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Why Remus No Longer Makes Buns In His Oven

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"Remus," Sirius scuffed his toe. "I have something to tell you."

Remus rolled his eyes. "What is it now?"

"Uh, I may have sort of mixed a potion um, into your pumpkin juice this morning."

Remus felt that vein in his forehead, the one that he alternately named Sirius or James—whichever was appropriate at the time—start throbbing. "And what effects should I expect from this potion that may have been mixed into my morning juice?"

Sirius coughed his answer and bolted from the room. It took a few seconds longer—possibly due to hysterical deafness—for Remus to extract the important word from the phlegmed response. The only appropriate course of action was to scream this word at the top of his lungs.


Sirius peaked around the doorframe—as though it would protect him—and feebly said, "Maybe."

Remus wasn't quite sure what to ask first because the list was rather long and each question seemed equally important when "How the fuck," "Are you stupid," and "Ngganh" were involved.

"I've done the research," Sirius hedged. "You know, read some pamphlets. On what to expect! During labor, um, like breathing?"

Remus felt himself breathing, he was sure that air was coming into his lungs and leaving through his gaping mouth, but he felt light-headed, deoxygenated, swoony.

"So I'm fully prepared for what you'll be going through," Sirius beamed a shit-eating little grin, "while your body nurtures our new friend."

Remus held up his hands in the nonverbal sign for "Please stop, I feel my brain leaking out of my ears and it's all your fault."

"Moony? You okay?"

Hysterical laughter escaped his lips, but his voice was unnaturally stiff when he said, "Apparently, I'm pregnant."

Sirius came around and smoothed Remus's shoulder, hesitantly moving over to rub small circles on his back. "It's okay. It's our kid," Sirius assured, though it sounded less like assurance and more like fear. "He, uh, is ours."

"He?" Monosyllabism was best now. It prevented Remus from saying things like "I don't have a uterus" and "Sirius, could you be more of an idiot?"

"Yeah, I thought, you know, little buddy to play around with, teach Marauderly. . . ." Sirius trailed off, which was best in the long run because if Remus punched him in the mouth while he was talking he might bite off his tongue and Sirius was going to need it while he apparently coached Remus through Lamaze, a topic on which Sirius had done quite a bit of pamphlet-research.

"How?" There were several ends to this sentence: "How did this happen," "How am I supposed to give birth," "How did you survive this long without natural selection doing you in," but Sirius chose to answer the question, "How do you know he's 'ours'?"

"Oh, I used a bit of my, uh, um," Sirius made an unmistakable hand gesture.


Sirius's smile wavered. "Kinky, huh?"

"Un.Do.It." The syllables were both one word and each their own distinct microcosm of the horror and pain Remus felt. Who the hell ever heard of male pregnancy? And what sodding genius had thought to make a potion for it and would print it—in a book—that would ever in the course of history reach the likes of an idiot like Sirius Black?

Sirius was so lucky he gave amazing head because otherwise Remus would drop him from the Astronomy Tower and take up with James. According to Sirius, Remus can suck the heterosexuality out of anyone.

"It's you know, not permanent," Sirius said, completely exasperated, as though he had something to be exasperated about. "I mean, in nine months you'll have the baby."

Remus felt one of his brain cells die. Just a little spark and then he was one step closer to being on par with his idiot boyfriend.

"I am not having a baby," Remus ground out. "I am a man. I am a werewolf. Just because I too have a monthly cycle, it does not make me capable of bearing a child."

Sirius's phony smile was bordering on a grimace, an uncertain frown creasing his forehead. "You mean it's not all the same hormones?"

Remus deserved an award for not throttling Sirius. He deserved several awards, a vacation, and a pile of Galleons. He also deserved to be un-pregnant.

"Padfoot knocked you up?"

Remus also deserved to have friends who were not all total wankers.

James and Peter stood in the doorway. An odd kind of elation began to twist James's features, raising his glasses slightly and pulling his mouth to the side like it was trying to wiggle away from his nose. He stepped forward, an insane glint in his eye as he whispered, "Is it true?"

