Untitled (as of now)

Title: (little help?)

Author: LadyYeinKhan

Rating: NC17 to be totally safe.

Description: Remus is shy, Sirius is oblivious. James is conceited, Lily isn't wasting her time. And Peter is just pathetic. It’ll take the clever and troubled mind of one of the school‘s most unpopular students to get the lot’s act together (and we're not talking about dear Snivellus). With a little pranking, a little kissing, some animal magnetism and a cauldron full of angst, one scrawny little Gryffindor is going to set in motion the fates of the unsuspecting. And just maybe his own as well.

Warnings: m/m m/f MAYBE m/m/m (undecided) language, oc, ooc most likely, abuse, torture, rape, anal, oral, angst, pathetic attempts at humor, character death, whatever else was put in the description...

Pairings: JamesxLily, SiriusxRemus, GreyxRiven, KoienxTasira, slight RivenxRemus, Severusx? SashaxRain

Disclaimer: The mass majority of people/places/things in the following fictional work do not belong to me. They belong to J. K. Rowling and are used without her knowledge. No money is being made off of this piece of fiction; it exists for pure sadistic enjoyment.

The following belong to me: the laptop this was written on (touch and I shall rain fiery death upon you), the insane mental capacities of my mind, the angst, Koien Khan, Tasira Sleia, Riven Magnus and the Magnus lineage, Rain and any other teachers that I couldn’t find names or faces for after perusing the six volumes of Harry potter excluding Sasha.

The following do not belong to me: Grey Ammister and the Ammister family tree, and Sasha. These belong to my good friend Leffi. These characters are used with her permission and stealing them will result in not only violence from me but from her as well. Hands off please.

A/N: So hello there. This is actually my first Harry Potter fanfic EVER so yay to me. To those who are reading the Dragon Knights fanfic, that is on hold until my mind decides to stop being creatively blocked for it. I apologize to those readers, I'll do my best to finish that story for you. This is a homosexual (and heterosexual) fanfic. Flames will not be tolerated and will instead be posted to be laughed at.

Please note, I am not British, at least I don’t live in Britain or have ever and while I will have some typical British dialect in this story (git, chips, happy Christmas, bloke, bollocks etc) I am in no way fluent or an expert. So don’t comment on it thank you, unless I use something in the wrong context.

Please note (again) that as much as I like Nymphadora Tonks (spoiler skip if you haven‘t read book 6) I don’t agree with her relationship to Remus at the end of book 6. I just can’t see it…I like her and I like Rowling, but I don’t like that idea.

Please note (third time) that while this story is mostly made up off the top of my head, it is true that there are some spoilers to future books. I went back and did some research on the marauders and their lives from Hogwarts to make this as accurate as possible so there are some things that will be spoiled if you haven’t read the books. Sorry.

This is a tale about the lives of the Marauders from fifth year and onward (until deaths and stuff and the beginning of the sixth book). This is also a more…creative version of certain couples (whether real in the books or not) came to be.

Enjoy

~YeinKhan


Chapter 1: Photographic smile


Number Twelve Grimmauld had changed, though perhaps not in a way that the outside world would know. The place still had the look of years of abandonment and neglect. Threadbare rugs and curtains still adorned the halls and walls. Dirt and grime were still caked on walls and furniture, stubborn beyond words. Numerous creatures still haunted the drapes of the drawing room, another boggart had lodged itself into the desk again. The portrait of that awful, yowling witch still woke and screamed obscenities when sounds rose above the faintest whisperings of life. Although now her cries seemed to be a little less forceful, a little less enraged. She almost seemed pleased…

Perhaps it was because Sirius Black was dead.

In the dank and dreary basement kitchen, where the torches spread cheerful light as far across the flagstone walls as they possibly could, Remus Lupin held his head. Elbows upon the worn table, he laced his fingers into his finely graying hair. His young but lined face was hidden in the shadow of his stooped body as he bent over the table. Not a sound escaped him. Even breath was too silent to be heard. The only clue that Remus was still among the living, though he secretly despised it, where the tears had started to puddle on the wood.

He had put on the best front that he could; Sirius’ death had shocked them all. He had done his best to try to seem as calm as he possibly could. For Harry’s sake. He had not known Sirius as long as he, the blow had to be harder for him, to lose a godfather he had barely known but had become so close to. A godfather that had died in the midst of a fight to protect him. Yes it had to be hard for him, and Remus wasn’t going to make it worse by showing such emotion before him.

