Author's Note: These are scenes that I am planning to use in longer fics at some later date.

966. In this year Thored, son of Gunner, ravaged Westmorland, and the same year Oslac became earl of Northumbria. Also in this year, at an inn of the village called the Hollows was born a male child to the innkeeper and his wife.

967. In this year, in the land of Mercia, Grevling and his wife despaired, fearing for the safety of their infant daughter, for the portents showed her to hold powers despised by Edgar, the Christian king of the English.

970. In this year passed away prince Edmund. And near the banks of the river Clyde was born a dark-haired daughter to a pious fisherman and his wife, who died in the birthing.

973. In this year, Edgar, ruler of the English, was consecrated king by a great assembly .... There was a great congregation of priests, and a goodly company of monks, and wise men gathered together. And among these wise men was one who had come out of the lands of the Welshmen, unknown to any, and none knew what he sought.

974. In this year Edgar, king of the English, brought an end to his earthly pleasures: He chose another world, radiant and joyous, quitting this poor and transitory existence. And in that part of the land of the Britons called Strathclyde, two wanderers met by chance in the forest of Puck's Glen, and found what they had been seeking.

976. In this year was the great famine in England, and the wise man ventured forth to collect those others whose families might gladly give them up, because they had nothing to feed them.

979. In this year Æthelred was consecrated king .... This same year a cloud red as blood was seen, frequently with the appearance of fire and it usually appeared about midnight: it took the form of rays of light of various colours, and at the first streak of dawn it vanished. Many called it a dark portent. The mystics spoke of the coming of a great serpent, and none could say what it might mean.

Aberforth did not understand. He had seen his father carry his sister in -- seen the bruises on her arms and legs -- but if she had hurt herself, why was she not crying? Instead, her eyes were wide and staring, and her mouth hung open as if she had forgotten to close it.

His father had taken Ariana into her small bedroom, and he and his mother had closed the door behind them. Aberforth pressed his ear to the wood, but all he could hear was the muffled sound of his mother's weeping and the low, tense murmur of his father's voice. His mother had left the room once, carrying a bowl of steaming liquid and a bloodstained cloth. He could see that her eyes were red, and he was too frightened to ask what was wrong. His parents seemed to have forgotten about him entirely.

Albus will tell me. Albus was ten and clever and had a way of patiently explaining things that made them easy for his seven-year-old brother to understand. And Albus had come in with their father. He would know what had happened to Ariana.

Going upstairs, he pushed open the door of the bedroom he shared with his brother. Albus lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Something of the look that had haunted Ariana's eyes lived in his as well, and that frightened Aberforth even more. He was used to a confidence bordering on arrogance from his brother. The fearful silence was too much to bear.

"Al?" he whispered, climbing up on the bed beside the older boy. "What happened to Ari?"

Albus continued to stare at the ceiling, as if a scene played out there too horrifying for him to look away.

"Some Muggle boys," he said at last. "They saw her do magic. They -- hurt her."

Aberforth was more confused than ever. "She didn't seem too bad hurt," he said uncertainly. "Just some bruises. Mum can heal that in about a minute." But then he remembered the bloodstained cloth, and fell silent.

Albus shook his head slightly. "They didn't hurt her like that, Ab." His voice was soft, lost in a wilderness of pain and fear. "They -- I didn't know people could hurt each other like that."

"What did they do?" Aberforth's voice held a note of panic now. Muggle boys had done something to Ariana that even his brother had not known about, and Albus knew everything.

Albus looked at his brother at last, and Aberforth saw a depth of anger, sadness, fear, and pain that he had never known in all his life. "You're too young to understand, Ab," he said grimly.

Aberforth felt tears spring to his eyes. "Is Ari going to be all right?"

The older boy shook his head again, closing his eyes, trying to block out his brother's pain rather than let it add to his own. "I don't know," said Albus, who hardly ever uttered those words.

The younger boy leapt off the bed. "I'm gonna find those boys!" he declared loudly. "I'm gonna make them pay!" Anything was better than sitting here, doing nothing.

But Albus grabbed his arm, looking more frightened than before. "No, Ab. You can't. They might hurt you, too. Think of mother."

