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The steps of the old and decrepit house creak under Sirius’s bare feet. He takes them two at a time in the hope to minimise noise so as not to wake the others. It reminds him of Halloween when he was a child- sneaking back up the stairs at Grimmauld place after feasting on the treats Kreacher had left in the kitchen for the occasion. His mother didn’t like it- the two boys should have been in bed by eight even on Halloween, but his father insisted that his sons celebrate Samhain as he and his family had for generations in their ancient castle in the Scottish highlands. It was tradition and the Blacks put a lot of stock into tradition.
As Sirius reaches the landing he can see faint rays of sunshine peeking through the gaps in the boarded up window. The light is muted by the early morning fog and suddenly the house seems much bigger than it did downstairs. Suddenly, James and Peter, who Sirius left asleep in the living room are very far away. Suddenly, Sirius realises that he is upstairs and alone with a werewolf.
“ROOOOAR!” a fanged and hairy creature jumps out from seemingly nowhere. Regulus is only half a step behind his older brother and screams at the sight of the monster. Sirius instinctively puts his arm in front of Regulus and feels the hackles rise at the back of his neck. He doesn’t scream though, he is old enough to know that is not the appropriate reaction for a son of the House of Black.
The monster’s roar turns to raucous laughter almost immediately and the two boys watch in terror, and then embarrassment, as the monster’s head morphs into the head of their very own father. Sirius kicks himself for not noticing that the monster had been wearing purple velvet robes. Heat flushes to his face. He should have known that this was just one of his father’s pranks.
“I got you!” His father says as he scoops up the boys and sits one of them on each knee. “I got you, didn’t I?” he repeats gleefully.
Regulus nods although he is still whimpering, something he would never get away with if their mother was there. Sirius grimaces, not wanting to admit he had been outsmarted.
“Orion!” Sirius hears his mother’s shrill voice from down the corridor where he knows his mother’s sitting room is. The perfect practised ‘Queen of England’ pronunciation contrasts starkly with his father’s deep resonating burr. “What is all this noise? It is past eight, the children should be in bed.”
On either side of the boys Sirius’s father makes a mocking gesture and pulls a face. “You know, you are both strong, brave men of the Black clan, you have nothing to fear from Samhain. Only weaker witches and wizards fear our festivities.” This last part is spoken louder, directed at his wife in the other room.
“So much pride in the name!” Sirius’s mother’s voice replies. “Only in Britain could the most powerful family run wild like a pack of SAVAGES.”
“Aye!” barks Sirius’s dad angrily. He speaks loud enough so that his wife could hear but refuses to speak directly to her. “And do you know why we are the most powerful family?” he asked his boys. “Do you know why we are respected in these lands and beyond?”
Regulus nods a little, he is no longer crying but is sucking his thumb and Sirius thinks this makes him look pathetic.
“Why father?” Sirius asks, although he already knows the answer. Sirius also knows that his father loves to tell this story every Halloween.
“Well,” his father says, his eyes gleaming with mischief and pride. “We controlled the most terrible creatures of them all. We controlled the werewolves.”
Sirius bravely takes another tentative step and the floorboards groan as if they are in pain. Outside the wind continues to howl and the shutters rattle. Although Sirius knows that the rumours of ghosts and hauntings whispered by the locals are all nonsense brought on by Remus's monthly transformations, he can't help a shiver go up his spine. If he ever writes a horror story, Sirius thinks to himself, he'd be a fool not to set it in the shrieking shack.
He peeks through the door to the main bedroom to see the large four poster bed, where he expects to find Remus, empty. It had only been an hour or so since Sirius, Peter and James had tucked their pet werewolf into bed for an early morning nap, before the latter two had passed out downstairs half on the sofa, half on the floor. Only Sirius had stayed awake. Sirius never likes to admit that he is afraid of anything, but there is something about this house that has him jumping at every rustle and every creak. Sometimes he wonders quietly to himself if it is the house itself that sets his teeth on edge, or what it contains every full moon. In some ways, the truth is perhaps worse than the horror stories the villagers tell each other on long winter nights.
