Chapter Text
“You smell like alcohol,” Sirius retorts, almost automatically, just to say something.
He has to think. He needs time to think.
Remus huffs. “No, you smell like alcohol,” he says, amused. “How much did you drink?”
“A bit,” Sirius says evasively, still trying to gather his thoughts.
The facts first. Remus is definitely a werewolf. The other two who brought the car are also werewolves. It is very possible that everyone in that crowd earlier was werewolves because they belong together. ‘One of us’ Remus said, and if he thinks Sirius is also a werewolf, that means ‘us’ are werewolves. Right?
“It’s bad for us,” Remus chides him. “I know how it is to be a teenager, but it’s still a very bad idea to drink alcohol.”
Sirius agrees wholeheartedly, as alcohol is the exact reason why he got himself into this mess.
“How old are you?” Sirius asks.
“Eighteen,” Remus replies and grins, obviously amused that Sirius tried to pass off as the same age as him. But Sirius is actually eighteen and it’s just a little endearing that Remus thinks he’s some sort of child.
Maybe this was why he came back for him, protected him. Because he thinks Sirius is a young werewolf. Fuck. Because Sirius is definitely not a werewolf. Why the fuck does Remus think he is one? Says he smells like one?
What would Remus do if he found out that Sirius was not who he thought he was? He wouldn’t be all that pleased, that’s for sure.
Sirius tries really hard to remember everything he knows about werewolves. It’s, unsurprisingly, not much. They had a very bad reputation in the wizarding world, feared by most, misunderstood by the rest. Sirius has never actually met a werewolf before, and it was a little hard to relate everything they’ve been taught about them with the kind and helpful behaviour of Remus.
“Where are we going?” Sirius asks, watching the streets outside.
“A safe place,” Remus answers mysteriously, but his tone is gentle. “Don’t worry, everything will be alright.”
“I’m not worried,” Sirius murmurs stubbornly.
Remus smiles and shakes his head. “Brave little cub,” he muses.
Sirius groans and bangs his head on the seat. “Stop calling me that or I’ll bite you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Remus retorts and his smile gains an edge it didn’t have before, something feral crossing his features for a second.
For having very little idea about werewolves, the situation he manoeuvred himself into and Remus’ agenda, Sirius thinks he’s doing a pretty good job at pretending to be one of them. He should keep up the biting jokes, maybe channel his inner dog to fit in better.
Oh, Merlin’s saggy balls, it’s Padfoot! This must be why they think Sirius is one of them. For some unknown reason, they can smell that he’s an Animagus with a dog form, and it must be similar enough to the smell of young werewolves.
“Remus,” Sirius says, and he hums again, the sound going straight to Sirius’ core like a comforting song. “Thank you.”
Remus looks over at him briefly, before turning back to the street. “Any time,” he says easily. “The cut was pretty clean; you’ll heal in no time.”
Yes, Sirius thinks, as long as he gets access to a wand. At least some of the werewolves in their pack must be magical, even if Remus isn’t. He just needs to heal himself quickly and apparate to get his wand. And to kill James and Peter. Then everything will be alright.
They stop on some street, the night already fully dark around them, and Remus gets out of the car promptly before helping Sirius out. They walk again, which Sirius doesn’t appreciate at all. His leg seems to refuse to cooperate at all, hanging limply, and Remus sighs.
“Come on, it’ll be easier this way,” he whispers and steps in front of Sirius to haul him up on his back.
Sirius hesitates a little, not sure how someone so thin and frail-looking like Remus could actually carry him. But Remus doesn’t seem to be bothered at all, as if he’s feather-light. Werewolves must be stronger than normal humans even when it wasn’t the full moon yet.
It would have been embarrassing to be carried like that if Sirius didn’t find himself enjoying the ride a bit too much. Sure, it elevated the pain in his messed-up leg, but why did it feel so nice to be pressed against Remus’ strong back like that?