"But why?" Aberforth wailed, collapsing back onto the bed. "Why did they do it?"

Albus shrugged, and a cold look came into his bright blue eyes. "They're Muggles, aren't they? They're stupid. Magic scares them."

"I hate them," Aberforth said hotly. "Someone should make them pay."

A door slammed downstairs, and the brothers looked out the window to see their father striding purposefully from the house.

"I think someone will," said Albus, but he did not sound any happier at the thought.

She walked quickly, trying not to think about the itching.

"Every single bloody time," she grumbled. "You'd think Poppy would keep a ready supply handy."

The matron, however, had been out of the balm that soothed the hot tightness in her skin. Again. But never mind; Hagrid would be sure to have plenty. Someone of his size would need it, and he was the only other member of staff she knew of who shared her allergy.

She made her way across the darkened grounds, scratching absently at her arm. Rapping on the gamekeeper's door, she shifted from foot to foot impatiently, listening to Fang's booming barks.

"Good evening, Hagrid," she said shortly, when he opened the door.

"Evenin', Minerva." He caught sight of her face, red and swollen. "Allergies bad again? Well, come in."

He stood aside to let her enter, and took down a large jar from a shelf.

"Ironic, isn' it? You bein' allergic ter cats?"

"Quite," she replied grimly, shrugging out of her robes.

The Ministry of Magic Christmas Gala was the biggest party of the season. Everyone who was anyone was invited, as well as every member of the Ministry staff. Sylvia Lupin felt a little overwhelmed, but her husband Marcellus, a junior members of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, had insisted that it was time she had a real taste of the magical world.

Sylvia was a Muggle -- the word still felt strange to her -- and until she and Marcellus had become engaged three years before, she had assumed that magic was a thing of imagination and fairy tales. But now, as her young husband guided her into the elaborately-decorated hall, it was all around her, singing from the rafters and twinkling from the branches of a dozen fir trees.

"I'm just going to grab us a couple of drinks," Marcellus said before abandoning her in a sea of strangers.

Some of the strangers were very strange indeed, with their unusual clothing and wands. One woman even appeared to have a stuffed buzzard perched atop her hat. Nervously shifting the bundle in her arms, Sylvia looked around rather desperately for anyone remotely normal-looking. Her eyes lit on a pretty young woman with sleek, dark hair, who also held a baby. Common ground.

"How old is yours?" she asked, the standard conversation opener of mothers meeting for the first time.

The young woman laughed prettily. "He's six months, but he's not mine. I'm just the nanny." She turned her own bundle so that Sylvia could see a cap of dark curls and a face red from fussing. "Normally, I wouldn't even be here, but you know how these high-society types are about having their heirs seen."

"Remus is nine months," Sylvia said proudly, presenting her son. "Our first."

Unlike the other boy, Remus was a happy baby. He cooed and drooled and reached his chubby hands toward the strangers.

The black-haired baby stopped fussing and regarded Remus and his mother with large, gray eyes. The nanny sighed her relief.

"That's the first time he's stopped squirming all day!" she said, smiling, as Remus's fat little hand clutched the sleeve of her charge's onesie.

"Making friends?" asked Marcellus, returning with the drinks and a smile. "Wonderful! We've been hoping to start making play dates for Remus."

"Petronella!" cried a shocked voice. Several heads turned to see the tall, sour-faced woman striding toward them. "What have I told you about exposing him riffraff? Do you want to be dismissed?"

The young nanny hung her head, stepping away from the Lupins. "No, Mrs Black," she murmured.

"Come along, then," the woman said tartly. "I want the Minister for Magic to see him."

She turned and strode away, the nanny trailing meekly in her wake, wide gray eyes still staring over her shoulder until they disappeared into the crowd.

Remus began to fuss.

Remus frowned at his reflection and dabbed at the cut on his cheek with a cotton bud.

Not too bad, all things considered, he thought. Another inch to the left, and full moons would have been the least of my worries.

The front door opened with a crash, startling him, and two agitated voices broke into the sitting room. Sirius and James, in the middle of the afternoon. They should have been at work. Curious, Remus stepped out of the bathroom to see what all the fuss was about.

