WARNING: This is a slash story, which means it contains male/male erotic content involving consenting adults. If you're not of legal age or are offended by such material, please go find something else to read.

Something is not right.

I took Remus the Wolfsbane potion today. He smiled when he greeted me, as always. He was appreciative, as always. But there was something... off. Something missing.

After he had drunk the potion, he set the goblet on his desk and pushed it to me. No brush of his fingers against mine as he handed it back this time. His smile never wavered as he said, "I understand congratulations are in order. I'm happy for you both."

But there was something in the depths of his eyes that did not match his words, something that remained unreadable. That damned mask was back in place, the one I thought he'd got rid of when we made our peace with one another. The one I thought he showed to everyone except Sirius -- and me.

I have my own mask, one made of anger and bile and harsh words, but his is different. His is carefully crafted out of a soft, calm voice, a pleasantly neutral expression, and doors that remain firmly shut in his eyes, revealing nothing, even when I look closely.

When did he become this polite automaton? He was not like this in school, but when he returned to Hogwarts to teach, there it was -- the mask. He was always so unfailingly courteous, so damnably impossible to ruffle, no matter how hard I tried. I taunted and goaded him relentlessly, and all I got for my pains was that unbearable politeness.

It was all I could do not to grab him and shake him and demand to know what happened to his passion. I wanted to rip away the mask, tear it to shreds and see what lay beneath -- all of it, all of him. I've seen the slavering beast up close and personal, for God's sake. Nothing else about him could possibly be that damned frightening.

When he returned the second time with Sirius, who was a free man at last, we three made our peace at Albus' insistence, but it was a true peace, nonetheless, although we had much screaming at each other to get out of the way before we finally began to listen, especially Sirius and myself. It was wise of Albus to take away our wands first.

But ultimately, we were too battle-weary to continue fighting amongst ourselves, I think. Too much has been lost, no matter the war is won, for us to continue our own private skirmishes.

Indeed, the rapport Remus and I shared as students returned once more, and I began to remember why I had fancied him, especially when flashes of the mischievous, clever boy I had known peeked out at me from behind the safety of the somber man.

And that day in his office just after the transformation last month... There were dark circles under his eyes like bruises, he had not shaved, he looked uncharacteristically rumpled, perhaps a little fragile -- not a word I associate with him, as a general rule -- and his welcoming smile was edged with fatigue. I had a most unusual impulse to gather him in my arms and let him rest his weary head on my shoulder. I wanted to lend him my strength until his returned. I wanted to nuzzle my cheek against his and feel the rasp of beard stubble on my skin.

I wanted him, but all I did was ask, rather gruffly, if he were well. He replied yes (of course) and deflected my concern. I grasped his arm and sharply reminded him that there was no reason for him to be such a damned Gryffindor and try to teach when he was plainly exhausted, not when there were people available to cover his classes for him. Collapsing in the middle of class, I said, would inconvenience everyone far more and alarm the pupils, to boot.

I caught a flash of anger in those chameleon eyes, but it was quickly suppressed, replaced by humour. Did I intend to teach in his place again myself? Perhaps assign another lengthy essay on werewolves? Or did I want him to provide another boggart? It was too bad, he added, that Mr Longbottom had left the year before; otherwise, I could witness his method of defeating boggarts for myself.

In that moment, I didn't know whether I wanted to strike him or kiss him.

Then he looked up me, his haggard face naked and open, devoid of masks for the first time in twenty years. I saw the vulnerability in the depths of his eyes, and I knew. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to shield him and draw him out completely so that he never looked at me with the mask on again.

He drew nearer, one hand tentatively resting at my waist. I bent my head just as he tilted his face up. We were within centimeters of closing the distance between us when an unexpected salutation caused us to jump apart, the spun-glass moment shattered.

It was Sirius, come to check on him as well.

That night, Sirius coaxed me into his bed, and there have I remained every night since. Sirius wears no masks. What he feels, he shows, and he is very much a creature of emotion -- and sensuality. When he hated me, I knew it. Now that he wants me, I know it. I need not guess or wonder; he gives of himself freely, and I find that both novel and intoxicating.

We have both been discreet for the pupils' sake, but apparently, he told Remus at last, and now Remus looks at me with shielded eyes, when he looks at me at all.

An almost-moment lost.

Could it have made such a difference?

Sirius awaits me in my chambers, and he will greet me at the door, ready to soothe away my cares. He will ask me about my day, and I will tell him of the trials my pupils forced me to endure due to their overwhelming idiocy, and of delivering the potion to Remus as scheduled.

I will not tell him of the mask, or what I am beginning to suspect it is hiding.

The almost-moment was lost. It is too late to retrieve it now, and when I look into Sirius' open, loving eyes, I am not certain I want to.

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