Remus walks down some alleys and then they arrive at an iron gate that leads into some abandoned industry area. Sirius can’t see much, it’s too dark and there are no street lights here, but Remus seems to have no problems with night vision.
He leads them through, into a building that looks completely deserted from the outside and erupts with noise as soon as they enter. There are probably silencing charms around it. They walk down a short hallway and through a metal door.
On the other side is a huge room, brightly lit with electricity. It looks like a military hospital – there are rows of narrow beds on both sides, separated with cloth dividers. In the middle are long tables, filled with medical supplies.
“Remus, thank God!” A woman runs over to them with an expression that is relieved and panicked in equal measure. “We thought they got you!”
“I’m fine,” Remus says calmly. “I need a bed for Sirius though.”
The woman looks at Sirius and clasps her hands. She looks to be in her mid-thirties, her dark hair tied up in a high knot, face covered in similar scars as Remus’. Her eyes are bright yellow. Also a werewolf then. She’s wearing a light-blue shirt and matching trousers like some sort of uniform. Is this what muggles wear in hospitals?
“Oh, poor baby,” she coos at him and turns on her heels to show Remus to an empty bed. “Where did you find him?”
Remus gently sets him down and helps to put his legs up. Sirius groans and sinks into the surprisingly comfortable pillow
“On Howland Street,” Remus says. “Lost and drunk. Barely got away from the Death Eaters.”
Sirius wants to argue on principle but then remembers that he was indeed lost and drunk. Who are Death Eaters? Sounds like a heavy metal band.
The woman tuts and shakes her head. “Sirius, right? I’m Kendra. Don’t worry, you are safe now,” she assures him gently. “Do you need anything?”
“I dressed his wound,” Remus replies and looks down at Sirius’ leg again to check the bandage. “He should be fine now, but we need to look out for fever. It wasn’t exactly sterile.”
“He’s so young,” Kendra agrees sympathetically, “the healing might not be as efficient.”
So, apparently, werewolves heal faster than humans. At least grown werewolves do. It’s playing out surprisingly well in his favour that everyone thinks he’s still a child.
Remus pats him on the shoulder. “You should sleep some,” he advises. “I have to see to the others, but I’ll be around.”
With that, he leaves, already deep in conversation with Kendra about something unrelated. Sirius follows them with his eyes, too tired to move his head. He should think now, make a plan, go over everything he has learned. But his eyelids drop heavily, and Sirius resigns himself to sleep, unable to hold off any longer.
***
When Sirius wakes up again, it’s because someone is gently patting his shoulder.
“Fuck off, Prongs, I’m sleeping,” Sirius mumbles.
“Prongs?” a deep voice asks and chuckles. “Sorry to disappoint.”
Sirius opens his eyes instantly and sits up in bed, the events of last night filtering in at once. So, it wasn’t a dream.
“Easy,” Remus chides him and sits on the edge of his hospital bed, looking him over with bright, orange eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Sirius rubs his eyes and scans his body carefully. His head still hurts, but the leg feels much better. He flexes the muscle and throws off the sheet someone must have draped over him while he was out. The wound is still bandaged, but more carefully than before, and smells faintly of eucalyptus.
“Raphael came around,” Remus mentions casually. “He put some healing salve on you as a test.”
Ah, Sirius remembers the smell from Hogwarts – that was the stuff Madame Pomfrey would put on them after Quidditch injuries. It seemed to work well on deeper wounds as well.
“I think it’s almost healed,” Sirius agrees, relieved. “Thank you.”
“See, this is the interesting part,” Remus continues pensively, still fixing Sirius with his impossible eyes. “That salve is magical. It only works on wizards.”
Oh, fuck. Sirius sighs and looks Remus straight in the face, pushing down the sticky feeling of dread.
“Surprise?”
Remus huffs and looks around quickly, before getting up. “Come with me,” he says.
It sounds ominous and Sirius hesitates for a moment, but Remus’ tone is not threatening, and he offers him a hand when Sirius struggles to stand up properly. His leg must really be almost healed because he can walk on his own again – it still hurts with every step, but it’s manageable.
