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Of Truths	By : Kaivic Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2449 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
A/N: Well, this perhaps is the fastest I’ve ever updated! Fourteen pages! I’m so proud of
myself! I would like to thank KiaraNxair for the wonderful review on aff.net! It really
strived me to finish this chapter faster!

I’m also working another more Remus-centric story. Remus/OMC of course. I just feel
that there aren’t enough OMCs in the world. But, there is some het. Canon het and
Remus/OFC het.

By the way, since someone emailed me on it, ‘Uldaricus’ is Latin for ‘Ulrike’, which is
why Sirius also referred to him as Ulrike. I chose this name because it was different and
was similar to Darius. Also, I realise that Severus has an enormous family (two pairs of
triplets! Good God, Septimus!) And I am also writing a story to explain that. Triste
(Octavius’ mother), Septimus, and Severin are actually Severus’ elder half-siblings.

Of Truths

Chapter 5: Lust

“Why do I have to do it? Regulus is more—”

Luciana turned abruptly, her expression lethal, red lips curled into a feral snarl.
“Regulus is not spending Yule with us. You are doing it because I said so!”

Of course Regulus wasn’t spending Yule with them, he was too busy with his Death Eater
friends. He pitied him before, but now he just failed to. Sirius snorted, folding his arms,
and growled, “You don’t control me—” He was silenced by long fingers clutching his
forearm in a deathly tight grip and the wand jabbed into his cheek, knocking painfully
into a molar.

“I know hexes you’ve never even heard of, boy,” his mother hissed, her face closing in
on Sirius’, and he had to admit he’d never seen her so savage, “You damned well better
listen to me now, because I’m going to say this only once, you hear? I hate you.” The
comment stung just a bit and Sirius’ eyes widened beneath his mother who seemed much
taller and powerful than him. “You are lucky that I keep you under this roof. An
embarrassment to this family, you are, but at least Uldaricus knows his place.” The wand
was pushed further and Sirius could feel his skin break from the pressure of his mother’s
nails delving into his arm. “You ever touch that boy again I will not hesitate to use an
Unforgivable on you, you understand? Now get your arse in there and patch him up, this
damn instant.”

She forced Sirius back and he staggered a bit until he regained his balance, his left hand
reaching up to his right arm to where Luciana held him, panting audibly. He glanced up
to his mother with wide eyes, in disbelief, but she only glared unrelentingly. Something
warm slipped down his cheek, stopping at the corner of his mouth, slipping into the
crease between his two lips, and his tongue peeked out and swiped the saline liquid, his
body trembling as he deciphered what it was.

He was crying.

Luciana looked victorious at the discovery and sneered before turning on her heel, the
metal clacking tauntingly on the beryl green stone flooring. The sway of her hips, the
fluttering of her burgundy robes, it was all to taunt him, make fun of him. “He’s taking a
bath,” she said as she departed further down the hall toward the library.

Sirius sniffled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his robes. “Bitch!” he yelled out behind
her, but she only gave a cruel, feminine laugh, glancing over her shoulder at him with a
smirk on her lips.

“You better get in there boy.”

Then she was gone, turning right and going down another hall. Fresh tears streamed
down both sides of his face, his eyes blinking at the slight burn that he ended with, but he
turned and went the opposite direction, heading toward Uldaricus.

---

Sirius breached Darius’ mouth and curled his tongue wildly around all he could touch,
tongue, lips, teeth, savouring the soft traces of coffee that still coated his cousin’s mouth
for that was the first and possibly last time would be able to plunder his mouth, feel him,
experience him entirely. Darius himself was still unsure of what to do, push Sirius off or
tear at his robes, and he remained still and rigid beneath him, letting the elder devour him
while he desperately tried to sort out the rampaging confusion of thoughts and emotions
that meshed in his mind.

Sirius’ tongue, though, oddly inexperienced most likely from his long stay in Azkaban,
felt rather good as it stroked messily behind his ears and down his neck. His touch was
different from that incident those days ago. They seemed eager and sincere and Darius
had never felt anything like it, not with that intensity.

