small_gifts | [fic] Four Imagined Decembers for rian219

thistlerose.livejournal.com posting in

Four Imagined Decembers

Author:

thistlerose
Written for:

rian219
Rating: R
Summary and/or Prompt: AU. Remus was born a wizard, but because he's also a werewolf, he's not allowed to attend Hogwarts. He and Sirius will just have to meet some other way.
A/N: Many thanks to my awesome squad of beta readers:

krabapple,

aberforths_rug, and

semielliptical. Happy Holidays,

rian219! You said you liked angst, and so angst you shall receive - but I hope you don't mind a slightly fuzzy ending.

December 1976

Sirius Black arrived on the Lupins' doorstep three days before Christmas, with a broom across his shoulder and a sack full of books at his feet. "Ho ho ho," he drawled.

"Good heavens, you didn't fly here," Remus's mum said as she hurried him inside and closed the door behind him. "We were sure you'd come by Floo. Didn't you hear the wireless this afternoon? They're predicting a great deal of snow here."

"I thought the clouds looked a bit ominous," said Black, sounding unconcerned. He let Remus's mum take the broom and his coat and scarf.

"And no hat, either. Tsk."

"I like the wind in my hair."

"You'll catch a cold," Remus's mum admonished. "Have a seat by the fire. I'll make some tea. Remus, be social." She went into the kitchen.

Black turned to Remus and held out his hand. "Hullo, I'm Sirius."

"I know," Remus said, giving a shallow nod and continuing to poke cloves into the orange in his lap.

"Aren't you a bright little ray of sunshine?" Black flopped into the chair opposite Remus's and kicked off his shoes. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think of this as charity."

Remus broke a clove on the orange's peel, swore under his breath, and dropped it into the porcelain dish on the floor. It landed with a faint ping, barely audible over the sound of his mum clattering in the kitchen. "It is what it is."

"And you don't much care what I think of it?"

"No," said Remus bluntly. He didn't like being rude to someone he'd only just met, but he'd had a long, trying day at the music store, what with all the Christmas shoppers, and his boss still in a strop over his missing a few days due to the full moon. The knowledge that he'd have to hurry home to meet his tutor - who'd only be coming because he'd got into trouble at Hogwarts, where Remus couldn't go – hadn't helped.

"At least you're honest," Black said, and the funny thing was that he didn't sound at all sarcastic. For the first time, Remus looked at him with interest and found, to his surprise and chagrin, that he rather liked what he saw.

Black reminded him of some of the boys who came into the music store occasionally; he had the same slouchy, deliberately and charmingly unkempt air. He also had thin, pale lips curved in a half-smirk; a handsome, angular face with wind-chapped cheeks, chin, and nose; shaggy black hair that almost brushed his shoulders; and eyes the color of clouds before a storm.

And I might have shared a dorm with him, Remus thought with a pang. If not for a mistake his father had made eleven years ago and a bitch at the Ministry of Magic who had entirely too much say in matters of education.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" Black said, flexing and pointing his big toes in front of the fire. His lashes caught the light in their curve.

"What?" Remus asked absently.

"What I did to deserve this, of course."

"Oh. What did you do? Something bad, I assume."

"Not really," Black said. "That is – yes, but it was completely justified." His voice held a smug note, and suddenly Remus was uninterested. It was a secret he kept from everyone including his mum, but in the years since that pointless summer of waiting for his letter, hoping that Albus Dumbledore's influence would outweigh a stupid law, his bitterness had grown, not lessened. He really didn't need to hear about all the fun this handsome, reckless, fully human boy had had. Whatever it was, someone clearly thought that tutoring a werewolf was sufficient punishment.

Remus huffed and looked away.

His mum returned with the tea at that moment, and Black took his cup as graciously as sons of his ancient and noble house were no doubt taught. Remus took his own, mumbled his thanks, sipped, and burned his tongue. To his shame, his eyes filled with tears. He stared determinedly at his knees and wished he could shut his ears while his mum and Black chatted about how far along he was in the Standard Book of Spells series, which incantations he'd mastered and which ones he kept flubbing.

At length, Remus set his teacup down, rose, and without another word, went up to his room. He didn't bother turning on any lights, just flopped onto his bed and looked across the darkness at the window. There were frost flowers in the corners of the panes, and beyond the glass, snow was falling. Remus watched, easily mesmerized, and as he did, his heartbeat slowed to a regular thump.

His anger drained from him, but it seemed to have drained him of all other emotions. He was so tired. He hoped his mum would wait until tomorrow to berate him. Now he just wanted to lie still and be nothing but a pair of eyes watching the storm.

It was growing. Moments earlier, there'd been only a few fat flakes. Now the snow came down like an army of moths or a tattered white veil, blocking Remus's view of the treetops and chimney tops.

Someone knocked on the door. Remus said nothing, thought, Just let me be.