Remus takes them out of the door they walked through yesterday, but instead of going outside, he walks further down the hall and up a set of stairs. Sirius struggles a little, limping, but follows without complaint. There is another, identical hall on the second floor, and Remus opens a door at the end of it. Sirius ponders the possibility of Remus leading him into a prison cell, but it’s not like he can run away now, and Remus doesn’t actually look mad or scary.
And, sure enough, the room on the other side of the door is not a cell. It looks like a makeshift bedroom – a little bare, but all in all quite comfortable. There is a narrow bed, not unlike the hospital beds downstairs, and a set of drawers. Under a window is a desk, covered in papers, maps and books. There is another door next to it, possibly leading to a closet or a bathroom.
Remus motions for him to sit in the chair and perches on the bed himself. It looks like someone slept in it not too long ago. Was this Remus’ room? What even is this place?
“You should have told me you were magical,” Remus says kindly and cocks his head. “Have you been to school? You can’t have been bitten long ago, you don’t have any scars and don’t seem to know much about us.”
“I’ve been to Hogwarts,” Sirius admits and rubs his forehead, trying to figure out what to do.
Remus hums in thought and Sirius' heart flutters at the sound of it for some reason. “That’s amazing,” he says. “But you must still have the Trace on you. How old are you really?”
Sirius groans and looks Remus in the eyes with newfound determination. “Remus, for the last time, I’m eighteen.”
“No, you’re not,” Remus retorts instantly and shakes his head, disappointed. “I guess it doesn’t quite matter at the moment...”
“What can I do to prove my age?” Sirius asks, exasperated, and rolls his eyes. “Shall I undress and show you that I’m an adult?”
Remus’ eyes widen a little at that and he huffs a laugh. “Okay, pup, calm down,” he says, amused. “That’s a bit much.”
“Can you find me a wand?” Sirius asks, feeling desperate. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“I won’t give you a wand,” Remus says sternly. “The last thing we need is the Ministry finding us.”
Sirius takes a deep breath and leans back in the chair. Remus was proving to be incredibly stubborn.
“I’m not a werewolf,” Sirius tries.
Remus shakes his head again. “Sirius, I know this is hard. But there is no need to hide here. We’re all the same,” he says placatively and smiles.
“No, really, I’m not,” Sirius urges. He sighs and stands up, a little wobbly on his feet. “Okay, now, don’t freak out.”
Remus watches him incredulously, maybe still expecting him to suddenly start undressing. Sirius can’t help a mischievous grin and winks at him, before transforming.
“Holy fuck,” Remus breathes shakily.
Sirius’ world shrinks in a familiar way, like every time he becomes Padfoot, – colours fade, smells appear stronger, and his thoughts become shorter and less prominent. It’s like his mind is reduced to the very basic core, working more on instincts than conscious decisions.
And right now, his instincts tell him that he should definitely make a new friend. Padfoot stalks closer to Remus, still sitting frozen on the edge of his bed and wags his tail enthusiastically.
“Sirius?” Remus asks, still hesitant, and then carefully stretches out an open palm.
Padfoot whines a little as confirmation and bumps his snout in Remus’ hand, sniffing him. Remus smells like sanitiser and something sweet… Chocolate? And very strongly like a leader. Padfoot whines again, more submissive, and licks his palm hesitantly.
Remus chuckles and lifts his hand to scratch his head. “Wow, you really are a puppy.”
Sirius would like to argue, but Padfoot doesn’t seem to have the same problem with being called a puppy. He likes to be scratched behind his ears, just like Remus is doing now, and wags his tail harder, before flopping over on his back to present his stomach.
With a little surprised laugh, Remus leans over and pets his belly, digging his fingers in the short fur there.
“See,” Sirius says smugly, transforming back.
Remus startles a little, hands still on Sirius’ now exposed stomach, and quickly straightens up, snatching his hands away.
“No, no, please, continue,” Sirius drawls and grins. “That was very nice.”
