Fic: Good Samaritan for jellybgood
Title: Good Samaritan
Author: planetgal471
Recipient: jellybgood
Rating: PG-13
Highlight for Warnings: *minor violence, mention of minor injuries*
Word Count: 2048
Summary: First war AU. Remus tells Sirius about his Order Missions. Sirius insists on coming along to the werewolf pack. Was this part of some bigger plan?
Author's notes: Beta'd by pot_of_coffee
Good Samaritan
Remus stood, hunched, with his hands on his hips.
"That way?" Sirius pointed straight ahead, due east, the direction in which they'd been heading.
Remus, though, shook his head and pointed off to the right. "They're on the move. I just don't... understand..."
Sirius didn't wait for him to finish, but pushed aside the underbrush and moved through with confidence bordering on arrogance.
"Sirius," Remus hissed, "We had a bargain."
"I want to get my hands on th--"
"I know what you want, but my priority is to keep his hands-- their hands-- off of you." He had already gotten a solid grip on a handful of Sirius' leather jacket. Sirius did not pull away; he eyed the woods with a singular determination that Remus knew a little about. "Never forget, Sirius, you can still be infected."
Sirius made an unhappy noise in his throat and voiced his opinions: "How could I bloody forget when it's every third word out of your mouth?"
Remus shook his head but would not engage. Recently, that phrase had been starting more fights than even "I have to go somewhere for the Order and I can't tell you about it," but it had been the combination of the two that broke them. The fight had been like none other. Never before had Remus seen Sirius so angry that he had lacked for words. He could still remember the sight of Sirius' hands pumping in frustration, ghosting over valuable objects as if trying to decide which to throw first, finally reaching the point of wanting to throw them all at once. Sirius' mouth had opened and closed like a fish's, searching for words. Finally, Sirius had grasped his wand and slipped quickly and calmly-- oh how that calmness had killed Remus more than any amount of shouting could!-- from their flat in Muggle London on Goldhawk Road and into the silent night.
Sirius had been missing seven days. On the eighth day, Remus learned that Sirius had not even gone to James and Lily's, nor to Peter's, nor even to Order Headquarters. Too many people considered himself and Remus a perfect couple and Sirius's pride would not allow it, though he had gotten halfway to Peter's before turning back around in fury. He had not, however, made it all the way back home. He's spent the entire week in a wizarding tent hidden in Shepherd's Bush Green under a walnut tree.
The day Sirius came home was the morning of the Full Moon.
Remus was so relieved-- both to see Sirius and to see Sirius on the Full Moon-- that he immediately shouted a fervent "Dumbledore be damned" over a sloshing flute of flat champagne pillaged from the back of the fridge, and he promptly set about explaining to Sirius the nature of his Order missions for the past year. He did not leave out the details of the mission he was to embark upon within the next four hours.
Sirius, shamed over learning the truth of Remus's disappearances, his partner's harrowing trips into the werewolf lairs for Fulls and Quarters and every day in between, refused to let Remus experience one more day of hell without standing by his lover's side. Sirius raised his own flute and the room echoed with the answer to Remus's own feelings: "Dumbledore be damned."
On the singular provision that Sirius never engage a werewolf, certainly not Greyback, nor make himself conspicuous, the couple set out to find Greyback's main pack and spend the Moon amoung them.
*****
"It's a child," Remus stopped suddenly, scenting the air. "The pack changed direction because..." he sniffed again, "there's a child in the woods. Sirius!" The sheer terror in Remus's voice was impossible for Sirius to miss. So absolute was that fear that Sirius looked down to find his own hands shaking even though he was not afraid. It was almost as if there was something tangible and corporeal about Remus's fear, like a--
"A scent," Sirius says suddenly. "Remus, your fear--" Sirius knew the werewolf pack would smell them, would give off chasing the child and come for them as soon as the pack detected Remus's intense fear.
"Doesn't matter, they won't be swayed," Remus answered solidly, and in that second Sirius realized the deadly truth. They were hoping to get to the child to turn it tonight. Sirius felt a bit late to the party, understanding this probably two full minutes after Remus had.