His friends looked disheveled and shaken. When they caught sight of him, though, their eyes went wide. Sirius gave an unintelligible exclamation, and James turned to him, grinning and punching him in the shoulder.

"See?" he said. "Told you we should've checked here first."

Sirius only shook his head, and half fell into Remus, clutching at him. Remus's arms went around him automatically. To his bemusement, Sirius was trembling.

"I am going to fucking kill that pox-ridden cunt," he said precisely, voice was muffled in the fabric of Remus's shirt.

Remus looked to James for enlightenment.

"Dawlish," James explained. "There was a report of an attack on some members of the Order. He said you'd been killed."

"Oh," said Remus. "Well, there was an attack. Everyone's all right, though."

"Glad to hear it," said James, relieved. "In that case, we should probably be getting back to the office."

Sirius didn't move.

Remus cleared his throat. "I think perhaps you'd best --"

"I'll make your excuses, Padfoot." James rolled his eyes.

"Thanks," replied the muffled voice.

James turned to the door, then paused and turned back. "I'm glad you're not dead, Moony."

Remus gave his friend a half-smile. "Me, too."

Once James had gone, Remus turned his full attention to his trembling, clinging lover.

"Are you okay, Padfoot?"

"You were dead, Moony," Sirius mumbled miserably to Remus's shirt. "You were dead and I was never going to see you or touch you or kiss you ever again."

"'The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated,'" Remus quoted, still smiling. Sirius's panic at his imagined demise was oddly touching.

Sirius disengaged himself from Remus's shirt far enough to look up into his eyes. He had never seen him look so frantic. "It's not funny, Moony."

Remus cupped Sirius's face in his hands, holding the other man's gaze. "I'm all right, Padfoot," he reassured him, before kissing him tenderly.

With a desperate sob, Sirius sagged into him, biting at his lips, urging them apart with his tongue, as if longing to taste, to consume, what he had thought lost. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of Remus's shirt. Catching his agitation, Remus responded in kind, flicking open the fastening of Sirius's robes and shoving them back off his shoulders.

"Need you," Sirius gasped against his mouth. "Please --"

"Bedroom. Now," Remus mumbled.

They staggered into the next room, barely letting go of one another long enough to shed their clothing, and fell onto the bed. Sirius pulled Remus down on top of him.

"Hurry," he hissed as Remus fumbled for the bottle on the nightstand, urging him to stop wasting time and just do it already, for God's sake!

Then he was sheathed in the tight, welcoming heat of Sirius's body, and Sirius was making sobbing, whimpering sounds and clawing at his back, demanding hard use at the hands of his lover. In answer, Remus showed him with his hips and hands and teeth just how alive they both were. But it was only when Sirius felt Remus come deep inside him that his own release and relief found him, flooding his body with the joyous knowledge that in such moments, they lived forever.

They lay quiet for some time after, arms around one another, Sirius's cheek pressed to Remus's chest, listening to the slow, strong beat of his heart, to the breath flowing deep and regular through his lungs.

"Moony?" he said softly.

"Hmmm?"

"Promise me you'll never die?"

Remus gave a sigh that was still mostly contentment, and raised a hand to stroke Sirius's silken hair. "You know I can't promise that anymore than you can, Love."

"I think I'd die without you, Moony." Sirius's voice quavered slightly.

"No, you wouldn't, Padfoot," Remus assured him gently. "You're stronger than that."

Sirius turned his head so that his chin rested on Remus's chest. "What, then?" he demanded heatedly. "What'll I do when you're gone?" His hand moved to rest on the wedge of scar tissue at the top of Remus's right thigh. The wolf's bite.

They had both read every book on Lycanthropy they could get their hands on, and the facts were well known to both of them, but it was the first time either of them had acknowledged the "when" rather than the "if" aloud. The life expectancy of a werewolf -- especially one bitten in childhood -- was significantly less than the normal life span of a wizard. The human body simply wasn't meant to take that kind of strain. Ever since he had learned the facts, Remus had secretly hoped that he would one day die in battle, or in some other quick, painless way. The death that was the usual lot of a werewolf wasn't a pretty or easy one. Some of the books had had pictures.

But the mutual awareness that their time together was limited made it that much more precious.