Sirius nodded, affecting a guilty grin.


James fell, clutching his side with one hand and pounding the floor with the other. Peter laughed uncertainly, stepping around James, and giving Remus and Sirius a wide berth.

"My condolences," Peter mumbled and Remus was truly grateful to have one friend acting appropriately at this most shocking and horrible news. One friend who was not oddly excited and proud at the thought of Remus being with child or who was not falling down laughing at Remus's bun in the oven.


Later in Remus's life, when he is established and has the proper amount of money stashed away that will enable him to change his identity and move to another country, safely protecting himself and his loved ones, he will kill James. Of course only after he kills Sirius.


James's death will be violent and bloody, possibly slow. Sirius's will be faster because even though this is all Sirius's fault, he's just an idiot.


"Actually, he's not a girl," Sirius interjected meekly.

"Right," Peter said, looking for all the world like he wanted to crawl under his bed and die—oh, how Remus knew that feeling well. "He hasn't got any tits."


Remus slumped, propping up his chin with one hand. "Remember to breathe."

"Er, sorry, mate," Sirius said, "Didn't realize they were listening." Sirius regarded Remus carefully for a moment, as if finally taking stock in the situation and exactly how bollocksed this was. "I shouldn't sleep tonight, should I?"


"I shouldn't sleep again ever, should I?"

"That might be wise."

"You'll forgive me, right?"

Remus sighed because even pregnant—even pregnant—he couldn't just stay mad at Sirius for impregnating him with his demon spawn. He couldn't just cut Sirius, the, er, father of his child, out of his life. He couldn't just. . . .

"Fuck that. You fix this, then we'll talk about forgiveness."

Sirius meeped, grabbed James—who was still laughing and racking up lengthy and complicated stages to his death—and left the room, Peter scampering after, probably terrified at the thought of staying in a room with a pregnant lacking-tits werewolf.

"I will rectify this injustice!" Sirius called over his shoulder.

"You caused this injustice, you ponce!"

"Well . . . I accept that."

Remus let his head drop to his desk, slightly worried about the sudden intense craving he had for chocolate.

* * *

It was well past midnight before they returned. Peter's eyes squinted shut against Remus's reading light and he was snoring before his body fully hit his mattress. James wasn't laughing, was slightly more awake than Peter, but wasn't talking, a grim sign for sure. Sirius looked like he'd been tugging at his hair all night long. It stood up in tufts all over his head, a mockery of James's usual wind-swept look.

Over all, their appearance was not promising.

"Well," James started, settling carefully on the end of Remus's bed, "Sirius is the worst researcher ever."

Remus quirked one eyebrow; he knew that already.

"And since Sirius is well-known for being totally together in a crisis—"

"I am most certainly 'together'," Sirius squeaked. "I mean, 'together'," he said in an over-exaggerated baritone that sounded like it belonged to a sheep-herding Scotsman.

"—It took all bloody night long," James finished.


James turned to Sirius, jaw thrusting forward in mingled consternation and silent communication. Sirius's eyes pleaded, this ridiculous simpering look that made his eyes big and glassy with his eyebrows disappearing under his hair.

James rolled his eyes, getting up and moving to his bed.

Remus leaned forward, his concern over James's defeated reaction distracting him as he allowed Sirius to take his hand.

"Moony." Sirius cleared his throat. "Um, Moony. Moony."

Remus felt his eyes bugging out of his head as his special Sirius forehead-vein started pumping again.

Sirius leaned away from the vein, pulling a face. "Moony, your—"

"I know my name. Get on with it."

"Eek, uh, right, well, see . . ." He took a deep breath because he was a bastard who liked torture and drama, and Remus would remember that when he tied him to a tree starkers in the middle of winter as the whole of Slytherin house happened to be passing by. "There's no remedy."

