Lord of the Guys: The Last Installment
Dog.
Sirius is the dog and the dog is Sirius. Remus is the wolf but the wolf is not Remus. That's the difference. That's the problem.
Sometimes Padfoot the dog tries to take over. Sometimes Padfoot wants to chase and bark and play and bite and growl and scratch and be scratched and run and shag and eat and drink and dig and howl. Sometimes Sirius even enjoys it, and chases or barks or plays or bites or growls or scratches or is scratched or runs or eats or drinks or digs or howls. But that's because Sirius is in control, and because he wants to. That's the difference.
There is a boy here. He is tied up, and he is sitting on the ground with his head down so that his hair is falling over his face. He smells familiar, because he is Moony. Moony smells like biscuits and parchment and coffee and cigarettes, and Padfoot likes his smell the best.
Moony is moaning softly. Padfoot cannot tell if he is asleep or awake, but he wants to help. He goes over to Moony and licks his face, breathing his hot dog breath onto his cheek. Licking always helps. Moony stops moaning, but then his eyes open all of a sudden and the white moon is reflected in them and they are staring straight through Padfoot.
Moony's body is beginning to move slightly now, in shudders and ripples. His limbs are lengthening in quick spurts and moving into awkward positions. Thorny hair pushes itself up from underneath his skin. It is not like the boy is growing; it is like some monster deep inside the boy is forcing itself to the surface. The monster writhes around inside the boy, and the thing that was Moony is making noises. Horrible noises that bang around in Padfoot's brain and make him bark madly to block them out.
Soon, only the wolf is left crouched there. He pays no attention to Padfoot, because he is trapped in the ropes, which are holding his limbs at obscene angles to his body. The wolf is not howling, but screaming. He writhes around in his ropes, which are flapping in the air and tangling in low branches. The wolf bites down on the cords, but nothing happens. He gnaws on the rope shackling his front paw, and ends up tearing the soft flesh there instead of his bindings. Hot wolf blood trickles to the ground. Padfoot can smell it.
Somehow, after a lifetime of howling, the wolf manages to free both his front paws. Only his back ones remain tied. He snaps viciously at Padfoot, saliva dripping from his jaws, and tugs hard. The earth around him is rising up into the air in flurries where he dislodges it. It tumbles down into their fur like brown hail.
Padfoot wants to reason with the wolf that is not Remus. He wags his tail slowly and woofs. But the wolf is angry and snapping and biting and flailing and a wag, no matter how judiciously timed, is simply not going to work. Padfoot changes his mind and adopts the 'fuck-off' stance of the canines, teeth bared, body tensed and growl. The wolf is not listening. The wolf is angry. Padfoot is not angry. Padfoot would much rather wag his tail. But the only other option is to lie down in submission like a stupid gay poodle and expose his belly, and Padfoot is not about to do that. Quite apart from the dominant pack-member issues he has, rolling over might just get his stomach ripped to shreds.
The wolf has freed his left hind leg, heaving as hard as he can against the trees. They creak ominously as he jerks, their branches bending. The last knot is loose around his lower right leg. The wolf stops suddenly. He walks backwards a few paces, then sprints towards Padfoot at full speed, leaping into the air. His paws sail over Padfoot as he jumps.
The rope yanks the wolf back, and he falls to the ground with a yelp, collapsing on top of Padfoot. There is a crack. It is the sound of bone mashing against itself. The wolf whimpers, struggling to stand up again, and his sharp claws rake Padfoot's back. The wolf hobbles away, limping and snarling, then turns easily and pulls off the last loop of rope with his teeth. The rope falls to the floor.
SHIT, Padfoot thinks. The wolf limps towards him, angry, and then pounces. Padfoot ducks at the last minute and dives away. The wolf follows him. Padfoot knows how to play this game. Padfoot runs away, and then the wolf catches him. It's like Tig, except Padfoot is far too clever to ever get caught. They run down onto the shady beach, kicking up big clouds of sand. The wolf growls at the water and Padfoot barks happily in response. The moonlight is reflecting off the waves and turning the sea silver. Padfoot runs to the shore and rolls playfully in the cool wet swash. By the time Padfoot gets up, the wolf has disappeared into the trees.
SHIT, Padfoot thinks again, dripping.
Padfoot can't find the wolf anywhere. He can smell him, and he can hear him, but the wolf is much faster than he is, and the wolf doesn't want to be found. Padfoot rushes through the ferns, following his nose. There are too many scents in the forest – of trees and sap and animal droppings and pollen and fruit and mud and vomit and PRONGS WORMTAIL EVANS SNAPE. Padfoot stops. He is outside the cave, on the other side of the island. There are people inside the cave and Padfoot is meant to be protecting them. No, he is meant to be protecting Moony. Padfoot walks closer to the cave, sniffing inquisitively. Someone screams, and Padfoot dives into a bush, alarmed.
