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The black dog stepped carefully between the raised flowerbeds, occasionally lifting his right ear and sniffing the air. The neighbouring house, freshly painted and locked with a large padlock, was clearly empty, but the dog remained vigilant. He padded quickly across the veranda, sniffed along the path covered in yellow oak leaves to the nearby clearing, and finally approached his destination—the small shed that smelled of fresh wood. The dog nosed the padlock on the door, shook himself, and transformed into a thin man in a large green sweater and yellow rubber boots.
"This lock may work against dogs," Sirius said smugly, sticking a pin into the keyhole. "Luckily, I'm a little more than just a dog."
He tossed the open padlock aside and, satisfied, swung the shed door wide open. "Oh, yes," Sirius murmured delightedly, "here they are."
***
Remus looked nervously at the bottle of Severus’ freshly-brewed potion. He was nervous for several reasons. First of all, he had promised Minerva that they would all be at Hogwarts for Halloween, which was only a week away, but Severus was still firmly against the idea and Remus had almost run out of arguments. Second of all, Sirius had started disappearing again—something he hadn't done in a long time—and was hiding something from Remus in the shed, the keys to which got conveniently 'lost' every time Remus wanted to go in, not to mention the fact that he had enchanted the locks against Alohomora. Third of all, Remus felt like Severus and Sirius were still a little reserved with each other, as if repressing their feelings, and this concerned him. He was getting tired of being the buffer in their relationship and really wanted to lock the two of them in the bedroom and let them blow off some steam. And he could watch. For everyone's safety, of course, Remus thought with a grin. He contemplated the idea. Maybe for aesthetic pleasure too.
He sat down on the sofa with the potion in hand, his grin turning to a pained grimace. Frankly, there was one more concern he hadn't added to his mental list, convincing himself he was worrying too much. The Wolfsbane potion was no longer helping. He still retained his sanity during the transformations and that was certainly the most important thing, however…
Remus downed the potion, winced, and waited. Nothing happened. This had been the case for three months in a row now. The potion had stopped relieving the pain, both before and after the transformation. And while Remus had learned to manage (or hide) the pain before the full moon, recovering from the transformation was costing him more effort each time. He had to tell Severus, but he knew Severus would worry, lock himself in his laboratory (the former broom closet, which Sirius had transfigured to a more suitable space), and the trip to Hogwarts would definitely be ruined. And Sirius wanted to go so badly—Remus remembered from their school days how much he loved Halloween and how he used to buy all the decorations, masks, candles, and spooky gifts—both Muggle and wizarding—way in advance. Remus hoped that if the three of them went to the party together, Sirius and Severus would be able to sort out any lingering reservations. And Remus would get to eat pumpkin pie, drink hot chocolate, and enjoy not having to fish out older students out of broom closets. All he had to do was wait for one more full moon. Then, he would definitely tell Severus, who would fix the potion, and all would be well.
Remus waved his wand and summoned a towel from the edge of the sink and placed it on his forehead. The windows quietly opened, letting in the chill October air and a few dry leaves. Remus closed his eyes and immersed himself in the feeling of the cold dampness on his forehead and the fresh wind in his hair. The headache subsided a little, and he dozed off.
***
“Why in Merlin’s name are you keeping the place this cold?” Severus said, looking alarmed at the towel on Remus’s forehead. “I’ll light the fire.”
He turned to put the kettle on, periodically glancing back at Remus. The latter slowly opened his eyes and carefully rolled up the towel.
“Migraines,” Remus shrugged and smiled.
“Did you drink the potion?” Severus asked suspiciously.
“Yes, and I feel much better now,” Remus smiled again, but Severus couldn’t shake the uneasiness. “By the way, do you know what Sirius is hiding in the garden shed? I can’t get in there.”
Severus pursed his lips and rolled his eyes.
“He’s been stealing pumpkins from the neighbours. He’ll soon run out of space in the shed, and if he thinks he can use my lab-”
“Hey!” Sirius protested from the garden. “I asked you not to tell him.”
“You could have bought the pumpkins,” Remus reproached. “Or you could have used the pumpkins I grew.”
Severus chuckled. Sirius sighed deeply and walked into the kitchen.