Though now that he was at Privet Drive once more, Remus was free to weep as he pleased.

Remus hardly ever cried in front of anyone, even before all of this. That was just how he was; he only cried in front of a handful of trustworthy people. But Remus hardly ever cried in front of The Order. For you see, it was one thing grieve over a lost friend, an occasional tear or shuddering sob. It was another thing entirely to weep over Sirius… He couldn’t do that in front of anyone else. Sirius had been his secret, his most wonderful and guarded secret. And Remus his. Only the Marauders. Yes, they had know… Remus and Sirius were a secret to everyone but the Marauders. Dead men tell no tales after all.

James would keep it; he had died at the hands of the Dark Lord, a valiant death to protect his wife and son.

Peter would keep it; though their friendship was dead now from his betrayal, Peter would know the penalties of ever speaking it to another soul.

And Sirius… he would keep it; he was dead. Of course the dead half of him would keep his secret.

Lupin, Moony, was the only one who knew now….

He tugged harshly at his graying hair. Remus was the last one, the surviving member since Peter no longer accounted for much of anything except perhaps wasted skin. Sirius was gone now. He would never see him wander down those stairs again. Never hear that loud bark of a laugh that drew out a smile from almost everyone. Never see that almost pouting scowl he wore when he orders he hardly agreed with. Never see him fussing and brooding over another owl from Harry. Never hear him and Molly have another row about Merlin knows what. Sharing meals, sharing memories, sharing… Never again. Sirius was gone and it would never happen again. Any of it. He was along now. Remus had lost him.

A soft, barely noticeable, choked sob managed to escape him. How many more to come he did not know for at the next moment, the kitchen door creaked open, groaning on its hinges. Remus’ body froze. He waited, still as stone, praying for his grief to hide itself until he was alone again. He didn’t need someone else to see, he didn’t want to make the others worry or wonder. Sirius was his secret after all.

“Master has not returned. Master is gone forever. He will never filthy my Mistress’ home with his presence again. Oh my poor Mistress, how pleased she’d be if only she knew.” Kreacher croaked. His tennis ball sized eyes gleamed with almost a sadistic happiness at Sirius’ passing. No his murder. Remus clenched his fist in his hair but remained still. How much longer no one could tell.

While he agreed with Dumbledore and Hermione that house elves, even Kreacher, needed to be treated with respect and care, he wanted nothing more than to hurl the foul little beast into the fire and watch him smolder.

“Oh Mistress, you would be so pleased! He is gone now, Mistress. Never to return to this respectable home of yours. And soon! Soon the mud bloods and filth will-”

“Get out, Kreacher.” snarled Remus, surprising himself. He lifted his head to glare hate at the tiny creature. The tears in his eyes gave them a far more angry gleam than he usually sported, though the stains on his cheeks did nothing to aid in his rage. Kreacher paused mid rant. His eyes were fixed on Remus’ as though he had just seen him for the very first time. Slowly, a mischievous smile crossed the house elf’s old and wrinkled face.

“The beast tries to order Kreacher, but he is not Kreacher’s master,” Kreacher mumbled, though loud enough to be heard quite clearly. “Kreacher will not listen to the mangy beast. Kreacher can say whatever he pleases about the filth in the werewolf’s presence.”

Whether he was right or not didn’t matter to Remus now. He was still going to do his best to shut the creature up. It would be a pleasant way to relieve some of the pent up emotion he was harboring.

“Be quiet Kreacher.” Remus snapped.

“He is a stupid beast, stupid filthy wizard, to think he can order Kreacher-”

“Quiet.”

“Oh my poor Mistress! If only she could see the filth that still makes home in her most beautiful and respectable house-”

“Kreacher!”

“But now one is gone, Mistress! Forever! He will never filthy your home again! And soon the rest of the filthy mud bloods and traitors will go and it shall be just Kreacher and his Mistress again, true Mistress! Not that filthy traitor of a murdered wizard-”

“Do not speak of him like that!” Remus yelled. When had he stood? His hand gripped the table to stay himself from grabbing his wand and hexing the wretch.

Kreacher raised his wrinkled head. The bat-like ears twitched languidly as he fully digested the yelled words from Remus’ mouth. Those old and deranged eyes were focused on him with new intensity. Studying him. A new smile crept across his mouth, turning the face to a grotesque replica of itself. “The filthy wolf still tries to rule over Kreacher. Stupid beast will not learn. But Kreacher knows,” Remus’ already pale face drained. “yes Kreacher knows. Kreacher knows of dead master’s secret.”