Sirius continues down the hallway, willing himself to put one foot in front of the other. “Remus?” he manages to call, into the empty corridor. His voice is barely above a whisper.
He reaches the next door on the right, it leads to the disused bathroom. He opens the door a fraction and to look inside. There, in the old claw foot bathtub sat like a grotesque creature of the shadows is Remus, looking more like werewolf than boy despite the clear evidence of daylight shining weakly through a broken slat in the shutters.
“Aye, we controlled the werewolves,” Sirius’s father continues with the wistful look he always has when he tells the legends of his clan. He is fiercely proud of his heritage, but equally disappointed that his life pales in comparison to the lives of the heroes in his stories. No one will ever tell of the feats of Orion Black because no one wants to hear tales of a cushy life led in a townhouse in London. Of course, he blames his wife for liking the city too much and hating the open skies and rolling hills of his childhood home. But the truth is, there is no longer any need to live in moated fortresses, nor is there the money to heat remote castles. “So we controlled the land, the people, the treasury box. Fierce creatures they are, they’d rip their own mother from limb to limb if given the chance. They know no loyalty, feel no remorse, and have no sense of right or wrong.”
Regulus lets out another pathetic little whimper.
“Orion, enough!” Sirius’s mother has actually ventured out of the sanctuary of her drawing room. “You are scaring the children!”
“I’m not scared!” Sirius pouts resolutely. He thinks to himself that if the werewolves had mothers like his, he wouldn’t blame them for killing them.
“See, they’re fine!” his father retorts. “Now where was I?”
Sirius mother gives a little huff, but puts up no more fight and slinks back to her drawing room. If the kids wanted nightmares, then that was their problem. She wouldn’t be up in the middle of the night to console them.
“Ah yes,” Orion continues. “Now, all the other clans feared us and our army, they would surrender as soon as they saw us marching over the hillside. We put Kings on their thrones, and then took the thrones right out from under them so that they fell on their arses.” He laughs loudly at this, as he does every time he tells this joke.
“Five hundred years ago,” Sirius’s mother reminds him crossly from the other room. Sirius’s father ignores the comment.
“But if they’d kill their own mothers, why didn’t they turn on us?” asks Sirius. He knows the routine well, he knows this is the only encouragement his father needs to continue the story.
“Ah, very clever,” his father beams proudly. “You’re a little smartie pants aren’t you? Well you see Sirius, we had what no one else had. The ability to harness the moon.”
"Remus?" Sirius whispers again as he leans over the tub, unable to keep the horror from his voice. Remus does not respond but turns his head to look at Sirius. The movement means his face is now lit by the small ray of sunlight that shines through the broken window and the faintest glimmer of a smile lights up his face. He no longer looks like a shapeless creature lurking in the shadows, but like a boy, small, hurt and shivering from the cold.
"What are you doing here?" asks Sirius, no longer so scared.
"I..." Remus rasps, voice raw from howling at the full moon. "I thought maybe a bath..."
He never finishes his sentence.
Sirius turns the tap closest to him. The pipes gurgle and choke but no water comes out. He tries the other but it’s stuck fast.
"It's no use," says Remus weakly. Sirius ignores him reaches across to try the taps on the sink. A small trickle of water spurts out, but it is ice cold and murky looking. “Just come here,” Remus calls him, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”
Sirius climbs into the bath and wedges himself in behind Remus. “Look at you,” he says softly, “You’re freezing. This was a stupid idea.”
Remus collapses against him, a dead weight against Sirius’s chest and lets out a sound close to a sob. Sirius wraps his arms around Remus’s shivering body in an attempt to share some body heat with Remus.
As Remus lies still against him Sirius studies the mould climbing up in between the tiles and blackening the seal between bathtub and wall in silence. Limescale clings to the edges of the bathtub, the taps, down the side of the sink. The third tile up on his right has lost its left corner and the paint is peeling off the ceiling above the door. Dead leaves lie on the floor next to what looks like dried up muddy puddles. It is the perfect setting for a horror movie, and Sirius wonders what the monster in the bathtub must look like now there are two of them. It must be twice as large, and twice as grotesque.