A small yet open-mouth kiss was pressed against the nape of his neck, and Sirius nuzzled
the spot and breathed in Darius scent, finally calming from his possessed state. His
hands, however, still moved albeit at a slower pace, unbuttoning the younger’s shirt,
lazily stroking his chest. He expected to feel the sharp slap of his hand against his face, or
perhaps a punch to leave a bruise, anything expressing how disgusted Darius was. He
hesitated and hastily pulled himself off of him, refusing to look at the younger’s face, too
ashamed of himself. He hated him even more, he should, rightfully so. He’d just forced
him, forced himself on him. He was a sick, sick, sick—

“Kiss me.”

Sirius flinched and stared down with wide eyes at his cousin. Darius smiled his best, no
teeth but a slight curve of lips, and Sirius decided that he was gorgeous like that, hair
tussled and lips candy red, cheeks flushed and his shoulder bare, his shirt collar pushed
low to expose just a bit of clavicle. And he was hard, his baby cousin, a noticeable tent in
his trousers. “W-what?”

Darius shyly? flashed a bit of teeth, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Kiss me,” he
whispered sensually, the only thing expressing his confidence, “Kiss me again.” His
sureness sent tingles down Sirius’ spine and he was positive the man was a god in what
he did, not that he was incertain the slightest before. It was just an affirmation of what he
saw and knew, and the truth drew him in, drew him in to press his lips against those
petal-soft ones, and he groaned as that pink tongue passed them to meet his that eagerly
curled with it.

He felt the smile against his skin as Darius began to undo the buttons of Sirius’ haggard
robes, tugging them off slowly, his fingers scorching Sirius’ skin when contact was
made. “I want you so badly,” Sirius whispered hoarsely, breaking the kiss, tossing his
robes to the side along with Darius’, “I’ve always wanted you, for so fucking long.”

Darius paused from sweeping kisses along his jawbone, but kept his lips crushed against
it as he said, “Tell me, how did you know?”

Sirius gave that pale shoulder a kiss, probing his mind for any memories of seduction that
Azkaban might have hidden. “Know what?”

Darius paused again, but for a longer period, before drawing Sirius down against him.
“Hm,” he hummed, his fingers working on the zipper of Sirius’ dark y-fronts. But the
groan that followed he’d grasped his cousin’s erection did not please him the slightest,
not when that same voice uttered those horrid words that haunted him:

“Isn't it boring to call a dead man's name after coming? They can't call yours back.”

He hasn’t—would never—how did he—damn him.

“Who’s room?”

“Yours?”

---

Darius was doing this for the sake of Auntie and the continuation of the Black family. If
it wasn’t for that he would have ever thought of degrading himself as he was, letting
Sirius, Sirius, ram into him as he was, the force of his thrusts threatening to smash his
skull against the foot of the bed if Darius didn’t find a way to anchor himself. He gripped
the polished wood as solidly as possible without breaking any nails to the skin. It hurt,
yet it hurt so good as he dove in and out of him at a maddening pace, his balls slapping
his thighs almost as loud as the bed groaned beneath them.

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” Every time the word was repeated in Sirius’ hoarse chant above
him it rose ever so slightly in pitch, and was often cut into by gasps and grunts. Really, at
the current moment Sirius couldn’t give one of his ‘shit’s to whether Darius was enjoying
himself or not.

Darius’ foot flexed behind Sirius’ thick, dishevelled hair when he gave a particularly
rough thrust that shoved the headboard against the wall behind Sirius with a large thump.
Sirius murmured something unintelligible as his eyes remained fixated at the way Darius
slim hips (he really needed to eat more; he looked too thin) gyrated in time with his
thrusts, and it was so unbelievably tight in his baby cousin, his velvety walls surrounding
him so pleasantly.

He felt jealous of Regulus, there in heaven or hell or wherever the hell he was, for being
able to experience that tight heat every day since the age of fourteen. And Darius was
making the most delicious expressions and noises, his teeth sinking into his swollen
bottom lip, humming his approval in his throat.

“Mmm . . . Sirius . . .!” Scream his name, beg for ‘more’ and ‘faster’ and ‘harder’ and
‘fuck me’, and he’ll move faster, come faster, so Darius could get this over with faster.
“Fuck me, yes, yes!”

