Incomplete by WinglessFlight

Between them, there was only ever one man. Remus was always a shadow, Sirius a sliver.

Remus had a soft-spoken calm, a streak of stubbornness and a terrible secret. Sirius had rebellion and loud, brash arrogance. They shared insecurities. Remus had sandy hair and greyish skin. Sirius had aristocratic good looks and greyish eyes. They shared long fingers.

When they arrived at Hogwarts, each was half a man. Between them there was only ever one man. They were incomplete.

They became friends through a wonderfully complete black-haired boy. In the beginning their friendship was awkward. When James wasn’t there they’d sit in silence, sandy hair avoiding grey eyes. But they grew to understand it. But it was slow. But it was gradual.

At first it was simply the assent that the silence was mutual, and that they both needed it, both wanted it. Then the slow slide into sticky conversation. The mountain-ascent into shared interests (Quidditch, escapism, death) and, finally, the gentle climb to closeness. Slow, gradual. But they trusted one another, after three years they trusted one another, and each was half a man.

Fifth year and a stupid prank, a worthless joke, a cruel moment of weakness. And Sirius was less than half a man, and Remus was more. And there was conflict, and there was competition. (And there was compromise.)

Fifth year and Remus, still scarred from the night, still weakened by his transformation (and yet more than half a man), dodged Madame Pomfrey and went to found Sirius. And Sirius was less than half a man, and Sirius saw that Remus was more of a man than he and kissed him. Roughly and harshly, trying to drink down and draw out the man that hid within Remus. (And there was conflict, and there was compromise.)

And there were scraping teeth and swollen lips and men.

Sixth year and drunken Remus, half a man exactly, ran into his dormitory, where a weeping Sirius (half a man) sat alone reading his letter from Andromeda (and there was Nymphadora, and there was a shadow). And Remus took Sirius and kissed him (and there was a cruel moment of weakness), and they kissed and kissed until there was a man. And Sirius was incomplete, and Remus was incomplete: and they were complete. (And there was compromise, and it was wondrous.)

And they were complete, within that kiss. And within the thousands of kisses and touches that followed. Feminine touches, perhaps vulgar, and yet they made a man. (And they were complete.)

And there were nights. And there were men.

And there was a rat, and a betrayal, and a loss, and a child, and a scar, and a werewolf, and a prisoner. (And a werewolf and a prisoner.) And each was half (half a shadow) a man.

And there were fourteen years.

Lie low at Lupin’s for a while.

Sirius knocked awkwardly on Remus’ door, unsure of what to expect, wishing for a more exhilarating reconciliation. His mind spun webs of memories (And there were nights and kisses and touches and men.)

Remus opened it and there stood Sirius: thin, gaunt, matted-haired and half-dead (half-man) but Sirius. And there was silence. He opened the door wider, and Sirius slid in. He fed and watered him, talking of Dumbledore to him, but it was slow, it was gradual. There were silences, there was compromise.

The light dimmed through the half-draped curtains. And Remus’ face was softened in the dark and Sirius’ gauntness was curious and beautiful in the half-light of the stars. And there was a silence. And there was a half-smile. Moony…god, do you remember? You remember, don’t you, Moony?

I remember everything.

And there was silence. And there was conflict and competition.

And there was compromise.

Lips not swollen, tongues not burning, each retired to bed. And the next day there were other people: a deep, dark man and a red-haired couple and a woman who was indescribable because she never remained the same.

And the indescribable woman sat by Remus.

Two months later, and Sirius and Remus sat again at the kitchen table and each was incomplete, each was but half a man. A shadow and a sliver.

‘Padfoot, Nymphadora kissed me.’ And there was competition.

‘When?’

‘Yesterday. She claims to have fallen in love with me.’

There was conflict.

‘I remember that claim.’ And Sirius was regretful and nostalgic and smiling. A half man. ‘I made that claim.’

And Remus was competitive. ‘I remember. I believed you.’

And there were scraping teeth and swollen lips and men. (And they were complete.)

And Sirius died, a half-man. And Remus married Tonks, a whole woman. And they were not complete.

And there was conflict. And there was compromise.