"What's the matter?" A voice asks from inside the cave. It is Prongs. Padfoot wants to run at Prongs and lick him soundly, but he stays where he is.
"I thought it was… it was… I saw a black tail or something," a girl says. It is Evans. "It ran away when I screamed."
"The wolf wouldn't run away if you screamed," Wormtail says. "He'd come in and eat you."
"We have to keep quiet," Prongs says again. There is the sound of someone retching behind him, and the smell of fresh vomit washes over Padfoot again. "Snape, you must've eaten something awful."
"There's nothing edible on this island that isn't awful," Snape's voice says. "Why do we have to keep quiet if Remus – the wolf – is tied up?"
There is a noise to Padfoot's left. He looks up in its direction, and sees the wolf, stalking the cave. He thinks an extremely rude word for the third time that night.
"It's a precaution, you div," Prongs says harshly. "We have to be safe."
Padfoot is puzzled. He finds it difficult to think about what will happen, and the consequences of his actions, though admittedly when he's not a dog he rarely thinks about that. Padfoot deals in now. But now has got him nowhere, and if he doesn't make the wolf change direction they will all be in deep shit. Only, he remembers, the others can't know he's a dog. Padfoot growls almost silently, deep in his throat. The wolf looks at him with its bottomless black eyes. Padfoot barks twice, taunting him.
"What was that?" Evans whispers instantly. "I heard something barking!"
"It was the wolf," Snape coughs, his voice ragged. The wolf moves a few steps towards the bush where Padfoot is hiding, away from the cave. Padfoot growls encouragingly. "We're all going to die."
"Stop being so melodramatic," Prongs snaps. "It's not the wolf."
"What else on this island barks?" Snape hisses. He laughs. "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? Tralalalalaaa."' The wolf is moving closer to the bush, away from the others. Padfoot wishes Snape would have the sense to shut up and stop singing. Then Prongs says something surprising.
"I'll go and check, if you like."
"Don't!" Two voices say together. They belong to Evans and Wormtail, and they are high-pitched with fear. Prongs pays them no heed, and his footsteps, splashing through the puddles on the cave floor, get louder and louder. The wolf turns its head with barely concealed malice.
"Pads, is that you?" Prongs has stuck his head out of the cave and is peering into the gloom. He can't see as well as either the wolf or Padfoot, not even with his silly glasses. The wolf swivels around silently, growling. SHUT UP, YOU TOSSER, Padfoot thinks desperately.
"Padfoot!" Prongs calls out into the shadows. He can see the wolf now. He thinks it is Padfoot, which is stupid because the wolf is much bigger and greyer than Padfoot and smells all wrong. It is especially stupid because Padfoot does not usually want to rip Prongs's throat out and feast on his entrails, and that is quite obviously the wolf's main objective. "Padfoot! Stop being an idiot and come inside with us, alright? I'm sorry I was such an arse about Remus."
The wolf tenses, preparing to spring.
"Don't be mad at me, mate," says Prongs the world's biggest idiot. "Go find your clothes and change back, okay?" He peers at the wolf, not unkindly. "Okay?"
The wolf jumps.
Padfoot roars, and leaps out of the bush, colliding with the wolf and knocking it sideways. After picking itself up, it snarls horribly and charges at Padfoot, knocking him on his back. The wolf lunges at Padfoot's neck, and Padfoot scrabbles helplessly with his paws, trying to push him off.
Evans is screaming solidly, the exact note of A flat.
Prongs is shouting, and Wormtail is whimpering, and there is the sound of Snape throwing up and trying to say something panicked at the same time. Padfoot is grappling with the wolf, and sinking his teeth deep into his wiry fur, and although the Sirius part of him feels revolted at tasting his best friend's blood, it's oddly satisfying.
Evans has stopped shrieking like a banshee and has run to the mouth of the cave and Prongs is trying to make her go back inside. Snape and Wormtail join her, and they're all tussling with each other, but Padfoot can't see whether they're helping Prongs with Evans, or trying to escape. The wolf hears the noise and starts to run towards them, but Padfoot jumps on his back and drags the beast a few feet away. He doesn't know if any of them have seen him.
Padfoot is losing the fight, though, because the wolf is larger and stronger and quicker with his teeth than he is. The moon is glaring in the sky like a torchlight, and suddenly Padfoot feels sharp teeth lift him by the scruff of the neck and dash his head against a tree. He crumples to the ground, and the wolf turns, slavering, onto the others, watching it advance stupidly from the cave mouth. Padfoot observes this muggily, unable to get up.