“Moony,” he lectured, “your pumpkins are only good for soup, and it takes at least two of them even for that. I need the best pumpkins in the world, the kind that don’t require any spells. I’ll bring them to Hogwarts and decorate the hall with them. It will be brilliant. I’ll start carving them in a couple of days – I’ve already sharpened the knives. Also, I ordered some lovely party robes for you last week and… hmm, what’s that smell?”
Severus dropped a cinnamon stick into the mortar and continued grinding the spices without a word.
“Is that wine in the jug?” Sirius sniffed like a dog, pushing his black curls away from his face with one hand. “It smells amazing.”
“You’ve been moaning for a week that I’m making the wrong brew,” Severus shrugged. “I need a medium cauldron—the one without the special lining.”
“At your service,” Sirius winked and rushed off to the lab.
Remus shook his head and looked at Severus.
“He still won’t give up on the idea, you know that.”
Severus put a handful of cloves in a separate saucer and took a jar of honey from the far shelf.
“Then you two will be going without me. I don’t want to go back to Hogwarts, especially for a public event. I don’t see the necessity.”
“To please us,” Remus grinned. “That’s a necessity, you know.
“I know, believe me,” Severus said, carefully testing the spice mixture with the tip of a knife. “I’m making mulled wine.”
Remus closed his eyes and smiled again and suddenly Severus could clearly see how exhausted he looked. There were two days left until the full moon. The uneasy feeling returned with a vengeance.
“I brought the cauldron and I also owled the shop to send us a meat pie and chocolate pudding," Sirius burst into the kitchen, bringing with him a pile of leaves, the crisp evening air of October, and his unbearable charm, which made Severus want to hug him and bury his nose in the tangled curls.
“That's a large cauldron, Black,” he remarked unmoving.
“Well, you have a large jug, Snape,” the bastard replied, raising an eyebrow.
Remus kept smiling but didn’t open his eyes. Severus inhaled the scent of cinnamon and cloves and felt his anxiety ease.
“Come here, Sirius,” he said. “You will be assisting.”
“Sure thing, Professor," Black said pointedly and put the cauldron on the fire.
Pretty soon the aroma of mulled wine filled the small kitchen and spread into the bedroom and out to the garden. While Remus and Black set the table and cut the pie, Severus popped into the laboratory and checked his stock of restorative and pain-relieving potions. Just in case, he told himself. There’s nothing to worry about. The sea breeze picked up and made the kitchen shutters creak loudly and alarmingly. Severus shivered and upon his return to the house closed the door tightly behind him.
***
As usual, on the morning after the night of the full moon both Lupin and Black were exhausted. They were asleep on the kitchen floor, Sirius’ arms around a blanket-wrapped Remus. Severus cautiously entered the room, levitated Remus into the bedroom and Sirius onto the sofa and began gathering potions. He placed his potion kit on a tray next to а cup of tea and a bar of chocolate, and tucked two spare potions into the pocket of his cardigan. He carried the tray into the bedroom and drew the curtains with a flick of his wand. Upon his return to the kitchen, he threw a blanket over Sirius and made himself some coffee. He opened the kitchen shutters, then went out onto the porch and returned to the house a few minutes later. He picked the last of the late apples from the garden and chewed on one absentmindedly. Lupin and Black were still asleep.
Severus sighed and forced himself to catalogue the latest potions he’d been developing this month. In the laboratory, it would be easier to take his mind off his worries. A few wasted ingredients and a scrubbed cauldron later, Severus felt the door open behind him. Black, rumpled and agitated, stood in the threshold.
“Remus isn't waking up,” he rasped out. “I've tried three times, but he's just not responding.”
Snape clenched his wand in his fist. Anxiety surged through his whole body.
“Has this ever happened before?” he asked, turning automatically to the bookshelf.
Sirius was silent for a few seconds.
“Maybe a couple of times at school, but he was always in the hospital wing; we weren't allowed to see him right after the transformation,” Sirius' voice trembled. “Snape,” he pleaded.
Severus closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them.
“Let's go see if he's woken up after all,” he said with an optimism that irritated him.
When they entered the bedroom, Lupin was half-sitting up in bed, drinking his potions one after another. His face was pale and grey, and his hands were shaking. He set the empty vial down on the bed and turned his head towards Snape and Black. His eyes were glazed, and sweat had broken out on his forehead.
“It was one of those bad nights,” he said quietly. “It’s my fault, Severus.”
Sirius lied down next to him on top of the blanket and wrapped his arms and legs around Remus like a sad octopus. Severus crouched on the other side of the bed and waved his wand, whispering a couple of simple diagnostic charms.
