Dracolove

I’d watched him go through many. I’d been unable to look away for a lifetime. I’d wanted him and loathed him, never knowing which instinct was stronger. Could I forgive myself if I allowed him to make me a name on a list, a chip on his bedpost? Could I forgive myself if I didn’t? I didn’t know. I didn’t know why he was watching me. I didn’t know why now, when he had to know I would’ve let him, at any point. 

When I felt a hand on my shoulder, a warm body leaning against the bar next to me, I knew it was him. I took a deep breath, bracing for it, and when I turned I found his green eyes fixed on my face, his mouth soft. I knew what he looked like when he wanted it, I’d seen it for months, and it was this. 

“Wow, you’re miraculously not already off fucking someone tonight,” I said, and he laughed, head tilted back, neck exposed. 

His mouth said, “Yeah, who would’ve thought it possible?” His eyes said, you know exactly why I’m here. 

I opened my mouth, trying to come up with more banter on the fly, anything to distract, so he wouldn’t be able to see how scared I was. Perhaps he already saw it. I swallowed down hard, and his eyes followed the rise and fall of my throat. 

“Two shots of vodka, two firewhiskeys, two blueberry gin and tonic,” said the bartender, placing a tray in front of me and saving me from having to come up with something to say. Before I could attempt to balance the six drinks in my hands, Harry flicked his fingers and they floated, steady, next to our heads. 

“Which one’s yours?” He asked. 

“One of the blueberry gins.” 

“Fitting. Which one’s mine?” 

“One of the whiskeys.” 

He smiled like that meant something. 

Our seats were too close. I felt the warm line of his thigh against mine, his eyes heavy on me whenever I said something, the back of his fingers brushing my back where his hand rested on my chair. I saw the group catching on, Ron pretending not to smile, Pansy trying to make eye contact with me. All I could do was swallow and pretend nothing was happening as I was swept in the intoxicating current of his interest. 

But I’d watched it happen. No matter what it meant to me, I knew what it was to him. The pub emptied out, my watch struck 2 and then 3 am. He’d usually be gone by now, with whoever his conquest of the night had been. But here we both were, watching Pansy drink Ron under the table. His hand was fully on my back now, his shoulder close to mine. 

We hadn’t talked much. My heart had been in my throat all night. 

Ron and Pansy stood to dance, Hermione and Viktor were long gone. He leaned close to my ear and whispered with whiskey-warm breath, “how much longer until you say yes?” 

Some unnamable feeling pulsed through me, hot and terrifying. 

“What makes you think I will?” 

He pulled away, his eyes traveled from the top of my head, down my neck, my chest, all the way to my feet. Then back into my eyes. 

“Please?” It came out like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it cost him nothing. If I’d been standing, I would’ve fallen to my knees. 

Nobody stood a chance, and I wasn’t the exception. It was gonna be one of those things. 

When I leaned in to kiss him, I saw the next few weeks play out in my head, pictured all kinds of moments, kisses like this one, and I knew I would risk it even if I had to go back to watching, after. We were in a bedroom within one moment and the next, he apparated us wandless, wordless, mid-kiss. 

“Finally,” he whispered into my neck, while his hands made quick work of the first buttons of my shirt and his magic took care of the second half, delicate and fine as fingers. My mind was scattered with his power, his hunger, the heat of his lips dancing over my clavicles. 

He got me down to my pants before I pushed him off and onto his back, unwilling to let him be the only one to taste. If I had him for a night or a couple, I’d use every moment to do the things I’d spent my whole life imagining. 

I kissed his neck, his chest, the short hair there, the peak of his nipples and the fall of his sternum. I kissed the shallow pit of his belly button, started to make my way down before he held my chin and brought me firmly up, back into another mind-bending kiss. 

“Finally,” he said again, voice splintering. “I’ve wanted you for some time.”

I pulled back, hands around his hips, legs bracketing his body, a powerful line of heat against the insides of my thighs. 

“Do you say that to everyone?” I asked, couldn’t help it, even though it laid me bare in a way I wasn’t prepared for. 

His breath was shallow on his chest, his nipples hard, pink lips parted. He sat up a little, rough hands cupping my shoulder blades, my lower back. He’d lost his glasses at some point, and his eyes were a blaze. 

“I’m saying it to you.” 