“Stop.”

“Kreacher’s seen them, oh yes, when they think that no one else will notice-”

“Stop it Kreacher.”

“Kreacher’s heard them together in dead master’s bedroom,” Remus’ face took on the shade of paper. “The foul werewolf thinks he can order Kreacher, but Kreacher knows. He does not have to keep the werewolf’s bad secret. Kreacher doesn’t have to keep his dead master’s bad secret. Kreacher knows, oh yes, Kreacher knows what they would do when no one else was looking-”

“SHUT UP!!!” he roared. There was nothing and no one to stop him from hurling the closest thing, a particularly sturdy plate from an earlier meal, at the grinning house elf. His rage, while increasing the power behind the act, did nothing to help his aim. It sailed safely passed the creature’s head to strike the wall with a resounding CRACK. Splintered into countless pieces. But the message had been sent and clearly received. Decrepit fingers fixed firmly about the filthy cloth he wore, Kreacher tore from the kitchen. The door slammed behind him. His grumblings of the “mad, filthy, mangy werewolf” faded with the increasing distance. Silence reigned once more.

He was trembling, with which emotion he could not be sure. That foul, wretched, little leech of a house elf had clearly gotten the better of Remus’ control. He panted in his rage to cool his face and still his thundering heart and pulse. It took several long minutes of his harsh and calming breathing before Remus even dared to take the smallest step from the frozen position he had put himself in. His hand released the table and he stumbled slightly; it pressed down upon his shoulders. Grief, anger, resentment, guilt. They weighed down upon his frail shoulders till they drooped, head hanging low. It was with such pressure that he walked slowly to the remaining pieces of the plate.

Wand out, he flicked it absently. “Reparo.” he sighed. The pieces quivered lightly before drawing into one another, reforming the plate as seamlessly as it was before his anger got a hold of it. No one would ever know that it had ever broken.

How wonderful, Remus mused, it would be if could be mended like that. With just a simple flick of a wand and a one worded incantation, Remus could repair that which meant the most to him. How divine would it be if he could just utter one simple spell, turn and see Sirius strolling through the kitchen door, muttering about Kreacher’s obsession over his bitch of a mother, or perhaps pleading with him to stay leaving for a mission for just another hour. Just one simple spell, wouldn’t it be perfect?

But there was no spell. Not now, not ever. There was no spell to bring Sirius back to him. There was no means to reawaken the dead.

“Sirius…” he murmured weakly. On his knees, Remus clutched the cold and solid plate to his chest in an iron grip, imagining that it would transfigure into his warm embrace. “Padfoot…” Tears gathered at the corners of his hazel eyes. Head bowing over the clutched plate, Remus trembled with his sadness. “Sirius…Sirius…”

“Lupin, is everything alright?” Molly Weasley’s voice rang through the quiet kitchen. Even before the door had opened, he had straightened. Ceased his tears with all the strength that he could muster. She hovered in the doorway, watching him intently. Behind her, Alastor, “Mad eye,” Moody stood, most of his weight balanced on his good leg, gnarled hand gripping a cane in a vice grip. The magical blue eye that had replaced his real one shown out of his scarred face, spinning and swiveling without pause, taking in all aspects of the room. As it did every time, despite the countless times he had been in the kitchen. It joined its living twin to stare at Remus; Moody’s face remained expressionless though his eyes took in a glint of intrigue. “I thought I heard a crash from here, and Kreacher was skulking about upstairs muttering about something in the kitchen. Everything well, dear?”

“Just repairing a plate, Molly. It fell, that must’ve been the crash you heard.” Remus said with the most convincing smile he could manage. “Nothing to worry over, a simple fix. Don’t worry, Molly.”

Molly, apparently, found something to worry over. It was obvious that she didn’t believe a word out of his mouth. While Moody merely stared, she strode up to him. Remus swallowed as subtly as possible, only half aware that his hands were shaking around the plate. He did his best to keep his face masked, to not let her burning and accusing stare wear down his walls. She frowned up at him, searching his eyes for the lie that he hoped was well hidden. Remus prayed, silently of course, that the vestiges of his depression were perfectly dry by now.

She huffed softly, taking the plate from his death grip and striding away from him. Remus relaxed little by little but with held his sigh of relief. After all, Moody was still watching him intently. Studying him, the blue eye fixed firmly on his own. Remus wondered if the magic eye could not only see through a person’s head, but through their thoughts as well. The idea made him shudder lightly.

