The Boy Who Killed God {Sirius Black | Marauders Era Fanfiction}

Ask and Answer

JANUARY 5, 1972

He awoke to moon-silver eyes and curtains of raven-black hair—that was just starting to be what one such as Walburga Black might consider of improper length—hanging over his face. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of dittany and starlight and...

Magic.

"You talk in your sleep. You said my name."

Much to Sirius's apparent delight and amazement, Remus Lupin felt himself turn bright red.

It was way too goddamned early for this.

"Did you sleep at all?" Remus groaned into his pillow, tucking it under his chest and rolling onto his stomach to block out the light. There wasn't much of it—far too little streaming in from the open window that led to the roof for it to be even remotely close to breakfast. They'd either forgotten to pull the curtains when they'd made their way inside last night, or Sirius was attempting to systematically drive Remus mad.

Dealer's choice, really, on that one.

Sirius wiggled around on the bed, shuffled the pillows between them until he was sitting up and leaning against the headboard.

"No," Sirius said, his tone bright and chipper. "I figured I spent most of the last two weeks unconscious, so I've more than hit my quota for sleep. Henceforth, I shan't be needing to sleep."

It was entirely too early for the use of the word shan't.

Somehow—miraculously—Remus managed to raise his head a little.

"Nightmares?" Remus deadpanned.

Sirius's silence was more than telling.

Not to be deterred or let darkness settle between them, Sirius waved his hand. "Were you dreaming about me, Remus? Was I wearing clothes?"

Remus wanted to die.

He had been dreaming about Sirius. In fact, there'd hardly been a night in the last two months—outside the full moon, that is—that he hadn't dreamed of Sirius.

For the most part, there seemed to have been clothes involved. Generally speaking.

(There were exceptions to every rule. Remus was only human. Mostly.)

"How're your scars?" Remus shot back, because all's fair at half-six in the morning.

Sirius rolled his eyes and glared at him. "Fine."

"Liar."

With a huff, Sirius raised his shirt. Remus lifted his head off the pillow and squinted a little to get a better look. The green oozing bits had gone and Remus could no longer smell even a trace of infection. Most of the scars had scabbed over, which had to twinge with any sort of movement, but they looked significantly better than even yesterday morning.

Still, a pit formed in Remus's stomach at the sight of them. When the wolf scarred him like that, Remus tended to heal in a few days—faster, if he applied dittany—but with Sirius, it'd take weeks. Longer still, for the scars to fade to silver.

Christ, if he ever got his teeth around Malfoy's throat...

"All right, calm down," Sirius said, before lowering his shirt, and it was only then that Remus realised he'd been growling.

He'd been doing that a lot lately.

Mr. Hyde needed a tighter leash.

"I applied dittany before you woke up," Sirius continued. "Downed the last of the pain potion, too. Probably need to nick more of that."