And sure enough, Sirius gave a sharp intake of breath that melted into a moan, slamming
in once more before going rigid. The look of bliss that crossed his face seemed almost
painful, lips pulled back in a grimace of sorts, and he could only compare it to that of a
teenage boy undergoing his first climax. It would be a rather unkept and morose looking
boy, yes, but a boy nonetheless, eyes becoming bright and cloudy when that tingling
pleasure elicited crisp white stars behind them. He couldn’t help but heave a deep sigh,
not quite of irritation, yet not quite of relief, as Sirius sank down upon him, his breath
foul and spiced with brandy.

Darius knew at once that Sirius wasn’t even going to attempt to bring him off when he
slid out slowly (but not slow enough and Darius winced), gently moved Darius’ leg from
his shoulder, and slumped on top of his smaller body once again, bearing a sated lopsided
grin. The younger tipped Sirius’ open mouth to the side by the chin with his forefinger
(Really, the man has absolutely no consideration . . .), and he finally realised just how
very hot it was, their skins flush against each other. He was tempted to just up and leave
Grimmauld itself, he was pregnant, Sirius was no longer any use to him, but he was far
too tired, his eyes already heavy and ready for post-sex sleep, no matter whether he had
came or not.

And in truth, he couldn’t quite move, Sirius’ limbs intertwined so intricately with his, hot,
sweaty, his thighs slick with Sirius’ spunk, his cousin’s gaunt hands tugging none too
gently in his hair. He couldn’t quite breathe let alone move.

Yet . . . yet Sirius’ embrace was rather comforting, like cuddling a dishevelled dog or
being cuddled like a child’s favourite teddy bear. And it didn’t feel too bad to have Sirius
nuzzling his neck, his facial hair scratching his neck quite nicely. The simple rhythm of it
all lulled Darius into an unworried slumber.

---

He didn’t even take care to knock at the door before entering, he was far too angry to
even care. He simply threw the door open, eliciting a small cry from the inhabitant. He
took a single step in and slammed the door behind him, eyes narrowing at the horrified
boy inside of the bathtub. Uldaricus’ grey eyes were full as he looked up at him in his
fetal position, his head resting on his knees, a long reddish slash along his left cheek. He
didn’t look wet the slightest from above the waist, save for his hair that fell over his eyes
that began to water, and he was visibly shivering as if he’d been outside in the snow that
was falling.

Sirius’ eyes widened at the quaking of the lad’s legs in the thinly reddened water,
additional cuts along his body giving off little spirals of blood that dissipated in the
water. “You—You idiot! Get out of there!” The boy didn’t move for a second but then
began to slowly rise from the icy water, frustratingly slow, and before he could stop
himself, Sirius was pulling him out by his underarms, his body quivering like a leaf
caught in a rainstorm. Uldaricus staggered somewhat when his feet touched stone and
then took refuge in Sirius’ chest, grasping his shirt for dear life with his good hand, his
broken arm in a makeshift cast, no matter what happened earlier, and the elder could not
do anything but leave him there, supporting a person in peril one of the many weaknesses
of every Gryffindor.

“Idiot,” he repeated, his hand instinctively going to the younger’s hair, his Muggle tee
shirt clinging to his body where his tears soaked through, “What the hell were you
thinking taking a cold bath in December? Were you trying to get hypothermi—”

“I’m sorry,” Uldaricus said softly, his voice muffled by his cousin’s shirt, “I tried to get
out of the attic without Auntie noticing. I tried hiding it behind my back, but she wouldn’t
let me go up the stairs until I showed it to her and she pulled it from behind me.” So
that’s what he was trying to do. Sirius and James had tried to keep him in the attic when
he stumbled toward the exit after they’d pulled him out from under some suitcases and
statues, thinking he was going to tell his mother, trying to find a spell to heal the arm
before she could find out.

It was a simple plan really. Uldaricus seemed rather attached to the attic and was often
up there when Regulus was gone, and all they had to do was charm a metre long rubber
snake James had bought from his Muggle cousin and scare the shit out of the child.
Simple.

