Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

8 November 1981

A grey sky loomed over London as Remus walked, at a quick clip, down the cobblestone street. It was vibrating with a quiet thrill; smiles and tips of hats and handshakes, warm and earnest, abounded. Remus kept to himself, eyes down. It had been days of this nonsense; hadn’t the world calmed down yet? Of course, the Dark Lord’s fall was a relief, of course, but how anybody could celebrate when his friends, when James and Lily, had been—

He shook the thoughts from his head, letting determined feet carry him through a blissfully ignorant city. He was a pack animal at heart; his pack was gone. He knew very well he had nothing now. But there was someone else who had less.

Remus didn’t pause until he reached the Ministry phone booths, where he quietly rung himself in. The Wizengamot would have adjourned for a morning recess very lately; they were now, generally speaking, continually in session, sentencing the Death Eaters who were brought in daily and delivering justice through life sentences to Azkaban. A Floo that connected directly to the prison was heavily guarded and surrounded by a clear, magical shield, so the law-abiding wizards and witches outside could see the convicted being ushered in, heads down, shame-faced—or, sometimes, red-faced and proud—away, away.

A little buzz of magic drifted past Remus’s head as he entered the lift to the Department of Justice. Memos, it appeared—little yellow papers, folded like birds, fluttering about as if bursting with enthusiasm at their news. For Merlin’s sake, was there nobody properly sober about what had happened on Halloween? Was there no respect for the dead?

When he reached the third floor, Remus swatted the memos that attempted to exit the lift before him, then marched down the hall, irritated, with his hands jammed in his pockets. Dumbledore would be in his own office, a room he had probably seldom used before this week. Remus was used to seeing Dumbledore at Hogwarts—his own former headmaster, in an office always stocked with enchanted candy. Whimsical, there. He had, in the past three years, also grown accustomed to seeing Dumbledore at the war headquarters, putting on a more serious air and handing out assignments—here, Remus, the wolves are as of yet undecided. You can persuade them, can’t you? Good man—and bowing his head when Mad-Eye, the Auror, read the list of the missing and the dead. Now, Remus reached the door to find it open and occupied by a wizard wearing black judicial robes, no hat, and a look of considerable gravity. He looked up.

“Ah, Remus. Come in, won’t you?”

Remus did as he was bid, pulling the door closed behind him the old-fashioned way. Dumbledore seemed amused by this, raising an eyebrow. Remus then took a seat without being invited to do so, and tried—and failed—to return Dumbledore’s rather tired smile.

Dumbledore said, not asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

It was a speech Remus had practiced for days—as soon as he realized the mistake the Department of Justice had made. As soon as he’d surfaced from his grief to find that the facts didn’t add up. He had it all planned out, points and evidence and persuasive rhetoric—but Remus was no speech-giver. He opened his mouth, and out tumbled the words, “He’s innocent, Dumbledore.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sirius. There’s no way it was him. None. None whatsoever. I know him, and I know he would never—”

Dumbledore smiled tightly, raising a hand to quiet Remus. Below Dumbledore’s sight line, Remus made a fist in frustration with himself, already ballsing it up. Dumbledore said, “While I understand your loyalty to your old friend—to James’s oldest friend—you must realise that the evidence overwhelmingly suggests otherwise.”

Remus said, “I do not realise that at all, in fact. What I realise is that the Aurors arrested him and sent him directly to Azkaban without so much as a trial! Without even an investigation!”

“An explosion that killed dozens of Muggles is usually evidence enough to make an arrest.”

“I don’t object to his arrest, if it was the first step in a process of justice,” Remus said, lifting his chin as he remembered the lines of his little speech he’d practiced last night. “And I do not dispute that there was evidence of a crime committed, but there was not evidence of who committed the crime.”

“There certainly was,” Dumbledore replied, looking down at some papers on his desk. Straightening them. Remus felt his hackles begin to rise again, and his confidence with recollecting the last bit of his planned speech faltered. Dumbledore couldn’t truly believe Sirius was guilty, surely?

In an effort to get Dumbledore’s eyes back on himself, Remus rose his voice a little and said, “For Godric’s sake, nobody even checked Sirius’s wand, they just had it destroyed—”

“They did check his wand,” Dumbledore said.

Remus’s blood ran cold, but he made every effort at angry conviction as he said, “And?”

“And there were no spells out of the ordinary, which proves very little when once considers that Pettigrew’s wand was never found, and Sirius might have just as easily cast using his.”

“Might have! It’s all speculation, then, isn’t it? It’s all—Well, this might have happened—but anything might have happened! Nobody knows, do they?”

“I know that Sirius was the Potters’ secret keeper,” Dumbledore said, finally turning an icy blue gaze on Remus, “and therefore, the only person who could have sold them out to Voldemort.”

“He would rather die,” Remus spat, sitting forward in his seat—then instantly scooting back again, remembering that aggression would do him no good. That he had exactly one friend with power here, and if he burned that bridge, he would not get another chance at justice. He must and would be patient—if it killed him, he’d be patient.

“I recognise your—history,” Dumbledore said slowly, “with Mr. Black.”

Remus paled, his resolution for patience not quite strong enough to withstand so soon a test. He said, with a heroic effort at calmness, “Our history is beside the point. Or, if you insist on making it a point, it’s still in my favour, because Sirius ended things between us months ago, and I’m still sitting here telling you, he’s innocent!”

Dumbledore leveled a stare at Remus and said, “Yet emotions like these aren’t so easy to turn off, are they?”

Remus wanted to shout, “Fuck you!”, wanted to rise to his feet and storm out of the little office without another word. But his fury wouldn’t help Sirius. He said, “Maybe not. I won’t say I don’t care about him. But you ought to care about him, too, Dumbledore. He was one of your best fighters.”

“Apparently I wasn’t the only one he was fighting for,” Dumbledore said coolly.

Another wave of rage struck Remus. He counted to ten. Then, “I can see that you’re feeling betrayed. But what if you’re wrong? Hm? Would you send him to Azkaban, innocent?”

“I do not believe he is innocent.”

“Do you believe he has been proven guilty beyond any reasonable doubt?” Remus asked. When Dumbledore gave a little start at that, Remus was proud of himself—though he successfully tamped down a smile. He hadn’t even thought up that line in his speech preparation last week; it had just come to him. Maybe he wasn’t so bad at this, after all.

But then Dumbledore said, “To reopen his case would require an introduction of new evidence, Remus. Do you have new evidence?”

“We could start with the original evidence that never went to trial,” Remus said petulantly, then corrected when he saw the look on Dumbledore’s face, “No, sir, not yet—but if I could just talk to Sirius—”

Dumbledore sighed and began to shake his head. “Maximum security—”

“Requires an exemption from the Wizengamot. Yes, I know,” Remus said.

“This is a war,” Dumbledore added, “every action I take is being scrutinized, if I grant an exemption to a war criminal—”

“He isn’t a war criminal!” Ah, hell. That was not as calm and patient as Remus had meant it to be. Frustrated, he dragged his fingers through his hair, closed his eyes—and an image sprang to his mind of Sirius, years ago now, running his fingers through Remus’s hair, just like this. He’d leaned over him, pushing Remus onto his back, and his dark hair was a curtain all around them, smelling faintly of honey. Sirius had smiled, all joy and mischief, when he pulled back from their first kiss, hard and unexpected in the rain. They’d been studying by the lake and were caught in a downpour. No one had ever looked at Remus quite like that before in all his life.

When he opened his eyes, they felt wet. He blinked rapidly, glad that Dumbledore wasn’t looking at him anymore, and when he’d swallowed back the knifing pain, he said, with all his heart, “Sirius is innocent. I swear on my life, Dumbledore, the man is innocent. And if he is, that means the real spy is still out there.” This, too, was a new idea, and Remus was startled by his own thoughts—though he’d always been quick under pressure. Across from him, Dumbledore had finally looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Had you thought of that? That if it wasn’t Sirius, it was someone else, and that person is still around? And even if Voldemort is dead, there’s still—there are others. Other dark wizards, other—potential crimes.”

He hadn’t finished strong, but it didn’t seem to matter to Dumbledore, who was deep in thought, now. He was looking out his charmed window, where a mourning dove had made its nest in the branches of a pale green tree. It was spring, in Dumbledore’s window. Magic to delude a person into leaving their jacket at home. Remus waited, holding his breath.

“You can see him,” Dumbledore said at last. “I’ll arrange it. But beware—people will be suspicious, if you do.”

“Fine," was his petulant reply, "I don’t care what people say.”

When Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, Remus added, “Thank you. I’m sure, in time, you’ll see—”

But Dumbledore raised one hand again, to silence him, and then wrote something on a piece of parchment. He passed it silently to Remus, then dismissed him with a wave of his quill.

The note—an official Wizengamot exemption granting him access to a prisoner of Azkaban for one quarter of an hour—was like gold in Remus’s hand. Literally, the script was enchanted, and the letters shimmered with golden light, and nobody stopped Remus when they saw its commanding lustre. He walked quickly to the line for the Floo, showed his note, and was ushered straight to the front, ahead of a dark witch who spat at him, then catcalled as he walked by. Ignoring her easily enough, he stepped into the fireplace and then stepped out onto an island in the North of England.

It was a little shock. There were two tunnels—one for visitors, one for criminals. Unlike the main prison, which was guarded by dementors, the entrance tunnel was manned by two human guards. They saw Remus’s exemption, nodded him into the visitor’s tunnel, and trusted him to find his own way.

The stone pathway was dim and looked as if it was seldom cleaned. No one else walked through it in either direction, and Remus was able to come directly to the little window, where an attendant said tiredly, hardly looking up, “And which prisoner are you here to see?”

“Sirius Black,” Remus pronounced. The attendant nearly dropped her quill.

The visitation room was windowless and small, with a single chair for the visitor, but no similar accommodation for the prisoner. It seemed rather inhumane to Remus, but then, so did everything about this place. He had been brought up by the same attendant who checked him in, and he had seen no dementors, at least. He was sure he would see one soon, however; Sirius would be escorted by one of the dark creatures, feeding on his every good thought, flooding him with misery. As if the events of the past week—of the past three years—hadn’t given him misery enough.

After a few minutes of waiting, Remus observed that he was on one side of a magical partition—not made of glass, but of spells. It looked strange, shimmering in a manner not quite solid, and Remus prodded it gingerly with his wand to see if it would give. It did, a little. Very curious, and hard to know what the point might be. Perhaps to pass things to the prisoner. Should he have brought something for Sirius? He padded his pockets quickly, wishing he’d thought to bring a Chocolate Frog, at least, or something—but of course, he hadn’t. A quick search of his jacket pockets found him better luck—a half-eaten chocolate bar he’d forgotten about days ago. That was a pathetic offering, but better than nothing, if Sirius wanted it.

Minutes passed. Remus played with his wand and let his mind wander. Damn unreliable thing, it wandered straight to James and Lily, and hit the usual block of disbelief and horror. The reality of it hadn’t quite sunk in. He kept thinking he could go to their house and find them there, playing with Harry on the floor, eating crisps straight from the bag like they had last time Remus had seen them, teasing Remus the night before the full moon, calling him Moony. Sirius had been there, of course, apologizing flippantly that he couldn’t run with him this month. Maybe next, he had said, and Remus had understood. It was a war, after all.

A sound—footsteps. The unlatching of the door. It opened, and Remus rose to his feet, horrified with himself for how unprepared he felt for this moment, this confrontation. How odd it was to feel like the one with the upper hand; how gladly he would have conceded it.

Sirius was pushed through the doors by a shadowy figure, and behind him, the door closed with a little click. Sirius’s eyes fell on Remus, and he burst into tears. Remus thought, unhelpfully, of the night they had broken up, back in the spring, outside of James and Lily’s house. That had been before the Fidelius charm, of course. It was a small risk, standing outside together, but Remus had come willingly when Sirius had invited him. He’d thought Sirius had wanted privacy for another reason; he was just returning from a long mission with the werewolf pack, and he’d expected to be kissed. Sirius had been dry eyed and indifferent, then. And now, look at him.

Sirius stumbled toward Remus with a cry of pure agony, shredding through Remus’s heart. He didn’t notice the magical partition was there until he hit it headlong, stumbling, and then he pounded on it with an angry fist. For him, it didn’t give an inch. “Moony,” he sobbed.

Remus went to him, and the magic gave way at his touch. He knelt, wrapped his arms around Sirius, who had now fallen to the floor in a heap, and held him as tightly as he could. Sirius buried his face in Remus’s neck.

“You know I didn’t—you know—”

“I know, of course I know,” Remus said. “You would have died first.”

“Yes, I—oh, James,” he cried, and cried harder, and then said, “I wish I had died. I wish—oh, god—”

“Shh,” Remus stroked Sirius’s hair. It was oily, tangled. He still buried his fingers in it, finding Sirius’s scalp and massaging it softly. “Sirius, I—I don’t have long.”

Sirius didn’t respond to this at all; he continued to weep, soaking straight through Remus’s robes and onto his shirt, and so Remus had to say it again. “I only have fifteen minutes with you, Padfoot.”

This seemed to get through, and he sat up, trembling and wiping his cheeks, looking ashamed of himself. Remus still held him by the shoulders, and he shook his head, as if to say, It’s me, you never need to be embarrassed.

Sirius nodded, wiped his nose, and scooted nearer to Remus again. He laid his head on his shoulder and said, “I thought I wasn’t allowed any visitors.”

“You aren’t. Dumbledore.”

Sirius’s head snapped up. “He thinks I’m innocent?” he said, eyes wide with hope.

Remus hesitated long enough that Sirius’s face fell. Scrambling to recover, Remus said, “He’s open to considering other evidence, if I can find some.”

“Other evidence,” Sirius said, scoffing. Now, he pulled back, shrugging Remus’s hands off his shoulders. Remus tried not to take it too personally.

“Well? If you didn’t do it, somebody did. We just have to prove it.”

“Prove it,” Sirius repeated, shaking his head. Cursing, once, bitterly.

“Do you know who—”

“Of course, I know who!” Sirius snapped. “I’m the one who—who bloody set him up to do it!”

Remus’s heart started pounding. “What?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t kill them, but it’s still my fault they’re dead. It’s still my fault—” He stopped talking, covering his face with his hands. He was too far from the partition for Remus to reach now, but his arms ached to pull him close. He had a thought, faraway and unbidden, that Dumbledore was right—six months apart had done nothing to change how he felt about Sirius. It had also, apparently, done nothing to change how Sirius felt about him. He was leaning back, away from Remus, knees up, wrapping his arms around them. Rocking slowly.

Like he might’ve approached a spooked horse, Remus said, very gently, without moving a muscle, “Explain it to me.”

Sirius’s gaze was blank, peaking out from behind his hands, at a nondescript point in the distance. “It was Peter, Remus. We changed it.”

Peter—another friend, dead and gone. Remus didn’t understand. “What was Peter?” he said.

Sirius’s voice was cold, now. Clinical. “It’s my fault. I told them it would be better to choose Peter as secret keeper, nobody would suspect him, nobody would think we’d choose someone so weak, it was to be the perfect trick.”

“What are you talking about, Sirius?” Remus said, forgetting to be soothing as his sense of urgency rose with every word Sirius spoke. 

Quietly, with his face downturned, Sirius said, “You kept going on these missions, always away longer than you said you’d be, and you never—you never said where, and—and there were the werewolves, of course, who were all on the Death Eater side, and so we just—”

“Yes, fine,” Remus said impatiently, still not comprehending at all, “you might not have had time to tell me everything, I understand that, but what—”

“We didn’t want you to know we’d changed the secret keeper,” Sirius said, letting his head fall forward against his knees.

Everything was a fog, and Remus pushed hard against it, searching for purchase, searching for anything that made a smidge of sense. “You—didn’t want me to—”

“It was Peter,” Sirius said, and suddenly, he raised his head to show Remus a face torn with rage, almost frightening with it. His jaw dropped as he heard Sirius say, “He betrayed them. He led Voldemort right to them, he killed them—it was Peter!”

Peter? Peter Pettigrew, who had purportedly died at Sirius’s own hand? Remus repeated, mind whirling with confusion, “James and Lily made Peter their secret keeper?”

“I convinced James that Peter was the best choice,” Sirius said, voice emitting tremors—a volcano about to erupt, “and that bastard betrayed us all! He was the spy, Remus, it was—it was Peter!”

Still hardly comprehending, Remus said, “And so you killed him.”

“No! No, I—he set off the explosion himself, Remus, he isn’t dead, he’s—he’s Wormtail! He transfigured, he—”

“Everyone thought you were the secret keeper,” Remus said, still not quite comprehending, though his fierce belief in Sirius’s innocence had not subsided. “That’s what you told Dumbledore, and me, and—”

“We couldn’t tell Dumbledore the truth, because he would have told the Order, and the Order had a spy!”

“Couldn’t you have told me?” Remus repeated.

Sirius met his eye for just one second, then looked away—and there was a split second when Remus still didn’t understand. But then, the look in Sirius’s eye—a look he’d never seen before—suddenly made sense. It was guilt. Everything Sirius had just said replayed in Remus’s mind; his heart shattered like glass.

He pulled back and stood up in total horror, ignoring how his heart twisted sharply when Sirius stood too, and reached for him, again meeting the magical barrier. This time, Remus didn’t reach back.

They had believed Remus was the spy.

It hurt. It hurt worse than being let down gently in the quiet shadow of James and Lily’s house in Godric’s Hollow. Worse than running alone with no pack under a full but hollow moon. It was decidedly not worse than Lily and James’s deaths, but it pressed over the same tender spot in Remus’s heart. He’d lost everyone, everyone he loved. He’d thought he lost them on Halloween night, but perhaps he’d lost them sooner and hadn’t even known it.

Bitter tears sprang to Remus’s eyes, and Sirius sobbed again when he saw them. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault they’re gone, it’s—”

Remus’s anger curled through him, and he glared at Sirius, feeling the heat of betrayal that rivaled the warmth of his love for this man—this man he'd grown up with, adored, cherished. Who had, apparently, never felt the same way about him.

But justice was justice. So Remus wiped roughly at his tears, swallowed them back, and said, “How can we prove it, Sirius?”

Sirius looked up at him, wide-eyed, and sputtered, “Wh—but I thought there wasn’t to be a trial?”

“There wasn’t,” Remus said sharply. “But if I can find some proof—”

“You—” Sirius stopped, overcome, face scrunched with a new wave of tears. Remus looked away from him. The man he’d loved wasn’t the man standing before him now. Now he stood eye-to-eye with a stranger.

“You say Peter is alive?”

“Yes, yes, he’s—he’s Wormtail now, he’s—”

“I’ll find him,” Remus said—though he hadn’t the first clue how he would go about it. He’d have to. That was that.

Their fifteen minutes might have been nearly over—or not. Remus couldn’t say. He only knew that he didn’t want to be in here with Sirius anymore. He walked to the door, lifting a hand to rap his knuckles against it.

Sirius let out a desperate little, “No,” and when Remus turned, said, “Please, Remus, I’m so—fuck, I'm so sorry.”

“I know,” Remus said. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how much he loved this man, even now. He looked away, straightening the sleeves of his robes for something to do. “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

Sirius said, “No.” Softly. After a pause, he said, “Where’s Harry?”

Remus looked up, startled. For all the agonizing over James and Lily and Sirius he’d done the past week, he hadn’t given much thought to the little boy. “He’s living with his Aunt and Uncle, apparently.”

“Not Lily’s sister, surely.”

Remus frowned.

“The one who hates magic? No, Remus, we mustn’t—”

“We mustn’t what?” Remus snapped, unwilling to let Sirius’s usual confident bluster win the day, when Remus was still tender, and angry, and hurt. “You can't do anything for him where you stand, can you? And what can I do? Would Dumbledore allow the boy to live with a werewolf? Should anybody live with a werewolf? You certainly didn’t want to.”

“Remus—”

“No.” Remus turned a cold eye on Sirius. But then, he sighed, because Lily’s sister truly was awful. Remus had met her once. He glanced at Sirius and said, “I’ll check on him.”

Sirius nodded his head, bit his lip. He wiped his cheeks again and seemed embarrassed for having cried in the first place. This time, Remus wasn’t as inclined to mitigate that feeling.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to visit you again,” Remus said, eyes on the floor, “but I’ll keep an eye out for Peter. I’ll—I’ll make sure the truth is found.”

Sirius walked forward and touched the magical partition. He whispered, “Thank you.” When Remus didn’t reply, Sirius added, “I was wrong, Remus. I was so stupid. It’s all my fault.”

Remus turned to look at him, at the sorrow in his face, and it was too much. He said, “Don't be stupid. It's arrogant, even for you, to think all of this was your fault, just for trusting one of your friends.” 

When Sirius snorted a wet little laugh, Remus looked away again, and just in time, for the guard returned then to Remus’s side to escort him out. He couldn’t look at Sirius, couldn’t bear to see the fear that would surely be in his eyes when the Dementors returned. Remus nodded once, sharply, and followed the guards back out to the dirty tunnel, the Floo, and the grey skies of London.

What to tell Dumbledore was the next question. The Wizengamot was back in session when Remus reached the Ministry, and he spent only ten minutes waiting, walking back and forth along the bright halls, before he determined that there was nothing for it. Without evidence, Sirius’s story might be nothing more than the desperate accusations of a mad man.

Yet, Remus believed him. His heart tore and bled and raged within his chest, but he believed every word. Sirius had not loved Remus, but he had certainly loved James—loved him so completely that he would push Remus away rather than allow even the possibility of a betrayal. But why, why had Sirius suspected Remus? Was it really just because he was a werewolf? He wasn’t sure anything had ever hurt him worse, if it was true.

Not to mention, why had Sirius trusted Peter more than him? The pain of it was so sharp that Remus simply couldn’t allow his mind to process it. He folded it away, thinking instead of the righteous anger he felt at the one who had truly betrayed them all—Peter Pettigrew. Little Peter, always so adoring, always following them everywhere. And fearful, too. During the war, hardly able to help with anything, unwilling to take any major risks. And nobody would have asked him to. He was weak, after all. A perfect choice, Remus thought bitterly, for a secret keeper nobody would have suspected.

Perhaps Peter had been tortured. Perhaps he had given up the secret against his will. Perhaps—oh, fuck it all. Remus tugged his brown jacket around himself tightly, observing with a start that the chocolate bar was still in his pocket. He felt a spike of spiteful pleasure that he hadn’t given it to Sirius, then scolded himself for having such a petty thought. There were matters more important than Remus’s foolish heartbreak. He walked down the marbled halls, to another Floo that brought him directly back to his own flat. Small, a single bedroom and a dusty table, books scattered about, dishes unwashed in the sink. He rummaged in the refrigerator and, finding nothing, turned to the freezer, where a bottle of vodka was laid on its side. This past week, he had taken to drinking himself to sleep. But, somehow, when his fingers touched the bottle, his arm gave a jolt, and he thought of little Harry. He closed the freezer again, paced for a minute or two, then Disapparated with a loud pop.

He landed gracefully on an Apparition point in Little Whinging. Privet Drive was the address. Remus had been here before, in fact. He had come with Lily, at her request, when her sister first moved in. She’d meant to drop off a house-warming gift, and a little toy for Dudley, who was just a month older than Harry. But Petunia had refused the gift, and Lily had nodded and said, “Yes, just as I expected,” to Remus as they walked briskly away to the apparition point. “That’s why I didn’t bring James,” she added. “Petunia prefers those of us who still have a bit of Muggle in us.”

Remus had smiled and said softly, “And a bit of wolf?”

And Lily, with an affectionate twinkle in her eye, had said, “Perhaps it’s best if we don’t tell her that bit.”

Now, the house looked perfectly ordinary, just as it had that day, but even before he reached the door, Remus could hear the sound—wailing, sailing through the walls. 

Remus cast a quick Disillusionment spell over himself and crept up to the window, peering inside. Sure enough, there was Harry—the source of the noise that Remus could hear from the sidewalk, nearly. He was shut up in a room, banging little fists on the door, sobbing. The word “Mama” escaped his lips, and Remus’s hands formed fists, his heart tight and sick and furious. He hurried to another window. Could it be that the family wasn’t at home? Would they have left the boy all alone? Reprehensible, if they had.

But they were at home. All of them, sitting in the living room, with a television blaring and another child, a tubby thing with a curl of brown hair sweeping over his broad forehead, gnawing on a teething biscuit. He was in his mother’s arms, and his father was gripping the television remote controller like it was a lifeline, knuckles white around it. Ignoring the screaming from the next room.

Remus cast his Patronus before he could stop himself, and waited there, hours passing. The child stopped crying after an indeterminate period. Remus walked back over and observed that he had exhausted himself and passed out on the floor of the little hallway where he’d been locked away. When Harry woke up and resumed crying, Remus cast his Patronus again. It was nearly nightfall now, and Dumbledore Apparated directly to the house, rather carelessly, and looked about, frowning. Remus let down the Disillusionment and said, “This must be a joke, Dumbledore, and it’s a cruel one, even for you.”

The old wizard frowned at him, and Remus cast another Disillusionment spell, covering them both. “Look,” he said, pointing in the window to where Harry lay on the floor, positively shrieking, little fists pounding the floor. “They haven’t touched him all day, they haven’t given him anything to eat, or—or—”

Rage twisted Remus’s voice, and Dumbledore’s blue eyes looked pained. He nodded, but his voice was firm when he replied, “He must live here, Remus. He must. There is nowhere else—”

“I’ll—I’ll bring him to my bloody flat,” Remus said, shaking. “Or I’ll get a new one, something, just—just—you can’t leave James’s son here like this, you can’t.” His voice was a wreck.

Dumbledore looked pained. “He is safe here. He is alive.”

“You call this safe? And what, do you think I’d let anything happen to him? My best friend’s son? You have some opinion of me. You and—” He had been about to say, You and Sirius both, but the words and their bitter taste died on his lips.

Dumbledore shook his head, however. “You don’t understand. The magic—the magic that protected him from Voldemort was blood magic, Remus. It’s still flowing now. Can’t you feel it?”

Remus paused, closed his eyes—but all he felt was rage.

“Lily’s sister,” Dumbledore explained, as if it was a fascinating academic topic, “has her blood in her veins. I’ve cast a spell to extend the protection, as long as Harry lives in his Aunt’s home.”

Remus’s jaw fell open, and he stared at Dumbledore, feeling, for the hundredth time that day, that nobody had ever told him anything important, nor ever trusted him at all. He said, rather numbly, “Fine, well—doesn’t Harry have Lily’s blood in his veins? Couldn’t his own blood protect him, then?”

Dumbledore hesitated. “It—could, perhaps.”

“Or another Fidelius charm,” Remus said. “He can live with me, under a Fidelius. And you’ll be our secret keeper. There, you see? This,” he gestured to the window, where the child still wailed, “is unnecessary, and cruel, and—and—”

“Yes, yes, very well,” Dumbledore said. He looked in at Harry again, pained. “I did not realise.”

“You didn’t care,” Remus said, feeling a pang—because, until today, until Sirius, he hadn’t cared, either. Harry had been here for a week now, and who knew how he must have suffered? Remus wouldn’t have checked, if not for Sirius. He didn’t particularly like children, though he’d always felt fondly enough towards this one. He wasn’t even angry at Dumbledore, really. He was angry with himself. Still, the words struck and couldn’t be taken back.

“I have many cares,” Dumbledore replied coldly. Remus stood watching him for a moment before he let down the Disillusionment again. He found he couldn’t apologize.

“Do it, then,” he said.

Dumbledore swept to the doorway, face a blank, and knocked once. A portly man came to the door, then made to shut it again, but Dumbledore stepped inside, anyways, and Remus waited outside, heard shouting, louder wailing—now, both children were upset—and a woman’s voice, defensive, saying, “—already have one child, and what am I to do with this one, hmm? What would you expect me to do?”

When Dumbledore emerged half an hour later, the street was completely dark. Harry was in his arms, awkwardly squirming, still wailing and trying to get away. When the boy saw Remus, however, he sobbed with relief and threw himself towards him. Though he hadn’t seen him in a month, the boy clearly recognized his face, and Remus came at once, though he’d never thought himself a particular favourite of Harry’s before, and gathered him against his chest. Fat little arms squeezed his neck, and tears poured against his throat, and Remus patted his back, overwhelmed and at a loss for words. Harry smelled as though he needed a new nappy, and the rage Remus had been feeling reared up again. Was he to learn to change nappies, now? But, of course, he would. Even now, there might be a rash. His arms tightened around Harry, fingers threading through his hair.

“There, there,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”                                   

But of course, that had never been true.

Remus stood awkwardly across from Dumbledore, who appeared deep in thought again. Silently, he counted down the days until the next full moon. It would be in ten days. Plenty of time to get settled.

“You’ll have to watch him for me,” Remus said to Dumbledore, breaking the stalemate, “when I shift.”

Dumbledore looked at him darkly. Then he grabbed Remus’s arm and Disapparated them all without another word.

Chapter Text

13 December 1981

Dumbledore had brought Remus everything of Harry’s that was left in the Potters’ house—the old crib and bedding, the clothing, the toys. It was depressing, seeing the things that had once belonged to his friends, and unexpected and excessively sharp—a pain that stung again, and again, and again. Remus thought of it the whole time Dumbledore placed protective blood charms on Harry, the whole time he recited the Fidelius charm with Remus, the whole time he shopped for groceries with a strange little boy seated in the cart, quietly nodding off against his own round belly.

James and Lily’s son. Parted from them forever. That night was when it had started to feel real for Remus.

Now, five weeks into living together, Harry’s belongings had taken over Remus’s flat to such a degree that it hardly seemed to be a bachelor pad at all, anymore. In the only bedroom, Remus had pushed his bed to the wall to make room for Harry’s crib. He had thrown his own clothing into a pile in the closet, giving Harry his dresser. It just made more sense that way; Harry had so many things, little tiny socks and shoes, shirts that were somehow also pants, nighties with endless buttons, nappies, blankets, and jumpers, and all of it in sizes just right, a little too big, much too big, and enormously too big, for next year. A million things, probably all chosen by Lily. So they had to go in the dresser, and that’s all there was to it.

The living room was in no better state. It had never been a large room, but the sparse furniture had always made it seem spacious enough, and it was fine to read in, with a little sofa and a chair near the window, well lit. But the room was all toys, now, with a path sometimes carved through for walking—carved being a generous term for “kicked away.” The kitchen, separated only by a small island, was a mess, too: all bananas and peas and little biscuits covered in chocolate that Harry loved and asked for by name—if ‘Bik-it’ could be considered a word, that is.

Remus tried to pick up, at first. He liked things neat. But it was like sending a broom and dustpan after a tornado—a small path of cleanliness would be forged at the cost of allowing Harry to dump the contents of three more drawers onto the floor while Remus’s back was turned. How could someone who could barely walk—truly, toddling about as if he was about to fall at any moment—manage to get through the flat so quickly, and leave such destruction in his wake? If he hadn’t been the one left to raise the little hellion, Remus would have found it all hilarious. As it was, he could barely manage not to scream.

On balance, there weren’t more tears than laughter, but there were still a lot of tears. Remus, twenty-one and totally ignorant of everything to do with children, truly had no idea how he was doing, but he couldn’t think this was going well. Harry fussed constantly, as if everything that happened to him in any given day was dire and horrible. Dropped a biscuit beneath the sofa? Horrible. Misplaced a favourite toy just before bedtime? Horrible. Fell down gently and rose up again without so much as a mark on him? Still horrible.

And Remus, hating the sound of crying, would scoop Harry up and bounce him around, using his wand to make animal shapes out of smoke, or cast colored lights against the walls, or send bubbles up and out of Harry’s shirt, until he was giggling madly, patting his hands against Remus’s chest, demanding “more” and “again.” Remus was relieved to make him laugh, but he knew it would be short-lived. More tears were coming, they always came, and then Remus would have to start up this nonsense all over again. And he would do it, of course he would, because nothing horrible had happened to Harry today, but on Halloween, something had—something unfair and cruel and unfixable. And making Harry laugh was the one good thing Remus could do about it all.

Days wore away, with Remus emotional and overwhelmed and unable to do anything else but entertain Harry. He was enchanting; he was exhausting; he was the last little bit of James that Remus had left, and sometimes he would gaze at him and think he looked so much like his father, he could have screamed, or wept, or punched a wall.

But he did none of those things. He just cared for Harry, and kept him safe, and watched the walls for whatever disaster would come next—waking every morning, shocked, that no new horror had come.

Before Remus knew it, it was nearly Christmas, the first sign being the Christmas tree that was erected in the little Muggle square below, and then, in rapid succession: the snow, the lights, the tinsel and garlands and carols.

The way Muggles celebrated Christmas was perfectly charming, but even Remus’s mother, a dear Muggle woman who’d fallen in love with Remus’s father hardly knowing the misadventures that were to befall her, preferred things done the magical way. Magical Christmases were simply better. As a boy, Remus could remember his dad charming baubles on the tree to sing carols for him, transfiguring toy horses to look like reindeer and prance around the room, preparing magical poppers that burst with forever-floating glitter, that would sparkle and twirl in the air until he banished it all at last, the day after Boxing Day, and inundated Remus with sweets in consolation for their loss.

Now, as Remus sat on his sofa in the fading afternoon light with his long legs crossed at the ankle, watching Harry as he made one of his toy Kneazles dance with a hippogriff, it occurred to Remus rather belatedly that, if he wanted the day to be magical for Harry, he probably had to do something about it himself. It was his job, wasn’t it? Adults had to make holidays special for kids. The idea struck him on a wave of panic, because the holiday was hardly ten days away, and it was Harry’s first without his parents—and only his second ever. It should be special, there should be pictures and treats and loads of food, and Remus had prepared for literally none of it.

He didn’t have an owl of his own, afraid that he wouldn’t be able to afford its upkeep, even if he could afford the bird itself, so he sent his Patronus to Dumbledore to request his childcare services for an afternoon. Half an hour later, he was sent Hagrid, instead—an odd choice, perhaps, but not an unwelcome sight to Remus, who had always liked the Hogwarts groundskeeper, and knew that James and Lily had liked him, too. Remus let him in the Floo with a smile of surprise and pleasure, grinning wider when he saw how Hagrid had to duck sharply to fit inside, and even wider, still, at the way Harry gaped at him: unabashedly staring in the way only a child can make charming.

“There ya’r, Harry,” Hagrid said. “Suppose you don’ remember me, then, but we have met—very good to see you again, young man.”

Hagrid bore with good nature the way Harry’s green eyes went wide with confusion, before he turned to look up at Remus and—seeing no reason to panic based on his reaction—turned around and went back to his toys without a word to their guest.

Remus gestured into the room and said to Hagrid, “Thank you for coming. Here, come in, come in. I’ll take your coat, then.” There was no coat closet, of course, in a little flat like this one. Remus tossed it over the back of a dining chair; it swallowed the whole thing up, draped onto the floor like a blanket.

Hagrid stepped slowly into the flat, glancing around with friendly appraisal and nodding with a smile at the utter chaos before him—plush animals covering the sofa, children’s books lining the shelves in front of Remus’s rows of classic literature, which had been pushed back and covered and utterly forgotten. When the stranger came near him, Harry dropped his little set of toy Kneazles and hurried behind Remus, clinging shyly to his leg.

“Hagrid is going to play with you for an hour or two,” Remus said, reaching down a hand to pat Harry’s head. “I’ll be back soon.”

But when Remus tried to pry Harry from his leg, Harry’s large green eyes filled, lips trembling with a heroic effort at bravery for about five seconds, and then all at once he began to wail. Remus began to panic, as he usually did, patting Harry’s head again and muttering, “Now, don’t cry, then, it’ll only be for a little while.”

Harry responded by sobbing harder, and Remus looked up in alarm. Perhaps he ought to just send Hagrid out on the errands, then, if Harry couldn’t bear his departure. He had to do what Harry wanted, after all—and as soon as possible, to stop the crying.

Luckily, Hagrid knelt down and said, “There, now, don’t cry. Your daddy has to go.”

Remus startled, rearing back and looking at Hagrid with such alarm that he was rendered utterly speechless. Harry should never call anybody but James by that name—but then Harry leaned back, looked up at Remus with a look that was positively pathetic, and sobbed, “No go,” and buried his face in his pantleg again, and Remus felt such an unexpected surge of affection for him as made him almost not mind it.

Remus carefully pried Harry’s hands loose from his trousers and said, “I have to go, but why don’t you show your toy wand to Hagrid?”

“A wand!” Hagrid cried. “Oh ho—I would like to see that, very much!” As Harry, snotty faced and sniffling, toddled off to retrieve the wand, Hagrid muttered with some trepidation, “Go now, go now.”

And Remus, feeling like he’d just won some unexpected lottery, tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace and was gone before Harry could spot him and recommence his wailing.

The air in Diagon Alley was brisk, and Remus had a spring in his step. He hadn’t been out without Harry yet, except on the full moon, and that could hardly be considered a pleasure outing. Burdened by the job of keeping Harry safe, Remus had brought him grocery shopping, to Gringotts, and—one day early on—even to a job interview at a local university, where Remus had been recommended by an old friend of his mum’s for part-time work marking essays. Being a werewolf, Remus was hardly qualified for work with a regular schedule, so this was one of few roles he was well-suited for—being a lover of books and literature, and a perfectionist, to boot. The interview had been scheduled before James and Lily’s deaths, and Remus couldn’t reschedule it without risking losing the opportunity altogether. He hadn’t known not to bring a child, having never interviewed for anything before, but everyone had been thoroughly charmed and doting to Harry, and Remus had been astonished when he received an offer on the spot.

Now, in the frosty winter air, Remus felt all the liberated joy of being without a 16-month-old. He’d given up his freedom a month ago without a second thought, not even realizing he’d done it. Now, it was back—if only temporarily. He could pause and look in shop windows, or stop for a drink, if he liked. He could browse shelves of books; he could enchant snowballs to chase schoolboys about—playfully, only a bit of fun. He felt refreshed for the first time in ages, so intense was his relief that Harry was, for the time being, someone else’s problem.

Of course, the requisite guilt that followed for even having such a thought brought a mood that threatened to completely dampen everything good Remus had just been feeling, and he refocused quickly. He was here for a reason, after all. Now that he worked for the university, he could afford to get a gift or two for Harry, and the shops of Diagon Alley glimmered with enchanted decorations, beckoning for his business. Remus used Reducio spells to pack away the things he bought. He tucked it all in a chintzy little canvas bag he’d gotten for free from some Muggle shop, hardly noticing how much money he’d spent as he zigzagged through the street with no child to whine and tug on his scarf, carefully guarding against any thought that directly celebrated that blessed fact.

It wasn’t until he passed the broom shop that Sirius crossed Remus’s mind again, as he had been wont to do, on and off, since Remus had left Azkaban that day. In some ways, the years before the war felt like they were a lifetime in the past—ancient and untouchable. And in other ways, it was just yesterday that a sixteen-year-old Remus had come here, proudly on his boyfriend’s arm for the first time in public, riveted by the light in Sirius’s eyes as he and James prattled on about new brooms and Quidditch and whatever else.

Remus caught himself smiling, a ghost of a reflection in the bright window. As soon as he caught his own eye, his smile turned into a scowl. It had been a month now since he’d learned the truth; where had the time gone? He’d promised Sirius he would find Pettigrew, but all he’d really done in the past four weeks was try not to let Harry kill himself by toppling over a large appliance or exploding the flat with accidental magic when he threw a tantrum. Not a small feat, to be sure, to keep a small and uncontrollable person alive, but still. What about Sirius? If Remus didn’t help him, nobody would, and Remus hadn’t done a thing.

Not to mention, he thought with a shiver, Peter was apparently out there somewhere. Out there, and responsible for their friends’ deaths. Out there, and possibly a threat to Harry. And everyone was just passing along as if nothing was wrong, as if there wasn’t a mass murdering traitor on the loose. And Remus was the only person who could do anything about it—but he actually couldn’t do anything about it, because he had both hands—and then some—full with Harry. Frustration rose up, and Remus’s fists curled, sharp fingernails cutting half-moons into his palms. He hated asking for it, but he needed help.

Remus hurried to the owlery. It was long past time that Remus share the information Sirius had given him with Dumbledore—though it pained him to do it, knowing Dumbledore would only doubt him. Though the words “they believed I was the traitor” struck him, hard, made him mutter, ‘you stupid prat, you fucking idiot’ under his breath as his scribbles grew larger and angrier. He was too rough tying it to the owl, and he was bitten duly for his crimes. “Sorry,” he said, chagrined. He watched it fly off, then collected his things and was halfway into the short walk home before realising he’d forgotten a tree, of all things. And then it was back to the Alley for him, to find the perfect one.

When he arrived at home, it was supper time, but Hagrid hadn’t cooked. Remus invited him to stay, but he begged off, so it was just the two of them again, like always. Remus tried not to be too disappointed by this as he placed Harry on the counter while he heated noodles and sauce, almost vibrating with the will for Harry to yawn, to go to bed already, so Remus could put up the tree and surprise him with it in the morning. Harry wiggled and kicked and laughed; his relief at Remus’s return was palpable. He wanted to eat dinner on Remus’s lap instead of his highchair; he wanted Remus to sing songs to him for a full hour before bedtime; he wanted Remus to hold his hand while he laid in his crib. Through it all, Remus—exhausted and feeling trapped again—wanted to sob, “I’m too young for this rubbish!” but he supposed it would make very little difference to his current audience of one.

After sleep finally took hold of the little tyrant, Remus walked back to the living room, giddy the way he always was when Harry was finally, finally asleep. He unpacked his bag eagerly, casting charms as the gifts and decorations returned to full size, and spent above two hours setting up a little nook for the holiday while his old record player sang Christmas tunes at him from the album he’d picked up just for him and Harry—a new crooner called Celestina Warbeck, whom Remus was hopeful had just the right timbre of voice to put the child to sleep.

In all, it was a perfect holiday picture—a tree, some enchanted lights, some presents, a little shimmering sign that said, “Jolly Old Saint Nick” and a picture of Father Christmas himself, winking over and over. Harry would like that; he loved things with faces. A plate of Christmas biscuits and pies rounded out the room, and Remus set a little preservation charm over them. After thinking about it for a moment, he also set up a shield that only he could break. Harry would cry, and would probably still end up eating more biscuits than was good for him, but at least Remus would have the authority to dole them out and stop the mad little thing from…licking them all, or something else disgusting he hadn’t even thought of yet. That was another thing. Harry’s capacity for doing disgusting things was a never-ending stream of surprises. The things that child would put in his mouth, or up his nose! Why in the world were children like this? Remus hardly wanted to think about what dangerous and ill-advised things Harry would do to the Christmas tree: pull it down on himself? Light himself on fire with the enchanted lights? Choke on a bauble?

In the end, Remus cast protective charms over the lot, so much so that even he was warded off of it by a strong Discouragement spell that made people who wandered too near the tree suddenly feel a strong impulse to walk away. He wondered for a moment if he should charm one of the objects to make Harry sleepy—perhaps the face of Father Christmas?—but then he imagined Lily Potter finding out he’d done it, and knew he couldn’t. The point was to delight Harry, not to put him into an enchanted sleep—no matter how appealing the idea felt to him now, when he was sleep-deprived, himself.

After his decorating was done and Remus settled at the kitchen table to grade essays, a mug of steaming butterbeer beside him. He was there, peacefully immersed in the poor writing of an undergrad, when a little rap came at the window. Remus looked up to see an owl; he glanced at his watch and saw it was half ten. Late, for an owl. Perhaps Dumbledore had been out, and only just received Remus’s. Or, he thought, as he hurried to open the glass frame, perhaps Dumbledore had already looked into Sirius’s claims, and was now updating him on the status of the case. He might have agreed with Remus that the conviction was rubbish, that it should be thrown out. And wouldn’t that be a relief? If Sirius could get out, if he could come and help with Harry, perhaps?

But when Remus unwrapped the parchment from the owl’s leg, his shoulders fell. He never should have gotten his stupid hopes up.

“I’ll look into it,” the note said. That was all.

Remus folded it up, then opened it again, reread it as if expecting to find some hidden meaning—something actually helpful, at least. But, alas. He folded it once more and sighed. People had been so cruel about Sirius when they’d heard the news. ‘Of course, he did it, he’s a Black,’ had been the chorus on the radio, and in all the papers, but Remus had never taken Dumbledore to be one of those people who judged a book by its cover. Even after their inauspicious meeting at the Ministry, Remus remained tentatively hopeful. He hoped that was still justified, though the note offered nothing reassuring now.

Too distracted for work after such a letdown, Remus walked to the little square window, looking down on the snowy city below him. The moon was waxing, nearly full, and the snow glowed under its brightness. His eyes followed a young couple walking, hand in hand, near the Christmas tree. He watched them until they were out of view, and then he slowly closed the curtains and stood back, looked miserably at his own tree.

This wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair. Frustration pent up in his chest, but there was nowhere to put it. Remus walked back to his bedroom, furious, and threw back his covers, then burrowed his head into his pillow. Harry was snoring softly across the room, and all at once, Remus’s anger melted into grief, as it sometimes did, and he found himself smothering his sobs in the scratchy fabric of his bed. Everything was a mess. His friends were gone, and Harry was stuck with a werewolf for a father, and Remus was useless. Useless. His fingers folded in the sheets, gripping them tightly, imagining they could hold him, in return.

He wanted Sirius so, so badly.

Night faded to nothingness, at last. His eyes would be red and puffy when he awoke, but at least Remus was the one crying himself to sleep, and not Harry. That thought alone was what got him through to morning, riding the turbulent peaks and valleys of heartbreak.

