” Sirius growls, “I’m going to give you thirty seconds to walk away before I knock those crooked teeth out of your goddamn face.”

A few patrons around them shriek in surprise. James has materialized at Sirius’s side, and puts his hands on him, trying to ease his grip loose.

“Hey!” says the bartender sharply, and Remus knows they’re about to get kicked out. He chances a glance across the room at Lily. She’s watching the whole exchange with wide eyes.

“It’s all right, mate,” James tells the bartender. “We’ll leave.”

“No,” he answers, pointing a bar rag at the man still held in Sirius’s grip. “You. Get out of here.” James manages to break Sirius’s hold and pulls him away.

“Oh come on now,” the man drawls, “I didn’t mean to start nothing.”

 “You never do anything in here but cause trouble. Leave. And don’t come back.”

The man shakes his head and laughs, scratching at his beard. “All right, whatever.” Seconds later, he’s gone.

Remus lets out a heavy breath, and feels like his heart has started beating again.

He had hoped this month would be better, but maybe it was time to start making peace with the facts. Over the past several months, it had begun to sink in that a day in the hospital wing, followed by a night in his own soft bed in Gryffindor Tower, were no longer enough for him to fully recover from the full moon. Back in second or third year, he would have been up on the second day, a bit stiff and moving slowly, but ready to return to classes with his friends by breakfast time. But now, his body was tired. It had been through so much. Somewhere in a distant part of his mind, he had always known that as the years crept on, his body would begin to slowly break down. But he had thought he had at least a decade or two before he needed to think about that. He was only sixteen.

After a minute, the dizziness passed, and Remus stood back up, slowly, and reached to turn on the shower.

For some reason, he could not bring himself to voice any of these thoughts to James, or Sirius, or Peter. They worried enough, and they already did so much. And, really, it could have been a lot worse. Prongs and Padfoot generally managed to prevent the wolf from hurting himself too badly, so there was usually less blood and fewer new scars than there used to be. As for the rest of it—the pain in his bones, the exhaustion, the aching muscles, the dizzy spells—there was nothing to be done, so what good would it do to dwell? He just needed to push through it as best he could, and get to the other side. For most days out of the month, he was just fine.

Remus let the water get as hot as he could stand while he managed to step out of his pajamas, and then let out a long exhale when he moved under the spray, letting it soothe his muscles and bones. He decided he was being dramatic. This was all he needed, really. He never felt entirely human again until he’d had a real shower. But Godric, he was tired. His legs felt shaky, so he washed quickly, wiping away some flecks of dried blood on his side that Pomfrey’s spells had missed, and scraping the dirt of their midnight wanderings from underneath his fingernails. He bent his head down and let soap and water run over his hair and the back of his neck, washing away the sweaty grime that had dried there during his fitful rest.

For a moment, it felt wonderful. Then he raised his head and realized at once that the bending forward had been a mistake. The dizziness returned, and this time it was joined by a feeling as if his head had floated loose from his body. It didn’t pass. His stomach roiled with nausea. His vision became spotty. He blinked slowly. A quiet ringing began in his ears, and grew louder.

Uh oh…

He had no choice. He tried to call out for his friends. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. He tried again. “Help?” he managed weakly. Desperate to steady himself, he pressed one hand to the shower’s cool stone wall, fisted the other in the shower curtain, and told himself to breathe. It was fine. He was fine.

*********

A thick, heavy silence hung in the air of the sixth year boys’ dormitory in Gryffindor tower, broken only by the gentle pattering of late winter sleet on the rattling windowpane.

Peter darted wide, worried eyes from James to Sirius and back again, and Sirius tried not to feel a flare of annoyance. Peter always expected them to have a plan, to produce all the ideas, however wild, that might solve their latest problem. Most of the time, Sirius didn’t mind. It was what came naturally to them, and Merlin knew Sirius didn’t want anyone telling him what to do, unless it was James with a brilliant, hare-brained scheme. But today was different.

Sirius was at a loss.

He leaned heavily against the closed bathroom door, twisting his wand between his fingers and feeling completely, uselessly defeated.

“He’s not okay,” he said at last, his voice piercing the tension in the room like the tip of a knife.

“Definitely not,” Peter agreed.

James let out a sigh from where he had reclined on his unmade bed, and flipped closed the latest issue of Quidditch Today. There was a female keeper on the cover, her team robes stretched tightly across her abundant chest as she laid herself out on her broom, blocking a quaffle over and over again with her outstretched toes.

“He always feels better after a shower,” James said, sounding weary. “He’ll be fine.”

Sirius scoffed. Of the three of them, James was usually the best attuned to Remus’s physical condition at any given time, so Sirius didn’t understand whether James just hadn’t been paying attention, or if he was testing out some new type of wishful thinking. But surely he’d noticed Remus looking even paler than usual as they’d helped him to the bathroom, James holding him by one arm and Sirius by the other, while Peter had looked on, frowning.

“We’re not doing enough,” said Sirius. “We need to take out more books. In the restricted section. We’ve missed something, I know it—”

“Padfoot,” James cut him off, sitting up and setting the magazine aside, along with his glasses. He rubbed at his eyes. “We’ve been over this. We’ve read everything. We’re doing everything we can. And he’s told us himself, it’s better than it used to be, before we became Animagi, right?”

“Better?” said Sirius. “It’s not better! Yeah, maybe he’s not as lonely anymore, and the wolf has his fun running around with us, but the wolf isn’t Remus. Did you notice the way he was breathing after he changed back this time? Or that he can barely swallow because he screamed his throat raw?”

“Of course I noticed.”

“Let’s do more research, then. We can’t have read everything—”

“But the books all say the same things, mate,” James countered. “You know that.”

“The restricted section—”

“Been there.”

“Madam Pomfrey—”

“You know we can’t.”

Sirius threw a scowl at James, but fell silent. Peter watched their exchange but said nothing. Instead, he stood and took the water pitcher and glass from Remus’s bedside, wiped the glass with a clean cloth, and refilled the pitcher from the end of his wand, casting a cooling charm and holding it until the sides of the pitcher frosted. James replaced his glasses, and then waved his own wand at Remus’s bed, muttering an incantation that made the sheets and blankets lift up, snap straight, and lay themselves gently down, as the pillows shook themselves and landed neatly on top of the made bed.

Sirius pouted.

“Sorry, Pads,” said James gently. “You know if there was anything else, I’d be first in line—”

First in line for what, however, he never said. His words were cut short by the sound of a sudden, enormous crash from inside the bathroom.