“St. Mungo’s?” he asked quietly.
Remus shook his head.
“The potion hasn’t been relieving my symptoms these last three months,” he said, lifting his head from the pillow with difficulty. Severus carefully pushed Lupin back down, adjusting the pillow so that he was lying down rather than sitting.
“Were you conscious during the transformation?” he asked calmly.
“Of course,” Remus replied with all the force he could muster. “I wouldn't have hesitated to let you know if I'd noticed something was amiss.”
Black made a strange noise into Lupin's shoulder. Severus snorted disapprovingly.
“Idiot,” he said, looking at Remus. “The pain is something amiss. Your pathological need to ignore your condition in favour of some unknown noble goal will lead you—and by the way, not only you—to an untimely death.”
Sirius mumbled something incoherent again.
“I mean, he’ll turn into a huge, bloodthirsty beast and eat you, Black,” Snape snapped. “And I’ll probably shoot myself in the head just to avoid having to deal with the consequences of this madness.”
Sirius chuckled and raised his head.
“I always thought you’d choose poison to end your life. I don’t know, maybe some fancy one that you could just drink and get high until your heart stops beating.”
Lupin laughed weakly. Snape summoned all his composure and self-control, skills he'd somewhat lost since the days of having regular tea and lemon drops at Dumbledore's office.
“We can discuss why you're contemplating fancy poisons and my suicide later, Black,” he replied evenly. “Right now, I'm more concerned about what to do with a sick werewolf.”
“Who's misbehaving," Sirius added.
Lupin laughed again. The colour was slowly returning to his cheeks. Severus rolled his eyes. Of course, the healing powers of Black's questionable sense of humour were not to be underestimated.
“Yes, they don’t let misbehaving wizards at St. Mungo's,” he replied. "I'll draw some blood from you, Remus, and see if I can diagnose the problem myself. In the meantime, drink this,” he pulled a blue vial with a dark red label from his pocket. “It's potent, it'll help with the nausea and headache.”
“I love you so,” Remus murmured, downing the potion in one gulp. “I’ll try and get some sleep now, I think.”
He curled up under the blanket. Sirius was still pressed against his shoulder, but he was looking at Severus.
“Later,” Severus mouthed to Black.
Then he turned away and hurried back to the lab to get a vial for Remus’ blood. There, he took a shuddering breath and rubbed his face with his hands. Severus was unaccustomed to feeling helpless; he had no idea how to cope with it, how to fight off the wave of panic that washed over him every time Lupin or Black looked at him with hope. He returned to the house and bumped into Black, who was standing in the kitchen with a glass of whiskey.
“You can handle this,” he said, handing the glass to Severus. “And if you can’t, then together we will find someone who can. Remus is alive, and there’s still a month until the next full moon. We have time.”
Snape downed the whiskey in one gulp and pressed his forehead to Black's for a second, clutching the side of his neck.
“How very Hufflepuff of you,” Severus said hoarsely.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Black whispered sarcastically and returned to the bed while Severus carefully directed blood from a thin cut on Remus’s forearm into a vial.
Remus didn’t even stir in his sleep. Severus capped the vial and headed back to the lab.
“I want you to know that I take everything you say to me as a compliment,” Black said in a loud whisper to Severus' back. “That’s why my nerves are getting stronger every day.”
Severus shook his head and smiled. It seemed that somehow the effect of Black’s questionable jokes had spread to him as well.
***
Remus slowly opened his eyes and stared at the cracked ceiling of their small bedroom for a few seconds. He allowed his senses to return gradually. First came his sense of smell: the hot chocolate that always awaited him after the Transformation wafted from the kitchen; mud and sea water came with the breeze from the half-open window; cat fur and dry oak leaves—from the village cat that had perched on the ledge again; fresh pumpkin and cigarette smoke—from Sirius, who was locked in his secret shed. Then came touch: the coolness of the pillow on his cheek, the pleasant weight of the blanket on his legs. His hearing brought the cries of seagulls over the sea, the rustle of dry leaves outside the window, the indistinct murmur of the radio in the kitchen. Remus sighed and waited for the pain that always came at the end. But there was almost no pain—his head was buzzing, his muscles were aching, but he no longer felt that terrible crushing weakness and debilitating nausea. He carefully sat up in bed and peeked out the half-open door into the kitchen where Severus was sitting on the sofa with a newspaper he clearly wasn’t reading.