The door's hinges squeaked and Black said, "Look, I know this is rough and all, but it's not my fault."

"Rough," Remus snorted. The word clawed coming up, scraped his throat raw.

"Well, I can imagine. Believe me, there's all different sorts of rough. You should meet my family. My dad—"

"At least you've got one."

"Oh, shut up."

The door closed and Remus thought that Black had gone. But then the mattress dipped and Black said in a low voice, "Just shut up. If you really knew anything about the Blacks— Well. If you ask me, the law is complete rubbish and the bastards who made it know it. They can't keep you from getting a wand. Even if they decided you couldn't buy one at Ollivander's, there's at least a dozen ways to get one illegally. They obviously can't keep you from teaching yourself or getting someone to teach you. They can't stop you from going to Muggle school. They're just pretending they've got some power over you."

"Yes," said Remus.

"They're going to lose that power someday." Black's voice kept lowering until rustled like ash. "Listen."

"Don't. I don't care about any werewolf rights clubs you're in."

"It's more than a club," Black said.

"I said don't."

"Fine. But Remus."

"What?"

The air above him moved and he caught Black's scent: cigarettes, dried sweat, cold wool, and beneath that, something slightly spicy. Black's breath was lemony from the tea. "Just wait."

Remus clawed the blanket. "I do wait. That's all I do. Are you going to tell me why?"

He heard Black's breath hitch. Then he felt thin dry lips brush his cheek. They moved around the words, "I'm going to show you."

"You don't impress me," Remus said.

December, 1979

"You don't impress me." Remus had to shout, and even then he wasn't sure Sirius had heard.

The lazy smile slid wider and Sirius hooked his index fingers in Remus's belt loops and pulled him closer. Their hip bones bumped, then their noses, and then they were swaying together, no longer in time with the music that crashed and whined from the club's small stage. The band was mangling a carol, Remus noticed vaguely. He wasn't sure which and he couldn't think because Sirius had moved one of his hands to the back of his neck and was guiding his head down.

Sirius shirt hung open. Remus took a fold of the collar between his teeth and yanked it roughly, not caring that it was silk and probably expensive. There was a scar on Sirius's shoulder, thin as a hair, no longer than Remus's smallest finger. Remus licked it, but tasted only salty sweat.

Sirius had buried his fingers in Remus's hair and was stroking the dip at the base of his skull with his thumb. Remus allowed his head to be lowered until his mouth met Sirius's nipple, and there he latched on.

"Impressed?" he heard Sirius say under the wail of guitars.

No, he thought. Just hungry.

Sirius's body was slick and lean and feverishly pale under the strobe lights. He shivered when Remus licked him, tensed when Remus bit him, but he kept stroking with his thumb, kept grinding with his hips, and Remus thought, I could fuck you here, in front of everyone. Not that anyone was paying them much attention. I bet you'd let me.

He felt a surge of power. It caught him more quickly than the beers and the joint he'd had earlier, and tossed him higher. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt it, if he ever had.

Sirius brought his head back up and, bending close, said in his ear, "There's some place I want you to come with me. Tomorrow. Some people I want you to meet."

The power rippled in Remus. For weeks, he had known that Sirius belonged to some sort of secret wizard order, suspected that Sirius had been dropping hints deliberately. He'd kept his mouth shut because silence made Sirius uncomfortable and he almost always sought to fill it, even with things he'd probably be better off keeping to himself.

"I'll go with you," Remus said before he kissed Sirius's mouth.

December, 1980

"I'll go with you," Remus said, pushing back his chair.

"Not so fast." The other man's hand shot across the table, barely missing their empty glasses, and clamped around Remus's wrist. "I don't trust you."

"Any particular reason why not?" said Remus coolly.

"Yes. You're shagging one of them."

Remus chose not to waste time professing ignorance. "So? He's a good shag."

"You're a half-blood. You're a werewolf same as me. And you're a poof. And you're shagging one of them." The thick, nicotine-stained lips peeled back in a sneer.

Remus yanked his wrist free and placed his hands, palms up, on the table. "I am all of those things. D'you suppose people are lining up to shag me? I take what I can get. And I learn. Black talks a lot."

"Your mouth ain't the only thing open, yeah?"

Remus curled his fingers and pretended to study his nails. "Yes. I think you should take me with you. I think it would be to your master's advantage."

"Bugger my master." The werewolf laughed and waggled a finger. "And no, that wasn't an order. Dirty poof."

Remus kept smiling, but he felt something inside him sink. This was a lost cause. He could debase himself and prolong the exchange, but in the end, this werewolf would not take him to see his brethren in Voldemort's service, would not give him information that he could pass on to the Order of the Phoenix.

