Rating: R
Word Count: 1516
Characters: Sirius, Remus

Sirius tried to feel pleased that it was Christmas. After all, he was free and there was snow on the ground in the Forbidden Forest. He frolicked halfheartedly through the white drifts for a while during the few hours of wintery daylight, but only ended up feeling cold and wet and lonely.

He had considered keeping Christmas with Hagrid, but a few days previously, Hagrid had received the bad news that his Hippogriff, Buckbeak, would be put on trial for attacking the Malfoy boy. Sirius had observed Draco Malfoy while keeping an eye on Harry's Care of Magical Creatures classes. He had also spent a great deal of time in Buckbeak's company, and was privately of the opinion that Malfoy had probably had it coming to him. Watching Hagrid get inconsolably drunk was not Sirius's idea of a merry Christmas, however.

As the weak sunlight began to fail and the chill in the air became pronounced enough to penetrate even his thick coat, he knew his only remaining option for the night was the Shrieking Shack. It would be cold and lonely but it would be shelter, and perhaps it still held enough happy memories to keep him company.

He dropped down into the secret passageway beneath the Whomping Willow and froze, sniffing the damp air. The tunnel smelled primarily of damp and decay, but his sensitive canine nose picked out the other scent immediately. Remus. Remus had been here, and within the last hour. And tonight was the full moon. He had gone to the Shrieking Shack to change.

Sirius made his way down the tunnel at a brisk trot, stopping occasionally to sniff the air. He was unsure whether he would prefer to encounter Remus before or after moonrise. It had to be close; it had been nearly dark when he had entered the tunnel, but he could not yet smell the sharp, animal musk of the wolf.

At last he exited the passageway. He hesitated then shifted forms. If Remus was still human, then it would be best to face him man to man, as it were. He could hear the creaking of the floorboards overhead. Cautiously, he took a step towards the stairs, and then another. The pacing in the room above stopped abruptly. Sirius froze. Then there was the sound of running feet, a door crashing open, heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Without pausing, Remus launched himself from the stairs directly at Sirius, knocking him to the floor and crouching over him, a steady growl coming from his throat. His eyes shone molten gold in the darkness and Sirius knew the wolf was rising in him. The moment of change would be upon him soon. With a claw-like hand, Remus tore at the neck of Sirius's shirt, ripping the tattered fabric and leaving red welts where his nails raked Sirius's skin. And then the wolf surfaced and Sirius quickly shifted, growling right back at the great, gray beast.

Sirius was afraid. Not that the wolf would hurt him; the Halloween full moon had shown him that the wolf knew nothing of such human ideas as betrayal, and knew instinctively the difference between friend and foe. No, what terrified him now was the scent hanging in the air around the wolf. He remembered it well, but now it caught him off guard: the wolf meant to claim his mate.

Reflexively, he defended himself from the onslaught of teeth and heavy paws. He could fight, he knew, and maybe escape, but did he truly want to? He had allowed himself to imagine since his flight from Azkaban what it would be like when he found Remus and all was well between them again, and they had all the time in the world to rediscover one another. But not like this.

Remus had taught him long ago the painful lesson that the wolf would take what it wanted, consequences and the wishes of others be damned. Remus would be unlikely to remember the event in the morning, but Sirius would remember everything. Which would he regret more? Fighting and the slim possibility of escape? Or submitting to his demands? The wolf in this state was more unpredictable than usual; resistance could lead to injury or even death.

They were wrestling and growling and snapping at one another, but Sirius could tell the wolf was only playing, so far.

A choice between what one wants and what one knows one ought to do is often a difficult one, but in this instance, Sirius had no time to make such a choice. While he was distracted by sharp, glistening teeth, a great, gray paw collided with the side of his head, stunning him momentarily. Without thinking, he rolled over an tried to crawl away until he could recover his senses.

The wolf's teeth closed on his neck, and the great shaggy body rose over his own. He knew he could not escape, could not fight. Sirius closed his eyes and held his breath.

The wolf was neither slow nor gentle. He staked his claim on the black dog hard and fast, a deep growl of satisfaction rising in his throat. Sirius let out a yelp of pain and struggled weakly, but the teeth kept their grip on his neck, holding him still.

Sensation and memory flooded Sirius's mind, overwhelming him. This was neither the first nor the most unexpected time the wolf had dominated him like this. The occurrence had once been almost as regular as the full moon, and after the first shock, James and Peter had learned to give the two canines their space until the moment passed.

His heart pounded and his breath came in a stuttering pant. He had forgotten what it felt like; the excitement -- the danger of being thoroughly and completely possessed by the wolf. Remus was reminding Sirius physically, almost brutally, that his soul was not his own, and Sirius gave himself up to that sensation, whining and howling with the joy of it.

The dog watched the gray man as he slept upon the hard floorboards of the Shrieking Shack, and wondered at the power of the wolf within him. How could a creature so capable of mayhem in the dark hours look so finished and vulnerable by the light of dawn? Last night he half-killed me, and now he looks like he couldn't raise his own head if his life depended on it.

He knew Remus would wake soon, and that when he did, he should be gone, but he could not make himself go. Remus needed him. How many mornings had the young werewolf awakened, cold, stiff, sore, and oh, so grateful for the warmth of his own black fur? He took Remus's discarded wand in his mouth to prevent any accidents and settled himself beside the sleeping man, offering his body as freely as he had the previous night.

With a sigh, Remus turned toward him, wrapping an arm around Sirius's middle and burying his face in the dog's thick coat. All was wonderful peace and stillness for a moment. Then, with a sudden cry, Remus tore away, throwing himself backwards against the rough wall, looking around wildly.

His eyes met the dog's and he froze, then slowly rose to his feet, pale and shaking. Sirius also rose and faced the man, unsure what he ought to do. He shook himself. What he really ought to do was get out of here. But as he looked at the wary and uncertain man pressed naked against the Shack wall, an almost human smile curved his lip. I feel like I should offer to make him breakfast. He wondered if Remus remembered or suspected anything of the previous night.

Regretfully, Sirius turned away. He paused in the doorway, and casting a longing look back at Remus, he placed the wand carefully on the Shack floor.

He left the Shack, regret weighing heavy in his heart. It should not have gone like that. It never went that way in his head. When he had imagined it, it had always included tenderness and soft words and above all, forgiveness. There had been none of that. It wounded him deeply that this first encounter had amounted to little more than meaningless sex, at least on Remus's side of it.

It had been far from meaningless to Sirius, though. He shook himself, unable to even think of the events of the previous night without all the same sensations washing over him again. His chest felt tight and he tried to ignore the growing arousal stealing over him once more. Christ! Can I not even see the man without needing a wank afterward?

Well, perhaps after last night it was understandable. Whatever the wolf might have wanted of him, it would never submit -- never allow the black dog a position of power. Full moon nights had always left him with a pair of aching bollocks. The wolf would tease him and use him mercilessly, but never allow him release.

Sirius sighed. Well, it's not like I've got anything better to do today ....

Survivor's Guilt: Padfoot's Tale © 2006 Skjaere