His words sent a pulse through my belly, but I knew him, I’d watched him, and knew I couldn’t hold him to the things he said here, in the small space between us, tangled in his bed. I swallowed and he followed the movement with his eyes, then with his hand, palm to the side of my neck, thumb pressed to the heart of my Adam’s apple. I watched him between half lidded eyes, waiting, at his mercy. He closed the distance between us, pulling me into the kiss by the neck, tongue-first, slow and wet. 

“You don’t have to do that,” I whispered. “I’m already here”

Again, like he needed to make sure I heard, “I’ve wanted you for some time.” 

He pointed the statement with a thrust, working his hips, making sure I could feel how much he wanted it. It traveled through me like an electric current, and I let my head fall forward, laid my forehead on his shoulder, panting as I moved with him, a slow back and forth. 

“Why now, then?” I breathed out, mouth open against his salty skin. One of his hands braced harder around my body, the other behind himself on the bed, balancing as he came up to his knees with me still in his lap. He didn’t stop there, kept pushing forward until I was on my back, watching him hover over me. His hair dripped sweat onto my chest, and there was something in the way he looked at me, a hunger that reminded me why I’d been so scared in the first place, the scope of his want so transparent and electric that I feared I would simply disappear, stop being real the second he looked away from me. 

“I don’t know,” he said, painfully honest. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled, a few inches down before the garment disappeared into thin air as though it never had existed, willed away by his wordless command. I made an embarrassing little sound, and he smiled, a tiny, amused thing. “I think I hadn’t been fully honest with myself about it.” 

My breath caught. I closed my eyes, trying to work through it, opened them again and ran a hand down his chest, pulling lightly at the hair at the center. I thought it, and tried not to say it, but it was out before I could stop, “I knew you’d be like this” 

His thigh had found its way between my legs, and he pressed forward, drawing a sharp breath out of me. 

“Yeah?” He muttered, eyes never straying from my face. “Like what?” 

“All-encompassing,” I whispered, and felt a hot blush immediately gather in my cheeks and neck. He noticed, too, and followed its path with his lips, the mere suggestion of a kiss against my skin, delicate and slow. 

“Tell me your pleasure,” he said, nose brushing my neck. “What do you like?” 

It was hard to think of what I wanted when it seemed like I was getting armfuls of it already, without asking. I came up on an elbow, slid a hand down his chest, between his legs. He responded beautifully, a moan leaving his lips, all warm breath against my throat. 

“I like it deep, and hard.” I let my fingers slow down, matching the rhythm of his breath. “Slow. I like it slow.” 

“I can do that,” he said, but he didn’t stop me, instead allowing himself to move into my hand, find a rhythm too, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my neck. 

I spread my legs, giving him more room, and like this, holding him between my thighs, allowing him to take what he needed from my hands, it felt like doing it already. He lifted his head, coming in for a kiss in the last moments, and it was into my lips that he groaned his release, warm puffs of breath as his hips worked, then slowed to a still. 

It took him a moment to readjust, and he spent it against my lips, catching his breath. He kissed me, my chin. 

“I can still do that,” he assured, sounding pleased. Then, “I just… might need a minute.” 

A sudden laugh bubbled out of me, not having expected him to be like this, too, the intensity and power of a few moments ago taking the shape of someone who, at the end of the day, was just a guy. He lifted himself up and then dropped down beside me, his head cupped in a propped hand so he could keep on watching me. 

“Why do you always do that?” I whispered after a couple seconds of silence. 

“Do what?”

“This.” I furrowed my eyebrows and gave him my most intense look, trying to emulate the way his gaze just would not let up. He laughed, and let his head fall on the bed properly, unruly hair spread around his head in a dark halo. 

“I know I’m intense. I’ve heard it before,” he said, gaze trained upwards as though speaking to the ceiling. “It’s just the way I — It’s not —,” he stopped, backtracked. “I was trying to say it’s not personal, but I bet it’s even worse with you, actually. It’s always been. I’m sorry.” 

“No, I know,” I replied immediately, because I did know, and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. “I don’t mind.”  

“When I want something, it’s the only thing I can think about,” he whispered, rolling his head to the side, eyes finally on me again, as though pulled by a magnet. “I guess it shows.”

“I watch you too,” I confessed, a half-voice almost afraid of itself. Fear warring with truth. 

