Chapter Text
The Irish countryside, 1993
Hadrian Abels was nervous; there was no other way to put it. This was his first real assignment as an auror, and he was terrified that he would cock it up. Of course, he did have two of his superiors with him, a middle aged witch named Belinda Mendelsohn and top auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, but he still couldn't help feeling that how he reacted today would make or break his involvement in the case.
He ran over the details again in his head.
It had been a mere hour after the announcement that the mass murderer Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban when Shacklebolt had presented the assignment.
“It's fairly straightforward,” he had said, “When Black went to Azkaban he left behind a wife, Honeysuckle. She's a sweet girl, I've met her before. To be clear, she was in no way connected with the murders her husband committed.”
One of Hadrian's mates raised his hand.
“How can you be sure, sir?”
“Because she's a squib,” he answered plainly, shocking the room into silence.
Something immediately rubbed Hadrian the wrong way about the statement.
He-who-must-not-be-named had been staunchly against all things non-magical, and had called for squib eradication alongside muggleborns. It didn't make sense that his number one supporter would be married to one.
“The task,” Shacklebolt continued, “would be to go and inform her of Black's escape and search the premises for any sign of him, though I doubt he'll be there, as she's since remarried. This is the part where it gets complicated: I don't expect any trouble from the husband, but he has assaulted aurors in the past, so I won't fully disregard the possibility. I also feel it my responsibility to warn you that her current husband is a werewolf, and may get territorial when we enter his home.”
A shudder ran through the gathered aurors, and whispers erupted. Just last month an auror was killed in a werewolf-related disturbance. His body had been ripped to shreds, and the image still hung in the minds of his coworkers.
“I will state again though,” Shacklebolt reiterated, “that I do not expect trouble from the husband and I highly doubt Black will be hiding there. This is just something to be crossed off the list. We'll walk in, ask some questions, do a quick once-over of the house and leave. It will probably only take a couple hours, maybe less. Now, I'll personally be going on this one, and I'd like two volunteers to come with me.”
Hadrian looked around; no one seemed to be volunteering. The escape of Sirius Black had sent a shockwave through the department, but Hadrian supposed his coworkers would rather trawl the streets than run down a near-certain deadend. A deadend with a werewolf.
He did some quick calculations in his head. He didn't think the full moon would happen for a week and a half, and though werewolves were resistant to magic even in human form, he reasoned three aurors should be able to take one out without a lot of difficulty.
While he ran over the variables in his head, Belinda Mendelsohn raised her hand and said in an only slightly shaking voice, “I'll go.”
Auror Mendelsohn usually didn't go into field work anymore, as she had an old war wound and preferred paperwork anyway, but she was currently writing a book about muggles, and was keen to interact with them whenever her job allowed. Hadrian supposed a squib was close enough to a muggle that it would peak her interest.
Emboldened by Mendelsohn, Hadrian raised his hand and said the same.
Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows at him, but when he spoke, it was without judgment.
“Auror Abels, what makes you want to take this job? This would be your first venture into the field, yes?”
Hadrian nodded, but spoke as confidently as he could: “I did my N.E.W.T. essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts on werewolves, and got an outstanding.”
Shacklebolt's eyebrows lowered, and he nodded, looking satisfied. “That suits me. Aurors Mendelsohn and Abels, meet me in my office in fifteen minutes; the rest of you, back to work. The minister wants Black caught as soon as possible, and so do I.”
And now Hadrian was walking toward the house that the couple occupied, trying to swallow the rock that had settled in his throat.
The house was in the countryside, and the nearest neighbors were a mile away, making it a good place for a werewolf to settle down. Though they had tried to apparate directly to the front door, anti-apparition wards had deposited them a quarter-mile from the house. And so, the three aurors walked down the lane, only the crunch of gravel beneath their feet to break up the silence.
If Shacklebolt thought that civilians warding their home was unusual, he certainly kept it out of his expression. Some half-forgotten line from his defense textbook told Hadrian that werewolves were abnormally protective of their homes, but still, anti-apparition wards were complicated magic.
Hadrian wished that his heart would stop beating so loudly, as he was sure that his companions would hear it, but he couldn't help it, he had never actually met a werewolf or a squib before, and was unsure what to expect.
Finally, they rounded a bend in the road and came face to face with the little house. It was painted a peeling yellow, and flowers blossomed plentifully in the many flowerbeds surrounding it. Hadrian could see that Mendelsohn’s eye was drawn to the car in the driveway, but Hadrian was far more interested by the couple in the yard.
They were already looking up at the approaching aurors, expecting and wary looks upon their faces. Typically, Hadrian would have found this strange, but the wards had certainly warned of their trespass.
The werewolf was seated on the porch steps, a copy of The Daily Prophet gripped loosely in his hands, and the squib was seated on the ground by the flowerbeds, a little pile of weeds at her side.
Now that they were able to see the aurors, the pair stood up.
They were utterly unlike anything that Hadrian had expected.
The man was tall and broad, even more so than Shacklebolt, and had scars littering every inch of skin that Hadrian could see. Though a leather jacket and ripped jeans would have suited his torn skin better, he was wearing brown slacks and a white button up shirt, rolled up at the sleeves.
Hadrian supposed it was prejudiced, but he hadn't expected to meet a werewolf wearing casual business attire.
The werewolf had dark brown hair streaked with gray, a tidy mustache, and laugh lines around his eyes, giving him the appearance of a kindly professor or favorite uncle, but his strong jaw was clenched and his brown eyes were guarded.
Hadrian got the distinct impression that this was not a man you wanted to piss off.
Switching his gaze to the squib, Hadrian could certainly understand why Black had defied his beliefs to be with her; she was beautiful.
She was certainly no veela, but her round face and honey-colored eyes were arresting, especially when framed by constellations of freckles and rust-brown curls. Her hair was up in a bandana, and she wore a t-shirt and a pair of dungarees, but the accessories that stood out the most were the tattoos all down her arms, green leaves on swirling branches. They moved with the breeze as it passed in the air, and Hadrian supposed he had never seen a finer example of magic tattoos.
When her husband stepped to stand by her, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, but she didn’t seem small against him- simply well-placed.
Her hand came to rest gently on her husband's elbow, and though she did it casually everyone knew the true purpose: to stop him from reaching for his wand.
“Kingsley!” she greeted with a smile and an American accent, “I haven't seen you in years! How are you?”
It was the point in a greeting where one would typically step forward to shake the other’s hand, but the squib made no move, her husband standing like a mountain beside her, jaw still clenched.
Shacklebolt sighed.
“I could definitely be better. I'm afraid I'm not here for just a social call. Maybe we better take this inside, somewhere you can sit down.”