But it had ended disastrously. Uldaricus had just gotten up there and was walking
toward the window when James released the snake, Peter making an impressive
impersonation of a snake’s hiss. It was brilliantly perfect; the snake slithering up behind
him, Peter giving a hiss with each curve, and Uldaricus froze and glanced behind him
slowly. He didn’t scream as they had hoped, but whimpered loudly, taking an unsteady
step back, his heel not touching the ground but landing directly on the edge of a suitcase
and he stumbled backward, his head hitting the base of a statue which fell directly upon
him, along with a horde of suitcases and busts that it was holding up, the deafening
sounds covering the lad’s small cry.

“Shit!” James squalled, popping up from behind the small wall of cases the three had
made, springing over it with Peter following close behind. Sirius only stood as they
began to uncover Uldaricus, too petrified to move, his blood frozen in his veins, his heart
trying furiously to keep the blood flowing even in its state. James paused and looked up
at him, his expression seeming wild, his glasses askew and his hair falling haphazardly
on his sweaty forehead, “Why the fuck are you just standing there, Padfoot?! Help us
dammit!”

Sirius pulled himself together and stepped forward and helped Peter lift a bust of his
uncle, but then James reached Uldaricus before them, drawing him out from the
remaining objects and cradling him gently in his arms. Sirius dropped whatever he was
holding then and looked at Uldaricus in silent terror. He looked unconscious, James
slapping his uninjured cheek to rouse him, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest the only
thing that signalled that he was alive. Upon his other cheek, however, was a rather long
slice, blood slowly trickling down to the lad’s lips, but it wasn’t jagged the slightest like
one would have expected. It was a clean, straight slit as if cut by a blade.

“It was this one, I think,” Peter said behind him, reading his mind, trying his best to haul
up the first statue that Uldaricus had knocked into: a stone griffin with a razor-sharp
beak and talons, surely able to be used as a weapon with those alone other than its
weight.

“Who cares what the hell did it? He's bleeding all the same!” James yelled, ripping the
bottom of his shirt and wrapping it around Uldaricus’ right arm which Sirius now
noticed was limp and bloodied, “Look through those books and find a damn spell to fix
broken arms, or at least stop the bleeding!” Peter went straight for the jump, moving to
the opposite wall and searched through the shelves of books that were there, but Sirius
couldn’t tear himself away from James and Uldaricus, especially after Uldaricus became
aware of his surroundings, and even more the pains about his body.

James looked positively ecstatic, his face breaking into a grin. “Attaboy,” he said.
Uldaricus let out a small wail, and James promptly covered his mouth. “Shh. Shh.
C’mon, don’t cry. I know, it hurts. Shh, it’s all right.” Sirius could see tears flowing
down the nine-year-old’s cheeks, his small whimpers still heard, albeit muffled by James’
hand, and then, seeing that that tactic wasn’t working, James held him closer and did
something that Sirius would have ever thought him to do.

He sang.

He sang low and nearly inaudible, but he was still singing. It was a lullaby, like the ones
his mother used to sing to Regulus when he was just a baby, all about how things were
good and how much he was loved. James’ voice was hoarse, cracking ever so slightly as
he tried to sing without being heard, yet still heard, but it was still pleasant all the same.
Uldaricus’ eyes widened, just as wide as Sirius’ were, and he seemed to settle down, the
wild muffling from before no longer.

James made an excellent older brother, he did, albeit he had only an elder sister. Sirius
couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as James held Uldaricus close, rocking him
gently, stopping his crying so easily. He was never able to do that, because he had never
treated anyone as an older brother would, seeing that he paid more attention to his own
wants and doing the opposite of what his mother wished. It was too late to change,
though: Regulus was too far gone and Uldaricus couldn’t stand being in the same room
with him without Luciana, Regulus, or Andromeda and Narcissa.

And he felt it then, the jealousy, the anger, the guilt, as Uldaricus clung to his abdomen,
so desperately in need of love he went to the person he hated the most, and Sirius hadn’t
a clue what to do other than pat his head clumsily. There were no words he could say
because they always came out wrong, and no song he could sing because he knew none.
That’s when he remembered the boy’s threat of hypothermia, his thighs quivering against
his own clothed ones, and he pushed him away, not harshly, just so that he was out of the
way as he reached for a towel hung neatly by the mirror to his left. Uldaricus said
nothing as the towel was wrapped around his shoulders, covering everything above the
waist, but nothing below. Sirius didn’t dare to wander below this point, though he wished
to for the oddest reason. He shuddered at his thoughts. He sounded like the perverted old
man who lived next door to Remus.