But he said, “I know,” low into the space between us. “I’ve realized. That is the real answer. That is why now.”

I took it in, felt it like a fire-tipped arrow straight to the chest, the acknowledgement that no matter if this was a one-time thing, I wouldn’t, after all, be a name on a list. The possibility that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing at all. He saw it in me, and his gaze changed, took on the hunger again. 

“I thought you needed a minute,” I said, not looking away. 

His eyes moved between my legs, then back up. “But you don’t.” 

He was already moving, his hands searching skin, but I stopped him with a fist to the center of his chest, gentle, one last sliver of self-preservation, the need to know for sure that he knew what I meant. 

“You knew I would’ve let you, at any point,” I said, no point hiding it anymore. “But you didn’t try.” 

“Draco,” he whispered, “I didn’t know. I would’ve been trying the whole time.” 

It was one of those things. A gamble. I’d watched him go through many, I couldn’t know that he was being truthful. And yet, I realized, he couldn’t know that about me either. He’d watched me with others, watched me follow them home, come back and do it again weeks later. He’d been a friend, and he’d watched. He’d watched me go through many. 

I began to smile. 

“Takes one to know one,” I whispered.

Remus breaks down one night as he and Sirius are lying in bed together, unable to keep up the walls any longer. He sobs into Sirius’ shirt, who soothingly strokes his hair. “It’s not fair!” He sobs. “It’s not bloody fair! I am a good wizard, better than most, my grades are excellent, and I’ve worked so hard! I’ve worked so, so hard. Harder than anyone at this school! Now I need to live off of the kindness of others? How is that fair? I deserve to be able to get by because of my own merit!”

“Moony,” Sirius says, gently pulling him back slightly so he can look him in the eyes. “This is your own merit! The most important merit of all! Don’t you see? You are loved, Moony. People are here for you, willing to do whatever it takes to help you, because of who you are. Because of the kindness, compassion and loyalty you’ve shown those around you, you’ve earned everything anyone is willing to give you. They care, Moony, and how is that not your own merit?”

Remus stares at Sirius, and realises he is right. If someone like James, Lily, Mr Potter, Mrs Potter, Professor McGonagall, but most of all, if someone as absolutely wonderful as Sirius, seems to think he’s worthwhile, Remus must’ve done something right. And no damned legislation is ever going to take that away from him.

“I love you,” Remus whispers before he kisses Sirius. “I love you so, so much.”

Remus turns seventeen on Thursday the 10th of March, just days before the BULLIES-act will go into effect. Needless to say, despite seventeen being the most important birthday of all, the day on which someone officially becomes of age, Remus isn’t really in a celebratory mood.

It doesn’t stop his friends from trying to make the day special nonetheless. They shower him in chocolate, and they make a huge birthday cake float over the table towards Remus after dinner. Remus also receives a long letter from his parents, telling him how proud they are of him, and how happy they are that, despite everything, they got to see him grow into such a fine young man.

The best part comes the day after his birthday, when Sirius surprises him with a weekend trip to London for just the two of them. He reserved a table at a nice restaurant, got tickets to go see this Muggle band, and booked them a hotel. Of course, it isn’t exactly allowed to leave the school grounds for a little getaway, but Remus hasn’t cared much for abiding to the rules these last seventeen years, despite McGonagall’s efforts by making him a Prefect, and he isn’t about to start now that a romantic weekend with just him and his ridiculously handsome boyfriend is at stake.

Besides, Remus can use some time away from everything. Just him and Sirius, being young and in love without a care in the world. Even if it’s just for a couple of days.

On a sunny Sunday morning, after having enjoyed a lovely weekend together, Remus and Sirius are walking by the Thames hand in hand. Sirius seems a little anxious. Remus knows he was talking to James through the Two-Way Mirror this morning.

“Everything okay?” He asks. “Something the matter at Hogwarts? You know, if McGonagall has noticed us missing, any kind of detention she’ll give us will be well worth it.”

“Hmm?” Sirius replies. “Oh, no. Everything’s fine.”

They stop at a quiet place overlooking the water.

“So, you’re officially an adult now,” Sirius says.

Remus chuckles. “Well, you always said I was an old man in a younger man’s body, so I guess not much has changed.”

“But some things have,” Sirius insists. “You’re old enough now to order Firewhiskey at The Three Broomsticks, to vote, to get married, to use magic outside of Hogwarts.”