“Will you bring me some chocolate?” Remus said cautiously. Severus turned sharply and squinted.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quickly.
“Much better,” Remus answered honestly. “I can sit, talk, and even look at the sunlight.”
“Your standards of well-being are extremely high,” Severus replied, sitting on the bed with a mug of steaming chocolate. He pressed his hand to Remus’s forehead, and Remus sighed contentedly—his hand was pleasantly cool against Remus’ skin.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Remus suddenly remembered and looked up at Severus.
“No,” Severus answered quickly.
“Please,” Remus caught his hand. “I won’t be able to go.”
“That’s out of the question,” Severus pursed his lips and lowered his voice. “Besides, he wouldn’t want to go either. He’s worried about you.”
“Severus, listen to me.” Remus knew that reading the nuances of Sirius’ behavior without instruction or years of experience was a difficult task. “That’s exactly why he needs to go there with you. He's got a shed full of pumpkins that he's spent hours carving and he really needs a distraction. You’ll tell him that you gave me some super-potion, I'll tell him there's nothing to worry about, and then you two can get it together, put on those stupid party robes, and go have fun at Hogwarts. This is Sirius's way of dealing with emotional difficulties, and yeah, it may not be the healthiest way, but he is a silly Gryffindor after all.”
Severus frowned but didn’t respond at first.
“So are you,” he finally said.
Remus smiled wearily.
“I deal with difficulties differently,” Severus pointed out.
“I know," Remus said and held his hands to his chest. He looked at Severus with as much conviction as he could muster. “But for now, I think we should try this.”
Severus was silent for a moment again, then sighed and nodded.
Remus sank back into the pillows with relief. Severus got up from the bed and turned to look at him.
“I actually did make you a ‘super-potion’. You will drink it every two hours and owl me. If I don’t get at least one letter, we will return. ”
Remus agreed to all the conditions and smiled contentedly.
“Bring me a piece of pumpkin pie.”
***
Sirius was worried. He started worrying when he saw the cheerful smile on Remus’s pale face, worried even more when Snape, rolling his eyes, started putting on his festive robes with a repeating pattern of miniature black cats, and continued worrying as they approached the Apparition point, leaving Remus behind.
“I’m not sure about this,” Sirius said truthfully, looking at the levitating mountain of pumpkins tied together with ship rope. “I left Rufus with him, of course; he promised to call for help if anything happened.”
Snape's expression showed irritation and confusion.
“The neighbour's cat,” Sirius clarified. “The ginger one. Hisses at you all the time. We often hunt together.”
“Rufus, of course.” Snape rolled his eyes, as he always did before he was about to launch into intellectual humiliation. “Black, there's an enchanted beacon in the bedroom that will go off if Lupin's vital signs drop. He will also owl us.”
“Okay.” Black nodded, looking at the pumpkins and then at Severus. “They're waiting for us there. When was the last time you were at Hogwarts, Snape?”
Severus silently extended an arm, Sirius took Severus’ cold hand in his hot one, and they Apparated.
Sirius hadn't been to Hogwarts since its reopening after the restoration. He desperately wanted to return, but not alone, and not to wander the corridors among the students, feeling like an intruding old man. He wanted to return triumphant, and that day had arrived. He proudly levitated his beloved pumpkins down the corridor leading to the Great Hall, each one painstakingly carved with terrifying faces—Death Eaters, Hogwarts headmasters, some Muggle movie stars. On one of them, he had lovingly carved three faces—his own, Remus', and Severus'. He was going to place it on the staff table.
“Oh, Sirius, how good to see you,” Minerva said cautiously, interrupting her conversation with Snape, who had cowardly fled from Sirius and his pumpkin flotilla. “Such interesting... hmm... pumpkins.”
She pursed her lips, of course, but Sirius was not easily embarrassed.
“I carved them myself, Madam Headmistress,” he said with satisfaction, looking around the large hall. “I think we’ll place them around the perimeter of the hall, and, of course, by the staff table. I brought a small one too, with greetings from Remus,” and he took out a pumpkin the size of a large tomato from the pocket of his robes.
“I carved a cat on it,” Sirius continued in a cheerful tone, “we’ll put it on the podium, to create a festive atmosphere.”