Sirius didn't really have time to even give Remus false reassurances about the fate of the child as a familiar (but no less gut-churning for its familiarity) sound met Sirius's ear: Remus always made a few pitiful and canid whimpering noises as his internal organs shifted. Next would come the bones. Sirius wrapped his arm around his boyfriend and brought them both kneeling to the forest floor. Half-rotted leaves crinkled underneath them. Within moments, Remus looked hardly himself. An on-looker might not have recognized this man of thin bones, bent joints, grey pallor and gold eyes as the brisk blue-eyed bookshop worker, but Sirius had been through this many times. He was expecting it when Remus' clawed hands scrabbled at his shirt, shoving him away. He was expecting the distressed warning that came out as a high-pitched whinge.
"I'm here," Sirius said, knowing that it was the exact opposite of what Remus wanted to hear. Remus wanted to know Sirius was safe, not that he was close.
A moment later, though, and Sirius wasn't there, not really. Instead, the big dog that was Padfoot hovered protectively over Remus's form as bones broke and reformed. When the wolf finally stood, the two canids-- twin hackles up in the now-fading scent of Remus's fear-- faced the direction of the pack. Sirius bayed once at the great Moon overhead, its white light awash through the trees. Moony paused to accompany the baying with a howl of his own, and then both are off. Sirius couldn't be sure whether the wolf wanted the child for himself or not, but Sirius knew that he had to do whatever he could to secure the safety of the child, otherwise Remus would never forgive himself. This was Remus's worst nightmare, and Sirius had to prevent it.
Sirius was aware as he ran through the woods of the crashing of undergrowth behind him. He knew Remus was following. Sirius ran harder, ran as fast as four legs would carry Padfoot, vaulting downed logs and ignoring the pain of branches that whipped across his face, briers that caught at his skin and tore it. He followed his nose, imagining the scent was a hook pulling him at a high speed, imagining that if he didn't keep up, he might lose the scent entirely. He hoped it was only his imagination, for if that were really happening, then the boy was already in the clutches of the wolves and the boy's time had run out.
Boy? Yes, Padfoot could smell that now. That had to mean he was getting closer, not further away.
Just then, Padfoot broke through into a forest clearing. He came to a clawing, frantic stop, and Moony crashed into him from behind, making him newly aware of several injuries he must have sustained in the frantic pace to arrive here. He did not whinge or cry out, though. Now would be the very worst time to show weakness at all, as he suddenly had found himself face-to-face with a pack of angry werewolves. He could not even pretend to understand their snarlings, but he got the gist: they saw Padfoot as a threat, and wanted to dispose of him. Sirius dreaded when he felt his tail tuck between his legs. This was it; they would sense his fear and overcome him.
The pack circled towards him, and in their movement, Sirius could see the boy. He wasn't in the pack's clutches yet. Rather, he clung to a nearby tree, shaking with fear. Plump tears rolled down his cheeks, but he made no noise. Good boy, thought Sirius. Let them attack me and leave the boy alone. Suddenly, the idea of being mauled by a dozen werewolves wasn't such a horrible prospect if it gave the boy a chance to escape.
It seemed, however, that Sirius was not destined to be mauled to death; suddenly Moony sprung between him and the pack, snarling ferociously. The pack backed away almost as if commanded. Sirius felt a moment of relief until he realized they were now turning back towards the boy. Padfoot made a risky move then, dodging the flank of the werewolf pack to come around and stand between them and the boy. Now he was sure even Moony couldn't protect him.
He was wrong, though. Moony did protect him. Over and over again the werewolves would follow a relentless cycle: they'd posture, mock-attack, be fought off by Moony, slink back and seem to consider leaving, and then turn and posture to begin the routine over again. They didn't do this just twice or even just a few times, but their cycle lasted the entire night; a mini-revolution in the pack's mood underneath the slowly-revolving Moon. And the Earth, Sirius's only ally, revolved as well, bringing the Moon towards its setting, as Sirius stood, trying not to shake and show fear, for long and relentless hours of Moon-filled night. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, hazed through adrenaline-filled nightmares that were not half so mundane as anything brought about by sleep, the Moon set and the wolves dropped one-by-one to the ground in pangs of agony. The remaining wolves seemed distraught, perhaps sensing their turn coming soon. Within ten minutes, though, there were no remaining wolves. All Sirius saw were young men, all about Remus's age, Greyback nowhere among them. They were all in some pain and slept or groaned wearily on mats of dirty leaves.