“What the fuck, Sirius!” Remus exclaims. “You’re a dog?”
“An Animagus,” Sirius corrects him and stretches languidly before folding his arms behind his head on the floor. “A wizard that can turn into an animal. In my case – a dog. His name is Padfoot, by the way.”
Remus stares at him in disbelief. “So, you really are eighteen?” he asks. “Wait, that means you don’t have the Trace on you anymore!”
“Finally, he believes me,” Sirius grumbles and grins. “Didn’t even have to get naked. Pity.”
“Wait here!” Remus exclaims, obviously excited, and jumps up from the bed to rush out of the door so fast that Sirius can barely follow him with his eyes.
It doesn’t even take a full minute – Sirius just about manages to get up from the floor and slump on the bed before Remus walks in again with a bouquet of wands in his hands. Sirius gapes at him – there must be at least a dozen different wands, and he doubts that all of them were given freely.
“Here.” Remus sits down on the bed again and fans the wands out on the sheet. “Maybe one of these will fit.”
Sirius didn’t even hope to have a choice in that matter. Generally, as long as the wand was not specifically designed to only work for one person, a wizard could use any wand for basic spells – with different levels of success, obviously, but it was better than nothing. He probably wouldn’t be able to apparate with a wand that didn’t like him, but he would have been able to send a note at the very least.
“Do I want to know where you got these from?” Sirius asks suspiciously and leans over to inspect them carefully.
“Death Eaters,” Remus says with a shrug, completely unbothered.
It still doesn’t explain anything because Sirius has no idea who Death Eaters are, but he knows that they were the ones blowing up muggles yesterday and suddenly has very little qualms about using a stolen wand.
He picks up the first carefully and feels almost nothing, so he puts it pack. The second one is a bit better, but still barely functional. Remus is watching him with alert eyes and Sirius doesn’t know whether he is suspicious about what Sirius would do if he found a working wand or just excited to help him.
The third wand feels warm to the touch and spits out a small array of blue sparks as soon as Sirius waves it hesitantly. Remus startles a little, but then smiles brightly, and Sirius is momentarily stunned by how nice he looks when he smiles like that.
“That one?” Remus asks giddily.
Sirius nods and grins as well. Just to test it out, he tugs off the cloth that Remus has given him yesterday, still hanging over his neck, and waves the wand over it. The cloth warms up in his hand and transforms into a single rose. The flower is not quite the right shade he wanted, more of a faint pink than red, and the leaves look a bit sad as if the rose has been laying without water for a while, but all in all the Transfiguration works well.
Sirius holds out the rose to Remus with a smile. “As a small ‘thank you’,” he says and winks.
Remus freezes up for a second, staring at the transfigured flower like he has never seen a rose before, and carefully accepts it, avoiding eye contact. Sirius notices with delight that his cheeks flush a little.
“You’re welcome,” Remus says, barely audible, and holds the rose like it’s something incredibly precious that can dissolve into smoke if handled too roughly. Sirius feels a little disappointed because he knows the Transfiguration won’t hold for longer than maybe an hour – he didn’t put that much power into it. Maybe he should give Remus some real flowers later.
Sirius stretches out his wounded leg and cuts away the bandages with the tip of the wand, before examining the wound.
“ Episkey ,” Sirius murmurs and feels his thigh burn, then suddenly cool down.
Remus watches him intently and gasps a little when the neat row of stitches disappears and the skin melts together, leaving behind a thin, silvery scar. If it was his own wand, he’s pretty sure there wouldn’t even be a scar there anymore, but he doesn’t really mind. Sirius bends his leg a couple of times and grins, satisfied. Then he mends and cleans the ripped trouser leg a little clumsily, the fabric stretching a bit too thin in that spot – the trousers are for the bin now, but at least he doesn’t look like he was attacked anymore. He does the same to the rest of his clothes, mending some tears and vanishing stains on his shirt.
When he looks up again, Remus’ face looks almost sinister – brows knitted together, a distant look to his eyes, lips pressed into a firm line. Sirius feels a bit guilty all of a sudden.
