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Reflections, Connections	By : JanisJ Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Remus/Sirius Views: 2666 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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- 1-Reflections, Connections
- 1
REFLECTIONS, CONNECTIONS

I sat in the small scantily padded chair, staring into the fireplace of Sirius’s bedroom at number 12 Grimmauld Place. I swirled the Old Ogden’s around in my glass as I became entranced with the dancing flames. I ruffled the wet curls off my neck from the shower (in which I’d taken care to clean out below, just in case), optimistically hoping to entice my lover into the mood and out of his gloom. Sirius was still up with Buckbeak in his mother’s old lair at the top of the stairs. I poured him a drink too, thinking he could use one when he finally came to bed. Molly called his dark moods ‘fits of the sullens’ but I knew it went beyond that; his being withdrawn over his safety imposed prisoner-like status in the house he grew up in and hated (but better than Azkaban, for sure) made him down-right seethe. Especially tonight, when he’d been unanimously shot down from accompanying the guard to go get Harry.

Harry. So like his father. Both Sirius and I marvel at the resemblance, physical and otherwise. I have no doubt with his strength of character during that puzzling dementor attack in Little Whinging. He’d even saved his dreadful (but innocent) cousin, although from what I hear, he had no real reason to want to help him. Much like he showed Wormtail mercy, (though more for our sakes, the true Marauders) on that wretched night the despicable rodent was discovered and escaped his miserable fate yet again. James was like that too; brave, noble, compassionate and fair-- And Lily even more so.

James. We remain connected with our fallen Marauder, even through death, but also, more solidly now in this realm through Harry. Oh, how I wish the boy could have known James! Some people thought Prongs was arrogant and conceited, but pride in oneself is not necessarily egotism if it’s justified and tempered with due humility. He had a brilliant mind, wicked sense of humor and a fierce loyalty. He was never condescending but always so confident and sure of his greatness. The only time I saw that certainty waver was before him and Lily got together and it looked as if she loathed him. I knew better, though. My wolf instincts informed me her fiery temper at him held an equally fiery passion. There really was so much love there, even from the beginning. Years later, I learned that it was pheromones that had told me.

Peter. I can’t reflect on the past without remembering his role in it all. Because of him Harry never knew his parents and Sirius and I lost two of the best friends we could ever have hoped to have. All of us connected in a horrible prophecy (actually two), with Wormtail’s betrayal the knife in the heart of it all! When I look back on when we were the four Marauders at Hogwarts, and a short time beyond, I wonder why Peter ever ran with us in the first place. I suppose it was by default, there were just us four of the same age in the same year, sharing the dorm room. James was gracious, and forever helping Wormtail to catch up with us. I think Sirius was just amused at the blatant flattery of his fawning all over us. I know I wasn’t too concerned one way or the other; he just seemed untalented and harmless enough, a tag-along, nothing more. I was too wrapped up in my own problems and then with Padfoot’s love to care.

But now, looking back, I wonder why I didn’t see Wormy’s creeping servility as ominous, his need for powerful protectors a weakness of character. The rest of us would have fought to the death for anyone in our circle (and two did)—We were bound by love in a unique brotherhood. But Peter had unbelievably forsaken that. Knowing what I know now, does it re-color my recollections of him? Were these signs we missed, obscured by friendship, that Voldemort would surely exploit? Peter had never really loved us, that much is obvious by his actions surrounding the events at Godric’s Hollow, but did the Dark Lord know that? Did that vile creature think he’d triumphed over the oldest magic of all? Did the slimy heir of Slytherin believe he’d defeated the truly true of heart? Has he ever stopped to consider it could be his ultimately mortal downfall?

Sirius. It all comes around to Padfoot. The love of my life. What would Voldemort make of the relationship that’s there? It is pure. Even after years of separation and mutual (albeit false) doubt? Estrangement or (misplaced) distrust did not kill it; it resumed in its intensity and exponentially expanded. We who stole the time to be our true selves when we were but babes, we who took too long to admit those bonds to ourselves that meant the flouting of convention, and then longer still to confess that profoundness to each other and not care what the world thought was correct…We who have arisen stronger despite all odds. My path with Padfoot reminds me of those lines in that song, ‘So much time to make up everywhere you turn. Time we have wasted on the way. So much water moving underneath the bridge. Let the water come and carry us away. So much love to make up everywhere you turn. Love we have wasted on the way….’ My blissful yet probing reflections of him were interrupted--

Sirius entered the room in a taciturn but towering temper, which I felt before I saw it written all over his face. The air crackled with a foreboding energy. “Imperterbatem!” he growled at the silver door handle, fashioned in the shape of a serpent. I rose and turned to see a turbulent whirlwind brewing behind his clouded eyes. I gestured silently to the chair and put the glass of firewhiskey I had waiting for him in his hand. He threw down the bloody towel he was holding (undoubtedly from wiping his hands after feeding the hippogriff dead rats) and tossed back the drink in one fell swoop. He poured another and downed it in one gulp too. “Grrrrummfff !” he grumbled, giving a shudder from his head to his hips and sank morosely into the chair by the fire.

