FIC: Dust and Cherries

Title: Dust and Cherries
Author: The Electric Zucchini, a.k.a. pookizegreat
Pairings: Harry/James, Sirius/James, Harry/Sirius, Remus/Sirius
Warnings: Necrophilia, extreme squick, homosexuality, incest, pedohpilia.
Archiving: Ask first.
Feedback: I love it.
A/N: Written for _sophieg, who requested Harry/James, Harry/Sirius, or Sirius/James. I complied and gave her all three. There are many Canon discrepancies in this fic, a few of which being aliveinHarry's7thyear!Sirius, atHogwarts!Remus and atHogwarts!Sirius, and weirdoddcharmsmaking!Sirius, but I really don't give a damn. *serene smile*

Harry stared blankly at the two long slabs of intricately-engraved stone laying side by side in the over-grown grass and weeds of the private graveyard. Hermione and Ron had promised to come and help him clean it up tomorrow, to make it as if time had never passed. He stood beside the stone which read "James Elias Potter", chewing furiously at the inside of his cheek. Earlier today, when Hagrid had led him for the first time to the graves, hidden in the depths of the Forbidden Forest to assure that those Hogwarts had held so dear would never have their bones disturbed by things foul and full of malice (at least nothing more foul than the creatures in the Forest), Harry had stood by his Mother's grave instead, too afraid of the emotion which would overwhelm him at standing beside the grave of the man whom he was apparently so very similar to in so many ways. But now, away from the anxious eyes of friends, he stood beside the grave of his 16-years-dead father, jaw set and eyes bright in the moonlight which managed to dapple through the fluttering leaves of the Forest.

As if by sudden impulse he bent down, running his hands over the dark grey stone of the slab, ripping away the flowered vines which had grown across the lettering, and again filled with momentary revulsion at the small pool full of water lilies which sat like a moat around the dead lovers' resting place. He skimmed his fingers over the lettering, staring at, then tracing with his index, and then leaning down and kissing the words "January 1st, 1960-October 31st, 1981" lightly, not sure whether to retch or moan at the smooth touch of the rock beneath him.

Filled with unexpected but familiar determination, Harry suddenly grasped the slab on either side, and gave a sudden tug ... knocking himself backwards with the hex that had been laid upon the stones should anyone disturb them.

Sitting in the pool of lilies, and dripping from head-to-toe with slightly green water, Harry narrowed his eyes poutingly at the grave in a manner not unlike how James and Lily would have remembered him when they tried to make him eat his carrot formula. Muttering quietly to himself, Harry stood up again, carelessly dropping a water lily from his head and marching over to stand at the foot of James's grave, tears welling in his eyes again and teeth grinding. This would have been a perfect time to have Hermione around, if only he hadn't been planning to do something he was fairly sure Hermione would not only disapprove of, but be repulsed by. In fact he was pretty sure even Ron would, at that.

Sighing quietly, Harry began to mutter a long string of spells. "Accio ... nope. Wingardium Leviosa? Fuck. Crucio! OH SHIT, no, not that. Would the Imperius Curse work? I could ask it to kindly get out of my fucking way ..." He sighed, sitting down on the edge of the grave and running his hand through his hair in a distressed manner not unlike that of his dead father, though he did not note it at the time. He began to cry silently, and laid his head down on the cold stone yet again. "I miss you," he whispered quietly. "I miss you, Dad."

Harry jumped slightly as the garden suddenly began to rapidly appear to fall backwards in time; grass shortening, trees growing greener, water running clearer, and moon being replaced by warm, comforting sun. He looked around wildly, scared that he'd been caught in the act, but stopped as he spotted the stone slab slowly moving upwards. What he saw was not a decomposed corpse, nor the ashes or bones of a long-dead human, but a fresh, quietly-sleeping young man who couldn't have been more than barely into his twenties. His eyes were closed underneath glasses round like Harry's, but without any show of wear or tear. His hair was wild and unruly, jet black with wisps falling into his eyes in a manner not particularly sauve, but boyishly charming nonetheless. His nose was touched by the slightest of sun from the summer passed, and his hands were folded peacefully over his stomach. He was dressed not in dark, stale robes, but crisp clean Muggle clothes, which all who knew him were well-aware Lily must have picked out, because he'd never been particularly known for his great fashion sense when it came to anything more complicated than everyday Wizard attire. His lips were curved in the slightest of smiles, and Harry had to stop himself from screaming aloud when the eyes slowly opened, hazel and warm as the sun itself. "Harry," the man said quietly, opening his arms.