“Oh aye, our family have lived and worked on our lands since long before the histories began. Our ancestors built monuments to the sun, moon and stars and through them harnessed the knowledge and power of the cosmos…” Sirius’s father pauses for effect. “When the moon was full, and the beasts were at their most monstrous, but also most vulnerable, we’d allow them to gather on our lands. The stone circles built by our ancestors would create protective enclosures so they would remain safe from harming themselves and being harmed by others like them. For this they offered us what they could not offer their own friends and family: loyalty. Like from a dog to its master. They were bound to us, but that was only our second most powerful weapon. And what was our first, you ask?” Orion asks with grin. “Well our first, and most powerful weapon was the magic our ancestors left us. The ability to call the moon from its hiding place, and unleash the full power of our army upon our enemies. ”
The quiet of the old decrepit house had once let Sirius’s imagination run wild, but now here with Remus, it seems almost peaceful. Seeing Remus as he was in the light of day, did away with the subconscious idea Sirius had of what he might be. The idea implanted in his head after years of horror stories. His father had told him of men that were monsters, but it was clear to Sirius that had never been true of Remus.
His father had always been so full of shit. Sirius snorts softly.
“What’s funny?” asks Remus, trying to twist around in Sirius’s arms. He is stiff and sore and it shows.
“Do you remember that time we tried to see what would happen if we put you in those stone circles during the full moon?” Sirius asks.
“Don’t,” Remus says in a small voice. “I almost killed you all.”
“But you didn’t,” Sirius tells him cheerfully.
Remus doesn’t answer, but Sirius recognises the guilt in his expression. Remus is often feeling guilty about something or other: when he doesn’t do his transfiguration homework, or he when he does do it, but he doesn’t think he put enough effort into it. Ha , Sirius thinks to himself with a grimace. A guilty werewolf, now what would you make of that Dad?
“It makes you sad too,” says Remus interrupting his thoughts.
“No it doesn’t,” Sirius tells him stubbornly. “It wasn’t the first time you tried to kill me, or the last.”
Remus allows himself a grin at that. As guilty as he makes himself feel sometimes, Remus can’t help but enjoy their little nighttime escapades. “No, that’s not what I mean. I think it makes you sad that your dad’s stories were never true.”
Remus’s comment hits Sirius like a pile of bricks. “I never believed a word my parents ever told me.” It is a bold lie, and Sirius knows it. But it doesn’t mean he won’t defend it to the grave.
“Hmm,” Remus murmurs softly. He looks tired but his eyes are alert, taking every one of Sirius’s responses. It make Sirius uncomfortable.“They were happy memories for you, you don’t have many of those. Not with your family.”
“No,” Sirius manages through gritted teeth. Something stings at the corner of his eyes. “They were always just stories,” he tells Remus. Then more gently he adds, “You should try to sleep, you’re tired. Do you want to go back to the bed?” Anything to take the attention away from himself, and back on Remus.
Remus yawns, as if on cue. “No,” he says with a smile. “I like it here.”
He leans back against Sirius again, and rests his head on Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius watches quietly, feeling the warmth of Remus’s cheek against his own.
“So,” Orion concludes his tales of brave knights, impossible odds, and epic battles. “That is the story of our people, our family and our clan. And the two of you are the next generation, I wonder what adventures you will have, perhaps you’ll add a story or two to the collection.”
“Right,” Sirius’s mother says leaving her drawing room, this time determined to get the boys into bed. “Time’s up. To bed, both of you.”
“Aww,” Sirius and his brother chime in unison.
“You better listen to her boys,” Sirius’s father says in good humour. “Beasts of the night we can tame, but your mother is a whole other kettle of fish.”
He gives the two boys a gentle push towards the stairs. Giggling, the boys trip up the steps hand in hand before they disappear round the corner to their rooms. Their mother follows behind them scolding. When the sound of the pitter patter of bare feet against the wooden floor disappears, Orion heaves a sigh and returns to his library to pour himself a large measure of scotch and reflect miserably on the ordinariness of his life.