Her smile froze on her face, becoming little more than a baring of teeth.
“Is this about Remus?” she asked, her once butter-soft voice turning to steel. The werewolf in question curled his fingers around the wand in his pocket and Hadrian saw Belinda go for hers.
“This has nothing to do with your husband or his condition,” he said before Shacklebolt had a chance to, “In fact, we're only here to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Lupin. Mr. Lupin, may we be allowed inside your house?”
A knowing glint flashed in the man’s eye, as though he knew Hadrian was trying to play him, but Hadrian stood firm, the words in his old Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook flashing through his mind- Always ask a werewolf before entering their territory, stand your ground but display no signs of aggression, werewolves are quick to anger, under no circumstances should you touch a werewolf or their mate without explicit permission, do not let a werewolf close enough to bite you, avoid werewolves at all cost around the full moon-.
“What is this concerning?” the werewolf asked quietly, a pleasant Irish lilt trying its best to mask the stiffness of the words, “Three aurors here just to talk to a squib? Seems a bit excessive.”
Hadrian swallowed hard, unsure if it was his place to say, but his coworkers’ continued silence spurred him on.
“We’re here to talk about Sirius Black.”
The squib reeled back as though she’d been slapped, but the werewolf stayed stock-still, the blood draining out of his face.
“Has he-” the werewolf glanced at his wife, eyes wild and hunted, before looking back at Hadrian, “Has he died?”
The squib gasped, air punching out of her like her lungs had been punctured.
“Could we come in, Mr. Lupin?” Hadrian asked again, heart beating fast as a snitch’s wings.
The werewolf nodded gravely, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shaking shoulders.
“I think you’d better. …Merlin, I need a drink.”
It was only 11:30 in the morning, but Hadrian certainly sympathized.
Still holding onto the squib’s shoulders, the werewolf turned them around, urging his wife toward the house before following her, shielding her from any possible attack with his large body as she opened the door and stepped inside.
The aurors hesitantly followed.
The inside of the house was again a surprise. Though both the house and the furniture were old and secondhand, everything was clean and well-cared for; the floral wallpaper was lined with filled bookshelves and the fireplace mantle was littered with photographs, both wizard and muggle. Hadrian noted that though the squib had been married to Black for four years he wasn’t in any of the pictures.
“You have a lovely home,” Mendelsohn commented, her eyes fixed on the television in the corner as the aurors squished together on the sofa. The squib perched anxiously on the loveseat while the werewolf stood behind her, towering over them all.
“Thank you,” the squib answered weakly, eyes unfocused as she looked at Mendelsohn, “It was a wreck when we bought it, hadn't been lived in in years, but magic is just… so handy, and Remus has a specialty for fixing things. Of course, he's very… very strong too, and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty. When we didn’t know the spell- I’m sorry, is he dead?”
“Honey-” the werewolf snapped, a warning tone in his voice.
“I was his wife, you know-” the squib continued, paying no attention to her husband, “I have a right- I have a right to know if he died.”
Shacklebolt cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the unbridled emotion in her voice.
“Sirius Black is still alive-”
Hadrian watched with interest as the tension unspooled from the couple’s shoulders.
“-we’re here to tell you that he’s escaped Azkaban.”
Whatever the couple had been expecting them to say, it had certainly not been that.
Whatever color had come back to the werewolf’s face drained again, veins prominent in his neck as he clenched his jaw once more. The squib, however, retained her loosened posture, giving them another smile.
“That's impossible,” she explained to them, looking at Shacklebolt like a hostess looks at a guest who’s made a distasteful joke, “it's impossible to escape Azkaban, everyone knows that. Nobody's done it before.”
“There’s a first for everything,” Shacklebolt told her, keeping a wary eye on the werewolf, “Sirius Black has escaped.”
“What's he after?” the werewolf demanded, tone clipped, “Is he coming after her? Is that why you're here?”
Shacklebolt shook his head.
“No, we think he's going to Hogwarts. The theory is that he's going after Harry Potter.”
The couple reacted in exact opposites, the werewolf’s jaw relaxing while his wife's eyes bulged rather unattractively.
“He's going after Harry?” she exclaimed, her voice shaking, “But he's just a child! Why the hell are you here? You should be with Harry !”
“Honey,” the werewolf soothed, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder, “It's going to be alright; there's no safer place on earth than Hogwarts. Harry should be safe there, even Voldemort feared Dumbledore.”
The three aurors shivered at the carelessly disregarded name, but the squib did not flinch.
“He escaped Azkaban!” she protested, “If he can slip by that many dementors I'm sure that he can get by one wizard!”
Shacklebolt shook his head.
“Potter is currently heavily guarded, and if Black is still free by September- which we are working our hardest to make sure does not happen- then Hogwarts will have the highest security possible.”
The squib still looked shaky by the end of Shacklebolt's statement, but the werewolf’s eyes had narrowed, glinting with suspicion.
“You're not here because he's coming after Honey, you think we're housing him. That's why you're here. How dare you! How dare you come into my home and upset my wife simply because you think we would stoop low enough to help a convicted criminal! One that killed my best friends no less! Get out ! Get out of my home !”
His last word dissolved into a snarl and Hadrian could see Mendelsohn go for her wand, but before anyone could make a move Hadrian stood up slowly, his hands in front of him and his eyes downcast.
“Think about it, Mr Lupin,” he pleaded, “Sirius Black is a dangerous man, and I have no doubt that you are too. Do you truly think that we would only bring three aurors to face down the both of you?”
A beat of silence permeated the room, and then the squib spoke.
“The kid is right. The last time you saw Kingsley it took four aurors just to take you down.”
Hadrian, Mendelsohn, and the werewolf all turned to look at Shacklebolt.
“That’s right,” the werewolf said after a moment, “You were there.”
“You have a hell of a right-hook, Mr. Lupin,” Shacklebolt replied.
The werewolf huffed a laugh, barely more than a breath of air.
“My apologies. That was… a bloody terrible day.”
Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow.
“Like today?”
The werewolf had the decency to look ashamed of himself.
“We’re just here to ask Honeysuckle some questions,” Shacklebolt continued, “and we’d like to search your home, as a formality. We don’t believe he’s actually here.”
The werewolf didn’t look convinced, but before he could open his mouth his wife laid a hand over the one he had placed on her shoulder.
“Please, Remus, they're just doing their jobs. Just let them look, they won’t find anything.”
The werewolf didn’t look any less skeptical, but he softened when he looked at his wife, and finally sighed.
“Alright,” he agreed, “but I'll be following you, and it will be the woman that stays with Honey.”
Shacklebolt nodded and stood, leaving only the women still seated.