“Hey, I know what you think,” he says and pats Remus’ knee gingerly. “You did an incredible job yesterday; I wouldn’t have made it out without you. Don’t feel bad about it.”
Remus shakes his head slowly. “I don’t feel bad,” he says and looks Sirius in the eyes with a determined expression. “Sirius, we could really use your help.”
Sirius frowns and cocks his head. “Some of you must be wizards and witches as well,” he says.
“Yes,” Remus agrees, “quite a few, actually. But most were bitten so young that they have never received an education, or only the most basic things – not as advanced as Healing charms. And the ones who did…” He sighs. “Are not on our side.”
His voice is sad when he says that and Sirius’ heart clenches. He doesn’t want Remus to be so sad, he wants him to smile his pretty smile, or hum his comforting hum, or maybe even laugh again as he did in the car – loud and raspy. He wants to help.
“Remus,” Sirius says and sits more comfortably, careful not to get any dirt from his shoes on the bedsheets, “I need more information. What is going on here?”
Remus nods and smiles suddenly – it’s a different smile than before, more mischievous than anything Sirius has seen on him until now. His stomach does a weird floppy thing at that.
“I was expecting that question way sooner,” Remus says, amused. “Okay, I cannot tell you everything. But I’ll do my best.”
***
Sirius listens to Remus for a long while, careful not to miss anything important. At some point, Remus interrupts his speech to bring them some food – a watery, pitiful soup that they both knock back quickly.
Apparently, Sirius’ initial guess that the attackers were Voldemort’s followers was correct. Everyone knows that there is a war brewing on the horizon, that a Dark Lord is gathering followers, but he has not ordered any attacks as of yet. Well, at least none the general public was aware of. According to Remus, he was doing quite a bit of damage already – muggles, muggleborns, creatures, even purebloods that were opposing him openly. Everything was carefully hidden by the Ministry, possibly through Voldemort’s internal spies, possibly to keep up the morale of the public and not be forced to admit that the Ministry didn’t have the situation under control at all.
The people in black were indeed all werewolves. Sirius was shocked by that confirmation, because there was a lot of them, much more than he would have expected in the whole country and not just London. But, as Remus explained, no sane werewolf would put themselves on the register at the Ministry if they could avoid it – that’s why the statistic of the actual werewolf population was completely false.
Chasing his goal of overtaking the Ministry, and by that the whole wizarding Britain, Voldemort turned to the werewolf community for help, promising changes in legislation that would benefit them and allow them to come out of the shadows. Most werewolves declined for obvious reasons, but some agreed to help, first and foremost the feared Fenrir Greyback – the leader of Voldemort’s werewolf pack.
Even before Voldemort contacted him, Fenrir was already building an army of his own. His favourite tactic was to bite young magical children and infect them, and then pick them up again after they have grown. With no prospects in the wizarding world, limited knowledge on how to survive amongst muggles, no education – they were the perfect recruits for him, eager to join a pack and angry at all wizards for discriminating against them.
The problem was that these young werewolves were on their own for a long time before Fenrir found them again, and often without any support system that would help them during the full moons, which resulted in horrible massacres amongst muggles that didn’t know how to defend themselves against an aggressive, hungry werewolf. The amount of turned muggles was astronomical in Britain, and they were even worse off than their magical attackers that at least knew what they were. It was literally a lycanthropy epidemic with exponential infection rates.
The situation was getting out of control rapidly during the sixties and seventies. And because Fenrir, same as Voldemort, had no interest in non-magical werewolves, the turned muggles were completely on their own. They were dying of neglect, starvation, the wounds they induced on themselves and a very high suicide rate. Who can blame them? Waking up after their first full moon and understanding that their whole family was brutally murdered would break anyone. Let alone understanding that they were the ones who did it.