This was not Remus's fight. He liked James and Lily Potter and their infant son. He liked Peter Pettigrew well enough, and the Longbottoms, and the Prewitts, and Dumbledore. As for Sirius…

That night, he and Sirius tussled in bed, and if their mouths clung as they did, and if their erect cocks rubbed, it was still a tussle and each came away aching, roughened, bruised. "I should go," Remus mumbled as he half-fell out of bed, and reached for his pants.

Sirius's palm touched his back. "Where? And why?"

"Because." Remus raked his fingers through his hair. "Just because."

"It didn't go well today."

"No," said Remus. "I would say not."

"I don't care." Sirius's fingers moved up and down his spine. "D'you hear me? It's all right. We'll think of something else."

"Something that doesn't involve me."

"If you like."

"Sirius, I mean it." Remus turned, and Sirius's hand fell against the rumpled sheet. "This isn't my fight." The words cringed in his throat, but he forced them out. He was glad of the darkness; he couldn't see disappointment in the grey eyes. "I like all of you."

"You like us." The bitterness in his tone made Remus flinch.

"I care about what happens to you. I want you to win. Believe me. I shudder to think of what might happen if Voldemort wins—"

"But you won't do anything to stop him."

"I can't. Sirius, what can I do?" He turned away again, got off the bed, and began to gather the rest of his clothes. Because it was dark, he picked up Sirius's jumper by mistake, but instead of dropping it and searching for his own, he held it against his cheek.

"Stay."

It wasn't an answer to Remus's question and perhaps, he thought, Sirius hadn't one. The word, the plaintive tone, the scent of Sirius all over the jumper hooked his heart.

I have to go, he thought a little wildly. This isn't my fight.

He couldn't see the door. He thought, If I just start walking, I might miss it, might inadvertently turn around and end up back in bed.

"You fucking coward," Sirius said.

If he'd said, After all we've done for you, Remus would have found the door, darkness or no, and been gone. But Sirius did not go on, and the accusation slithered coldly along Remus's bare shoulders.

"It's not my fight," Remus said as if it were a mantra. "I'm not a complete wizard, no matter how much you've taught me. Most of you don't even think I'm a complete human being. Some don't think I'm completely male."

"I know you're completely male," said Sirius, and Remus could imagine the thin lips quirking. "I think you should stay."

"You think I should stay."

"Yes. Although, right now, to be honest, you sound like a whiny bitch. If I'd wanted a woman, I'd've found a real one. But I want you. That's why you should stay."

He didn't hear Sirius rise, and by the time Remus felt the puff of his breath on his neck, it was too late to run. Sirius put his hands on his hips. He let himself be turned, let himself be kissed.

"This isn't going to work," Remus said.

"Why not? Who cares what people think?"

"I do. And so do you."

"I care about what James and Lily think, and they love you. Who else matters? Dumbledore? Peter?"

"Me," Remus said, but he tilted his head, giving Sirius his throat.

"You." Sirius licked him from the soft skin behind his earlobe to his chin. "What," he murmured, giving Remus's lips a brief kiss before moving downward, "makes you think I care…?"

Remus put his hands on Sirius's shoulders and pushed him to his knees.

"Definitely male," Sirius chuckled. "Stay." Then he gripped Remus's thighs and took his cock in his mouth.

December 1982

"Stay," Sirius mumbled into his pillow.

Remus kissed his stubbled cheek. "We have to get up. It's half-eleven. The Potters will be here in an hour and a half."

"Two hours, at least. One o'clock normal time is at least two o'clock Lily-time."

"Even so."

Sirius muttered something indistinguishable and yanked the blanket up over his head.

Remus considered the situation. He could let Sirius sleep, and then deal with his harangue for giving him so little time to prepare for their guests. He could simply levitate the blanket; over the years he'd become adept at removing things that covered Sirius. Or he could let Padfoot handle things.

A few minutes later, Sirius was trying half-heartedly to fend off the exuberant affection of a small black puppy's pink tongue. "All right, I'm awake." He rolled over and caught the wriggling body. Padfoot licked his nose. "I'm awake. D'you know," he said, scratching the fuzzy fur on top of Padfoot's head, "I used to want to be a dog."

"I know," Remus said.

"I'm telling him. When I was small. Fancied the prospect of peeing on my dear mum's floor."

"And sniffing people's crotches?" Remus said.

"Just yours," replied Sirius, smiling. He relaxed his grip and Padfoot flopped out of his arms and onto the floor, where he ran in circles, clumsy because of the paws he'd yet to grow into. "I suppose I've got my pack, at least."

"You do," Remus assured him, and went to push the curtains aside. He heard Sirius swear at the sudden flood of light, and smiled because it was snowing, and nearly Christmas, and Sirius's pack was his too. The pack was smaller than it had been a little over a year ago, but Remus decided not to think about that just then. Voldemort was contained.

He thought instead about Sirius as a dog – a black dog with shaggy fur – bounding through moonlit snow, churning up powder that fell like ground crystal. He imagined a wolf running beside him.

12/20/06