Sirius felt pity, but had no time to waste it on them. He didn't know how they would react when they were back to some semblance of health, but he knew from experience that werewolves healed rather quickly and that they wouldn't take so very long to be back on their feet. Thus he spared no time transforming back into himself. He knelt where Remus was laying, still with his eyes closed, on his back on the ground.
"Remus," Sirius gently feathered back the hair from his partner's forehead. "How are you feeling?" A couple other of the young men twitched at the spoken words. "We need to go."
Remus moaned. Sirius smiled affectionately and rubbed Remus's bare chest. Remus's clothes must be several miles away through the woods, sadly, and Remus was starting to shiver.
"Please, love, let's go."
Remus opened an eye, frowning.
"We're in the woods," Sirius explained. "You helped me save the boy."
A look of terror flickered over Remus's face.
"He's safe," Sirius assured Remus, "but we should find his home, bring him back there."
Remus struggled up onto his elbows, and Sirius helped him to his feet. "Clothes," Remus requested, his voice gravelly.
Sirius removed his shirt and transfigured it into a thin cloak. "Dumbledore is a nutter," he whispered to Remus. "We accomplished nothing."
Remus stared blankly at Sirius then at the boy, now fast asleep but still gripping the tree with claw-like fingers. "You suppose so?" Remus asked coolly.
"Dumbledore couldn't possibly have known-- And you brought me. He couldn't have--"
Remus said nothing, but the look he gave Sirius said "You're smarter than that." Sirius had more than a little to think about after they had done their good deed of Apparating the boy home. Maybe he hadn't given Dumbledore enough credit? Had Dumbledore suspected that Remus would bring Sirius along tonight? Surely the man couldn't see the future...
Sirius had no explanation for it, but he did know that the chasm that had grown up between himself and Remus was healed more easily than the wounds he had sustained on his run through the forest, and those were gone within the week. Whether Dumbledore had foreseen some grim future or simply, as he had told Remus, wanted Remus to realize the value of one's loved ones, Sirius would never know.
Author: planetgal471
Recipient: jellybgood
Rating: PG-13
Highlight for Warnings: *minor violence, mention of minor injuries*
Word Count: 2048
Summary: First war AU. Remus tells Sirius about his Order Missions. Sirius insists on coming along to the werewolf pack. Was this part of some bigger plan?
Author's notes: Beta'd by pot_of_coffee
Good Samaritan
Remus stood, hunched, with his hands on his hips.
"That way?" Sirius pointed straight ahead, due east, the direction in which they'd been heading.
Remus, though, shook his head and pointed off to the right. "They're on the move. I just don't... understand..."
Sirius didn't wait for him to finish, but pushed aside the underbrush and moved through with confidence bordering on arrogance.
"Sirius," Remus hissed, "We had a bargain."
"I want to get my hands on th--"
"I know what you want, but my priority is to keep his hands-- their hands-- off of you." He had already gotten a solid grip on a handful of Sirius' leather jacket. Sirius did not pull away; he eyed the woods with a singular determination that Remus knew a little about. "Never forget, Sirius, you can still be infected."
Sirius made an unhappy noise in his throat and voiced his opinions: "How could I bloody forget when it's every third word out of your mouth?"
Remus shook his head but would not engage. Recently, that phrase had been starting more fights than even "I have to go somewhere for the Order and I can't tell you about it," but it had been the combination of the two that broke them. The fight had been like none other. Never before had Remus seen Sirius so angry that he had lacked for words. He could still remember the sight of Sirius' hands pumping in frustration, ghosting over valuable objects as if trying to decide which to throw first, finally reaching the point of wanting to throw them all at once. Sirius' mouth had opened and closed like a fish's, searching for words. Finally, Sirius had grasped his wand and slipped quickly and calmly-- oh how that calmness had killed Remus more than any amount of shouting could!-- from their flat in Muggle London on Goldhawk Road and into the silent night.