There is a flash of light, so bright that it can't be anything other than white, and a loud CRACK, and all at once there is a woman standing there with her hair in a bun, and she sees the wolf and begins to scream a series of discordant notes, and next to her is a tall man with a white beard and purple shorts who is carrying a wand and waving it through the air and there is another CRACK and –
Padfoot faints.
A resounding slap across the face was not one of Sirius's most favourite ways to be woken up after a late night. Regardless of this, he was roused in exactly this way - not by just one such blow, but several, raining down on his cheeks and stinging him awake. It was the morning after – Sirius could tell that from the harsh grey light and the headache. But the morning after what? Twin cockatiels chirped merrily in a branch hanging low above him, and it all came flooding back: the ropes, the moon, the wolf – Remus. Sirius had changed into Padfoot and tried to stop Moony going for the others before he'd blacked out. Sirius had taken on his Animagus form, which meant that he was now… he felt an insect of some sort scuttle over his bare thigh. His bare thigh. Bugger and fuck.
Suddenly realizing that the slaps probably wouldn't cease until he opened his eyes, Sirius did so. His assailant turned out to be someone who, Sirius wouldn't have been surprised, had wanted to give him a good slapping for a long, long time.
"Evans," Sirius said pleasantly.
"Black," Lily replied. She looked terribly solemn. Sirius tried not to let the fact that he was not wearing a stitch of clothing bother him. Lily was wearing a grim, set expression, and her green eyes were trained on his face. Either she was choosing to ignore the fact that Sirius was as naked as a peeled potato, or she simply hadn't noticed yet.
"Dumbledore? I thought I saw," Sirius mumbled slowly, sitting up casually and crossing one leg over the other – quite subtly, he thought.
"He's here," Lily nodded, affirming this.
"With Remus?"
"Yes."
"Ah."
"S'all good," Lily slurred, waving her hands in the air and smiling bitterly. Sirius grinned back at her in a friendly manner, trying to ignore the persistent throbbing at the base of his skull. Monosyllaballic conversations were the best kind.
"Alright?" Sirius inquired.
"He'll live," Lily answered.
"Which way?"
"There," Lily said, pointing through the thin line of trees to the beach.
"Must see him," Sirius muttered, trying to rip a leaf from a branch to retain his modesty with. It crumpled into damp fragments. He grasped another one, then wiped his hand in disgust as yellow bug slime oozed onto it. Lily made a 'tch' sound with her tongue.
"You're naked."
"I know," Sirius said in frustration. "I've got to see – if he's okay." Lily sighed, then pushed a crinkled wad of black clothing into Sirius's lap.
"My robes. Take them."
"Nice one," Sirius said gratefully. He pulled them over his head and Lily, to her credit, didn't wince when the fabric stretched dangerously over his shoulders. Sirius rose to a standing position, his legs still a bit wobbly. "Thank you very much, Evans." He paused. "Are you OK?"
"Surviving," Lily answered, then smiled broadly. Sirius was glad of that. She'd looked as if she was about to kill something, a few seconds earlier. "Thank you very much, Sirius."
It was the first time he could remember her ever saying his first name. He gaped unattractively for a few seconds, then remembered that keeping one's mouth so wide open that you could stable Thestrals in it was often considered impolite.
"I should be the one thanking you – for the clothes…"
"No," Lily said, shaking her head. "Thank you, Sirius. For everything."
Sirius nodded dumbly and staggered through the trees, wearing Lily's black robes. They were about three sizes too small, loose where he didn't need them to be and tight where he'd rather they weren't. As he pushed through the herbaceous border separating the forest from the sand, he saw a limp figure – Remus! – lying on the sand, his head being propped up by Peter. A woman – Pomfrey, it looked like – was trying to force a drink down his throat, but Remus shook his head and coughed, spilling the orange liquid onto his chest.
"Mr Black," a voice said coolly. Sirius span around to see Dumbledore, wearing what seemed to be an intrepid jungle explorer outfit, only purple, with silver stitching. He was flanked on either side by James and Snape. They both looked blankly at him. Snape had the remnants of vomit on the front of his shirt, and James looked as bad as Sirius felt. Sirius tried to make eye-contact with James, who was as focussed and expressionless as a blank piece of parchment. I'm sorry, Jamie.
It's OK, James mouthed at him. It's fine.