“My name is Belinda Mendelsohn,” Mendelsohn told the couple, looking at the squib instead of the werewolf, “and I'm an expert on muggles. I'm writing a book about them, so you'll be in good hands, Mrs Lupin.”
“I'm sure I will be,” the squib replied with a strained smile, “and please, call me Honeysuckle.”
The werewolf nodded, seemingly satisfied, and unlaced his fingers from his wife's, bending down to place a kiss on the top of her head.
“Right, follow me,” he told the two remaining aurors.
They headed into the kitchen. Hadrian and his boss casted finding spells and then fruitlessly searched through the cupboards, cabinets, and even the muggle refrigerator, but there was no sign of Black. They moved on to the dining room, the bathroom, the office, and then finally the master bedroom, looking around in unnerving silence as the master of the house watched with unwavering eyes.
Though the rest of the house was charming, it was the couple's bedroom that truly had the most character. The bed was made with a thick handmade quilt, and books were scattered everywhere- piled next to the bed, jammed into bookshelves, and tossed on the desk, which was stained eccentrically with different colors of ink. There were two bedside tables, one with a vase of flowers and the other with a pile of newspapers. A beautiful white fireplace sported a mantelpiece filled with photographs, just like in the living room, and it was in one of these that Hadrian found a way to break the silence.
The picture in the middle of the mantle was an old muggle photo of what Hadrian presumed was their wedding day. The couple was standing in front of a courthouse, smiling at each other like they couldn't believe their luck. The werewolf had considerably less scars than he did now, and was clean-shaven, with a muggle suit on, looking decades younger; though Hadrian assumed the picture could have only been ten years old.
Time had been much kinder to the squib, who looked about the same- though had perhaps gained a few freckles- and was wearing a simple white dress that went only to her knees, a small bouquet of mismatched flowers in her hand.
Hadrian noted with some interest that the neckline of the dress dipped to show the top of a thick scar running along her collarbone; it looked remarkably similar to the ones her husband bore.
Hadrian considered asking the werewolf if his wife was similarly afflicted, but decided to go with a more tactful question to keep the peace.
“How did you meet your wife, Mr Lupin?” he asked, trying to ignore Shacklebolt flattening himself to look under the bed.
Hadrian was unsure if the werewolf would look at this as an invasion of his privacy, but he discredited the idea by chuckling.
“It was quite like something out of a film. I was walking out of a shop with Sirius and saw her heading towards us. She was so… beautiful and had this determined look in her eye and I just thought: 'this is her. If I was going to marry any girl it would be her.' ...Then, of course, she walked right up to us and kissed my best friend.”
Hadrian chuckled, thinking how much nicer the werewolf looked with his eyes crinkled as he smiled.
“Why do you think he was with her- if you don't mind me asking- was it to disguise himself or-”
“No,” Lupin interrupted, “He loved her. There were a lot of things I questioned about him after we found out what traitorous scum he was, but I never doubted that. She's just that sort of woman; when she looks at you… nothing else matters.”
Lupin smiled, his grin a little melancholy, and Hadrian thought back to when he first saw Mrs. Lupin only an hour ago, how he had instantly understood why a pureblood would settle for a squib.
Perhaps Lupin understood that Hadrian understood, or perhaps he had just been worn down by an hour of non-stop stress, but the werewolf went to the dresser and rummaged around, taking something out and handing it to Hadrian.
Hadrian looked down at the object in his hands and saw that it was a picture, a wizard one, of Mrs. Lupin and Black standing in front of Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor on Diagon Alley, laughing and kissing each other. The squib looked the same, if a bit younger, but Sirius Black looked like a totally different man.
In the wanted poster all the aurors had been shown, Black had been horrifying, with a skeletal frame and long, knotted hair that fell to his elbows, not to mention his rotting teeth and sunken eyes. In this picture however, Sirius Black was devilishly handsome. He was wearing muggle clothes despite their magical location, ripped jeans and a plain white t-shirt that showed off the tattoos on his arms, which he had wrapped around his wife. He looked happy, ridiculously so, his smile showing off bright white teeth and crinkling his gray eyes. His long shaggy black hair only reached to his shoulders, and had a shine that the Sirius Black in the wanted poster could only dream of achieving.
In the past, he had clearly been the sort of man that would turn witches’ heads, but for whatever reason he was wearing muggle clothes and kissing a squib. Hadrian couldn’t understand it, but he supposed it might have been the reason he had so easily been able to betray his friends; no one would suspect the wizard with a muggle wife to be a muggle hater.
“She doesn't know I know she still has it,” Mr Lupin said, interrupting Hadrian's musings, “but I don't blame her; they were like fire when they were together. It was beautiful to watch, even though I was pining over her at the time.”
“Well,” Hadrian said, handing the picture back, “this whole situation worked out well for you then.”
The wistfulness of Lupin's gaze turned to sharp anger as he snatched the picture out of Hadrian’s hand.
“Three of my best friends died,” he snapped, “and one of the men I trusted most turned out to be a traitor. If that's your definition of well I would hate to see what you think is bad .”
“Right,” Hadrian agreed, blushing and clearing his throat, “sorry. I wasn't thinking, this must be incredibly difficult for you.”
Lupin stared hard for a minute, and then let out a sigh, putting the picture back in the drawer he had taken it from.
“No, I'm sorry. I'm usually not like this, but… well, I can say you brought the worst news I’ve heard in twelve years. Now, I suppose you'll be wanting to see the cellar?”
“Yes,” Shacklebolt answered, startling Hadrian, who had almost forgotten he was there.
Lupin nodded, gave another sigh, and led them back through the kitchen and out the back door.
The cellar was around the back of the house, and though the small home the Lupins kept looked like something out of a daydream, the cellar door looked straight out of a nightmare. A thick metal door in the ground was locked by five heavy padlocks, which Lupin summoned the keys for from his house.
After unlocking the chains and door, he lit his wand and started down the wooden steps, his mouth set in a grim line. Hadrian and Shacklebolt followed.
The cellar was unlike anything Hadrian had ever seen. What seemed to be furniture was torn up, wrecked, and chewed. Blood stains were splattered all over the walls and dirt floor, and it smelled as though a dead animal was rotting away there.
“Don't worry,” Lupin said with a self-deprecating smile, “the blood's all mine.”
Neither Hadrian nor Shacklebolt responded, and Hadrian started to look behind the broken furniture, trying hard not to throw up. When he was finished Shacklebolt did the finding spells he had done in every other room, and, when nothing came up, the two aurors quickly left, emerging into the warm summer air with Lupin right behind them.
While Lupin locked the chains again, Hadrian stared blankly into the distance, gut wrenching when he imagined Mr Lupin bidding goodbye to his wife and descending into the cellar, the kind Mrs Lupin locking the chains, them both knowing he would soon tear apart everything in the room, along with himself, and having to do the same thing a month later.