Chapter Text

31 July 1982

Remus forgot Harry’s birthday.

The idiot, the absolute idiot, he’d actually forgotten it, as if the date didn’t exist, as if birthdays weren’t a thing people celebrated. He could have throttled himself, he was so stupid.

He only realised his mistake when an owl flew in the open window with a letter on its leg, addressed to ‘the birthday boy’ in Hagrid’s messy hand, and Remus, half-asleep, had suddenly pushed Harry off his lap and sprang from the sofa, where they’d been lounging with a picture book, to find the calendar on the kitchen wall and stare at it like it had horridly betrayed him. What was the matter with him? How in Godric’s name had he forgotten? The only bright side—and it wasn’t one, really—was the very belated realization that he had apparently, in March, also forgotten his own.

It wasn’t like Remus neglected Harry; on the contrary, his entire world revolved around Harry, as exhausting and difficult as that was. He hardly knew what day of the week it was, so totally occupied as he was with making sure Harry had everything he needed, every moment of every day. Tracking full moons had been the sole object of Remus’s attention, calendar-wise, but now he saw, plain as anything, that today was the most important day of the year, in Harry terms. And Remus had completely mucked it up.  

Remus glanced back at Harry, who seemed unbothered by Remus’s panic and was lying on his back now, picture book held aloft above his head, humming to himself as the pages fluttered back and forth. Oblivious, of course, to anything amiss. Happy.

But what did he know? He was only two. Lily and James, on the other hand, would have bit Remus’s head off if they knew that Harry, on his first birthday without them, had awoken to a sleepy house without any food in it and a dizzy early morning run to the grocery for a loaf of yesterday’s stale bread.

With a fierce determination to give Harry a wonderful day, despite its inauspicious start and his numerable shortcomings as a dad and an adult, in general, Remus said, “Harry, d’you want to come to the park with me?”

“Yeah!” Harry hollered, hopping off the sofa and tossing the book with full force to the wall, where its hard back bounced and toppled with a little thud. Remus gave it only a moment’s thought; he’d pick it up later, some time. No cleaning on Harry’s birthday.

The walk was short, but Harry made it longer by fluttering everywhere, zipping about a mile a minute, getting into things he wasn’t allowed to touch, until Remus bribed him away with offers of something better—there’s a sweet shoppe up here, see? Wouldn’t you rather we run along?—and promises of rewards for good behaviour. These weren’t the most effective behavioural management tools, probably because the rewards were usually given whether Harry behaved or not. How could Remus say no?

Remus deposited Harry at the park with a few sneakily cast protective spells around him, then hurried to the bakery across the street to order a cake. He couldn’t afford much—just a few pounds remained in his weekly allotment of Muggle money—but he got the largest one he could, figuring he could cast some charms for the decorations.

The baker worked on packaging the cake, and Remus walked back to the park to watch Harry and wait. Luckily, he’d survived this brief abandonment; he had joined another child on the roundabout and was laughing madly as he was pushed in circle after circle. He let go of the handles when he saw Remus, waving in his boisterous way, and Remus raised a hand and waved back. Proud of the bold little thing, who always walked headfirst into whatever he wanted. So, so much like James.

“Oh,” a dark-haired woman said, observing their little exchange. She approached Remus with what seemed like a dangerous smile. “There you are.”

Remus raised his eyebrows and gave her a tight smile and a nod. She looked distantly familiar, but he didn’t think she was magical. “Here I am.”

“Your son?” she added, nodding towards Harry.

Remus nodded.

“I’ve seen you around, I think. You live there?” she said, gesturing back to Remus’s high-rise.

Again, he nodded, feeling hunted.

“Us, too. My daughter, Ava,” she added, pointing to a girl who was alone in the sandbox, building some elaborate structure with shovels and pails, “and my son, Louis.”

Louis was the one pushing Harry on the roundabout. Remus, not knowing what to say, gestured and said, “And that’s Harry.”

“He seems awfully young to be left by himself,” the woman said, with an appraising eye at Remus.

He put his shoulders back and cleared his throat. “It’s his birthday. I was just checking on his cake.” Then, though he knew he owed her no explanations, he added, “I could see him all the while.”

“I would just bring him along, if it were me,” she said, with a strongly disapproving look.

“I bet you would,” he said. Little did she know the absolute tantrum Harry would have thrown to be in the vicinity of cake but not given a bite of it.

"He was a bit tyrannical, to be honest, with Louis. Wanted to be pushed on the roundabout, and wouldn't take no for an answer."

Remus shrugged. How fucking dare she? "He's little," he said sharply.

“You know, you look awfully young, too, now that I think of it,” she said.

“Well,” Remus replied, now well and truly irritated, “must be contagious. Excuse me.”

He walked up to Harry, who hopped off the roundabout to be pushed on the swings and carried up the slide and given a ride on the seesaw. This was the best part of having Harry—the playing. Remus hadn’t run around at parks like this very much when he was little, after he’d gotten his bite. His parents had wanted to keep him away from other children; they hadn’t known much about lycanthropy. That’s why his first real friends were James, Sirius, and Peter; that’s why he’d loved them so much. And now, having Harry was like having James all over again—a tiny, adorable version of James, who could run for hours and never tire, whose laugh had become Remus’s favourite sound. They played until they were both hot and sweaty, the late July heat rising early, and Remus announced that they’d both have dreadful sunburns if they didn’t go home.

Harry did not take the news well, to put it mildly. Remus was used to his tantrums, but he was embarrassed—feeling the eyes of the neighbourhood mothers on him as he dragged Harry out of the dirt he was lying in, face first, fists pounding, and reminded him that soon, there would be cake, and didn’t he want cake?

Thankfully, it was the magic word. Harry started to vibrate with enthusiasm, slapping Remus’s legs and saying, “Cake! Cake!”

Remus carried him to the bakery and packed up their cake, conceding his last penny to buy Harry a cookie when the cake’s disappearance triggered another tantrum.

They walked home together while Remus tried not to panic. He hadn’t bought a single present, and he couldn’t afford to now. Not even something small. He had literally nothing until his cheque came Friday.

Annoyingly, they were tailed by the little family from the park, the dark-haired woman following them at a short distance, with two children who were much better behaved than Remus’s unmanageable one. They seemed a tad older, though; perhaps older children were easier to handle. They couldn’t get much worse than Harry, that was for sure.

They ate the cake together at the table, having nothing else to eat besides it. Remus sang a solitary verse of “Happy Birthday” and “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” and then, because Harry requested it with his usual tyranny, “London Bridge.” It was a pathetic party for his friends’ son; Remus was thoroughly ashamed of himself for it.

Soon afterwards, Harry crashed, sugar-filled and exhausted, onto the couch, and Remus crept into his own bedroom to search for something that he might pawn for some quick cash. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for: an intricate gold chain, the last birthday gift Sirius had given him before the war had torn everything apart. Sentimental idiot that he was, Remus had treasured the gift. His parents had been gone—his dad in the war, and his mum a few years prior—and he’d felt this chain had meant that someone loved him.

But that hadn’t panned out, had it? Now, he would sell it, and the money would be enough to give Harry something special. Hell, it would be enough for groceries, too, for a while. He should have sold it sooner.

Hagrid came right away when asked, though his arrival awoke Harry. Remus crept out in the midst of the boy’s startled wailing, and an hour later, he returned to the flat with bags and boxes in hand, windswept and eager, and said, “Harry, look what I’ve brought you!”

Harry stumbled past toys to meet him with a sugar-smeared face and held out his sticky hands. “My box,” he demanded in his illogically defensive way, as though someone was planning to try and take it from him.

“Not the box,” Remus said breathlessly, laughing. “It has something inside it.”

But Harry didn’t know how to open a present, so Remus did it for him, laughing gleefully when Harry pulled the plush dragon from it, and laughing even harder when it gave a little roar, steam pouring from its nostrils, and made Harry fall over with terror. Upon seeing Remus’s reaction, however, he bucked up, and bravely picked up the toy, poked it again, and laughed himself silly at the sound it made.

Hagrid, standing behind them, shook his head and smiled. He stayed for dinner this time, since Remus had fresh groceries on hand, and it wasn’t until Harry was passed out in bed that Hagrid, hemming and hawing and not approaching the Floo with anything like urgency, said, “Ya know, Remus, I—uh. I wonder sometimes if Harry i’nt—well, if he in’t a little spoilt.”

Remus turned from where he was seated, legs stretched on the sofa over a sea of toys, and his jaw dropped. “What?”

“Just, you know,” he said, rather nervously gesturing about him, “all the toys, and the way you don’ really…say no to him. Ever.”

Remus dropped his feet to the floor and leaned an elbow on his knee, one arm gesturing widely towards the closed bedroom door. “His parents are dead, Hagrid.”

“I know they are,” he said hastily, “an’ nobody’s more sorry than I am, but—Remus, you can’t make up for it by giving him everythin’ he wants.”

“I don’t give him everything he wants,” Remus said defensively, even though, yes, he did. He certainly did, unless he couldn’t tell what Harry wanted, in which case he just gave him a bit of everything on hand until something stuck.

“Yer doin’ yer best,” Hagrid said, “an’ nobody can fault ya fer… Fer wanting him to be happy. Only. Well, sometimes it in’t the best thing for a kid, to always hear the word yes. To get whatever they want.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do, then?” Remus said. When Hagrid didn’t immediately answer, he barreled on, “You know, he cries all the time, Hagrid, am I supposed to just let him cry? Or ignore him, like those damned Dursleys did?”

“No, of course not that.”

“I don’t know how to do this!” he cried, hands tugging furiously in his hair. When had it gotten so long? He dropped his hands, dismayed at what he’d let himself become. “I know I’m doing it all wrong, but. God! I never thought I’d have a kid, I never thought something like this would happen to my friends, I never thought—my life would be. Would be this! Nightmare of trying to keep this kid from murdering me with his whining, I can’t—”

“Okay,” Hagrid said, coming closer, slowly. Like he was afraid Remus might run off if he got spooked. “Let’s not overreact, here.”

“I’m not,” Remus said, hearing some of the fight drain from his voice, because, yes, yes he was. “I don’t—like it when I don’t know how to do things,” he mumbled, pathetically. “And I don’t know how to do this.”

There. He’d said it: the thing he’d been thinking for nearly a year. He was completely unqualified to raise a child. Not the werewolf thing, which had proved manageable enough, but just…him. Panicky, perfectionist, pathetic him. Someone should just take Harry away, already, and wouldn’t that be a relief, and oh god, Remus was a horrible, horrible person—

“Look, it’s like this,” Hagrid said, sitting beside him calmly and tapping his leg with an outstretched finger. The entire sofa was taken up by his frame, and Remus was snapped from his panic by a brief and distracting worry that the whole thing might collapse under the weight of him. After a little tremor, however, it seemed it would hold. “Ya gotta have rules when it comes to kids. What he can have, what he can do—and what he can’t. Like—the cake for dinner, for instance, might be somethin’ ya say no to.”

Yes…that. Remus had cooked a decent meal with the groceries he’d bought—some roasted vegetables in oil, a bed of noodles and butter, and a little fillet of fish—but he hadn’t been particularly surprised when Harry had screamed with fury at the sight of it, demanding to finish the last slice of cake instead. That’s just how the kid was. Remus protested half-heartedly, “I did say no, remember, but then he started to whine—”

“And that’s another thing. Kids do whine, Remus. Ya just gotta be firm with ‘em.”

As if it was his trump card, Remus said, “What if he throws a tantrum, then, hmm? What then?”

Hagrid stared blankly for a second. Then he said, “I’m not sure I understan’ what yer askin’.”

“What if I say no, and afterwards, he throws a fit?”

“He…definitely will do that,” Hagrid said, as if he was explaining it to a five-year-old. “You still can’ just give ‘im whatever he wants.”

Remus laughed, a self-deprecating sound, rubbing the back of his neck. Lily would have been so much better at this than he was. Was he ruining his friends’ kid? Would it have been better for Harry to just remain at Privet Drive?

But, no. He remembered how Harry had cried, abandoned in his aunt’s house, neglected for hours or possibly days, and knew that was certainly not better. Someone who loved his parents, who loved Harry, was the best option. But not like this. Not—spoiling him, evidently. Taking the path of least resistance at every point of conflict, rather than standing up for anything.

Remus cringed when he realized he had a rather bad habit of that, in general. This was not the first time someone had accused him of failing to stand up for himself, of being too passive. Far from it, in fact. He’d never thought much of it before, but now—for Harry, he would change. For Harry, he would do anything.

“Ya like books,” Hagrid mentioned off-handedly, pulling Remus from his thoughts. He turned to look at him, and he lifted a large hand and patted Remus’s back so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of him. “Maybe pick one up on raisin’ kids. Er, you know. Parenting.”

Hagrid had pronounced every syllable carefully, and Remus’s heart leapt with excitement before he realized exactly what he was happy about. He rubbed a hand over his face in embarrassment. It had been months since he’d gone out with friends, a year since he’d gotten laid, he’d just sold his most prized possessions to buy gifts for a kid whom he’d apparently spoiled terribly, and he was jumping at the chance to research parenting as if it was a subject of academic worth. There was no light in which Remus’s current life did not appear completely pathetic.

But then, well. Remus did enjoy a good book.

He blew out a long, long breath, then turned to Hagrid and said, “Thanks, mate. I’ll give that a shot.”

Hagrid left shortly after, and Remus paced his flat, absolutely flaying himself with all the mistakes he’d made, longing for Sirius—or for James, or best of all, for Lily. Now that he knew what was wrong, he was so eager to correct himself that he couldn’t be still. He bounced off the walls for an hour or two, until a desperate thought occurred to him just before nine, and he cast a few protective spells and monitoring spells around Harry’s room, then slipped down the hall to knock on the door at the end—where he’d seen the dark-haired woman disappear hours before.

She opened it up, looking rather harried, herself, and took in Remus with surprise.

“Well, hello, then,” she said.

Remus nodded. He waited a beat, then—breathlessly, let it all out at once, wired and antsy and completely unable to hide it. “Hi. Yes, listen, I—sorry to bother you. Just—well, we see each other often at the park, and I noticed. Your kids aren’t so much older than Harry, but they’re—god, they listen so well, and I just. When we spoke, you mentioned something, and then a friend of mine said—though, I don’t know—”

She folded her arms, looking more cross by the second. “Out with it, please.”

“Do you think I spoil Harry? Based on what you’ve—”

“Oh, god, yes,” she said, a little smile turning up her lips. “You had to come all the way down here to ask me that? I’m sure everyone who’s ever met you could have told you.” Then, seeing the way Remus’s face fell, she said, “Oh, hey, now—I’m only joking. It’s just—I mean, he is spoilt, but. I’m sure it’s not so bad.”

“It is,” he said, “I’m ruining him, I’m bollocks for a father, just complete—”

“Okay,” she said, uncrossing her arms and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Come on in, then, no sense in… Here, would you like some tea?”

He nodded, miserable. Was it okay to leave Harry alone to go have tea with this woman? Well, he was just a hallway away. And there were the wards. Remus trailed in after her and took a seat at the table. He looked down at his hands.

“My name’s Jane,” she said, smiling at him from across the little kitchen island. Her flat was just like his, except there was an extra door—two bedrooms, it seemed—and everything seemed to be on the opposite side. He glanced around. There weren’t toys all over the floor here; the sofa was neat, with throw pillows and a blanket. There was a television set, and a bookshelf with even rows of books, nothing stacked double or triple, nothing spilling onto the floor. And the floor—it seemed clean. Recently swept, or else her kids didn’t spill how Harry did.

He was slow to look back at her, slow to close his jaw, which had fallen open in wonder. “I’m Remus,” he said, rather dumbly. “Remus Lupin.”

“Very nice to meet you, Remus Lupin,” Jane said. She leaned on the island while the kettle heated up. “Is it just you and Harry, then?”

It took him a moment to realize what she was asking. “Yeah,” he said, “he’s my—well. I adopted him last year. His parents—they were my best mates from school. And after…there was nobody else.”

It shouldn’t have made any sense, the half-omitted way he’d said it, but Jane put a hand to her mouth and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. That poor little thing.”

Remus nodded. “That’s why it’s so hard, you know? I don’t want to tell him no, I don’t want to see him sad, ever, because—”

“No, no, of course not. Of course not. Oh, you poor darlings,” Jane said, a hand over her chest. Remus blushed at how pitying she was. Neither Hagrid nor Dumbledore were ever pitying. “And here you are, doing your very best, and I just come over and start blathering on about safety and—”

“No, you were right, though,” he said, suddenly eager, remembering why he’d come. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and he’s—spoilt, apparently, and I don’t know how to say no to him, and I’m ruining him forever, probably, and your kids were so much better behaved, and so I thought you might be able to tell me the trick, or whatever.”

She laughed aloud at that, and Remus frowned when her back was turned to tend to the whistling kettle, the teapot, the cups and saucers. When she joined him at the table, she said more soberly, “Yes, the trick. Men do always want the easiest option, don’t they?”

Remus noticed suddenly that Jane didn’t seem to have a man living with her. It was just her and the kids, and she had twice as many as Remus had. Totally unoffended and ready to sit under her tutelage like an attentive pupil, he said, “I’ll do whatever you say.”

This made her laugh again, uproariously. Wiping at her cheeks, she said, “Oh, heavens. Well. Where do I start?”

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Did yours ever go through a phase where all they wanted was sweets?”

This time she laughed until tea came out of her nose.

Remus went home at midnight. The wards had held up fine, and he peeked in at Harry and saw him curled up angelically around his toy dragon. Remus felt an odd tightening in his heart as he looked at him sleeping there. Of course, having Harry was work; they’d lived together for nine months now, and Remus had never experienced a more trying period.

But now, looking at his sleeping form, Remus realised he would be completely alone if not for Harry. The war had been his sole focus for three years; his world had revolved around his friends, before that. And then it had all ended, in the most abrupt and traumatic way possible. Remus’s thoughts would have tortured him if he’d been left alone to wallow in them.

But instead, Sirius had asked after Harry. Sirius had insisted Remus check on him, and Remus’s life had never been the same from that moment forward. It was better. Richer. Fuller.

He hadn’t done more for Harry than Harry had done for him.

And now, it was time to change that. Now, it was time to step up and be a real father. Not hunkering down in their flat in a state of constant panic, not considering every temper tantrum as the end of the world. He had to get his shit together. And he was going to.

When he walked back to the main room, he saw a package outside his window. He opened the screen carefully and pulled inside a rather large parcel, inside which was a slick new copy of The Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care. Written by a muggle, evidently. An American.

Remus smiled and closed the window. There was no note, but Remus didn’t need one to know who it was from. Was it possible that Hagrid was his closest friend now? That was a surprise he’d never expected. The volume was heavy, and Remus brought it to the sofa, swiped a row of toys to the floor, and curled up to read. Just a chapter or two. Just an hour or two.

He fell asleep like that, cheek against the crisp pages, hunched over so badly that he would ache when he awoke.

Dreams sailed through his mind, one after another. The first was of Harry, laughing as he pumped his legs on the swings, a giggle tearing from his throat and carrying on the wind. Remus was conscious of the fact that he loved Harry, couldn’t have loved him more if he was his very own. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, only that it had, and that he was better for it. That he would die before he let anything hurt Harry.

And then, he dreamed of James and Lily on Harry’s first birthday, the little cake they’d baked him that he’d smashed in his face, and their friends piling him with gifts that Harry couldn’t have cared less about—except the toy broom from Sirius, which he’d fallen off of at least three times. Each time he tumbled to the floor, Remus’s heart leapt into his throat, though he couldn’t remember ever being so concerned at Harry’s actual party, a year ago today. Then, his only care had been acting normal around Sirius; they’d broken up only three months before, and Remus was still in love with him, and desperate to act as if he wasn’t.

That dream quickly morphed to his second birthday, and Lily and James were still there, in the room with Harry and Remus. They were standing in the little kitchen, James’ arm around Lily’s shoulders, laughing adoringly when Harry roared like a dragon, holding his plush toy up above his head and running circles through the living room.

And then it was Sirius, in his flat with him, saying, “You’re spoiling him, you know. Lily and James would be furious if they knew.”

And Remus, bitter with anger, said, “At least I’m here. At least I didn’t chase down a mass murderer and get myself landed in Azkaban. At least he has somebody who’s there.”

Dream-Sirius shouted a furious, “Fuck you!” at Remus, and Remus shoved him, and Sirius shoved back. Pushed Remus against the wall. It had gotten playful, after that. Heated. Sirius held his gaze for a long moment, then kissed him, kissed him hard. Engulfed him. And Remus tried to make it tender, to make it soft, but Sirius was sharp, biting him, grunting, “You left me here. You left me, you haven’t even tried.”

“I don’t—I can’t,” Remus begged against his lips, frantic. “I don’t know what to do, I’ve tried, but—”

“Do more,” Sirius hissed. He kissed him again—still hard, still biting. “Try harder.”

Remus woke up abruptly. He was hard, and his neck ached, and he blinked at the wall across the flat, where in his dream he’d just been pressed. Where Sirius had—

He gulped, stood up. Went to the sink. Had water. Everything was dizzy, everything was mad.

Remus glanced at the clock—half past one. He cast a Patronus to Dumbledore, too agitated to wait until morning. “Have you learned anything about Pettigrew?”

The reply came: “Not yet.”

Remus fell back onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling again. He could do more. He knew he could. He sent one more Patronus. “I want to see Sirius.”

Dumbledore’s response was an owl holding a parchment that glowed gold.

Chapter Text

1 August 1982

Remus’s leg bounced incessantly as he waited for Sirius to be let into the visitation room. He’d almost cried with relief when he’d realised Dumbledore had granted them thirty minutes this time. Remus didn’t know the reason for this unasked for increase, but he suspected it had more to do with placating him than any actual relenting on Dumbledore’s part. He still viewed Sirius as a criminal, still thought he belonged in Azkaban.

And, as the door opened and let in the prisoner, with black hair scraggly and unkempt, posture hunched, and body painfully thin in a black-and-white uniform that hung from his limbs, Remus was shocked at how much this place had made Sirius look like he did belong there. How much less the aristocratic teenager he’d been when they had fallen in love, and how much more a mere mortal: weak, sickly, frightened. How much Azkaban had taken from him already, in the span of less than a year.

“You’re back,” Sirius croaked, the words raked over a dry throat. He coughed after he said it, and that, too, sounded like it hurt.

Remus met him at the partition, aching, and thoughtlessly pulled him into his arms. Sirius went, though Remus couldn’t tell whether he would have resisted if he’d been stronger. Sirius sighed, arms wrapping loosely around Remus’s waist. He didn’t cry this time, and after a moment, he dug his chin sharply into Remus’s shoulder.

“I take it you haven’t found Wormtail, then.”

Remus sighed. If he thought his guilt would do any good, he would have let it show in his face, but as it was, he could only release Sirius and admit the truth. “I haven’t had the time to look for him, actually.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped, and he actually looked like his old self, then—arrogant and indignant. It was a familiar look, but Remus wasn’t used to being the object of Sirius’s disdain. Usually, it had been Slytherins like Severus, or his family, or Death Eaters in general. Not Remus, never Remus.

He deserved it, though. “I’m sorry. I never expected Harry to take up this much of my life, and I thought Dumbledore would do more, but—well. I know that’s no excuse.”

Sirius waved him off. “Dumbledore is dead to me,” he said coldly, and Remus shivered involuntarily. Sirius had always been loyal to Dumbledore, had admired him and been devoted to his leadership. He couldn’t help wondering what it would take for Sirius to say Remus was dead to him, too. “What do you mean, Harry’s taking up your life?”

“Oh,” Remus realized Sirius didn’t know. He wouldn’t have had any way of finding out. “He lives with me. I’m—raising him.” He hesitated, then added, “You were right about Lily’s sister.”

“You’re the one—? But how does that work on the full moon?” Sirius demanded.

It was a fair question to ask, but it still pricked Remus in a sensitive place. “Better than I thought it would,” Remus replied honestly, bristling a bit. “Hagrid comes over to watch him, and I tie myself up at the Shrieking Shack. Then I sleep it off and come home.”

Sirius took that in quietly for a moment. Then he said, “How long has he lived with you?”

“Since the last time I saw you. November. I went to check on him that night, and things were—well. It wasn’t a safe place for him.”

Sirius was quiet—waiting to hear more. But Remus couldn’t get into the details; they still enraged him. His own culpability in it, too, waiting a whole week before he even bothered to check on Harry, was a sore spot. He couldn’t quite look Sirius in the eye.

At last, Sirius said, “Good. I’d rather you look after him than worry about me, if you can only do one.”

“I can do more than one,” Remus said, nodding as he lifted his eyes to meet Sirius’s again. “I was overwhelmed for a bit, but. Well. I have a few ideas, actually. One that you can help with, even.”

That made Sirius brighten. He said, “A mission for the mass-murderer? You always did like to walk on the wild side, didn’t you, Moony?”

Remus rolled his eyes and shrugged, pleased. “You won’t like it,” he admitted.

“What?”

“Well. I have a few ideas I’d like to try. I want to track Pettigrew, but that could take some time. I want to convince Dumbledore to get on our side. And I want to find more evidence to prove Peter’s true loyalties. That last one is where you come in.”

Sirius nodded, glancing across the room out of the corner of his eye. “Not much I can do in here.” Then, realization dawning in his eyes, he looked back at Remus and said, “You want me to talk to the Death Eaters.”

“Can you?” Remus said. “I mean, I don’t know how things really work here, but—”

“I’m in maximum security,” Sirius said bitingly. “You are the first person I’ve spoken to in—how long has it been?”

Remus didn’t realize that Sirius was being isolated like that. Although, he supposed, there weren’t many people he’d want to talk to in here. Still, guilt tore through him again as he answered, “Nine months.”

“Merlin. Feels longer.”

Remus said, “I’m sorry.”

Sirius waved him off again. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t talk to the other prisoners—I don’t want to—but I see the Death Eaters in passing often enough. I’ve seen my cousin Bellatrix. They talk to each other through the walls. Discuss the war, the cause. Their diabolical hopes and dreams, et cetera.”

“Ugh,” Remus made a face. It felt like a good sign that Sirius was joking with him, dark though it was. “Well, that’s perfect, actually. We just need to know if anyone could testify that Peter was one of them.”

“I’m sure plenty of people would be willing to,” Sirius replied, “for the sake of condemning him. But not to help me. I’m the disgraced Black heir, remember? And anyway, anything I overhear wouldn’t be admissible before the Wizengamot, so—”

“It’s just for informational purposes,” Remus interrupted, “to get us a lead. Something I could investigate.”

Sirius looked unimpressed, but he said, “Fine.”

“That’s not my only idea. I do think it might be possible to find Wormtail—”

“To find one solitary garden rat in the entirety of England?”

“To find a specific rat whose scent I would know anywhere,” Remus said eagerly, “when I’m a wolf.”

Sirius paused, and a look of sincere worry crossed his face. “You want to hunt him down on a full moon? Fuck, Remus—no. That’s way too dangerous. What if something happened to you, what if you did something?”

“That’s just it,” Remus said, unable to hide his excitement. “There’s actually a way to do it safely. Or, soon there will be. Hagrid told me a few months back about a new treatment that’s in trials right now. Werewolves can take a potion for the whole week of the full moon, and then when they shift, their bodies still change, but their minds remain their own. No danger to anybody.”

“That…that’s amazing,” Sirius said, eyes wide and ghostly in his gaunt face. He wasn’t smiling. “Life-changing, for you.”

“I know,” Remus said. “The trials are a bit controversial, of course, because there have been some deaths—”

“Wait, what?”

Remus instantly realized he shouldn’t have said that. “No, no, just—early on, before it was quite—well. Before the ratios were perfected. It’s a new potion, you see, and the ministry used the registry to find volunteers to join the trials.”

“But you aren’t registered,” Sirius filled in.

“No,” Remus said, “but eventually, the trials split off from the ministry because of the controversy with the deaths and everything.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but Remus barreled on.

“That means I could sign up for them now, independently. And if I do that, I’ll be able to keep my own mind while I shift, and then, I can track down Peter’s scent. And my senses are so strong as a wolf, Sirius, it’s bound to work. I’ll figure out where he is, and in the morning when I’m myself again, I can find him and—”

“No, Remus. Absolutely not, you’re not joining some trial and risking your life and—”

“I’ll never find him if I don’t,” Remus said. “It could be years before the trials are over, too, so the only way to get the potion early is to join. And anyway, I’ll be doing my part, won’t I? Not just for you, but for all of us.”

“Werewolves, you mean.”

“Yes,” Remus said, a little timidly, because Sirius had never really understood how Remus felt about other wolves. “People like me.”

Sirius still frowned at him. “What about Harry? Where’ll he go if something happens to you?”

Remus had thought of that, too. He said, “It’s the final phase of trials. This is very low risk, compared to the earlier phases. I don’t anticipate dying.”

Sirius rolled his eyes again and said, “That doesn’t mean anything! I didn’t anticipate being sent to prison for a crime I didn’t commit, and losing my best friends, and turning into such a decrepit old ghoul that the only friend I have left looked horrified the moment he laid eyes on me, but look where I am today!”

Remus cringed. “I’m sorry,” he said again, quietly. He didn’t bother to defend himself, or to pretend he hadn’t been horrified by how much Sirius had changed. How much he’d suffered. Best to just do better next time. “Look, if something happened, Hagrid’s there, and Dumbledore’s there. Petunia’s there, worst-case. So he’ll be fine. I won’t rest until I get you out of here, Sirius. And anyway, you’ve sacrificed so much. I can do this little bit, don’t you think?”

“You’ve done a lot already,” Sirius said quietly, seeming to sense that he wouldn’t change Remus’s mind. “I can’t believe you’re raising Harry.”

Some of the fight had drained from Sirius’s voice. Remus studied him for a long moment. “I’m sure I’d have been Lily’s last choice for the job,” he said. “And rightfully so.”

Sirius almost smiled. “You do hate kids.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But it’s not like that with Harry. He’s—well, you’ve met him. He’s James in miniature.” He shook his head and smiled, despite himself. “I think I might like having him around. I don’t know when it happened, but it’s the truth.”

Sirius held his gaze with a softness Remus hadn’t realized he’d missed. It had been a very, very long time since Sirius had looked at him that way. It made Remus feel seen, almost too seen, and he fidgeted under the warmth of it.

To break the spell, he said, “It was Harry’s birthday yesterday, you know.”

“Was it really? That was the 31st?”

Remus nodded.

Sirius glanced away, and Remus knew he was thinking of James and Lily, just like Remus had done all day yesterday. He cleared his throat but still sounded shaky when he said, “I suppose you did something to celebrate, then?”

Remus told him all about it—the park, the cake, the dragon toy. He left out a few details for the sake of his own ego, like the fact he’d forgotten it at first. He left out the tantrums and the lack of any real, substantive food. He definitely left out selling the gold chain, and learning he’d been ruining Harry by spoiling him rotten, and drowning his sorrows in four cups of tea with a neighbour whom he’d adopted as his unofficial parenting guru based solely on the credential that her kids seemed nice.

Sirius didn’t really need those details, anyway; he just needed to feel like he was a part of it. When Remus’s story was done, Sirius said bitterly, “I wish I’d been there.”

Before he could think better of it, Remus answered honestly, “I wanted that all day.”

Sirius’s face grew solemn again, and Remus said, “Speaking of which. My third idea.”

“Ah,” Sirius cleared his throat again. “Yes, what is it?”

“I hoped you could help with something else, but it may take us a bit longer. We’ll have to do some detailed planning.”

“Meaning you’ll visit again?” Sirius said, and he didn’t even attempt to hide the hopeful light in his eyes.

Remus tried not to read into it; Sirius was all alone, so of course he wanted company. It didn’t mean anything had changed between the two of them, in terms of their relationship. They were still friends, of course. Best friends. Remus would visit Sirius every single day if he could. He said, “Of course I will. It’s hard because I have to get a note, but I’ll visit as often as I can.”

Sirius seemed to think better of this almost immediately, which was annoying. He said, “Well, obviously you can’t come that much. You still have Harry to think of.”

“If you can do some thinking in the meantime, we can compare notes,” Remus said, ignoring what Sirius had said, because he didn’t want to have to agree to seeing him less or some rubbish, just because of Sirius’s misplaced guilty conscience.

“Compare notes about what?”

“About Pettigrew,” he said. “Or, not specifically him, but. Okay, so we knew there was a spy, right? Or we thought there was. Dumbledore believed there was.”

“Yes,” Sirius said, looking guarded.

“So, what if we made a record of sorts? If we can write down all the things that were happening, the specific bits of information that were leaked, and the context in which we learned them, and who knew them,” As he spoke, Remus pulled a notebook from his shoulder bag, which was leaning against the chair. He loved this sort of thing. Analytical things. “I figure, if we can note all the incidents that were suspicious, I can investigate it all now—who was present, who was absent. I can configure a map, of sorts, to show that Pettigrew is the common factor.”

“What James and I should have done in the first place instead of blaming you, you mean,” Sirius said.

Remus looked up from his notebook, surprised. “I—didn’t mean anything like that, just—”

“No, you did,” Sirius said, folding his arms. “You think we should have been able to deduce that it was Peter. That it wasn’t you,” he added pointedly. “You think we can just retrace our steps and, boom, there it’ll be, right in front of our faces the whole time! Easy!”

“I don’t think it’ll be easy,” Remus said, “and anyway, it’s just to convince Dumbledore, not to constitute concrete evidence. Just enough circumstantial proof to get him on our side—”

“No,” Sirius said. “I’m not helping with that.”

“For fuck’s sake—Sirius, this is for you, to get you out of here!” Remus said, feeling his hackles rising because Sirius’s were rising, too, and Remus had been caught off-guard by it.

“Oh, you don’t say. Is that what you’re doing here? Suddenly you give a shit, after nine months?”

“What happened to being happy I was looking after Harry?” Remus said, hurt.

“What happened to forgiving me for thinking you were the spy?” Sirius shot back. “What happened to it not being all my fault?”

“I—never said I forgave you for that,” Remus said dumbly, then wished he could take it back, because Sirius looked like Remus had slapped him.

“I see,” he said, with angry eyes cast away from Remus to the far wall.

“Just—I mean. Look, it doesn’t feel good that my closest friends thought I would do something like that, but that obviously doesn’t make the rest of it your fault, so—”

Sirius snapped, “I didn’t think it was on purpose, Moony! We all thought, with the werewolf pack and all—you just didn’t know what you were giving away! You had all this information, and you were trying to get them on our side, and you kept saying they were a family and you trusted them, and—”

“I wasn’t feeding them information about the Order!” Remus cried, horrified.

“I know that now,” Sirius said, “just, at the time—”

“At the time, you assumed I was a complete idiot who didn’t know how to keep confidential information to myself? That I would put the pack above you? That they were my family, and not—” He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples, letting the word ‘you’ drift to nothing on his lips. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

“We all thought,” Sirius corrected, eyes flashing, “that you had an agenda. All you cared about was werewolf equality or some bullshit—”

“Some bullshit? Are you kidding me?” Remus pushed to his feet, notebook clattering to the floor.

Sirius finally seemed to register that he’d said too much. He backtracked, “I mean—look, I don’t mean that you shouldn’t have had…fair treatment, or whatever.”

“No, you just think I’m the only werewolf who should have it, and all the others are dark creatures, and enemies, and threats. Right?”

“There, you see?” Sirius said, as if Remus had just proved his point. “All you cared about was them. You were supposed to be on our side, but you cared more about—”

“I was only talking to them for our side! Because Dumbledore told me to! An assignment. They gave me their terms,” Remus said pointedly, “and I brought them back to the Order. It’s called a fucking negotiation, Sirius!”

“A negotiation, really, that’s all it was?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—were you jealous?” Remus threw out his arms, incredulous. “Did you think—what, that I was paying more attention to the pack, which was my fucking job, than you?”

“We all thought that!” Sirius said. “We all thought you were drifting, even Dumbledore thought so!”

Now, Remus’s head was spinning. He leaned back, reaching for the chair to steady himself. “What—what drifting? In what way was I drifting?”

“We would be talking about the war, and the safety of Muggleborns, and you just! You kept after him for werewolf rights all the time! ‘I’ll do this, if you do that. I’ll talk to them about this, but here are their demands.’ And on and on!”

Remus shook his head, eyes wide. “So I’m evil because the werewolves matter to me, and I don’t want them to be homeless and have no jobs and get chased out of society by a band of angry wizards and witches and what have you, when all they did was get bitten as a kid, like me!”

“I never said you were evil,” Sirius said, “I said you made a choice about what mattered most to you. Fuck’s sake, you didn’t even care when I ended things between us, you didn’t even bother to fight me on it—”

“What?!” Remus actually collapsed into the chair then, too enraged to hold up his own head. He hunched over, elbows pressed hard into his knees, eyes smashed into the heels of his hands, and said, “Oh, my god—Sirius, what the fuck?”

Sirius said nothing, and Remus looked up to see him looking tense, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly. It was clear he hadn’t meant to say that, and just as clear that it was too late to take it back.

“You bastard,” Remus said. His voice was dangerous, a quiet growl. “You ended things…as a test? To test me, to test my…my bloody loyalty?”

Sirius’s chest heaved when he breathed, but he made no move to reply. Remus stared at him, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t fight? I didn’t fight, that’s your proof? You crushed me! You had to have known, I—fuck, when I got home, I could hardly breathe, and you’d already taken all your things, and—”

He stopped, because his voice was breaking and his throat was starting to close up. He swallowed, two times, three times, and when the tightness didn’t go away, when it was joined by a deep ache in his heart, a sharp stinging in his eyes, he dropped his face into his hands again and squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. He didn’t want Sirius to see him like this.

“You knew how much I loved you,” Remus said, voice trembling with anger, quiet and muffled in his hands. “How could you—”

“Remus…”

He raised a hand, silencing Sirius. He felt like Sirius had broken his heart all over again, only now it was worse, because he understood why. It wasn’t just that Sirius needed space, or was stressed over the war, but still loved him, still cared deep down. No, Sirius had just thrown Remus over, stomped all over his foolishly devoted heart, and for what? To prove Remus’s sympathy for the pack was a bad thing? God, had he ever even loved Remus? When he could throw him away that easily?

“Was it worth it?” Remus said, anger spiking as he looked up. Sirius’s eyes were red, too. He had moved since Remus had sat down and was pressed up against the magical partition, hands flat against it, looking like he’d give anything to cross the divide. “Did you even miss me? Or were you too busy trying to prove I was your enemy?”

Sirius again looked like he’d been struck. He shook his head violently, then opened his mouth to reply—but all at once, the guard came.

Neither of them were prepared for it; neither of them seemed to remember there would be an end to their meeting, and they were just working their way up to a good fight—a very long overdue one, too—when the door opened, and now the mess they’d ripped open had to be left like that, clumsy and sharp and painful between them.

But maybe it was best it ended before anything more was said that they’d regret. Remus dried his face on his sleeve, pocketing his grief like he always did, folding it away like it wasn’t there at all. As he gathered his bag from the floor, he heard Sirius let out what might have been a soft little sob. Remus couldn’t look at him; his heart was hammering in his chest, and he still felt raw, open and bleeding everywhere.

Standing, eyes downcast, Remus composed himself enough to say, “I’ll still search for him. Okay?”

Sirius didn’t answer, and a foreboding coolness came over the room as Remus made to leave it. He realized the dementors were coming for Sirius on the other side; Remus had to get out before they came. He remembered, then, what Sirius had to endure, day in and day out. There was no point in punishing Sirius for hurting Remus over a year ago; he was being punished right now, continually and unfairly, and it was far worse than anything he deserved.

And, at the end of the day, Sirius was still his friend, wasn’t he? No matter what else had happened between them.

Remus turned quickly and jogged back to the partition. He put his hands over Sirius’s and squeezed tightly, then leaned in and pressed their foreheads together, felt the magic rippling between them, and softness of Sirius’s skin beneath it. Sirius gasped; he was shaking; his hands were freezing cold. Remus still loved him, somehow, angry as he was. And wasn’t that a punch to the gut?

“It’s okay,” he whispered, even though it wasn’t. “We’ll talk about it next time.” He nudged his nose against Sirius’s, then pulled back to see eyes as intense as ever, still piercingly blue. Sirius nodded once, chin trembling.

“I’ll see you soon,” Remus said. He squeezed Sirius’s hands once more before he let them go.

The walk back was a blur. For so long, losing Sirius had felt like this mysterious and chaotic misfortune in Remus’s life: one of those things that just happen. They’d grown apart, somehow, without Remus realizing it. Or Sirius had been preoccupied with the war. Or he’d just needed space. Or Remus had made some mistake at some point and once he figured out what it was, he could make amends, and maybe then things would be okay.

It was different, knowing the real reason. And not different in a good way. Remus would never stop caring about the werewolves, would never stop being one of them, and the fact that this essential component of Remus’s identity was what had caused Sirius to end things—it hurt. It really bloody hurt, and the fact that they couldn’t really have a fight about it—a good, long screaming match—that hurt, too. Remus had to be gentle, because Sirius was already in pain. But he didn’t want to be gentle. He wanted to scream.

Back at the ministry, Remus paced for a minute or two, unsure where to go next. Hagrid was with Harry again, and Remus didn’t want to take advantage of his friend by staying out longer than was necessary. But, he reminded himself, what he was doing for Sirius was absolutely necessary, and so far, he had been completely remiss. He would have the help he needed with Harry, if he could get Sirius out of Azkaban.

So Remus stepped into the lift and went to the seventh floor—Magical Law Enforcement.

Mad-Eye Moody had been promoted to a supervisory role after his heroics in the war; Remus had read about it in the Daily Prophet. But he was also a member of the Order, and at one point, pre-Harry, Remus had thought of him as a friend. Or friendly, at least.

He stopped at the reception desk and was told he would have to wait, and that Moody was very busy, and so on, and so on—but after the little memo was sent fluttering down to Moody’s door, it banged open with a crash, and out walked the old Auror, half a smile on his face, with a gesture to Remus and the words, “There, you’ve come at last, have you? Come on, come in, then.”

Remus hurried towards him, confused but trying not to let it show. “You were expecting me?”

“I’ve heard from a lot of young people, after the war. Wanting to become Aurors. None half as qualified as you, though. I was sure you’d be just crazy enough to do it.”

They stepped into Moody’s office—filled with magical gadgets, spinning things and shadowy things, an aura of magic thicker than even what was found in the common halls of the Ministry. Mad-Eye was a wizard who harnessed his magic—who knew exactly what he wanted it to do, and then did it. All efficiency, a straight shooter.

Remus didn’t like to disappoint him, but it was best to rip off the bandage. He said, “I’m not crazy enough yet, sir. I’m actually here for something else.”

“Aw, hell. Well, Dumbledore was right, then.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. Dumbledore was dead to Sirius—and maybe he was getting to be dead to Remus, too. He said, “I’m surprised you’re discussing me with Dumbledore.”

Moody waved a hand at him. “We talk about all the young fighters, what they’re up to.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” Remus said.

“Oh?” He didn’t seem surprised, exactly. Just interested. And Remus realized that he wasn’t sure if Dumbledore had brought his accusations to Moody. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted him to have, either. Aurors were the reason Sirius was in Azkaban. Could Remus trust them?

Then again, could he afford not to trust them? Making assumptions about people, in a way, was the reason he’d found himself in this particular situation. Best to get the truth out, then, before anything else could be misunderstood.

“I have reason to believe the person feeding information to the Death Eaters during the war was Peter Pettigrew,” Remus said.

Now, he was sure Dumbledore had told; Moody didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.

“I also have reason to believe Pettigrew is responsible for the explosion in which he staged his own death.” He paused. “And that he’s alive.”

Moody sighed. “Yes, your reason being the testimony of the prisoner—”

“Sirius, yes,” Remus said, “but Peter’s wand was never found, and your investigation of Sirius’s wand revealed no spells were cast that could have caused it—”

“That can easily be explained,” Moody said.

“Sure,” Remus interrupted, before Moody could really get going, “but Pettigrew’s actions can’t. He was the Potters’ secret keeper.”

Moody sighed, frowning. “You can’t prove that, either, son.”

“I—okay, well, maybe! Maybe I can. You can tell what spells were performed on Sirius’s wand last.”

“His wand was destroyed,” Moody said, “but we found nothing out of the ordinary beforehand. He didn’t cast the Fidelius, which would make sense, if he was secret keeper.”

“But, if he wasn’t,” Remus said, a thought suddenly occurring to him, a stroke of brilliance. “What about James’s wand? You have that, don’t you?”

Moody frowned. “I do.”

“Well. He would have cast the Fidelius, wouldn’t he? Just a few days before—”

“Before?”

Remus frowned. Of course, Moody would be so insensitive as to make him say it. “A few days before he died. You cast a Priori Incantatum, and you’ll see who the secret keeper was.”

“Why would I do that? Even if Pettigrew was the secret keeper, if he’s dead—”

“If he’s dead, it doesn’t matter, but if he’s alive, if Sirius is telling the truth, then you’ve got a mass murderer on the loose, haven’t you? And a traitor, and a Death Eater. Come on, what harm can it do?”

Moody wasn’t looking Remus in the eye, but there was a little glint, a little excitement in his expression. He loved catching dark wizards, Remus knew. He loved a mystery, an investigation, a chase. He stood up and said, “It won’t do any harm.”

The evidence vault was sealed off; Remus waited in Moody’s office for him to return with the box from Godric’s Hollow. It had both Lily and James’s wands in it, and Remus’s eyes pricked when he saw them. He tried not to let it show, looking down at his hands instead.