I tentatively approached him. “Mr. Moony respectfully requests that Mr. Padfoot try to relax,” I said lightly, toying with our running joke of speaking formally, on the map and in writing notes in class back in our (relatively) carefree schooldays. Maybe if he was reminded of more whimsical times? I started to massage his shoulders behind him.

“Shut up, Mr. Lupin,” he responded coldly, not playing along in fun. He tried to shrug gruffly out of the ministrations of my hands but I pressed on and he relented. Oh, Ok. I re-evaluated his mood. Not just grumpy and frustrated. Angry. Stormy. Thunder was rumbling and boiling just beneath the surface. He viciously kicked the discarded dirty towel away with a toe.

“C’mon, by this time tomorrow we’ll have gotten Harry.” I soothed, trying to look on the bright side. I knew he was anxious to see his godson—we all were.

“What’s this ‘we’ shit?” he cut across with a snarl. “I have to stay locked up in here and be a good little boy! Dumbledore’s orders, right?” He sounded terribly sarcastic in his petulance. I knew he was scowling his handsome features into a frown.

“Either way, Harry will be back with us, just like we’ve wanted since summer began…” I pointed out, wondering how I could salvage this tenuous situation.

“Yeah, finally!” he grudgingly admitted, then yelled, “But only because the dementors forced Dumbledore’s hand!” I could see he would not be letting this go. “He wasn’t going to send the Order until the last possible moment!” He was venting his ire at injustice, and I let him. He needed to lance the boil of suppressed rancor that had built up inside him.

“Like I said, either way….” I murmured absently, allowing his bitterness to run its course. I continued rubbing his shoulders and running my fingers through his long hair, staring into the fire over the top of his head.

“Personally, I would welcome a dementor attack. It would break all this monotony quite nicely,” he mused in a reflective tone. There was a restless defiance in his voice.

“Padfoot! NO!” I was incredulous. Horrified. After all the healing it took after being in Azkaban! All the tenderness, and cherishing, and understanding it required to bring him back into a more sound and stable heart, mind and soul! He had been a broken man! I remembered the first time we were alone together (well, except for Buckbeak) in the cave above Hogsmeade. We had come together (and eventually) made love so delicately we were barely touching each other physically. We regarded each other as if we were made of fragile crystal and anything harder would shatter our souls into dust, like the miracle of our love and bodies commingling would turn out to be only an illusion. We have come a long way since then and Sirius feeling the force of rage was proof of that; he could fully feel and express emotions again (as much as was normal for him). And that was good, but be willing for dementors? “You can’t possibly mean that!”

“Don’t I?” He answered my shock calmly. “I could put up a good fight. I have my wand now,” He unsheathed his wand from his belt and gripped it tight with white knuckles, resting it on his knee. I knew now what had to be done. Gentleness just wouldn’t do. He seemed curious about my lack of attention when we both I realized I had stopped the caressing of his back, lost in thought. “Remus?”

I leaned down, knowing my hot breath on his neck would inflame him, “No, Love,” I paused for a heartbeat as he tensed in anticipation and then whispered huskily in his ear, “Ream me.”

He froze for a moment, then flew to his feet and whirled around in the split-second speed of a lightening crack. I saw the hurricane behind his eyes break and I staggered backward. He stepped up on the chair, put his foot down on the back, tipping and walking over it like a pirate or knight with sword drawn in those swash-buckling Muggle movies and came toward me, wand at the ready. I was impressed in my astonishment (that he actually had the coordination to pull that off and remain on his feet, but also, that he needed the most direct path to get at me) and I started laughing. I was immediately quieted from making any sound out of my mouth by Sirius’s tongue plundering in with a gale-force flurry; the tidal wave crashed.

He shoved me, harshly, square in the chest, down on the bed. He started ravishing me, ripping and lashing at me hungrily with his lips and teeth. He was crazy, wild and when he pulled away I could see the possessed madness in his eyes. His black hair was whipping about his flushed face and his breath was heavy. Sirius gripped my shoulders, twisted, and threw me face down with sensual severity. No, we both knew and wanted this time to have nothing to do with fondling affection face-to face-- this had everything to do with a rough and ragged shag. He forcibly dragged my body; waist to be bent at the edge of the bed, knees on the floor and frantically pushed my robes up and pajama bottoms down. My pulse was racing-- my most private parts were entirely exposed.

