Raven (loneraven) wrote in remus_remix,

Toujours Pur

Title: Toujours Pur
Author: Raven
Summary: "He lingered almost too long, and decided abruptly that a schoolboy crush was one thing but a werewolf’s obsession was entirely another, and she was making him more dangerous."
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sirius/Remus, Remus/Bellatrix
Disclaimer: Not mine, JKR's.
Author you were assigned: ranalore
Notes: Sorry about the delay - due to an unexpected thunderstorm, I lost internet access yesterday. not_vacillating's support during the writing of this is much appreciated.

Original drabble:

Sirius has left you alone this fortnight past." Bellatrix's nails dug into his upper arm. Remus had done worse to himself, but he stilled within her grasp. "Has he thrown you over for Potter, a pureblood in his bed?"

"Ask him if you like."

Her smile was entirely too like Sirius'.

"I'm asking you," she said, and kissed him.

She kissed like Sirius, and instinct warred with control, but only briefly. He jerked away. It hurt more than he expected. She laughed.

"An eloquent Gryffindor answer." She laughed again when he turned his back.

The sound followed him to class.

She caught his eye from a distance across the snow-covered grounds, but the first time Remus saw her he nearly didn’t. The last days before Christmas were winding down, slowly and all at once so the Gryffindor common room was a riot of golden decorations.

He was standing by the window, and she was walking determinedly across the grounds, head down against the driving snow. He watched her because she reminded him of someone: the imperial bearing, those carelessly free movements, the eyes he couldn’t make out but would most likely be clear grey. Her hair was falling round her face, stark black against the white of the sky, and Remus saw clearly the green and silver threads of the scarf around her neck.

“What’re you looking at, Moony?” asked Sirius affectionately, coming up behind him, and Remus turned as an arm was thrown around his shoulders.

“Nothing,” he said, and it was no lie; when he looked back at the glass, the girl was gone.


In the boring days between Christmas and New Year, they had to find increasingly creative ways to keep themselves occupied.

“You first, Sirius,” said James, and because this was a game he had invented, they generally did what he said.

Sirius considered. “Rachael Diggory,” he said, and there was a general murmur of consensus. “Just because.”

No-one had to ask because what, because they knew he thought she was very pretty, and she was very pretty.

“Your go, Prongs,” Sirius said.

James, too, was a non-starter. “Lily Evans,” he said dreamily, and stared into space, all moonier than Moony as Sirius would have put it, and when they were all quite certain there would be no further elaboration from him, it was Peter's turn.

But Peter was nervous. After several false starts, he managed to stammer out, “Dorcas Meadowes.”

Sirius was grudgingly approving. “She's pretty,” he said, and as Peter looked up, “Good choice, mate.”

“What about you, Remus?” asked James, who seemed surprised at Moony's silence.

But Remus had been thinking of proud and perfect features, dark hair and grey eyes, and said nothing.


After school had started, he didn’t see her. He lingered, sometimes, in the entrance hall, in the Great Hall by the stairs to the dungeons, but he didn’t see her. By March, he was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined her.

He never asked anyone who she was. That wouldn’t have been right.

One night when he wasn’t thinking about it, or for that matter thinking about anything at all but the setting sun and the rising moon, he saw her running across the grounds which were golden-yellow with dying light and faded into the background as she darted through his line of sight.

He lingered almost too long, and decided abruptly that a schoolboy crush was one thing but a werewolf’s obsession was entirely another, and she was making him more dangerous.
But he dreamed about her once or twice, and then saw her at Hogwarts in the autumn, and really, what harm was there in looking?


When his own prefect badge arrived in August, Remus naturally wanted to know who else had been similarly honoured. He was hardly surprised by the other Gryffindor prefect, a red-haired girl named Lily, but she introduced him to her Slytherin counterpart and that girl, that girl in the green-and-silver scarf – that was her.

“And who are you?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.

“Remus Lupin,” he said, feeling unaccountably nervous.

She laughed at him a little. “My name is Bellatrix Black.”

“I know,” said Remus, and realised he did know; he’d known all along.


It was December again – raw, chilly December, although no snow yet – when Sirius paused in their walk across the grounds and stared at Remus with strangeness in his eyes. Remus stopped alongside him, feeling exposed and alone in the great wet expanse of the grounds around them, and gasped as Sirius kissed him, uncharacteristically gentle with lingering softness and longing.

When Sirius drew back, he was fearful and wary. “Sorry,” he muttered, looking down. “I’m sorry, that was stupid, it’s stupid, sorry, Moony, sorry…”

But Remus was noticing, almost for the first time, that Sirius had straight proud features, grey eyes and dark hair that fell to his shoulders, and he didn’t think it was stupid, not at all.


The stupid thing happened a month afterwards, but Remus didn’t know about it until the morning after, and by then it was the new year and had begun to snow.