Sirius had been missing seven days. On the eighth day, Remus learned that Sirius had not even gone to James and Lily's, nor to Peter's, nor even to Order Headquarters. Too many people considered himself and Remus a perfect couple and Sirius's pride would not allow it, though he had gotten halfway to Peter's before turning back around in fury. He had not, however, made it all the way back home. He's spent the entire week in a wizarding tent hidden in Shepherd's Bush Green under a walnut tree.
The day Sirius came home was the morning of the Full Moon.
Remus was so relieved-- both to see Sirius and to see Sirius on the Full Moon-- that he immediately shouted a fervent "Dumbledore be damned" over a sloshing flute of flat champagne pillaged from the back of the fridge, and he promptly set about explaining to Sirius the nature of his Order missions for the past year. He did not leave out the details of the mission he was to embark upon within the next four hours.
Sirius, shamed over learning the truth of Remus's disappearances, his partner's harrowing trips into the werewolf lairs for Fulls and Quarters and every day in between, refused to let Remus experience one more day of hell without standing by his lover's side. Sirius raised his own flute and the room echoed with the answer to Remus's own feelings: "Dumbledore be damned."
On the singular provision that Sirius never engage a werewolf, certainly not Greyback, nor make himself conspicuous, the couple set out to find Greyback's main pack and spend the Moon amoung them.
*****
"It's a child," Remus stopped suddenly, scenting the air. "The pack changed direction because..." he sniffed again, "there's a child in the woods. Sirius!" The sheer terror in Remus's voice was impossible for Sirius to miss. So absolute was that fear that Sirius looked down to find his own hands shaking even though he was not afraid. It was almost as if there was something tangible and corporeal about Remus's fear, like a--
"A scent," Sirius says suddenly. "Remus, your fear--" Sirius knew the werewolf pack would smell them, would give off chasing the child and come for them as soon as the pack detected Remus's intense fear.
"Doesn't matter, they won't be swayed," Remus answered solidly, and in that second Sirius realized the deadly truth. They were hoping to get to the child to turn it tonight. Sirius felt a bit late to the party, understanding this probably two full minutes after Remus had.
Sirius didn't really have time to even give Remus false reassurances about the fate of the child as a familiar (but no less gut-churning for its familiarity) sound met Sirius's ear: Remus always made a few pitiful and canid whimpering noises as his internal organs shifted. Next would come the bones. Sirius wrapped his arm around his boyfriend and brought them both kneeling to the forest floor. Half-rotted leaves crinkled underneath them. Within moments, Remus looked hardly himself. An on-looker might not have recognized this man of thin bones, bent joints, grey pallor and gold eyes as the brisk blue-eyed bookshop worker, but Sirius had been through this many times. He was expecting it when Remus' clawed hands scrabbled at his shirt, shoving him away. He was expecting the distressed warning that came out as a high-pitched whinge.
"I'm here," Sirius said, knowing that it was the exact opposite of what Remus wanted to hear. Remus wanted to know Sirius was safe, not that he was close.
A moment later, though, and Sirius wasn't there, not really. Instead, the big dog that was Padfoot hovered protectively over Remus's form as bones broke and reformed. When the wolf finally stood, the two canids-- twin hackles up in the now-fading scent of Remus's fear-- faced the direction of the pack. Sirius bayed once at the great Moon overhead, its white light awash through the trees. Moony paused to accompany the baying with a howl of his own, and then both are off. Sirius couldn't be sure whether the wolf wanted the child for himself or not, but Sirius knew that he had to do whatever he could to secure the safety of the child, otherwise Remus would never forgive himself. This was Remus's worst nightmare, and Sirius had to prevent it.
Sirius was aware as he ran through the woods of the crashing of undergrowth behind him. He knew Remus was following. Sirius ran harder, ran as fast as four legs would carry Padfoot, vaulting downed logs and ignoring the pain of branches that whipped across his face, briers that caught at his skin and tore it. He followed his nose, imagining the scent was a hook pulling him at a high speed, imagining that if he didn't keep up, he might lose the scent entirely. He hoped it was only his imagination, for if that were really happening, then the boy was already in the clutches of the wolves and the boy's time had run out.
Boy? Yes, Padfoot could smell that now. That had to mean he was getting closer, not further away.