Fortunately, someone Remus just referred to as Alpha, noticed that development and started working against Fenrir. He would find the bitten muggles and take them in, explain what happened, teach them everything they needed to know, and offer protection and a pack for help with fighting Fenrir and his army. He would stay away from adopting the magical children that Fenrir turned, careful not to draw attention to himself when Fenrir would, no doubt, start looking for them again.
Their pack was, according to Remus, way bigger than Fenrir’s. But they had almost no grown wizards among them, and even though werewolves were not exactly the same as normal muggles outside of the full moon, it was still nothing against a violent, bloodthirsty, magical pack. When Fenrir and his followers joined Voldemort, it became even worse. The Blasting curse didn’t care if it was directed at one person or a group of ten. The Killing curse didn’t differentiate between muggles, wizards, and werewolves. The Cutting curse was just as efficient on werewolf skin as on any other person. People were dying during the attacks. And they had only muggle medicine to turn to for the most part. Even healing potions and salves only worked on wizards, which were few and far between.
Remus couldn’t tell him everything their group was doing, but their primary goal was to stop Fenrir and his followers. Most of them didn’t care much about Voldemort and his agenda – none of them was living in the wizarding world anyway, and the legislation right now couldn’t get much worse. With Voldemort as the ruler either nothing would change, or it would get marginally better. Well, that was the case until Voldemort started his attacks on muggles.
Gas explosions, terrorist attacks, floods, fires and accidents – this is how the Ministry, and, by extension, the muggle government were covering up the attacks. Suddenly, Remus’ pack was not so removed from the effects of Voldemort’s actions anymore. Fighting Greyback slowly turned into fighting Voldemort.
Sirius was very sceptical about how they wanted to fight against wizards without magic. The only advantage they had was during the full moon, but then they were also not capable to control themselves. Remus refused to tell him any details about that, just said ‘we have our methods’ with a grave expression.
The whole thing must be way more complex than what Remus agreed to share. They were obviously very well organized, judging by the rescue mission the night before – cars on demand, secret codes, hidden bases. Sirius did not get out of him how many werewolves they were, but it must be hundreds. A huge army of infected muggles with some wizards without education or knowledge about how to do magic.
“What happened last night?” Sirius asks. “Everyone was running away. Did something go wrong?”
Remus shakes his head. “No, we evacuated the area of the attack in time, and replaced the civilians so that it wouldn’t look suspicious to the Death Eaters,” he explains. “But our information about how many would come was wrong, we did not expect it to be on such a big scale. Most of us were not prepared to fight.”
It doesn’t really explain much in Sirius’ opinion, but he just nods, understanding that this is the most he was going to be told at this point.
“What is your job here?” Sirius bites his lip nervously. He didn’t see any weapons on Remus, except for whatever he used to break the window in the off-license.
“This and that,” Remus answers evasively and then sighs. “Mostly medical support, some organization, sometimes reinforcement if things go awry.”
“You said you were eighteen, and you can do Healing?” Sirius asks with a fair amount of suspicion. “Doesn’t that take years to learn even for muggles?”
Remus cocks his head and raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t exactly go to school like a normal child,” he says somewhat amused. “This is what I’ve been taught since I could hold a scalpel.”
Sirius doesn’t really know what a scalpel is, but he gets the overarching idea.
“How long have you been here? In this pack?” Sirius asks.
“Always,” Remus answers. “Since I was bitten. I was five years old.”
Merlin’s tits, he was five? Barely old enough to understand what is happening, probably. Sirius exhales through his nose and shakes his head. Raised as a fucking soldier from the very beginning. All because Fenrir bit some kid who bit Remus in turn… Just collateral damage for Greyback and ruined life for Remus.
“How many of these bases do you have?”
“Many,” Remus says calmly.
“All throughout London?” Sirius asks, impressed.
Remus smiles indulgingly. “All throughout Britain.”
Holy fucking shit. How many of them are there exactly? Sirius stares at him, shocked. What is he getting himself into?
“What exactly do you want me to help with?” Sirius asks finally, even though he already knows his answer.