“I'm sorry,” he told the werewolf when Lupin turned to face him, horror and fear and sadness welling up in his chest, “I'm so sorry. I don't know how you do it.”
Lupin smiled, a sad and empty mimic of the real thing.
“It's alright, I've done it for almost thirty years now, there's no need to be sorry.”
“But I still am,” Hadrian countered.
Lupin looked at him a moment, considering, then turned to Shacklebolt.
“If your department requires you to contact us again, I'd like it to be this young man that comes. If I have any say in it of course. Now, I'm to go see how Honey's holding up, you can follow if you like.”
The three of them entered the house again and were greeted by the sight of Mrs. Lupin and Mendelsohn on the loveseat together, holding cups of tea while the squib tried to explain to the witch how televisions worked.
Honeysuckle's face was red and blotchy, as though she had been crying, but she brightened when she saw her husband, while a tenseness Hadrian hadn't even realized Lupin had been holding disappeared when he saw his wife.
“Thank you for letting us into your home,” Shacklebolt said as Mendelsohn stood and brushed off her robes, “It was good to see you, Honeysuckle, sorry it was with such bad news.”
“That's not your fault, Kingsley.”
“But still, I’m sorry,” Shacklebolt countered, “If you remember anything or if Black tries to contact you-”
“I'll floo, or get Remus to apparate.”
Shacklebolt nodded.
“We’ve got the entire department on the case at the moment; we don’t believe he’ll be out for long. Still, be careful.”
Mrs. Lupin gave a shaky smile.
“Thank you for the warning. It would have been a nasty shock to see it in tomorrow’s Prophet.”
Shacklebolt sighed.
“Hopefully the headline will be Black recaptured. Regardless, thank you for cooperating. We’ll contact you if we have any more questions.”
“We’ll keep an eye out,” Mr. Lupin promised, stepping forward to open the door for them.
The aurors, well-aware on how to take a hint, filed out of the door, heading back down the gravel lane once more.
—----------
The thud of the door felt like the closing of a tomb.
“Remus,” Honeysuckle whispered, unable to formulate any other thought.
“Not yet,” Remus snapped, pulling out his wand and muttering spells under his breath.
Honey quieted, swallowing back a strange sort of nostalgia. She hadn’t seen him sweep for listening spells since the war.
As her husband disappeared into the other rooms Honey made her way into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey and two lowball glasses. They didn’t drink much, more out of financial concerns than personal preference, but she thought today’s news necessitated a little liquid courage. After pouring a hearty two fingers into her own glass she filled her husband’s almost up to the brim; she had the feeling he’d appreciate a stiff drink.
She grabbed her own glass, taking a sip as she stared out the window, eyes darting back and forth as though Sirius would emerge from the trees at any moment.
He wouldn’t come to her. It had been twelve years since she had last seen him, ten years since she had written him the only letter she’d ever sent to Azkaban. There was no way he’d know where she lived, no way he’d be able to get past Remus even if he did know- God, Remus. As if he wasn’t anxious enough about taking the teaching position, as if he hadn’t been just as wrecked as she had been when they’d found out what Sirius had done-
Almost as though he had been summoned, Remus stepped into the kitchen, eyes tired as he muttered the last of his spells.
“Nothing,” he told her, tossing his wand carelessly onto the counter, “I guess they were telling the truth- they don’t think he’s here.”
He grabbed the whiskey glass, tossing back half of it in one big gulp before smacking it back on the linoleum, not caring as some of the firewhiskey sloshed over the rim.
“Merlin-” he swore, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He glanced out the window as well, eyes sweeping across the treeline before turning back to his wife.
She hadn’t seen that sort of desperation on his face for twelve years.
“You love me,” he told her. It was a statement, a question, and a plea wrapped all in one.
“Yes,” she breathed, setting her drink down, “Yes, Remus, yes-”
Remus crossed the space between them in only one stride, one large hand cupping her face as the other grabbed hold of her waist. He kissed her like a drowning man, gasping into her mouth as he moved against her, his grip just a touch too tight to be comfortable.
Despite the hint of pain Honeysuckle was glad for his attention, her hands gripping his arms just as tightly. The spice of the firewhiskey tingled on her tongue as it slid against his, the kiss sloppy and frantic in a way it never was when they were this sober.
Or… close to sober.
“I love you-” he gasped against her, tearing his mouth from hers to scrape his teeth against the column of her throat, “I love you, stay with me-”
“ What?”
She placed her hands against his chest and shoved. Though she wasn’t strong enough to really move him he humored her, taking a step back even as his hands lingered on her body.
“What did you just say?”
Remus at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself.
“I didn’t mean- well, of course I meant I love you, I just-”
Honey pulled back further, eyes wide as she searched his face.
“Do you really think so little of me- so little of us- to think that I would run off with him? He killed Lily and James, not to mention Peter-”
“I know, I know… I’m being stupid, I’m sorry-”
“How could you think, even for a moment-”
“Well, I was always your second choice, wasn’t I?”
She reeled back as though he had slapped her.
“Remus….”
He let her go, stepping back to lean against the kitchen counter.
They stood quietly for a moment, the silence ringing louder than anything they could scream.
Remus bowed his head, looking at his shoes instead of looking back at his wife.
Honeysuckle knocked back the rest of her whiskey, the liquor going down like flames.
“I loved Sirius. I… I still love him if I’m being honest, and I don’t want to be anything other than honest with you-”
Remus gave a shaky exhale as she kept talking, still not looking up at her.
“-but I am your wife. I have been your wife for ten years , and have loved you even longer. You were my second choice, but I haven’t forgotten that I was your second choice too.”
Remus looked up at that, meeting her eyes for only a moment before he grabbed his glass, swallowing another mouthful.
“It wasn’t first or second choice with either of you, I’d known him since I was eleven, it was a matter of chronology-“
“As if it wasn’t for me ? I was already with him when I met you- if you had met me first who knows if I would have married Sirius-”
“Of course you would have-” Remus interrupted, the ghost of a smile lighting across his face, “-I never would have had the balls to ask you out.”
Honey laughed, the sound startling out of her like a bird bursts from a bush.
The sound of laughter in a house that had seen so much of it seemed to break the spell of melancholy, the couple catching each other's gazes.
“The past doesn’t matter,” Honeysuckle told him, blinking the glaze of tears out of her eyes, “I’m choosing you first now, just like you’re choosing me. Right?”
“Of course,” he promised, stepping forward to take her in his arms once more.
This kiss was simpler, more familiar. The urgency faded out from between them, replaced by the years and years of kisses just like the one they were in. First or second choices aside, they were in love, and nothing could change that.