Remus stroked Sirius's cheek and smiled fondly into his eyes. "You'll wank a lot," he said. "You'll get into all kinds of trouble without me there to tell you when you're being foolish and pigheaded. You'll play the degenerate uncle to Prongs's children and Wormtail's, and probably their grandchildren as well. And one day, when you're wrinkled and toothless and very, very old, you'll come to the place where I'll be waiting for you. Always."

"Maybe so," Sirius allowed, smiling a little tremulously. "I love you, Moony. Promise me you'll try not to die for a very, very long time?"

"I promise, Padfoot."

"Moony, what's this?" asked Sirius in an odd voice.

"What?" Remus called from the kitchen.

"This is a gun isn't it? One of those Muggle things for killing people?" Sirius's education had included enough of the right kind of movies for him to recognise one.

"Oh," Remus came around the corner into the bedroom. He sounded uncomfortable. "Yeah."

"Why do you have it?"

"Protection?"

"That's bollocks, Moony, and you know it. I've heard these things are nearly impossible to get in Britain, and I know how bloody strong you are. What do you need protecting for?"

Sirius lifted the revolver from its box and flipped open the chamber. "There's only one bullet in here." He tipped it out onto his palm. "Moony -- this is silver."

Remus sat down on the bed and put his face in his hands. "I've had it a long time, Padfoot." His voice was muffled. "I just never got around to --" he broke off.

"What?" demanded Sirius. "Never got around to what? Killing yourself?"

Remus looked up at him, a haunted look in his eyes. "What did I have left, Padfoot?" he asked softly. "James and Lily were dead. Peter, too, as far as I knew. And you were --" he sighed and shook his head.

The gun clattered to the floor, and Sirius went to kneel before Remus. "I'm sorry, Moony. I didn't mean to sound angry. I just suddenly almost lost you all over again. One more bad ending for us, you know?" He took Remus's hands in his.

"I know," Remus cleared his throat. "But I didn't do it, did I? Because I didn't have nothing. Look in the box again."

Sirius picked up the wooden box, lying on the bed next to the other man. Remus squeezed his shoulder as Sirius tipped the box towards the light.

"It says 'Harry' at the bottom," Sirius said uncomprehendingly.

"That's right," Remus replied. "My fail-safe. If things ever got bad enough that I opened that box, I had Harry's name right in front of me, to remind me why I needed to live. There were a couple times when it was a near thing, but I made it, didn't I?"

He smiled weakly as Sirius gathered him into his arms.

"You did, Moony. I know things were hard, and you were brave as Gryffindor himself to make it this far." Sirius kissed him softly. "Remind me to thank Harry sometime."

My Dearest Moony,

I'm sealing this letter in with my will, so if you're reading this, then I am gone. I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was making a new will, but I didn't want to upset you. Life is so uncertain right now, and anything could happen at any time. Look! I've learned to plan like a responsible adult at last. You should be proud. It's all your fault.

I know you'll hate it, but I've opened a new Gringotts account in your name. And I'm not there, so you can't argue! Oh, stop scowling. Just don't be a fool and give it all away. Get yourself a place. Buy some new clothes. There should be enough for you to live pretty comfortably (or at least more comfortably than you're used to) for the rest of your life, and Harry will have a place to come visit you. I just want to see that you're taken care of.

I'm leaving everything else to Harry, including the house. I know it's not your style, and he won't have all the bad associations with the place that you or I have. I know he's already pretty well set up on what James and Lily left him, but what can I say? I enjoy spoiling him. He hasn't had nearly enough of that. I'd appreciate it if you'll see to it that he gets a certain motorbike, once he's old enough (he'll be old enough at 18, Moony; not 35). He's a good, smart kid, and I am not worried about him. He'll be fine. James and Lily would be proud. I know you'll keep an eye on him for me.

God, my mother must be spinning in her grave to know what's become of the Black family fortune! But if I didn't make these arrangements, it would all go to those good-for-nothing cousins of mine. I'm sure Harry will let the Order continue to use the house as long as it's needed, but you might encourage him to invest a little of what I'm giving him toward bringing down old Moldywart. I just know you guys are going to kick those bastards' arses, and I still want to do what I can to help.