He directed the boy through the door at the left as well, behind him, hands on his
shoulders, into his bedroom. Sirius took care to examine the dark room, this being his
first, and perhaps last, time ever stepping foot inside. It seemed rather simple, or as
simple as a Black bedchamber could be: stone walls painted white especially for
Uldaricus, a large mirror to the right, opposite of the main entrance, not the bathroom
entrance, reaching from floor to ceiling, a rosewood dresser painted black, a green
armchair beside the bed, the floor was beryl green as the rest of the house, and his bed
was a king, clothed with emerald green sheets, pillows, and quilt that bore the Black
crest, just like any bed in Grimmauld, save for Sirius’ which were a deep, taunting,
rebellious red.

“Go by the bed,” Sirius ordered a bit too coldly and commanding, going towards the
dresser beside the bathroom entrance without turning on a light, fishing out basic
underwear, dark socks, and light blue nightclothes, something he most likely brought
with him when he first arrived. He tossed them to Uldaricus who caught them easily,
silently. “You need to get thicker clothes, y’know—” he turned his head slightly to see
him and was greeted head-on by Uldaricus’ crotch, his cock bobbing as he slipped his
legs into his underwear, snow white in contrast to the dark space, only some shafts of the
light of the crescent moon outside lighting very little, shadows of the snow that fell
clearly visible. He blinked and got a good glimpse of it anew before it was covered by
cotton.

Dear Merlin, he was already growing pubic hair.

In truth, it didn’t look like it was ‘already growing’, it looked more like it already had for
quite some time. He noticed the dark hair on his chest, the fine hair on his arms and legs,
and his neatly trimmed, not shaven, underarms then, startled. He even knew how to take
care of it. He himself had reached puberty when he was twelve, a year earlier than any
Gryffindor in his year. Luciana thought he had gotten it early, but wait until she saw
Uldaricus.

He must have been staring for quite awhile, because he barely noticed Uldaricus staring
back, fully clothed and curious. He shook his head slightly and smiled bitterly to himself
before saying, “Don’t just stare at me, get into bed.” The last he checked it was eleven
o’clock at night, so the best thing to do would be to just send him to bed until Luciana
came. Uldaricus obeyed and climbed on his bed and snuggled under the covers as Sirius
walked to the side of the bed and took a seat in his armchair. She would be there any
second and might have thought Uldaricus had done everything by himself if he’d left. He
sighed and kneaded his eye, it heavy from weariness, wondering where the hell his
mother was.

He opened his untouched eye to the bed and Uldaricus was looking directly at him,
looking absolutely wide awake. “Go to sleep, Ulrike,” Sirius said gruffly, slumping
further into the chair, closing his eyes. Uldaricus must have rolled over from the rustling
of the covers that he heard. He drifted to sleep within the next few minutes, tired,
stressed, pissed.

---

Sirius wearily opened his eyes to the first honey-coloured shafts of sunlight that streamed
through the billowing curtains of the large windows, conveying the possibility of a
gorgeous summer day. He groaned at the sharp throbbing of his temple, a sure sign that
he’d been drinking the evening before which wasn’t very unlikely.

He dismissed it lightly, however, as well as his odd state of dress, and snuggled more
against the pillow, eyes slipping shut once again. He’d had the most brilliant dream about
Darius, not the same as the recurring ones from before, but held the same concept: he’d
fucked Darius.

A bitter smile crept along his lips as his hand kneaded at his eye. He was still a sick fuck;
Azkaban made sure to keep that implanted in him, unsurprisingly. But Darius felt so
bloody good beneath his fingers and called his name so sweetly and hotly he was starting
to fail to care. But it was just a dream. Just a dream . . .

As his mind cleared from the fuzziness of sleep and the throbbing, he took notice that the
pillow was perhaps too soft and there too many coverings on the bed, and his side a bit
too warm. He blinked and the ceiling was painted in an even, yet somewhat soiled coat of
white which, to his distress, was present in only one room in the entire house. His chest
tightened eliciting a sharp pain there as he cautiously twisted his neck to the right.