He pressed his left hand down on my back, digging in his fingertips so I wouldn’t move (as if I wanted to!) and felt the end of his wand unceremoniously reamed into my asshole. I felt rather than heard the incantation as my cavity was filled with a familiar slickness. Without preamble or gradual adjustment (again I was glad I’d cleaned out and done some preliminaries in the shower earlier), Sirius plunged in his rock-hard dick. I felt his shaft penetrate and sink deeply to the hilt, impaling me mercilessly, squishing the lubrication around him, up inside me and outside my opening. It made a rather rude noise, but I didn’t care, it just turned me on more. The crinkling hair at the base of his cock tickled my spread cheeks. I let out a wonderful tortured groan and he did too.

Sirius didn’t waste any time and began pumping. He grabbed my left hip with one hand and traced a circle with his other palm on my right buttock and slapped lightly, knowing I love that. I yelped with longing, clutching and yanking the blanket shoved in my face up around my mouth with my fists. I pretended I was trying to muffle my whimpers and whines, but I wasn’t, really—we both wanted to hear it. As he stepped up his pace of thrusting, with me pushing back at every stroke, he started slapping me harder; I was reminded of a relentless rider, spurring his steed on faster by swatting its rump. Every buck of his hips brought his pulsating prick to brush against that button of pleasure that was deeply buried within me (that we had discovered together during our seventh year at school). I briefly wondered if that center of ecstasy was something akin to a clitoris in women, but the thought was vanished as soon as it had flitted along, lost in the incoherency of the moment. The entire universe was Sirius. There was nothing else.

My throbbing boner was rubbing inevitably on the edge of the bed. “Fuck me! Fuck me!” I hoarsely screamed, my breath forced from me at each jolt. “Pound me!” I pleaded in a moan from the back of my throat. His fingers tore at me in excitement. I could feel his balls patting lightly against mine in his fury and Sirius’s breath was coming out in grunts and yowls. I could tell he was close too. “Pa-…Siri-…” I panted incomprehensibly, unable to articulate his name. From somewhere above me, I could hear “Re-! Yeeeeeah….YEAH!” and felt another spank burn on my bum. I can’t be sure of all the noises we made, but if the door hadn’t have been imperturbed, it would have sounded to the rest of the household like a wolf and a dog having one fantastically maniacal fight. Actually, that assessment wouldn’t be too far off. We were beyond simple love making and pleasuring—we were utterly insane.

Sirius reached around and grabbed my straining erection in his fist and when he did so, I fired off, rendering the bedclothes soggy. As I cast off my climax of hot, sticky jizz, I felt his wrenching jerks just then in the sensitive muscles of my ass and sighed. My breath gasped in some exquisite aftershocks as he twitched his last and slumped over me in exhaustion. “Love, Moony, love….” He mumbled into my back, the bruises already forming from the passionate manhandling.

It took some time to catch our breaths. We crawled up to lie on the bed properly and Sirius rested his head endearingly on my shoulder. I knew I’d be sore tomorrow, and riding a broom with the Order guard was going to make the trip a right pain in the ass, but it didn’t matter—with Sirius, snuggling against me, sighing in contentment-- it was completely worth it.

“It’ll be great to see Harry again,” he said quietly, as if reading my thoughts about the impending journey.

“Oh, so you’re already thinking of another guy?” I teased, giving him squeeze and kissing him on the forehead.

“You know what I mean!” He playfully punched my shoulder. “You know, he’s about the same age as we were when we got together.” He said thoughtfully. “Uhm-hum.” I answered sleepily, kissing him again.

“I was thinking earlier, when I was taking care of Beaky, that I think love might be the answer. It saved me when we were at Hogwarts, and again, after Azkaban.” When I didn’t object or even reply, he carried on, “And moldy old Voldy is stymied and perhaps incapacitated by it….” He looked up at my chin, with a hopeful expression. I chuckled softly at both his description of the dastardly serpent/man and his now positive line of thinking. “I think we’re connected by more than just the physical realm,” he said, getting philosophical. “There are mysteries, and bonds, and love that can’t be quantified….”

“I was just thinking that before you came back from tending to Buckbeak! Parallel thoughts strike the canine Marauders again!” I cried in happiness, punching my free fist in the air in (somewhat) mock triumph, even though all my limbs were leaden. It was true, our best defense would be pure love, no matter what form it takes.

“Maybe Harry will fall in love with someone and the force of that all-encompassing power will be with him, so he can defeat the evil,” Sirius mused. (I was strongly reminded of a Muggle movie I’d seen in which the characters call the ‘goodness’ of the universe ‘the force’ and wish it to ‘be with you’ and had to stifle a giggle. Although I supposed, collectively, all those hero-archetypes had some basis in reality, whether we’re aware of it or not, enough to span all our human consciousnesses). “If he finds a true love soul connection like we have,” my Padfoot continued, “You know, beyond just his friends and family, I bet he could defeat that bastard once and for all.” Sirius yawned and closed his eyes.

“Yes, Sweetness, I believe you’re right.” I hugged him close and he flopped a tired arm over my waist. I burrowed my nose in his damp hair and inhaled his musky scent deeply, “Love is the key.”
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Reflections, Connections