“Here we are,” Moody said, either oblivious to Remus’s emotion or too respectful of him to let on that he’d noticed it. Probably the former, frankly.

He cast the spell, and beside them an enchanted paper and quill began to capture the details—a special little device in Moody’s office designed just for this. Spells spilled out, and Remus’s eyes filled with tears as he watched them come out—a Lumos, a few cleaning spells, some of the same smoke charms and tricks that Remus used to entertain Harry. It was like seeing the last week of James’s life over again, in reverse. It was like having one last glimpse of his friend.

Moody kept it up a long time, and it felt like forever before the Fidelius showed up—but it did, at last—and the wand that had been bound by it printed, just as the other spells were, in loopy, silver script. Hazel with a unicorn hair core, 9 inches long.

Moody let down his own wand, staring at the paper for a long moment before looking up and meeting Remus’s eye. Remus’s whole body was shaking. Of course, he’d already believed Sirius, would follow Sirius anywhere, but this—this felt enormous, made him quake all over. That was Peter Pettigrew’s wand, and none other.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Moody said.

Chapter Text

14 August 1982

“Why isn’t this enough evidence to reopen the case?”

Remus sat on the edge of his seat in Mad-Eye Moody’s office, trying to keep any hint of frustration out of his voice. He knew it seldom did any good to get angry. It had been two weeks since they’d uncovered the truth about Pettigrew being secret keeper, and Moody had asked Remus to keep it quiet, let him do some more digging. On the off-chance Pettigrew had better connections than they’d realized, anything they acknowledged publicly might get back to him, might ultimately make him harder to catch.

So Remus had waited, impatient and antsy and thinking of Sirius every free moment. That wasn’t all he’d done, of course. He’d signed up for the Wolfsbane trials. He’d read three parenting books cover to cover. He’d endured the continual tantrums that came after Harry heard the word ‘no’ in various situations he had never heard it before.

When Moody’s owl had come yesterday, Remus had foolishly let himself think everything would be okay now. Just like he’d done when Dumbledore wrote to him, he’d gotten ahead of himself, imagining Sirius home by the weekend, eating and resting and recovering in the safety of Remus’s flat. Letting Remus take care of him—which, if he’d been honest, had always been a silly idea, because Sirius would never have let him do that. It was just a harmless daydream, but it had made Remus’s day easier, and helped him sleep that night.

But now, it seemed even his most modest expectations were to be disappointed. Here he sat, with Harry playing quietly by his feet because both Dumbledore and Hagrid had been too busy with back-to-school preparations to watch him, and Remus was learning that he’d gotten ahead of himself once again, hope luring him and making him irrational and stupid.

“It has to do with the Muggles,” Moody said, with one eye on Harry. He’d given him a Rememberall to play with, and Harry was rolling it like a ball into the corner, then chasing it down, catching it, wherever it went. Remus felt an odd surge of pride whenever he saw somebody watching Harry like that. A little wellspring of love. He still wasn’t used to it.

“Right, the Muggles,” Remus said. “Scotland Yard is still involved, then?”

Moody shook his head. “We got the liaison to agree to let us handle it, and they’ve appeased the victims’ families by assuring them that the perpetrator will spend his life behind bars. The investigation is closed, and we’ve agreed to inform them the moment anything changes, in which case they’d want to join the investigation. Which, I don’t need to tell you, would ruin everything, because they don’t have the capacity to catch a dark wizard, never have, and their interference would only make things worse.”

“Then why’ve we agreed to let them join any future investigation?”

“We haven’t agreed,” Moody said, “but they have every right to, and our agreement that prevents their investigation is predicated on the fact that we’ve got the right man.”

“And that’s not a fact at all,” Remus said, eyes wide.

Moody had the decency to look ever so slightly chagrined, eyes darting back to Harry. “No, as it turns out.”

“Is that why you lot closed the case so quickly?” Remus demanded. “To keep the Muggles out of it? Because if so, it’s bullocks. They don’t want an innocent man in prison, surely.”

“Of course not,” Moody said gruffly, “but they don’t think he’s innocent. Nobody does, Lupin, except for you and me. And Albus, now, but he’s got to act like he doesn’t. The Ministry has to act like nothing’s changed.”

That was another bit of good news, Remus supposed. Dumbledore hadn’t reached out to Remus, but Moody had told him about the Fidelius, and it had gone well, evidently. Remus couldn’t help remembering what Sirius had told him about Dumbledore thinking Remus was drifting during the war. It occurred to him for the first time that perhaps Dumbledore’s recent avoidance of him had less to do with Sirius and more to do with his annoyance with Remus over his concern for the werewolves. Which wasn’t fair, of course, but it was certainly possible.

Shaking the idea from his mind, Remus said, “What’ll it take to get the Muggles off our back, then?”

Moody leaned back in his seat, tenting his fingers. “There were witnesses who saw Sirius at the scene, and nobody saw Peter again after it was over. Plenty of people probably saw a rat, sure, but you can’t explain to Muggles that the rat did it, can you? So, there we are.”

“Then how will we ever get him out?”

“Once we’ve caught Pettigrew—”

“But if the Muggles won’t believe it!” Remus interrupted.

“The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes is always there to work on a Muggle-Worthy Excuse, but I expect, with a matter this complex, for it to take some time,” Moody said.

“Everything is taking too long,” Remus grumbled.

“We’ll get there,” Moody said. “How is he doing, anyway?”

Remus shrugged. “I haven’t seen Sirius since last time I saw you. He’s in maximum security, I need a Wizengamot exception to go.”

“Oh, well—” Moody dug into his desk drawer. “I can get you one of those.”

“You aren’t on the Wizengamot,” Remus said, surprised and guarding against feeling too hopeful.

“I have friends who are,” Moody said dismissively. He sent off a memo, then smiled at Remus—which was alarming, frankly, as he didn’t do it very often, and he seemed almost boyish in the gesture. Proud of himself for helping Remus, even if it was a ghastly look on his scarred face.

Harry appeared at Remus’s knee then and demanded, “Biscuit!”

“How do you ask nicely for a biscuit?” Remus said, in that gentle voice he’d heard Jane use with her kids.

Harry said, “I want a biscuit!” a bit louder. Remus ignored him, smiling up at Moody.

“Have you given any thought to my other idea?” Remus asked. At his knee, Harry huffed angrily.

Moody said, “Yes. You’re right that it'll help our case to prove Pettigrew was spying on the Order for Voldemort, without alerting the Muggles.”

Remus sat up straighter, pleased with himself. Sirius’s dislike of the idea had made him worry that his investigation of the old Order records would be a dead end, but gathering as much evidence as possible was apparently the name of the game.

But Remus couldn’t be pleased with himself for long; Moody added, “The problem is you don’t work for the Ministry.”

Remus didn’t see what the Ministry had to do with it, but he replied, “Yes, well. I’m sure you recall the furry little problem that prevents my doing so.”

Moody didn’t smile. “Yes, and I still think you ought to trust people more than you do.”

Remus shook his head, wondering if Moody meant himself. As if he really wanted Remus as an Auror. Ridiculous idea, if it was true.

“Biscuit! Biscuit!” Harry cried, slapping Remus’s knees.

Remus spared him one glance. “I can see that you’re hungry, and I’d like to help. Ask nicely, and I’ll give you a biscuit. Keep yelling, and you won’t get one at all.”

Harry huffed again, louder, and plopped onto the floor, his back to Remus’s knees, little arms crossed the way he did when he didn’t get his way.

Remus tried not to smile. He was getting used to Harry’s tantrums; he was even beginning to find the quieter ones cute, if not equally obnoxious. Maybe Remus was a bit power mad, but it was fun trying to get Harry to act civilized. Amusing to see how much the necessity of using moderation infuriated the little tyke.

“Children are madder than anything, aren’t they?” Moody said in a perfectly serious voice, and Remus couldn’t stop his smile now.

“Yes, yes they are. So, you’re saying there aren’t any Order files I can see? They all belong to the Ministry now.”

“After the war, the Order’s records were archived,” Moody explained. “It had to do with the Wizengamot needing adequate proof to prosecute Death Eaters, and people claiming falsely that they'd been under Imperius, and so on, and so on.”

Remus supposed that made sense, but it was still bloody inconvenient. He said, “And there aren’t any copies anywhere? Nothing I can see?”

“Oh, you can see them,” he said, “but not here, at the Ministry.”

Remus blinked. “So—so you can get them for me?”

“No,” Moody said. Remus sighed, slouching back in his seat. “It won’t work for an Auror to investigate with you, it might tip off the Muggles. We have to do everything by the book, you see, or it’s all for nothing. I’m playing with the long game in mind,” he said.

Remus nodded and said, “Yes, of course,” though he really wasn’t sure what Moody meant.

“So it won’t be me,” Moody repeated, “but maybe someone else can help. Maybe another Order member, someone who might need the records for non-investigatory purposes. Archival records, to be adjusted and shared with Muggle historians, to keep them off the scent of the war, protect their own artefacts, that sort of thing.”

Remus tilted his head to the side, wondering if Moody really needed him to guess the rest, or if he’d just come out and say it. If it was guessing, Remus was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get there; he felt completely lost.

While it was quiet, Harry climbed to his feet again, hands on Remus’s knees, and said in his well-practiced way, “Daddy, can I have a biscuit, please?”

Remus smiled as though Harry’s earlier pout hadn’t happened at all, then pulled the packet from his bag, saying, “Oh, why not.” He tipped the bag so Harry wouldn’t see the rest of the sweets inside; he’d taken to carrying an array of goodies, both healthy and unhealthy, and Harry had grown very curious about Remus’s bag as a result.

When Harry was happily settled on the floor again, making crumbs all over the carpet, Moody said, “Do you remember Arthur Weasley?”

“Molly’s husband?” Remus said. Arthur and Molly were a few years older, and Molly was the elder sister of two of Remus’s good friends—Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Before they’d been killed in the war, they’d always talked about her, and all their nephews. Molly’s husband had used to help with Order things, too, but he seldom came to the meetings—at least not the ones Remus had been able to attend. Too busy with the boys—all five of them. Or was it six? Whatever, too many.

Moody nodded and fixed a level gaze at Remus. “You should visit him, see what he thinks about all this. And bring Harry along. Lots of kids to play with there.”

Remus nodded to show he understood. He didn’t know Arthur well, but if Moody trusted him to help out with this investigation, that had to be good enough for Remus. He said, “Brilliant. I’ll owl him.”

A short while later, a memo fluttered in, and by then Remus had already forgotten all about Moody’s request. His heart jumped in his throat at the sight of the shimmering golden ink, and he suddenly felt so eager to see Sirius that he could hardly be still. Harry, by his feet and finished with his biscuit, was munching orange slices happily, watching the flying memo with a glint in his eye. Remus stood up and snatched it so Harry wouldn’t get it first, agile little thing. He smiled when he saw the visit would be half an hour again.

Remus turned to Moody and said, “I don’t suppose you could watch Harry while I—?”

And Moody made a face that was impossible to misinterpret, then said, “What, you aren’t joking? Merlin, no. Just bring the boy, there aren’t any rules against it.”

Remus looked down at Harry, who was in as good a mood as he ever got into, these days. Still spoiled rotten, but Sirius wouldn’t know the difference, would he? And who knew the next time Hagrid or Dumbledore would be available to watch him.

Remus sat back down, pocketing the note, and said, “Fancy a little walk, Harry?”

It seemed the visitation room Remus had been given at first wasn’t the only one available. Perhaps it was because there was a child with him, but this time, Remus and Harry were led down a brighter hallway and shown to a carpeted cell with a table dividing the magical partition, and a chair on either side. It had better lighting than the other room, and it seemed much homier. Remus was almost comfortable in it, and very relieved not to have to bring Harry somewhere scary—though, Harry wasn’t a child who scared easily, if his playground behaviour was any indication. Remus put his bag on the table, then opened it and handed Harry a packet of crisps.

As Harry ripped into it, Remus prompted, “What do we say when someone gives us something to eat?”

Crunching loudly, Harry muttered, “Cheers.”

Remus smiled and scooped Harry up beneath his arms, seating him in the chair at the table and plopping his crisps in front of him. Harry, tiny and proud of himself for having a grown-up’s seat, sat up very straight and beamed at Remus more than once through mouthfuls of crisps. Remus laughed at him and silently conjured some water for Harry’s little cup, and he had just helped him take a long, dribbling sip from it when the door opposite them opened, and Sirius walked inside, eyes falling first on Harry. His mouth fell open, and he looked up at Remus in astonishment.

“I hope this is okay,” Remus said, smiling apologetically as he set Harry’s cup aside. “We were in the area, and Moody got us the exception to see you this time—I didn’t know he could do that, before, so I had Harry with me, we were having a meeting with Moody, and then. Well. There wasn’t anybody to watch him, but he’s so small, and Moody said kids are allowed, and I didn’t want to miss seeing you, so we just…came.”

He stopped his nervous babbling, hoping Sirius was okay with this. Knowing he could do nothing about it if he wasn’t. It occurred to him belatedly that Sirius might not want his godson to see him like this, imprisoned and ragged, with a pained grimace permanently etched on his face.

But after a moment, Sirius smiled. It was gradual, and wide, and then, delighted. “It’s—fine, better than fine. Harry, do you remember me?” Sirius walked up to his side of the table, posture suddenly better than Remus had seen it in either of his prior visits.

Harry crunched loudly and stared. After a moment, swallowing his crisps, he said cheerily, as if expecting a joke, “No.”

Sirius laughed and looked up at Remus, clearly charmed by the mini-James before him. “Of course, you wouldn’t, it’s been nearly a year. I’m your godfather, Harry. My name is Sirius.”

Harry glanced up at Remus, and Remus squeezed his shoulder, then crouched beside Harry and said in a low voice, “Sirius is one of our very best friends. He was your first dad’s best friend, too. That’s why he was named your godfather.”

Remus didn’t look at Sirius to see how he’d responded to James being called Harry’s first dad; he focused all his attention on Harry, smiling encouragingly when he repeated, “Godfather,” in his mispronounced little way, confident and curious.

Remus grinned and reached across the table, pulled Sirius to its edge, and leaned in. “Come here.”

Sirius let himself be hugged, though the magical partition made it hard for him to return the gesture. This was odd magic; Remus still wasn’t quite sure how it worked, but they could touch, and Sirius leaned into it like a man starved; he rubbed his face into Remus’s neck before he drew away.

Sirius sat down after and pointed to Harry’s crisps. “Those look great. Your dad’s favourite kind.”

Harry glanced at Remus crossly as if he was afraid Remus would take the crisps for himself, and Remus laughed and said, “He means your first dad. Don’t worry, I won’t make you share.”

Remus tickled Harry’s cheek when he said it, and Harry laughed in that magical way he did and turned back to his crisps.

“First dad,” Sirius commented softly.

Remus absolutely did not want to discuss this or argue about it in Harry’s hearing, even if Sirius did feel he deserved a say. He said, “Yes. Harry, would you like to show Sirius your Quidditch book?”

“Ball book, ball book!” Harry cried, bouncing and excitedly reaching for Remus’s bag. Remus lifted it up in time to keep Harry from spilling all its contents, but not in time to save the water cup, which was knocked over by Harry’s flailing. A quick flick of the wand, and Remus had the water banished. Harry, having seen plenty of magic, was no longer awed by this; he merely reached for the book, then smiled rather proudly at Sirius, who leaned forward to ooh and aah at everything Harry showed him.

When the crisps were all eaten up, Remus spelled Harry’s hands clean, and Harry took the opportunity of Remus’s interruption to say, “I want a treat!”

The battle between not spoiling him and keeping him in a good mood for Sirius was won rather too easily by the side of old habits. “Tell you what,” Remus said. “You already ate a biscuit, but you’ve done so well on your crisps and orange slices—why don’t we share a chocolate frog with Sirius? You can give it to him to open, and then he’ll share some with you.”

Harry accepted the frog from Remus with all the happy entitlement James had always exuded, much to Remus’s chagrin. Luckily, Sirius—having grown up just as spoiled—didn’t seem to notice. Harry handed the little package to Sirius to open with a look of expectation on his face, biting his bottom lip and rocking a bit in his seat.

“Oh, thank you,” Sirius said, with eagerness that might not have been exaggerated, considering how long it must have been since he’d had any sweets. He opened the box on his side of the magical partition, and both he and Harry laughed when the enchanted frog leapt out and hit the barrier, then tipped onto its side, all out of magic, just chocolate again. “There,” Sirius said, hands shaking slightly as he cracked it in two lopsided pieces, “half for me, half for you.”

Harry was able to reach across the barrier to claim the larger portion, and after he took it, he scooted off his chair, evidently having had enough of Sirius for now. Remus stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. “What do we say?”

“Cheers,” Harry muttered, mouth full and dribbling with chocolate.

Sirius laughed out loud as Harry toddled away with his book under his arm. “Oh, Merlin. Look at him, Remus! He’s gotten so big.”

“Bigger all the time.” Remus sat in Harry’s chair, and they both watched Harry for a moment before Remus said quietly, “I didn’t just come to show him off. I have a bit of news.”

Sirius’s gaze snapped to Remus, and he looked almost afraid. “What kind of news?”

“Not as great as I thought it was at first,” Remus said, smiling shyly, dreading the idea of letting Sirius down, “but still good.”

“Still good,” Sirius repeated. He popped the chocolate frog into his mouth and said impatiently. “Well, out with it, then.”

Unsure how to skirt around Sirius’s volatile mood, Remus said carefully, “After we talked last time, I went to see Mad-Eye in the Auror office. I thought he could help with investigating Pettigrew.”

Sirius looked back towards Harry, mouth set in a hard line. Still cross with Remus about that, evidently. But now was hardly the time to drudge all those things up; not while Harry was here.

“I told him what you’d told me, and that I believed you, and that Pettigrew was secret keeper, and then I had the idea to check James’s wand, and—well, he agreed to do it.”

Sirius looked back at Remus, expression now changed to the same shocked grief Remus often felt himself, when the idea of James, the memory of James, snuck up on him.

“He mentioned you hadn’t cast the Fidelius,” Remus explained, “and I thought maybe James had done it.”

“He did,” Sirius said quietly.

“Yes, I know,” Remus said. “His wand was in the evidence vault. Moody used Priori Incantatum on it, and the spell came up with the wand it bound. Which was Peter’s, obviously. Just like you said.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped. “Nobody bothered to check that before?”

“There was no investigation before,” Remus reminded him. “But they’ve checked it now, and the point is, Moody believes you. He believes all of it.”

“Then why the fuck am I still in here?”

Remus glanced back at Harry, who was still looking at his book, then turned to Sirius and cast a quiet Muffliato. “He’ll repeat anything he hears,” he said, trying not to sound accusing.

“Right, fine, whatever.”

Remus knew it would be unfair to take Sirius’s attitude personally. He said, “Anyway, I had the same question as you, and—well. Turns out it’s more complicated than I thought. Moody’s says the whole thing hinges on us catching Pettigrew, but right now it looks like my plan is the best way to do that, and that could take," he sighed. "So many months.”

“Ah. The werewolf poison thing,” Sirius said, face darkening.

“The new and very promising treatment in its final phase of trials,” Remus corrected. Then, another good idea struck him, and he reached in his bag covertly and handed Sirius a chocolate bar. A quality brand, one of his own that he rarely indulged in, dark and rich.

“What’s this?” Sirius said.

“Just eat it and don’t let Harry see you do it, he’s not having any more chocolate,” he replied.

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he was eager enough: breaking off a large piece, stuffing it in his mouth. He closed his eyes as he chewed it. He ate another, then another, before he opened his eyes again. His expression had softened.

“Merlin,” he said softly. “Thank you, Moony. Fuck, does that ever help.”

Remus nodded. “Good.”

“Sorry,” Sirius added quietly, gesturing back towards the door he’d entered from. The dementors, he meant. His mood because of them.

“I know,” Remus said, “don’t apologize.”

Sirius sighed and nodded. He ate another piece, this one smaller.

“Anyway,” Remus said, “Moody believing us isn’t enough, apparently, because there were Muggles involved, and we’ve got to have a conviction and a culprit behind bars to satisfy the families of the victims.”

“Even if it’s the wrong man?” Sirius said, his earlier rage turning to a quiet, hurt sort of anger.

Remus sighed. “I asked the same question. He says we’re the only ones who believe you’re the wrong man. Him and me, I mean.”

“He really believes me?”

Remus nodded. “He does. He always liked you,” he added, smirking, because he used to tease Sirius about this, a lifetime ago. “You and James both, wanted you for Aurors.”

“Yeah,” Sirius sighed, wistful, but maybe also just a tiny bit proud. “Well. That is good news, I suppose.”

“It’s brilliant news,” Remus said, unable to hide his enthusiasm, words tumbling out on top of each other. “He’s helping me. He liked my idea of investigating the spy to help build our evidence base, so he’s helping me get the Order records from the Wizengamot archives to do it. Evidently they’ve promised to close your case due to the Muggle complications, and the Aurors aren’t supposed to be looking into it, so he had to cut some corners to allow me access. But he’s done it, and he got me this note to see you, too. Not sure who wrote it for him, but I’ll bet he can do this again, if you want. And Dumbledore would probably give me more notes, too, now.”

“He believes me, too?”

Remus nodded, pleased to see Sirius brighten even more. “According to Moody, yeah. I haven’t talked to him, but Moody has. He told me I’m not allowed to discuss it with anybody. Except Arthur Weasley, I guess.”

“What’s Arthur got to do with it?”

“He got the records for me, and Moody's got this whole mad cover story for him so we can do it without alerting the Muggles. I don't know him, but Moody and Dumbledore must trust him.”

“I trust him, too,” Sirius said.

Remus felt a pang, then—because Sirius trusted this person Remus couldn’t even remember actually meeting, but he hadn’t trusted Remus, hadn’t told him the truth until it was too late.

Sirius’s eyes wandered to Harry, and Remus followed his gaze. He was doing fine, playing with the tiny Golden Snitch that zoomed across the page of his book, chasing it with a fat little finger.

After a long pause, Sirius changed the subject. “So, he calls you Dad?”

The mood of their conversation shifted so suddenly that it was jarring. Remus sat dumbly for a moment, trying to interpret the intense gaze Sirius was leveling at him. He finally said, “Yeah, he asked me if I was his dad a month ago. He sees dads at the park and in books and things, so he just…asked me.” It had been so strange, to be asked that question, green eyes like Lily’s staring up at him, all innocent interest and trust. He’d felt so guilty, after. Quieter, he added, “I couldn’t say no, obviously.”

Sirius didn’t comment on that, and Remus wondered if he could possibly understand. “You call James his first dad?” he asked, voice very careful.

Remus nodded. “At first, he used to ask for them all the time. I’ve tried to explain to him what happened to them. You know, in simple terms. It’s hard to know what to say.” He looked down at his hands, trying to compose himself.

Sirius was the one to break the silence. “I’m not trying to judge you,” he said. “I just wanted to understand how to talk to him, that’s all.”

Remus looked up, surprised. “Oh. Okay.”

“You’re the one doing all the work; you deserve to be called Dad, if you want that.”

“It’s not that,” Remus said. “It’s—he deserves to have someone he can call dad, you know? He deserves to feel like he belongs to somebody, and somebody belongs to him.”

Sirius looked surprised. “You’re good at this, aren’t you? I can tell.”

Remus tried to stifle a laugh. “Oh, Merlin. No, honestly,” he said, “I’m trying really hard, but.” He shook his head. “He eats way too many sweets, and the flat looks like a hurricane came through all the time, and most people who know us say I spoil him rotten, and I’m working on it, I really am working to get better, but…”

Sirius finished another piece of chocolate and smiled so warmly that it took Remus’s breath away. He lost his chain of thought, and had to be prompted by Sirius’s soft, “…but?”

“It’s a work in progress, I suppose,” Remus said quietly. He looked down at his hands again.

Sirius called back his attention and said, “The fact that you’re trying is a great start. Anyway, you love him. What matters more than that?”

Remus had to hide the fact that he was absolutely melting, that he would have crawled across the table onto Sirius’s lap and snogged his face off if he could have, just for even thinking something like that, and making Remus feel like it might be true. He had to remind himself they were just friends; even when Sirius got out of here, things between them were far from fine.

Oblivious, Sirius said, “Get him back over here, I want to watch him play with that book.”

Remus smiled and waved off the Muffliato. “Harry, d’you want Uncle Sirius to see you catch the Golden Snitch?” Then, turning to Sirius he said, “I know he’s only two, but the Seeker’s instincts on this kid, I swear to Merlin, it’s unreal.”

Sirius sat up very straight, eyes intense again, clearly ready to be proud out of his mind of his godson. It was a feeling Remus knew well.

Harry toddled over, and Remus vacated his chair, plopped Harry back onto it, and watched the two of them marvel over a picture of a Seeker with the wind in her hair, determination in her eyes.

Remus watched the pair of them—Sirius, a natural with kids, and Harry, clearly remembering Sirius somehow, happy and comfortable with him—and knew he would do anything to get Sirius out of here. Not only just for Sirius's sake, which was a worthy enough cause by itself, but for Harry's, too. There was nobody on this earth Remus loved like he loved the two of them, and he would do anything to make them safe. Absolutely anything.

It was almost frightening, how much he felt he would do. 

Chapter Text

15 August 1982

It was 1 a.m., and Remus couldn’t sleep. He replayed his day over and over again, and couldn’t get one prevailing thought out of his head: he’d finally seen Sirius again, and he’d pretended things were fine.

Why had he done that?

He rolled over and over, miserable, remembering how Harry had laughed and shown off his book, and how the chocolate had helped, and how Remus’s thoughts had been embarrassing, eager to please Sirius, eager for his approval. Just like it had always been at school.

God, he was so stupid.

He got up after a while, thinking he’d wake Harry with his tossing and turning if he didn’t. The bedroom door clicked open and shut, and Remus brewed a pot of tea, watching the curtain flutter in his window and wondering if he had some sort of aversion to actually being happy. It wasn’t normal to be this hung up on his ex-boyfriend, was it? They’d broken up more than a year ago. Remus should move on; he should meet someone new; at the very least, he should try to get some closure. He should have some fucking self-respect, for once in his life.

The fact was, he’d never been good at talking about how he felt. What he wanted.

He had written a note to send to Arthur Weasley before he’d gone to bed, but seeing as he didn’t have an owl of his own, he’d have to wait until tomorrow to head down to Diagon Alley and send a post owl. Harry would enjoy the trip, at least; he was always thrilled to see the birds, fond of anything that could fly. Maybe it would be a fun outing for them, a nice change of pace. Maybe the Weasleys would invite Harry over to play with their own kids soon. Ooh, maybe they would babysit. Remus hadn’t had a break since the last full moon, and he wasn’t expecting one until the next. A little time to himself would do wonders.

Remus stood up when the kettle whistled, turning it off and pouring it in the pot. He thought about how Sirius liked his tea. He thought about how Sirius liked his neck to be kissed. He thought about how Sirius had called him “too much and not enough” when they’d broken up. It hadn’t been fair, but Remus had been too hurt to argue. And then, in Azkaban, he'd been too unsure of the validity of his own feelings to say what he should have said—that he’s allowed to care about werewolves. That he is one, for fuck’s sake. That nobody who cares about him should expect him to ignore that part of himself.

He really, really needed someone who wasn’t two years old to talk to. He paced the floor a few times before settling on a plan of action, though it was probably stupid. A quick Patronus was sent off before he could think better of it, before he could remember it was the middle of the bloody night, and then he stood in his kitchen and stared at the steam from his mug until he heard a soft thud in the fireplace, and he looked up to see Dumbledore stepping out, smelling of Floo powder and ash.

“Sorry,” Remus said instantly, “I don’t know why I sent that, I just—”

“Needed to talk,” Dumbledore said, with a direct look at Remus. “Yes. I think it’s long past time we did.”

Remus nodded, surprised—because Dumbledore had been avoiding him for months, but now, here he was. Suddenly, as if no time had passed, as if Remus was still one of his most trusted fighters in the war, Dumbledore came straight to him from Hogwarts in the middle of the night. Remus didn’t feel worthy of it, even now, after everything he’d done for the old man. He shuffled his feet a bit. “Tea?”

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said, inclining his head. He took a seat on Remus’s sofa, and Remus, having done nothing to prepare for a visitor, was relieved that he’d been keeping it clean lately—having Harry help pile the toys into a big trunk below the bookshelf, and enchanting the shelves to hold twice as many books (that little gem of an idea had been in a magical parenting book).

Remus walked over with the teacups and sat beside Dumbledore, as there was nowhere else to sit. He took a deep breath, tense all over, and stared at the swirls of steam.

Though he was the most powerful and fearsome wizard in the world, Dumbledore could sometimes surprise Remus by being very kind. He didn’t ask Remus to spit it out, like Sirius or Moody might have done, or tease him for being so awkward, like Jane. He started off simply: a mercy. “And how is Harry doing?”

Remus nodded, swallowing a sip of tea. “Good. Sleeping. Well, obviously,” he shrugged, nodding his head towards the bedroom. “We visited Sirius yesterday.”

“Did you?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, probably wondering who’d granted him the exception. “How is he?”

Remus said, “It did him good to see Harry. I wish we could see him more.”

“I thought you might,” Dumbledore said, and he drew a hand into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment, with that familiar golden glow.

But when Remus read it, his heart jumped into his throat. “Indefinite?”

Dumbledore nodded, smiling. “Yes, as often as you need. I recognize you’re—gathering intelligence. It’s critical to the execution of justice, and therefore, the Wizengamot fully approves. You’ll be able to set the length for your visits, as well. Up to an hour.”

He’d never expected it, and it made him want to Apparate straight to Azkaban right now. “Thank you,” he said, meaning it more than he could possibly convey in words.

“Use discretion,” Dumbledore warned in reply. “You never know who’s watching. But you’ve been very discreet thus far, and I believe it’s important to Sirius’s continuing high spirits to see you.”

“Are his high spirits of concern to the Wizengamot, too?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, amused. “In a manner of speaking.”

Remus looked down at his feet. “Well. I’m not sure I always put him in the best of spirits. He said something to me that I—I wondered if I could ask you about.”

Dumbledore waited until Remus looked up and made eye contact again before replying. “You may certainly ask me anything.”

That he would answer only as he saw fit was implied—but what did Remus have to lose by asking? He said, “Mad-Eye said he told you about Pettigrew being secret keeper for the Potters.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said gravely.

“Sirius didn’t tell me when it happened,” Remus said, “and neither did James or Lily. Or Peter, obviously.”

“But you still knew,” Dumbledore said, matching Remus’s tone. “You knew Sirius must be innocent.”

Remus nodded, eager now, feeling like he was on the cusp of something important just out of his reach. “I didn’t know what could have happened, I just knew he would never do that. And that meant he must have lied to me about who was secret keeper, which was—awful, obviously. But I wanted to give him a chance to explain.”

“And has he explained?” Dumbledore replied.

Remus took a deep breath. “He said you—you all thought. Well... He said you thought I was drifting.” He glanced away again, mumbling. “Because of how I was with the werewolves.”

When he looked back at Dumbledore, his eyes were still on Remus, clear and blue.

“Did you?” Remus said, feeling small and embarrassed, asking a question like this of someone who, for the past decade, had been nothing short of his hero.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, then closed it again, and it seemed he was having trouble knowing exactly how to reply, which was not a good sign. Finally, he said, “I’ve always admired how easily you discern right from wrong, Remus. Not because you so strictly adhere to the rules, as some in the Order did, but because you…you see so many different points of view. So many ways to be right. Your opinions are so fair. You’re so very slow to judge.”

They were compliments, but they didn’t feel like them. Dumbledore sounded sad, and Remus felt sad, too. Lonely, somehow. Like seeing the world this way was one more thing that made him different, or maybe made him weak.

As if he’d read his mind, Dumbledore said fiercely, “We need more wizards like you, if we’re ever to overcome the darkness that has arisen in our world. We need more people who understand that everyone, even those misguided enough to have chosen the darkness over the light, can only do their best with what they’ve been handed.” He locked eyes with Remus, sorrow thick between them. “There are prejudices in our world, which you know better than anyone.”

Remus held his breath, waiting.

“We aren’t always aware when our prejudices have influenced our judgement,” Dumbledore said. “I shall always regret that I allowed my prejudices to influence mine.”

Remus’s lips fell open, and he said, rather dumbly, “About me or Sirius?”

Dumbledore sighed and gave Remus a small smile. “Both, I’m afraid.”

Remus looked down at his feet, leaning his elbows on his knees. People were suspicious of Sirius, at first; as a Black, his name would forever be synonymous with dark wizards, even if he hadn’t done anything wrong. Remus had felt a strong kinship with him because of this; it was partly why he would always give Sirius the benefit of the doubt. But Sirius hadn’t felt the same way about Remus, in the end.

He said, “Sirius thought I was drifting, too.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore tapped his fingers against his teacup a few times. It began to emit steam again, swirling in the air. The flat was dark, nearly silent, save for the flickering fire. “You’ve told me he believed you were the spy.”

Remus looked at Dumbledore from the corner of his eye. “And you?”

He shook his head. “No, I never did. And, for what it’s worth, I do not believe he shared his suspicions with anyone. If he had, I would have corrected him at once. There were bits of intel that couldn’t have been from you, things that happened when you were away. It seemed highly unlikely to me that you could have learned them. But I didn’t share that information with the Order. There are many things,” he added, “I ought to have shared, but I did not. And I will always regret that, when I think of what the consequences have been.”

Remus sighed. “Do you think it’s because I’m a werewolf that he—”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, interrupting whatever Remus would have said—a sentence that could have ended many ways, with many things Sirius had done that hurt him. “But not in the same way as me. Though I knew you would never betray your friends, I still doubted your loyalty to our cause. You’ve never done a thing to betray my trust, yet still, when you carried out your duties honourably, respecting the dignity of both sides, I blamed you for acting more admirably than I intended. I viewed you as more wolf than wizard, and for that, I must beg your forgiveness.”

Remus never expected an apology from Dumbledore, or from anyone. Frankly, he’d been on the receiving end of prejudices, large and small, from almost everyone he knew. He couldn’t remember the last time someone apologized for it, and he couldn’t begin to imagine how to accept it, so instead he said, “What’s brought this on?”

Dumbledore said, “Your actions have vouched for you, as they always have, had I been wise enough to see them for what they were. Moody has told me you aren’t in contact with the pack, not even to run on the full moon. You’ve devoted yourself to discovering the truth about the spy in the Order, and to keeping Harry safe. And you’ve decided to join the Wolfsbane study.”

“For Sirius,” Remus interjected.

“Yes. For Sirius.” Dumbledore set down his teacup and said, “Leading the Order, I… It was my responsibility to give orders. To direct our side to what I thought was right. And Sirius, and James and Lily—they were all loyal to me. But you were loyal to—to your own sense of what was right. And often, you knew better than I did.” He hesitated, and a look of profound sadness crossed his face. “That’s how I know you’re the best person to raise Harry. To instill the same good principles in him. To know what’s right, to always do what’s right.”

“I wouldn’t say I always—”

“Insomuch as you can, you do,” Dumbledore said decisively. “And without complaining a single time about the hand you’ve been dealt, though it has been a very hard one. I failed to give you credit for it; I failed to see you as you are, and I am truly sorry for that, Remus.”

Remus took a deep breath. He still didn’t feel worthy of Dumbledore’s esteem; he didn’t feel more angry or betrayed than he felt grateful, grateful for ever having been given a chance in the first place. Most werewolves never got a chance like this.

But somewhere else, deeper, he felt like he could have cried. Like he’d waited forever for someone to see him the way Dumbledore now did.

Like he would do anything for Dumbledore to keep seeing him that way.

He said, “It’s in the past, then. Let’s leave it there.” With that, he felt the matter was concluded. There was so much that had to be done, and suddenly Remus felt exhausted. He was ready, at last, to go to sleep.

But Dumbledore didn’t rise to leave, and the silence between them stretched long.

Finally, when the clock tower outside struck two o’clock, Dumbledore turned to him and said, “I trust you, Remus. You’ve proven yourself in every respect, and I trust you to be on the right side, no matter what the future brings.”

Remus’s skin pricked and he felt a chill all over. “The right side of what?”

Dumbledore turned to look out the window, through a gap in the curtains, towards the sound of the clock. With his face averted, he said, “There is a reason I’ve been out of touch lately. I haven’t been—I’ve been traveling. Researching.”

“Okay…”

“He isn’t dead, Remus.”

“Who isn’t—”

“Voldemort. He’s not gone. Not fully.”

Remus blinked, not comprehending. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Maybe he was dreaming. A nightmare.

“But what about Harry, he survived the curse and—”

“Harry defeated him for now, but not forever. There were measures Voldemort took to ensure that much. I’m still investigating, but—I can tell you—and only you—that it isn’t over.”

“How do you know—”

“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said, turning back to Remus at last, “but that is all I can say. It is imperative to the stability of our world that this knowledge remains limited to the smallest possible number of people, people who can be trusted absolutely to keep a secret and remain true to the cause, and whose knowledge of the circumstances may make a difference in our eventual victory. You are one of these people. Because it will affect Harry. And it will affect you. I’ll need you on my side, Remus, when we fight the next war.”

The next war. Remus’s teeth clenched so tightly that he bit his own tongue. He tasted blood, but swallowed it down, not wanting Dumbledore to see his reaction. He was sweating.

“What can I do?” he said, thinking of the boy sleeping in the next room.

Dumbledore’s smile was subtle—barely a curve of his lips. “Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll need all the best fighters on our side to be strong and ready, and I’ll need Harry safe, most of all.”

That was an odd thing to say, and Remus frowned but didn’t reply.

Dumbledore finally rose and said, “And when you do visit Sirius, perhaps you mention what I told you to him. Perhaps you see if he can learn anything about it while he’s in an advantageous position for gathering intel from Death Eaters.”

Advantageous—ha. Remus nodded, feeling like his whole world had just been flipped upside down.

He was so shocked and overwhelmed that he didn’t notice Dumbledore pausing, hand on a blue cardigan that was folded over the arm of the couch.

“My friend Jane’s,” Remus said by way of explanation. He’d shared his address with her, now that they were friendly, and she’d popped over today to lend Remus a little training potty chair for Harry. They’d had tea, and she’d left her sweater.

Dumbledore turned to him, alarmed. “You’re having Muggles over to the flat?”

Remus shrugged. “No, just her.”

He sighed, looking grave. “I’ve been worried this living arrangement isn’t the safest for you and Harry, Remus. Not with Voldemort still alive.”

Remus stood up, too, suddenly feeling a jolt of adrenaline. “Do you mean—are we in imminent danger?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “It is unlikely that you are, but it is always possible. I must impress upon you the absolute necessity of keeping Harry as secluded as possible.”

“But he’s a kid,” Remus protested, “he needs to be with other kids, to socialize.” He thought of his own lonely childhood, and he believed this stronger than he believed anything else, parenting novice or no.

Dumbledore put a hand on the mantle, frowning. “We cannot let down our guard even for a moment, Remus.”

“Okay, fine,” Remus said, feeling touchy, folding his arms in front of his chest. This war was a nightmare that never ended, and Remus couldn’t let this news be real yet. He wanted Dumbledore to leave, and to fall asleep and forget he’d ever been here at all.

But then, forebodingly, Dumbledore said, “I’ll give this some thought and be in touch. Look for my owl.” And then he was gone, and Remus was left to wonder what in Godric’s name that was all about, and what fresh hell would be waiting for them next.

The trip to Diagon Alley in the morning was not the fun little jaunt Remus had thought it would be. Harry did enjoy the owls, but the rest of the time, he was a complete terror—demanding ice cream, demanding sweets. Remus hated saying no to him when he was like this, but he knew he had to, so they went to the Ministry without having had a single sweet, and they Flooed to Azkaban while Harry was still throwing a fit, and when Sirius walked into the visitation room to see them, looking tired but trying to hide it, he raised an eyebrow and said, “What did you do to him, Moony?”

Remus sighed, cringing. “I told him he couldn’t have ice cream at nine in the morning.”

Sirius tried not to laugh as Harry hurried to the magical partition, climbed into the visitor’s chair himself, and told his godfather through his tears, “I want ice cream!”

“How disappointing,” Sirius remarked, then smiled at Remus and held out his arms. Wanting Remus to embrace him, as he usually did. Remus obliged, feeling guilty when Sirius nuzzled his face against Remus’s jaw again, just as he’d done last time. This was why it was so impossible to have difficult conversations with Sirius. He was Remus’s best friend, and things could be so good between them when they just avoided the past.

They parted, and Harry, distracted enough by the grown-ups’ behaviour to stop crying, lifted his pitiful arms to Remus for a hug of his own. Remus scooped him up, flattening his messy mop of black hair with his palm, and kissed his forehead. “There, there,” he whispered, setting Harry down again. “I know what’ll make you feel better. Want to show Roary to Sirius?”

Harry nodded, wiping his nose, and accepted the toy dragon that Remus had packed into their bag this time, giggling in anticipation of its roar.

Remus turned to Sirius while Harry was distracted and said, “Guess what.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. He looked cheerful enough, but Remus still passed him a chocolate bar while Harry was running around the visitors’ side, roaring and waving his dragon through the air. “Dumbledore has a job for you.”

Sirius laughed out loud. “Oh, Merlin’s sake. The moment he figures out I’m not the spy, he puts me back to work.”

Remus grinned widely, unable to help himself. Sirius seemed so pleased, and in such better spirits than he’d been even yesterday. His colouring was a bit better, too, and he seemed to have tried to comb his curly black hair with his fingers. Maybe Dumbledore was right that Remus’s visits really helped him feel better. Or maybe it was the persistent hope of being freed soon. Most likely, it was Harry.

Remus said, “He called you one of his best fighters.”

Sirius preened, taking the seat at the table. Now that Harry was toddling off with his dragon, Remus sat in the other chair. He cast a quick Muffliato, and Sirius raised his eyebrows again.

“Okay, so, it isn’t good news,” Remus said hurriedly. “He’s got reason to believe Voldemort didn’t actually die—”

“What?!”

“—or, didn’t permanently die, or something, that he’s gone for now but not for good, and he needs you to gather intel about it here. I have no idea how you’ll do that, and that’s all he gave me, but he hopes you’ll ask around, see if any of the Death Eaters know anything.”

“Ask—what am I supposed to ask?”

“I’ll ask him,” Remus said, shrugging. “He was so cryptic about the whole thing, like he wasn’t even going to tell me, but then changed his mind for some reason. And then he was going on about not wanting me and Harry to talk to our neighbors. I don’t know, it was strange.”

Sirius was frowning deeply, now, and he took a large bite of chocolate. “Dumbledore’s always strange,” he said.

Remus smiled. “Fair.”

“So he’s not really gone? Harry isn’t safe?”

Remus said, “I got the impression he’s safe for now. And obviously, if anyone tries to hurt him, I’ll—”

“Die, just like James and Lily did?”

Remus cringed.

“You won’t be able to fight him off if he comes for him, Remus.”

“I know that,” Remus hissed, glancing at Harry, who still couldn’t hear them and looked happy enough. “Look, I get the idea we’ve got the advantage for now, and maybe we can keep it if we play our cards right.”

“The impression, the idea,” Sirius repeated, working himself up into a panic. “Didn’t you ask Dumbledore anything?”

Remus cringed, embarrassed. “No, I—it was late at night, I wasn’t expecting him to spring it on me. I think I was just shocked, but you’re right, I should have asked him more. I will,” he added, “next time I see him.”

But Sirius was already shaking his head regretfully, reaching across the magical partition, though he couldn’t get through. Automatically, Remus reached back and took his hand. “I’m sorry,” Sirius said softly, “of course, it was a shock. I just.” He gestured back at the door he’d come in through, then took another big bite of his chocolate bar. “I hate being here,” he said quietly. “I hate how it makes me…act towards you.”

Stupidly, Remus said, “It’s okay, honestly. I understand.”

Sirius smiled. “I didn’t expect to see you two again so soon.”

“We were in the area,” Remus replied, kicking himself for letting Sirius’s apology go, for not using that as a segue to all the things he still needed to say, to ask, to know. “Dumbledore gave me an exception I can use as often as I want,” he added.

At that, Sirius’s eyes lighted up with real joy. “Really? Merlin, Remus, that’s—” he squeezed Remus’s fingers. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Remus said, glancing at Harry. He was kneeling now, examining the dragon’s wings up close. Petting them softly, like it was a real pet.

“I will mention it,” Sirius said. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here for me. If you hadn’t…known I would never hurt them. If you didn’t know me so well.”

Stop being a coward, Remus told himself.

“I wish…” he said quietly, not meeting Sirius’s eye. “I wish you’d known me as well.”

There was a long silence. Much, much too long. Remus was still looking anywhere but at Sirius’s face, and after a moment, Sirius withdrew his hand. He broke off another piece of chocolate and ate it quietly.

“I wish I had, too,” Sirius said, finally. Remus’s eyes snapped to his. “I can’t say anything except that I’m sorry, Remus. It’s—that’s all I’ve got.”

Remus nodded. He knew that. What could Sirius do, here, in Azkaban, to make it up to him? Nothing, nothing except maybe grovel and plead, and Remus didn’t want Sirius to do that—not to mention, he never would. Proud, pureblood Sirius Black, aristocratic and elegant and lovely. And Remus loved those things about his friend, loved his every strength, his every flaw.

But it felt uneven, and maybe it always had. Remus had always been the one who loved Sirius more, and Sirius had always been the rebel, the heir, the one doing Remus a favour, befriending a werewolf. At least, it felt like that to Remus. And look where it had gotten him.