Sirius Black would be caught, Sirius Black would be jailed, and Sirius Black would fade back into a shared nightmare, far away from either of their grasps.
——————-
The Daily Prophet arrived the next morning.
Despite Kingsley Shacklebolt’s hopes, the headline ran SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN in bold block letters, along with instructions for how to use the floo tip line that the ministry had set up.
Remus hastily shoved five knuts into the pouch on the owl’s leg, hurrying back inside.
“Paper’s here!” he called out, heading over to the table where Honey was standing.
Honey whirled around, accidentally knocking her mug of coffee onto the ground. To her credit, she didn’t even blink when her wizard husband waved a hand, the mug coming back together as the coffee gathered back inside.
“Put it on the table,” she told him, hastily moving the repaired mug to give Remus space to lay it flat.
Remus snapped the rubber band that held the rolled up newspaper, tossing it aside carelessly as he laid the Prophet down.
The couple gasped in unison.
Because of the egregious nature of the crime and the certainty of guilt due to the secret keeper’s oath, Sirius Black had never received a trial. He had been sentenced to life without parole, and was not allowed any visitors.
When Remus and Honeysuckle had last seen Sirius, he had been a handsome, healthy 21 year old man, with nothing but a sleepless night’s worth of dark circles under his eyes to take away from his charm. The picture that the Daily Prophet had put on the front page was almost unrecognizable. If Sirius hadn’t been holding a board with his name and inmate number on it, neither of the Lupins would have recognized him at all.
“Jesus, Mary, and Merlin,” Remus muttered under his breath.
Honeysuckle let out a little sob.
“He’s so thin,” she whispered, fingers ghosting over the photo, “God, have you ever seen him that thin?”
“Summer break in fourth year Walburga locked him in his room for two weeks before school,” Remus told her, his voice toneless and hollow-sounding, “All he ate were the slices of bread that Regulus shoved under the door. When I saw him first day of term I thought he looked like a skeleton.”
Honey gave another little sob, but all Remus could seem to do was stare blankly at the picture, watching as Sirius blinked slowly up at him.
They stood in silence for a while, just as dead-eyed as Sirius as they looked down at the photo.
Finally, after many long minutes, Remus moved to flip the page.
“Don’t-” Honey begged, catching his hand, “I just want to look a little longer.”
“We have other pictures of him, dear,” he reminded gently, splaying a hand across her back, “Ones that are much kinder.”
All but the one Remus had shown the young auror were boxed up in storage. They both knew they wouldn’t touch them.
Slowly, Honey relented her grip, hand falling into her lap as Remus turned the page.
SIRIUS BLACK AT LARGE
In a feat that has never been done before, Sirius Black has escaped his cell in Azkaban. Black, a devoted follower of You-Know-Who, was imprisoned twelve years ago after murdering thirteen people with a single curse. There is no word yet from the Ministry of Magic or from Azkaban as to how he escaped, but both institutions urge caution; Black is a singularly dangerous wizard. “All our top aurors are on the case,” Minister Fudge told the Prophet, “And we expect to catch him soon. As Azkaban prison is on an island, it is a probability that he has merely drowned, and there is simply the matter of finding his body. Nevertheless, keep a watchful eye on your surroundings and report any sightings on our floo tip line.”
The couple sat in silence as they read the rest of the article. Authorities believed he didn’t have a wand, he had escaped yesterday morning, the picture on the front page was the most recent picture of him, do not approach Black for any reason if you see him- and so on. It didn’t tell them much more than they already knew.
“They didn’t mention me,” Honey said after she had read the article twice.
“And a good thing, too,” Remus replied, “You’ve enough to worry about without making national news.”
“More than enough to worry about,” Honey murmured, turning back to the front page.
Looking at the picture of Sirius was almost physically painful for the couple, so unlike was it than what they remembered.
“I hope he dies,” Remus told his wife softly.
“Oh, Remus, don’t say that-”
“Just look at him, Honey. I can’t hope for his recapture. What they’ve done to him… he was my friend once. I can’t wish the dementors on him, but he deserves to be punished after what he did to James, Lily, Peter… your brother.”
Honey sucked in air through her teeth, the sound reminiscent of a dementor.
“Dolohov killed my brother, not Sirius.”
Remus sighed.
“But it was Sirius who sold out-”
“Can we not- I can’t talk about this Remus I-”
She flipped the Prophet face down, replacing Sirius’s picture with a page-long ad for Digglesworth’s Digestives; they're dangerously delicious!
“I’m sorry,” Remus apologized, surrendering his point quickly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Honey sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face.
“No, you’re… it’s just the situation. Why did he have to do this!”
She slammed her fist down on the table, rattling her coffee mug and Remus’s cup of tea.
“It’s not fair!” she cried, tears welling up in her eyes, “We were supposed to be happy this year, to catch a fucking break! I’m supposed to be excited for Hogwarts and all I feel is this- this dread!”
“I know, darling,” Remus soothed, putting an arm around her and placing a kiss on her head, “I know.”
“I just…” she stayed quiet for a moment, lost for words, “I remember changing Harry’s diapers, and reading to him and playing peek-a-boo. And he used to… to smile so big that his eyes would squeeze shut, do you remember that?”
Remus let out a chuckle, his eyes getting watery as well.
“He had Lily’s eyes, even though he looked so much like James. Do you think we’ll still recognize him?”
“God, I don’t even know. It’s been twelve years… he certainly won’t recognize us. Do you think he even knows who we are?”
Remus sniffed, a tear escaping to roll down his cheek.
“I really don’t know. I… struggle to think of Petunia relating us in a positive light, much less speaking of us at all.”
“Good old Tuney,” Honey scoffed, bringing up a hand to wipe her cheeks.
“Sirius won’t come near him,” Remus promised, “Hogwarts is the safest place on earth, and Sirius will probably be caught before term even starts; they’ve got the entire department of aurors on his trail. We’ll be together this year, yeah? No more working odd jobs at odd hours, no more scraping by. We’ll be together, and we’ll be with Harry, even if he doesn’t know who we are.”
Honeysuckle leaned into him, the tension unspooling little by little as she felt her husband’s strong arms wrap around her.
“We’ll be okay,” Remus said with all the confidence of a fortune teller, “We’ll be just fine.”
—-----------------------------------
The days seemed to blur together after that.
With less than a month until their new jobs at Hogwarts the Lupins were kept busy, writing and rewriting lesson plans and complaining to each other nonstop about it.
“It’s very clear that Lockhart didn’t write his own books,” Remus groused, halfway through a glass of wine and ruffling the feather on his quill “because these lesson plans are atrocious. If the content wasn’t enough to make me want to jump off a bridge the spelling would push me right over the edge.”
