Remus stepped into Sirius’ personal space, leaning down and taking out his holy water doused dagger from his pouch. He placed it flat underneath Sirius’ chin, pushing his head up to look him in the eyes. He hissed as the silver burnt him, red and vicious.
“What,” he whispered, “are you doing here?”
Sirius looked pained for a second, and then he blinked, and that stupid, cocky smile lit up his face once more.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, pretty boy?”
or — Sirius and Remus have been trying to kill each other for eight years, but something always seems to be standing in the way.