"I'm sorry," Sirius whispered, not realizing he was speaking aloud. Dumbledore, who seemed to think he was the one being addressed, folded his arms over his chest wearily. Sirius looked up and down at his Headmaster, slightly disconcerted. It was quite unnerving to have the existence of Dumbledore's legs clarified. They had all naturally assumed he had them – after all, gliding everywhere would be extremely tiresome – but actually seeing them in the flesh, as it were, was a bit of a shock.
"I will assume that Miss Evans has informed you then, of your part in this?"
"My part in what?" Sirius responded, distracted. He glanced down the beach, where Remus was having another coughing fit. He had no shirt on, and was wearing the cord trousers he'd worn to the island. Peter was clapping him on the back like an idiot, forgetting that the skin there would probably be sensitive after the night's transformation.
"Patience, Mr Black," Dumbledore smiled knowingly. If he felt any wonder at seeing Sirius in a girl's Prefect's robes two sizes too small for him, he didn't express it. "Mr Potter and Mr Snape have just finished telling me how you all occupied your time here, and though there are variations in the retelling, I feel I have a roughly accurate portrayal of what happened. Although Mr Lupin is a little worse for the wear, there is nothing seriously wrong with him. You may go and comfort him - once we have discussed the incidence that brought you here, and naturally, your punishment."
"Punishment?" Sirius asked, nonplussed.
"It was your fault," Snape snarled, stepping forward and poking Sirius hard in the chest. He clearly knew nothing of the part Sirius had played in preventing him from being mauled the night before, which was comforting, if a bit annoying on the emotional blackmail front. "You lot and your stupid bloody pranks got us here."
"I don't remember," Sirius said with complete honesty. "I can't remember anything at all about the night before we found ourselves on the island."
"Liar," Snape huffed, but Dumbledore pulled him back firmly.
"Mr Snape, as we already discussed, the potency of the magic involved – and the haphazard way the boys invoked it - will have inevitably caused a mild Obliviate-like effect on all those concerned. For instance, you yourself have professed to have no recollection of exactly why you were in the Gryffindor wing of the castle that night."
"You were in our common room?" Sirius exclaimed, enraged. "Sliming up our sofas and getting grease on our cushions?"
"Worse," James cut in immediately. "He was in our dorm. And he's pretending he doesn't know how he got there."
Sirius looked at Snape in consternation. The Slytherin boy's gaunt, sallow face twitched for a second or two, then he shrugged.
"I expect you four brought me there as well," Snape answered suddenly. "Seeing as you apparently engineered this whole thing."
"Why would we willingly bring you within two hundred feet of the place we sleep at night?" Sirius retorted. Dumbledore coughed masterfully.
"Since all six of you seem to be suffering from collective amnesia, I will fill you in on the details, in the hope that they jog your memories. The night you six disappeared, your dormitory, James and Sirius, was left in a state of utter disarray. The house-elves sent to clean it also found initially incongruous mugs with what seemed to be traces of alcoholic beverages left in them. I am sure you are as perplexed to hear this news as I am, as I am certain that no sixth-year students of mine would dare to become inebriated and disorderly on school grounds."
Slightly faded memories flashed back into Sirius's mind. There had been a lot of booze, actually. Peter had managed to steal a huge bottle of gin from Professor Keyes's study when he'd been called in there about not handing in his History of Magic coursework, they hadn't finished the Firewhiskey left over from Ogden's surprise birthday party, and Remus had received about a litre of vodka in the post that morning from a distant uncle he'd never realized he had. It was like a sign from Heaven, written with clouds in angels' handwriting: GET DRUNK. Sirius and James had had to take drastic action to prevent Remus from handing the whole lot into the teachers – which meant, of course, "destroying the evidence" by drinking it all in one night. They even woke up Peter, who'd been planning on having an early night, for this exact purpose.
"Among the many and varied objects strewn over the beds and floor," Dumbledore continued smoothly, "were several large textbooks on Advanced Magic, one particular tome being from the Restricted Section, although I understand that Mr. Lupin had borrowed it legitimately from the librarian, for the extension on his Charms coursework."
Remus had been being boring, Sirius remembered. He'd been nursing a tumbler of gin – and how could you nurse gin, James had lamented, when the whole point was to down it in one go – and Remus was reading, reading, reading and not having fun at all. Sirius had wanted him to have fun, so he'd pulled the book out of his hands and had Peter sit on his stomach until he agreed to get pissed with the rest of them. Then James had snatched the book and demanded to know what on earth about it was so interesting. He tried to read it upside down, before realizing his mistake and tossing a mug at Sirius's head when he laughed. Sirius had been drenched in vodka, and he'd had to take off his shirt.