“Really Remus,” Molly sighed, her agitation clearly displayed. Both sets of eyes broke the captivating hold and turned their attentions to her. She was bustling about the stove, wand out and flicking purposefully. “You need to take better care of yourself. Look at you, shaky. And white as a sheet!” Remus felt a soft flush seeping across his face. “And it’s so painfully obvious that you haven’t slept well in Merlin knows how long. Just look at how bloodshot your eyes are! Goodness gracious…”

“Really, Molly. I’m perfectly fine.” assured Remus. She wheeled about to give a most frightening glare. Remus hastened to continue. “It’s just… well you know.” For once, he was quite glad the full moon was approaching; it made an excellent excuse in this case. “I’m really all right, nothing unusual for me.”

Her only answer was a louder huff as she continued her purposeful movements about the stove. He had a very sneaking suspicion as to just what she was up to. Sure enough, a rather large bowl of what Remus could only assume was thick broth floated itself to the table. A large chunk of bread and a clean, tall glass of milk followed shortly after. He sighed heavily, prompting her to turn again and frown at him with motherly concern.

“Molly, this isn’t-” Remus started.

“Not another word! Now sit!” barked Molly in response. In that commanding tone that only fools who had never experienced her wrath dared to disobey no less.

Perhaps his luck would be better today.

“Molly…” he tried. She looked near close to cuffing him rather harshly over the head with a pan. If she could reach him that was.

“What did I just say?” She demanded. Her curt voice cut him off before he could even thinking of opening his mouth again. “Remus Lupin, sit at that table!”

He probably would have chuckled, or at least smile vaguely with an amused expression, if it had been anyone else in this situation. As it were, Remus, looking thoroughly defeated by Molly’s mothering ways and insistence at treating him like he was 13, trudged on leaden legs to the old table, sinking rather moodily into the chair he had previously occupied. For almost two minutes, hazel eyes simply stared at the food before him. Just the smell wafting to him made his mouth salivate and his throat constrict. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to wolf the meal down with the desperation of a starving man or retch at the mere thought of eating.

Her dark and domineering glare made the decision for him. With much reluctance, that he did his best to hide from his face, Remus cradled the spoon between his fingers and took a first tentative sip. As per all her culinary concoctions, it was spot on. Perfect. Delicious. Remus held back a grimace.

“Honestly Remus,” Molly started. Remus choose to remain looking at the soup. “You could at least try to take better care of yourself.” He held back his snap of a retort that he did and his health was none of her business by biting harshly on the spoon. “You always look half starved,” Well not being to hold down a job because of his “condition” tended to do that. “And those bags under your eyes seem absolutely permanent.” They probably were. “For goodness sakes Remus-”

He merely sighed, barely registering the warmth that was seeping down his throat in delicious streams. At least she hadn’t mentioned the state of his robes, as many often did. Remus might have merely lost control again. Thank Merlin Molly usually had more tact than to go that far.

“You could at least pop up at the Burrow once in a while for a spot of something.” She sighed, though the traces of a smile were noticeable in the voice. “You know that you are always more than welcomed to join us for meals. You could do with a few good, home cooked dinners.” She didn’t pause at his minute nod. “Merlin knows that you won’t be able to have one soon.”

Remus paused, half way through tasting the tempting bread. He had forgotten, near completely, of that. Soon, yes soon, he would be amongst his “kin.” Fellow werewolves, ones he would have to try to convince to join the side of light against Voldemort. He had no way of knowing how long he would be among them, or how open they would be to his attempts to sway them. Sirius had been furious at the very notion of Dumbledore’s mission for him. Too dangerous, he said, for a werewolf to go looking for his “own” after living so long among witches and wizards.

Sirius. Remus’ appetite suddenly evaporated. He stared darkly at the meal. Molly was still going on about something concerning his health but Remus heard nothing more than a word here or there. Sirius. He would never again be able to share a small and private meal with him in the silence of this woeful kitchen. Sirius would never eat again, never roll his eyes behind Molly’s back at her insistent mothering of everyone…

It was enough to make him feel ill.

“Molly,” said Remus genially. A convincing and modest smile adorned his face as he spoke. “I thank you for your fussing over me but really, I am all right. I can manage.” She puffed up slightly so he decided to hurry on before she could get fuel to her rage. “But some home cooked food does sound lovely. Perhaps I will stop by in the next day or so, that is, if the offer still stands?”