And sure enough, he was greeted with the slumbering face of his baby cousin, softened
and lighthearted, mouth fairly slack, expelling light snores. Occasionally he would wet
his lips, his tongue peeking out before he returned to snoring in peaceful sleep. Sirius was
crossed between horror, disgust, and awe as he watched him sleep, curled in a fetal
position. He had to be dreaming, had to be . . .

He swallowed thickly and timidly reached his hand towards his face. Once his fingertips
touched that feather-soft flesh, he pressed lightly into it, just to make sure his fingers
wouldn’t sink in and induce Darius’ body to dissipate into the air like a gas. It didn’t,
though, and instead roused the sleeping younger. His eyes fluttered open, a soft grey,
hazy with sleep, and Sirius’ breath hitched as they contemplated him with difficulty.

“Hey—” Sirius started after a while, unsure of what else to say.

To his dismay, Darius’ face hardened just as it was the day he’d arrived, his eyebrows
creasing and his eyes visibly sharpening. “Sirius,” he said just as hard though it was no
more than a whisper. He turned his head and silently began to rise, Sirius’ hand sliding
off easily for Sirius was too much in shock to move at all, his eyes wide and bright. “Do
you know what time it is?” This was followed by silence and Darius glanced over his
shoulder still bearing that indifferent expression. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.”

He made to get up from the bed, the crisp white sheets slipping from his body, exposing
that beautifully slim body to Sirius’ sober mind, but Sirius lunged at his arm desperately,
pulling him back down to the mattress. “Wait,” he breathed hoarsely, the sudden physical
movement making him pant, “Wait. Did what happened last night really happen?”

Darius frowned slightly. “Yes,” he finally answered.

“And, and you let me, right? Do those things to you.”

Darius nodded.

Sirius licked his lips and leaned in close. “But you didn’t come, did you?”

“I have to go to work—”

“Did you?” Sirius said a bit more forcefully, tugging Darius down.

Darius hesitated from answering, his mind muddled from the distressful tone in Sirius’
voice as though he were ashamed of himself for not making sure he got off. Sirius
couldn’t really care, could he? “No,” he admitted finally, nerved by the way his cousin
stared at him.

Sirius swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing to Darius’ fascination, and his thin hand
crept to the back of his head, cupping it and pulling him down for a chaste kiss. “I’m
sorry,” he mumbled, his other hand slithering down Darius’ side to his hip as he kneeled
on the bed, “Let me fix that.” He stole another kiss, much deeper and passionate this
time, their tongues fighting against each other, randy like their were teenagers, and
Darius couldn’t believe he was giving in to his cousin who wrapped a hand around his
growing erection.

“Sirius—Sirius, we shouldn’t—work—late—fired—Lucius—”

“Bullshit ‘Lucius’,” Sirius growled, mimicking Lucius’ name, nipping at his clavicle and
stroked firmer albeit clumsier, “He doesn’t control you life.” He drew Darius closer,
licking sloppily on the bruises that he’d decorated his neck with the night before, kissing
them lightly. Darius clung to the Animagus’ chest, sighs and gasps escaping his lips
despite himself, and he just felt so angry that he’d surrendered without the slightest fight
and allowed Sirius to have his way with him once again, but just the fact that Sirius had
dropped his pride to for him softened Darius’ own. Perhaps Azkaban was a good thing . .
.

“B-but he controls whether I get paid or not and I’m not rich and we should really stop.
Really.” His sentences were blending as he neared completion, breathing hotly in the
crook of Sirius’ neck, appreciating Sirius’ hand moving from his hair and moving to
splay on the centre of his back, drawing him closer.

And Sirius felt as if he were going to die having his cousin, little Darius, in his arms
willingly, groaning and writhing for him, big bad Sirius. He sighed and inhaled the slight
nutty and sweaty scent of his dark hair. He loved having him like this, loved seeing that
face melted in bliss, loved the way his body twisted and tightened and jerked,
and—and—

Darius gave a sharp hiss as he came, his joints taut and twitching, and Sirius held him
tighter, crushing him to his chest, his pace slowing, milking him. Darius’ head lolled to
Sirius’ shoulder as his breathing steadied, but he refused to acknowledge the gaze that
burned his skin.

