#p:remus

It had grown common that the air at home was heavy with tension and irritation. It hadn’t aired out for a long while, making what used to be a comfy, nice place during the good times seem depressing. Still, it was their haven. Where locks and charms and normalness still ruled. Outside was a war - inside was another kind of war, but one that they knew how to dance, a safety of sorts, too, just like always. Nothing’s changed. A place that was the only place besides the Potter’s where Sirius could relax, just be, and let his hair down. Not care. It was one reason Sirius hadn’t bothered moving out of the one-bedroom flat he shared with Remus. It was the one stability he needed, a cocoon to hide himself in. A somewhere that whispered of all the good times that had happened between the walls, a connection that still bound them together, trinkets and knick-knacks telling their lives stories. And who had the energy to bother with moving and all that entailed, in a middle of a war, when one didn’t want to be alone and when they would invariably end back up together?

 The air seemed denser now, Sirius noticed as he shut the front door behind him. Always tensed, shoulders tensed tighter as a pang of dread shot through him, images of the worst flooding his mind. The catastrophic thoughts, the fears and worries growing darker and darker with each passing minute in this damn war, flooding his senses. Peter’s betrayal had only magnified it. Had sucker-punched the reality into Sirius’ soul.

 It was war.

 And Sirius had been such a fucking failure. He should’ve been able to see it, stop it, know it before it happened, and prevent it. Damn it.

 “Hello?” He called into the air, boots heavy against the floor as he trudged inside without kicking them off. Shifting the takeaway containers from his favourite Muggle curry shop to one hand, Sirius dug inside his pocket, ready to use his wand. Always so ready. Always so fucking tense. “I’m home!”

The stack of cigarette butts at his feet would have been enough to put a tumor into the lungs of a human.  Thankfully Fenrir didn’t have to worry about such mundane concerns, so he simply crumpled up the empty cardboard pack he’d just finished and pulled out a fresh one, unwrapping the cellophane and tossing it to the ground along with the butts.

Fenrir was currently leaning in the shadows of an alley against a wall outside of the ‘Oddmentis Press’ building, simply watching.  He’d been there for hours, only moving to lift the cigarettes to his lips and pull them back down over and over, occasionally pausing, as he had now, to light a new one or pull out a fresh pack.  Otherwise, his gaze was almost eerily focused on the building...

Or rather, the one occupant that he could feel inside of it.  The one that he could always feel, always find, no matter how hard he tried to hide...

Lifting his wand from his pocket, he lit his cigarette with a quick, silent spell before slipping the wand back into the pocket of his long black leather duster and then looked back at the building.

The building with the boy in it.  The first child he’d ever turned.  Before that, he’d always gone for adults.  And if Lyall Lupin hadn’t been such an ass, he probably would have continued to do the same, but the bastard had deserved it.

And ever since then, he’d made sure to keep tabs on his cub...

Lifting his hand to his lips, he drew in a deep breath of smoke and continued to watch, silver-blue eyes utterly unwavering.

One day the boy would understand the gift he’d been given.  He’d come to realize that he wanted safety and security that a pack could offer.  He’d come to realize that he belonged to Fenrir.  

@messrmoons

Hogwarts, 6th year

"Oi, Moony! Hold up!" Sirius called out, his voice brimming with lighthearted energy and a touch of mischief. He couldn't quite pinpoint when the change had taken place – when he had begun to crave those moments alone with his best mate, stealing time together whenever their friends were preoccupied. Sirius had never stopped to consider the thrill that tingled down his spine whenever he managed to make Remus chuckle, or the way his heart raced when he caught sight of Remus' pout of concentration as he delved into a book or tackled homework.

He hadn't taken the time to analyse the eager anticipation he felt as he watched Remus, wide-eyed during classes, while subtle expressions danced across his face in response to Sirius' cheeky notes or as he became engrossed in his work. It had simply happened, and Sirius didn't quite know what to make of it. Love had never been his forte; he'd always preferred chasing thrills and fleeting connections over deep, emotional bonds. The vulnerability of love and its potential aftermath unnerved him.

"So, where are we off to, then?" Sirius inquired, the hand that had clamped onto Remus' shoulder to slow him down lingering for a beat, perhaps two. He invited himself along to whatever activity Remus had planned, exuding the self-assured ease of someone accustomed to getting whatever they desired and expecting the world to bend to their whims.

Pushing aside the tantalising thoughts of cornering Remus in a broom cupboard for a perfect, heart-stopping snog, Sirius flashed his friend a roguish grin, his eyes sparkling with warmth and affection.

DATE: September 30th, 2016

TIME: 10:30AM

LOCATION:  DPIR, Oxford University

Gideon’s phone screen lit up for the fourth time during this lecture. He glanced at it, stopping just for a split second in the middle of a sentence before continuing without anyone even noticing. His brother’s name flashed across the screen and Gideon frowned. What was so important that he’d been texting him four times in one hour? And more importantly, why was his twin even awake? It was ten-thirty on a Friday. For a brief moment Gideon had horrible images of his sister going into preterm labor flashing through his mind but he pushed them away in favour of concentrating on the task at hand.

