Title: Oh, Whistle and I'll Come to You, My Lad written for rose_sous_globe
Summary: Remus/Crouch (Junior); "whistle" with voyeur!Padfoot. (title from the poem by Burns. And MR James, of course.) 100 words X 2.
O Whistle, an' I'll come to you, my lad;
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad:
Though father and mither should baith gae mad,
O whistle, an I'll come to you, my lad.
Sirius watched Remus climb down the rope from the common room balcony and then dropped silently after him on James' borrowed broom. He left the broom behind a hedge and transformed. He followed Remus' scent (clean-and-books-and-brown) into the Forbidden Forest, confused momentarily when a second scent (sun-and-straw) came up from the lakeshore. There was a clearing ahead, and by the light of a ball of bluebell flame he saw Remus kneeling between pale, bare legs. Sirius recognized the fourth-year Ravenclaw with red anger. He took one step into the light, and Crouch started and stared in horror and came screaming.
"He thought you were the Grim," Remus said dully. "And you spent the rest of the year visiting death omens on him. Clever, the way you hexed the lifeline off his palms. Inspired. Death terrified him. Voldemort must have seemed like a savior." Remus walked around the circle chalked on the floor to open the windows and door. Midnight wind rushed in, along with something like dust. It coalesced and grew, confined in the Summoning. Remus stood, watching, awkward. "Hello, Barty," he said quietly. It held out its hand; Remus reached for it, but their fingers slid apart like air.