Maybe this conversation just wasn’t worth it. Maybe Sirius would never truly understand what he’d done to Remus. It wouldn’t be the first time a friend’s insensitivity had chipped away at Remus’s heart, left him a little bit less whole than he’d been before, knowing in their eyes, he was just a wolf.

But it would be the first time a Marauder had done it. All this time, Remus had been waiting for something impossible. Deep in his heart, in the place where he always kept his love for Sirius locked away, he felt something break—subtly, but unmistakably.

Remus smiled at his oblivious friend and said, “Thank you.”

The visit went better, after that. Remus and Harry stayed the full hour, and Sirius played with Harry as best he could from across the magical wall, with an improved mood that held the whole visit. When they returned home to their flat, Remus saw the owl outside his window and assumed it was a reply from Arthur Weasley. Eager to get going on his research into Pettigrew’s actions, he settled Harry down with a stale sandwich he’d scrounged with the last of his groceries, then opened the window and untied the parchment. But the letter wasn’t from Arthur; it was from Dumbledore.

Remus tore it open and read:

Dear Mr. Lupin,

I’m pleased to be able to extend to you an offer of employment at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Recognizing your Outstanding OWL and NEWT marks, you expertise in history, and your extensive knowledge of the literature, you are an ideal candidate to fulfill Professor Binns’ post, that he might finally enjoy a much-deserved retirement among the other Hogwarts ghosts.

As we discussed yesterday, the circumstances being what they are, I believe you will find Hogwarts to be a safe and secure environment for both you and your young charge. A large office with private quarters has been secured for you both in the East Wing. Additionally, Hagrid has been so kind as to agree to monitor the child while you teach your classes, as well as during your participation in the Wolfsbane trials in Ireland. Professor Binns will teach your classes when you are unwell.

Regarding the lateness of the appointment, please know that the curriculum set by Professor Binns is very detailed and has not been altered in many years. I am certain you are up to the task of transmitting this important body of knowledge to the next generation of wizards and witches. As you know, history that is not learned from and applied is doomed to repeat itself.

Please respond at your earliest opportunity, as the term begins in two weeks. I will make all arrangements for your secure removal to the school shortly.

Kind regards,

A.P.W.B.D.

Remus stared at the letter, dumbfounded. Remus knew this was all happening because of Voldemort, and because Remus had made friends with his neighbour. Dumbledore was trying to control him, but he wasn’t even sure whether he was offended, because it was all for Harry in the end, wasn’t it? To keep Harry safe.

There was a temptation, a very small one, to feel happy—to feel proud. There had been a time when Remus was young that he used to dream of being a teacher. He was studious and good at explaining things, and certainly well qualified on the subject, but then again, he was still a werewolf. Employment anywhere was a non-starter, and particularly not employment in a place where there would be children. Once a month, Remus was dangerous, a monster. And Dumbledore knew that about him.

But maybe the Wolfsbane trials would make him less dangerous. He’d be away from Hogwarts for them; he’d be somewhere secure. He turned to look at Harry and sighed. This was so much, so fast, and Sirius was still stuck in Azkaban. Where would Remus find the time to teach history, raise Harry, join the trials, and research Pettigrew?

The more he thought about the situation, the less he felt like he had a choice. He was barely getting by on his part-time work, and without dipping into Harry’s own fortune, which Remus had promised himself he’d never do, Remus was struggling to support them both. This would be a game changer in so many ways, except the main way Remus wanted to change the game was to get Sirius out of Azkaban, and this almost seemed designed to slow that process down.

Remus stood up and paced the floor of his flat. When Harry abandoned his sandwich, Remus picked at the stale crust and thought, Did Dumbledore want to slow him down? He wanted information from prisoners in Azkaban, and Sirius was now on the inside. If that was the case, and if Sirius was really in a position to do something to help protect Harry, Remus was certain Sirius would be glad to do it, even proud, but would prefer that Dumbledore just say so. Straightforwardness was one of Sirius’s favourite qualities in a person, which might explain a thing or two about their own failed relationship. Remus was kind; he spared people’s feelings. Sirius never really did that. But, on the other hand, you always knew where you stood with him. No surprises.

In the end, Remus decided to do something that was quite unlike himself and demand answers. He sent a Patronus and received a reply: The headmaster will see you tomorrow at 10 o’clock sharp.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow, he would decide. And today, he would think.

Chapter Text

17 August 1982

There’s nothing like seeing Hogwarts castle rising up above the Scottish fog for the first time; Remus was almost sorry that Harry was seeing it now, as a two-year-old. As they walked together from Hogsmeade across the bridge to the grounds, warm and twinkling with sunlight, and Harry stared in awe at the towers and turrets, Remus regretted that Harry would never remember this magical moment. He was too young.

He was too young for many of the things that had already happened to him, in fact.

They entered through the main gates and were met by Hagrid, who was always at Dumbledore’s right hand, eager and helpful.

“He’s just in his office, you remember the way, don’t ya?” Hagrid said, tossing Harry up on his shoulders at Harry’s request.

Remus spared them both a nervous glance—the ceilings were tall, but Harry was easily ten feet in the air when Hagrid carried him—and said, “I haven’t been away quite long enough to forget. Though, it has been a while.”

Hagrid grinned and patted Remus’s shoulder. “Like comin’ home, innit?”

It was like coming home, but it was also bittersweet. Remus had met his dearest friends in this castle, and there was hardly a statue, staircase, or portrait he passed that didn’t remind him of something he’d laughed about with James, or a conversation he’d had with Lily, or a prank he’d pulled with Peter. Though they saw no actual ghosts on their walk to the Headmaster’s Tower, Remus felt like the pathway was haunted, nonetheless. He didn’t even let himself think about the shadowy corners where he’d hidden away with Sirius—a boy’s arm appearing from nowhere and pulling him behind a coloured tapestry, laughing, silencing Remus’s astonished gasp with a kiss.

His stomach hurt by the time he stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, hearing Hagrid give the password Pumpkin Pasties, and mindlessly held up his arms to receive the giggling boy that Hagrid deposited in his arms, saying, “Go on up, then.”

They ascended the stairs together, finding themselves in a circular room covered in portraits, which Harry instantly began playing peek-a-boo with. Remus set him down, laughing. Maybe Hogwarts wouldn’t be the worst place for Harry; inanimate objects could babysit here, for one definition of ‘babysit.’

Dumbledore greeted them warmly and invited them to ascend a couple stairs to his office, which was behind a heavy oak door. Harry didn’t want to come until he saw Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix bird, on its stand beside his desk. Then, he went stumbling up the stairs shouting, “Caw! Caw!” at the bird.

Fawkes turned its elegant head towards Dumbledore in dismay, but Dumbledore merely smiled and said, “Have a seat, Remus. I imagine you have questions for me about my offer?”

Harry was touching absolutely everything, but if Dumbledore wasn’t bothered, then neither was Remus. He might as well see what he was getting into, inviting Harry to live at the castle. Remus rattled off his questions in rapid succession, and it was all straightforward answers, as if he’d expected every last one of them:

This job offer was absolutely not charity, though it was, of course, prudent and convenient for Harry’s safety. It would not have been possible had Remus not been thoroughly qualified, and an emergency meeting of the governors of Hogwarts confirmed the appointment yesterday.

No, he wasn’t slowing down the investigation into Pettigrew—but Remus, it seemed, had yet to learn that it would take a long time, either way.

Sirius could ask any questions he had for Dumbledore directly. Dumbledore would provide an enchanted parchment and quill for him, under concealment charms. Would Remus like one of the same to communicate with Sirius? Perfect, he’d provide two.

And so on, and so on, until Remus felt as if there was nothing Dumbledore hadn’t thought of, which was absurd, because it was all a new idea, wasn’t it? Only occurring to him the day before?

When Remus asked about their living quarters, Dumbledore said, “If you like, gentlemen, we can head there right now.”

Harry had gripped Remus’s hand for the beginning of the walk, but he soon gave him the slip, too eager to touch everything he saw, gazing around himself in wonder. It was as if it was the first time he’d seen anything enchanted before, laughing at every living portrait, getting lost on a moving staircase not once but twice, and making Remus literally jump across the air to reach him on one particularly perilous stair change. After, Remus’s heart was pounding, but Dumbledore only laughed. Easy enough for him; he’d never attempted to keep Harry safe in a one-room London flat, which was a feat in itself. How in the world would it be possible to keep him safe at Hogwarts?

But the salary Dumbledore had offered, he thought as he pulled Harry off a suit of armour. He’d get easily four times what he’d been making marking essays, and he’d be able to save most of it, as the two of them would live for free in the castle.

When they reached their living quarters, which weren’t far from the Headmaster’s tower, Remus felt the offer would be impossible to refuse. The office alone was a dream, lined with so many bookshelves that Remus’s eyes watered when he saw them. There was a full-sized bed for himself in the corner, set apart by a coloured screen. There was a door to a private bath, a little table beside it, and three soft, cushy sofas arranged handsomely around a warm fire.

Dumbledore opened the door to the only bedroom and Harry darted inside, laughing merrily. Remus followed him in to see that it had already been prepared with a low little bed with a toy owl tucked into the covers. It was spacious and sunny and clean—everything their crowded bedroom at the flat wasn’t.

Harry threw himself onto the bed when he saw it and asked if this was his room—and how in the world could Remus say no to that?

Ultimately, he hadn’t. When they returned to Dumbledore’s office, he said yes to the lot of it, though the idea of making such a sudden and unplanned for change made him agitated and filled with self-doubt. He tried to quiet it as best he could; it did nobody any good for him to be falsely modest, and there was no teacher at Hogwarts who had a better credential than an Outstanding in their subject’s NEWT—though, most usually had a bit more real-world experience than Remus had. But then, how could anyone have real-world experience in history? Well. He supposed ghosts actually could. But Binns was a rubbish teacher, and Remus reminded himself of that as he signed the employment contract; it was the only reason he didn’t lose his nerve.

They returned to their flat just before lunchtime, with plans to move to the school in a week, just ahead of the start of term. That would leave time for Remus to go to Ireland for the full moon; it would be the first month of his entrance in the Wolfsbane trials, and he was anxious about that, too. He still hadn’t heard back from Arthur, either—so with one thing and another, Remus felt like there was nothing for him to think about that didn’t result in a tidal wave of worry.

As he always did when he had nervous energy, Remus bounced off the walls with tasks. He would need to clean and pack away everything. Before he’d had a kid, that would have taken an afternoon, tops, but Harry’s belongings alone were enough to fill a week of packing, Remus was very sure. He wouldn’t have space for all of this. Always happy to downsize, Remus began sorting things into boxes that he’d transfigured from some old cigarette cases, but even that effort proved futile. Harry, the merry little chatterbox that he was, had no understanding of the concept of moving, and it took a full hour for Remus to realise Harry was following after him, removing things he’d packed and dumping them on the floor, or putting things into different boxes, or occasionally hiding treasures under the covers of his bed, where, just before Harry’s nap time, Remus found the entire contents of his Quick Quill marking set.

With one thing and another, it was a hectic morning, and the only bright side was how quickly Harry fell asleep after the bed was cleared off, so Remus could resume his packing in earnest, this time with Impervious charms to keep the little thief out of the boxes.

Just after Harry awoke at half two, there was a rapping at the window, and they both looked to see another owl, this time a haggard looking one, with a parchment tied to its leg. To say Harry was thrilled by its arrival would be an understatement. He tried to hug the owl while Remus untied the twine on its leg, and when Remus opened the window to let it go, he had a moment of complete terror when Harry seemed to be attempting to climb out after it. A locking charm on the window was the result, and Harry threw yet another tantrum while Remus rubbed his back calmly and read the letter.

Dear Remus,

It’s such a pleasure to finally have the opportunity to meet you, as I’ve heard many wonderful things. It’s hard to believe our paths never crossed in the Order, but then, I suppose you were usually off on your secret missions. Bravest of any of us, Moody used to say. By the by, is it true your mother was a muggle? I’ve such an interest, and I hope we’ll be able to chat about the muggle electric grid over a drink sometime. Perhaps one evening next week?

Yes, I do have the papers you requested. Come by my office at the Ministry to discuss it; I believe there is much to say, and we’ll have quiet there. Is five o’clock convenient for you?

Kind regards,

A.W.

Like clockwork, Harry’s tantrum ended five minutes later, and Remus managed to persuade him to eat half a healthy snack before a burst of energy struck and he was running through the flat like a mad person again. Remus cast a few spells to keep things from breaking—another handy trick from a magical parenting book—then set to work on his newest problem: how to get someone to watch Harry so he could go to the Ministry yet again.

It didn’t take much thought to work it out. Remus checked his cupboards and found a single unopened package of biscuits. They weren’t chocolate-covered, so neither Harry or Remus liked them, and they hadn’t yet gone stale. They’d have to do. Remus carried them to Jane’s door and begged her to watch Harry for the night. It didn’t take much persuading, but Jane did say she had something she wanted Remus to do for her in exchange. Unsure what that could be, but not feeling overly concerned about it, Remus readily agreed, and at quarter to five, Harry was dashing through Jane’s flat to make mischief there, and Remus was off.

Arthur Weasley worked in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He was rather high up, and he had his own office at the end of a long corridor. It being five, most other employees were knocking off for the day. Surely this was by design; fewer people to observe them was a very good thing.

Remus reached the door with Arthur’s nameplate and knocked.

“Come in!” came the friendly reply.

Remus pushed open the door and saw a tall man with bright ginger hair, friendly eyes, and a ready smile. “Right on time,” he said, rising to his feet to shake Remus’s hand. “Hello, Remus.”

“Arthur,” Remus sprang forward to shake his hand, really pleased. Anyone who would help Sirius like this was okay in Remus’s book, and he said, truly meaning it, “Thank you for this. Really, I—well. Thank you.”

Arthur gave him a puzzled look and said, “Of course. Anything for Moody.”

Remus realized that he didn’t know how much Arthur knew, and he blushed a little as he sat in the chair opposite Arthur’s. Arthur busied himself with pulling out a stack of parchments, all in miniature. Arthur couldn’t have been more than ten years older than Remus, but he looked well into his thirties—with a forehead that was lined with wrinkles and hair graying on the sides. But then, he did have all those kids. Parenthood could make anybody's hair turn gray.

“How’s the family?” Remus asked casually, smiling when Arthur looked up at them.

“Oh, very well, very well. My youngest just turned one this month.”

Before he could think better of it, Remus said, “Bloody hell, you must be exhausted.”

After a pause in which Remus’s face turned even more red, Arthur barked a friendly laugh. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. But Molly’s worse. Though, she was the one who insisted we keep trying for a girl, so she has only herself to blame.”

“Is the youngest a girl, then?”

Arthur grinned, yes, she was, and out came the photographs. Having lived with Harry for almost a year, Remus had forgotten that he wasn’t actually very fond of children. When he saw the crowd of ginger-haired boys, with the bald, gummy-mouthed baby girl in the middle, he actually cringed, visibly, and had to cover for himself by saying, “Just thinking I should bring you a strong drink next time.”

Arthur laughed again, and though Remus knew he’d been both awkward and rude, after that, things were relaxed.

“So where do you work, Remus? Mad-Eye said you aren’t a Ministry lifer like me.”

“No, I—ah. Well, I just accepted a position at Hogwarts, actually.”

“Hogwarts! You don’t say! Doing what?”

Remus started to sweat, but he forced himself to appear as confident as possible as he said, “I’ll be the new History of Magic professor.”

“How about that! Well, that’ll be an improvement over Professor Binns, won’t it? All you’ll have to do is show up in the flesh and blood, and you’ll have him topped.”

Remus smiled. Okay, not a bad reaction.

“They’re hiring them young this year, aren’t they?” Arthur remarked.

“What do you mean?” Remus said. He had just assumed he was the only person of his age who’d been hired, and he felt conspicuous enough about it.

Arthur said, “Hadn’t you heard? There was a bit of controversy over it among the governors.”

As if it hadn’t been hard enough to keep his insecurity from showing. Remus ducked his head a little. “About hiring me?”

Arthur frowned. “No, I hadn’t heard a thing about you. This was last month. There’s a former Death Eater—though, apparently, he was secretly spying for us, though I never heard of it—”

Remus’s ears filled with rushing, and he fought against the panicked pounding of his heart. Had Dumbledore actually just invited him and Harry to live in the same castle as a Death Eater? What the bloody hell was he playing at?

“Who is it?” Remus said, half-unable to hear anything, and too panicked to hide it.

“Severus Snape,” Arthur said, brow raised disapprovingly. “He’ll be the new Potions master. Molly was furious when she heard. Our oldest boy is starting his first year, you know. She sent a Howler to Dumbledore about it. I asked her not to, but. Well. You know Molly.”

Remus barely knew Molly, but he couldn’t blame her. He’d gone to school with Snape, had personally encountered the man’s callousness and cruelty. He was the quintessential Death Eater—hated Muggleborns, refused to consort with blood traitors. To hire a person like that at a school was unconscionable! But then. Well. The same headmaster was hiring a werewolf this year, wasn’t he? Remus wasn’t sure which, on the whole, would upset parents more—but he had a feeling, in this particular debate, the Death Eater would probably win out,

“Maybe it’s just a rumour,” Remus said—suddenly nervous for a new reason, because it so happened that this particular Death Eater was one of the only people in the world who knew Remus’s secret and could ruin everything for him if he breathed a word of it to anybody.

“It isn’t, I’m afraid,” Arthur said absently. “I have it on very good authority. Here we are, then,” he added, separating the parchments into two stacks and wrapping one stack with a tidy spell before scooting it over to Remus. “Half for you, half for me.”

“Thanks,” Remus said. He reduced their size quickly, then stuffed them in his pocket.

Arthur said, “Mad-Eye told me what we’re looking for, so I reckon we can each take them home and report back in with each other in—what? A month?”

Remus nodded. These were a lot of parchments, and what with all his new responsibilities, and all Arthur’s kids, a month would probably be the best they could do. “Sounds great, Arthur, thank you.”

“Of course. You can come by the house then, I reckon. Tell us a bit about how Bill’s doing.”

“Bill’s your oldest?”

Arthur smiled. “Oh, you’ll like him. Very bright. I’m sure he’ll be a Gryffindor, just like his parents.”

“And me,” Remus said, smiling.

“Is that right? I knew your friends were, but I wasn’t sure about you.”

That seemed an odd thing to say, but Remus decided not to mind it. He hadn’t gotten to know the other Order members well, after all. He’d been an outsider by design, with a specific role to fulfill and a single-minded pursuit of it. Only now, after the war, did he see how strange it must have seemed to others. How easy it might have been to suspect that Remus wasn’t really invested in it the way the others were.

Remus waited while Arthur packed up his things, and they went down to the main level together. But after they’d shaken hands and Arthur had Flooed away, Remus’s eye caught the Azkaban Floo again, and he thought of his indefinite access to the maximum security ward, and the enchanted parchments for Sirius.

It only took a moment to decide. After all, he hadn’t been gone very long yet, and Jane had said she’d feed Harry dinner, and there was nobody else around just now, so it couldn’t be called indiscreet if Remus made one more visit. He popped into the Floo and stepped out on an icy island for the third time in as many days.

“No mini-James today, I see?” Sirius said, smiling as he walked into the gloomy visitation room. Remus had been pacing, still filled with anxious energy, and they met at the partition as always and hugged—but this one went longer than the last two had, without their tiny audience hovering near their feet.

Sirius raised a hand and stroked his fingers through Remus’s hair as if it was second nature to him. He said, “It’s so strange how I can only reach you if you reach out to me first.”

“Opposite of real life,” Remus remarked, without even meaning to, because when they’d been together, Remus had never made the first move. He’d never needed to, and besides, he was shy by nature, and Sirius was decidedly not. But it earned him a bark of laughter from Sirius, though the silence that followed it was a bit awkward.

Remus pulled back and saw Sirius’s hair looked to have been finger-combed again, and his complexion still retained yesterday’s brightness. He said, “You look better.”

“I’ve rationed the chocolate bar,” he explained with a smirk. “I don’t suppose you’ve brought more…”

Remus grinned and reached into his bag. “I do have one, in fact.”

Sirius accepted it gratefully, but didn’t take a bite. “Just had a piece,” he explained as he shoved this newest into his pocket. “I was going to go to bed early. Well, not ‘bed,’ I don’t have a bed, but. Sleep. I’ve started having a piece first, helps with the nightmares.”

Remus couldn’t help grimacing, though he tried not to, knowing Sirius hated being pitied. Always had, even when they were children and it was Sirius’s miserable family upbringing they were lamenting. He wanted to ask about Sirius’s cell, and the abominable lack of a bed, but then a greater part of him just didn’t want to know.

Instead, he said, “That’s not all I have for you, actually. I come bearing gifts.”

Sirius perked up at this, looking more and more like his old self. Remus passed over the enchanted quill and two pieces of parchment—both invisible, only perceptible by touch.

“Use your hand to get them to appear,” Remus said, showing Sirius the motion that would reveal the parchment—a long, slow X across the middle of the page. “Then backwards again,” he said quietly, “to get them to disappear again.”

“But what are they?” Sirius said. “They’re blank.”

“They’re enchanted,” Remus said excitedly. “The thicker one is from Dumbledore. You can reply using that quill, and your message will go straight to him. Give it a try!”

Sirius looked so excited, it was as if Remus was telling him he was to be freed today. He wrote, “This is a test,” in his usual sweeping strokes and soon afterwards received, “Greetings, Sirius. I’m glad to see you’ve gotten my gift.”

“Tap to erase,” Remus added. “Two fingers, just there.”

Sirius tried it, and all the script vanished.  “Remus, this is amazing! Well, then, what’s this one do?” He pointed to the smaller scroll, which was still blank.

“Oh—well. That one’s the same, just. It goes to me,” he said, blushing a bit, and glad for the dimness of the room that he hoped hid it.

But Sirius’s smile was worth the embarrassment. He said, “Really? Oh, Moony—this is so bloody incredible! I—” He paused, looking like he wanted to reach through the partition and kiss Remus, like he’d done a hundred times before. Remus had to turn away to stop himself from grabbing Sirius back, because that was a very bad idea, and Remus absolutely did not want to go there.

“Well, it was Dumbledore’s idea, but I won’t be able to visit as often, I suspect, so this way we can keep in touch—”

And just like that, Sirius’s face fell. “You won’t be able to visit? But why?”

“Oh! Well, uh.” Remus’s anxiety hit him again, hard, and he couldn’t meet Sirius’s eye as he said, “I got a job at Hogwarts, actually. Teaching History of Magic.”

He expected to hear something like what he’d gotten from Arthur—a remark about being so young, or at least being better than the ghost—but instead, Sirius said, “Smartest thing the old man ever did, hiring you!” And Remus looked up to see him positively beaming with pride.

He shook his head. “No, I—that was just because of Harry, he wanted us to have somewhere safe to live, that’s all, really—”

“Oh, please,” Sirius said, still smiling widely. “You were always the brightest of any of us, and the hardest working. Our favourite swot, our Moony.” He again looked like he wanted to reach out and touch Remus across the partition, and Remus was relieved that he couldn’t. Nothing but pain could come from letting Sirius touch him, he was absolutely certain.

“Well, I’m glad somebody thinks I can do it,” Remus said, ducking his head, because no matter how dim it was in here, there was no way Sirius couldn’t see a blush this dark.

“I know you can do it,” Sirius said. “Merlin, that’s such a relief.”

Remus turned and raised his eyebrows. “What is?”

“Oh, just. You know. In school, we all used to talk about how, you’re the best at everything, but it would be hardest for you to get a job, and it just wasn’t fair, you know? But look at you now!” Again, beaming. “I take it you’ll be able to keep using the Shrieking Shack, then? I’m sorry I won’t be there to run with you.”

Another wave of anxiety struck, and Remus looked away again, to make it easier to tell him the truth. “I’ll actually be in Ireland for the full moons.”

“Ireland?”

“The Wolfsbane trials are at a university there,” he explained. He really didn’t want another fight right this minute.

But Sirius replied with a very mature and restrained, “Oh.” Then, tapping the shorter parchment, he said, “Then I guess I’ll be able to hear from you after, make sure you’re alright! I’m glad I won’t have to wonder.”

Remus said eagerly, “I’ll write as soon as I’m back.”

Sirius grinned down at his parchments. “Bloody hell, this is amazing. Better than chocolate,” he said, mostly to himself. He glanced up at Remus and said, “You know, it’s interesting, the dementors—they can feed on all your happy thoughts, replace them with negative ones, but—if you eat some chocolate after you’ve been with them, you can sort of clear it out. I wait around for one to go by, eat another chocolate. And as long as they don’t come too frequently, it isn’t so bad. With this, I’ll probably be able to push out the bad thoughts altogether.”

The bad thoughts—Remus was afraid of what that might mean. James and Lily, probably. Sirius had been the one who’d found them. His heart ached at the idea of it, and he had to look away so Sirius wouldn’t see his pity.

It didn’t work. Sirius sighed and said, “I’m fine, Moony.”

But Remus knew, down to his bones, that Sirius was lying. He used to do this in school—pretending the things his parents had said or done to punish him for his many failings as the only non-Slytherin in the Black family in many centuries were no big deal to him. Remus knew that exact lie, the way Sirius’s eyes turned dismissive and haughty, the way he seemed untouchable.

Something about seeing it now, with a prison uniform hanging off his scrawny limbs, made Remus see how strong Sirius had always felt he needed to be. How alone in the world he’d been, before the Marauders. It felt more unfair than ever that Sirius was stuck in here.

Remus said, “Good. Then I won’t worry.”

Sirius smiled knowingly, and when he reached for Remus, Remus took his hand without thinking. They sat down on the floor together after a moment, unspoken agreement having them settle in cross-legged, knee to knee.

To change the subject, Remus said, “The only bad thing about the Wolfsbane trials is I have to stay at the facility under observation.”

“How is that a bad thing?” Sirius said.

“I can’t hunt for Peter while I’m in there!” he said, as if it was obvious. “But, once the trials are over, I’ll be able to.”

“When do they end?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said. He reached in his bag and pulled out a parchment he’d received earlier that week. “They sent me some reading material in advance, I’m sure it’s all in here—”

“Let me see,” Sirius said immediately, reaching for it.

“No, I don’t—”

“Yes,” Sirius said, “come on, you have to show me! I’ll go crazy if I don’t know what’s happening. Let me see.”

“You’re crazy anyway,” Remus said, but he passed the parchment over.

Sirius unfurled the scroll and read it, and Remus stared at his black eyelashes while he hunched over the parchment. They were long and fine, making the pure blue of his irises even more bright, casting a fluttering shadow over his cheeks whenever he blinked.

Remus realized he’d been staring after far too long an interval, and he licked his lips and swallowed, looking away.

When Sirius handed back the parchment, he said—though not without reluctance—“Well, it doesn’t say when the trial will end, but besides that, it actually looks okay, Moony.”

“Does it?” Remus smiled, amused.

“I mean, it’s at a university, so it’s got to be better than the bloody Ministry.”

“What do you have against the Ministry?”

“Besides the way they’ve spent years mistreating werewolves? And giving positions of power to dark wizards, for the right number of Galleons? Oh, nothing.”

Remus was so surprised, he laughed, and Sirius said, “What? Do you think I never listen to anything you say? Only been friends with you for a decade.”

But Remus had always known Sirius listened; it was the fact that he’d used to be dismissive of the mistreatment of werewolves that was surprising him now. Better not to mention it. Instead, he rolled up the parchment and packed it away, saying, “Well, thanks for looking it over. Glad to know I’ll probably live.”

Sirius poked him—then seemed surprised that it worked across the partition. But Remus’s legs were fully across it now, and it appeared Sirius could touch him all he wanted from that arrangement. Sirius realized it the same time Remus did, and he poked him again.

“Oi! Knock it off!” Remus said.

Sirius laughed, but it trailed off quickly, and he surprised Remus by complying with his request, leaning back and resting his weight on his long, outstretched arms. With his hair behind his shoulders and his chin high, he almost looked like his old self again.

“So when will I see you again?” Sirius asked.

“I’m not sure,” Remus said regretfully. “Hopefully I’ll be able to bring Harry on a weekend. Not next, obviously.”

“Obviously?”

“The moon's Saturday.”

“Oh! That’s—so you’re doing that already, then?”

Remus nodded.

“Write the moment it’s over,” Sirius reminded him.

“I will. Merlin, you’re as bad as Prongs.”

Sirius laughed sadly. James had always wanted the others to let him know they’d gotten home safely during the war. Patronuses had to be sent upon safe arrival. Ironic, after what had happened, that the one who wanted to protect the others had been the one nobody could protect.

“I miss him,” Sirius said softly.

“Me, too.”

Sirius looked up, nudging his ankle against Remus’s. “Sometimes I can pretend he isn’t really gone. It’s easy, in here. You know? I might just be in prison, and he might be out there, somewhere, just fine.”

Remus knew that was a lie, too. He knew what the Dementors must make Sirius think of, and how his thoughts must haunt him, night and day.

But sometimes it was kindness to let a friend tell a little lie. Not to question them, but just let it be. Remus repeated, “Out there, somewhere. Just fine.” Maybe it was true, somehow.

After all, who knew about that kind of thing, anyway? In the end, it's all a mystery.

Chapter Text

15 September 1982

The problem was that Sirius was good at acting like he was fine. Remus would recognise that later—much later, when everything was done and he couldn’t change a bit of it. But at the time, he saw things getting better, and he let himself believe it was real. He let himself think the parchment helped, and the chocolate helped, and the words Sirius wrote on it were true.

He believed every single lie, about that, and about many other things, too.

But the fact was, Sirius wasn’t fine. He wasn’t fine by a long shot.

Remus realised his mistake in September, after he’d had dinner with the Weasleys. He liked them—Arthur and his odd obsession with Muggles, Molly and her uncanny ability to know the whereabouts of every child in her house despite the fact that there were seven of them (or six, with Bill at school). Harry loved their home, was thrilled to play with other children his age after two weeks surrounded by Hogwarts pupils, and seemed to make fast friends with every last one of them. (Though, to be fair, Harry was fast friends with everyone. Remus wished he had that skill.)

Arthur and Remus exchanged regular owls while researching together, and Remus had learned enough by now to know that Arthur was aware of Sirius’s likely innocence. He knew who he was trying to save, and he knew what was at stake—a Death Eater on the loose, only protected by diplomatic red tape.

“It’s a travesty,” Arthur told Remus while they sat in the fading afternoon light, after the children had been excused from the table and had fled, Harry in tow, up the many floors of the Burrow, probably on their way to cause endless mischief. “A travesty, to keep an innocent man behind bars just to keep Muggles out of it. As if Muggles are so bad, really.”

Arthur had just finished a pint of ale—Remus’s contribution to their dinner—and was apparently not used to the indulgence. Unable to hold his drink, he pounded his flat palm on the table and then pointed at Remus.

“And he’ll never be the same after, neither, they never are.”

Remus had said placatingly, “He’s not doing bad, Arthur.”

“No? That’s good. Molly’s got an uncle who had a friend sentenced to five years. Embezzlement. He always said old Tiberius was never the same when he got out. Memory was completely shot, and he was a shell of himself, just—falling over when he tried to walk. Falling all over himself.”

Remus glanced at Molly for confirmation of this tale, but her back was turned. It didn’t seem likely. Remus hadn’t visited Sirius since he’d started teaching two weeks ago—there hadn’t been time—but they had written back and forth a couple of times, when Remus could fit it in, and Sirius had never complained. He said, “Maybe the man was unwell to begin with.”

“He wasn’t,” Molly said, coming over to clear the table. “Dementors. Horrible creatures. Just horrible. They devour every good thought in your mind and suck all the warmth from the room. Tiberius never got feeling back in his feet, did he, Arthur? Uncle Ivan used to say he used a Locomotor spell to walk.”

“Like a puppet,” Arthur said, and he snorted once before remembering the soberness of their topic and falling silent again.

Remus said, “It can’t be that bad in there now, though, Sirius always says he’s fine.”

“Men do say that,” Molly muttered from the sink. Then she turned on the tap, so she couldn’t hear Remus’s reply.

“Do you think he’s—do you think it’s affecting him?” Remus said. “The dementors?”

But he knew the answer, deep down; of course, he did. He’d seen how Sirius looked when he’d come on Harry’s birthday—frail and thin, clothes falling off himself. The chocolate had perked him up for a few days, but he’d still been ill. Remus had seen it with his own eyes; he knew.

So he’d asked Molly and Arthur to watch Harry for an hour. It was eight o’clock, and the Ministry Floo was always open, as far as Remus knew. He worried the whole way there—Apparating to London, entering the Ministry, Flooing to Azkaban, walking the dim tunnels, and waiting in the drab visitation room. The chocolate had been helping, hadn’t it? Sirius was doing okay, he would have said so if he wasn’t. Godric’s sake, he’d been there nearly a year by now and—

A year. It had been almost a year, and Sirius was still in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

The guilt slammed into Remus just as the door swung open, and in walked a ghoulish thing, matted hair, sallow skin, hunched over and limping.

“Sirius.” Remus was at the partition in an instant. He caught Sirius when he fell into his arms. “What the hell happened?”

Sirius didn’t answer, just grabbed Remus around his waist, gripping his shirt as he held himself up. Remus gently slid them both to the floor and cradled Sirius in his arms.

“What happened to you?” he repeated, voice shaking.

“Oh, I—got in a bit of trouble. It was nothing.”

“Nothing?! This doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Well, it’ll be better in a day or two, anyway.”

“What happened, Sirius?” Remus repeated a third time, now reaching to touch Sirius all over—his arms, his hands, his legs, his feet. Checking on him, though he hardly knew what he was checking for; he was no healer. Sirius was so cold. He didn’t resist this treatment; he let Remus’s hands wander as much as he liked. He hardly seemed to notice it was happening. After, Remus wrapped him tightly in his arms, trying to warm him. It didn’t seem to do any good; he still shivered and shivered against Remus’s chest.

“It’s a long story,” Sirius said at last. He sounded breathless. He glanced up at Remus and gave him a small smile. “I didn’t know you were coming. I’d have—tried to clean up. When are you bringing Harry to me, anyway?”

“I’ll bring him tomorrow,” Remus said instantly, guilt tasting like bile in his throat. “Please just tell me—”

“It was the chocolate,” he said, sighing. “You don’t have some, do you?”

Remus removed one of his arms from the tight embrace he held Sirius in to open his bag. “Yeah, of course. Loads. Here, just—here’s all of it.” He shoved the bag across the partition, and Sirius laughed. It sounded hoarse and painful, and it was immediately followed by a cough.

“Thanks.”

“What do you mean, it was the chocolate?”

Sirius didn’t sit up to eat; he leaned against Remus’s chest as he dug in the bag, and he popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth and spoke around it, “I was bartering with it.”

“Bartering?”

“With Death Eaters. For information for Dumbledore. I got caught.”

“Oh, Sirius…”

“The dementor’s kiss isn’t the only way they can punish you, evidently. They can just…sort of surround you. Make you cold, make you forget.”

Molly and Arthur’s words sprang to Remus’s mind, and he said, “What did they make you forget?”

“I don’t know, do I?” Sirius said, and he started laughing, a little hysterically.

Remus’s blood ran cold, and he squeezed Sirius tightly. “Eat more,” he said, “here, take—” He unwrapped a chocolate biscuit and brought it to Sirius’s mouth. He opened for it like a baby, then closed his eyes and nuzzled close.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Moony.”

“Don't talk about me like that, when I left you in here to rot,” Remus said, miserable.

Sirius smiled woozily, looking half-crazed. “You’re here, you’re helping me. You’d never forget me.”

“Never,” Remus agreed, squeezing Sirius’s shoulders tightly.

“If I’d known you were coming, I’d have done something about my hair,” Sirius added, sounding nonsensical, his voice a higher pitch than usual. “I don’t have a mirror, but I know it can’t be good. You like it pulled back, don’t you, Moony?”

Remus didn’t know how to reply to that. Something seemed very wrong. He stroked Sirius’s hair and said, “This is just fine, don’t worry about that.”

“I’ve gotta look nice for my man,” Sirius mumbled, pressing his face against Remus’s chest.

Remus’s heart started pounding painfully. Had Sirius forgotten that they’d broken up? Did he think that he and Remus were together? Was that what the dementors had taken from him?

And—oh, god—if he’d forgotten that, what else had he forgotten? Did he remember about James and Lily? And Peter?

Remus rubbed Sirius’s back, panicking and trying to hide it. Sirius had mentioned Harry earlier; that meant he at least remembered some things, right?

“Harry and I had dinner with the Weasleys tonight,” Remus said, just to test the waters.

Sirius didn’t answer. He didn’t eat anything else; he didn’t move.

“Sirius?” Remus took him by the shoulders and sat him up. Sirius’s head dropped forward like a stone before he snapped it up suddenly, eyes looking wild.

“Remus? What—where am I, what happened—?”

“We—we’re in the visitation room,” Remus said. He was sweating, hot all over. “Azkaban.”

Sirius stared at him as if he were crazy. He blinked twice and rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them, Remus finally recognized him again—that Sirius Black gaze, intelligent and blue.

“Fuck. It happened again?”

“What—what happened?” Remus’s voice was shaking.

“I got—lost. In my head.”

Remus nodded. “Yes, I—I’m sorry, I didn’t... Fuck.”

“I’m fine, Remus,” Sirius said. He seemed surprised to find Remus’s bag on his lap, but he dug inside it, anyway, removed a chocolate frog, and popped it into his mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Remus said.

Sirius glanced up at him from below raised eyebrows but said nothing.

“Does Dumbledore know?”

“Everyone knows what dementors can do,” he said bitterly. “I just have to stay out of trouble, and they’ll leave me alone.”

“I’m so sorry,” Remus said, devastated, because he’d given Sirius the chocolate and the parchment and the stupid assignment from Dumbledore that had gotten him into this mess.

“It’s fine,” Sirius said again, and when Remus tried to pull Sirius back over to lean on him, he wouldn’t come. “I want to do something to help the cause while I’m in here. I can’t let their deaths be in vain.”

Their deaths. He did remember, then.

“I’ve got to get you out of here,” Remus muttered, mostly to himself.

“Isn’t that what you’re already trying to do?” Sirius said, sounding very cross all of a sudden. He ate another chocolate biscuit, and then he pulled out a sugar quill. Remus would have to restock the bag, but he was happy to do that. Happy to give Sirius everything he had, and more. He was so miserably sorry.

“It’s taking too bloody long,” Remus said. “Everything I do, I hit a dead end. The investigation with Arthur, the Wolfsbane trials—”

“Why are the trials a dead end?” Eating a peppermint humbug, one hand wiping his mouth.

“I can’t leave the lab during them,” Remus said despairingly. “Maybe I could break out, shouldn’t be too hard, I keep my rational mind, so I’ll know what to do. They might shoot me, I suppose—”

“Fuck’s sake, don’t get shot,” Sirius said. “Honestly, I’m okay. That doesn’t happen all that often, and when it does, it’s quick to get out of it, I just sort of snap right back to myself.”

“Please stop lying to me,” Remus said tiredly.

Sirius raised his eyebrows again without reply, glaring, and Remus knew he was issuing a challenge.

Remus conceded easily, without a fight. His voice was softer as he said, “Or at least—tell me when things are really bad. I want to help.”

“You are helping,” Sirius said. “The best thing you can do is try to get me out, okay? I’ll be smarter, I won’t get caught smuggling anything. There are other ways to get Death Eaters to talk.”

Remus wanted to ask whether Sirius had at least gotten any good information out of it, but talking about this was what had triggered Sirius’s episode in the first place, and the last thing he wanted was for him to go right back into a catatonic state.

Instead, he said, “I’ll look into it. If there’s anything that helps.”

Sirius finished the package of chocolate biscuits. “Anything that helps with what?”

“The—aftereffects,” Remus said, gesturing towards Sirius. He was still on his knees at the partition, helplessly reaching for Sirius—wanting to hold him again. Sirius wouldn’t let him.

“What, dementor aftereffects?”

Remus nodded vigorously. “I’ll confer with a mind healer, I’ll say—I’ll say I encountered a dementor here, at Azkaban. I’ll get them to—”

“No, Moony, you can’t do that, or they’ll be able to tell you’re a werewolf, won’t they? If they get in your head?”

“They won’t use Leglimency on me,” Remus said, though he wasn’t so sure. “Anyway, I’ll read about it, then, okay?”

“Fine, I can’t stop you,” Sirius muttered.

Remus sighed. The bag of sweets was half empty, but it seemed nothing inside was strong enough to stop Sirius’s miserable mood—which was just as well, because with everything he’d endured, he had every right to be as moody as he needed to be. It probably wasn’t even completely dementor-induced, this time. Remus was miserable for him.

“Do you want me and Harry to visit you tomorrow?” Remus asked, remembering Sirius’s earlier request. It would be a Saturday, and they would be free. Remus had essays to mark, but that could wait.

“No,” Sirius said, folding his arms. “I don’t want Harry seeing me like this.”

“He won’t know the difference,” Remus offered, though that wasn’t quite true. Harry was astute as any two-year-old—an avid observer of everything. But he was also kind, and happy, and the sort of visitor that could really cheer Sirius up after a close encounter with a dementor.

But Sirius wouldn’t budge. “I think it’s better if you don’t visit, Remus.”

If you don’t visit—meaning both of them.

“Are you—angry with me?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake—no, Remus, not everything is about you, you know.”

He shoved Remus’s bag back to the partition, and Remus took it with shaking hands. “Okay,” he said, “I won’t visit, then.”

“Good.”

“Sorry,” Remus said, feeling very small all of a sudden.

Sirius seemed to notice. He looked up at him, then closed his eyes and said, “Oh, come here then.”

He let Remus hug him, burrowing his face into Remus’s shoulder.

“I have no right to talk to you like this,” Sirius said, the sound muffled and sad. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Remus protested. Feeling brave, he reached a hand up to stroke Sirius’s hair again. “You’re in Azkaban, and before that, you’d fought in a bloody war. You’re stuck here with only Death Eaters and Dementors for company, and you’re still finding a way to help our cause. You’re bloody incredible, is what you are.”

“You’re the only one who cares about me,” Sirius said, still muffled, “and I still treat you like shit.”

Remus squeezed Sirius tighter. “I can take it,” he said.

“When I’m out, I’ll make it all up to you, okay?”

Remus smiled, glad Sirius couldn’t see it. “Okay.”

“And Harry, too.”

“Of course.”

This time, they didn’t let go—just held onto each other for long minutes, not saying much, until eventually the hour of their visit ran out.

After Remus picked up Harry, he went straight to Dumbledore.

“He’s not well,” he said, pacing his office furiously. Harry was on the floor with an entire bowl of lemon drops in front of him, slowly munching away. He caught Remus’s eye for a moment, but really, he couldn’t be bothered.

“It is a difficult atmosphere, to be sure, but—”

“It’s more than that! The Dementors did something to him when he was trying to get information from the Death Eaters. Information for you!”

Dumbledore did have the decency to look concerned, then, but he still said, “The information Sirius is gathering from Voldemort’s followers is imperative to have if we are to defeat him. It is nothing short of essential to the survival of our race.”

That was a bit dramatic, so Remus chose to ignore it. “He’ll lose his mind, at this rate,” Remus replied, “and what good will he be to anybody then? We can’t just keep him in prison to spy—”

“We aren’t keeping him there, but he must remain there until Pettigrew is found, and in the meantime, he can be of use!”

“Being of use, perfect, exactly what he deserves after losing all his best friends and being sent to prison wrongly for their murder. I’m sure it’s a great consolation to be of use!”

“It is,” Dumbledore said, and he walked to his desk and snatched his own parchment, passing it to Remus without another word.

Remus glanced over it and saw that it was filled with notes. Whereas Sirius’s messages to Remus had all been brief and far between, his messages to Dumbledore were replete with details, lengthy and informative. He had learned the exact spells used for some of Voldemort’s most damaging curses—spells that, apparently, would be helpful in curing a few victims still in St. Mungo’s. He’d also gotten some information about where Voldemort had been living—at Malfoy Manor.

“I suspect,” Dumbledore said, rolling the parchment as he realized all the sensitive information Remus was now seeing, “that Sirius finds his mission helps with his sanity.”

“But if the dementors catch him and hurt him again—”

“Speaking to Death Eaters is no crime,” Dumbledore replied, “not even in Azkaban.”

“He was bribing them with chocolate,” Remus finally admitted, having been reluctant to do that earlier because (1) mentioning chocolate within earshot of Harry was usually a poor choice, and (2) he’d been the one to provide the chocolate to Sirius.

“I see. Smart man,” Dumbledore said. “Well, he’d better not do that again, if he’s suffering mind damage from the Dementors already.”

“You think?” Remus said petulantly. He sighed. “Anyway, he can’t. I didn’t give him any extra this time, just what he could eat while we were together.”

Dumbledore watched Remus silently for a minute. Then he said, “He seemed unwell overall?”

Remus shrugged. “The mind thing was the worst, but he was limping, and he’s much too thin. If he spoke too loudly, he’d cough.”

Dumbledore nodded, looking distractedly at his pensieve, which he’d taken from its cupboard today for some reason. “His voice is out of use. Probably his feet are losing feeling. That’s common.”

“Is it reversable?”

“Before a certain point, it is.”

Remus felt struck with misery. He finally scooped up Harry, because he needed a hug, pathetically, and Harry was always good for that. Then said, “We’ve got to do more for him, Albus.”

Dumbledore finally turned back to Remus and raised his eyebrows. “You’re calling me Albus now?”

Remus smiled. “Got your attention.”

Dumbledore’s expression softened as he looked at Harry. “You ought to get that boy to bed,” he said.