Snape’s face was impassive, but Sirius was willing to bet anything that he was barely holding back. Minerva looked at him over her glasses and eyed the pumpkin critically.
“Send Remus a big thank you,” she said dryly.
“You didn’t have to put on a spectacle,” Severus whispered when they sat down at the table.
There weren't enough seats at the head table, and Sirius enthusiastically accepted the offer to sit next to the students. The tradition of seating by house hadn't been observed for some time, so he plopped down contentedly in the empty seats across from several older Ravenclaws and two whispering little Gryffindors. He stuck his tongue out at the latter and winked, which seemed to startle them, as well as the Hufflepuff girls at the next table.
“It’s fine, it's Halloween. Look, I've got pumpkins on my robes," Sirius said, clumsily dipping the hem of his robes into Snape's plate.
“Get your clothes off the table,” Snape hissed, “and act appropriately. I didn't come here to babysit you.”
“Oh, come on, I thought that’s exactly why you came,” Sirius said with a grin and downed his goblet.
“For Merlin's sake, slow down, there are minors next to you, Black.” Snape turned to him, looking increasingly menacing.
“What's wrong with you?” Sirius was starting to get annoyed. “Loosen up for a few hours. We're relaxing, you met your old colleagues and had a nice chat, there's delicious food and school nostalgia all around. Stop being so tetchy.”
Snape's eyes narrowed, and Sirius realized he'd said something wrong.
“Nostalgia, Black, really? And what exactly am I supposed to be nostalgic for? For those unforgettable times as a student, when not a day went by without you attacking me, or perhaps for the equally wonderful time when I spied for Dumbledore while simultaneously trying to hammer elementary Potions into the students' thick heads, or, wait, of course, for my time as headmaster, when my colleagues were fucking Death Eaters?”
Snape was speaking quite loudly, and frightened student faces turned to them from all directions. It suddenly dawned on Sirius.
“Severus,” he whispered right in his ear, “no one knows we've already made up!”
Snape freed himself from his grip and looked at him irritably.
“You think we've made up?”
“Come on, you know what I mean! We're famous heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts, they’ve written about us in the history books! And everyone thinks we're still sworn enemies. It may even seem like we could get into a fight. Could you imagine?”
Sirius was greatly amused by the thought. He thought he wouldn't mind attacking Severus, perhaps burying his hands in his hair or pinning him against the wall, gripping him tightly by the collar of his old-fashioned (and favourite) white shirt. Meanwhile, Severus was still angry and irritably cutting into his steak, not deigning to respond.
All manner of desserts and sweet drinks appeared on the tables. Minerva stood at the podium, casting disapproving glances at the pumpkin and cat, and invited the good friends and benefactors of Hogwarts, as well as the Ministry staff, to take the dance floor.
The band started playing an excessively upbeat tune. The two Gryffindors across the table were whispering animatedly and arguing about something, glancing periodically at Sirius and Snape. Sirius came to a decision.
“Snape, we need to talk,” he said with exaggerated sternness and tried to pull him out from behind the table by his robes.
Severus gave him a mean look and put down his glass of mulled wine.
“You think?” Snape asked menacingly. “You're going to miss the Deputy Minister's speech; are you sure you can live with that?”
“I can't wait any longer, Snape,” Sirius raised his hands dramatically and looked at the attentively listening students. “We need to figure out once and for all what stands between us.”
He dragged Snape toward the exit of the Great Hall under the astonished gazes of students and teachers. When the door slammed behind them, Sirius didn't even think of stopping until he had shoved himself and Severus into the first broom closet he could find, and only there did he catch his breath. He grinned broadly at Snape.
“What do you think? Classic, huh? They definitely think we're going to kill each other.”
Severus looked at him strangely—dishevelled, flushed from their escape from the hall, with his collar open. Sirius thought that that shirt of his deserved every galleon spent on it. He also thought that now was the perfect time to throw himself at Snape.
***
Snape stood in the incredibly narrow broom closet and promised himself that he would never again commit to dealing with the chaotic side of Sirius Black. He had experienced a week's worth of emotions in half an hour, and now the damned Gryffindor was looking at him in a way that immediately reminded Snape of how many students in various states of undress he’d thrown out of this very closet through the years.
“And now I attack you,” Sirius said and pinned him against the wall. A bucket clanged under his feet. Snape shoved his hand into Black's trousers and smirked.
