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In the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black	By : Nitro Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 893 -:- 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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He curls up next to Sirius in the wide, ancient bed, the moon waxing in the window, dust settling over the house, tiny coughs sounding down the hall, his body shaped protectively around Sirius, a human placenta. Grey half-darkness, the kind that wakes you up in the damned hours and won�t let you get back to sleep. The kind that swims with motes and twitches at the corners of the room, frightening you awake when your eyelids start to droop.
Sirius snores softly. Remus wishes fancifully that it sounded more like a growl; he likes patterns and completeness in people. It�s not even a purr. It�s a hard, heavy soughing, slightly congested, childlike. It�s the same sound Harry makes at night. Remus has followed Sirius upstairs to watch his godson sleep. Always from a distance, a doorway, never for very long. Sirius� face is always expressionless; or if there is any expression it can�t be seen in the low light. When he�s seen enough, when he�s quieted whatever fear or curiosity or compulsion keeps him up at night, he drags Remus out by the hand and shuts the door behind him, even though he knows Harry and Ron like to leave it open at night.
In the morning, just after dawn, Sirius will wake Remus from his sinking doze with the moist friction of his tongue. This, Remus will think, is appropriately Padfoot. Wet hello kisses on the ledge of his jaw, the backside of his earlobe, down a cord of sinew in his neck. Remus will hook his fingers into Sirius� hair, tugging slightly. Sirius will push (gently, almost apologetically, but with a fluidness and surety that tells Remus resistance would not stop him) his shoulders flat onto the sagging mattress, and pull himself on top, putting an unbearable weight on Remus� hipbones. �Moony,� he will say, above whisper but below voice, into Remus� cheek.
�Hm?� Remus will answer, not realizing until a harsh beat of silence has passed that the name wasn�t a question, or a request for attention, or even an endearment: it was just a name. Sirius was naming what belonged to him, like a child counting the coins out of his bank, over and over, even though he knows exactly how much is there.
Sirius will kiss him, and it will be soft and slow, and Remus won�t mind the staleness of his breath.
He makes an effort not to mind anything Sirius does.
I owe him, he thinks now, slipping a hand underneath Sirius� arm, across his chest, pulling him closer and locking them in a slipknot of limbs. I owe him years. He wants to wake Sirius, and whisper something dark and heavy against the undercurve of his cheekbone, and let his hand steal down the scarred, vulnerable cavity of his belly, down into the wiry curls, the softness. He wants to delight him, bring him half-awake, gasping, euphoric.
But he doesn�t, because he knows Sirius needs rest more than eedseeds him. He doesn�t want to risk surprising him, because what if it�s a surprise he doesn�t like?
In time Remus will curl up in this bed alone, shielding and surrounding only himself. There will still be short dark hairs on the floor, there will still be a particular musk in the air. And Remus will wonder if Sirius was ever happy here, if he was always sleeping as soundly as he seemed to be, if there was something more he wanted from Remus, if there was something he couldn�t say. If at some moment Remus spoke when he should have kept quiet, kept quiet when he should have spoken, let him go when he should have held him, held him when he should have let him go. It will occur to him only then that Sirius might have made sacrifices for him, too, because that�s the sort of man he was, and at the suggestion of the word was he will scream into his pillow.
Now he inhales the herbal scents in Sirius� hair, thinking of the scars hidden on his scalp, and the scars in other places, on both of their bodies, and suddenly the bed feels very soft and very warm. They have both been in worse places than this, he thinks, and someday they�ll be someplace better, and together. The ceiling creaks above, startling and disorienting him for a dizzy instant. Odd when you forget that your ceiling is someone else�s floor. It�ll be Molly Weasley on one of her frequent bathroom trips, or Ginny sneaking over to curl up in Hermione�s bed, quaking from a half-remembered dream and needing warmth beside her.
He feels the moonlight in the window behind him like heat. In a week he�ll go away and leave Sirius in this house he hates. Sirius will say he�ll be fine alone and to stop fussing, and Remus� throat will close, because Sirius is impatient with him, and Remus has promised himself and Sirius that he would bring only good into Sirius� life.
He drifts asleep wondering if that�s a promise anyone is capable of keeping. His breathing deepens to a light, canine snore. As the sun rises, Sirius feels the hot breath on his neck and stirs.

To be continued.
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In the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black