“Can you help me get out of the Wolfsbane trials early? Or get someone to observe me in the wild or something, so I can hunt for Peter?”

“I’m not affiliated with the trials,” Dumbledore replied.

“But you know everybody!”

A smile, as if he was flattered, falsely humble. “I don’t know everybody at every wizarding school in Europe.”

Remus rubbed Harry’s back; he was slumped heavily on Remus’s shoulder: a sugar crash that would hopefully morph into real sleep when he was tucked comfortably in bed. “Maybe Mad-Eye can help,” Remus muttered, mostly to himself.

“Maybe he can,” Dumbledore said. “Not with the trials,” he added, “but with finding Pettigrew.”

“How so?”

“I understand you and Mr. Weasley have uncovered plenty of information to establish Peter Pettigrew as the spy in the Order.”

“Oh! Yes, we have. I mean, not conclusively, but enough to cast suspicion on him. Serious suspicion. And enough to prove it can’t have been Sirius, which was another important point.”

“It’s all very good to have, when this all goes to trial,” Dumbledore said, “but if the Aurors can be convinced to pursue the case sooner, then you’ll have that many more people tracking down Pettigrew.”

Remus sighed again, with relief. He’d felt hopeless when he’d come to Dumbledore’s office. Now that he had one idea, one good way out to cling to, he thought maybe he’d be able to get to sleep after all.

“Thanks,” Remus said.

“I’m sorry Sirius is unwell,” Dumbledore added gently. “I’ll remind him to be careful, and that no information is worth risking the stability of his mind while he’s in an unsafe location.”

Remus nodded. His throat felt tight when he said, “Do you know anything about mind healing? Or any books or anything about—recovering? After Dementors?”

Dumbledore nodded his head. “Yes, the library should have what you need. Madame Pince can certainly help you locate the section on dark creatures, but I believe you’ve been there before, yourself.”

Remus smiled at the memory of his past self, a young boy of eleven, flipping through the pages of a book on werewolves, determined to conceal every sign of his own lycanthropy and wisely determining that he must avoid revealing only those symptoms which other students would have a means of uncovering via the facts in their own library.

It had worked on everybody but the Marauders.

As it was too late to drag a half-asleep toddler to the library (Remus supposed there was really no good time for that), they went back to their quarters for bed. Harry was exhausted and slept straight though being changed into his pajamas, and having his teeth and hair brushed, and being tucked into bed. Remus had never had such an easy bedtime with him before.

Maybe that was the Weasleys’ secret to having loads of children—more friends to tire each other out, then it’s off to bed.

Still prickly with concern for Sirius, Remus pulled out his own parchment scroll. Last time he’d written to Sirius had been more than a week ago, and Sirius had initiated it. He’d wanted to know what was new with Harry. Remus scanned the messages they’d sent so far and was ashamed of how few he’d sent, and how short and curtailed they all were. Was he honestly too busy to send a few sentences to his dearest friend, who was stuck in prison unjustly? Who cared if he had a new job? This was Sirius bloody Black, the love of his life—or, used to be.

But then, there was that dissonance—that miserable feeling he felt, when he remembered that this person had dumped him, and he’d never gotten any closure over it, never had the big blowout fight he wanted to have to make Sirius understand how badly he’d hurt him. And now, he’d probably never get to do that. His heart ached at the thought of Sirius in any kind of pain, and he felt like he was required to forgive him, without even knowing if he could.

Who could blame Sirius for anything, after seeing him the way Remus had seen him today?

Before he lost his nerve, Remus wrote:

Did you get to bed okay?

I don’t have a bed. But yes.

That’s right, I remember you saying that. Where do you sleep, then?

The floor of my cell.

That’s horrible. Blankets or pillow or anything?

No.

Are you still cross?

Is that a real question?

No. I don’t know. I’m really worried about you after today.

I know you are. Look, please don’t make a big deal out of it. I already feel bad enough without worrying about you worrying about me.

It’s a vicious cycle. As a werewolf, I’m an expert on those.

That was funny, Moony.

I can be funny.

I know you can. I miss laughing with you.

I hope I didn’t wake you.

No, I sleep with the parchments open next to me, just in case. I had my eyes open.

Dumbledore thinks maybe Moody will reopen your case, based on the evidence Arthur and I found so far.

Blimey, really?

 Maybe. It’s worth a try. I’m going to send him an owl in the morning.

Let me know how it goes.

I will. Listen, are you sure Harry and I can’t visit tomorrow? It’ll help me out, giving us something to do. He’s such a handful otherwise. If you like, I’ll bring you something to eat. Anything you want.

Anything I want?

Yes, anything.

Shepherd’s pie and treacle tart?

Ha! Treacle tart. Harry loves those. They served them the other day for dinner, and he has never thrown a tantrum like he did when I told him he couldn’t have three helpings. Three! He’s unbelievable.

Okay, okay, bring him, then. And the treacle tart.

Yes, and the shepherd’s pie. But Sirius, you should know. He won’t share the tart with you.

Ha, ha. That’s fine.

I’m going to write to Moody now, actually. I have too much energy.

You must still be worried.

What makes you say that?

You get all antsy when you’re worried about something. Bouncing off the walls. Don’t think I forgot what you’re like, Moony.

Good memory.

Top of the class. Top marks from teacher.

It was little remarks like that that made Remus think Sirius was okay. He seemed okay, when he told jokes and reminisced. But he couldn’t fool Remus with that, now that he’d seen how he’d been today.

It was suddenly obvious that Sirius was reacting to Remus’s worry. He was exerting himself, putting all his energy into acting like he was fine, so Remus wouldn’t feel added stress. It was kind of him, and Remus’s heart ached with it.

They said goodnight, and Remus wrote to Moody to request a meeting. It would have to be next Friday, after Remus returned from Ireland on the full moon. It wasn’t safe to put any of his and Arthur’s conclusions in writing, so he simply said he’d share them all in person, suggesting Moody come to the castle.

For good measure, he penned a note to Arthur, too, and invited him to join them. Two minds were better than one, and all that.

After, he sat back at his writing desk, staring across the room and out the window, where the moon was waxing gibbous. His whole life, he’d hated the damned moon, dreaded its expansion in the night sky—cruelly overshadowing his humanity, ripping him from his skin, overtaking his mind. But he always got his mind back again; he always returned to himself.

Tonight, he remembered that there were worse things. There wasn’t time to feel sorry for himself, or fear the things he couldn’t control and couldn’t change. There were things he could do; he wasn’t powerless.

To bed for now, then. And tomorrow, the library.

Chapter Text

22 September 1982

Remus woke up with a start, feeling the cold linoleum under his shoulder and smelling the strong, rushing scent of recycled air. He was in a corner, near a vent. Freezing cold. Naked.

He sat up with a groan, head aching, and closed his eyes, rubbing the heels of his palms into them tiredly as he drew up his knees. The clacking of shoes told that someone was approaching, and he inhaled, gritting his teeth.

The footsteps stopped.

“How’re you feeling, then?” said a friendly voice.

Remus rubbed his forehead harder and said, “Like someone’s hitting my forehead with a hammer.”

She laughed like that was a great joke and said, “Yes, headaches are a common side effect. We’ll get you a potion for it after your exam. Come on, then.”

Remus stood up in the narrow, lengthy laboratory where he’d just spent the night—the first full moon of his life that he had slept through, just like he might have done if he were a regular wizard. The room was unoccupied except for the two of them, and it had been so all night. Windows lined the far wall for the researchers to observe him and the others, who were in identical rooms all along the hallway. When he didn’t immediately follow his assigned researcher, a graduate student whose name he had already forgotten, she turned around and raised an eyebrow.

“Can I put my clothes on first?” he said, embarrassed.

“Oh! For the exam, you’ll need them off, but—”

“All the same, for now, I’d like to wear them,” he added, giving her a little smile, because really.

She blushed, rushing back towards the wall where Remus had spent the night in a heap. “Sorry,” she said, “of course.” Gesturing, “Right this way, we’ve put them in a locker so you wouldn’t try to rip them up. Not that we think you would, but. Well, it’s all precautions, you see.” As he walked, head still throbbing, she said, “The last subject I worked with wasn’t nearly as civilized as you are,” as if that, too, was a good joke.

He didn’t answer, just opened the locker and started to put on his underthings.

“In fact, you might be the most normal person we’ve had in the trials. Easily the best looking.”

Oh, god. Was she flirting with him? He finished pulling on his jumper and looked at her from beneath his mop of curls. He really had to get his hair cut soon; this was getting ridiculous. “Thanks,” he muttered, for letting him get dressed or for the compliment. Whichever, she could take her pick.

“Come along, then,” she said cheerily after he’d finished dressing and done up his shoes. “Any other symptoms besides the headache?”

“Body aches, heaviness,” he said, taking a thoughtful inventory, “but no worse than usual. I didn’t scratch myself,” he noted.

She grinned. “No, you didn’t. You went straight to sleep. Guess we know which version of the potion you had this moon, then, don’t we?”

He nodded. Werewolves received a week’s supply of one of three potions: a standard version, a version combined with a time-delayed sleeping draught, and a placebo. They were also given a portkey, which transported them to the laboratory on the full moon. Last month, Remus had had the standard version, and he’d spent a relatively boring night curled up in a corner, experiencing all the oddness of being fully aware that his body was fur-covered and misshapen, and his back had a tail, and his face had a snout. Sleeping had been a nice change this month, but the headache was a high price to pay for it, and he honestly wasn’t sure which he preferred.

Remus was led to a small, brightly lit room, and the physical exam was fast and easy. The healer who conducted it was French; he was handsome and fair-haired and made Remus feel a little bashful as he undressed and submitted to being poked and prodded. This man, at least, didn’t comment on how much less a vagrant Remus was than the other participants. When Remus mentioned his headache, the healer produced a pain draught that was stronger than any Remus had ever had; his pain vanished instantly, and it was replaced with a light, buoyant feeling that made all the lingering effects of the moon—the aches, pains, and fatigue—vanish.

“What is this?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh, just a potion,” the healer had said.

“Right, but what—”

“Proprietary,” he’d answered shortly.

Unbothered, Remus replied, “Well, if there’s a trial for that, sign me up.”

The healer glanced up at Remus’s face, then, and smiled. “No, it’s—a potion of my own making, in fact.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll, ah…I’ll jot down the ingredients for you, shall I?”

Remus thanked him, delighted—until he sat down to look over the parchment the healer gave him later and saw that the complexity of the potion, as well as the relative rarity of its ingredients, would make it nearly impossible for him to brew. Rotten luck, but that was the way it went sometimes, he supposed.

Before sending him home, the researchers fed Remus breakfast. Last month, he had been touched by this gesture, before he’d realized it was merely scientific—a nutritious meal that, too, would be observed. How hungry was the wolf after spending the night sleeping? Had he burned as many calories as usual? Did it affect his appetite?

Once it was all finished, Remus used the portkey to return to the school. Harry wasn’t there; Remus had dropped him off at Jane’s the night before for a little sleepover with Louis and Ava. He showered and changed, enjoying the quiet in his quarters—though he would have enjoyed it more if he weren’t so bloody nervous. He was due at the Ministry at ten o’clock. Though he knew Mad-Eye was already on his side about Sirius, Remus was still desperately eager to make a good case for his innocence.

Sirius’s mind still hadn’t fully recovered from the episode with the dementors, and Remus’s research into the subject hadn’t yielded any good news. For one thing, the dementor’s embrace—the name, evidently, for the punishment Sirius had suffered—was known to cause both short- and long-term side effects. His coldness and limping last week were short-term effects, and had been gone by the next day, when Remus had brought Harry for a visit. But the lost memories were probably lost forever, which was by design. The dementors eliminated whatever thoughts were in the prisoner’s mind during the embrace, and only an early intervention by a mind-healer could restore them. It was already too late for that.

For another thing, Remus was now pretty certain of what the memories Sirius had lost were. He’d gotten an inkling the other night when Sirius had been so ill, and he’d gone on and on about making sure his hair looked right for his man. At the time, Remus wrote it off as an odd little joke, but ever since then, Sirius had been writing to Remus daily—and the messages left little doubt that he no longer remembered their break-up. Even worse, he couldn’t even seem to remember falling out of love; he was over-the-top affectionate, so much so that it made Remus ache:

How’s my darling this morning?

You mean Harry?

Ha, ha, very funny, babe.

_____________

 I hope you aren’t too lonely.

Of course not, I have Harry with me every waking second.

You know what I mean. I wish I could be there with you.

I wish you were out of there, too.

I miss you, my love.

_____________

When can I see you again?

Not sure. Hopefully Harry and I can come in a couple weeks, after the next moon, if that works?

Let me check my diary…

Ha, ha.

Just a busy day of missing you planned, so come on by. Actually, when will you next come alone?

Remus had no intention of coming alone until he’d worked out what to do—what to say. He knew he couldn’t let things go on like this. It wasn’t fair to either of them. But it also didn’t seem right to break up with Sirius, as it were, via enchanted parchment.

To be honest, Remus didn’t want to break up with him at all. He’d longed for Sirius to say things like this to him for so long after their split. It was cruel to hear them now and know that Sirius didn’t really mean them. If not for the dementor’s embrace, Sirius would still want it to be over between them. And Remus was still angry about what had happened, what Sirius had done—but he’d never get any closure now that Sirius couldn’t even remember doing it.

Remus felt as if disaster loomed everywhere—but he tried not to be too dramatic about it all. The fact was, once Sirius was out of Azkaban, they could work on helping him get better. They could help Dumbledore, they could raise Harry, they could avenge their friends’ deaths. Everything that needed to be fixed could still be fixed, if only Remus could shut down his feelings long enough to get Sirius out of there. Luckily, he was quite good at that.

So, first things first. He Flooed to the Ministry, dressed in his best robes—newly purchased for his teaching job—and laden with a bag of parchments under concealment charms. Arthur met him in the lobby, not dressed nearly as finely, but with a look of excited determination on his face.

“Remus,” he held out his hand, and Remus shook it. “All ready, then?”

Remus nodded. “Yes, I’ve got all the research here,” patting his bag.

“Perfect. Thanks for holding onto it all. You’ve seen how hectic things get at the Burrow. I was afraid more of the papers would get lost if I kept them there.”

Remus nodded, “I don’t mind.” They’d had a little set-back a couple weeks ago when some of Arthur’s work had gone missing at the Burrow, but it had been easy enough to make up with the extra copies of the Ministry records. Now that Remus had met all of Arthur’s crazy kids, he was the last person to judge him for having things go missing at his house. He was lucky he found time to shower and dress in the morning.

As they rode the lift, Arthur chatted away merrily. “The twins haven’t been able to stop talking about Harry. What say you two come by for supper tomorrow?”

“That would be lovely, Arthur, thanks,” Remus said absently, rubbing his sweaty palms on his slacks.

Arthur patted his shoulder. “Chin up, mate. We’ve done good work here, they’re bound to see that.”

“They? I thought it was just to be us and Moody.”

“Oh,” Arthur frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know—I just assumed. Usually things like this are decided by committee.”

Great. Just what Remus needed. For a person who hated public speaking as much as he did, he sure did have to do a lot of it lately—what with all the lecturing at school and the advocating for Sirius and whatnot. He inhaled deeply and tried to focus on what he wanted: Sirius free, and Harry with two of his parents’ best friends to care for him, just like Lily and James would have wanted. Peter Pettigrew behind bars, never to harm Harry or Sirius or anyone else again.

“Here we are,” Arthur said cheerily, a hand still over Remus’s shoulder, giving the younger man a reassuring squeeze. “Best get it over with.”

Remus followed after him bravely, wanting no symptom of nervousness to show. Confidence spoke volumes; he’d learned that much from being best friends with James Potter and Sirius Black. He hadn’t quite mastered the skill himself, but he knew how it looked well enough to make a good imitation.

“Morning, Elanna,” Arthur said cordially with a smile at the secretary who greeted them. “How’s your sister?”

“Perfect,” the young witch said, beaming, “and the baby is perfect, too. Another boy.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. Molly’s to send by a casserole, I’ll bring it to you next week,” Arthur smiled with real delight. “We’re here to see Mad-Eye, if you’d be so kind as to tell him we’re here.”

“Certainly,” she said, looking fond.

Remus thought someone like Arthur could probably get everyone to like him, and to do whatever he wanted. Maybe he should let Arthur do most of the talking. But then, Remus was the one who had the most firsthand knowledge of Peter’s character—and Sirius’s, for that matter.

Still, as they were ushered down to a small conference room, Remus whispered, “Would you like to present the findings, Arthur, or shall I?”

And Arthur had said, very graciously, “You’re so clever, Remus, it’d better be you.”

So Remus was stuck. Just breathe, he told himself, as Moody introduced him to the room—sure enough, there was a small committee there to hear his presentation: two detectives and another Auror. Remus unpacked his bag, setting the enchanted parchments on the table before enlarging them with a swoop of his wand. They became much too large on the first try, which was mortifying. Remus hastily corrected them, then wiped his sweaty palms on his robes again. He sat down, but soon found the stillness intolerable. He stood again, then paced the front of the room as the others made small talk with Arthur. At least that meant Remus didn’t have to try to make small talk.

“Well, son,” Moody said after everyone was settled in their seats, cups of coffee steaming in front of them. “Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

“Right,” Remus said, then cleared his throat when the word came out as more of a croak. “Right, so. Hello.”

“Hi,” one of the detectives said, tilting her head to the side a bit in amusement.

Remus instantly felt stupid and was conscious that he was blushing.

“Right,” he repeated, very stupidly, “so we’ve been doing some research because—well, we found out about the secret keeper and did some background reading and found that there wasn’t enough evidence—or, let me rephrase that. So, we were doing a Priori Incantatum—”

“Remus,” Moody interrupted, in a tone that was somehow annoyed and gentle at once. Remus wished very hard for a hole to crawl into, deep underground, where nobody would ever find him. “Why don’t you explain at a high level why we’re here, first. The specific case we’re looking into, to start.”

Oh. Did they not know? Remus realized he wasn’t sure what Moody had told the others; he wasn’t sure of anything. He stared at the faces of the witch and wizards before him—now, all looked unamused and rather irritated—and wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, ‘You’re the ones who didn’t do your jobs! You’re the ones who imprisoned an innocent man without a trial! You should be impressing me, not the other way around!’ But, of course, that wouldn’t go over, would it?

He took a deep breath, instead, and looked down at his hands. How would he explain it to a student? Not a first year, but—perhaps a fifth year. An OWL student. What would he tell them?

Another steadying breath, and with eyes still on the table, he said, “Right. So, my name is Remus Lupin, and I fought for our side in the war. Or, that is, for the—uh. The good side. The not Death-Eater side. You know. Anyway, um. My best friends were killed, actually. James and Lily Potter. And the reason I’m here today is because someone was arrested, for aiding in their murders and for a violent explosion that killed a dozen muggles, but…”

He looked up, then, and locked eyes with Moody. Nobody else. Just the one who’d fought with him in the war, who’d known what it was like. It was steadying, like a sip of Calming Draught.

He went on, “The wrong man was arrested. Due to circumstances that I’m sure were beyond any of our control,” he added, glancing nervously at the detectives, whom he didn’t want to anger with any accusations that might set them against Sirius, “it wasn’t possible to investigate thoroughly prior to conviction. However, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and—and as the guardian of my friends’ son, who was targeted in the attack that killed his parents—I couldn’t allow the real perpetrator to go undiscovered, if the wrong man was indeed arrested, which I suspected he was, based on my, um. My insider knowledge of the Order. Which,” he added hastily, “I certainly don’t blame anybody else for not knowing. You couldn’t have known, but. Well. Now, we can know. You see, Arthur and I have done a bit of research into the Order’s records, to discover a motive for the attack on the Potters, as well as evidence of collusion with Death Eaters, and we’ve arrived at a new suspect that we believe warrants re-opening the case.”

Remus paused and forced himself to look each of them before asking, as he always did during particularly complex history lectures, “Are there any questions before I move forward?”

“Go on, lad,” Moody said gruffly.

Okay, maybe pausing for questions wasn’t the done thing in these presentations. Whatever. Remus reached for a parchment, glad for something to do with his hands.

“The first fact of note is that a Priori Incantatum spell conducted on James Potter’s wand revealed the secret keeper for the Fidelius Charm that had protected the Potter family was Peter Pettigrew,” Remus said. He gestured to the long scroll that held the list of spells, then passed it across the table to one of the Aurors when he reached out his hand for it.

“Certainly,” Remus muttered awkwardly, passing it over. He fumbled to grab another parchment. “Next,” he said, “we identified every attack in which we suspected the spy played a hand, and the Order members who were present at the meetings in which the information was divulged. We cross-referenced,” he added, grabbing another parchment, “with the dates, and we determined that there was no single Order member who could have known all of the information that had been leaked.”

One of the detectives began to say, “Well, then what are we—”

“Except,” Remus said pointedly, speaking over the interruption, “the secretary who kept the notes.”

Remus passed over the parchment, which recorded the meeting roles for every meeting that had been held from the year 1979 to 1981.

“The meetings that included information the spy leaked are underlined, and as you see, we’ve transferred them to this parchment.”

“And?” the same impatient detective said.

“Peter Pettigrew,” Remus replied, “is the only Order member who either attended every meeting or handled its notes when a secret was divulged. There is one discrepancy,” he added, “and it’s a significant one. There was an attack on the McKinnon family that took place just after they were moved to a new safehouse, after word reached us that the Death Eaters planned to target them next. Nobody knew the location of their safehouse except Dumbledore, and anyway, Pettigrew wasn’t at the meeting when the plan to move them was discussed. But,” he added excitedly, because researching was exciting, like living history—except the horror of it, he supposed. “There is a record of the notes for that meeting being given to Peter as courier the next day during one of his patrols, and there’s also a record of him being employed to guard three safe houses, one of which—we now know—was the McKinnons’. It was attacked the very next day, following his patrol.”

Remus set the parchments with those details on the table before the committee.

“Now, none of this proves that Pettigrew set off an explosion in the middle of Muggle London,” Remus said, feeling very much like a professor hitting his stride, “but it does, together with his role as the Potters’ secret keeper, implicate him as the likeliest suspect for the spy, and therefore, a Death Eater. We also recognize his status as a pureblood wizard, his position in the Ministry adjacent to potentially dark actors, and his likely disdain of Muggles, all of which contribute to cast serious suspicion on his innocence in the London incident.”

“It still doesn’t add up. Even if it had backfired, the likelihood that the curse could have decimated Pettigrew the way this one did is extremely low,” the interrupting detective said.

Remus gave him a steady look, then smiled a little—going for charming, but probably landing somewhere near deranged, knowing his luck. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Abraham Abernathy, lead detective for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, ” he replied pompously, frowning at Remus—probably offended he hadn’t remembered it from Moody’s introductions. But Remus was rubbish with names when he was nervous.

“Mr. Abernathy, sir,” Remus said, “there is an explanation, though I admit it’s only speculative at this point. I haven’t been able to find Pettigrew, so I cannot say with certainty—”

“Of course, you didn’t find him,” Abernathy spat, “he’s dead!”

“Only a finger was found,” Remus said, “because, I suspect, he personally detached a finger before transfiguring, that he might disappear unobserved following the explosion. You see, Peter Pettigrew is an Animagus—unregistered, of course. He used his Animagus form to escape capture, knowing Black would be blamed.”

“That is speculative,” Abernathy said, but it was spoken with less venom. He was looking at Moody.

“Is that all, son?” Moody said, still watching Remus.

“Y-yes, I think so. Unless…Arthur?” Remus’s adrenaline was catching up with him; his hands were shaking, and he sat down in the chair again, this time sinking his full weight into it, never wanting to move or stand up or speak in front of people, ever again.

“That’s the main crux of our findings,” Arthur said, with an encouraging nod at Remus. “Of course, we also delved into motives, but I suspect those would be of less interest to the committee than—”

“No,” Abernathy said, tenting his fingers below his chin, “tell us about the motives, if you please.”

Remus looked at Arthur, silently begging him to take this part. He didn’t feel fit to speak anymore; his anxiety was rising again now that he’d sat down, and besides, to speak of his own friends’ motives seemed a conflict of interest.

Luckily, Arthur seemed to realize one or the other of these things—or else had some other reason for putting Remus out of his misery. He said, “Our profile on Peter is that he was a bit of a weakling. He frequently begged off Order missions that seemed too dangerous, or otherwise volunteered for tasks that he knew would be relatively low risk. Based on his Hogwarts test scores, moreover, we can conclude that his magic was simply not very strong. In other words, his reluctance to perform complicated tasks was probably justified, given his shortcomings. His friends were dying, of course—we all were dying—and the perception of safety as a member of the Order was dwindling. Peter’s inclination was to seek protection from the strongest ally he could find. Now, we have the parchment—Remus, the parchment from the Department of Magical Transportation?”

Remus produced the asked-for parchment, sliding it across the table with little fanfare.

“Thank you. There, you see—there are three known Death Eaters—now convicted—working directly in Peter’s department, and we happen to know he shared an office with Ivan McNair, who was a Death Eater. We suspect that Peter was offered protection by McNair in exchange for information, which he provided when the Order could not offer him similar protections. He was hedging his bets, you see.”

“But why would he betray his friends?” That was the witch detective, who was younger than the others. She looked slightly familiar—Remus wondered if perhaps she’d been one of the older students he’d met while he was in school.

“We have no suspects currently who would have been doing anything except betraying their friends by spying on the Order,” Arthur said, “but as he went to school with both Peter and Sirius, it was Remus’s opinion that Sirius was far less likely to betray his friends than Peter.”

“But that’s just my opinion,” Remus added quickly, not wanting his friendship—or former friendship, whatever—with either of the suspects to influence anybody’s judgement one way or the other. “The evidence speaks for itself, and it overwhelmingly aims to Peter. He’s the only one with a motive, the only one with connections—”

“Not necessarily,” Abernathy said. “The Black family is quite well connected to the Dark Lord, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, “but Sirius Black was estranged from his family, and disinherited by them while he was still in school. Their disdain for him alone should prove he wasn’t on their side.”

“Unless it was all an elaborate rouse,” Abernathy pointed out, “to throw us off the scent.”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” Moody interjected, “but it’s one for which there’s no evidence. On the other hand, there’s a great deal of evidence about Pettigrew, which is why I feel—”

“We can’t reopen the case based on strong evidence alone,” Abernathy interrupted, now turning his intense gaze on Moody, who scowled at him.

“The case never should have been closed in the absence of strong evidence,” he growled back.

“You know why we did what we had to do,” Abernathy replied. Now, he just sounded tired. “This sounds—very impressive, frankly, and I do appreciate all you boys have done.”

Remus glanced at Arthur, who seemed surprised to be called a boy, considering he had at least a decade on Remus.

Remus said, “Then can you help us find Peter?”

Abernathy sighed. “I can’t reopen the investigation without a suspect in custody. That’s always been the case,” he added, with a hand raised to fend off Moody’s interruption, “and it’s still the case now. I’m glad to see we'll have a strong case once the suspect is located and found, if indeed he is at large, but there's still nothing more we can do in an official capacity, and I'm sure you don't need me to explain why. I'm sorry, but that’s my final word.”

Moody leaned over the table and said, “Abe, if I could just have a word—”

“In a moment,” Abernathy said. “Thank you, gentlemen. I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you.”

With that, it seemed the meeting was dismissed. Arthur patted Remus on the shoulder while he tucked the parchments back into a pile, rolling them up one by one. Adrenaline was firing in his veins, and the exhaustion from the recent moon—though mild, thanks to the Wolfsbane—was beginning to catch up with him. His eyes were wet, stinging, and he took his time with the parchments so nobody would see how shaken he was—how desperately, furiously sad.

After a while, the room was cleared out, and Remus was alone in it, performing a weightlessness charm before tucking all the parchments away. Defeated. Depressed.

The door opened, then, and in walked Detective Abernathy.

“Did you forget something?” Remus asked gruffly, looking up, unable to hide his annoyance with this useless man and his useless staff.

Abernathy opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “If you need something, here’s how to reach me,” he said curtly. He gave Remus a card with coordinates on it.

“What kind of something?”

Abernathy ignored this question. “Send an owl there, and I’ll assist however I can. We’re not—” but he stopped. Remus heard a sound outside the door; Abernathy had probably heard it, too. After a silent pause, Abernathy nodded once, then turned on his heels to leave the conference room once more.

Remus stared at the card for a moment, then shoved it into his bag, placing a sticking charm on it so it wouldn’t get lost among all the parchments. He didn’t know what that was all about, or whether Abernathy was someone he could trust. He could ask Moody, but Remus wasn’t completely sure he trusted him, either, after this disaster of a meeting.

In fact, as Remus finished his packing and headed back down the corridor alone, he couldn’t help feeling that Moody had sent him on a fool’s errand. All this work hadn’t accomplished anything except a major feeling of letdown, which Remus absolutely did not need. He’d gotten evidence to implicate Wormtail if he was found, sure, but what if he couldn’t be found? What then?

And, if Pettigrew absolutely needed to be in custody for any of the actual professionals to help him, and Moody knew that, then why did he allow him to go ahead with this pointless meeting? And why hadn’t Dumbledore known that before suggesting it, for that matter?

It all seemed fishy, but whether it was simple failures of communication or something more nefarious, Remus couldn’t tell. He only knew it was over, and all the work he’d put into it had amounted to nothing in the end.

He had planned to visit Sirius after this meeting, but as he rode the lift down to the main floor, he found that his spirits just couldn’t take it. He didn’t want to see Sirius again until he was ready to tell him the truth about their relationship, and he’d expended all his emotional energy already today; there was nothing left for this particular nightmare of a conversation.

He apparated to Jane’s instead. Harry was delighted to see him, and Remus found himself hugging him for a long minute, taking comfort in the fact that he was alive, that Pettigrew’s plan to harm him had failed. Lily and James had wanted to protect him, and they had. They’d done it, they’d won. Harry was safe, and Voldemort was gone—at least for now—because love had been stronger than hate, in the end.

“Can we have ice cream?” Harry had asked hopefully as Remus walked him through Diagon Alley on the way to the Floo in the Leaky Cauldron half an hour later.

Remus glanced at his watch. Half twelve. “Oh, why not,” he said, laughing when Harry whooped with joy. It had been such a hard day, after all.

They shared a knickerbocker glory, with Harry eating most of the ice cream while Remus scooped up most of the fruit. Then they’d washed up and Flooed home, and Harry had gone right down for his nap in the afternoon after a long cuddle with a book on one of the sofas. It was calm, and domestic, and lovely. Remus could almost relax. He could almost pretend things were okay.

But then, after he was alone and all was quiet, Remus caught a glimpse of Sirius’s parchment on his table, still unfolded from the their last conversation, and saw that he’d written something new:

How’s my beautiful wolf doing the day after the full moon?

His beautiful wolf. Remus sighed. With one thing and another, it was just too much, and he buried his face in his hands and cried.

Chapter Text

23 September 1982

How’s my beautiful wolf doing the day after the full moon?

It’s fine if you’re too busy to talk, just want to make sure you’re okay.

Sorry—yes, I’m fine.

Perfect, thanks, Moony. I’ll let you get on with your day. 😊

It went really well, actually. I got the sleeping draught this month.

Oh, what was that like?

Perfect, I slept straight through.

Well, I suppose I did get a headache, but they gave me a potion for that, too.

I wonder why the headache, though. I hope it’s safe.

I think it was dehydration, probably from the time delay.

So clever, my Moony.

No, I just asked the Healer about it.

That’s a clever thing to do.

Remus and his friends had never gotten on with Severus Snape. He was in the same year as they were, and from the very first day, he and Sirius had clashed. And James, naturally—nobody could cross Sirius without crossing James, and vice versa. Remus hadn’t been invested, particularly, but as his closest friends were all feuding with Snape, it only made sense to join them in harbouring a general disdain for everything about him, from his stringy black hair to his oily skin to his drab robes.

As they grew older, the feud grew more intense. The Gryffindor and Slytherin boys embarked on something of a prank war, with both sides becoming increasingly bold and reckless. Remus really hadn’t liked it; he’d often complained to his friends, behind closed doors: Do we really need to swap out all the Slytherin boys’ robes with girls’ ones? Must we enchant their staircase to bite their ankles? Isn’t it unfair to make their homework combust, after they put all that work into it?

But Remus wasn’t exactly influential among the Marauders. Like Peter, he’d been of lesser stature: not wealthy, not well connected—and Remus wasn’t even pureblood. James and Sirius, on the other hand, were effortlessly, devastatingly cool, and Remus felt lucky just to be around them. When they continued to be his friend after discovering his furry little problem, he loved them even more. He could never stop their pranking, then, when they’d done so much for him—becoming animagi during fifth year to keep him company on the full moons, guarding his secret from others’ prying eyes. He was loyal to them to a fault—even when he observed that their treatment of Severus was rather worse than Severus’s treatment of them. Even when Severus’s best friend Lily Evans, who would eventually marry James, begged them all to leave Severus alone.

Things hadn’t really gone past the point of no return with Severus until the end of fifth year, when Sirius had played a prank so cruel and dangerous that not even a boy as devoted to him as Remus was could truly excuse it: he’d told Snape where he might go to see a werewolf on the full moon.

It had been a thoughtless, idiotic prank meant to frighten and traumatize one boy—but, if not for James’s intervention that day, it would have certainly resulted in Severus’s death, and Remus’s exposure and life imprisonment.

Remus had never felt more like a monster than he did when he learned what Sirius had done—what he was desperately sorry for doing. That was when he realized how his friends, and probably the whole world, really viewed him. He’d been sheltered before; his parents had doted on him, and he never saw many other people. That year, that day, that moment, his eyes had been opened.

As Dumbledore had said after the war, they saw him as more wolf than wizard—no matter how he saw himself.

As new Hogwarts teachers together, Remus was very sure that Severus Snape still viewed him that way, and probably always would. Snape had, as their school years went by, fallen out with Lily, and he’d cultivated a hatred for all of James Potter’s friends that bordered on sociopathic. Remus couldn’t really blame him, though, after the horrible stunts his friends had always pulled. For his own part, Remus ought to have been stronger when standing up to his friends; he ought to have tried to be a better influence on them. But he’d been immature and insecure, and that was a real shame, because now, the tables had turned, and Remus really needed Severus’s help.

The long and the short of it was that the Wolfsbane trials were taking too long, and Remus couldn’t hunt for Peter while he was locked up in a laboratory being studied. On the other hand, if he had a potioneer—perhaps, for instance, the most talented potioneer to graduate Hogwarts in a half-century—who could recreate the Wolfsbane potion for him based on samples of the doses Remus received before the full moons, then he could drop out of the trials and use his own home-brewed Wolfsbane to hunt for Pettigrew.

Of course, it would be dangerous—potentially fatal, if Severus got the potion wrong. Remus would be putting his life into his old enemy’s hands. But what choice did he have? Sirius was suffering, and finding Pettigrew was the only way to get him out of Azkaban.

Any big plans for the day?

We’re having dinner at the Weasleys’ again.

That’ll be nice. Wish I could join you, Molly’s cooking is legendary.

I wish you could, too.

You’ll have to eat extra to make up for it. And tell me all about it after—I’m living vicariously through you now.

Your vicarious life is pretty boring, if that’s the case.

Please. You’ve never in your life been boring, Moony. A bit studious, perhaps, but I like that about you.

You know I was only studious so I would stand a chance of beating you in classes.

Ha! A total lie. You love studying. You probably love marking homework, too, don’t you?

…Maybe.

Adorable. I’m glad you like your work. My work is a bit ugly, meanwhile…

I thought you weren’t doing jobs for Dumbledore anymore.

I have to keep talking to Death Eaters for him; I’m just not bartering chocolate anymore. (I can’t, you didn’t leave me any.)

Yes, that was on purpose, so they wouldn’t hurt you again if you got caught.

I know, and I appreciate your concern, love, but I believe I’m handling things just fine.

Have you found out anything good?

Oh, yeah, loads of things. Not supposed to tell you, though.

Really? Why not?

Don’t take it personally, Moony. The old man trusts you more than anybody. He just doesn’t want you to worry, and he knows what you’re like.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Nothing! Just, he’s recognized that you sometimes have… Let’s call it “anxious tendencies.”

I do not!

I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it! He just wants you to focus on your own work, and leave me to mine.

Fine.

Don’t be angry. I love you, you know that. I’d tell you everything that ever happens to me if I could. I’d write you all day, every day, until you’re so bored of me that you accidentally lose your parchment and abandon me to my drudgery and solitude.

I wouldn’t do that. And you write me all day, as it is.

Ha! I suppose I do. Do you mind? I can leave off, if you’re busy. I was just joking about losing the parchment.

No, I don’t mind. You can write whenever, and I’ll reply when I can.

Glad to know I’m not too boring, then.

Just boring enough.

Shut up, tosser.

Make me.

I would. I’d kiss you if I were there.

I’ll just have to owe you one.

Suppose you’re busy again, eh? Talk soon, love.

Remus rolled up the scroll after staring at it for a few confused minutes. He wasn’t sure why he was bringing it with him in his bag, but he packed it up as if it was second nature to keep an enchanted parchment on his person at all times. He told himself he just didn’t want anyone to see it if it was left out—though Harry, being a toddler, couldn’t read a single word, and there wasn’t anybody else to see.

“Ready to eat, Harry?” Remus said, having learned that phrasing things a certain way with Harry got him everywhere. (The word ‘breakfast,’ for example, was less motivating than the word ‘eat.’)

“Yeah!” Harry ran up to Remus and held up his arms. “I want up!”

Remus grinned, placed the boy on his shoulders, and walked down the long corridor to the Great Hall, all the while trying to plan what he’d say to Severus, while Harry took great fistfuls of Remus’s hair—which had now gotten very long—and urged him to go faster, faster, faster!

Severus wasn’t at the head table when they arrived, but Hagrid was, and Remus dragged Harry’s little stool over so they could sit beside him. Toast and eggs and kippers and fruit slices magically appeared on the platters before them, and Remus dished out Harry’s first, while Hagrid ruffled his hair and said, “Alright, Harry?”

Harry turned wide eyes at Hagrid and shouted, “I’m an owl! WHOOOOO!”

“Indoor voice, love,” Remus reminded him, and piled on the eggs. Harry couldn’t be disruptive if he had a mouthful of food.

“And how’s our newest History o’ Magic professor today?” Hagrid said, and to Remus’s surprise, proceeded to ruffle his hair, too.

“Oi! Better before you did that,” Remus replied, earning an amused grunt from Hagrid. “Thanks again for not telling Dumbledore about Harry staying with Jane yesterday. I know he doesn’t like that we’re friends with her, but I think it’s good for Harry to see how well-behaved her kids are, and she’s trying to help potty train him, too. She said he did okay yesterday, just a little shy about it all.”

“Mm, good, good,” Hagrid said absently, seeing to his own toast and eggs.

Remus perceived, as he often did, that Harry’s life milestones weren’t as interesting to Hagrid (or any other adult, besides maybe Sirius) as they were to him, and he changed the subject.

“Any luck with the new dragon dung fertilizer, then?”

“Oh ho! You haven’t been by the hut lately, have you? You haven’t seen.”

“Don’t tell me. They’re enormous, aren’t they?” Remus smiled.

“Biggest pumpkins you ever saw for so early in the season!” Hagrid cheered. “And it’s not even October yet! They’ll be enormous by the time o’ the Halloween feast, fer sure.”

“Will you harvest them first?” Remus asked, “And put preservation spells on them?”

That made Hagrid frown, and he said, “Normally, I don’t, no.

Then Remus blushed, remembering that Hagrid was technically forbidden from using magic—though he wasn’t sure why, he knew it had something to do with Hagrid’s own antics as a student. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty bad, if James and Sirius had gotten away with all they’d done and not been expelled like Hagrid had.

“If I can help with anything, let me know,” Remus said lightly, smiling. “You’ve done so much for me and Harry, it’s the least I could do.”

Hagrid relaxed, then, and smiled. “Better be careful what ya offer, there, Remus, me boy!”

Breakfast was pleasant, but Severus never came, and eventually Remus asked Hagrid if he’d seen him.

“He doesn’ eat with the staff on the weekends,” Hagrid said, like this was common knowledge Remus ought to have known.

Frankly, Remus had been too preoccupied to do much socialising with any of the staff, besides Hagrid. He hadn’t even really chatted with his own former favourite teacher, Professor Flitwick, or his old head of house, McGonigal. To have noticed Severus’s habits would have been above and beyond.

“I suppose I’ll swing by his office, then,” Remus said.

That got Hagrid’s attention. He frowned and said, “Why?”

He supposed their feud was common knowledge—not to mention, Severus’s past as a Death Eater meant most of the teachers were wary of him, no matter what Dumbledore said about him having been a spy for their side.

Remus said, “I’d like his advice. Something related to potions,” he added.

Hagrid’s frown deepened, and Remus worried that it was too obvious what he wanted. Hagrid was one of the few people who knew about the Wolfsbane trials, after all, and Remus was pretty sure he’d also gotten the basics of the situation with Sirius from Dumbledore.

“Well, jus’ be careful, I s’pose,” Hagrid said. He glanced at Harry. “Need me to watch the young’un while ya visit the professor?”

“No, thanks,” Remus said. He hoped Harry could act as a sort of buffer between them. How rude could one person be in the presence of an adorably precocious two-year-old?

Evidently, the answer was ‘quite.’ No sooner had Severus opened the door and seen Harry’s eager green eyes than he said, “You must have the wrong door. This isn’t the children’s nursery.”

Apparently, Severus had drawn the short straw when it came to new teachers’ offices. The room was dim and windowless, and the bed in the corner was surrounded by rickety old shelves that were stacked with books. The lamp light was yellow, and a desk below one shelf seemed to have been comprised of loose pieces of chipboard, spelled together, balancing atop a couple of oddly shaped boxes instead of legs.

Remus took in the whole of it in mild horror; had he been in Severus’s place, he would have been furious to be given such a dismal little room, knowing that accommodations that were so much better were available to other teachers—some even newer than himself.

With every attempt at cordiality, Remus said, “I’m afraid I don’t have the wrong door. Do you have a moment, Severus?”

“For you? No,” Snape replied curtly. He began to close the door, but unfortunately for him, Harry had spotted a thin, grey cat that was curled in a box at the foot of the bed and pushed his way in at that very moment, meowing and throwing himself down onto all fours.

The cat looked appraisingly at Harry but didn’t appear particularly put out; that was lucky. Harry’s arms had more than a couple scratches from a new game he liked to play in the corridors that Remus called “crush a kitty,” in which Harry threw his whole body onto passing cats, meowing at the top of his lungs like a lunatic. If students were foolish enough to let their cats out of their dormitories, then Remus figured they deserved what they got, but he wouldn’t begrudge the cats the opportunity to defend themselves.

Severus, however, reached down and grabbed Harry by his collar, then shoved him back towards Remus and said, “Control your child!”

And Harry, who was unused to being rough housed and even more unused to sharp words, looked up at Remus and burst into tears. Remus leaned down and scooped him up.

“Really, Severus, was that necessary?” Remus scolded. Severus at least had the decency to look towards his feet, though to hide his shame or his continuing anger, Remus couldn’t quite tell. “He’s only a child, for Godric’s sake, and he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He just likes your cat. Harry,” he added, rubbing Harry’s back. The boy was hiccupping miserably against Remus’s shoulder. “Sometimes, people don’t like their cats being petted. It’s best to ask first, okay?”

Harry sniffled and wiped his cheeks, nodding. He wriggled out of Remus’s arms, then turned his wet little face up at Snape and said, with his very best manners, “Sir, may I please pet the kitty?”

And Severus, the colossal git, said, “No, you may not.”

Harry scowled and stamped his foot, but the tantrum didn’t go any further than that, and Remus was pleased with him for it. He reached down to pat Harry’s shoulder.

“Fair enough. As for the other thing I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Get lost, Loony Lupin,” Snape sneered.

“If you could refrain from name-calling in front of the impressionable toddler, that’d be lovely, thanks,” Remus said, unamused.

Snape rolled his eyes. “I have nothing to discuss with you.”

“Yes, that’s understandable. After all, I approached you, so it would logically follow that I’m the one with something to say.”

“Still pretentious and insufferable, I see.”

Irritation rising, Remus bit back, “Still blind to your own failings, I see.”

“Excuse me?”

Remus smiled benignly. “What? You see me as pretentious and insufferable, but you can’t see those qualities in yourself, even a little bit?”

“If you’re saying we’re alike, Loon—Lupin,” he corrected quickly, and Remus was pleased, despite himself, “you’re stupider than I ever gave you credit for.”

“I think once you hear me out,” Remus replied, “you’ll realize I’m much stupider than you’d ever dreamed. There—doesn’t that make you the slightest bit curious?”

“No.” Severus began to close the door, but Harry—bold, courageous little thing that he was—stepped forward and grabbed Severus’s robes in his fists.

“Can’t I please pet Kitty? Gentle hands?”

Remus snorted to cover a laugh. He’d been working on “gentle hands” with Harry and the castle’s many cats for months now, with varying degrees of success.

Severus was blind to the objective cuteness of it all; he snapped, “You certainly may not. I already said that you couldn’t, and you’re a very naughty boy to ask again.”

This was quite beyond the pale, and Remus stepped in front of Severus and said, “Asking politely is not naughty, and you’ll refrain from speaking sharply to him from now on.”

“You’ll refrain from bringing him to my private quarters from now on!” Snape returned.

