Marauder crack

Getting rid of myself

Sirius has to search under the piano to find Remus' pants and take the draft of the letter out of his pocket but, he thinks it is worth it. He rereads aloud a few times and it's just that he doesn't give credit.

- "Maybe I misbehave just to be punished by you." It is the letter of a pervert, Moony.

- It had to look like it's from you.

He has even imitated his own lettering. Even Sirius might get confused and think that he wrote it. "Sometimes I think that with you, Minerva, I could learn discipline." Who knows where the hell he got that from. What would possibly happen if Remus fancied women? Maybe it's the same between both sexes. The rule according to which those that seem more humble are the worst. Or the best, depending on how you look at it. If Sirius has to judge Remus on what he has seen tonight, of course, seems true.

- You're a bastard-born bastard of a very big bitch, Lupin. And you don't fool me with the facade of "I am prefect" because I know you are a pervert werewolf.

- Stop Please. You've already hooked up with me, you don't need to keep giving away your compliments.

- I'm a very affectionate doggy-dog. - Leaves the letter on the keys of the piano. -Help me find my pants because I need a fag.

In the end, not one cigarette is smoked, but three. They share whiffs, kisses tobacco flavoured, the last Butterbeer, and a couple of embarrassing stories. Lying on top of the piano, dressed only in their pants.

Sirius tells Remus about that time, at the age of eight, when Regulus discovered him and his cousin Rowenna hiding inside the garden shed, looking at what the others had inside their underwear. When Remus tells that Muggles call that child's behaviour "Playing doctor" he gives him a laugh and swallows cigarette smoke. The coughing attack lasts a long time. The first years of school used to chase Remus everywhere overcoming him about all kinds of stories about Muggles. He still likes to hear news about the latest occurrences of him, especially if Remus tells them in the gloom of a dusty house, as they lengthen the conversation and cigarettes until dawn. Sirius is proud of being back from everything but he is not used to what they are doing.

Talking, still half-dressed, with that feeling of laxity in the body. It's new.

Weird.

Different.

It's Remus... and he could get used to it.

- I can hear you think, Moony.

In the silence that has taken over the house, he notices the sudden presence of the thought of him. It is almost solid. Something that can be rubbed against the fingertips, though it slips away at the last moment.

- Can't hear someone thinking, Padfoot.

- But I hear you.

Before casting a difficult spell, such as a Patronus or a transfiguration, Sirius can see the magic in the air, about to explode. And in the same way, he can also see Remus thinking. In someplace. Inside his body. There is something that eats away at him.

Sirius simply knows.

- Let's see, what am I thinking?

He examines him carefully. Teasing.

- Let's see ... you're thinking "Sirius Black is the most handsome bastard with I never dreamed of actually shagging, How can I bear it? "

Remus laughs and they both vibrate.

- How can I bear you. It's a great question.

- I do it frequently.

He means it. Remus is clever, he is patient, he is the best of his class, he always knows what to say, he plays the piano and kisses like no one who Sirius has ever met. Remus is the kind of person he always gives without expecting anything and he's fucking kind. That is the word. He is so kind. Sometimes, when he looks into his eyes like that moment, and he sees all that goodness, there, where anyone could steal it, or crush it to hurt him with it, Sirius wants to put him in a box where no one can touch him.

Sometimes, he is afraid of being that someone who destroys him, as he ends destroying almost everything. The idea terrifies him so much that he has to battle it immediately. Tries to think about something else. So he jokes, he makes a joke. Which there has to be no thinking.

- Tell me it wasn't homework. Or at Snape. Or Snape and homework! -

Better. Remus smiles. Yes much better. - Tell me you weren't thinking about that blondie who always looks at you in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

- I wasn't thinking of homework. Not Snape, of course. And I don't know what blondie are you talking to me about.

- It doesn't matter... Don't look at her. I'm more handsome.

- I was thinking ... - It's hard for him. He gulps. And in the end, he gets to say it. - I thought that good things don't usually last to me.

It takes a couple of seconds. Two or three seconds to realise that when Remus Lupin says "good things" he is talking about him.

About him, a pureblood wizard who is unable to think with a cool head, that carries the worst genes that can be imagined, is jealous, whimsical, impatient, selfish, and always angry as a first measure and has never asked for forgiveness, nor has he begged "please."

He is Remus Lupin's "good things."

It has been many things and they have called him everything but nothing like that. The mere thought forms a lump in his throat.

- Do you know what I think, Lupin?

- God save me.

He would like to promise him that it will last, that everything will be fine, that life will give only good things to him because they are the only things he deserves. He would love to swear that they will be young forever and there will be magical moments to turn off the road and erase bad memories with lies and time turners. He would like the world to be fair and fertile for his tall, sad, lonely, dazzling werewolf.

But the worlds that he lets out of his mouth are to mean something else. He can't promise him anything. He cannot even promise him tomorrow.

Sirius doesn't talk about it but he knows tough times are coming. Dumbledore said it, but it wasn't necessary. He knew it before. He knew it without knowing it.

- I think you shouldn't worry - He brushes the hair out of his face, kisses brushing with the tip of the tongue that part of the upper lip that falls under the nose and protrudes slightly. - I think it's like with chocolate, you know? - Under him, Remus's gaze dances, and begins to see on his face that disbelieving half-smile that melts his heart. - It is so good that should last forever, but the most important thing is that it doesn't run out, because while you eat it, Remus, it makes you fly.

Terrible things will happen to them. Even those who don't deserve them.

But as long as he's in his hand they're going to fly three feet off the ground because now he is part of what Remus calls "good things" and he has no intention to plunder it. Nothing good may last, but as long as life lets them try, Sirius is going to make sure it is memorable, for fuck's sake.

It is a promise of blood. He has no words, they seal it with kisses, on top of a piano that no one had played since immemorial times.

Until they arrived. A dog. A wolf. And the music they make when they are together.