Harry needed no more invitation.

The cold moonlight fell on Harry as he flung himself into the skeleton's arms, breaking many of the bones and sending insects and the slightly decomposed corpse of what could have been a rat (though not the one James was familiar with) scattering to the edges of the coffin. He dropped fluttering kisses all over the dirty bones, running his hand up the ribcage and tearing at the rotten material of the shirt which covered it, sending the tiniest bit of still-lingering flesh fluttering to the other side of the hollow cavity. "Dad," he sobbed. "I missed you, Dad, I missed you."

James smiled peacefully, wrapping his arms around his son in a tight but comfortable embrace. "And I you, son. It's been a long time ... very long."

Harry lifted himself up onto his forearms, nodding fervently at the empty skull. "I know, Dad!" he said in a rather delerious manner. "I know, it's been so long, and I've missed you so much, and ..." swallowing with an effort, the boy's face plunged down to meet the skull with a force which partially cracked the cheekbone, plunging his tongue into the rotten cavity of a place which was once ...

... warm, and soft. Harry moaned into the kiss as his father's tongue eagerly met his own, the two dancing in each other's mouths in a kiss extremely wet (but neither man found himself caring very much). James's hand moved down his son's back, stopping to momentarily caress his son's buttocks, and Harry found himself ...

... moaning loudly into the dark night, pressing his hardness against the dusty pelvic bone of his father's skeleton and arching his back. He'd waited for this so long. For so long ...

"Dad," he whispered hoarsely, feeling James's hardness rubbing gently against his own. "Take me. Please ... take me."

James's face showed the first hint of darkness, and slight bags appeared under his eyes. "I can't, son ... I ... I'm very tired."

Harry's eyes flickered with a momentary doubt, and for a moment he almost felt bones instead of this warm, welcoming body, but then smiled, nodding. "I understand, Dad. I understand. So should I ...?"

James nodded, eyes darkening in a manner much more inviting than how they had a moment ago. "Yes ..." he hissed quietly, gripping his son's arse a bit tighter.

Harry roughly picked up the skeleton, and a bystanding frog was quite amazed it didn't just fall apart completely then as he put it back, facing downwards, and began to fiddle impatiently with the front of his robes.

"Hurry, Harry," James breathed against the bottom of the sweet-smelling grave. "We've both waited ... so long ..."

Harry nodded, breathing heavily into the cold night, his erection sticking out in silouette for a moment before he plunged in, vaguely breathing "I know ..." into the place on the skull where once the ends of his father's hair would have been.

They rode together as one, both alternately moaning, yelling, and sobbing, clutching onto each other in a need more primal than it had ever been for James with Lily, in a need which was purely male, the two of them needing only one thing at that moment, and getting it.

---

Remus and Sirius walked quietly through the forest, reminiscing about the times when they'd come through here with James and Peter, young and free without a care in the world (other than the obvious ones about getting laid and getting the fuck out of school). Remus and Sirius had become infinitely closer than how they'd used to have been. Remus remembered the old days, when he'd been somewhat of a tag-along, higher on the pecking order than Peter, but excluded as was everyone else from the bond that was Padfoot and Prongs. He hadn't cared back then - just as he didn't now - about how tight they were, because they did in fact listen to him when something really bothered him (and he bothered to speak up about it), and he knew they really cared for him. And sometimes when he was lying awake in the boys' dorms worrying about the next full moon and he heard Sirius and James kissing each other, it had hurt him, because what normal boy wouldn't want to be part of something which sounded that nice? But after he'd been reunited with Sirius 4 years ago, and after they'd lived together in 12 Grimmauld Place, it had been him who Sirius had kissed and moaned with, which made it a lot nicer. He'd been scared, lonely, and would have been quite eager to die were it not for the responsibility of Harry, the only Marauder child, which he'd felt had fallen to him when Sirius died, but that had all worked out*, had it not? And so it was now that they walked together, hands occasionally brushing, smiles occasionally flashing, with a sense of rather complete peace surrounding the two men.