“At least yours are entertaining,” Honey said around the pen in her mouth, “Burbage’s lesson plans put me to sleep after only a few lines. She had three months dedicated to the science of electricity; most muggles don’t know how electricity works! And there’s not a single lesson dedicated to dressing properly- it’s no wonder my seventh year class only has four students.”
Remus opened his mouth to point out that she was lucky enough not to have to teach first years, but was interrupted by a knock sounding on the door.
The Lupins looked at each other in surprise.
“Probably just Sarah again,” Honey reasoned, taking the pen out of her mouth with an only slightly shaky hand, “wanting to know if we’ve seen Porter.”
Their neighbor’s miniature schnauzer often tried to escape the sticky hands of Sarah’s grandchildren by taking refuge on the Lupins’ property.
“Just stay there,” Remus told her, grabbing his wand off the table and walking cautiously to the door.
He relaxed after looking through the peephole, stowing his wand in his back pocket and opening the door wide.
“Albus!” he greeted, “What a pleasant surprise. Please, come in.”
The headmaster of Hogwarts stepped into the humble abode with a smile, the top of his hat nearly reaching the ceiling.
“I do hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all, you just missed dinner.”
“I do have some leftovers if you’d like, Albus,” Honey offered, rising out of her chair, “Or I can get you something to drink. We’ve just opened a bottle of cabernet, but we’ve also got water, tea… I just made some lemonade this morning.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Albus enthused with a clap of his hands, “I would love some lemonade.”
“Of course,” Honey said with a smile, “It’s got blueberries and basil, is that alright?”
“Even better.”
Remus cleared off some papers from the loveseat, gesturing for Dumbledore to sit as Honey disappeared into the kitchen.
“Hard at work, I see,” the headmaster observed, nodding to the lesson plans Remus had hastily gathered, “I apologize for not being able to offer anything besides Gilderoy’s notes. Unfortunately the ministry confiscated all Quirinus Quirrell’s notes when they discovered Voldemort was living in the back of his head, and the professor before that lost all his work in a niffler related incident.”
“I’m making the best of it,” Remus reassured, “It helps to be able to devote all my time to the lessons. We… we really appreciate you starting our salaries back in June, it’s saved us a lot of sleepless nights.”
Albus waved a hand.
“Of course, of course. Deciding what to teach is nearly as important as teaching itself. -Ah, thank you my dear. Mmm! Scrumptious.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Honeysuckle said with a smile, sitting next to her husband on the couch.
“Despite the house-elves’ excellent work in the kitchen, I'll miss her cooking,” Remus confessed with a smile.
“Yes, yes, I remember the wonderful food you made for the Order meetings. Your chocolate cake in particular was a bright light in a dark time.”
The mention of the Order made the Lupins shift uncomfortably.
“Are you here about Sirius?” Honey asked, doing away with all niceties.
Dumbledore nodded.
“I’m afraid I am. Nasty business, his escape. Even nastier for the both of you, I imagine.”
“Are you rescinding our offers?”
“Honey!” Remus scolded, sending an apologetic look to Dumbledore for his wife’s curt words.
“Not at all, not at all,” the headmaster assured, “It would be a pity to lose two very fine teachers over an old friendship. No… I simply must do my due diligence. It would be remiss of me to not at the very least speak to you about Sirius, even if the questions are perfunctory.”
Remus nodded as Honey took a sip of her wine, both of them waiting for him to continue.
“This is not a subject that brings me any joy, but the safety of the school is something that I cannot compromise. If either of you have had any contact with Sirius since his escape, or if either of you know or suspect you know of his plans, I would bid that you tell me now.”
“No,” Honey answered, taking ahold of Remus’s hand, “They wouldn’t allow him to send any letters in Azkaban, and he hasn’t tried to contact me since he’s escaped.”
“Yes, yes. Prisoners of Azkaban are not allowed to send out any mail, but they may receive it from their immediate family. As his wife, you were allowed to send him letters; did you ever do so? And… forgive me for mentioning it, but it’s come to my attention that you never got a divorce.”
The Lupins both stiffened, knuckles going white as they squeezed each other’s hands too tightly.
“There’s a clause-” Remus stammered, “The clerk said- it wasn’t necessary, our marriage is perfectly legitimate.”
“Yes, an interesting little loophole. I’m afraid I’m still having trouble understanding it.”
“I was going to divorce him, after Remus proposed,” Honey confessed, “but the clerk told me that there was a polygamy exception for spouses of prisoners with life sentences. You said it yourself, they can only receive mail from immediate family members; if I divorced him I’d no longer be considered an immediate family member. Like Remus said, it’s legitimate, I’m legally married to both of them.”
“Ah… does that mean that you’ve been sending him mail?”
“I’ve never sent him anything,” Honey lied, resisting the urge to cross her fingers.
“Then why is it you never got divorced?”
Because she still loved him. Because not being his wife would have stuck in her side like a sword in the stone. Because even after everything Remus had told her not to. Because she knew Remus liked being married to Sirius in some bizarre, convoluted, and indirect way.
“The court fee was sixty galleons,” she told Dumbledore, face as plain and honest as she could make it, “That’s two months of wolfsbane potions.”
Remus smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, aware as she was that wolfsbane potions hadn’t been invented until two years after they married.
“It’s hard for me to stay employed,” he told the headmaster, the shame coloring his voice as real as anything, “and not all our employers are as generous as you with our salaries.”
Albus nodded, convinced enough of their poverty that he didn’t need another reason.
“Yes… I see. Thank you for telling me. On a related note, I believe Auror Shacklebolt told you of Sirius’s plans?”
Remus gave a jerky nod.
“I just don’t understand it,” Honey confessed, “He loved Harry so much, was devoted to that little boy. I used to joke that when we had kids of our own he’d still love Harry more. It’s just… I don’t understand why he’d want to-” she cut herself off, her anguish more honest than anything she’d said so far.
Remus released her hand to wrap his arm around her, pulling her close.
“There’s a lot we don’t understand about him,” he murmured to himself and his wife and to Dumbledore and to no one at all, “I don’t think we ever really understood him much at all.”
Dumbledore nodded sagely.
“The light the present shines on the past is often too bright to be pleasant. As such, I would appreciate you keep the conversation about Sirius to a minimum when speaking with the young mister Potter.”
Remus swallowed down the ‘fuck you’ that sprang to his lips.
“Harry has a right to know,” Honey protested for the both of them, “I’m not going to lie to him, not about this and not about anything.”
“Then it is a good thing that Harry is not enrolled in muggle studies,” Albus countered, taking a sip of his lemonade, “And that there is no reason for him to speak to you.”