He refused to acknowledge that it was Sirius.

---

Where the hell is he?

Sirius crept down the corridors of Grimmauld Place in search of Uldaricus after having
awoken to an empty bed before him. He really just wanted to head straight to his room
and go back to sleep, but he knew Luciana would be on his case about it once he awoke if
she ever found Uldaricus without Sirius with him. That slap from earlier was only a taste
of what was to come if he disobeyed any of her orders on this particular morning before
dawn. He shuddered; the cane was the last thing he needed.

He searched all he could, carefully avoiding going anywhere near the library, until he
came to hear the stifled and choked sound of a weeping child emitting from,
unsurprisingly, Regulus’ bedroom. Sirius slowly opened the door a crack and peered in
to find Uldaricus bawling into Regulus’ pillow, gripping it as if his life depended on it.
He was simply pathetic, this boy, and Sirius was crossed between disgust and pity. Just
how much did Uldaricus love Regulus?

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, shutting the door behind him. Uldaricus flinched
and looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, turning his head up from the pillow his
face was previously buried in. “Do you have any idea how much shit I can get in with
you running off like that?” Uldaricus sniffled and tears streamed from his eyes anew.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whimpered, clutching the pillow tighter. Sirius didn’t respond, instead
watching him with hard eyes. Inside however his Gryffindor side was forcing him to
crumble like sugar at the frightened and tormented face of the boy before him. Really, he
was such an arse to make a nine-year-old cry like that. He swallowed thickly. “I can’t
sleep,” the younger continued.

“And why not?” he demanded, harshly, though it was obvious why he couldn’t.

“Regulus,” Uldaricus mumbled.

“And what will make you go to sleep?”

“Regulus.” Ouch. Okay.

Sirius sighed, scratching his head before hesitantly taking a seat on the edge of the bed.
Uldaricus silenced and sniffled when a hand ruffled his hair. He looked up at Sirius with
those full, innocent eyes, and Sirius found that he was the one who couldn’t match the
other’s gaze. “Look, Ulrike, if you hadn’t noticed, Regulus isn’t here at the moment.
What else will help you sleep?”

Uldaricus shrugged slightly, his eyes full of awe at the kindness Sirius was showing him,
his hand stroking his forehead gently. He was rather sweet once Sirius pushed away his
hatred of him, so sweet like Regulus was. And there was only one thing that Sirius could
do to get Regulus to sleep when he was Ulrike’s age, or at least the age of which
Uldaricus acted.

“C’mere,” he muttered, hoisting his legs on the bed and pulled Uldaricus upon his lap,
awkwardly encircling his arms around in an embarrassing embrace. The younger
snuggled closer to him, bringing his knees up against Sirius’ thighs, looking utterly
endearing as he became more and more comfortable with his company. It seemed so very
strange to Sirius that this little boy was going to admitted into Hogwarts in a mere two
years or so.

“You want to hear a story?”

“Uh-huh.”

Sirius found himself reciting The Ugly Duckling without realising it, avoiding Uldaricus’
gaze as he spoke. The child felt so warm in his lap against the cold of winter, and he
ended up petting him like a kitten, lifting his knees so that his baby cousin slid closer to
him.

“I like that story,” Uldaricus said once he had concluded the story.

“Yeah?” Sirius yawned.

Uldaricus nodded, echoing his yawn cutely. “It like me. The duckling.”

There was a pause, then, “You’re not an ugly duckling, Ulrike,” Sirius mumbled
drowsily, wrapping Ulrike a bit closer, his head slipping to the side and his eyes
fluttering shut as he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

---

He ached all over, from his pounding head to his sore feet, littered with bruises from
overly eager kisses and thin lines from where Sirius’ jagged, bitten nails sliced at him.
Once he glanced at himself while taking the sparkling dishes from the cupboard to dish
out breakfast for both he and his cousin, he wasn’t quite sure if he was fucked or beaten.
He ghosted his hand over his cheek and sure enough it was his face, not some illusion or
trick. He inwardly groaned for Lucius would be seeing these small inflictions soon
enough, and what the man would say . . .

“I’m sorry.”