He felt just a little out of his depth here. Gideon was no teacher or professor. Some might argue he wasn’t even a real politician, after all, the Downing Street Chief of Staff hadn’t held any executive power in almost ten years. But he was the Prime Minister’s most trusted advisor and a lot of strings were running together in his hands.

But teaching wasn’t something he usually did. This was merely a favour to one of his old professors, who was standing at the back of the lecture hall, watching her students like a hawk, ready to sweep in in case someone decided to disturb his talk.

Luckily, the students didn’t look too bored, only some were still too preoccupied with Ollie to actually listen to his words. The large dog was lying at Gideon’s feet, panting and studying his surroundings attentively. They had gotten more than a few strange looks when they’d walked in, some girls in the first row had started cooing over the dog but Gideon had put an end to it as soon as they’d tried to pet Ollie, pointing at the “Service Dog - Please Do Not Pet” sign on his harness. Since then, the students had respectfully kept their distance, but continued to give both of them curious looks.

Gideon was used to it. Government employees with service dogs weren’t exactly common, but he’d always been open about his condition and Millicent had still taken a chance on him. So far he hadn’t given her any reason to regret that decision.

Vivienne felt her entire body on edge.  It occurred to her, not for the first time, that everything had changed.  Somebody knew the one thing she’d worked so hard to keep hidden for years. Someone normal.  Someone who could use it against her.  They’d been silent for the most part as they made their way to dinner, and Vivienne was both thankful for the respite as much as she hated letting her thoughts spin out of control.

She glanced over at Sirius as they walked, hoping that she might be able to figure out what’s going inside his head simply by looking.  Nothing about this day had gone according to plan, and she had a feeling it was just going to get stranger from here.

She stopped when Sirius did, staring at the door in front of them for a second, trying to calm her nerves.  “This is it?”

DATE: December 16th, 1979

TIME: 12:55PM

LOCATION:  Gideon Prewett’s Flat

Getting out of bed had been hard this morning. When Gideon had woken up, the first thing he’d done was check the alarm clock on his nightstand to see how many hours until he could go back to bed. He’d forced himself to ignore the dull ache in his chest and get up anyway, to go through his daily routine of making coffee and feeding Ollie before showering and getting dressed. By the time he was done it wasn’t even eight and Gideon suddenly realised that he had absolutely nowhere to be today.

He wasn’t used to being… useless. And it wasn’t as if he was an invalid. The injury on his chest was healing well, and while it was still aching he was still taking painkillers and it wasn’t hindering him when he was sitting at his desk all day anyway.

As good as it was to be back home, being condemned to idleness was not how he’d imagined this. He’d taken Ollie out for a long walk and gotten some kebabs at a take out they’d shared on the way back.

Since getting back to the flat Gideon had cleaned, done the laundry and now he was trying to concentrate on a book, which seemed to be impossible. The novel had been sitting on his bedside table for months. Gideon had started reading it back in summer and picking it back up now was like trying to understand a conversation one had only joined halfway through. He didn’t even remember the main plot and most of the characters were complete strangers to him.

Without being fully immersed in the story, Gideon looked up when Ollie, who had been napping with him on the sofa, lifted his head from Gideon’s stomach and listened intently, ears turned forward and alert. Gideon frowned. Had his dog heard something? Had he detected a threat? Only seconds later, there was a knock at the front door and Ollie leaped from his place atop Gideon, and bolted out of the room barking.

Gideon followed a little more slowly. The drugs were making his head feel a bit fuzzy and if he moved too quickly, he’d get nauseous. Ollie was waiting for him at the door, whining and wagging his tail and Gideon relaxed slightly. He trusted his dog’s judgement. Whoever was out there, was a friend. “Who is it, Ollie?” he asked. “Shall we take a look?” A low whine was his answer and Gideon unlocked the three enchanted deadbolt locks with a few waves of his wand and opened the door.

Remus, it seemed, had the immune system of a newborn baby.

James had brushed it off in September, of course - it was autumn, and the cold weather was beginning to settle in on the tail-end of summer, and of course, people were bound to get sick. And then he was sick in October, spending time in the hospital wing after a couple of days of looking like a slight breeze could push him over, but James had barely raised an eyebrow at it.

Now, three months in, Remus was sick for a third time, and James was determined to do something about it. What sort of friend would he be if he just let Remus suffer through it like he had the other two times? The worst kind, and certainly not the kind that Remus would like having around for the next seven years.

With that in mind, once he’d gotten word that Remus was to be released from the hospital wing that afternoon after classes, James had made it a personal mission to be waiting for the other boy in the common room, hoping to catch him before he disappeared off to catch up on whatever homework. Thankfully, the package from Euphemia had arrived in a few days ago, featuring an array of sweets and chocolate bars, and while James wasn’t sure exactly what was making Remus so sick, he knew it was nothing a bit of chocolate couldn’t help.

Determined not to move until he could talk to Remus, James sat on one of the couches, waiting for him to pass through the portrait hole.