“I don’t really feel like I’m gaining much freedom,” Remus says, averting his eyes to look over the water.

“The BULLIES-act...” Sirius begins, but Remus shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“But say it didn’t exist,” Sirius says anyway. “Is it something you would’ve wanted to do at some point?”

“Work for the Ministry?” Remus asks. “I don’t know. I mean, they have some very good research programs, but it’s not like it was some dream of mine.”

“No, I mean, get married?”

“Ah.” Remus is silent for a moment. “I’ve never given it much thought, to be honest. Even before the new legislation, werewolves have never gotten married.”

“Werewolves have never graduated from Hogwarts either,” Sirius points out. “Don’t think about what can or cannot be done, what do you want?”

“I suppose it would’ve been nice,” Remus says slowly. “Have a wedding, a husband, a family...” He shakes his head. “But it doesn’t matter. The BULLIES-act does exist.”

“Not yet,” Sirius says softly. “Not today. Today, you’re of age, while the act hasn’t been put into effect yet.”

“So...” Remus says, as realisation slowly sinks in. “The last day on which I could possibly get married would be...” He turns towards Sirius with wide eyes, and gasps as Sirius drops down on one knee, holding out a ring. “S-Sirius...”

“Remus John Lupin,” Sirius says, his voice trembling. “I might be selfish here, but I would very much like to spend my future as your husband, no matter what. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Remus says instantly, as tears stream down his face. “Yes, yes, yes, I will!”

Sirius gets up, his hands shaking as he slides the ring around Remus’ finger. Remus beams at him, and Sirius pulls him into a hug, holding him tight as Remus buries his head in the crook of Sirius’ neck, both of their faces wet with tears.

Once it all sinks in a little, Remus looks at Sirius.

“Come on, ask me,” Sirius says. “I know you want to ask me.”

“Are you sure?” Remus breaths. “My life won’t be easy, and if you’re committing yourself to me, neither will yours. I might never be able to find a job, or even a proper place to live. This BULLIES-act might very well be only the beginning.”

Sirius cups his face and looks him in the eyes. “I am absolutely sure. I have never been more sure of anything than I am of wanting to be your husband for the rest of my life. There isn’t a doubt in my mind.”

Mr Marigold frowns as he sees the people, no, children, who have hired him to officiate a wedding this day. A young girl with thick, red hair in a nice dress and a young man with messy dark hair and a huge grin wearing fine robes, trailed by two boys in Muggle jeans and band shirts. A young couple eloping without their parents’ consent, perhaps?

“Oh no!” The boy with the messy hair says upon inquiring, holding up his hands. “We’re just the best man and the maid of honour.” He points at the other two boys. “They’re the happy couple!”

Mr Marigold’s frown deepens as he looks at the two boys. A handsome youth with long, dark hair and sharp features and a boy with scars on his face, floppy hair, and large, amber eyes. Two drunk students marrying each other on a dare, perhaps? Some teens pulling a prank?

Mr Marigold performs a quick spell, that he has, unfortunately, had to use many times before. A quick check whether they are under the influence of any drugs or alcohol. Some people might find stories of drunk couples getting married and regretting it the next day amusing, but Mr Marigold is not one of them. Marriage is a serious and special affair, that should be respected, not mocked.

Both boys turn out clean, but Mr Marigold still regards them suspiciously as he asks for their IDs. He should at least check whether they are actually of age. The boys hardly seem to notice his scepticism, as they only have eyes for each other, staring at each other with dopey smiles. So they do seem to be an actual couple, at least. And when Mr Marigold checks their IDs and sees the small, but clear annotation of ‘Lycan’ on the second boy’s card, both the scars and the rush to get married make a little more sense.

But still, can these young boys really know what they’re getting themselves into? For the rest of their lives?

The best man pulls the dark-haired boy aside, and the maid of honour talks to the floppy-haired boy, while Mr Marigold quickly makes the paperwork in order. Sirius Orion Black and Remus John Lupin, both shall take the family name ‘Lupin’. A Black. Marrying a boy from an unknown family, and forgoing his last name. Now it also makes more sense why he’d want to get married without his family there.

Once he’s got all documents prepared and the couple is standing in front of him, with the best man and maid of honour behind them looking on with fond smiles, Mr Marigold wants to ask one more time if they’re sure before starting the regular ceremony, but then Sirius Black takes both of Remus Lupin’s hands in his and starts to speak.