"It is of my understanding that you attempted one of the spells in this book," Dumbledore said, a glint of something that could almost have been pride in his eyes. "I am astounded as to how you managed to – as you boys say – pull it off, as such an incantation requires a great source of innate magical power. I can only assume more than one of you was involved."
Sirius and James had started reading one of the passages, laughing in hysteria and cackling like demented hens because one of the Latin words apparently sounded like 'wanker'. Peter had joined in, but his pronunciation was terrible, and Remus, who'd been watching wryly and looking pained every time Pete made a 'v' sound, had shown them how to say it properly, although James was slurring so much it was of little use.
"We ascertained the next day that you were missing," Dumbledore said. "Although, as it was a weekend, and young boys are known for their tendency to sleep late, your absence at breakfast was not unusual. However, what was unusual, the other Gryffindor sixth-years told me, was the fact that your dormitory smelt not of the 'usual' dirty laundry, but something much stronger, and there was a type of slime pooling out from under the doorway, a thing I am presently baffled as to the reason for."
"What colour was the slime?" James interjected. Dumbledore raised a perfectly white eyebrow.
"I do beg your pardon, Mr Potter?"
"What colour?" James repeated. "Was it green or brown? Was it the squidgy kind or the oozy kind?"
"It was teal, I believe," Dumbledore answered seriously. "And from Mr. Longbottom's report I can draw the conclusion that it squidged. He seems to hold little regard for your hygiene, as when I questioned him he said that he thought you were merely 'doing something disgusting in there again'."
"Good old Frankie," Sirius grinned.
"If it was squidgy teal slime, it was a Zonko's product, Professor," James informed the Headmaster knowingly. Snape made a hideous face.
"Am I to understand that you accidentally set off one of your amusing booby traps in your own dormitory?" Dumbledore inquired with astonishing interest.
"No, of course not," James retorted, puffing himself up. "Only amateurs use mass-produced slime, like the type you get in Hogsmeade. It's better when it oozes, so we make all our own, unless it's the quality pack from larger branches." He beamed, although Sirius doubted that Dumbledore would be impressed that James was a discerning shopper when it came to using slime. Snape also looked less than happy.
"It might certainly explain why either Severus or Lily was in the vicinity of your dormitory that night," Dumbledore conceded, twiddling his beard. "It seems that the six students within an oddly specific radius were transported here. However, with regards to the slime; it saddens me that my senior students have to resort to such childish methods when dealing with each other – however vitriolic the feud might be."
"Lily would never do that," James protested. "She'd never sink that low."
"I didn't put slime in their dormitory, Professor!" Snape protested in indignation. "I don't even remember how I got there, remember? And even if I did slime them, I rather think the people who brought me here against my will and nearly got me killed should be brought to justice."
"I quite agree," Dumbledore said. "When we return to Hogwarts, Mr. Lupin and Miss Evans will both undergo 20 hours of detention, effective immediately. Mr Pettigrew shall perform 30 hours of the same, and you three shall all spend 50 hours' worth of detention and service to the school before this little matter is forgotten."
"Professor!" The three boys chorused in unison. Snape looked as if he'd swallowed an unripe lemon, one that was twice as sour as normal and riddled with flesh-eating maggots.
"That's not fair–"
"It is extremely fair, Mr. Potter, and fairer than you deserve."
"How come the girl and the werewolf got off easiest?"
"Miss Evans is an innocent party in this situation, and did not court trouble and disaster by provoking these boys with slime, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore answered curtly. "Mr. Lupin is having his prefect's badge removed formally once we return to school."
"Why?" Sirius asked angrily. "He's a great prefect."
"He's a great prefect, and he let you guys drink and abuse powerful magic in the dormitory?" Snape questioned sarcastically. "Oh, he's great, alright. Sure."
"I will have no more questions about my decisions or motives," Dumbledore announced, eyeing them all beadily. "As delighted as I am to find you all more or less intact, you must know that you are very much in disgrace. If I were you, I would accept my punishment gracefully, and restrain yourselves from attacking one another until it is time to Portkey back. Now, if you have any miscellaneous questions, I will be all too willing to answer them."
"Do our parents know we're here?" Snape blurted out. Dumbledore's forehead went creased – more than it had been already, that is. His eyes were bright, and reflected the brilliant blue of the ocean he was staring at, but the lines on his face became more noticeable all of a sudden.
"They know," Dumbledore breathed heavily. "However, they have not been filled in on all of the details. The Minister and myself fabricated a slight tale to prevent them from worrying – a school trip gone awry, I recall. They should not be fretting greatly over your return."
Sirius was going to ask the next question, but James beat him to it.