Suddenly a hoarse yell rang out through the night, and after blinking and registering the voice - "Harry," Sirius muttered - they bolted off in the direction of it, which they both registered silently as that of the Potters' burial ground. As they came into the clearing, leaping over the pool, the two stopped, frozen in their tracks, identical looks of horror crossing their faces.

Remus was, as usual, the first to come to his senses. "Harry!" he yelled, running across and pulling the boy up.

Harry barely recognised the sound of Remus's voice, but as soon as it was registered, he flailed wildly, hoarsely screaming "No! He's alive! He ... he ..." his voice trailed off and he blinked, looking around, first registering the cold air and night's glow, and then slowly looking down, overcome with a wave of revulsion as he saw the cum-stained and broken pile of bones he had somehow mistaken for a warm, live body. He retched violently into the grave, adding a thick layer of vomit to the filth which now covered James Potter's bones. Remus winced and pulled the boy away, laying him down on the grass and patting him on the back lightly. Sirius rushed over as well, and hugged him despite his repulsive state. Harry stared tearfully up at his godfather. "He ... he was a ... he was ali ..." he trailed off, blinking and looking for all the world like a 4-year-old who's lost his Mum in the shopping mall.

"It's okay, Harry," Sirius whispered. "It's alright." He stood up, slinging the boy's arm over his shoulder and lifting him up. He looked worriedly at Remus. "Can you clean this up? I'm going to go help Harry to bed."

Remus nodded gravely. "Of course, Padfoot."

Sirius attempted a grin which more resembled a grimace at his friend, and led Harry out of the forest.

Remus stared at the grave and, turning away slightly, muttered "Scourgify."

---

Sirius lowered Harry down into the bathtub, eyes downcast as he quickly checked the Marauder's Map to ensure no actual prefects were headed to their bathroom. "Harry," he muttered quietly, "don't ever do that again."

Harry couldn't answer, he just stared ahead.

"Harry," Sirius repeated, "I mean it. Don't do that."

Harry nodded numbly, finally.

Sirius smiled down at his godson. "You know, if you ever need to talk to someone about that ..." he lowered a kiss onto his godson's forehead, mumbling against the skin, "you can come to me."

Harry, mind still confused from the incident, looked up at Sirius and reached for his godfather's cheek, attempting a caress, but Sirius stood up out of reach, diving down again in time to stop the boy from sinking all the way into the water, and to quickly dip his tongue into the orphan's mouth. He pulled up again, smiling. "And that's all you're getting 'till tomorrow, young man."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, Sirius."

---

Remus, more or less satisfied with the way he'd set the graves right, turned out of the clearing and headed back to the castle. Halfway through the forest, he spotted Sirius and smiled, kissing his friend on the cheek lightly. "Is he alright?" he asked quietly.

Sirius nodded and smiled, wrapping an arm around the other man's waist. "Yeah, he'll be fine. I had him bathe and helped him off to bed."

Remus grinned vaguely, a glint in his eyes showing the side of him which only came out at night - and only once or twice a month, at that. "Will you help me to bed, Mr Black?" he asked quietly, pushing a bit closer against Sirius.

The other man grinned, dropping a promising kiss on his lips. "Soon. I just ... just let me say goodnight first, okay?"

Remus nodded understandingly, continuing off to the castle and knowing he wouldn't have to wait long before Sirius would come and make his bed the comforting thing it was supposed to be.

Back at the graves, Sirius stood at the foot of James's with a rogueish grin. "So, Prongs, that charm I put on it still works? ... I'm better than I thought I was." He bent down to the stone and whispered quietly against it ... "I miss you, James."

Fin.

*No, I am not providing any theories as to how Sirius would come back. It was just needed for the request, and besides I'm the author. If I want Sirius alive in Harry's seventh year, DAMMIT, he'll be alive.

Pooks