Darius glanced over his shoulder at his cousin who sat at the kitchen table looking rather
sullen and guilty much to Darius’ surprise. They’d barely spoken as they awkwardly
dressed and went their separate ways, Darius for a shower and Sirius, oddly, to finish
unpacking the food from the night before. Darius met him there in the kitchen when he
had just finished with the last paper bag, and silently began making breakfast for them
both, and Sirius said nothing to this to Darius’ relief. “Sorry for what?” Darius responded
slowly, looking away and scraping the remaining eggs that stuck to the pan into his plate,
“I told you, I did this willingly.”

“I mean . . . for everything.”

“Everything . . . ?”

“I’ve done my fair share in fucking you up, haven’t I? I shouldn’t have blamed it all on
Reg. If I wasn’t such an arsehole what happened last night would have never happened at
all, and you wouldn’t be late for work.” His thoughts were running together and it
seemed that these words were thought over beforehand, but were having difficulty
coming out right. There then was a sigh. “So, I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.”

There was silence as Darius placed Sirius’ plate before him, and then, “I’m not late for
work.” He placed his own plate down but made his way back towards the sink. He
stiffened as hands cautiously encircled his mid-section and there was a chin in the crook
of his neck, stiff facial hair on the sensitive flesh.

“But do you forgive me?” Sirius breathed, his arms tightening just a bit more, “Tell me
you do.”

Darius wanted to forgive, he sincerely did. And he really wanted to simply melt into
those arms, holding him securely yet carefully, as if he were as fragile as glass or linen,
able to shatter easily, be torn easily. He loved that touch, he realised, and his eyelids
lowered ever so slightly, burning suddenly with the possibility of tears. But his pride
stopped him from giving in; Auntie stopped him from giving in. Those hands brushed
over his flat stomach, where there would soon be a child, his child, their child, but Sirius
was to never know. He was to never spread the influences of James Potter unto the new
heir of the Black family; he couldn’t get too close to Sirius. Auntie wanted it that way.

“No,” he mumbled, barely audible, placing his hands over those larger, rough ones, so
cold, so icy cold, and softly pulling them away, “I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t.”

---

Remus tore away from the scene with a slightly shaky step his face pale save for the
darkness around his eyes. He hadn’t heard their words, but the way Sirius embraced
Darius and then kissed him desperately . . . The Wolf was pleased, excited, hungry, and
urged him forward through the door, but once Remus had realised its intentions he shut
the door silently and pulled back, his heart thudding wildly, though he wasn’t sure if it
was for what he stopped the Wolf from doing or the horrid realisation.

Darius had already started his scheme.

And that was why he was outside his bedroom later that evening after Darius had
returned from the Ministry, planning what he was going to say. He was going to reveal
that he knew the truth to Darius before he would Sirius so that the younger would have a
chance to redeem himself for Remus. If he was worth Remus’ trust Darius would expose
the truth to Sirius himself, but if he was not Remus was willing to do the exposing for
him. He wasn’t doing this intervention because he was a bad person, he kept repeating to
himself, in hopes of convincing himself, but because Sirius was his ‘brother’. He
wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt Sirius like this.

He finally mustered enough pride to move forward, but as he reached towards the
doorknob, he managed to pick up a voice coming from behind the door. Curious, he
slowly knelt down, flinching when he heard the crack of his knees as they bent, and
pressed his ear to the old wood to hear what was being said.

---

“Darius—I hate this fire-call-whatever, and you know that. It just feels so damn weird
talking to my fireplace.”

The first voice—Darius—gave a sigh. “Yes, yes, I know. Trust me, I do. But-but I have
favour to ask.”

There was a silence until the other voice finally said, “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

“You know what I’m trying to do, and—”

“Uh huuuuh . . .”

“And, well, I don’t think that Narcissa can take me in afterward, so—”

“Uh huuuuh . . .”

“Octavius Yvon! I need you to be serious about this!”

Remus paled at the name, his eyes widening. It couldn’t possibly be—

No wonder the owl was so familiar. No wonder the handwriting was so familiar. No
wonder that voice was so familiar.

Why didn’t he realise it sooner? Had he really blocked out the memory?

End Chapter 3

A/N: Reviews greatly appreciated. The next chapter is entirely Remus/Octavius-centric.
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Of Truths