"May we use the detentions to catch up on the work we missed, sir?"
"Although I suspect classes were inordinately more pleasurable for your Professors when you were away, you shall spend your detentions aiding them in dogsbody work as an apology," Dumbledore said with amusement. "Madame Pomfrey also insists that you research and write a twelve-roll essay on the harmful effects of alcohol and underage sexual activity, to be handed in to her by the end of the month." He paused, and looked straight at Sirius. "I believe you had a question, Mr. Black?"
"Oh, yes," Sirius breathed. "Could I – can I go and see Remus, please?"
Dumbledore smiled.
"Why, of course."
"Where are the contraceptives I issued you with?" Pomfrey asked primly, when Sirius ran up to where she, Remus and Peter were huddled on the beach. She was examining Peter's tongue with distaste, which had been stained bright yellow from the sherbet. Remus watched the waves crash on the shore from where he sat glumly on the sand.
"We don't have them anymore," Sirius answered, startled.
"Oh," Pomfrey answered disapprovingly, whilst expertly checking inside Peter's ears. Sirius couldn't understand why anyone would do this unless they were deeply interested in candle making. There was certainly nothing in there apart from an abundance of wax, and, as many of his Professors speculated, a direct passage to the opposite ear, which was the reason why so much of their information seemed to bypass his brain.
"I mean, we lost them," Sirius amended, as Pomfrey nodded curtly at Peter, who shut his mouth abruptly. "We didn't use any; we just lost them in the storm."
"I see," Pomfrey replied, shutting her First Aid kit with a menacing snap. "I do hope that those are the only things you teenagers have lost on your little holiday." She turned to Peter. "You, boy, take me directly to Miss Evans so I can check up on her. Has she been exhibiting any symptoms of nausea, depression, sensitivity to smells? Hmm?"
"Er," Peter said dully. "Maybe?"
"Disgraceful," Pomfrey said, sniffing and standing up. "Utterly disgraceful. I'm surprised you're not all dying of scurvy – or malaria – or STIs."
"STIs?" Peter asked, confused.
"Sexually transmitted infections," Pomfrey clarified. "Genital warts. Chlamydia. Gonorrhoea. Crabs."
"We do have crabs," Peter nodded. "I killed one so we could eat –"
"Could I talk to Remus, please?" Sirius interrupted. Pomfrey, who had been wearing an expression of mingled horror and disgust, softened it to one of vague sympathy.
"Of course you can. Just as long as you don't exhaust him. We'll be leaving soon." She swooped off, Peter trotting eagerly at her heels and offering more crab anecdotes – "when we first got here I thought weeing on them would kill them, but it didn't work". Sirius sidled over towards Remus, who had his back to everything, and sat down, slinging an arm around him. They sat there in silence for about a minute, staring at the waves. Remus's back was hot, but his body felt so weakened that Sirius could almost feel the boy's heartbeat reverberating through him.
"How are you feeling?" Sirius asked uselessly.
"Have you ever been beaten senseless by a fat, drunk man called Trevor, and then used as a bouncy castle for an obese hippogriff, and then been given a full-body massage from a bad-tempered porcupine with samurai knives attached to its paws, and then run laps constantly until even your teeth are tired?"
"No," Sirius mumbled, stroking Remus's forearm. "Neither have you."
"Your point, Mr. Black?" Remus answered, in a fair imitation of a professor. He rotated his ankle gingerly. "Pomfrey just fixed my foot for me. I broke it."
"Well, aren't you happy that that hasn't actually happened to you?" Sirius asked. "The whole samurai porcupine Olympic run thing?"
"Mmmph," Remus pondered, entwining his hand with Sirius's and squeezing it. "It'd probably hurt less."
They stared at the waves again.
"Why is Dumbledore taking away your Prefectdom?"
"Oh, that," Remus grinned weakly. "I told him I tried to get free after Snape tied me up."
"What?" Sirius leant back, appalled.
"I did, you know," Remus laughed dryly, then winced and put a hand to his ribs. "I nearly killed my wrist doing it, too. Nearly killed you all, it turns out. Bloody stupid thing to do."
"That wasn't you! That was me, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Come again?"
"That was me," Sirius said again, feeling guilty. "I loosened your ropes once you fell asleep. I didn't know – I didn't think – I didn't know it would jeopardize your Prefectness." Remus stared incredulously up at Sirius, who had the distinct feeling that he was either babbling or sounding idiotic. Possibly both.
"Why on earth did you do that?"
"They were cutting into you," Sirius said lamely. Remus whistled in amazement.
"And the prize for the number one reckless and spontaneous random action goes to… Sirius Black."