This whole story is too fucked up to just walk away and pretend like nothing happened. James, Peter, and he were already planning to go into Auror training after the summer – they knew that war was inevitable at some point and wanted to help support the Ministry. They didn’t know the war was already here. They didn’t know the Ministry was a farce.
“I don’t ask you to fight!” Remus says hurriedly as if he’s scared that Sirius might walk away before he’s finished talking. “It’s just that we don’t have enough people with a medical background as is, and almost no one who can heal with magic. Sirius, just yesterday someone I knew for ten years died in my arms from a simple fever and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. We have very limited supplies, not enough money to feed everyone properly, and especially not for medication. Usually, we don’t need much to heal ourselves, just some first aid to stop immediate death. But sometimes that isn’t enough.”
He seems to be on the verge of tears when he says it and Sirius sees years and years of pain behind his eyes. His chest contracts painfully in response and an overwhelming wave of pity makes him clench his fists.
“So, you need help with Healing,” Sirius repeats thoughtfully. “Remus, I’m just finished with school, I have no education in Healing. The most I can do is mend some broken bones and small wounds, maybe things like headaches and nausea.”
“Anything!” Remus pleads and grabs his hand in desperation. “Anything is more than we can hope for. Please, even some mended bones can save lives when the person can walk again a day earlier and go back to their job.”
Sirius looks down where Remus is holding his hand in an iron grip and put his other hand on top gently. “Remus, relax, that actually hurts.”
Remus startles and lets him go instantly, guilt and fear written all over his face. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry,” he whispers and swallows hard. “I always forget that you’re not one of us… I will be more careful, I promise.”
Something unidentifiable stirs inside Sirius at the idea that Remus is much stronger than he looks, that he could probably easily break his neck with one hand, that he just picked him up like he didn’t weigh anything yesterday.
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Sirius says and smiles, hoping that it would calm Remus down. “Can I think about this?”
He knows already that he will definitely help wherever he can, but he needs to talk to James and Peter. If the pack needs any help they can get, Sirius knows two other adult wizards that would be eager to lend a hand for a good cause. And he should probably do some research about werewolves too if he’s going to be around a whole pack for the foreseeable future.
“Sure, yeah, definitely,” Remus rambles and sighs, trying to calm himself down again. “Take your time.”
“Are you even allowed to get me on board?” Sirius asks belatedly. “I’m not a werewolf, even if I might pass off like one.”
Remus hums in a way that almost seems familiar now and Sirius suppresses a smile at the sound.
“We do work with non-werewolves sometimes,” he says pensively. “Rarely with magical though. Not many people would be comfortable talking to a werewolf, let alone brave enough to wander in the middle of a pack.”
Sirius grins. “Cowards.”
Remus eyes him carefully. “I’m very surprised you didn’t run screaming as soon as you understood.
“Do you have plans to hurt or kill me if I help you?” Sirius asks casually.
“Of course not,” Remus says and frowns.
“Then I don’t have a problem with you or your friends. As long as no one freaks out and snaps my neck when they find out I’m not a werewolf, it’s not a big deal,” Sirius says and smiles.
Remus’ face grows dark, orange eyes burning bright with determination. “No one will touch you,” he promises. “You’re under my protection.”
Sirius laughs nervously and feels a blush creep up his neck. It’s ridiculous – Sirius doesn’t blush, ever. “That’s hot when you say it like that,” he comments.
There is a confused look on Remus’ face as if he doesn’t know what to do with a statement like that. Then he blushes violently, his pale skin hiding nothing. It’s rather cute, Sirius thinks.
“Okay, how can I get in touch with you?”
Remus thinks about it for a minute and then gets up from the bed to write something down on a scrap of paper from his desk. He hands Sirius the note with an address scribbled on it.
“Meet me there in two days,” Remus says. “Seven o’clock.”
Sirius nods and gets up as well, pulling out his replacement wand. “It’s a date then,” he says teasingly and grins at Remus’ flabbergasted expression. “See you then.”
With that Sirius turns on his heels and apparates away.