“So, it turns out that that's what stands between us, Black. We need to inform everyone in the Great Hall immediately.”
“Let’s do it later,” Black said heatedly and ran his hands through Severus' hair, kissing him desperately.
Severus pushed the bucket away with his foot, then pulled Black towards him with the same leg and slid his hands under his shirt, trying not to get tangled in his robes.
“Wait,” Black said hoarsely. “You think Remus won’t be upset? What did he say in his owl?”
“He wrote that we should have fun. That he was feeling better. And that you draw pornographic pictures of us,” Severus said, not letting go of Black.
“I do draw them sometimes,” Sirius shrugged. “I’ll show you later.”
He pressed Severus against the wall again and carefully unbuttoned his shirt.
“You look so sexy in this, I didn’t see it coming,” Sirius muttered, kissing his neck. “Buy yourself another shirt like this in black, and I’ll be yours forever.”
“But you’re already mine forever,” Severus retorted.
“That’s true,” Sirius said, and pulled down his trousers.
***
Severus tried to maintain his dignity above all else, even in the most unfavourable circumstances. Therefore, at Hogwarts, he usually wore severe black robes and high-collared shirts. Now, however, the trim of the idiotic party robes had caught on the bucket and ripped when they fell out of the broom closet, and the top two buttons of his lace-trimmed white shirt were missing.
“This is utter madness,” he hissed to a dishevelled Black, who was grinning from ear to ear.
“It was a brilliant idea,” Black muttered, “look, now everyone thinks we fought in the broom closet.”
“Yeah, right, we fought,” Snape said sarcastically, but Sirius looked at him with an insufferable sparkle in his eyes, and he softened. “You won. I’m actually having fun.”
“You see,” Sirius patted him on the shoulder, “a good old-fashioned broom closet shag never fails.”
“Did you get the idea from your school adventures?" Snape grumbled.
“Huh?” Black looked at him in confusion. “No, Harry mentioned that this was the popular spot in his last year. In our time, it was the platform on the Astronomy Tower. Want me to show you?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“What I want is for those two enterprising Hufflepuff girls to win the bet,” said Severus and listened to the song that started playing. It was an old Muggle track, which the band played quite well. “Would you like to dance?”
Sirius's eyes widened comically, but then he grinned and took off his pumpkin robe. They silently linked arms and walked to the centre of the dance floor, where a few students, Professor Sprout, and Madam Hooch were dancing discreetly. Sirius looked at him in a way that made Severus's throat go dry. He cleared his throat and pulled Black toward him by the waist with one arm, the other still clutching his hand. The two Hufflepuff girls looked at each other meaningfully.
Sirius smiled again and said quietly, “We both came up with an excuse to grope each other in public, I love you.”
Severus snorted and they began to dance. Sirius was surprisingly reserved and even slightly distant, letting Severus lead and only occasionally brushing his cheek against Severus's hair. However, when the last chorus began, he relaxed, pressed himself against Severus, and brushed his lips against his cheek.
“I bet Minerva is going to hate us,” he said in his softest voice into Snape's ear.
Why would she, the dance is quite chaste, Severus thought, when suddenly all the pumpkins Black had brought exploded. At the same time, hundreds of colourful fireworks burst from them into the far-reaching ceiling, and all the candles in the Great Hall went out at once. The shimmering colourful lights under the ceiling illuminated the faces of the delighted students and a very displeased McGonagall.
Sirius raised his head to admire his handiwork, while Severus looked at him and found him outrageously beautiful.
“I hate you for making me romantic," he said quietly to Black and kissed him, closing his eyes. The echoes of the last fireworks sounded, and in the ensuing silence, the lead singer calmly finished singing the last lines of the song:
Save the last dance
The very last dance
For me
“I love you, you grumpy idiot,” Sirius said. “Now grab some pumpkin pie while I steal some blackcurrant wine from the staff table. Meet me at the gate!"
And they fled, which, under the circumstances, Severus considered the only way to leave with dignity.
***
Remus lay half-reclining in bed, entertaining himself by leafing through the book on Italian art that Hermione had sent him. He didn't feel like reading because his head was still pounding, and he was drowsy. Rufus, who was lying on the pillow next to him, purred invitingly.