“Yes, I will,” Remus agreed, wishing very much he’d taken Hagrid up on his offer. What had he been thinking? “I suppose I thought, considering you were Lily’s best friend once, that you’d act decent to her kid. Shows what I know. Here I wanted Harry to get to meet somebody who was important to his mum, instead of having only his dad’s friends, but obviously you don’t think you owe anything to her, even though she never did a thing to you. Except being muggleborn, and I suppose that offended you enough.”

Snape didn’t answer, just stood quietly fuming in his doorway.

Remus leaned down and scooped up Harry. “Come on, then, Harry, I’ll find you another cat to pet.”

Remus turned to walk away, and Harry wrapped his arms around Remus’s neck and leaned over his shoulders, waving to the cat and meowing until Severus finally closed his door.

“Sorry about that,” Remus said after setting Harry down on the floor in his own office. “Are you alright to play for a while so I can mark some exams?”

Considering he was talking to a two-year-old, Remus got all the answer he deserved for that question: Harry ignored him, toddling off happily to his room, where he plopped down in front of his toy owl. The loud ‘whooing’ distracted Remus a bit, but after a while, he got into a rhythm with his work, and he passed a pleasant morning, until it was time to head to the Weasleys.

I can’t remember which of us was best at potions in school.

Not you.

Ha! I know that, I didn’t even get an OWL, did I? It was my worst subject. And obviously Peter didn’t do well, either. But you and James were both good, weren’t you?

I was best. I mean, out of the four of us. Lily was better. Snivellus was best.

Yeah. I just wish I knew another good potioneer.

Why?

Was Michael Bones any good?

Yeah, good memory. Not as good as me, but still alright. He’s living in America now, though, isn’t he?

Oh, I hadn’t heard. Maybe.

Why, exactly, are you searching for a good potioneer?

I got the formula for a pain potion from the Healer at the Wolfsbane trials. Best pain potion I’ve ever used. He wrote it down for me, but I’m not good enough to brew it.

I bet I could brew it.

I’m sure you could. You will, when you’re out. You’ll make it for me every full moon.

I hope you won’t need it every moon, if you’ve got the Wolfsbane potion.

If I take the sleeping draught version, I might need it.

Nah, they’ll fix it up by then.

I’m not sure. They might just recommend a pain potion for afterwards. It wasn’t so bad, anyway. Just like having a hangover.

As if you know anything about those, Moony.

What? I used to drink sometimes.

Sometimes, please. Next to never.

More often than now. I never drink now.

No?

No, not with Harry around. I don’t want him seeing me acting strangely.

I’ve said it before. You’re the best dad there is.

Stop, I am not.

You are, Moony. You love him so much. It makes me love you even more.

You would have been better, I’m sure.

I don’t think so. You’re the nice one, remember. I’m just the fun one. Like a cool, fun uncle.

Parents can be cool and fun. James would have been.

What, and not Lils?

No, Lily would have been as bad as me.

Ha! You know, I’m really glad you get me talking about them sometimes.

Yeah? I wasn’t sure, at first…

Neither was I. But I miss them, and talking about them helps.

That’s how I feel, too.

Can I ask you something, Moony?

You can ask, sure. Whether I’ll answer, however…

Fair enough.

What’s your question?

Are you doing okay?

Yeah, fine.

Was that the question?

Yes, but—I’d like more of an answer than ‘fine,’ if you can give it.

I’m not sure what you mean.

Just—you know, you’ve been raising Harry for almost a year now, all by yourself. You’ve been handling the full moons all by yourself, and you started a new job, and the trials in Ireland, and worrying about me, and researching Wormtail. It’s just—a lot, you know?

Yes, I know.

Right, of course you do. I guess…I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.

What would you do if I said I wasn’t?

Tell Dumbledore. Obviously, that’s all I can do, but I do still care, even though I’m stuck in bloody Azkaban.

I know you do. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.

Please, don’t be sorry. You’ve done so much for me, and I feel like I’ve abandoned you.

You haven’t. You’re here for me.

So tell me how you’re doing, then. How you’re really doing.

Tired, I suppose. Stressed. I try not to think about it.

About what?

Just—how much there is to do. How much I’ve got to fix. I try to focus on one problem at a time.

That’s good. I hope you know, you don’t have to solve every problem all on your own.

No, I suppose I don’t.

And there are plenty of people who would be thrilled to help you. To help Harry.

Yeah.

But usually, to get that help, you have to ask.

When you’re out, things will be easier.

When I’m out, I’ll take care of you as much as you’ll let me.

Oh, Merlin. You make it sound like you’re expecting a fight.

I absolutely am expecting a fight! Only your fighting tactics are subtle. Your evasive maneuvers won’t work on me, Moony. If I see you in trouble, I’ll be there no matter what.

I love you.

Shit. Shit! Remus hadn’t meant to write that. It was true, but it was also over, and if he started writing things like that, it would only be more confusing for Sirius when Remus finally got up the nerve to tell him how things really were between them.

Remus rolled up the parchment, horrified with himself, only to open it a minute later, curiosity completely getting the better of him, and find that Sirius had written, Not half as much as I love you, Moony.

He rolled the parchment up again, and this time he put it in his bag and left it there. Harry would be up from his nap soon, and then they would be off to the Weasleys’. There wasn’t time to think about Sirius, and his stupidly sweet concern for Remus, and how weak with love it all made Remus feel.

It isn’t real, he reminded himself. None of this is real.

Remus’s Floo was only connected to the Ministry, so he’d either have to take Harry to Hogsmeade and Apparate, or take Harry to Hogsmeade and Floo from the Three Broomsticks. He decided Flooing was best—Harry didn’t like to Apparate—and made a mental note to get the Burrow connected to his own Floo, if he was going to be visiting there often.

On the walk over, Harry saw a cat he could cuddle, so that was good, at least. His meowing game continued all the way to the Burrow, where his enthusiastic meowing recruited three more little boys to his cause, and soon there were meowing children roaming all through the house.

Remus smiled, amused, at Molly, who had invited him to join her in the kitchen while they waited for Arthur to get home. “He likes animals,” Remus said by way of explanation.

“Charlie went through a phase like that,” Molly said, “though once he discovered dragons, he settled on those pretty quickly and hasn’t so much as noticed another creature since.”

“Dragons, eh?” Remus said. “I’ve got some history lectures planned this year about dragons, but they’re all for the more advanced students.”

“Oh, I’m sure Charlie would love to hear about it! He’s reading books so advanced, you’d think he was a NEWT student already.”

Molly smiled fondly, and Remus grinned—enjoying her obvious pride in her son. He thought he could share some interesting facts with Charlie, and he got up to leave Molly to her cooking and track the boy down—when he almost ran headlong into Percy.

“Professor,” the boy complained, “can you tell the boys to stop meowing? I’m afraid they’ll scare off my rat!”

The word ‘rat’ made Lupin’s ears prick, and he said, “I’ll try. Where is your rat now, is he scared?” ‘Can I see it?’ he wasn’t reckless enough to say.

“He’s been missing a week,” Percy said sadly, “ever since last time you came for dinner! I thought maybe I’d be able to lure him in with cheese, but now it sounds like we’ve got four cats living here, and no rat’s going to come to a house that sounds like that.” Then, apparently deeming Remus a lost cause, Percy pushed past him, wailing, “Mu-um!”

Remus followed him back into the kitchen and waited politely, heart thrumming, while Molly told Percy that the other boys weren’t doing anything wrong by playing a little game, and the rat would know the difference between a real cat and a child pretending to be a cat, so he needn’t worry.

Percy conceded with a frowning, “Fine,” and left the room.

“I’m sorry to hear his rat’s missing,” Remus said, hearing Percy’s words replay in his mind—ever since last time you came for dinner. “He says he disappeared last time I was here.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s just a coincidence, I know you wouldn’t have stolen a simple garden rat,” Molly said, eyes alight with teasing. “Percy’s very attached to it, though. Scabbers is his name, and he was always very good, for a rat. Hardly did anything but sit around and eat the scraps the boys fed him—and he never tried to get into the cupboards.”

“What does he look like? If I see him,” Remus added.

“Oh, just brown, long tail. Like an average rat,” Again, she smiled. “If you see a rat around here, it’s bound to be his. Godric knows I don’t keep house so horrifically that there are multiple rats scurrying about my home!”

Remus laughed and tucked away his suspicion, but he still felt an odd prickle in the back of his neck.

Of course, what were the odds the rat Percy was looking for was the same rat Remus was looking for? They had to be incredibly slim. But Peter was a weakling, wasn’t he? He would almost certainly find a family to hide with—and a wizarding family would keep him appraised of what was happening in the wizarding world. It would make sense for him to hide there—until Remus had shown up, of course.

But Remus knew he was jumping to conclusions. He had no evidence this rat—if it was ever found—was Peter, or that Peter was anywhere nearby. Until Remus could shift and sniff him out, he had no real hope of finding Peter. He could meet a hundred rats and not be certain—though his instincts told him he’d know Wormtail anywhere.

The bottom line was, he hadn’t tried hard enough to convince Severus to help him. If the Wolfsbane Potion was the key to finding this missing rat, then Remus would just have to try again, and keep trying until he convinced him. He had no other choice.

I hope you enjoyed your dinner. Are you home now?

Yes, we’re home. Just got Harry off to bed. Dinner was nice, Molly made meatballs.

Red meat, your favourite thing.

Ha, yeah. Listen, you’ll tell me if I’m crazy, won’t you?

You aren’t crazy.

I haven’t even told you why I’m crazy yet.

Oh,sorry, go ahead, Moony.

The Weasleys are missing a pet rat, and it went missing last time I was at their house. Does that sound suspicious to you?

What’s it look like? You’d know if it was Wormy.

Right, that’s just it. I didn’t see the rat, I just found out tonight that it’s missing.

Well, is it missing a toe?

Oh, I should have asked! They said it was brown, long tail, average looking.

Sounds like Peter.

Sure, but so does every other rat. I would know him if I saw him, obviously, but if he’s missing…

Well, ask about the toe, then. Either it’s missing or it isn’t, and then you’ll know.

So I’m not crazy to suspect?

Why would that be crazy? You know he’s a rat, you have to start somewhere.

Yeah, that’s true. I guess I’m just trying not to get my hopes up. I keep getting disappointed.

Oh, Moony.

Ugh, don’t say that. I’m just being mopey.

I’m sorry you keep getting disappointed. If it helps, you’ve never disappointed me a single time. You’re working so hard for me, and I can never repay you.

You never need to. You’re innocent. I’ll do anything to get you out of there.

I know you will. You’re incredible, you know that?

You would do the same for me, I’m sure.

I would never need to. You aren’t hot-headed like I am. You’d have never gotten yourself into this mess.

I don’t blame you, Padfoot.

I know you don’t. That’s the most unbelievable part. You should blame me. You were always too good to me, Moony.

Oh, please.

It’s true. When I’m out, I’ll make it all up to you.

You always say that.

I mean it. Knowing I’ll be with you again is all that gets me through sometimes.

Remus closed his eyes, guilt sinking in his stomach like a stone. He should tell him; he had to tell him. Going on like this, it wasn’t fair to either of them, and he knew that, but still, he just couldn’t tell him. Not when knowing Sirius would be with him again was all that was getting Remus through, too.

He knew it was wrong; he knew it was selfish. But Remus had never in his life been selfish, and didn't he deserve to be, just this once? He was getting a second chance with the person he loved. Who could blame him for wanting to keep it just a little bit longer?

Of course, he would blame himself. And he knew it was rubbish, and he knew he'd tell him eventually. But today, he was tired, and sad, and lonely. So for once in his life, knowing exactly what the right thing was, Remus chose to do the wrong thing.

Chapter Text

First year History lessons are on Monday.

What a thrilling life you lead.

Ha, ha. It’ll be interesting this week.

Good lesson planned?

Yes, actually, but I’m not talking about that. I’m going to ask Bill Weasley about his brother’s rat.

Ooh, good luck, Moony! Let me know how it goes.

_____

That was very informative.

I’m assuming you don’t mean your lesson.

Ha, ha. My lesson was informative, now that you mention it.

Come on, what did Weasley say?

Percy Weasley’s rat's name is Scabbers because it had a big scab when they found it last autumn, where it was missing a toe.

Yes, Moony! You found him!!!

I found where he used to live, and I now know that he's missing, but I still haven’t found him.

Well, how hard can it be to find one stupid rat?

Hopefully not too hard! I’m going to owl Arthur about him tonight.

_____

Have you heard back from Arthur?

Yes, he and Molly are searching for Peter. Molly’s a bit disturbed about the whole thing.

Disturbed?

A mass murdering Animagus was sleeping in her son’s bed, pretending to be a rat.

Oh, sure. A bit disturbing when you put it that way.

I’m not sure there’s any way to put it that wouldn’t be disturbing, Padfoot.

Fair enough.

I told Moody, too, but he said he couldn’t help yet. Not until we’ve actually found him.

Good idea, still, to tell him, love.

_____

You’ll never guess who’s been acting friendly to Harry.

Who?

Severus Snape.

Ugh, Moony, really? Disgusting. You’ll have to keep him away from our boy.

Harry likes him.

Well, no, that’s putting it a bit strongly. Harry isn’t as frightened of him as he used to be. And he loves his cat.

Seriously? Why are you letting him talk to Harry?

Two reasons, mainly. First, he was Lily’s best friend growing up, and I want Harry to have something of Lily’s, besides her eyes.

You were Lily’s good friend, too, as I recall.

But James’s first.

Fair enough. And secondly?

Yes, secondly—I want his cooperation.

With what?

I’m going to ask him about the Wolfsbane potion.

Ask him what?

To take a closer look at it.

Just look at it, right? Not brew it?

Right.

I mean it.

So do I.

Moony, you can’t think he can brew you one. The formula is proprietary while it’s still being tested, and it would be impossible for any potioneer, even a world-class one, to get the ratios right based on a sample. Nobody could do it safely, not even Snape.

Yes, I know.

And if he tried to brew it and did it wrong, you’d, you know, die!

I’m not going to ask him to brew it, Sirius!

Promise?

Yes, yes, I promise. Merlin, you’re worked up about this.

Sorry.

No, it’s fine. Just teasing you.

Okay. Hard to tell via enchanted parchment.

Funny you. No, I don’t want him to brew the potion, I just need him to tell me whether I have the real thing or a placebo. Or the sleeping draught one, I suppose, because that would be a complication, too.

What are you on about?

Right, sorry—got ahead of myself. So, I get this potion every month, right? What if one month, I have a conflict and I can’t go?

I don’t know.

Well, I wrote to them to ask, and they said that would be no problem. Since they don’t know which potion is which, I’d just have to consent to being locked up for the night by my local authorities.

Well, that’s no good!

No problem, I’ll just check in with an Auror and have him secure me for the night.

You know—my own personal Auror?

Ah. You’d go to Moody.

Yes. And then I’d hunt for Peter. But it’ll only work on the month I get the real potion, no placebo, no sleeping draught, and to know that for sure, I need Severus.

You think he’ll tell you the truth?

I don’t see why he wouldn’t. He should be able to tell which potion has Aconite and which doesn’t easily enough.

If he knew he was helping me, he might not want to do it.

Well, there’s that. But I haven't mentioned you to him, and what he doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him.

I can’t help thinking I might be a bad influence on you, Moony.

Oh, yeah, the worst.

You still love me, though.

For some reason, I do.

_____

Haven’t heard from you in a few days.

I guess you must be busy.

Sorry, had a round of exams, and I misplaced the parchment.

I’m really sorry.

I was panicking, actually.

I did Accio Parchment, and this huge stack came flying at me from all over the room, it was awful.

That sounds hilarious.

You okay?

Yeah, just had a kip. Not much else to do around here.

How’s Dumbledore’s project going?

Got him a few good leads. We’ll see how it pans out.

Still can’t tell me about it?

Nope. Not that I know much.

So, what are you up to?

I’m getting Harry ready to go to Hagrid’s hut. There was a unicorn sighting, and Hagrid wants Harry to see it.

Moony, that’s amazing!

Yeah, it is. Harry’s obsessed with animals.

Are cats still his favourite?

Maybe. Or owls. One or the other.

You should get him one for Christmas.

That’s a great idea. Wait, cat or owl?

Cat. What do you need an owl for, you only ever write to me.

You don’t know who else I write to.

Who else do you write to, then?

Moody.

Good correspondent, is he?

Define good.

Ha, ha. Hey, if you do get a cat, you should go into my vault to pay for it, and then it’ll be like it was from me.

That’s a nice idea! You can just pay me back, though. I’m not going into your vault.

Why not? Just take the key from the dish on our dresser, it should still be there.

Though, I guess you’ve moved to Hogwarts now, haven’t you? What did you do with all our things? Still at the flat?

You there, Moony?

You must be busy again. Don’t work too hard!

_____

14 October 1982

It was unseasonably warm, and Remus’s final hour of the day was a free period, so he went to get Harry from Hagrid’s while it was still early enough for a little walk through the grounds.

“Want to go look at the owls with me?” he’d said after Harry had finished enthusiastically hugging him, as he did at the end of every day when Remus came to pick him up, as if they’d been apart for weeks and weeks instead of just since lunch.

“WHOOOO!” was Harry’s enthusiastic reply, and they went straight to the grounds so they could watch the owls coming and going from the Owlery.

The sun was still high in the sky, and Remus laid on his back in the sunshine, indulging in the rare luxury of an afternoon off, without any essays to mark. He’d been lax in assigning homework lately due to a sudden interest his younger students had taken in the history of Quidditch. This brief diversion from their regular lessons was not in Binns’ old lesson plan, but to call it popular was an understatement. Remus’s grateful students had been bringing him gifts of chocolate frogs and cinnamon snaps all week as they read Quidditch Through the Ages and wrote up projects on the histories of their own favourite teams.

“I be an owl,” Harry announced, with a big grin at Remus as he stepped into his line of vision. Remus looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“You want to be an owl? Interesting ambition. I’d tell you it’s impossible, but your first dad did become a stag, so who knows?”

“Stag?” Harry frowned, arms still outstretched like wings, and cocked his head.

“And your current dad becomes a wolf every full moon,” Remus added. It was the sort of thing he mentioned to Harry casually now and then. He really wasn’t sure how much it was wise to say, and—wonder of wonders—not a single parenting book had a word to say about being a werewolf. But common sense could assist Remus on this much, at least. Harry was below the age of secret keeping, which meant he would probably spill the news to anybody who asked him if he properly understood it. Nonetheless, Remus didn’t feel right about lying. He figured his best bet was to make lycanthropy sound as ordinary as possible until Harry was old enough to understand both his father’s condition and the need for secrecy concerning it.

“I will be an owl,” Harry repeated firmly, then dashed around Remus in a large circle, only stopping when a snowy white owl departed the Owlery, wings spread wide, soaring down to catch a mouse.

“But whatever will I do, if you become an owl and fly away from me?” Remus asked, feigning drama, reaching for Harry’s hand.

Harry giggled and squirmed away. He watched the owl until it was out of sight, then all at once, threw himself into Remus’s arms. “Fly with me!” he said. Whether that was in answer to Remus’s question or a new command for Remus was unclear, but Remus took it as the latter, nonetheless.

He stood up, grabbed Harry under his arms, and spun him through the air. “Faster!” Harry shrieked, and Remus—tall and wiry but stronger than he looked—obliged, until they were both laughing and dizzy, falling in a pile on the grassy hill.

“You’ll make him sick up his dinner.”

Remus turned and saw Severus Snape walking up the hill towards them, hands shoved in the pockets of a much-too-warm cloak.

“Severus,” Remus said with a nod. “He hasn’t had his dinner yet.” He glanced at the clock tower above the school, which could just be seen in the distance. “Ah—is it after five, then?”

“Yes. How long have you been knocking about? Do you have fewer lessons hours than I have, in addition to having a better office?”

Remus smirked. “Free period. And Dumbledore told me that you requested that office. Didn't you know it was awful? There are nice offices in our corridor, empty and free for the taking.”

“Why are you asking Dumbledore about me?”

Remus shrugged. “We’re friends now, so I thought—”

“We are not friends!” Snape said. “Just because your son likes my cat, and you happen to have access to the most interesting potion invented in the past century, doesn’t make us friends.”

“Ah. Right. Silly me. Speaking of the potion, were you able to take a look?”

Remus’s first batch of Wolfsbane for this month’s moon had just arrived, and he’d actually gotten Snape to inspect it for him. In fact, Snape had been so eager to see it, he’d been the one to suggest it—and now, it appeared Remus was doing him the favour.

But Snape’s expression turned sour, and he threw himself down on the hill a short distance from Remus. “It’s just a placebo this month, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Oh.” Remus felt so genuinely disappointed that for a moment, he forgot to pretend he didn’t mind. He said, “Well, I’ll show you again next month.”

“Please do,” Snape said. “I’m particularly interested in how they’ve done the time-delay.”

“Oh, right, for the sleeping draught. Well, I’m not sure it’ll even have the sleeping draught, it’s all single-blind—”

“I’ll be able to tell,” Snape said, waving a hand dismissively.

At that moment, Harry chose to ‘fly’ directly at Snape, shouting “Whoooo!” in his face and throwing himself into his arms.

Remus began to reach over to stop the collision, but was pleasantly surprised when Snape caught Harry with some agility, and then actually laughed as he set him upright again.

“Are you hunting? How enterprising of you,” he remarked.

Harry grinned widely and ran off in circles again, this time hunting for Remus, who was better at this game than Snape. He caught Harry and tossed him in the air, making Harry laugh and laugh.

“He does look a bit like Lily,” Snape conceded after Harry had run off again.

“Her eyes, certainly,” Remus agreed. “How old were you when you met her?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Five or six. When I noticed her doing accidental magic, I came to say hello.” Severus’s eyes had gotten a faraway look, but then he turned to Remus suspiciously and said, “Why?”

Remus shrugged. “Just wondering. I don’t have baby pictures of Lily, or James, so. Curious, I suppose.”

The mention of James did the work of finalising Snape’s bad mood, and he left them soon afterwards.

Pleased to be alone again, Harry dove into Remus’s arms happily, and they spun again for a while as the sun finally sank low in the sky. Remus thought of Sirius, and the dementors, and how cold it always was in Azkaban. He thought of Peter, roaming through a farm somewhere in Ottery St. Catchpole, fat and well-fed and thinking he’d gotten away with it all. He thought of the goddamned placebo he’d be taking instead of the Wolfsbane potion, which he’d already gotten used to. He thought of how uncomfortable it would be to shift at the lab in that tiny room without keeping his right mind. He’d probably have new scars this month, but that was nothing. He’d been gaining new scars all his life.

The good news is Snape looked at the potion for me.

And the bad news?

It’s the placebo.

Damn.

Sorry. Better luck next month, I suppose.

Sure.

At least Snape’s agreed to look at it! That’s getting us somewhere.

I suppose. I don’t like that you and Harry spend so much time with him.

We don’t spend SO much time with him.

More than you spend with me.

Well, I’m sorry, we live in the same castle. I spend more time with Filch than you, too.

Not helping.

You’re being silly. Who cares if we’re friends with Snape, if it helps get you out?

He hates me! He hated James, and he was a right prat to Lily.

I remember. I think he regrets it, though.

I highly doubt that.

Let me rephrase: he regrets the bit with Lily.

Sounds more realistic.

Really, though, he seems…well, not great, but not as awful. At least not around Harry, anyway.

When are you visiting me next?

Whenever you like.

Not whenever I like. You couldn’t come right this second.

Well, no, I suppose not. On a weekend, I could.

You haven’t in three weeks.

I wanted to come the last two weekends, and both times you said not to waste our time with you and to go hunt for Pettigrew instead!

I know what I said. That was before I knew you were spending all this time with Snivellus.

Oh, for Merlin’s sake. You aren’t jealous of him.

Of course not.

Good. He isn’t worth it. He hasn’t replaced you. He’s just helping with the potion, that’s all.

I just hate that I’m still stuck in here.

I know. I hate it, too.

Sorry for being a git about Snivellus.

You always were, when it came to him.

Don’t remind me.

Oh, right. I didn’t mean—that.

I’m glad he doesn’t hold that against you, anyway.

Well, if it’s any consolation, I think he does still hold it against you.

Why would that console me, exactly?

Not sure. Made more sense before I wrote it.

So you say.

I’ll visit you soon, Padfoot. I’m sorry it’s been so long.

It’s alright. I did tell you not to, after all. I got ahead of myself. Thought you’d find him by now.

Sorry, I didn’t mean it like a complaint.

I shouldn’t have said it.

Are you putting Harry to bed or something? I’ll leave you to it, then. Sorry again, Moony.

_____

“Oh, Godric, what are you doing here?” Sirius said, grinning like mad as he walked into the visitation cell.

Remus stood near the partition, smiling.

“You said you wanted me to visit,” he said, “and Harry got to bed early. Hagrid agreed to stay over so I could come.”

Sirius walked right up to Remus, and Remus pulled him into his arms, pretending not to notice the way Sirius’s touch had changed since the dementor’s embrace—how much more firmly he held Remus, and where his hands were placed, one on his waist, another in his hair. Holding Remus like a lover would.

The way Sirius sighed into the touch, cheek pressed to Remus’s, was harder to ignore.

And the way he tasted, lips seeking Remus’s like a man starved, was impossible to ignore.

“I missed you,” Sirius whispered when Remus pulled back in stunned surprise.

A feeling of panic rose inside him, because Remus hadn’t exactly drawn a clear line for this sham of a relationship with Sirius, but if he had, kissing would definitely cross it. Hoping Sirius wouldn’t think too much about how quickly he withdrew, Remus said, “How are you?”

Sirius stood back and let Remus take a better look at him. He looked terrible—thinner than before, with skin taking on a yellowish hue that made his blue eyes look a bit grey. His hair was straggly and faded, too, and his cheeks were sunken and drawn.

Before either of them could say another word, Remus tugged Sirius back into his arms. “Godric, I’m sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Don’t be,” Sirius said. “It’s just the nature of the beast.”

“I’ve got to get you out of here,” Remus said, for the millionth time.

Sirius touched his waist. “You’re doing your best.”

This time, when Sirius leaned in to kiss him again, Remus allowed it—but he was too gentle, and Sirius huffed at him and said, “I won’t break, Moony.”

Remus squeezed his hands. “You don’t know that.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and gestured to the wall. “Come on, let’s sit down, then.”

Remus followed him, observing the tired, lopsided way he walked. He wondered if just the exertion of standing in the centre of the room had tired him out. He sat just over the edge of the magical partition, and Sirius leaned into his chest, letting himself be held. It was horrible—a skinny, emaciated frame of the man that had driven Remus mad with longing a hundred times over when they were young. And they were still young, weren’t they? Sirius wasn’t quite twenty-three, but he felt bony and fragile, a whisp of a man.

“Stop thinking whatever you’re thinking,” Sirius muttered, elbowing Remus to break the tension.

Remus nudged him with his knee. “You’re still bossy, I see.”

Sirius smirked over his shoulder. “Seriously, calm down. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“They haven’t hurt you again, have they?”

“No,” Sirius said. “Just regular wear and tear. Oh, by the way, do you have any chocolate?”

“Sure,” Remus said, pulling his bag over to Sirius. “Take all you want. Just don’t bring it to your cell with you.”

Sirius nodded. “I won’t. Wow, you have a ton of frogs.”

Remus smiled. “Gifts from students.”

“I knew you’d be popular,” Sirius grinned, “I’ll bet all the little witches fancy you.”

Remus blushed; he hated the idea of students fancying him. “No, they’re just glad someone living is delivering their lectures this year.”

“Binns was the ideal predecessor, then.”

“I’ll say. And he still shows up to class sometimes, so that’s always a fun little diversion.”

Sirius snorted. “Speaking of fun diversions. You didn’t have to come all this way, you know.”

Remus shrugged. “The Ministry is only a Floo away. The hard part is Harry. I have to keep him on a schedule and all.”

“A schedule?”

“Yeah, the parenting books say to make sure he has a routine and you don’t stray from it, or he’ll feel insecure. There are all kinds of things that make kids insecure, evidently, and Harry’s already had about half of them happen to him, so.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, losing a parent. Moving homes. Being neglected for any period of time. He was with the Dursleys for that week, remember.”

“Right, yeah,” Sirius said, but his face looked foggy.

“Do you remember?” Remus asked, frowning at him.

“I’m not sure,” Sirius said. “I think so, yeah. Was that—right after? At first?”

Remus nodded. “I visited you, and you suggested I check on Harry. Do you remember that?”

Sirius nodded more confidently then, and smiled. “Yes, I definitely remember you visiting. We argued, didn’t we? But I can’t remember what about…”

The foggy look returned, and this time Remus changed the subject. He happened to remember exactly what they’d argued about, but now wasn’t the time to spill that particular secret—not while Sirius was letting Remus hold him like this.

Instead, he said, “And that was why it took me so long to come back and visit you. I was so overwhelmed with Harry, for a bit.”

“That’s right,” Sirius said, “and then you brought him to see me. You should have brought him today,” he said, then quickly added, “not that I mind having just you, of course. I only meant that I like to see him.”

“He likes seeing you, too.”

Sirius smiled and squeezed Remus’s knee. “While it’s just us, we might as well take advantage…”

Remus didn’t stop Sirius kissing him this time; he didn’t even consider it. He’d missed this so much—the tender confidence with which Sirius kissed, as if Remus was exactly what he wanted, and he always got what he wanted.

He barely remembered he was angry as Sirius turned in his arms, twisting his fingers in Remus’s hair, breath hot on Remus’s lips, sweet from the chocolate he’d eaten. Sirius tucked one leg between Remus’s, turning and going up on his knees. He was pressing, leaning hard against Remus—knowing exactly what he was doing. Remus gasped and whispered, “Not here.”

“Why not?” Sirius smirked. “We’re alone. We can touch.”

Remus was panting, and there wasn’t enough blood in his brain to formulate the words to explain why not, or even to understand it. That technically, they weren’t together. That Sirius hadn’t wanted them to be together, hadn’t wanted Remus.

Remus stood up abruptly, heart pounding, suddenly furious and sad—as if he was still standing on the porch with Sirius, still hearing him say, “This just isn’t working for me anymore, Moony.”

Remus walked away, to the chair in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his face, needing Sirius to leave it be—not to ask, not to push it.

“What’s wrong? Moony?”

Sirius sounded worried, and that hurt, too. Remus couldn’t say, “You thought I was selling out my friends to the Death Eaters, so you dumped me.” So instead, he said, “I just don’t feel right doing this while…while you’re stuck in here.”

“Well, I’m fine with it,” Sirius said. He sounded so frustrated that Remus almost laughed. He wanted Sirius to be upset, suddenly. Wanted to be cruel to him.

“It’s just sort of undignified, isn’t it?” Remus said.

Sirius was very quiet afterwards, and Remus instantly regretted it. No part of Sirius’s life was dignified at present, and it was very unfair to say so.

Remus turned to find Sirius was no longer where he’d left him; he’d stood up, too, and was nearer the back wall. Remus’s bag lay abandoned at the partition, a sad little souvenir of what had almost taken place between them.

“Sorry,” Remus whispered, instantly ashamed, wanting to hold Sirius again, but not knowing how to ask for it. “I’m sorry.”

Sirius came, anyway, let Remus wrap him up close, whispering, “I understand, Moony,” even though he didn’t understand, couldn’t possibly understand, because Remus hadn’t told him.

“It’s just—”

“It’s okay,” Sirius said softly. He pressed a hand against the small of Remus’s back and sighed again, as if just being near to Remus was healing him somehow. “It must be hard for you, seeing me like this.”

Was that all Sirius thought this was? Did he think Remus was so shallow? But, no—he seemed to think that Remus was too tender for it all; he was holding Remus as if he was the broken one, stroking him gently and murmuring soft things against the shell of his ear.

“I love you,” Remus whispered, hating the impulse that made him say it, even as he felt Sirius smile, heard his relieved little sigh as he whispered, “I love you, too.”

They didn’t talk much, after that. To Remus, the air felt heavy with all the things he couldn’t say. He wondered if he would always feel this cavernous hurt in the place where Sirius had doubted him; he wondered if it could ever be healed, now that Sirius’s memory of his own crimes against Remus had been erased.

When the hour was up, Remus kissed Sirius again, because he did love him, so much. Even after all that he’d done. He loved him more than he loved himself; perhaps that was why he didn’t have more goddamned self-respect.

By the time he’d gotten home, Remus had talked himself back into complacency about the whole thing. When Sirius got out of prison, they would get it sorted. After Pettigrew was caught, and justice was served, and Harry was really safe, then they could worry about everything else. In the meantime, he could make allowances, couldn’t he? He was only human, after all.

He pulled out the parchment and wrote to Sirius.

Got back to Hogwarts okay, in case you wondered.

Just wanted to say goodnight.

He waited a few minutes, but Sirius didn’t respond, so Remus pulled out his History of Magic book to start planning next week’s lectures. He glanced at Sirius’s parchment every few minutes, but no reply came. Remus was just beginning to worry when a large, silvery Phoenix swept into the room through the walls.

Dumbledore’s Patronus.

“Come to my office first thing tomorrow morning,” his voice boomed through the creature. “Something has happened with Sirius.”

Chapter Text

15 October 1982

Sirius’s cell was like ice. It was always cool, that was nothing new. Except, he realised slowly, there was something new going on. His hands and feet were numb with cold, and his chest was so heavy, he felt like he could hardly breathe. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling through dry, blurring eyes.

And he was definitely in a prison cell. He had been for a while, hadn’t he? But he couldn’t remember why.

The air around Sirius grew colder—the presence of a Dementor, naturally. One of the few things he could remember. In the darkness, his consciousness of its presence grew—the memories it pulled from him horrible and haunting, making his whole body tense with dread.

But—but he couldn’t quite remember what he was dreading. The Dementors passed, and the torturous feelings faded, but Sirius couldn’t remember what had caused them. Why was he so miserable? What was this sorrow that constricted his chest, making every breath sharp and painful?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything, and the confusion fogged his mind, spreading and growing until he was lost in it, completely adrift, and the fear rose to meet it.

He wasn’t dead, but he almost wished he was. Nothing felt real anymore except the sorrow, and the cold, and the fact that he was in this cell somehow. Perhaps he was dead. He felt that he deserved it, for some reason, but he didn’t quite know why. He couldn’t remember what he’d done, but he knew it was horrible, and his mind churned remorse like a habit, gravitating towards regret even though it had no object on which to focus.

Time must have passed; it must have, because that was something Sirius knew: a fact that couldn’t change, even when everything else seemed warped and off-kilter. He’d had a life once, outside of this cell, and now his life was inside it, and something had happened to put him there, and he didn’t know why. Those were the facts, weren’t they? Weren’t they?

Sleep came, and when consciousness returned afterwards, Sirius could move his arms and legs. He rolled over, crying out in pain as the numbness receded and was replaced with a fiery sharpness in every limb. He tried to walk, but he couldn’t get his legs beneath him. He had better luck with his arms; he used them to shift up and sit, back flat against the wall of his cell. A parchment lay beside him, and he reached for it, seeing that it was covered in small, black print.

Dumbledore. He was corresponding with Dumbledore. Why he could remember this fact and nothing else was strange, but it was something, wasn’t it? He clung to it, to the single facet of his consciousness that had any weight, any reality to it. He knew that he could write on this parchment, and Dumbledore would write back. He’d had an assignment to do. That, too, he remembered. It involved the war.

Yes—Dumbledore, the assignment, the war. Something must have happened; something must have made him forget.

He took the quill that had been laid on the parchment and wrote, Where am I?

You’re in Azkaban.

I think something’s happened. I can’t remember how I got here. Am I doing an assignment for the Order?

Yes, you’re gathering intelligence for me from the Death Eaters.

I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing. I think I’ve had my memory compromised somehow.

It would appear so. Do you remember why you are in prison?

No. I’m undercover, aren’t I?

No, you’re not. You’re imprisoned for a crime you did not commit. Do you remember anything about that?

No, nothing. What’s the crime?

Dumbledore didn’t reply right away, but somehow Sirius knew that was normal, too. He often had to wait for a reply. It had always been that way; Dumbledore was a very busy man. He laid the parchment down and looked at his hands. His fingers were white, blood vessels constricted and robbing him of the feeling in his hands. That was fine; better numb than burning with pain, like his feet. Those, he observed with alarm, looked almost blue—dark and wounded from the cold.

What the hell had happened?

It was impossible to know what time it was, what day it was. It was impossible to know anything. Sirius twirled the quill in his hands and watched the feather spin, black and white alternating to a muddied shade of grey when he worked the feather fast enough. This was a very strange assignment; as far as Sirius knew, Azkaban had been infiltrated by the Death Eaters, along with the Ministry itself. Most people in the prison who were at all useful to Voldemort had already been sprung, and those who were locked up in here were more likely to be criminals without affiliation—loyal to nobody but themselves. He lifted the quill again.

What assignment am I supposed to have while I’m here? I can’t remember it.

You were learning about Voldemort’s activities before his fall.

What fall? Voldemort’s fallen?

Again, Sirius waited, but there was no reply. The war had stretched on too long for him to get his hopes up. Though both sides had suffered immense casualties, neither were close to folding yet. For his own part, Sirius would never give up fighting. He hated dark magic, and he hated blood purity, and he hated all the pressures and prejudices of his stupid family most of all. The Blacks supported Voldemort; they’d aligned themselves with him ages ago. It was why Sirius had moved in with James’s family back when they were still teenagers; he’d been ashamed to have a family who thought so much of being pureblood, who’d made themselves a terror to anyone they viewed as inferior. For Merlin’s sake, Voldemort himself wasn’t even a pureblood, didn’t they know that? But it wasn’t important to them; all they cared about was power. They never looked out for anybody but themselves.

Sirius fell asleep again at some point; he hadn’t meant to, but his cell was dim and boring, and he had nothing to do. When he woke up again, his feet were the same white colour as his hands. They hurt, but he found he could stand. He took a few tremulous steps across his cell, finding a bowl of porridge there, cold and tacky. No spoon. He ate it with his fingers, suddenly ravenous, and the temperature of the stuff was good for that. It wasn’t runny, and it didn’t make too much of a mess. He was still hungry afterwards, and he remembered having a chocolate frog hidden somewhere in his cell.

But he’d given it away, hadn’t he? Just last night, he now recalled—the knowledge springing up in his mind like a flower bursting from its seed. He’d had a chocolate frog, and he’d given it to someone. To his cousin Bellatrix? Yes, to her, in exchange for information. But how had she gotten into prison? She was a Death Eater, of course, but she was one of Voldemort’s most devoted followers. He couldn’t imagine what could have happened to her to get her in here, but maybe that’s why Sirius had been sent here by the Order. To get information from Bella.

And had he gotten the information? Again, his mind produced the knowledge as if it had been there all along. Yes, he had gotten it. He’d learned that there were artifacts from each of the Hogwarts founders except Gryffindor. He’d learned that Bella had one, and so did Sirius’s own brother, Regulus. Except—except Regulus was dead, wasn’t he? That, too, was a surprise he’d already known—but it was a sharper one, and it made Sirius ache. He had doted on Regulus when they were young, hadn’t he? But that was a very long time ago. He knew Regulus was dead; he’d made his peace with it.

He walked gingerly back across his cell, sitting cross-legged and laying the parchment out before him.

Bellatrix told me there are artifacts from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. She has one in her possession, and so did Regulus, but he’s dead now.

Excellent, Sirius. Your memories have been recovered, then?

I can remember talking to Bella, but not much else. I know Regulus is dead. When did it happen? It was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

Yes, three years ago now.

What year is this, then? 

Again, there was no reply. Sirius put the parchment away, and when there was nothing else for him to do, he fell asleep for the third time.

When he woke up, the Dementor had come to bring him to the visitation room.

The visitation room—Moony! Though he didn’t know how he knew it, Sirius was suddenly sure that Remus was coming to visit him. He’d been getting visits from him regularly, hadn’t he? Moony must be in on this mission, whatever it was. That was a comforting thought. Moony would be able to explain everything—not to mention, he was easy on the eyes, wasn’t he?

Sirius came after the Dementor at a distance, knowing intuitively that he’d regret getting too close. He was limping pretty badly; that was more due to the lack of sensation in his feet than any lingering pain at this point, but he still knew that Remus would be worried. He’d have to try to hide it. He straightened his posture, and on the walk to the cell, he used his fingers to comb some of the knots out of his hair. It felt dry and dirty, and Sirius was suddenly struck with concern. How long, exactly, had he been in Azkaban?

Remus would know. Remus would tell him everything.

The door opened to a room that was both familiar and strange. It was dark and small, and a rippling magical partition extended across the middle. Remus was standing on the other side of it, concern written all over his face.

“I’m alright,” Sirius said instantly, hurrying towards him so fast that he forgot to hide his limp.

“You’re hurt,” Remus said.

Sirius shook his head. “No, just a bit numb. I'm fine, really.” At the partition, he had to wait for Remus to pull him into his arms. He remembered this, too, in that distant way that he was remembering everything now, it seemed. Remus could touch him as long as he went first, and he did now—very gently.

Sirius nestled his face into Remus’s neck, breathing in his scent deeply. Since he was sixteen years old, this had been Sirius’s very favourite smell. It felt like every good memory he’d ever known had its beginning, middle, and end in that smell—though he knew logically that that couldn’t quite be true.

Sirius didn’t want to let go, so he didn’t. He stood there, chin propped on Remus’s shoulder, and settled in, letting Remus support most of his weight. “I should tell you,” he said quietly, “I can’t quite remember the mission at the moment. I think something’s happened to my memory, but I can’t remember what.”

Remus finally pulled back, and Sirius gave him a shy smile. He looked very concerned.

“Dumbledore told me,” he said. “The good news is, we’ve caught it early. Your memories should be recoverable—at least, the ones you just lost should be. With quick intervention, we can get them back.”

Sirius nodded, reaching for Remus’s hand—but the magical partition stopped him. “Okay, perfect. How do we do it?”

“I’ve just been to see a mind healer, and she’s taught me the steps. I’ve never done it before, but…well. We don’t have much of a choice in the matter, do we?”

Sirius wasn’t frightened, even though it was clear that Remus was. He said, “That’s fine, Moony. I trust you.”

An odd look passed over Remus’s face, but it was probably just his nerves. He said, “The first step involves clearing out the depressive vacuum left by the Dementor’s presence.”

Sirius didn’t bother pretending to understand; he just said, “Go ahead, then.”

Remus hesitated for only a moment, then leaned in and put one hand on Sirius’s chest and another along his jawbone, just below his ear. He closed his eyes and pulled Sirius in close, and Sirius closed his eyes, too, expecting to be kissed. But Remus didn’t kiss him. Instead, a crystally feeling spread from the places Remus was touching him—hard and refracting, a vibrating explosion of sensation. Sirius gasped, trying to stay conscious, but he could feel himself slipping, could feel the awareness of the room around him drifting away as his body abandoned all feeling.

When he came to, he was on the floor in Remus’s arms, head on his lap, with a wand tapping his forehead lightly. A soft, silver glow was pouring from its tip, and Sirius opened his eyes just in time to see it recede, and to perceive that the glowing thing had entered his own mind. He sat up abruptly, and a pounding headache drove him right back down again. Sirius moaned, and Remus said, “Yes, it’s supposed to hurt if it’s working. Good sign, I suppose. Here, they’ve given me a potion for that.”

Sirius opened his lips, delirious with the pain of the spell Remus had just done. He let the cool potion pour down his throat, and in half a minute, relief spread all through his body—not just his head, but his hands and feet, as well. He wiggled his fingers and toes, then sighed in relief.

“That’s better, Moony.”

Remus sighed in relief. “Okay. Okay, then.”

Sirius opened his eyes and looked at Remus; he was sweating, breathing heavily. He looked pained. Sirius squeezed his hand, which was still resting on his chest. “I’m alright now.”

With his other hand, Remus touched Sirius’s hair, very gently. Even though he knew it must be a greasy rat’s nest at this point, Sirius wasn’t embarrassed. He gazed into Remus’s eyes and knew he never needed to be ashamed before this man. He felt safe, amid all the terror of war. If Remus was here, holding him like this, things couldn’t be so very dire.

“Can you remember now?” Remus asked.

Sirius closed his eyes again, concentrating. What had he forgotten, anyway? Was he supposed to remember something? He opened his eyes to find Remus even more concerned than before, if that were possible. He said, “Is there something specific I’m supposed to remember?”

“About—about why you’re in prison?” Remus prompted.

“You mean, how Peter framed me?”

Remus closed his eyes, exhaling a long, steady breath. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes, that’s right.” He hesitated a moment. “And you remember Harry lives with me?”

Sirius smiled, because Remus as a father was his favourite version of Remus—and he’d loved him a whole hell of a lot before that, so it was really saying something. “Yes,” he said.

“And—and James and Lily?”

Godric, would it ever hurt less to hear their names? He cringed, and Remus squeezed his hand.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Just—making sure.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius said. He still felt foggy. “Did I—had I forgotten what happened to them?”

Remus nodded. He exhaled a very long breath, then brushed Sirius’s hair off his forehead again. “Yeah, but Dumbledore figured it out, and I got here in time. It’s fine. You remember now.”

“Here, help me up,” Sirius said, shifting his weight. Remus obliged, and they sat up together, knee to knee through the magical partition. “I—can’t really remember what’s just happened.”

Remus gave him a little smile. He said, “You stole a chocolate frog from me yesterday, and you used it to barter with the Death Eaters. You got caught, and you got a Dementor’s Embrace. They stole more of your memories, but apparently that’s reversible if the right spells are done in time.”

Sirius tried to smile. “So, you’ve cured me, then?”

