#lupineloon

there's  something  happening  in  london. something  big.   teddy  still  doesn't  understand  quite  what  that  means  in  practice,  nor  why  the  wraiths  are  out en  masse,  but  what  they  do  have  is  an  objective  ( and  some  vague  semblance  of  the  will  to  pursue  it ).  they  accept  this  new  and  somewhat  confusing  turn  of  events  with  a  fraction  of  a  nod,  but  the  truth  is  they're  bone-tired.  too  many  nights  spent  tossing  and  turning.  too  much  at  stake  and  too  many  variables.

but  orders  are  orders.

and  so,  private  crisis  notwithstanding,  they  apparate  to  soho  and  start  moving;  winding  in  and  out  of  pedestrians   with  practiced  ease.  the  streets  are  chaos.  with  so  much  footfall  and  so  much  noise,  they  almost  don't  turn  in  time  to  see  it  ( or  rather  them )  —  two  figures  locked  in  combat  some  twelve  feet  from  the  intersection.

" 𝗔𝗩𝗔𝗗𝗔 𝗞𝗘𝗗𝗔𝗩𝗥𝗔 ! "

one  is,  or  rather  was,  a  wraith.  their  hood  slips  back  to  reveal  a  pale  face  as  they  hit  the  ground,  mask  spinning  out  across  the  frosty  tarmac.  the  other  is  a  man  of  indeterminate  age  and  allegiance.  teddy  doesn't  lower  their  wand  until  he  turns,  at  which  point  it's  near  enough  a  miracle  that  they  don't  drop  it  or  pass  out  in  a  dead  faint.  his face  is  all  too  recognisable.  they've  been  cowering  from  those  accusing  eyes  for  years.

sirius lifts one hand to shield his eyes against the light, dim and unimpressive though it is. despite emerging from the brilliant white of an arch he does not recognise into a room he's quite sure he's never seen, he feels inexplicably as though he's been roused from a deep sleep ( or else as though he's suffering from a dreadful and frankly ill-deserved hangover ). there, in the dreamless dark, he was at peace. here, in the light, he's profoundly and perhaps irrationally ... angry.

dawn creeps in through the partially-open blinds, casting the room in a warm, orange glow. it smells like sweat and booze and sirius' head is pounding. at first, he has no idea what remus is talking about. this never should have happened. it's hardly the first time they've shared a bed, curled up in remus' four-poster when the nights seemed too long and dark — when their dreams had teeth and when sleep was violence as opposed to the promise of peace. something about his cadence puts sirius on edge. remus' voice is tired and hollow. whatever happened between them, he doesn't want to know.

for better or worse, it comes back to him in fragments.

a shared lighter. a shared dram. for a few hours they were themselves again — them as they were in the before times, when there wasn't some nigh on insurmountable distance between them. for a few short hours, they'd been best friends. they'd played meatloaf and danced and laughed, and it had all seemed like some spectacular joke until ...

on a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? sirius recalls stepping closer, recalls tunnel vision in the dim light. will he offer me his jaws? will he offer me his hunger?

it had seemed awfully poetic in the moment. a private wish. kismet. but in the light of day, it's the simple horror of being cleaved wide open and found unsightly. his heart is just there. it's bloody and raw and still beating. his stomach turns and he swallows, wracking his brains for some means by which to make things right. now, more than ever, he wants to fall to his knees and fumble around for the broken pieces of what they used to be. he wants to hold them in his outstretched palms and beg remus to tell him they can still fix it.

but he looks at his old friend and it's like he's on the outside again — like staring into the cold, dead eyes of a reproachful stranger. but maybe it's better like this. maybe it makes things easier. sirius swings his legs around and retrieves his jeans from the floor, swiping the chesterfield blues from remus' nightstand as he goes.

“Oh good, Grandfather said you’d be in here.” Hana felt distinctly smug as they entered the main hall to greet Remus. He was a teetchy little thing, but they liked him all the same. It wasn’t often that a twig of a man could hold their own against her grandparents. Remus managed to do business without crying and followed through on his word when he gave it to them. 

“I’ve taken the liberty of reordering your business cards.” They said, wandering from the hall towards the sitting room and assuming Remus would follow. “How are those going over, by the way? Did you finally get laid so  I can find something more embarrassing to put instead of virgin?”

Leilani couldn’t help the way her eyebrow arched as she opened the front door of her home, her lips pressing into a thin line as she examined him for a moment. Remus Lupin, of course, who else would be bothering her unnanounced at this time of day. “What is that?” she asked, pointing down to the small box in his hands, her dark eyes meeting his, “I told you Remus, I’m not assessing any more of your relics - no matter how ‘cool’ they are - unless they’ve been obtained legally and without shady business practices.” Her curiosity had already been piqued however, and another brief glance down at the box had her noticing small runes etched into dark wood. She pursed her lips, sighing as if this was some great inconveniance to her, and she stepped aside to let him in, “take your shoes off when you come in. I don’t want dirt on my rugs.”

Walden had come to expect a certain amount of unexpected guests now that Cissy lived with him. She was surprisingly social, though perhaps only because Walden had like four friends in total and didn’t get out much. When she asked him to add more people to the wards he hadn’t even blinked.

But that didn’t mean he was intellectually prepared for the sight of Remus Lupin wearing pjs in his kitchen.

He blinked at the younger man for several long seconds as he waited for the dots to connect themselves in his mind. It wasn’t even 9 am yet, he’d only gotten up because he had some new hatchlings to check on. He wasn’t even wearing a shirt. 

“Good... morning?” He asked, crossing to the pantry to try and remember what he even ate for breakfast. “Can I... get you something, or ...?”