It was a threat. They all knew it.
Remus swallowed down more foul words while Honey swallowed down her scream.
“Of course neither of us will bring up the subject,” Remus said after he trusted himself to not let profanity slip out, “He’s a child with too much on his plate already. That being said, I can speak for both of us when I say that we will never lie to him if he has a direct question.”
Dumbledore nodded.
“Thank you. As you said, he has gone through enough already, he does not need this burden on his shoulders. …I’m afraid I must ask one more favor from you in particular, Remus.”
“Anything,” Remus answered, unsure if he meant it.
“A little context,” Albus told them, holding up a finger, “I must say I do not approve of the minister’s request, but I have accepted it. In an effort to secure Harry’s safety, dementors will be guarding the grounds at Hogwarts until Sirius Black has been captured.”
The Lupins paled.
“I- I don’t have a wand-” Honey stammered, “I can’t cast a patronus-”
“Pardon me, let me better explain. The dementors will be guarding the perimeter of the grounds. They shouldn’t be in contact with any of the staff or any of the students. As I said, I have my reservations, but I can concede to the necessity of the decision.”
“What favor will you ask of me?” Remus questioned with a furrowed brow, “I’ve already worked patronuses into the curriculum for seventh years, but it will be a difficult charm for even them.”
“You can still cast a patronus then? I remember your wolf from the days of the Order.”
It had been a dog, was still a dog, but Remus didn’t correct him.
“Yes, I can.”
“Excellent. As I said, they should have no contact with students, but I cannot help but guard against all possibilities. The Hogwarts Express is only ever staffed with three adults: two conductors and the trolley witch. They are competent spellcasters, but it would still ease my mind if a professor would be there in the unlikely event of a surprise boarding by Sirius Black or the dementors. I believe it would alarm the students less if one of the new professors rode with them. I had hoped your familiarity with Hogwarts would allow you to arrive a day later than the rest of the staff. I know it’s the day after the full moon, but I can add the expense of a wolfsbane potion to your paycheck.”
“Of course,” Remus answered quickly, having been expecting something much worse, “I never thought I’d ride the Hogwarts Express again.”
It would hurt, would hurt desperately to make the trip without the rest of the marauders, but he was glad to protect Harry in any way he could.
“Thank you,” Albus replied, a depth of emotion coloring his voice, “I do not like this, not at all, but the ministry has insisted. Honeysuckle, I would still prefer you floo into Hogwarts the day before to ready your classroom and familiarize yourself with the castle.”
The prospect of being at Hogwarts without Remus was a little terrifying, but Honey found herself nodding along. She was not a child; she could get by without holding her husband’s hand.
“Excellent. I will see you on Tuesday then, nine in the morning. Thank you for the lemonade, my dear.”
“Of course, Albus. You’re always welcome here.”
The couple rose as the headmaster did, following him as he opened the door to step out.
“Oh, hello! What a charming dog.”
Bone-white terror gripped the Lupins, flashing across their nervous systems like fireworks. Perhaps they should have shouted, or jumped to action, but both froze like they had been hit with a sticking charm, twin lumps in their throats.
“Such a fine beard! I can only hope mine should be so magnificent,” Albus remarked playfully, stepping aside to reveal the neighbor’s miniature schnauzer sitting on their porch.
“Porter!” Honey exclaimed, relief falling through her like a waterfall, “Oh, you naughty dog!”
He wagged his little tail.
“Our neighbor’s dog,” Remus explained, Porter coming inside to sit at his feet as he snapped and pointed, “He’s not supposed to be here.”
“I’ll go phone Sarah,” Honey said with a relieved smile, squeezing Remus’s arm before disappearing into the kitchen.
Albus stepped out onto the porch, turning back toward Remus as he came to shut the door.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”
Despite not having been at Hogwarts for over a decade, Remus still managed to feel like a schoolboy under the headmaster’s nebulous gaze. Perhaps once he would have told him everything, grateful for his time at school and so sure that the older wizard could do no wrong, but he was a man now. Appreciative as he was to Albus for the teaching position, nothing could wipe away the bad blood the war had conjured.
“Nothing at all,” Remus replied mildly, “Have a good night, headmaster.”
The headmaster nodded and stepped out into the dusk, the stars on his hat twinkling as he walked down the lane.
—-----------------
The next week slipped by like water through a sieve, and soon the Lupins were frantically checking and double checking suitcases and lesson plans.
“The letters are peeling,” Honey lamented, licking her thumb and trying to smooth them back down, “I knew I should have bought better paint.”
“It’s lovely,” Remus reassured, pulling her hand away from the case and the peeling letters of Professor R. J. Lupin, “Makes me look like I’ve had it for a while. Maybe I can trick the students into actually thinking I have qualifications.”
“You do have qualifications,” Honey scolded, tired from having this same argument over and over again, “You know more about magic than anyone I know.”
“To be fair, most of your friends are muggle.”
Honey rolled her eyes, leaning back against her husband.
“You’re impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible, my dear.”
Remus wrapped his arms around his wife, sighing in contentment when she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Full moon’s tomorrow.”
Remus hummed.
“You sure you don’t want me to come on the Express with you on Wednesday?”
“I’m picking up my potion from Diagon right after you leave. I’ll just be laying around the house, won’t even need to go to the cellar. Will you be fine tomorrow?”
Honey turned around so she could look up at him.
“What if I get lost? You said it’s massive, and I’ve never even been to a castle before.”
“You have my full and explicit permission to guilt trip Albus into being your tour guide. And even if you do get lost, I’ll find you when I get there.”
“What if I fall down a trap door into the dungeons and die? What then?”
“Then I’ll be rich after I sue for unsafe working conditions, and I’ll get you a very nice tombstone.”
Honey laughed.
“Do wizards even sue for that?”
“I’ll get a muggle lawyer.”
“That’d be a good TV show actually, muggle lawyer suing Hogwarts.”
“As long as you make sure I get writing credit.”
The couple laughed, more caught up in the joy of being together than the actual joke.
“It’ll be thirty four hours exactly,” Remus reassured her after they’d quieted, “I don’t think either of us can get into too much trouble on our own.”
“And you’ll clean out the fridge?”
“It’s already mostly cleared out.”
“There’s still some eggs-”
“Which I’ll eat tomorrow. It’ll all be fine.”
“You always say that.”
“And I’m always right.”
Except for one very large exception. One very large exception that had broken out of Azkaban. Neither of them mentioned it.
“It’ll be fine,” Remus repeated, “Now brush your teeth, wash your face, and don’t wear any knickers to bed.”
Honey grinned wickedly.