She practically beamed at him. “Well of course your welcome to join us, Remus dear.” He forced the smile to remain and ignore the tone she had that reduced his age to that of a mere child. “I’ll be sure to set an extra place for you and let Arthur know you plan to stop by.”

“I appreciate that Molly.”

“Of course Remus, of course. Now you finish that,” she ordered kindly whilst making her way to the door. “and then we can get going before anyone notices.” With that, she disappeared back up the stairs.

Remus paused a second time as the door closed behind her. Another thing he had almost forgotten. Grimmauld place may no longer be of use to the Order. They couldn’t stay, for the moment. With his death, Remus put the spoon down again, this ruin of a house no longer belonged to him. It belonged to only one of two people: Harry Potter, his beloved godchild…or Bellatrix, his cousin, the last of the blood line…his murderer. Remus gritted his teeth at the mere thought of her. He shook his head to rid himself of the need to break more than a plate. With his death, it was possible that this place was now Harry’s property, likely even. But it was just as conceivable that it was that woman’s and the Order needed to clear out (and wipe clean that damn elf’s memory) before she decided to appear on their doorstep.

“All right there, Lupin?” Moody growled. Remus jumped, but only slightly. He had quite forgotten that Moody had been in the room. He was still watching Remus most intrigued. The look on his face unnerved him greatly; it gave the sinking suspicion that Moody was looking deeper than just his face.

“Oh yes, Alastor.” Remus said with his convincing, fake smile. Moody took a few steps forward, magical and real eye focused solely on him. Not wanting to crack under sudden pressure, he diverted his own attention to the meal once again, noting that he hadn’t taken a bite of bread as of yet. Neither said a word to the other, only the clunking of his steps loud enough to distinguish though soon they too receded into nothingness.

“…Full moon, eh?” said Moody from beside him. Remus lifted his head and nodded with the wisp of a sad smile.

“Little over a week now. Always feel a bit off color with its approach. It’s nothing to fret over.” Remus assured.

Moody’s eyes narrowed with scrutiny, though it was very slight. “Molly seems to think it is…” Remus waved his hand dismissively. His next words were spoken with good natured humor, so convincing that he rather shocked himself.

“Molly always worries over something or other; she needs that. She needs someone to fuss and mother over. And with the twins in Diagon Alley with their business, her own youngest safely at the Burrow, and Harry back in Surrey with his family, I suppose the ailing werewolf is the nearest target.” He chuckled vaguely, thoroughly disgusted by how jovial his own voice sounded. Remus had no reason to sound as such.

“Suppose so.” Moody growled in response, a slight rumble of laughter coloring it. The vague mirth stayed well clear of his eyes though which continued to drill into him. “Always needs to worry over someone…”

“Mhm.” Remus mumbled. He returned his attention to the soup.

“Always needs to fuss.”

“Mm…”

“Always needs to question as to why someone is hugging a recently repaired plate to them in a snake’s grip.”

Remus paused, the third. He had enough sense to prevent himself from letting the spoon clatter to the table in open astonishment. He set it down gently before meeting Moody’s gaze. He knew. The blue eye began to swivel once again. Of course, how could Remus had been so foolish? How could he think that he could ever fool Alastor Moody, the great retired Auror. The magic replacement could peer through the back of Moody’s own skull and the magic shielding of invisibility cloaks. Walls and doors had to be nothing to it. Remus looked away to try and hide the embarrassed flush seeping through him. His hands quivered in his lap.

Silence…then-

“He knew what he was getting into, Remus. As you did and still do…as do we all. He knew the possibilities.” Moody grumbled. Whether his words were supposed to be comforting or nor Remus would never know. He turned on his good leg and started to clunk his way out of the kitchen. Remus would be alone again, soup and misery his only company.

“Alastor.” He called. Moody stilled. He looked over his shoulder in time to see Remus rising to shaky legs. How Remus closed the distance to stand before him he neither knew nor would remember. They stared for a moment. “Do…”

“Yes?”

“…The photo…of the original Order. You had it before. Do you still have it?” Moody blinked at the request. He looked, for a brief moment, quite taken back by the suddenness of it. He studied him in that moment before it passed and he diverted his attention to his cloak. He rummaged through some hidden pockets; Remus got a brief flash of the ever famous and present hip flask. Soon enough, his gnarled hand reappeared from the dark confines, a stiff thing held delicately in his scarred fingers. The contents shifted.