"I'll tell Dumbledore, and he'll give it back. You can't be… un-Prefectified on my account."
"I was a terrible Prefect," Remus shook his head dismissively. "I didn't socialise with the majority of the student population, I let you drink gin, I smoked in the dorm, I let you stuff Dungbombs into Snape's cauldron in Potions, I let James try and imitate that stunt flyer he saw in Quidditch Weekly, I let Peter eat soap to see if he could blow bubbles out of his mouth, I was too scared of the third-years to stop them climbing on the trees in the grounds, and I lost my badge on the very first week because I thought you would call me a tosser for wearing it all the time."
"But –"
"I don't care, Sirius," Remus said softly, his voice sounding hoarse. "I'm just glad that no-one got badly hurt. Except you, really. James told me I hammered Padfoot into a tree. I think you might be concussed from that - you sound it."
Sirius swivelled round to face Remus, and looked at him hard. He traced the sides of a shallow cut on Remus's side with his finger, brushing the sand away from it with his thumb. Little tremors shuddered in Remus's chest when he did that.
"Does it hurt?"
"N-no," Remus forced out from behind gritted teeth. "It doesn't – hurt."
Sirius traced down Remus's side and across his stomach, avoiding the slashes made by the wolf and the trees. One large wound, above and to the left of Remus's navel, was bandaged. Sirius traced around it gingerly and up his friend's chest, over Remus's hurdling heartbeat, where the skin seemed to vibrate as he breathed, circling around his nipples and travelling down again, dipping inside his bellybutton and coming to rest on the slightly raised skin of his appendix scar.
"That hurt?"
"Nuh," Remus managed, as Sirius's fingers trailed round the waistband of his corduroys and inchingly crept up the small of his back. "No, it doesn't hurt."
Sirius's hands travelled up his shoulders, one curling around his neck and smoothing his collarbone, the other feeling the contours of his face. His finger stroked across Remus's cheek and onto his mouth, where his lower lip was slightly cut on one side.
"That hurts," Sirius said questioningly, as he pressed down on the nick gently. Remus nodded in confirmation. "Do you want me to kiss it better?"
Sirius leaned forward without waiting for an answer and kissed him, his hands supporting and tilting the other boy's head. Remus tasted soft and sleepy and slightly metallic because of the blood, and it felt like they were melting into each other.
"Ha," Sirius said, disengaging himself after a while. "Your tongue's not tired."
He always had to go and say the stupidest things at times like these, didn't he. Sirius winced at himself, and Remus smiled.
"I said even my teeth were tired," Remus corrected. "And they are. Exhausted."
"Is that why you were nibbling on my lip, then?" Sirius asked. He grinned. "You also said you had been massaged by a sadist porcupine called Trevor."
"Trevor was the fat, drunk man who beat me senseless," Remus reminded him. "You are hopeless at this."
"I'm not hopeless at other things," smiled Sirius wickedly. Remus tried to raise an eyebrow, but found it to be too heavy, eventually giving it up and letting it drop.
"Anyhow," he yawned, "as much as I'd like to discover what you're not hopeless at, we're in already in trouble up to our ears. And I wouldn't want to traumatize Snape."
"Or Peter."
"Or Pomfrey."
"She'd love it," Sirius joked. "Filthy-minded little wench."
They stared out at the sea again. The waves lapped soothingly at the shore in a rhythmic lullaby, and the yellow sun hung low in the sky, the glaring white moon of the night forgotten. Two brown-backed crabs scuttled purposefully along the coastline, one holding a bit of bark from the fallen tree in its pincers.
"You know, I don't want to leave," Remus murmured.
On the day of their departure, the island looked almost exactly like it did on their arrival. The sun shone down on everything, the reflected hues making the island a technicolour of crazy. The parrots in the trees squawked fit to bust, strolling with their nuts as if the branches were an avine model's runway. The devastation from the storm had all but vanished. The perfect beaches glimmered palely, the fallen trunks in the sun looking as if they had lain there for a thousand years, and then some.
Only the people were different. Their hair was a little longer than before, and roguishly tousled – "matted", Pomfrey had said. Their skin darker from the sun – and covered with a delightfully musky layer of sweat, dirt and sand. Lastly, they all had the slightly haunted look of people who have experienced withdrawal symptoms from the additives, preservatives and E numbers that normal people are used to ingesting in their food.