“Why not just take them off me now?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Remus scolded with a firm slap to her bottom, “I’m revising a lesson and I want to get it down before tomorrow.”
Honey grinned wider; she liked it when he’d get like this.
“Yes, sir. And can I-”
“Don’t touch yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
Apparently he actually did have a lesson he wanted to revise, because Honey was already half-asleep when he came to bed. Though she was wearing one of his old t-shirts, it rode up enough to reveal that she’d followed his instructions, the obedience and the view enough to make his mouth water.
Remus sat on the bed, running a hand up her thigh.
“You awake?”
“Mmm, barely.”
“Still in the mood to- oh.”
He’d reached her cunt, pleased to find it slick and dripping.
“Someone didn’t behave,” he scolded, cupping her sex in his hand.
“I did!” She protested sleepily, the whine in her voice just the right pitch to make Remus believe her.
“All this without even touching yourself,” Remus marveled, slipping a finger to circle her dripping hole.
“Was dreaming about you. Dreaming of what you’d do to me.”
“And what would that be?”
“Actually fucking me instead of just talking about-” Honey cut herself off with a yelp when he laid a harsh smack against her cunt.
“That was rude, wasn’t it?” Remus scolded, his cock tenting his trousers as he watched her writhe.
“Sorry, I’m sorry I said it.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Sorry, sir.”
“That’s my good girl,” Remus cooed, running gentle fingers along the abused flesh. He didn’t normally hit her like that, but he was plenty reassured she liked it when she got even wetter. “You are good, aren’t you?”
She nodded emphatically.
“I didn’t even touch myself.”
“And how hard that must have been. Don’t you think you deserve a reward?”
“Only if you think so, sir.”
Remus chuckled at her clever wording.
“Legs open.”
She spread her legs wide eagerly, smiling as he settled between them. He was still fully clothed, but he didn’t need to get undressed to use his mouth.
He kissed up her inner thigh, open mouth kisses that left her shaking with need as he scraped his teeth along the thin skin there.
“Please,” she gasped, fingers gripping tightly at the bed sheets.
Smiling as his breath grazed against her, Remus locked his gaze with hers before finally putting his mouth where she wanted it.
Ten years they’d been married. Ten years he’d put his mouth against her and tasted her sticky-sweet against his tongue, yet every time still felt like the first. That she’d let him put his mouth on her, him, with his too sharp canines and bite-lust and wolfblood, every time it felt like a miracle.
She writhed against him, only slightly chastened by the arm he anchored across her hips, and he rode through the tide. Though he didn’t much like how large his nose was, he was grateful for the way it brushed her clit as he licked and sucked and nipped at her, driving her wild.
Some nights he’d pin her down and fuck her with his tongue, the rough pads of his fingers pulling back her clitoral hood to torture her to orgasm. Tonight though, with his cock pulsing against his zipper and a sinking feeling in his gut that she was going to be pulled away from him, tonight he couldn’t wait to get inside her.
He licked her through the crashing wave of her orgasm, then brought himself up to kneel, wiping his mustache with the back of his hand.
“Off,” he rasped, already working on stripping himself out of his own clothes.
Honey looked at him dumbly a moment, amber eyes blown and chest still heaving, then did as he said, pulling off the shirt that had bunched up around her stomach.
Remus didn’t like his own body, so tall and broad and torn that it felt like a neon sign screaming to be looked at, but there was no greater pleasure than feeling her skin slide across his, scars catching on scars.
Soon he was as naked as she, and he lowered himself on her, catching her mouth in a kiss.
She tasted like toothpaste and woman and home, and despite his aching need he took a moment just to kiss her, to get lost in the love they felt for each other. The feeling was almost as tangible as her lips on his.
After a minute he nipped at her lower lip, reaching down to guide one of her legs up over his hip. He ground his cock against her, both of them groaning as the slide was aided by the remnants of her orgasm.
“Beg for it,” Remus ordered.
“Please,” Honey gasped, the word falling out of her mouth like she had only been waiting for his say so, “Please fuck me sir, please. I need it. I need you in me, please, I need-”
She cut off as he pushed into her, breath leaving her in a wordless scream.
“Such a good girl,” he praised, sheathing himself fully inside her, “Such a good little slut for me.”
She couldn’t answer, couldn’t do anything but moan as he started to move.
“Such a waste to have you work,” he panted, pistoning his hips faster, “Should keep you chained under my desk, keep my cock warm with your mouth.”
She didn’t respond with words, but her cunt spasmed around him, spurring him on.
He set a punishing pace, harsher and harder than he usually let himself be with her. The hit of their pelvises was bruising, bony and underfed as they were, but Remus kept going, biting at the shoulder that already held perfect scars of his teeth.
As he got close he angled himself to the spot that he knew would make her cum, thrusts getting faster as his wife’s moans turned into whines. He lapped at the blood his teeth had drawn, feeding the beast inside him as his wife’s nails scraped down the scars on his back.
“Touch yourself,” he growled in her ear, “Cum for me.”
She did as he bid, reaching down to rub her clit and screaming as she gushed around him. He followed soon after, groaning as he spilled his seed inside her, thrusts slowing as his orgasm rocked through him.
After they both stopped shaking he rolled off her, turning to gather his wife in his arms.
They kissed languidly, the taste of blood and cunt on Remus’s tongue.
“What brought that on?” Honey asked when they parted, a lazy smile dancing on her lips.
“Sorry,” Remus apologized, embarrassment setting in now that the heat of arousal had faded.
“Don’t be sorry, I liked it.”
“You’re bleeding. I shouldn’t have bit you.”
Honey brought a hand up to feel her shoulder, fingers dancing over scars and bruises.
“It’s just a nick, hardly even any blood.”
It was true, only one of Remus’s canines had broken skin. Still, he couldn’t help but feel like a piece of shit about it.
“Stop wallowing,” Honey demanded, pulling him back in for another kiss.
Remus gave in; there would be plenty of time to hate himself after she left tomorrow.
After they parted he grabbed his wand off the bedside table, vanishing away their sweat and blood and cum before pulling the blankets over both of them.
Honey burrowed against him despite the blankets and the heat of the summer night, her perpetually cold nose finding a roost in the curve where his shoulder met his neck.
“Gonna miss you,” she murmured against his skin.
It was barely more than a day apart, only one night spent in separate beds, but still, Remus couldn’t help but dread it. Something about Sirius being free made him feel like the game was up, that his wife would slip away the second his back was turned. Even though he was in bed with her, his arms around her, he couldn’t stop remembering the way he’d felt as a groomsman in her wedding to Sirius. He couldn’t stop remembering watching them kiss.
“Yeah,” he agreed, feeling like he was on the precipice of a turning page, “I’m going to miss you too.”