He turned his head toward the window and looked at the young oak tree in the courtyard, which had shed a good half of its leaves. The few that remained were bronze-coloured and rustled with a dry whisper in the slightest gust of wind. Remus incongruously recalled a story about a gravely ill girl who waited for her death to arrive the moment the last leaf fell from the tree outside her window. But the leaf never fell, because a neighbouring artist had painted it right on the window pane, climbing up the stairs outside on a stormy night. He wondered whether Severus and Sirius painted such a leaf for him every full moon, whether that was why the wolf never took him. But in the story, the artist died, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste to the simple tale. Remus thought it would be naive to expect a happy ending in their own story. Perhaps that was why he so wanted Severus and Sirius to be able to get along without him.
Rufus lifted his head from the pillow and meowed once. Then the alarm spell activated—Sirius and Severus had just Apparated back. Remus closed the book and thought that in their story, it wasn't the artist who would die. A few more leaves fell from the oak tree. The front door opened, letting in the chill of the autumn sea. Remus closed his eyes for a few seconds and fell into darkness.
***
“You slept through Halloween,” Sirius said right in Remus's ear. “Severus is making you a second batch of the new super-potion. What’s that smell?”
“Cigarettes and earth,” Remus muttered, burying his face in Sirius's neck, completely unwilling to wake up.
“Sniff toward the kitchen,” Sirius snorted.
There was a smell of pumpkin pie and blackcurrant sweets, as well as freshly-picked basil, Severus’ discarded robes patterned with back-arched black cats, the neighbour’s shed, and dozens of pumpkins torn into tiny pieces.
“McGonagall was furious,” Remus smiled.
“Uh-huh,” Sirius said, handing him a robe. “You got a letter from her this morning. Don’t open it until you’ve tried the wine.”
Remus stretched, sat up carefully, and tried to get up. His head wasn't spinning anymore, but weakness still crept up into his throat. He slowly walked to the kitchen and plopped down on the sofa. Sirius quickly brought him a warm piece of pie and a glass of dark purple liquid.
“The potion first,” Severus said sternly, entering the kitchen from the garden. “Small sips and quickly. How are you?”
Remus swallowed the potion and winced.
“Better. But the fatigue is still overwhelming. Were you able to find out anything from the blood sample?”
“Perhaps,” Severus answered evasively. “I sent some of the samples to St. Mungo’s, so I’ll have a more precise answer in a week. But I’ve already perfected the potion, and it won’t happen again.”
“You don’t know for sure,” Lupin said quietly.
“He knows it will be better than this full moon,” Sirius argued. “And I know you shouldn’t hide things like this anymore.”
He moved the table up to the sofa and set out chairs for him and Severus, then served pie to everyone and topped up the wine.
The kitchen was pleasantly dark, broken up by a few oblique rays of sunlight, and Remus was surprised to notice the sunset through the window.
“I slept for a day and a half,” he said.
“And you’ve woken up in November,” Sirius said vaguely. “Autumn is coming to an end. Christmas is coming soon.”
“Merlin forbid,” Snape said, sipping his wine. “I won’t be over this Halloween anytime soon.”
Remus bit into the pumpkin pie with relish and felt a surge of energy.
Sirius moved to the sofa and covered them with a blanket. Severus cleared the table and sat down next to them, an unfinished bottle of wine in his hand. Remus looked at them, thinking.
“What happens to us next, what happens in our story?” he asked quietly, watching the ginger cat Rufus chew on the tassels of the blanket.
Sirius took the bottle from Severus, who looked carefully at Remus and said, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We’re no longer people with stories where anything happens. We can just live in the background of other people’s stories, drinking wine, looking at the sea, and watching something happen to someone else.”
“Promise?” Remus swallowed heavily.
“I swear to you,” Severus squeezed his hand.
Sirius cleared his throat and pressed the bottle of wine into Remus's other hand.
“We can also sneak into other people's stories and blow-up pumpkins. It really livens up the plot.”
“Speaking of livening up the plot, Black, where are your pornographic pictures? I can't wait to check them out,” Snape remarked. “Remus promised me anatomical accuracy.”
“Show me anatomy, and I'll show you accuracy," Sirius retorted.
Remus sipped the wine and smiled. The summer sweetness of blackcurrant warmed him, seeming to protect him from the frosty wind. He thought that these two would be capable of gluing all the leaves to the oak tree with an eternal gluing spell. And they would remain forever on the outskirts of stories—drinking sweet wine, looking out at the sunset over the sea, and blowing up the best pumpkins in the world.