“You’re in luck, Lupin.” he said finally. He held it out to him. Remus hesitated for a moment before touching it tenderly. Moody relinquished his hold over it.

“…Thanks…” he muttered. Nodding, he turned about again and resumed his exit. The kitchen door closed with a quiet latching, the clunking footsteps fading, leaving Remus alone with a photo and his half eaten food.

In silence, he resumed his seat. Leaving the soup to be finished in a later moment, Remus perused the contents of the photograph in his hands. The inhabitants smiled broadly back at him, waving and raising glasses in a forever moment of happiness and silent cheers. He recognized many of the faces: Dumbledore and his brother, Alastor Moody with both eyes and both legs, Arthur and Molly Weasley, the Longbottoms, Peter. James and Lily grinned at him from the back row and he found himself smiling faintly in return. Close by, Sirius seemed to be laughing loudly, hand clasped over his younger version’s shoulders, who was merely smiling in a quiet sort of manner. Remus swallowed hard and dwelled on the pair for a moment.

But, surprisingly, this was not the reason he wanted the picture.

He prodded the surface with the tip of his wand in light pokes. “Go on, move a bit. To the side.” he ordered gently. The moving and smiling people shuffled aside, the back row stepping up slightly to a better light. Remus scanned the faces.

One particular pair caught his gaze. They smiled up at him kindly, though differently. The woman, perhaps in her early 20s, had her arm wrapped about the waist of the man beside her. His own arm was draped casually but lovingly over her slender shoulders. Matching rings adorned their left hands and they glinted slightly in unforeseen light. She was grinning broadly, energy abundant as her jet black hair swished about her slender neck. He was smiling, a slight upturn of the lips that gave him a powerful, dreamlike expression. His own hair fell over his shoulders in slender rivers, haloing his face. The eyes though, they captivated him. Distant, dreamy and almost seeming to be drooping into sleep, they gazed into a distant world that only he and few others could see. It was…slight unnerving to see.

But then again, he had always had “out there” look. Zoned.

Remus scanned the faces further. He pursed his lips in slight irritation. They had to be there, after all it had been their idea for the picture. So where…

Ah! There they were. A smile shone on Remus’ face and a low chuckle escaped him as he watched the two. The boys, for in many, many, ways they still acted like two teenage boys, seemed to be caught up in a rather noticeable struggle. A playful one at that. The older of the two, taller than his younger by nearly a foot, was straining to contain a flushed face boy who seemed to want nothing more than to dart out of the picture frame. He fought against him, trying to wrap arms about the squirming body, hair slipping from the slight ponytail that he had it pulled back in. A charming and mischievous smile played across his handsome face as he did his best to still the struggling younger. A younger whose high and slender cheeks was clearly flushed as he squirmed and wiggled to free himself, a slight smile present on his own countenance. Remus was certain that if the picture could talk, the squirming would be accompanied by squeals and pleas to be let go. He stared at the younger intently. Though only a single year younger than his “captor,” they looked years apart. The older male bore the handsome face of an boy who only scant years before reached adulthood, while the other still held the clear face and body of a petite 16 year old boy. His own shoulder length and ruffled hair falling all over his eyes only increased that sense of youth and innocence.

At long last, it seemed, the older succeeded in his conquest. The 16 year old looking male was mostly still, arms crossed in front of his own chest and each wrist held by his captor. The victor grinned, wrapping his right leg about the other’s legs and resting his chin on his slender shoulder with a Cheshire cat grin. The boy’s blush darkened to a deep scarlet with embarrassment. He chuckled, lifting his chin slightly. He seemed to be whispering something into the younger’s ear, a coy grin playing in his words. What was being said Remus could only guess but the blush darkened and a smile of his own started to spread across his flushed face. He laced his fingers with his captor’s slowly. The older chuckled in silence and gave the ear a small nip before resuming his previous position and smiling a not entirely innocent smile.

The two of them, Remus mused. They had always been rather open about their affections, even to the immense embarrassment of the younger one. But he never had spurned the advances. Remus looked down at their frozen, photographic smiles, mischievous and embarrassed. And loving. Oh so loving. He leaned back in the chair; the photo was held above his eyes now. He searched the smiles…

He owed them so very much…

The Marauders owed them everything. It hadn’t been for them, they would never had become what they had. All because of them…

And their smiles...

TBC

AN: well there we are, chapter one. What do you think? reviews are much appreciated.

Please note: I am currently looking for a title for this. If anyone can think of some, please let me know! i cannot think of a title for this story and its driving me mad!