Remus's ears filled with cotton and he half-wondered if Sirius had learned how to wandlessly cast Muffliato. Somehow, though, a scoffing James-noise broke through.

"Tell him the truth."

"I did!"

"Tell him."




Remus's eyes cast wildly back and forth as his two (using the term loosely) friends verbally batted back and forth. All the while, a growing euphoria, a possibility that there was a way out of this nightmare, blossomed in Remus's stomach . . . Oh God, that was euphoria blossoming and not something else, right?

The banter lasted another brief second before James launched himself across Remus's bed, wrestling Sirius to the floor. The noise—two gangly-limbed teens crashing to the floor—was enough to wake Peter, who squinted over, closed his eyes, and faintly mumbled, "Careful of Remus; he's in a delicate state," before drifting back to sleep.

"What didn't he tell me?" Remus finally screeched, slightly terrified that his voice could reach that octave.

"That there's—" Sirius shoved his sock in James's mouth which lead to another round of wrestling ending with their legs tangled in a highly inappropriate fashion and Sirius's hands pinning James's wrists above his head. Sirius grinned back at Remus, like he'd won.

In retrospect, Remus supposed it was the grin that caused him to launch himself at Sirius, thus dislodging James who then spat the sock from his mouth and managed to make Remus hear in between Sirius's shouts of "Mind the baby" the most blessed information Remus had ever heard in his life:

"It doesn't work on werewolves."

"It what?"

Remus nearly went limp, the relief sucking the fight, the emotional upheaval, all the everything out of his body until he was just a Remus ragdoll, supported by Sirius's arms, gamely preventing Remus from smothering him.

"I'm not pregnant?"

"Not even a little," James said. He kicked Sirius in the side and shuffled off to his bed. "You're an idiot, Padfoot."

Sirius smiled winningly. "Guess I didn't read the fine print."

"If you're planning to kill him, keep it down," James called before drawing his curtains shut.

"I'm not pregnant?"

Oddly, he seemed to have an easier time wrapping his mind around being pregnant.

"No." Sirius darted up and kissed his nose. "You are not going to spend the next nine months gestating our love child."

Remus turned his head, looking at Sirius from the corner of his eye, slightly concerned that he felt kind of sad about this turn of events. Not that he wanted to be pregnant, but miracles and all that. Having a kid with Sirius was an impossibility, after all, since they were both guys and . . . Oh God! Why was he seriously thinking about this?

He slowly stood up, trying not to let his latest mental break down show on his face. "Well, I'm not pregnant then. And it's nearly two in the morning, so . . . good night." Remus got into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, determinedly clearing his thoughts of pregnancy, Sirius's ill-conceived progeny, and how all this had come to. . . .

He sat bolt upright in bed, freezing Sirius with his glare.


Sirius's mouth spread into his famous phony 'who-me?' smile and he blew a damn kiss at Remus. "You don't usually mind the taste."

"I am not yet asleep!" James yelled from behind the curtain.

"Tch. Grow up," Sirius muttered in James's direction. He crawled into bed next to Remus, his attitude shifting from innocent prankster to playboy. "If I suffer a taste of you will that make everything better?"

Remus was sure his brain melted because he was mad at Sirius—very mad at Sirius—but as Sirius's hand slid under pajamas, his breath ghosting Remus's jaw, Remus wasn't sure that anger really mattered.

Sirius shifted, propping himself up and made a crinkling sound as he—

"What are these?" Sirius's hand came up with wrappers, several. "Is this my good chocolate?"

Remus smiled widely, affecting Sirius's own mock-innocent grin. "Didn't you know that pregnancy gives you all kinds of cravings?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "You aren't pregnant."

"Hysterical pregnancy?"

"You ate all my chocolate!"

"You tried to make me pregnant!"

Sirius bit his lip for a moment. "Even?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Continue with what you were about to do and I'll think about it."

Sirius grinned and slid down Remus body. "You know sex can lead to pregnancy."

Remus didn't feel at all bad about kneeing him in the face.