Sirius was sorry. Sirius was always sorry. Although Remus hadn’t seen it, James told him in hushed tones about the blood on the snow, and Sirius pacing up and down for hours in it, murmuring I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry until it was daybreak and Remus woke up.

Remus wondered exactly how much of what James had said was true; all he knew for certain was that the Sirius Black who sauntered into the hospital wing still had a spring in his step and arrogance in his bearing, and Remus found silence more eloquent than words. Later, when the moon had waned properly and taken with it some of his wounds, Remus went out into the grounds with Sirius and said his piece, clearly, cuttingly and truthfully.

Snape could have died. James could have died. Remus himself nearly had died. And until he, Sirius Black, could atone for that, there were no more words.

Sirius stayed out in the grounds when Remus went back to the common-room.


The first prefect meeting of the spring term was a tense one; no-one quite liked to ask how Remus got his injuries. But it proceeded without incident, and Remus was honestly surprised when he heard running footsteps follow him, then felt a hand on his arm. “Remus.”

Remus turned. “Bella?”

“Sirius has left you alone this fortnight past,” she said, and her nails were digging into his arm. He’d done worse to himself, but he felt it. “Has he thrown you over for Potter, the pureblood?”

“Ask him if you like,” said Remus evenly, and she laughed.

“I’m asking you.” And then she kissed him.

He drew back eventually, feeling her nails in his skin, and thought about it. She was entirely too fascinating, and entirely too much like Sirius.

The sound of her laughter followed him back to the common-room. He got there to find Sirius sitting in a chair by the portrait-hole, so he walked straight back out again to where she was waiting for him.

“I thought you’d come,” she murmured into his neck, and the world stilled for a moment.


And it would have gone on like that – not obvious, not ostentatious, not Remus-Lupin-has-a-girlfriend, not anything. Just odd, shared moments, when Remus disappeared from the common-room and no-one, least of all Sirius, had the right to ask where he had gone.

It would have gone on like that – except Remus went down to the Quidditch pitch to meet Bella, and Sirius was there already.

So alike, both of them – proud and beautiful, and even red and gold and silver-green could shine the same way in certain lights.

“Toujours pur,” he heard Sirius say, and Remus didn’t stay to hear what Bella would say in reply.

He’d just about had it with the Noble and Ancient House of Black.


On the last day, after the leaving feast was completed, dorms had been tidied and goodbyes said, she came to the Fat Lady and waited until he came out. “Remus,” she said, and her voice gave his name its full, pureblood classical resonance.

“Bella,” he replied briefly, ready to walk on past, but she wouldn’t let him pass, holding out a gentle hand.

“Remus, come for a walk with me. Please.”

After a pause, Remus nodded. He didn’t speak, but he followed her as she led him away from the tower, down towards the entrance hall and then out in the grounds, glorious with summer.

Only when they were well away from the castle, its looming bulk only a shadow behind them, did she venture to speak again, and it seemed the innocuous inquiry he had heard often over the preceding days. “What are you doing after you leave?”
Remus shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m good at writing and I’m good at Defence, so something with that. What about you?”

She looked up at him shyly through her lashes, nervous and mischievous, like every girl with a secret Remus had ever known. “Promise you won’t tell?”

Slowly, he nodded. “Promise.”

She seemed to relax. With a single sweep of cloth on skin, she pulled back her sleeve and showed him her left arm, the skin white in the sunshine. He could see the tattoo as a dull symbol, burned in and impossible to remove. “Bella,” he said, breathed out, said no more. There were no words. She pulled her robes back into place with a coquettish toss of her head, and said, “He’ll take you, you know.”

“Who will?” In the sunshine, Remus was afraid.

“You know who. He only takes the best, but you’re good enough. I’ve seen you, and I know he’ll take you.”

“Bella.” Remus inhaled deeply, letting the summer breeze cool his head. “Are you – are you asking me to...”

“Yes.” She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t. But I wanted to ask you.”

“You knew I wouldn’t.” Remus was hanging onto that detail.

“I know you.” She kissed him quickly on the lips. “Tell my dear cousin I hope he’s happy.” Her eyes swept over Remus, taking in every detail, and she nodded. “I know he’ll be happy.”

“Bella, I should go.” Remus was moving away even as he said it; away from her, her pretty eyes, her sweetness.

She caught up with him for a moment. “Promise you won’t tell?” she asked, but didn’t wait for a reply, running a gentle fingertip around his face, pushing unkempt hair away from his eyes. “You won’t tell,” she decided. “You’ve got secrets, too.”

Remus stood still as she skipped and flitted away, a happy girl with a secret who danced across the grounds and was gone.

“You’re right,” he said, after a while. “I won’t tell.”

And trudged back to the castle over the grass in the summer, to Sirius, the light side and the Order of the Phoenix, step by wicked step.

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