Remus reached out and tucked a piece of Sirius’s hair behind his ear, caressing him lightly. “Seems that way.”

“Wait, what did you mean, more of my memories? Am I missing other things?”

Remus looked away, just over Sirius’s shoulder, as he answered, “We—we thought so. You’ve had one other Embrace, but we didn’t catch it in time to restore the memories then.”

Sirius thought he remembered that, faintly. It was all still a bit difficult to decipher. When Remus finally met his eye again, he looked very nervous, and Sirius gave him half a smile. “Well, I suppose I don’t know what I don’t know.”

Remus smiled back. “You said that last time.”

“Did I? Hm. Well, I’m always very clever.”

Remus laughed, then took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He seemed less anxious after, and he reached out and took Sirius’s hand, putting it on his own knee, palm up, and playing idly with Sirius’s fingers. “I’d be angry with you for taking the chocolate frog, but it doesn’t seem like you remember doing it,” he said.

Sirius grinned. “I remember it a bit. I had to do it, to get the information from my cousin. She’s mad for chocolate frogs. As bad as you are.”

“Well, don’t do it again. The effects of the Embrace are supposed to be a little bit worse each time they happen.”

“It’s my mission,” Sirius said. “I had to do it. Anything to beat Voldemort, right? And protect Harry?”

Remus stared at Sirius for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed him. Sirius smiled against his lips, missing him terribly, wanting more of him even when he had him in his arms. Remus had always driven Sirius mad like that: a need that started with his brown eyes and sandy curls, his tall, strong frame—beautiful man—and bled out to everything else. His kindness, his generosity, his cleverness. There was nothing about Remus that Sirius did not adore; he pulled him closer, hands sliding down to his hips. He leaned back, wanting Remus above him, wanting him to overshadow every other thought.

Remus pulled away just when Sirius’s need for him was reaching unbearable heights. Sirius groaned and reached for him. This felt horridly familiar. “Where are you going?”

Remus shook his head. “I’m sorry—I can’t…do this, I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

“It’s not taking advantage,” Sirius said, “I want it, believe me.”

Remus wasn’t looking at him; he’d risen to his feet, just like yesterday—only this time, he’d taken his bag away with him.

“Are you mad about the chocolate frogs?” Sirius asked, because otherwise he honestly couldn’t understand why Remus was being so distant with him all of a sudden.

“No,” Remus said, “well, I mean, yes, I guess, a little bit, but. No, that’s not why—”

“What? Just—is it that I’m in prison, is it Azkaban?” Sirius knew he wasn’t exactly the young pureblood heir he’d been in school, but he wasn’t horrible to look at now, was he? And how shallow could you get, anyway?

But Remus said, “It isn’t that, Sirius, it’s just that—I know you think you want this, but you don’t.”

“Uh—no, I really do.”

Remus grunted in frustration, rubbing his hands over his face. He turned and looked at Sirius for a long moment, then said, “Okay, look. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Sirius really didn’t like the sound of that. He glared at Remus, suddenly feeling hurt and numb with betrayal. “You’ve started seeing someone else, haven’t you?”

“What? No, of course not, I wouldn’t—I mean, I could have, I suppose, but—”

“Oh, well, very magnanimous of you to refrain,” Sirius said, humiliated and cold on the floor where Remus had left him. He tried to stand up, but his legs were still shaky. Better on his knees, then; it wasn’t as if Remus had left him any dignity, either way. His eyes filled, suddenly, and he turned to face the other wall, aching and furious.

“That’s not what I meant,” Remus said pleadingly. “Sirius, just—look, okay, you know how I said there were other memories taken, last time you had a Dementor’s Embrace?” He paused, then went on when Sirius didn’t answer. “I actually do know what those memories were. I didn't at first, but after a bit...well, it was sort of obvious.”

Sirius was too curious to keep giving Remus the silent treatment. He turned. “What were they, then?”

“They were from April,” he said, “before you—before everything with James and Lily, and Peter. We, uh. Well, we sort of broke up.”

The idea was absurd. “Oh, please,” Sirius said. “What are you on about now?”

“It’s true,” he said, then paused, huffing in frustration. “Look, I didn't want to have to tell you about this, because—well, you’re the one who dumped me, actually, and it wasn’t my idea, and I wasn’t too thrilled with you after, but. Now you don’t even remember doing it, and—”

“Wait, are you being serious?”

Remus sighed, and his eyes darted away for a moment, but when he met Sirius’s gaze again, they were clear. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “You broke up with me, and you moved out of our place.”

The idea of it was unimaginable. Before Remus, Sirius had spent his whole life surrounded by people who didn’t get him, who tried to force him to be someone he wasn’t and hated all his favourite things about himself. When he’d met Remus, he’d finally found a person who loved him so sincerely, who could forgive his flaws and value him for who he really was. A fair, kind, open-minded, incredible person. He would never end things with Remus; the idea was unthinkable. It was absurd.

“Why would I ever do that?” he said finally.

Remus frowned, folding his arms. “Well,” he said, clearly annoyed with Sirius for asking. “You told me later it was because you thought I was spying on the Order.”

“What?!” Now Sirius did rise to his feet. He wasn’t so tired that the adrenaline spike from hearing something so thoroughly mad couldn’t drive him to action. “You would never spy on the Order!”

“Very true,” Remus replied, eyes flashing.

“Moony, I would never—”

“You did,” he interrupted. “And you told me as much after.”

“Well, I don’t remember any of that, and I think you’re full of shit.”

“Why would I lie?” Remus shot back.

“I don’t know, because you’re tired of having a boyfriend in prison and you want an excuse to shag other people?”

Remus sprang up from the chair, and there was so much hurt in his eyes that Sirius regretted what he’d said instantly, even though he was still reeling from what Remus had said, and he still couldn’t believe it. There must be some other explanation, something, anything.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean that, I—Remus wait, just—”

But Remus was knocking on the visitation room door.

“No, please, I’m sorry—”

Remus glanced back over his shoulder at Sirius, and for a moment, Sirius was sure he would stay. But then he said, “No. Look, I should have told you sooner, I just thought.” Remus swallowed and turned away again. “I don’t know what I thought. But I should have told you, and I’m telling you now. You dumped me in April, and you told me after you were arrested that you’d done it because you thought I was more loyal to the werewolf pack than the Order. I’m not sure what it was, exactly, that the Dementors made you forget, but it was something that changed how you felt about me, and—and now, it’s changed how I feel about you, too.”

Merlin, that hurt. Sirius shook his head and reached futilely against the magical partition. “Moony, come on, just—I don’t remember any of that, please, there must be some other explanation—”

“I know you don’t remember,” he said, and his voice sounded tremulous. It shattered Sirius’s heart. “And I wish you did, because honestly, I don’t understand why you did what you did, either, and maybe now we’ll never know. I should have told you,” he repeated just as the guard was arriving to his door. “I guess I just wanted to forget, too, for a while.”

Sirius watched him go in utter disbelief. The Dementors were at the door in an instant, and Sirius was prodded out into a frigid corridor, dazedly returning to a dark, chilly cell. He sank to the floor, legs stretched out ahead of him, and reached for his parchment—the one he shared Remus. He hadn’t erased it in a while, and he and Remus had written back and forth, just as comfortably and openly as Sirius remembered.

What was Remus going on about, saying they’d broken up? Clearly, clearly they hadn’t. This must just be more mind tricks from the Dementors, that was all. Maybe this conversation today hadn’t even happened; maybe Sirius had hallucinated the entire miserable episode.

Anything was possible, anything made more sense than the completely mental idea that Sirius would ever dream of leaving him.

He grabbed the quill to write to Remus, but something stopped him. Moony had been so upset on his way out of the visitation room; he’d seemed so sincerely hurt. Was it possible Sirius had been under the Imperius curse somehow and actually done the things Remus said he did? Or perhaps he'd been Confunded?

He picked up Dumbledore’s parchment and wrote to him instead.

I have an awkward question for you.

Delightful. Ask away.

Chapter Text

Whatever I did, I’m really sorry.

I wish I could remember.

Maybe we can just talk about it?

I know you probably don’t want to relive all that, but honestly, Moony, I just can’t remember it.

Look, we can still talk about other things, right? I won’t say anything to make you uncomfortable.

Okay, you’re busy, obviously. Just write when you can, okay?

Hello, you. I’ve been thinking about you today.

How’s Harry, anyway?

I hope lessons are going well this week.

Isn’t the moon coming up? I’m nervous about the placebo. You’ll tell me how it goes, won’t you?

Dumbledore doesn’t have any new assignments for me at the moment. I hope that means he’s doing good things with the information he’s got! Do you know anything about it, Moony?

Just curious. I’m pretty bored here.

I wish I had a book to read or something. I suppose I could write my own book.

Once upon a time, there was a dog named Padfoot who fell in love with a wolf.

The wolf was amazing and clever and brave, and the dog felt like he could do anything, when the wolf was close by.

(How is the story so far? Too dull? I can’t think of anything for the wolf and dog to do together except run under the full moon…)

Of course, as humans, they did everything together. They played gobstones and discussed their favourite books and went for walks and nearly poisoned each other with their horrible cooking.

Sounds awfully ordinary, doesn’t it? But they were happy.

I shudder to think of you, the literary aficionado, reading such an early draft of my story. It’ll be much better once I’ve revised it.

Perhaps I ought to use an ordinary parchment, instead, to spare your sensibilities. Can you bring me one next time you visit?

Ah, well, it was worth a try.

I think the moon was yesterday. Are you home safe?

Maybe it’s tonight, actually. I don’t have any windows, so I can’t be sure.

There are a couple werewolves in Azkaban, I’m pretty sure. I thought I heard them transforming last night. I’ll bet you’re sleeping it off. Hopefully no new scars!

Are you okay, Remus?

You’ve got to be awfully busy, just a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice.

Been a while since I’ve heard from you, just wanted to say hello.

Anything new with Harry? I miss seeing him.

I heard a guard say it’s Halloween. Halloween feast at Hogwarts today! I’m jealous. Eat an extra treacle tart for me.

And give Harry an extra squeeze from me, while you’re at it.

I’ve been thinking of him a lot today. And them.

And you, too, if I’m being honest.

Sort of having a hard day.

I miss you, Moony.

1 November 1982

When he was a student, Remus didn’t often get called to the headmaster’s office. That distinction was reserved for students like James, who was head boy in seventh year, or Sirius, who was always getting into mischief. But Remus did go there sometimes; he had to, being a werewolf and all. It had usually been bad news, when Remus was called into the headmaster’s office as a boy. The time Sirius had sent Snape to watch him while he’d transformed in the Shrieking Shack, for example—that had been a time Dumbledore had called him into his office. Sirius had been waiting for him in the hallway afterwards, face white with fear.

Afterwards, Remus would panic a bit every time he was called in to see the headmaster; his skin would prickle, and his heart would race, and he’d think, ‘What’s happened now?’

Sirius had noticed it, of course. After they’d gotten together in sixth year, he was always paying copious amounts of attention to Remus. He took to walking him to the headmaster’s office himself to calm him down.

“You know why,” he’d said once, when Remus remarked on it. “Just let me. It’s the least I can do for you.”

Remus insisted he had forgiven Sirius for the incident with Snape—he loved him too much to ever hold a grudge—but Sirius still held his hand, so protectively, and tried to cheer him up by saying, “At least we know it wasn’t me this time!”

Remus would roll his eyes. “I know. You learned your lesson.”

“I did. And whatever it is this time, I’m here.”

Remus would smile at him and nudge him with his shoulder and say, “I know that, Padfoot. I’m fine, really.”

But Sirius always knew when he wasn’t fine, because he was always watching, in that caring way he used to do—the way that had come back a bit lately, after the Dementor’s embrace.

In seventh year, the bad news had been about Remus’s mother. He’d known as soon as Fawkes had dropped off the note to Professor McGonigal exactly who it would be for and what it would say. Hope Lupin had been ill, and magical cures didn’t work on her. Remus had stood up on shaking legs; he couldn’t bear to hear it in that room, the same room where Dumbledore had broken so much bad news to him in the past—news of the war, of werewolf attacks, of various dangers to his safety.

Sirius had left class, too, without a word to anybody—they were in Transfiguration together at the time—and walked with Remus all the way to the Headmaster’s Tower. The halls were deserted, and he’d slipped an arm around Remus’s back, tugging him close, and said, “I’ll go in for you, if you want. Tell you what it is.”

Remus had turned and kissed him lightly—they were alone in the hallway, nobody to see—and said, “Don’t be silly, I can do it.”

But Sirius hadn’t wanted to let Remus face the bad news alone, so he’d gone in, too. They’d both known as soon as they walked in what had happened. Lyall Lupin was there, his face red and drawn.

“Dad,” Remus had said, and they’d embraced for a long time. Neither had cried; Hope Lupin had been so sick for so long that her death was a mercy—for her, anyway. But for her son, it was the end of something beautiful and rare, irreplaceable. Sirius had stood right beside him, a hand on Remus’s back all the while. Lyall hadn’t known about the two of them, not yet, but Sirius never cared about things like that. All he had cared about was being there for Remus, being close to him while the rest of the world crumbled.

Sirius was all Remus could think about now, as he sat in Dumbledore’s office as a professor, for a very different reason from those stressful boyhood visits: it was Remus’s performance review with the headmaster.

It wasn’t unusual; Dumbledore met with every professor once a month. He was relatively hands-off the rest of the time, keeping himself available for crises, fulfilling Ministry duties, and whatever else a person did when he was the most powerful wizard of the modern age.

For someone so powerful, though, Dumbledore could be astonishingly human at times. This was one of those times. He smiled at Remus, asked after Harry, made a joke about the state of his own robes—I’m afraid the third-years were extracting bubotuber pus down in the greenhouses, and I made the grievous error of standing behind one of them to watch—and stood at the candy dish for so long that Remus half expected to spend their entire hour-long conference there, as Dumbledore slipped no fewer than six licorice snaps into his mouth.

“By all reports I’ve received, your classes are going very well,” Dumbledore commended him as he finally drew up a chair to get down to business, summoning a steaming cup of tea from a tray and offering a digestive biscuit to Remus.

Remus took it gratefully; he loved them, and he seldom kept them in his own quarters now that Harry had developed ‘accidental’ magic and could levitate them to himself at will.

“I’m enjoying them,” Remus replied, “particularly the NEWT students.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Advanced students are a real pleasure,” Dumbledore agreed. “They have a wonderful tendency to do their homework without complaint.”

Remus nodded. “Yes, and they truly want to be there, which is a nice change from the first and second years.”

“Oh, I understand the younger students are quite enthusiastic about your class, as well,” Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling. “A vast improvement from years prior, to be sure. I should have hired a flesh and blood teacher must sooner.”

Remus smiled and answered without thinking, “Sirius said Binns was the ideal predecessor. Anybody would look good by comparison.”

He hadn’t meant to mention Sirius—he’d been assiduously avoiding him for two weeks—and a brief look of surprise crossed Dumbledore’s face. He lifted his teacup for a drink, and the look was gone by the time he’d laid it down again.

“Your modesty does you credit,” Dumbledore said, “but I daresay it is a real skill to make a subject like history come alive for students. Though it is critical to our understanding of the world and our decisions for the future, it is often overlooked for more active or practical lessons.”

“I try to make it enjoyable,” Remus replied, feeling embarrassed but pleased at the praise. “And anyway, there are events that are very relevant to our age. I have one NEWT student writing a paper on—well, on your duel, actually, with—”

“Ah, with Gellert Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said. He was still smiling pleasantly enough, but Remus thought the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yes, there always is a student or two who chooses their headmaster’s glory days as a subject of academic research.”

Personally, Remus would have been dreadfully embarrassed by any such attention, and to spare Dumbledore any similar feelings, said, “It’s not really that they’re concerned with. I’ve got a Slytherin who’s eager to trace the history of violence against Muggles from Grindelwald to Voldemort.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, and Remus waved him off.

“Oh, I don’t think he’s going to turn out evil or anything. It’s more the sense of morbid curiosity. A lot of students feel that way, following the war. They’re eager to make sense of it all. They have parents, some of them, or friends who were supporting the wrong side, and they wonder why. Sirius used to talk about that sort of thing all the time, when we were younger.”

Why did he keep bringing up Sirius? His face reddened, but Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice.

“And you encourage those kinds of questions in your history class?” Dumbledore said, with a face unreadable.

“Yes,” Remus replied eagerly. “I don’t know what’s more important that we could ask, in times of conflict, than why our opponent thinks the way they do—why we disagree. To have a mind open enough to discover…well, to discover another person. A whole person, with thoughts and dreams and hopes of their own.”

“Spoken like a true strategist,” Dumbledore replied.

Remus shook his head. “You give me too much credit if you think that.” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, and Remus said, “It’s one thing to study an opponent’s point of view to unearth their weaknesses, and it’s another altogether to search it for common ground.”

“You aren’t a pacifist,” Dumbledore said eventually, with a little smile.

“No,” Remus conceded. “Though Sirius would say—” He stopped, catching himself, and cleared his throat. “You can’t be friends with everyone. There are battles that must be fought, and I know that.”

“But you are careful about the ones you do fight,” he prompted. “The ones you choose to pursue.”

“I suppose.” Remus sipped his tea again. He was embarrassed about mentioning Sirius so often; Dumbledore was studying him closely.

“I was friends with Gellert Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said then, completely out of nowhere, stripping Remus’s mind of every other thought.

Remus balked, head tilted slightly. “I—must have misunderstood you,” he said eventually, and Dumbledore let out a little laugh.

“I assure you, you did not. He was my friend when I was eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” Remus exclaimed. “But how—”

“He was in England,” Dumbledore said, offering his story freely, “visiting his aunt, who happened to be my neighbor. His parents had sent him away to reform him; he was already showing troubling signs of intolerance, you see.”

“Intolerance,” Remus repeated quietly.

“Towards Muggles,” Dumbledore said.

“And you became friends?”

Dumbledore nodded. He paused for a long moment before saying, “Yes, he was—he was the only person in all my acquaintance whom I could truly consider an equal. He was charming, intelligent, magically gifted. I found myself drawn to him in every respect.”

Remus could think of nothing to say at all. Why in the world was Dumbledore telling him all this, and waxing poetic about one of the most evil and corrupt wizards ever to live, as if he was a smitten schoolboy?

Luckily, Dumbledore didn’t look at Remus—or else he would have seen the look of utter shock on his face. As it was, he went on, “I am ashamed to tell you that I felt prejudiced against Muggles, personally. Someone very dear to me had been attacked—a horrible crime, vile and intolerable. And my feelings towards Muggles were…unfairly influenced,” he pronounced slowly, “by this. I could not understand then, as I do now, how critical it is not to paint all people with the same broad brush. Not to make some pay for the crimes of others.” He met Remus’s eye and said, “This is one of the reasons I admire you so much, Remus. You have never suffered from the same misapprehension as I did; you treat others with understanding and sympathy, so much so that it can be off-putting, when the rest of us are fixed on war and fighting battles.”

Remus smiled faintly. “Are we still talking about Grindelwald?”

Dumbledore shrugged slightly. “I always end up talking about him, one way or another. In the eyes of history, I was a hero, but in my own eyes, I was a fool.”

Remus drew in a breath to answer, but he found there was nothing he could say—except, nonsensically, to mention Sirius again. To say that he knew how it felt, to be a fool for someone who didn’t really care. So he held his tongue and waited.

With a faraway look, Dumbledore spoke again. “I believed in all his ideas. Grindelwald,” he clarified, glancing at Remus, but quickly looking away again. “I made plans to go away with him, to create a new wizarding order together. I believed…” he sighed. “Many foolish, unforgivable things, because I believed in him. I only fought him later, only defeated him, because we were separated when we were young by a circumstance completely outside either of our control. Or, I should say, it was in our control at first, but it spun out, and—”

Dumbledore paused abruptly, and Remus couldn’t stop himself saying, “And what?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “And I realised that I had allowed myself to become attached to an unattainable ideal. A future in which I and my own concerns, my own power and prestige, were fixed immovably at the centre. I had gathered power around myself and called it justice. And the only difference between Grindelwald and me was that he never realised how very wrong he was. I returned to the light, while he sank into darkness—until there was nobody left who could possibly defeat him. Except for me.”

“You were only a boy,” Remus said, coming gently to the defence of the person Dumbledore used to be, whose remorse he could still see in his piercing blue eyes. “And there are lots of differences between you. You changed your mind; you grew up, and Grindelwald didn’t. You don’t sound the same to me, at all.”

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. “You are very kind, but I neither wish for nor deserve your pity.”

“It’s not pity, just—I understand, that’s all.”

“I never doubted that you would. I have told very few people that story, Remus. But I know many of your secrets,” he added, with a knowing look, “and I also know you are not the kind of man to expose someone else’s secrets.”

“If you need my promise of secrecy, you have it,” Remus said, wondering why Dumbledore would choose to tell him so sensitive a story in the first place. It was almost unbelievable, frankly. Nobody would think Remus was telling the truth, even if he did repeat it.

Dumbledore inclined his head. “I do not need it,” he said, “but thank you, all the same. I told you this,” he added, “not because I wanted your understanding, but because I thought you might like to know that you have mine.”

“I…have your understanding?”

Dumbledore nodded, fixing his eyes on Remus. “I understand trusting someone and being let down. And feeling like you’d rather not trust again.”

“I thought we were here to discuss my job performance,” Remus said, feeling his face heat up.

“We are,” Dumbledore replied, finally looking away. “Forgive me.”

Remus shook his head and swallowed, keeping his emotions in check. He knew Dumbledore was just trying to help, in his somewhat overbearing way. He’d been good to Remus, after all—to him and Harry both.

Remus said, “Never mind. I’m glad you told me.” He did his best to smile. “Gellert Grindelwald isn’t quite equivalent to Peter Pettigrew, but it’s relatable, all the same.”

Dumbledore said, “Ah. But I wasn’t referring to Pettigrew, in fact.”

Of course, he wasn’t. “Sirius,” Remus said, looking down.

“It’s not exactly a one-for-one substitution,” Dumbledore replied, “but I believe I used to view Gellert much in the same way you did Sirius. I put him on a pedestal.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. He supposed he deserved this after mentioning Sirius so many times, but still, he wished very much he could crawl into a hole and burrow his way out of this office, never to return.

Dumbledore wasn’t an unkind person, but he could be oblivious at times. He ignored Remus’s discomfort and went on gently, “But no person deserves to be placed on a pedestal, Remus—not for your own sake, or for theirs. Nobody can survive that kind of scrutiny for long. And I was doubly foolish,” Dumbledore added, “because I idolised someone who felt nothing comparable for me.”

“Yes,” Remus said tightly, “I do know how that feels. Believe it or not.”

“But you don’t,” Dumbledore said suddenly, in a triumphant tone. Remus looked up at him, alarmed. “You don’t, because Sirius is not the same as Gellert—and not only because one is among the darkest wizards of the modern age. Gellert didn’t care for me the way Sirius cares for you, which I know,” he added pointedly, raising his parchment from his desk, “because he has written to me of little else for the past two weeks.”

“What?!” Remus’s eyes sprang open, and he caught his own name on the parchment, in several places. “Oh, Merlin, he didn’t—” Remus ducked his head, covering his face with his hands, too humiliated to go on. That hole in the ground could open up and swallow Remus any moment now.

“I understand,” Dumbledore added, “that you aren’t communicating with him, and I certainly understand why. From what Sirius has told me, things have become…well, rather complicated, to say the least. Unfortunately, that means the duty of reporting to him how you’re doing, and how Harry’s doing, and how the investigation into Pettigrew is going, falls to me. And I’m happy to do it,” he added, when Remus looked up, pleadingly, “but I happen to know that there is someone else Sirius would prefer to talk to. Someone he mentions to me, oh, I don’t know—ten or twenty times a day.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus muttered, thoroughly mortified.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Dumbledore said, “but please, take pity on me.”

“I’ll write to him,” Remus said, nodding his head. “Really, I am sorry, I didn’t realise he would—”

He stopped, not wanting to lie. Of course, he knew that cutting Sirius off would hurt him—would make him panic and reach out in any way he could. That was why Remus had done it—to see if Sirius would chase after him. And he had, because Sirius was nothing if he was not persistent, and now Remus felt cruel and foolish and stupid.

“I know the two of you have had your differences,” Dumbledore added gently, “and believe me when I say I truly wish I knew none of the things I now know from my correspondence with him.”

Remus groaned. “I can never show my face in here again.”

Now Dumbledore smiled. “Nonsense. I only meant that there are things worth fighting for, Remus. Even when it feels like trust would be impossible.”

“I’ll write to him,” Remus repeated, nodding at the parchment. Not that he thought trust with Sirius was possible, necessarily, but because he never, ever wanted a repeat of this conversation.

“Good,” Dumbledore smiled. “Then we can talk about other things. Like the rest of your classes, for example. Tell me about OWLs.”

After he left Dumbledore’s office, Remus tried to be angry with Sirius, but it didn’t stick. He knew that he hadn’t been fair to cut Sirius off like that, when Sirius’s feelings were what they were. There was a part of Remus that had done it to be spiteful, but he realised that a greater part of him was scared. He’d liked having Sirius be so doting and attentive lately, and he felt sure that all of that would end when Sirius was reminded that he had technically gotten over his feelings for Remus a long time ago. And if it did end, Remus wanted it to be on his own terms this time.  

Merlin, when had he become such a coward?

It wasn’t until he’d pulled out the parchment and reread all of Sirius’s messages that he realised what yesterday was. It was Halloween—the anniversary of Voldemort’s fall. Of James and Lily’s deaths. And Remus had completely missed it.

He had never been good with dates, but this particular anniversary was one that Sirius would have had in mind all day. He would have been miserable with it. There was no excuse; Remus should have remembered.

I forgot. I’m sorry.

I figured you must have been pretty busy.

I’m sorry, Sirius.

You said.

I should have done something with Harry, at the very least. Brought him to their graves or something.

Have you ever brought him?

No. No, but I should.

Yes, you should.

You’re angry with me?

What do you think?

I know. I deserve it. I had my head buried in the sand.

Well. I suppose it’s just another day, if you want to look at it that way.

I don’t. I want to remember them, I really do. I’m so sorry I forgot, Sirius.

Okay. Anyway, you didn’t have to write to me about it.

Sure I did. They were our best friends.

How are you doing?

I mean, with the anniversary and everything.

I guess today marks a year since you’ve been in Azkaban, too.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to just say it like that.

You still there?

Okay, I probably deserve the silent treatment.

Remus felt guilty enough that being ignored helped, in an odd sort of way. He knew he deserved Sirius’s anger, and he would accept it gladly. But he hated the thought of Sirius feeling depressed and having no support system.

And for the past two weeks, he had had no friends at all. Remus had disappeared on him, and taken Harry with him, and Dumbledore really didn’t count. Remus felt rotten and guilty and miserable. He pulled out the parchment again.

What if we came to visit? Would that be okay?

When?

Right now.

I guess.

We don't have to, if you'd rather we didn't.

I’d like to see Harry.

It was a weeknight, so Remus could put off marking papers for a day. He scooped up Harry and slipped him into his jacket, and they were in the Floo and off to Azkaban before fifteen minutes had gone by.

The prison was becoming familiar enough to Remus that he hardly noticed the chill in the air and the cool horror of the nearby Dementors. Harry seemed to notice, but he held Remus’s hand bravely, and once they were in the visitation room, sat happily enough on his chair, munching on the chocolate frogs Remus always had in his bag.

When Sirius walked in, neither of them said a word to each other. Sirius was staring at Remus warily, but Harry’s thrilled little shout of, “Paddy!” brought Sirius’s attention to him, and for the first time since he’d been in prison, Sirius didn’t embrace Remus at the partition’s edge. Instead, he came straight to Harry, seating himself at the little table.

“There’s my godson,” Sirius said, grinning. “You’ve gotten bigger, haven’t you?”

Harry said, “Yes, I’m a giant! I’m Haggy!!”

“Hagrid,” Remus filled in helpfully. Sirius glanced up only momentarily before looking at Harry again.

“Now, Harry, he’s sensitive about being called a giant, so we mustn’t say that in front of him.”

“He doesn’t mind when Harry says it,” Remus said. He’d been embarrassed himself, too, at first. But Hagrid had laughed and lifted Harry aloft above his head and said, “Now you’re a giant, too!” And that had been that.

When Sirius ignored Remus’s comment, Remus tried again. He leaned on the table, holding his bag. “Want a chocolate frog?”

Sirius didn’t look at him when he answered, “Yes, please.”

Remus passed it over, noticing with a tiny bit of amusement that Sirius waited to reach for it until Remus had withdrawn his hand.

He was pouting, punishing Remus for his silence. It shouldn’t have struck him as so endearing, shouldn’t have made Remus’s heart ache with tenderness for him. But of course, it did, because Remus was pathetic and would never, ever get over this man, no matter how hard he tried.

Harry showed Sirius the book he’d brought today—a picture book of cats that one of Remus’s fourth years had enchanted to move and meow when the page was prodded. Harry loved this book so much that Remus was considering giving the student extra credit on every assignment for the rest of term. He only refrained because the book was, truly, very annoying. Sirius seemed to grasp this fact right away, forgetting his anger with Remus long enough to look up at him and cringe.

Remus smiled. “Isn’t it wonderful how loudly they meow?”

Sirius nodded, eyes wide, fixed on Harry again. “Oh, yes. Wonderful is just the word.”

“Wonderful,” Harry sighed, leaning down to kiss one of the cat pictures.

Remus snorted. “I brought the owl book, too, Harry. Want to show Uncle Padfoot the flying owl?”

Harry turned up to smile beatifically at Remus. “No,” he said, then turned back to the cats.

“Sorry,” Remus shrugged at Sirius, who had glanced up at him again. “I tried.”

“Harry, would you like a cat for Christmas?” Sirius said, again ignoring Remus. “One of your very own?”

Remus frowned, folding his arms. He and Sirius had talked about this once, weeks ago, but nothing had been decided, and anyway, Remus had wanted to do it himself as a surprise.

Harry said, “Yeah!”

Sirius said, “I’ll talk to Dumbledore. He’s said he has my vault key; he can get some money out and get you a cat of your very own. And a bed for it, and food, and toys, and everything it needs. Leave it all to me. Of course, your dad will need to make space for it in your room, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to do that.”

Fine. Sirius was Harry's godfather, after all. This was fine. Totally and completely fine.

Remus forced a smile and said, “Harry, isn’t that generous of Uncle Padfoot? What should we say?”

“Thank you!” Harry said earnestly.

“Christmas is nearly two months away,” Remus added, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “so you’ll have to wait just a bit—”

“NO!” Harry shouted, turning with an agonised look at Remus. He realised his mistake immediately; he had used the word ‘wait,’ which happened to be one of Harry’s least favourite words. “Want a cat NOW!”

There were tantrums that could be headed off, Remus had learned, and some that simply had to take their course. Hoping this was the former, he knelt beside Harry and put a reassuring hand on his back.

“You feel so frustrated,” Remus said softly. “You don’t like waiting. You want a cat right now, and it’s hard to wait, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, pouting his lips adorably.

“I wish it was already Christmas,” he added, “and you could have your cat right now. In fact, I wish I could give you a hundred cats, all right this second! In fact, in fact—I wish I was a cat, and you were a cat, and everybody was a cat!”

Harry giggled and reached for a hug, and Remus took the opportunity to wipe his wet cheeks. “You know,” he added, glancing at Sirius, “Uncle Paddy can change into a dog.”

Harry laughed some more, and Sirius grinned at him with a mischievous glint in his eye and said, “It’s true. Do you want to see?”

Harry nodded, a curious look on his face. He had seen this before, over a year ago, but it was still a complete shock to him when Sirius suddenly transformed, disappearing from the table and surfacing beneath it, tall and black and hairy, and wagging his tail with glee.

Harry looked nervously to Remus, but when he saw him smile, he smiled, too. Then he threw himself across the table at Padfoot, shouting, “Doggy! Woof woof!”

Remus laughed, and Padfoot barked, until Remus reminded him to be quiet, so they didn’t get into any trouble. Though it hadn’t been specifically stated anywhere, Remus was sure Sirius wouldn’t be allowed to turn into a dog.

Padfoot looked like he was smiling as he trotted past the table, where Harry had scurried down and was reaching eagerly to give the dog a hug.

Remus laughed again. “Maybe a dog is the right pet for you, Harry. Though, it wouldn’t be allowed at Hogwarts. I suppose Padfoot will have to do.”

Sirius changed back when Harry lost interest, which didn’t happen for half an hour, at least. Then, he finally seemed to have softened towards Remus. He stood beside him at the edge of the magical partition and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry about mentioning the C-A-T,” Sirius whispered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Remus cast a quick Muffliato. “It’s fine,” he said. “As long as neither of us mentions it again, he’ll forget all about it.”

“I really would like to buy it for him, if it’s okay,” Sirius added. “You can pay, and I’ll pay you back, if you prefer not to go into my vault yourself.”

Remus shrugged. “Maybe we’ll have you out of here by then, and you can go to your vault yourself.”

Sirius shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Don’t get my hopes up.”

“I’m not trying to. But I probably won’t have the placebo again next month, and if it isn’t the sleeping draught, I’ll be able to hunt for Peter.”

Sirius sighed. “Well. Let me know either way.”

Remus nodded, but Sirius pressed the issue.

“You will let me know, won’t you?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Because I was worried the other day. And you could have written back, even if you were angry. Just two words. ‘I’m fine.’ That’s all you had to say.”

“I know,” Remus said. He turned to look at Sirius, hoping his genuine remorse showed in his face. “I’m really sorry, Sirius.”

“It’s okay,” Sirius said quietly. “I guess I understand. I mean, I don’t, but…well, I’m trying to.”

“Dumbledore said you two had talked about me,” Remus said quietly, hoping this wouldn’t produce the immense embarrassment in Sirius that it had in Remus earlier today.

Sirius responded calmly enough. “Yeah, well. You wouldn’t tell me what happened, so I had to ask him.”

“What did he say?”

“That I asked to move into an Order safe house in April,” Sirius said quietly, “and that he didn’t know anything else.” He shrugged a shoulder and said sadly, “I wish I could ask James about it. Knowing him, he’d tell me what a total prat I’d been, and make me grovel until you came back to me.” He snorted a laugh, remembering something, some phantom memory Remus would never know. He added, “I wish I could talk to James about anything, actually. I’d listen to him prattle on about Quidditch all day, and play with that stupid golden snitch he always carried on him. Or moon over Lily, remember that? He was always going on and on about her. I’d let him do whatever he wanted, if he was still here.”

Remus turned and touched Sirius’s shoulder.

“Yesterday was really, really hard,” Sirius added quietly, and Remus reached for him, unable to stop himself.

“I know,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Sirius let himself be pulled into a hug. He clutched back, rough and shaking, and whispered, “I wish I could kill Peter myself. I wish I could be Padfoot and crush that rat in my teeth. I wish—"

“I know.” Remus put his hand in Sirius’s hair, tugging him closer, silencing his rage. “I know.”

Sirius cried, quiet and furious, into Remus’s shoulder, and Remus held him as close as he could.

“I miss him so much,” Sirius whispered when they finally parted, and Remus held his face in his hands.

“I know. Me, too.”

“I can’t lose you, too, Moony, I just can’t. You have to tell me how the moon is, even if we’re fighting, okay? Even if that’s the only thing you say to me, you still have to tell me you’re okay.”

Remus nodded earnestly. He’d been so selfish. “I will. I’ll tell you every time from now on, Padfoot, I promise.”

Sirius smiled and hugged him again. “Okay. Okay then.”

And just like that, Remus knew that he was forgiven for everything he’d done. 

Chapter Text

3 November 1982

Azkaban prison wasn’t haunted, but for Sirius, it was still filled with ghosts.

It had been the worst the first few days—or weeks or months or however long, he couldn’t be sure. James had followed him everywhere. Not the real James—the laughing, inexhaustibly hopeful version that had taught a haughty, cynical boy to care about people besides himself. It had been a darker version with empty, sunken eyes.

Eventually, others had come. His brother Regulus, who was a young man and a Death Eater the last time Sirius had seen him, but who came to Azkaban, cruelly, as an innocent child—weepily reaching for his brother’s hand, wanting help that was always just out of reach.

His father would haunt him, too, sometimes—though Sirius had rarely spoken to him during his life, a distant figure unconcerned with his children, politically minded and shrewd. Orion Black would sneer at Sirius around dark corners, dismiss him as ‘a disappointment to our family, a disgrace to our noble blood, consorting with half-breeds and traitors.’ Those were his mother’s words from his dead father’s lips, but no matter. Sirius’s ghosts weren’t realistic, by any means. But they were persistent, and vile, and blood-chilling.

But the ghost of Lily Potter was the worst. She would stare at him from the corner of his cell, blazing and bright and furious, and whisper, “You said we could trust Peter. You made us choose him. Look what you’ve done.”

Sirius avoided them at first, but eventually, he’d begun talking to them. Luckily, the only one who ever answered was James. Perhaps he was going mad, but a ghost of James was better than no James at all, so Sirius would say, “Nice of you to visit me, after I went and got you killed and all.”

“Where else can I go?” Ghost-James answered. “I’m dead. There’s not exactly a lot to do.”

“There isn’t a lot to do in prison, either,” Sirius had said.

“Shouldn’t have gone after Peter,” the phantom tutted. “The stupid cowardly bastard.”

That was how Sirius had known it wasn’t really James—just a vision, a projection of his own thoughts. James would never say things like that about Peter, even knowing what he’d done. He would die before he mistrusted any of his friends. Even now, from the grave, he might make excuses for Peter.

When he was alive, James had been upset that Sirius had doubted Remus, though eventually Sirius had worn him down with his stupidly detailed conspiracy theories. That was the bit Sirius could remember, though he hadn’t told Remus as much. He didn’t remember breaking up, but he remembered arguing with James at length, convincing him to keep things from Remus.

“He’s our best friend,” James had said.

And Sirius could remember saying, “Of course, he is, and he always will be, but he’s a werewolf first, isn’t he? He’s our ally, but he’s not really on our side.”

It was a horrible, traitorous thought—making Sirius sick with regret. The trouble was, Sirius couldn’t remember why he’d believed that. Sometimes, he couldn’t even remember whether he and James had ever really discussed it, or if it was all imaginary—a conversation he’d had with a ghost in Azkaban, or perhaps a false memory structured entirely from the bits and pieces Sirius had been able to work out of Remus and Dumbledore about whatever had really happened between them—the memories the Dementors had made him forget.

He staved off madness by circling through memories, grounding them in places and times, scratching them onto the floor of his cell with his enchanted quill. The marks didn’t stick, of course, but Sirius still scribbled them down: Moved out in April, Harry’s birthday in July, the Fidelius charm in October. Where had Remus been then? Had he been away? Why couldn’t Sirius remember ever really talking to him during those months? And why couldn’t he remember falling out of love with him? He’d loved him just as much at Harry’s birthday party, he knew that much. He remembered staring at Remus’s hands while he ate cake—the way he held the fork. He remembered staring at his lips while he chewed. He’d had a persistent desire to get him alone, for some reason—but it was all muddled now.

When the Dementor came to bring Sirius to the visitation room two days after Remus and Harry’s belated Halloween visit, Sirius wouldn’t let himself get his hopes up. He’d stopped seeing the ghosts altogether ever since Remus restored his memories following the Dementor’s embrace, so the only thing that haunted him now was Remus. They’d been writing to each other again, but Sirius was careful to avoid saying anything too affectionate. Remus didn’t want that, because it was over, apparently.

But every time Sirius laid eyes on him, he still felt all the sparks in his heart that he used to feel when he was seventeen, when nobody but the two of them knew that Sirius crawled into Remus’s bed every night after dark, hiding behind heavy curtains and kissing him breathless.

“Happy birthday,” Remus said with a small smile when Sirius came in. It was what Sirius had come to think of as ‘the bad room’—the one they got when Harry wasn’t with him. The one where Remus argued with him, if they were going to argue. Haunted without a single ghost.

“Where’s Harry?” Sirius said, coming over for his usual hug. He made sure not to hold Remus too tightly, not to do anything to make him give Sirius that horrible, accusing look.

Remus said, “I dropped him off with a friend.”

“A friend?”

“My old neighbour, Jane. Have I mentioned her to you?”

“I'm not sure. I don’t think so.”

“Hm. Well, she’s a Muggle, and she’s very good with Harry. Her kids are nice, too, so I like to get over there a couple times a month, let him spend some time with ordinary people.”

“Why?” Sirius tilted his head.

Remus pressed his lips together thoughtfully; Sirius tried not to stare at his mouth. “I suppose I’d just been thinking of it as normal.” He smiled, shrugging self-consciously. “My mum was a Muggle, and Lily was Muggle-born. Harry’s always been connected to that world, and so have I.”

“I suppose so.” Sirius shrugged. He couldn't relate to that, but he wanted to be supportive, even if—to be perfectly honest—he felt a bit left out.

“Brought you something,” Remus added, smiling again—a shy little look that had Sirius’s pathetic heart fluttering.

“For my birthday? You really shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, please,” he said, “I wasn’t going to forget another birthday.”

“Another?” Sirius raised his eyebrows.

“I didn’t tell you about that, either?” Remus was actually blushing now, and Sirius grinned.

“What?”

“I didn’t realise it was Harry’s birthday this year,” he said, whispering it as if someone might overhear, “until his card from Hagrid came, and then I had to scramble to get him his cake and his gift and everything.”

Sirius couldn’t keep from laughing. “Remus! Merlin, you never know what day it is unless it’s a full moon, do you? How in the world are you so good at remembering historical dates?”

Remus grinned, pleased as he always was when Sirius teased him. “I know! With the moons, it’s more a feeling than anything else, but the rest of the time? I’m a complete disaster. Why can I remember every event in magical history, and yet I forgot my own birthday this year?”

“You didn’t!”

“I didn’t even realise I’d missed it until July.”

Sirius wiped moisture from his eyes, looking away from Remus because that was the only way to keep from smiling adoringly at him—which he surely would not have appreciated. “And yet, you remembered mine.”

“Flitwick just taught me a spell, after Halloween,” Remus replied. “I can set my wand to remind me of things.”

“How does that work?”

Remus gestured to the floor, and the two of them sat down together, knee to knee. Sirius remembered, with an awkward feeling, the last time they’d sat together like this. It didn’t seem like Remus remembered, though; he was reaching into his bag.

“You just calculate how far away the date is that you want a reminder, and then you cast Commemoratio Diem,” he said. “And the wand conjures a little wisp of smoke on the day you cast it for. You have to remember what you’re remembering, of course, but that’s never been a problem for me. I mostly plan to use it for classes, so I don’t forget if I’d promised the students an exam or something.”

“Have you been forgetting exams?” Sirius could hardly withhold his glee; Remus was the most entertaining person he’d ever met—all intellect and thoughtfulness, with a head permanently stuck up in the clouds. Sirius adored him.

Remus blushed again and said, “Just once.”

Sirius grinned and nudged Remus’s knee with his own. “What did you bring me, then?”

Remus held a little box in his lap. He tapped it with his wand, and it grew to the size of a small dinner plate. “There we are. I don’t suppose you’d like it if I sung to you?”

Sirius watched, delighted, as Remus lifted the lid to reveal a small cake. It was Sirius’s favourite, lemon drizzle. “Not with your singing voice, I wouldn’t.”

Remus laughed. “Well. Happy birthday, then. Many happy returns, and all that.”

“How old am I, again?” Sirius said, genuinely uncertain for a moment.

Remus looked at him like he was crazy. “You’re twenty-three, you old geezer.”

“Is that all? Hm. I feel older.”

Remus laughed again. He was positively beaming at Sirius, obviously very pleased with himself for having remembered his birthday.

Sirius squeezed his knee before he remembered that he shouldn’t, but Remus didn’t seem bothered. “Thank you,” he said.

“Of course.” Remus leaned back on his arms, stretching his long legs out along the magical partition.

Sirius didn’t stare at his legs for very long. He looked down at the cake and said, “You don’t have to work today?”

“No, it’s a Saturday.” Remus reached into his bag again. “I’ve been doing some research, though. Thought you might be interested in some of the things I’ve learned.”

Sirius picked up the fork Remus had provided to tuck into his cake. He said, around a delectable mouthful, “What about?”

“Dementors,” Remus said. He was holding a rather thick book with a worn blue cover, flipping to a highlighted passage. “I got to thinking, after you transformed. Did you know that animals aren’t affected by Dementors the way humans are?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. He had not known that, in fact. “Did you hear that from your dad?”

Lyall Lupin had been an expert on non-corporeal magical beings—a fact Sirius remembered from school, when Remus had known a great deal more about the subject than any of their Defence Against the Dark Arts professors ever had. They’d even had to revise an OWL question, as Sirius recalled, after Remus had successfully disputed it.

Remus nodded, “Yes, but I didn’t really start to think about the implications until we showed Harry the other day. You could transform in your cell, and the Dementors would never know the difference. It really depends on whether or not you get caught by a human guard, but if you can get away with it—”

“I can,” Sirius said, nodding. “I absolutely can. The guards only walk through once a day, and I can turn back for that.”

“You wouldn’t be able to eat chocolate,” Remus warned, “or you’d get sick when you’re a dog.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Sirius waved him off, grinning, “you’ll never give me chocolate to take back to my cell again, anyway.”

“I mean, if you ate it right now,” Remus clarified, “and then became Padfoot within 24 hours, you’d still get sick.”

“Oh, right.”

“But it should make the Dementors' effects much less, if you can spend most your time as Padfoot. Dogs can’t recall complicated memories, so they won’t be able to make you remember things, or steal happy memories, or anything.”