Just then, Padfoot broke through into a forest clearing. He came to a clawing, frantic stop, and Moony crashed into him from behind, making him newly aware of several injuries he must have sustained in the frantic pace to arrive here. He did not whinge or cry out, though. Now would be the very worst time to show weakness at all, as he suddenly had found himself face-to-face with a pack of angry werewolves. He could not even pretend to understand their snarlings, but he got the gist: they saw Padfoot as a threat, and wanted to dispose of him. Sirius dreaded when he felt his tail tuck between his legs. This was it; they would sense his fear and overcome him.
The pack circled towards him, and in their movement, Sirius could see the boy. He wasn't in the pack's clutches yet. Rather, he clung to a nearby tree, shaking with fear. Plump tears rolled down his cheeks, but he made no noise. Good boy, thought Sirius. Let them attack me and leave the boy alone. Suddenly, the idea of being mauled by a dozen werewolves wasn't such a horrible prospect if it gave the boy a chance to escape.
It seemed, however, that Sirius was not destined to be mauled to death; suddenly Moony sprung between him and the pack, snarling ferociously. The pack backed away almost as if commanded. Sirius felt a moment of relief until he realized they were now turning back towards the boy. Padfoot made a risky move then, dodging the flank of the werewolf pack to come around and stand between them and the boy. Now he was sure even Moony couldn't protect him.
He was wrong, though. Moony did protect him. Over and over again the werewolves would follow a relentless cycle: they'd posture, mock-attack, be fought off by Moony, slink back and seem to consider leaving, and then turn and posture to begin the routine over again. They didn't do this just twice or even just a few times, but their cycle lasted the entire night; a mini-revolution in the pack's mood underneath the slowly-revolving Moon. And the Earth, Sirius's only ally, revolved as well, bringing the Moon towards its setting, as Sirius stood, trying not to shake and show fear, for long and relentless hours of Moon-filled night. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, hazed through adrenaline-filled nightmares that were not half so mundane as anything brought about by sleep, the Moon set and the wolves dropped one-by-one to the ground in pangs of agony. The remaining wolves seemed distraught, perhaps sensing their turn coming soon. Within ten minutes, though, there were no remaining wolves. All Sirius saw were young men, all about Remus's age, Greyback nowhere among them. They were all in some pain and slept or groaned wearily on mats of dirty leaves.
Sirius felt pity, but had no time to waste it on them. He didn't know how they would react when they were back to some semblance of health, but he knew from experience that werewolves healed rather quickly and that they wouldn't take so very long to be back on their feet. Thus he spared no time transforming back into himself. He knelt where Remus was laying, still with his eyes closed, on his back on the ground.
"Remus," Sirius gently feathered back the hair from his partner's forehead. "How are you feeling?" A couple other of the young men twitched at the spoken words. "We need to go."
Remus moaned. Sirius smiled affectionately and rubbed Remus's bare chest. Remus's clothes must be several miles away through the woods, sadly, and Remus was starting to shiver.
"Please, love, let's go."
Remus opened an eye, frowning.
"We're in the woods," Sirius explained. "You helped me save the boy."
A look of terror flickered over Remus's face.
"He's safe," Sirius assured Remus, "but we should find his home, bring him back there."
Remus struggled up onto his elbows, and Sirius helped him to his feet. "Clothes," Remus requested, his voice gravelly.
Sirius removed his shirt and transfigured it into a thin cloak. "Dumbledore is a nutter," he whispered to Remus. "We accomplished nothing."
Remus stared blankly at Sirius then at the boy, now fast asleep but still gripping the tree with claw-like fingers. "You suppose so?" Remus asked coolly.
"Dumbledore couldn't possibly have known-- And you brought me. He couldn't have--"
Remus said nothing, but the look he gave Sirius said "You're smarter than that." Sirius had more than a little to think about after they had done their good deed of Apparating the boy home. Maybe he hadn't given Dumbledore enough credit? Had Dumbledore suspected that Remus would bring Sirius along tonight? Surely the man couldn't see the future...
Sirius had no explanation for it, but he did know that the chasm that had grown up between himself and Remus was healed more easily than the wounds he had sustained on his run through the forest, and those were gone within the week. Whether Dumbledore had foreseen some grim future or simply, as he had told Remus, wanted Remus to realize the value of one's loved ones, Sirius would never know.