“Remus, when I told you I knew about your condition, you asked me ‘Are you not afraid?’ When I showed up at your house late at night with a split lip after I told my parents I was with you, you asked me ‘Do you really want to lose your family for me?’ Now let me answer both questions for you.

No, Remus, I am not afraid. I am not afraid of you, your condition or the challenges it will bring. But more important, I am not afraid of committing myself to you fully, I am not afraid of the idea of spending every day for the rest of my life with you, I am not afraid of the future. Remus, love, with you by my side, I am not afraid of anything.

My parents rejected me when I couldn’t be the perfect son and heir that they wanted, when I couldn’t live up to their standards. And it’s true, I’m not perfect. You know I’m not perfect. I don’t want someone who thinks I’m perfect. I want someone who sees all my flaws, and then still decides I’m worth it.

So, as for your other question. No, I don’t want to lose my family for you and I’m not going to lose my family for you. By marrying you, I’m not losing a family, for the first time in my life, I will have a family.”

Remus Lupin cannot answer, as he’s too emotional, tears streaming down his face, so he just squeezes his soon-to-be husband’s hand. Mr Marigold must admit, his own eyes feel a little watery as well. Sirius Black’s words were so full of conviction and unwavering devotion.

After the maid of honour has given him a tissue and he has taken some slow, deep breaths, Remus Lupin speaks.

“Ever since I was a child, I’ve been warned that people could come into my life who would be biased against me, and blame me for things I didn’t do. No one ever warned me, though, that someone could come into my life and take my heart, keep it forever, and give me his in return.

I’ve been prepared for the world being a dark and cold place, but I was wholly unprepared for how bright, brilliant and beautiful the world can be when you’re with me.

I was told that my life would be a constant struggle, nothing would ever come easy for me, but Sirius, loving you is the easiest thing in the world. It’s easier than breathing, and I’d give up breathing before I give up you.”

Mr Marigold is touched. Sure, he has married people who were together longer, had more life experience, more stability, more security, but rarely has he seen two people look at each other the way these two boys are looking at each other. Rarely has he seen a love as pure as this, and in the end, isn’t that what really matters?

Mr Marigold scrapes his throat. “Alright, please repeat after me. I, Sirius Orion Black...”

Sirius Black says ‘I do’ first, and Remus Lupin is crying so much it takes him a while before he can get those two words out, but after he does, Sirius Black is crying just as much.

The best man gives them each a ring to slide around the other’s finger, an elegant band with a small star and moon engraved in it. Sirius Black must’ve had them made, as Remus Lupin’s eyes widen and he gasps as he sees them.

“Then I pronounce you husband and husband, Mr and Mr Lupin. You may kiss.”

Well, they do not need to be told twice. Remus Lupin surges forward cupping Sirius Black’s face, and Sirius Black wraps his arms around him, as they poor all love and promise for the future into the kiss.

Mr Marigold watches them leave, hand-in-hand, fingers intertwined, shoulders pressed together, both glowing with happiness.

He can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness. If someone like Remus Lupin would come to him tomorrow, someone with the same genuine desire to marry the one they love, someone with that same connotation in their ID card, he would have to turn them away. It seems unjust. Those boys have a difficult life ahead of them, and he wishes they could’ve lived in a kinder world, but at least they’ll face it together, and that makes all the difference.

It’s strange how normal everything is. Remus goes to class, hangs out with his friends, does his homework, talks about the upcoming Quidditch match and comes up with new ideas for pranks. The only thing that’s different, is that he will sometimes look at Sirius and think ‘that’s my husband!’

He feels like a normal student, living a normal student’s life, except that he’s married. To Sirius bloody Black.

Of course, he knew that Sirius an he were the real thing, and they had a good chance of making it last, but he still revels in the certainty of the ring around his finger. The certainty that Sirius is his now, and will still be his in fifty years.

“Mr Lupin,” professor McGonagall says sternly. “You’re supposed to use this time to write your essay, not a list of supplies you need to get from Zonko’s.”

Remus stares at his parchment in confusion, as it’s filled with an elaborate breakdown of the limitations when transfiguring inanimate objects into animate beings and visa versa. He looks up at McGonagall. “I wasn’t-!”