Remus -- Moony. My Moony. As I write this, you are sleeping peacefully next to me. I can reach over and brush your hair back from your face, and watch you smile in your sleep. I just wanted to tell you how glad I am that we have had this time together. I know I have been a right arse, and damn near impossible to live with over the last few months, but I want you to know that being with you again has been a gift. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I know I am one lucky bastard!

I don't know where we go when our lives are over, but wherever I am, know that I will never stop loving you. You have been the greatest blessing of my life, and I know that, because of you, I was a better man than I might otherwise have been. Thank you for everything you are and everything you have done. I will be waiting for you.

Forever Faithful in Love,
Your Sirius

*pawprint*

Somewhere on the other side of the wall, Hermione was screaming. They had taken her -- taken her and promised her to that beast, and the best and worst and only thing he could hope for was that they would let him see her mauled and broken body before they killed him, too.

"HERMIONE!" he shouted, pounding at the wall with his fists, mindless with fear. "HERMIONE!"

Her screams lanced through him like physical pain. She was gone -- raped -- dead -- and he had not been able to protect her.

"Give her to me," Greyback whined to the tall, pitiless woman. "I caught her. What need have the Ministry for one more Mudblood? When you're done with her, give her to me to play with."

"You'll have your turn at her, Fenrir," the woman promised. "But do it outside. We don't want her filthy blood on the carpets."

The werewolf grinned, baring his pointed teeth. "You're mine," he crooned to the girl, huddled on the floor. "And when the next full moon rises, the last thing you will feel will be me changing inside you before I rip your throat out."

"There will be time for that later," Bellatrix said impatiently. "Tell me, girl. Tell me where you got that sword. Crucio!"

The screams seemed too large for her body. They clawed at her throat as they fought their way out of her. She knew she was dead, but still she fought, sticking to the lie of the sword without remembering why it was important, knowing only that they must not lose sight of the silver blade, or all would be lost.

Snatching the wand Harry threw to him out of midair, Ron threw himself to the floor, covering Hermione's unconscious body with his own, wrapping his arms around her, and Apparating them the hell away from there.

They were lying on cool grass, with the smell of salt on the air and quiet all around them. She was so still, so cold.

"Hermione," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't be dead. Please don't."

"Ron!" called a voice he dimly recognised as if from another lifetime.

Bill was shaking him roughly by the shoulder. He could see Fleur's pale face beyond him, brow wrinkled with concern.

"Ron, what happened? Is Hermione okay?"

Ron looked into his brother's scarred face and summoned the one word he thought they might understand. "Greyback."

Fleur reached impulsively to touch her husband's shoulder. Her eyes met Ron's, full of understanding. "Get her into ze 'ouse," she said grimly. "Our bedroom. Care for her."

Someone was carrying her. Everything hurt. And then, mercifully, there was the yielding softness of a bed under her, pillows behind her head. Someone was lying beside her, gripping her hand too tightly. A warm mouth pressed against her cold fingers, and hot tears slid over her knuckles.

"Hermione," he murmured, voice rough with a despair that wrenched at her heart.

She tried to say his name, but her throat was torn and swollen from screaming. Muscles trembling with effort, she squeezed his fingers.

He felt the small pressure of her fingers on his, and looked up to see that her eyes were open. That was when the shaking started. Sobs wracked his body as he gathered her into his arms, pressing his mouth against her face and neck, breathing her scent, hands caressing her body, just to be certain she was really all there.

"Oh, God! Hermione, I thought I'd lost you. Please," he sobbed. "Please, I need you."

She was weak as a new kitten from her ordeal, but he saw his need reflected in her eyes. It was a compulsion -- a need to join, to prove to themselves that they were alive, after all, and had not lost one another. Never had either of them felt anything so overwhelmingly instinctive, and they gave themselves to it without question.

The need that drove them ran deeper than sexual desire. There was no thought of what they did as being something new; it was eternal -- primal. Clothing was torn out in desperation and she was open to him and he was inside her and they saw only each other's faces and felt only fierce relief in the warmth of one another's flesh as their hearts pounded together.

She was whole, present, alive, his, and only together could they hold back the darkness that threatened to consume them.

Scraps © 2006-2010 Pica