James was managing to stand next to Lily, with his arms around her, and yet he wasn't acting like an idiot. He was also managing not to punch Snape in the nose, who was standing next to him also, though that may have been due to the fact that teachers were extremely in evidence. Lily, having managed to assure Pomfrey that no, she was not pregnant, unless it was some sort of immaculate conception, was also visibly more relaxed. She seemed to have decided that life had thrown every possible hurdle it could throw at her, and so she leaned into James's chest, smiling serenely. Peter, who seemed to be revelling in the fact that Lily wasn't pressing her lips together in annoyance every time he said something, was talking animatedly to Snape, who, rather than sneering, was tolerating it, albeit reluctantly. Sirius and Remus weren't looking at each other, but Sirius's right hand and Remus's left one were oddly absent from view. They both wore distracted smiles on their faces.
"Are you children ready?" Dumbledore called, from where he had unfurled the mauve parasol they were using as a Portkey. "Gather round."
"I hate you all," Snape snarled suddenly, interrupting Peter in his chatter. "I hate you all so much. You're the most annoying, stupid, immature people I could ever hope to be trapped on an island with. This changes nothing."
"Well done, Snivellus," James congratulated him, amused. "That was a very eloquent speech you just made."
"This changes nothing with us, either," Lily said suddenly, disentangling herself from James's embrace. "I am never going out with you, Potter. Not in a million years."
"Oh, you wound me," James murmured, still irreverent and cheerful, despite his rejection. "When we are happily married and you are hula dancing for me in a grass skirt and coconut bra to remind me of this day, you will apologise for being so cruel."
Lily raised an eyebrow slightly at the strange, foreign, impostor James who wasn't falling over himself to plead for her undying love.
"You will soon learn that I am never going to hula dance for you, Potter," she said, composing herself. "And I don't care how many times I have to slime your dormitory for you to get the message."
"That was you?" James and Snape chorused in disbelief. Lily tossed her head enigmatically, and marched over the sand to the Portkey, smiling at Dumbledore, who inclined his head gracefully, his silver beard bobbing up and down.
"You know something, guys?" James breathed, once he was able to speak again. "I love her even more now. That's so… it's so unbelievably sexy of her."
The others, not willing to discuss slime's merits as a potential aphrodisiac, walked off towards the parasol, and James followed, shaking his head with a mixture of lust and incredulity. Everyone grabbed onto the handle, or a bit of lace.
"This is a really cool Portkey, Professor," Peter commented, fingering the material.
"Thank you, Mr Pettigrew," Dumbledore answered, pleased. "It was just lying around the office; you know how it is…"
Remus didn't know how it was, but wisely decided not to contribute to the conversation. He looked over his shoulder, and looked into Sirius's wicked grey eyes.
"Your eyes are so close," Sirius muttered. Dumbledore was talking to Peter about his detention, and Pomfrey was re-clarifying that none of them were pregnant, so no-one heard.
"Sorry," Remus apologised, and rolled his. "I was meaning to do something about that, I just never got round to it."
"I like them close," Sirius said. "But I think maybe they're just big. You have big brown eyes, like melting chocolate drops. Or mud."
"Thank you," Remus grinned, blinking.
"I love your muddy eyes," Sirius said suddenly. Remus stopped blinking.
"I love your…" He trailed off. Sirius pouted like a toddler who was being refused an ice-cream cone with spinach and hairgel as toppings.
"That hard to flatter, am I?"
"You," Remus blurted out.
"You love my me?" Sirius asked, smiling.
"Yes," Remus nodded. "Exactly."
"Do you want to hear a joke?" Peter almost shouted. "There was a pirate, and he woke up one morning on an island. And on this island the sea was purple, and the trees were purple, and the sand was purple, and the animals were all purple. And the pirate captain, he looks around at the island and says… 'Oh dear, I think I've been marooned'."
As Peter's hysterical laughter filled the air, there was a sudden yank behind Remus's navel. Peter's laugh stopped abruptly and the world began to whirl madly, like a spinning top. There was a cool rush of air and the mad postcard colours all blurred into each other.
"Oh, I get it," Remus said aloud. "Maroon is purple."
And then, they were gone.
The ending.
Crap.
Shite.
Worthless.
You have low self-esteem.
You're fishing for compliments.
Favourite cameo character. Because I am LAME like that.
The cannibalistic owl.
The crabs.
The fleet of porpoises that rescued everyone else on the island so that Sirius and Remus could stay together and have fluffy, sandy boysex. Whoops, that scene was cut.
Er. Pomfrey?
Did the votes go in your favour?
Everything I wished for came true!
This is exactly why I didn't vote in the real election. One vote can't make a difference.
You looked at what I wanted and deliberately wrote the opposite. Fie!
No, but I liked the stuff that people voted for.
Yes, but you cocked great opportunities up each time.