“Wow.” Sirius blinked, thinking through the implications of that. To never see another ghost again; to never close his eyes and remember James, unmoving, unseeing—gone.

“So, I recommend you do that,” Remus said, and Sirius couldn’t help smiling, because this was such a professor voice. He could imagine Remus standing in front of the classroom, little faces turned up at him, using that exact tone. He would have fancied Remus so much if he’d been his own professor. He’d fancied him, anyway.

“And then,” Remus added, “regarding your other memories, I’ve done a bit more research, and I think—well. It’s complicated. Perhaps I should just read it to you?”

“I can read it,” Sirius said, reaching for the book on Remus’s lap. Of course, Remus had to pass it through the partition for Sirius to get it.

He looked down at the passage Remus had marked, eyes blurring at first. He hadn’t read anything except his enchanted parchments in a very long time.

“Dementors are classified as non-beings, but for practical purposes, are treated as dark creatures by most experts. This is largely due to their detrimental effects on humans—namely, their ability to withdraw positive thoughts from human minds, creating a vacuum in which depressive thoughts flourish. Recognizing the fluid nature of consciousness, little is known about the permanence of dementors’ memory altering abilities, but several schools of thought prevail. Little can be known absolutely, but what cannot be known is clear.

“To attribute evil motives to the dementors is an erroneous assumption; they have nature—they have predictable, replicable behaviors—but these are governed by instinctual hunger, rather than emotive desire. Thus, the human tendency to seek a logical, thought-based reason for dementors’ behaviour is futile. Instead, we should draw our conclusions solely from the evidence of their effects. These are: that memories, both selective and general, can be removed; that memories may be recovered via magical therapies under certain conditions; and that memories are neither corporeal nor bound to the laws of physics.

“The new, theoretical school of memory permanence suggests that our past understanding of dementors’ effects, therefore, may be deficient. Recently, memory researchers led by Jonas Arbury have posited that the memories are not withdrawn, but rather vanished—as if by disillusionment—when humans are in the presence of dementors for too long, or in a certain proximity. The multidisciplinary study of Mind Translusionment—a term coined by a team of researchers at the Magical Institute of Ireland—combines the studies of charms, transfiguration, dark arts defence, and magizoology to better understand the effects of magic on the human mind, calling into question the permanence of such acts of magical violence as the controversial Dementor’s Embrace and Dementor’s Kiss.”

Sirius sat back and looked up at Remus. This was very, very boring.

Remus smiled, eager as ever. “The Magical Institute of Ireland. That’s where I go for the Wolfsbane study!”

“Do you think this—” Sirius glanced down at the page, “Jonas Arbury still works there?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, “The book is old. But I could ask, and anyway, it’s good to know there might be a way of getting your memories back, isn’t it?”

Sirius hesitated. In his opinion, frankly, it would be far better if Remus could just forget whatever it was Sirius had forgotten, so he wouldn’t be mad at him anymore, and the two of them could just be happy together. That would be vastly preferable to restoring some memory that was supposed to make Sirius less attached to Remus. Distance from Remus was the last thing he wanted.

“I mean, you won’t have to wonder about things anymore,” Remus added, looking a bit nervous. “You won’t have to take my word for it, when I tell you what you forgot.”

“Well, I trust you,” Sirius replied. He picked at his cake. He’d been hungry, but it was a lot for one person to eat, and there was more than half remaining. He pushed it towards Remus. “Want some?” he asked.

Remus smiled softly and took the box and fork. He took a small bite, and Sirius allowed himself the indulgence of watching Remus's tongue swipe his bottom lip. It was his birthday, after all.

“I’m glad you trust me,” Remus said after a thoughtful pause, “but I’d rather not relive it all, just the same. And—and you deserve to know. The truth about everything.”

Sirius drew in a deep breath. He appreciated that sentiment, he really did. But Remus was too good sometimes, too concerned with what was right and fair to recognise that there were some rules that were made to be broken. What if the truth hurt worse than the fantasy? Shouldn’t Sirius be allowed to keep his foolish misconceptions? He had so little else, while he was locked in Azkaban.

“If you want me to try, I’ll try,” he finally said, because that much, at least, was true.

Remus smiled. “Well, there might not be anything to try, but I’ll look into it. We’ll want to get you to a mind healer when you’re out, either way, don’t you think?”

Sirius shrugged. Yes, he thought, because then these ghosts will stop haunting me.

No, he thought, because I deserve for these ghosts to haunt me.

Remus put the cake box aside and turned, with his back to the wall. Sirius joined him so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder against the partition. Sirius’s legs weren’t as long as Remus’s, and he wanted to tap Remus’s ankles with his toes, but he couldn’t reach him.

Remus said, “I’ve been thinking, actually.”

“Hm?” Sirius turned, curious.

“I know our break-up isn’t the only thing you’ve forgotten. There’s more. Don’t you think?”

Sirius didn’t want to answer him, because he knew there was more. There was something really important missing—the reason why Sirius had doubted Remus’s loyalty. He said, “Things are definitely foggy.”

“Right, but—specific events, things that happened in the last year of the war. There are things missing, right?”

Sirius sighed. “Right,” he said, defeated and trying to hide it.

“Well,” Remus said, turning to face Sirius more fully. Sirius would have given anything to kiss him, when he looked bright-eyed and hopeful like that. “Why not go over it together? I can tell you what happened, remind you of things from the Order records Arthur and I got, and you can tell me whether or not you remember them.”

“Why would we want to do that, exactly?” Sirius said.

“To know what you’ve forgotten!” Remus said, as if it was obvious.

“Right, but—the war, it’s not exactly my favourite topic,” Sirius rubbed the back of his neck, wondering how he could get Remus off of this train of thought.

“Well, no, mine either, obviously, but—”

“And I’m stuck in prison, Remus, so it’s not like—like I have a lot of happy things to keep me going, you know? I don’t really want to fixate on the bad stuff.”

Remus sighed. “It wouldn’t be fixating, it would just be figuring out—”

“Right, figuring out what I forgot, so you’ll know why I broke up with you, right, right, I know.”

“Well?” Remus frowned. “Don’t I deserve to know? I mean, don't we both?”

Sirius grunted, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the hard cement wall. “This is not the conversation I wanted to have on my birthday,” he muttered softly. It was a cheap shot, but it seemed to take some of the wind out of Remus’s sails, at least.

“Oh, right.”

Sirius rolled his head over to look at Remus. “Isn’t it enough to just know that I’m sorry, and I really wish I hadn’t done it?”

Remus gave him half a smile. “I guess so.”

Sirius sighed, irritated, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Ugh, no it isn’t, Moony, I know that. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“It is your birthday,” Remus said.

Sirius opened his eyes and smiled ruefully. “We can try to figure it out, if that’s what you want. I mean, honestly, I’m curious, too.”

“Maybe you’ll get right over me when you remember it,” Remus said, voice falsely light.

Sirius sighed again and said nothing. I don’t want to get over you, you dummy! was the only reply that came to mind.

“It would just—help me feel like I had some closure,” Remus finally said. It sounded reasonable. It also sounded horrible.

“How will this work?” he said. “You’ll just—tell me about things, and I’ll tell you if I remember them?”

“Yeah, more or less,” Remus shrugged. “I can go through the records, I’ve got copies of them all at home.”

Sirius agreed, and he let Remus change the subject to lighter things—what he was teaching lately, and what Harry had been up to, and news from their mutual friends in the Order. But all the pleasantness of the visit was gone, and Sirius’s sense of dread rose steadily as their hour drew to a close.

The Dementors escorted him to his cell, where Sirius promptly changed into Padfoot. That, at least, was something good to come from Remus’s visit. He felt instantly lighter, the simplicity of his dog-mind making everything seem one-dimensional and inconsequential. His cell was more comfortable, too; dogs didn’t need furniture to take a nap, and Sirius promptly fell asleep. He dreamed of running through an open field, wind in his face. He didn’t think of James a single time, but there was a stag in his dream. The stag was healthy, lively, and as happy as Padfoot was. They found a wolf in the field, and the wolf was happy, too. It was a wonderful dream.

When Sirius woke up, he changed back to his human form to eat his supper—a cold bowl of porridge, same as they always served. Remus’s parchment was filling up rather quickly, and for the first time, Sirius didn’t want to read it. He dreaded whatever Remus would say—tales of the war, reminders of mistakes he’d made. Every ounce of sanity that he’d recovered as Padfoot seemed to slip through his fingers again as he unfurled the parchment and scanned it, too nervous to read it closely.

Something about getting home, something about Harry.

Ah, and there it was. The bad part. Sirius slowed down and read it again.

Okay, so, tell me if you remember the Gringotts mission in January. There was a cursed object placed in the vault of a Muggle-born wizard, and it made his house into a portal that the Death Eaters could use to put him under the Imperious curse.

I remember it. We went to Gringotts together, didn’t we?

Yes, and we argued.

I remember. Because I wanted to go straight to the house and stop the Death Eaters, and you said we needed to slow down and make a strategy.

That’s right. You called me a know-it-all.

I shouldn’t have said that. You were right, Moony. I was way too impulsive. I’m lucky you were there, I’d have gotten myself killed.

We don’t know that for sure.

Pretty sure. Anyway, it worked out fine doing things your way.

It wasn’t that, then. Okay, I’ll keep digging.

How’s Harry? Did he have fun with his friends?

Yes, loads. He’s napping now.

What about the moon I missed in February?

When you had a mission? No, I wasn’t mad about that.

Do you remember my mission?

Sure, you were with the pack again. You had to track the movements of a Death Eater sympathizer, as I recall.

That’s right. And you were worried that I would get hurt, you didn’t want me going alone.

That was always true, though.

Right, but we argued, remember?

Yes, and as I recall, we also made up. Remember that?

Yes, of course.

That was fun, wasn’t it?

Okay, Sirius.

What? I’m in prison, having no fun whatsoever, on my birthday. The least you can do is agree that we used to have fun together.

Fine. Yes, it was very fun. Happy?

Thank you. Delighted.

Okay, how about another one in January, do you remember meeting the Collins brothers at that pub in Wales?

The smugglers we were meeting for Moody? Sure.

And one of them thought you were handsome, and he was flirting with you?

Oh, Godric, he was not.

Pretty sure he was.

Come on. You’re just picking a fight with me now.

Sorry. Not trying to.

So it wasn’t that, either?

What wasn’t that?

That wasn’t what you forgot? Because you wanted to see other people, or whatever?

No! Fuck’s sake, Remus. I didn’t want to see other people! I don’t. When have I ever??!

Okay, okay, you’re right. Sorry. Probably not a fair question, I just came across these notes about that mission and I thought, anything’s possible.

Well, that isn’t possible.

Okay, fine. I said I’m sorry.

What did I say to you about it?

About the Collins brothers?

No, about breaking up. What did I say? I must have told you why.

Sirius waited over thirty minutes for Remus’s reply, but to no avail. He didn’t really want the answer to that question, frankly, but it seemed better than scouring their shared history for fights. And anyway, why was Remus only asking about incidents in which Sirius had done something wrong? Wasn’t it equally possible that Remus had done something to hurt Sirius? Actually, it was more possible, in Sirius’s view, because otherwise he couldn’t imagine his feelings for him changing so drastically.

What if the thing I forgot is something you did, but you didn’t realise you it? There’s no way you’ll remember it, if you didn’t know what it was.

I thought of that. But if we can figure out which memories are missing, maybe we can pull them up in a pensieve. Watch them from a neutral perspective.

Sirius set down the quill, irritated at how quickly Remus’s reply had come. Clearly, he hadn't been too busy to answer before; he just hadn’t wanted to answer that last question about their break-up. For someone who refused to let it go, Remus was being awfully cagey about any details that might actually be useful.

But, then again, if they’d really broken up—and evidently they had—then it probably wouldn’t be easy for Remus to talk about. Not knowing was horrible, but knowing might have been even worse. Like forgetting what had happened to James and Lily, the loss of the memory might have been a mercy—easing the torture that was the unforgiving hellscape of Azkaban.

Well. Maybe that was a bit dramatic. Sirius should change back to a dog, soon, if his thoughts were getting this morose.

That’s a good idea, let’s try it when I’m out.

When you’re out! See, you still believe I’ll get you out of there.

Of course, I do. I’ve never doubted you, Moony.

At least that I can remember.

Sorry, bad joke.

No, no, I’m not angry. Harry just woke up. Might not be able to write as much for a while.

That’s fine. I want to change back to a dog, anyway.

That’s helping, then?

I’ll take your silence as confirmation. Enjoy!

And Happy birthday, Padfoot. Talk to you soon.

Sirius didn’t change back to himself all night. As a dog, his affection for Remus was so uncomplicated. His grief was simpler, too. He could curl up in a little ball, huff and snore himself to sleep, and wake up to scratch or use the loo—and that was much better, as a dog. The prisoners didn’t have bathrooms; they relieved themselves over a little hole in the floor, and the guards magicked it away once a day.

Remus had called prison undignified once, but he hadn’t known the half of it.

Padfoot laid back down again, rolling onto his back, letting his hairy belly air out. He’d been the heir to the Black family fortune, once; he’d lived in a room with green and gold curtains, lavish golden trim around every door and window, a tall, elegant fireplace rising near the foot of his bed and casting gleaming shadows all around.

He’d been dressed immaculately, and taught how to sit properly and stand properly and walk properly and talk properly and do every single thing with the perfect comportment befitting a boy of his breeding. He’d been quiet when he was told, and he’d gone where he was asked, and he’d fumed inside for all the things he wasn’t allowed to feel. Things he wanted that he shouldn’t want, that he could never have.

His parents were each other’s second cousins, and he’d been expected to marry a cousin, too. Keeping their line pure. Keeping their magic strong. Keeping every speck of power they had, and always striving for more, and more, and more. Crushing beneath their feet anybody who dared to stand in their way.

His family nurtured darkness because it meant strength to them. They’d been furious when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor for school, furious when he’d befriended a werewolf and a blood traitor. Furious when he learned to feel, and want, and think, and be—someone different. Different from what they wanted. Different from what they could control.

Sirius would rather be a dog in Azkaban than the Black family heir. He would take that deal every day, all day long, before he would go back to that world and all its defiled dignity. He was a dog, but rather a dog than a rat.

Chapter Text

17 November 1982

Though he was prone to let his unrelenting optimism run away with him, not even Remus had expected Sirius to get out of Azkaban by Christmas. He’d only said it to make Sirius feel better, to get some forgiveness after they’d been arguing. He’d said it without thinking it was even remotely possible.

But then, on the 12^th of the month, Snape had come to look at the Wolfsbane potion, and all of Remus’s wildest hopes unleashed themselves.

“This is definitely the real potion,” Snape said, after taking just the smallest whiff of the goblet Remus had handed him.

“Is it really?!”

Snape inhaled deeply, taking in another great breath of it. He used one hand to stir the air above the goblet, as if wafting its fragrance into his nose. “Yes…but there’s no sleeping draught.” He was obviously disappointed, taking another deep breath as if to confirm it, a frown drawing down his mouth.

“Sorry,” Remus had said, hiding his delight, though it hurt his cheeks to keep from smiling. “Maybe next month?”

“Hopefully.” Snape sniffed again, nostrils flaring. He had brought a little strip of waxy, translucent paper, which he dipped in the potion. He laid the goblet down on the table, then placed the strip in a beaker and tapped it with his wand. Some smoke twirled out, which got Harry’s attention—he was at the table, too, eating a sliced-up banana smeared with peanut butter—and then Snape sniffed the smoke and sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing, just—I thought I noticed there was an ingredient used for time-delay, but it seems to be for the antidote.”

“The antidote?”

“For the aconite,” he said. “I’m surprised how little they’ve used of aconite, by the by.” He took another sample of the potion, dropping it in another beaker, and added pompously, “Of course, it’s deadly poisonous, so there wouldn’t be much. It’s interesting that they’ve taken this approach. I wonder what the long-term effects will be.”

“The long-term effects?”

“Of poisoning you,” Snape said blandly, “and only curing you a week later with a time-delayed antidote.”

Remus didn’t like the sound of that—but then, Snape was as pessimistic as Remus was optimistic. It probably wasn’t as bad as all that. He said, in a pointedly cheery voice, “Hopefully the effect will be that I don’t want to attack people on the moons anymore.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Obviously. But if there are adverse effects from taking aconite so regularly—”

“If the antidote is given, I don’t see what the effects could be,” Remus said. “Should be canceled out eventually, shouldn’t they?”

Snape nodded. “Yes, but what would happen to your body in the meantime? Poisoned for a week every month?”

Remus shrugged. “I suppose that’s what the study aims to find out.”

Snape shook his head, frowning deeply, and said nothing.

Remus was almost touched. He accepted the goblet of potion when Snape handed it to him and downed it in a few large gulps. Then he said, “It’s kind of you to worry, but I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Snape shot back, looking affronted. “I simply wondered about the effects. The mechanism for the time-delay is what I was most curious about, and it would be different to time-delay an antidote than a sleeping draft. All it seems to have is—” he sniffed his sample again, “mandrake.”

“I didn’t know mandrakes could be juiced,” Remus replied conversationally. He’d never liked potions, and since dropping the class sixth year, he’d promptly forgotten everything he’d ever learned about them.

Snape gave him a very filthy look, sighed loudly, and turned and swept out of Remus and Harry’s quarters without another word to either of them.

Harry turned and gave a questioning look to Remus, who deadpanned, “My ignorance offended him, Harry.”

And Harry, already turning back to his food, gave a very knowing nod and a little reply of, “Oh.”

After Harry’s hands and face were cleaned and he was off to play, Remus unfurled the parchment and wrote to Sirius.

It’s the real potion this month, no sleeping draught!

Yes, Moony! Okay, so what’s next, then?

I’m writing to Moody right now. Dumbledore’s mentioned the plan to him, so he’s aware. I suppose I should write to the Magical Institute, too. Though, perhaps I should wait until closer to the moon? I don’t want them to stop sending the potion.

Right, I’d wait, if it were me.

Yeah, good idea.

Moony, are you really, completely sure that Snape’s right about the potion?

Yes, he spent a long time looking over it.

And it’s safe? I’d rather stay locked up forever than see you hurt, or worse.

I know, Sirius. I promise, it’s safe. Although, Snape says too much aconite is poisonous. Did you know that?

Of course, everybody knows that. That’s second-year stuff, Remus!

Well, I didn’t memorise the second-year potions curriculum, did I?

Neither did I, but I can remember if something’s poisonous! Anyway, are you sure you should be taking this, if it’s so poisonous?

I’ve been taking it for months. No harm done! Plus, Snape said there’s a time-delayed antidote made of mandrake. Did you know mandrakes produced juice?

Good one.

I’m not joking, that’s what he said!

Remus, they don’t produce juice! That’s second-year stuff, too! It’s stewed mandrake, that’s used in antidotes all the time.

Blimey. Now who’s a know-it-all?

Me! I always was, you know; you were just too nice to say anything. Besides, you’re still the cleverest about most things. As far as I can tell, there are only two things my Moony can’t do—remember birthdays and remember potions.

Ha! And I’m utterly shameless about both.

As you should be. You were tops at every other subject, so I never minded that you left potions to me.

To Lily, more like.

Yes, Lils was great, wasn’t she?

The best.

Give Peter hell for her, won’t you?

You know I will.

Sorry I wrote ‘my Moony’ before. Just a slip.

I know, it’s fine.

I finally got another look at the Order notes, by the way. Can I ask you about a few more?

Do we have to? I was hoping you’d forgotten.

No, I just don’t have time to look until the weekends. But we don’t have to, I don’t want to upset you.

I was just joking, Moony. Go ahead.

Okay. December, when you and James had that mission to guard an exchange happening in London, and I was jealous?

Yes, I remember that.

So that wasn’t it?

No. You’re cute when you’re jealous.

Sorry! Forget I wrote that.

It’s okay. Two more: the forest fire that broke out in October, that we thought was the Death Eaters, and I was mad I couldn’t go investigate?

I remember that. Godric, that was awful, wasn’t it?

Yes, it was. If you remember, then that’s not it.

No. That would have been a long time before April, too.

Well, I don’t know if maybe you were mad at me for a long time before you broke things off.

I don’t think I was. I have no memory of being mad at you at all, Remus.

Okay, but that doesn’t mean anything, if the Dementors vanished the memory.

I remember that I still loved you at Harry’s first birthday party. Doesn’t that mean something?

That can’t be right. We’d broken up, and we didn’t talk at all at the party.

I know, but I wanted to. I remember that I was watching you and trying to get a chance to talk.

I don’t want to talk about that right now, Sirius.

Well, I don’t really want to talk about the war, but I agreed to do it, didn’t I?

You said you were just joking before and that you didn’t mind!

Of course, I said that! What else could I say?

I don’t know, the truth?

Sometimes it’s kinder not to tell the truth.

Since when do you know anything about being kind?

Sorry. That wasn’t fair.

We don’t have to do the last memory, if you don’t want.

No, just tell me.

Christmas?

What about Christmas?

Do you remember it?

Of course. We were at James’s and Lily’s.

I made fun of you for the present you got for Harry, I said it was ridiculous to get him a children’s motor bike.

Ha! Oh, that was hilarious, wasn’t it? Lils was mad, too. Everybody was, even James, but he didn’t want to say so. And they made me take it back.

I was a prat to you about that, wasn’t I? I blamed you, but it wasn’t your fault. I was just embarrassed. Sorry, Moony.

That’s okay.

Good. Well then, that wasn’t it, either. Better luck next time, I suppose.

Hopefully.

Sorry to disappoint.

No, it’s fine. Just frustrating, that’s all. I really thought this would work.

Hey, maybe it still will!

No, you hate talking about it, and it’s not like we’re getting anywhere.

But you were right, Remus. We need to know what I forgot. I promise, I won’t give up until we figure it out, okay?

But you don’t even want to know.

I know. But you do. And that makes it important to me, too.

Tosser.

Ha! Love you too.

Sorry! Sorry, didn’t mean to say that.

I know, it’s fine.

The day before the moon, Remus met with Moody after hours at the Ministry, and his high hopes rose even higher.

“I’ve been in touch with the families who live in Ottery St. Catchpole,” Moody said, “and they’ve been instructed to vacate the area so we can search for an escaped Death Eater. In fact, the Diggory’s have already gotten out of their house so that they won’t be vulnerable to a Death Eater attack.”

“But they don’t know it’s a werewolf they’re really hiding from, do they?”

“No,” Moody said, “and they won’t find out, either. The Weasleys already know, though, don’t they?”

Remus nodded. “From the Order, Arthur should know a bit.”

Moody said, “Your privacy remains a priority for Dumbledore, so we’ll want to make sure as few people as possible are in on that secret.”

“Fine. They won’t tell anybody. They’re just upset that Pettigrew was living in their house so long as a rat.”

“Too bad they didn’t figure it out before Pettigrew got wise,” Moody remarked, which Remus thought wasn’t really fair. His old friends were unregistered animagi, after all—and who would have guessed Peter, of all people, would be good enough to pull it off? “Anyway, we’ll meet up, you and I, right before the transformation. I’ll be prepared to secure you if you get out of hand, or if the potion doesn’t work for any reason. I’ll only kill you if I have to.”

Remus huffed and glanced at Harry, who had come along with Remus to the Ministry in lieu of last-minute childcare and was playing with the toy Kneazles Remus had packed in his bag. At least he didn’t appear to be paying attention to what Moody had said. “Can we not? In front of him.”

Moody smiled tightly. “Right. Of course. Anyway, I think it had better be just you and me during the moon, to ensure our safety, but I’ve got Aurors on call in case things take a turn, and they plan to meet us near the Burrow at sunrise when we apprehend the rat.”

“Great. But what did you mean by ‘take a turn’?”

“If you get out of hand, for example, or if we have trouble capturing Pettigrew, if he puts up a fight.”

A year ago, Remus would have asserted that Pettigrew wasn’t capable of threatening them, but he supposed a dozen dead Muggles would now attest differently. If they could, that is.

“So after I transform, you’ll just—follow me?”

Moody nodded. “Yes, and I’ll follow from a distance at first. I’d like you to do something to signal to me that you’ve kept your own mind.”

Remus nodded. “I can. They’ve had me do things like that for the study, too. Shall I—sit? Roll over? Play dead?”

Moody smirked. “Dumbledore told me you had a sense of humour.”

Remus raised his eyebrows and didn’t reply. Why were people so surprised when he showed a hint of personality, anyway?

“We’ll begin at the Burrow,” Moody went on. “How about you bring me something from Molly’s garden?”

Remus shrugged. He hated to deface Molly’s property, in addition to displacing her family from their home, but he said, “Sure. That’ll show you I’m nice and tame, will it?”

Moody said, “That’s right. And after that, you’ll just trace the scent.”

“I won’t be able to talk,” Remus said nervously.

“I know,” Moody said, “but I’ll follow you as you track Pettigrew, and I’ll do my best to understand your signals, all the same.” He tapped his fingers on his desk, glancing at Harry. “This may not work the first time, you know. We may need to try it again later, after we’ve gotten better at working together.”

Remus gave a little smile. “It might work this time, though.”

“It might.” With a thoughtful look on his face, he added, “You know, I’m interested in seeing how this goes. If teaching doesn’t work out, and this does, you could be a real asset to the Aurors. Tracking down criminals by scent and all that.”

“Have you much need for a part-time Auror who can only help you once a month on the full moon?”

“Ah,” Moody looked a bit rueful, disappointed, but he smiled at Remus and admitted, “I suppose it isn’t the best idea. Got ahead of myself, that’s all.”

Remus nodded. “I do that all the time.”

It was the understatement of the century. Remus was far, far ahead of himself as the moon drew nearer. He was already thinking about what he’d do with Sirius first. They’d have to get him a new wand, and find him some new clothes—none of his old things would fit now that he’d lost so much weight, and anyway, Remus wasn’t sure whether Dumbledore had kept most of it after Sirius’s safehouse had been abandoned. Of course, he’d want a good meal, and they’d find him a mind healer, and he’d finally go to his vault at Gringotts and start spending that ridiculous fortune he was always talking about inheriting from his uncle Alphard. He’d probably buy Harry that stupid cat he was always going on about. In fact, Harry would spend loads of time with him, and so would Remus, obviously. He couldn’t wait; he was so excited that he couldn’t bear to visit Sirius that night, couldn’t even glance at his parchment, though he could see it was filling up with messages. It was too much, and Remus needed to focus, but he just couldn’t.

He left Harry in Hagrid’s capable hands the night of the moon and Flooed to the Burrow alone. He scolded himself again and again for getting too hopeful, wanting to avoid feeling let down, as he always was. But he couldn’t control it; his mind was already rejoicing in his victory, even with apprehension vibrating through his every limb.

If he got this right, they could capture Peter tonight. If he got this right, Sirius could be freed.

The Weasleys were already gone, and Moody was waiting in the kitchen when Remus arrived; evidently Molly had left them a platter of sandwiches. Looking up from his food, Moody said, “Ready, are we?”

Remus glanced out the window; the sun hadn’t yet set completely, but it was well on its way down. He had no appetite, so he didn’t come to the table. “I’d say we’re still an hour away.”

Moody nodded tersely, setting down his sandwich without a plate, half-eaten. “Well, let’s have a look around, shall we?”

Remus followed Moody into the chilly near-twilight. Shivering, he tugged his robes around himself.

“There are farms,” Moody said, gesturing with his arm, “down this way, and of course the Diggory house back along the river. They haven’t seen an Animagus by the description I gave them, so that’s not likely where he went. Then, beyond the fields, there’s a forest—but that would be an awfully far way for one rat to travel.”

“He must have traveled far to begin with,” Remus remarked, “to get all the way here from London.”

“I suspect he caught a ride from the Ministry in Arthur’s pocket.”

Remus frowned. “Maybe. He might have Apparated. Can Animagi do that when they’re in their animal form?”

“No,” Moody answered. “They keep their wands and their clothes, but they can’t cast. Speaking of which. You won’t have your wand on you when you’re a wolf, right?”

“Right,” Remus said. “I’ll leave it at the Burrow. That and my—my clothes,” he added awkwardly.

Unashamed, Moody said, “I can carry yours. There may be a wand fight when we catch up to Pettigrew, and if you’ve transformed back to yourself, I’d like you there as back-up—particularly if the other Aurors aren’t able to locate us in time.”

“I thought we planned to meet them here at sunrise?”

“We do, but if we’re far enough away, or if we can’t wrangle Pettigrew, then we might as well be all alone. We must prepare for every possible outcome, Lupin. Constant vigilance.”

Remus nodded seriously. He’d heard Moody use that phrase before.

“While you change,” Moody added, “I’ll wait under the tree at the top of the hill. That’ll give me a good vantage point to apprehend you if you attack.”

But Remus was completely sure that he wouldn’t attack. He was beginning to get a feel for the way the Wolfsbane potion settled in his bones, spreading a sense of peace and calm where the moon normally filled him with bristles. He didn’t want blood; he didn’t even particularly want to run. He felt settled, if a little tired.

“Looks like a nice harvest of cabbage,” Moody added with a nod at the garden. “Pick me one of those and wait at the bottom of the hill. I’ll know you’re you, and I’ll come down.”

Remus nodded.

“And no howling, for Godric’s sake, or Peter’ll know you’re coming.”

“Right. Of course.” Remus hoped he’d be able to control whether he howled at the moon, but really, it was anybody’s guess. Normally, it was compulsive when he was out under the full moon, and in the lab, there had been no moon to howl for.

They walked the perimeter of the Weasleys’ land two times before Remus began to feel the achy tug of the impending shift. “I’d better go,” he said to Moody, “and so should you.”

“Wand?” Moody held out his hand.

Remus hesitated only a moment before handing it over. He was trusting Mad-Eye with his life. But it was for Sirius, which meant it was worth any risk. He gave up his wand and walked to the Burrow, undressing in the doorway and leaving his clothes in a little pile. He could see Moody up on the hill beyond, watching him. Waiting.

The sun fell, and the moon rose bright and iridescent. Remus’s spine elongated, every bone stretching as he curled over on himself, biting back a howl of pain. His skin grew thick, tough and hair-covered, splitting open in thousands of places. His feet grew sharp claws, and his hands turned to paws. His eyesight bled from coloured to black-and-white, with smudged edges and a smaller periphery. His ears prickled, and his sense of smell sharpened. Even before he’d fallen to the ground on all fours, Remus could smell Peter. It was distant, but it was there: the familiar scent of the cowardly little rat.

Fully transformed, Remus almost ran. He almost turned and followed the scent with reckless abandon, fury rising as he swallowed down the irrefutable proof that Peter Pettigrew was alive.

His mind as a wolf was impulsive, but his mind as a man was strategic, calculated. And his human mind won out. He caught himself and trotted carefully to the garden instead, awkwardly fighting his human instincts as he used his normal mind to pad along on all fours. He took a cabbage in his teeth. He didn’t like the things as a human, and he certainly didn’t like them as a wolf, but he carried it to the bottom of the hill, where Moody was already descending to meet him.

Moody opened his mouth and spoke, and Remus realised with alarm that he couldn’t understand him. Something about being a wolf made the pronunciation of a human’s voice undiscernible. He dropped the cabbage and shook his wolf head back and forth once, to show he didn’t understand, but Moody kept talking. Remus gave a little huff, turning away, irritated. He didn’t have time for this human to talk nonsense to him; they had to find Peter!

The fragrance of the rat was mild in the air. At first, Remus couldn’t tell where it came from. He put his nose to the ground and concentrated as hard as he could, finding that the path led away from the house, away from the garden. It was stronger near the fields. Remus picked up his pace, running and leaping into the broken stalks, now harvested. He heard a distant yell behind him when he’d gone about half a mile, and he turned to see Moody running to keep up.

Right. He had the human with him. He had to be slow.

He waited, whining a little, and then silencing himself when Moody spoke sharply to him. He couldn’t understand words, but he could hear tone, and he felt a little rising of shame as he turned back to follow the scent once more, now much slower, keeping Moody in mind. The part of him that was fully a wolf didn’t want to be scolded again.

The scent seemed to split in two directions, but it was strongest going towards the forest, and Remus turned, looking at Moody before pointing his head in the right direction. Moody said something, and Remus ignored him and carried on, infuriatingly slowly. He led them deep into the forest, where the scent continued to grow stronger, though it would fade sometimes, too. Remus felt confused, and he circled the same area several times, out of his depth. He would have fared better as a wolf; his instincts were better when his human mind could be shut off. But of course, if that happened, he wouldn’t be able to control anything.

Remus had traveled a great way, and he ascended a treeless hill at midnight, with Moody still slowly pacing behind him. From that vantage point, he could see far, and he turned to Moody with intense eyes. There was a farm down below, in the direction of a strong scent of Peter. It seemed Pettigrew had been there recently, if he wasn’t there now.

Moody nodded, and they descended to it, both going too slowly. The farmland was sprawling, and Remus ran alongside a dirt path, far outpacing Moody. He could tell right away that Peter wasn’t here; he turned back and approached the wizard, only slowing when Moody raised his wand threateningly. Then, he pulled back and sat, waiting. Irritated. Hadn’t he proven himself? But, he could never do enough for some people—for most people, even. A wolf is a wolf.

At the base of the hill, the forest gave way to a little road, and Remus’s nose perked at the scent he found there. The rat had travelled using this road; he was sure of it. He turned and looked at Moody, who had finally caught up, and then turned back to the road. Moody nodded and followed along with him. The scent got stronger, but then it got weaker again, and then it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once.

They left the road. The forest was dark, and the darkness only deepened the further they traveled into its depths. Hours passed as they wound a long, confusing path, covering ground they’d covered before, finding Pettigrew’s trail, then losing it again. The scent would grow stronger, and fade, stronger, and fade—like the rat was on the move, too.

He would never find Peter going this slowly. Moody was the problem, and Remus grew increasingly agitated with his slow pace. When they returned to the lighter part of the forest, where it wasn’t pitch black, Remus turned and ran a few steps forward, then circled back to Moody, shaking his head and huffing. Then he did it again. Moody said something to him, which of course made no sense, and Remus repeated the gesture a third time. Finally, Moody waved his hands—go, go.

That much, at least, made sense.

Remus sniffed the air hard, finding the scent he wanted. Then he turned and chased it as fast as he could.

He knew it when he got on the right track, at last—when the scent was strong and steady and fresh. Faster and faster, he catapulted himself forward, letting instinct take over and carry his wolf feet up hills and through the carcasses of fallen trees. The forest was thick with Peter’s scent, and with the scents of other creatures, and with the autumn frost.

As daylight approached, the overpowering scent began to fade ever so slightly, and Remus doubled back, nearing a hollowed-out tree trunk. There was a tall oak beyond it, towering and massive, and that was where the scent was strongest. Peter was up that tree; Remus was sure of it. He couldn’t prove it, of course. And he couldn’t reach him. Remus looked around, but he had left Moody behind ages ago.

He looked up the trunk, but his eyes were useless. It was all a grey blur, but he could smell, and he knew—he knew.

Frustration surged. Remus leapt up and grabbed a branch in his teeth, swinging from it wildly, tugging and shaking the tree before releasing, jaw aching and scuffed. He could still smell Peter up there, but he couldn’t reach him.

He looked back and forth, and still there was no Moody. Remus threw back his head and howled at the silver moon.

All at once, there was a soft padding sound, and a blur of motion.

Something had fallen from the tree.

Remus gave chase, fully abandoning his human mind to the pursuit of his prey. The scurrying sound, the familiar scent, the little rustles through the pine needles and decaying leaves—he knew what it all meant. He knew, he knew. Catch him, catch him, his wolf-mind chanted, and his body followed its lead, already tasting the blood of the creature he would crush with his massive teeth.

Dawn broke as Remus gained on the rat, teeth bared, allowing his nose to guide where his eyes failed him, and snarled, and huffed, and opened his jaw, closing in on the rodent, at last, at last—

Pain. Pain everywhere, from his back, his neck, his hands and feet. He rolled, yelping, as silver chains, like ropes, overtook him. He saw a flash of light above him, and then the shape of a man, leaping over him, and another spell, and another. He closed his eyes, and then opened them to find his wand had been tossed to him, was lying in the dirt beside him, and the silver chains were gone. He was human again; the sunlight was an orange sliver peeking through the trees.

Remus sprang to his feet, naked and burning, every limb shaking, a full-body tremor wracking him when he touched down. Who had cast the silver chains? Had it been Moody? They’d sapped him of most of his energy, making him feel like he could fall asleep for ages—or maybe that was the transformation. He was bloody, sore all over. He hadn’t scratched or bitten himself—the forest had injured him enough as it was.

He followed the sounds of spells firing down to the base of the hill and saw Peter Pettigrew, like a vision or a ghost or a mythical creature. He was himself again, ragged and dirty—the murderous coward. But he didn’t look so much like a coward now; he looked wild and determined, and he held his own against Moody, hitting him with curses and hexes, countering every attack. Remus had never seen him duel like this before; the Death Eaters must have taught him dark magic. Adrenaline burst on a plume of rage, and Remus surged ahead without either of the others noticing he’d come up alongside them—spell after spell spilling from their wands, stabbing in rays of light.

“Incarcerus,” Remus cast, his voice a raw scrape of pain. Chains materialised from thin air; they bound Pettigrew instantly—defenceless as he was against the sneak attack—and he turned wide eyes at Remus. Even in chains, he raised his wand, sneering.

“Petrificus totalus,” came Moody’s voice from over Remus’s shoulder, and Pettigrew stiffened like a board and fell to the forest floor.

Remus’s body gave way with the suddenness of it all, and he bent over, hands on his knees, dizzy and panting. He couldn’t look at Peter. He didn’t know whether he was dreaming, but he didn’t want to find out, just in case he’d wake to find it had all gone wrong.

He didn’t realise he’d fallen to the ground until he felt Moody’s cloak dropping above him, covering him up. A rough hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him rather harder than was comfortable. Sounding as rough as Remus felt, Moody said, “Well done, lad. You got him.”

Remus nodded, eyes pricking, and found that he couldn’t draw enough breath to speak. He ached everywhere—his head, his limbs and joints that had just transformed, and the places where he’d been bound by silver most of all. Speaking was too much effort; breathing was almost too much effort. He put up no resistance as everything faded to black.

Chapter Text

Know that I loved you so bad,

I let you treat me like that.

I was your willing accomplice, honey.

I watched as you fled the scene,

Doe-eyed as you buried me,

One heart broke, four hands bloody.

The things I did,

Just so I could call you mine.

—Olivia Rodrigo, “Favorite Crime”

13 February 1983

Sirius stuffed his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, irritated with himself for having forgotten to bring gloves. Things were always slipping his mind nowadays, and he stomped down the street finding everything irritating and inconvenient. Diagon Alley was busy this time of day—it was the lunch rush—and Sirius found his destination quickly enough, though it was impossible to get around without people recognising him, staring at him. This was a restaurant he’d never been to before, though it was one he’d heard Remus mention once or twice in passing. The Magic Horse, it was called. Stuffy place. Sirius felt underdressed as he stepped inside, clad in the Muggle jeans and boots Remus had bought for him after he’d been released in December, when he’d been nothing but skin and bones. They didn’t quite fit him anymore, but he hadn’t bothered to go out yet and buy something that did fit. He had plenty of money, of course, but he just didn’t see the point. Remus had called him depressed; he’d even made an appointment for Sirius with a mind healer when he’d first gotten out of Azkaban, back when they’d lived together briefly, before Sirius had decided it was better to have a place of his own. Sirius had been furious; he’d cancelled the appointment, and then he’d given Remus the silent treatment for a full week.

Never mind that, though.

“Mr. Black?”

Sirius looked across the dimly lit dining room of The Magic Horse and saw Abraham Abernathy, shaking snow off his coat and boots as he trailed puddles of mud across the polished floor. Sirius wondered fleetingly where he’d apparated from, to be covered in fresh snow. Abernathy didn’t bother to allow the hostess to seat him, as she had done for Sirius only minutes before; he simply elbowed his way through, the way those Ministry types always did—pompous, entitled bastard.

Sirius rose and extended a hand with every attempt at civility. “Detective Abernathy,” he said.

“Please, Abe is fine.” They sat across from one another at a narrow table, and Abe opened his menu, glanced at it for all of five seconds, then put it down again. “You’re looking well.”

Sirius nodded. “Two months out of prison does wonders,” he replied drily.

“I’m very glad to hear it.” A waiter came to the table, and Abe said, “The bouillabaisse, please.”

When the waiter turned to Sirius, he lifted his hand, shaking his head. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

“Nothing?” Abe asked as the waiter walked away. “Surely you’re hungry, and it’s all paid for by the Ministry, so you needn’t—”

“I don’t want the Ministry’s money,” Sirius said. “I don’t want anything from the Ministry.”

“Ah.” Abe gave him a shadow of a smile. “Yes, I’d heard you might say so—”

“And I’ll tell you the same thing I told Mad-Eye,” Sirius replied. “I have no interest in working for the organisation that imprisoned me for fourteen months without a trial. Surely you aren’t so hard pressed for help that you have to resort to begging for favours from people who’ve suffered permanent mind damage at the hands of Ministry employees?”

“Ministry employees?”

“The Dementors,” he pronounced, staring down his nose at Abernathy. “Barbaric, having them guard a prison. Having them do anything,” he added. “Regardless, I won’t work for the Ministry. The most I’ll do for any of you lot is refrain from suing you, and that ought to make you grateful enough. My mother would have taken you for all you’re worth, the greedy old hag.”

Abernathy only looked surprised at this ungracious remark for a moment before his face was a placid blank again. He said, “We aren’t asking you for favours; we’re offering you an opportunity.”

“An opportunity, really.”

“Yes,” he said. “Goodwill towards you and your case has never been higher. You have incredible pull. Public sympathy, widespread interest and influence.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” Sirius spat sarcastically.

“You are in a rare position, a position your father would have killed for,” Abe replied.

Sirius hadn’t realized the detective who’d finally solved his case had known his father; it didn’t make him like the man any better, that was for certain. “Having not killed anybody,” Sirius replied, “and still done time for it, I must confess I fail to see the advantage any of this poses to me, though I can certainly understand why the Ministry would be eager to have my cooperation and support.”

“You could be the next Minister for Magic,” Abe said, “if you play your cards right now.”

Sirius gazed across the dull dining room. This was so boring. Hadn’t he already heard this a hundred times? He’d turned down the Deputy Minister for Magic, the Heads of Magical Law Enforcement, Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and Magical Games and Sports. He’d thought they’d finally given up when he stopped hearing from them a month ago, but then the letter from Detective Abernathy had come on the first of February, and then another letter, and another, until it was impossible to ignore any longer.

Sirius turned his disinterested gaze on Abe and said, “They sent you because they thought I’d be grateful, right? To the man who solved my case?”

Abernathy shrugged, looking falsely modest.

Sirius said, “I’m not grateful. I wasn’t given a trial until I’d been imprisoned for an entire year. And you didn’t even do your own research; my friends did it, and your office only took the credit for it. You wouldn’t have done anything on your own, and I would still be rotting in Azkaban to this day, if it was left to your lot. So you won’t be able to convince me, and the Minister for Magic herself wouldn’t be able to convince me, either. I’m not joining you, I’m not helping you, and the only reason I agreed to meet with you was so your bloody secretary would stop harassing me to get an appointment. Your owl is disturbing my cat.”

Abe frowned. “You’re wasting a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, son.”

Sirius glared; he hated being called ‘son.’ The easy familiarity of it, the implied comradery, was an affront. Where had all this friendly concern been when Sirius was half-starved and miserable in Azkaban?

“If the Ministry had had their way, I’d be spending the rest of my life in prison while a murderer walked free,” Sirius said, standing. “You can tell the Minister to shove her bloody offer up her—”

“Okay, okay, point taken,” Abe said, rising, as well. He extended a hand to Sirius, and Sirius stared for a moment before taking it. “If you change your mind—”

“I won’t change my mind.”

“If you do,” he said, “get in touch.”

“Absolutely,” Sirius gave him a saccharine grin and headed out the door and into Diagon Alley. He paused, looking up and down the sidewalk and finding it just as crowded as it had been ten minutes ago—and just as cold. He was hungry, a bit, but not nearly hungry enough to suffer the company of another Ministry stooge sent to sweet talk him into becoming as phony and sycophantic as the rest of them.

Despite his determination to maintain a rotten mood, Sirius had to admit after a brisk stroll down the cobblestone street that the fresh air did him some good; he hadn’t been out of his flat in ages. The Leaky Cauldron would be packed, but he could order a takeaway and eat it somewhere private. That’s what he did, in the end. He ordered fish and chips because it was Harry’s favourite, and Sirius missed him during the week while he was at Hogwarts. At least today was Friday; that meant Remus and Harry would come over tonight.

After he’d eaten, hidden away in a corner near the Owl Emporium, where the smell of animal droppings generally kept people away, Sirius Apparated to the other end of London, having an assignment from Dumbledore that he wasn’t at all looking forward to. But there was no point in putting it off, and anyway, he’d sold his soul to Dumbledore ages ago, hadn’t he? There was really no quitting, once you were a soldier in that particular army.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place looked exactly how Sirius remembered it from his childhood—stately, imposing, and cold. Sirius would have felt sorry for his mother, living here all alone, if she’d ever treated him with any softness or affection whatsoever. As it was, he rather thought such a sentiment would be wasted on her. Surely, she preferred the solitude her current lifestyle offered to the company of her disappointing, blood traitor son.

He rang the bell, waiting only seconds before the door opened, and his mother’s house elf, Kreacher, bowed very low to the ground and said, “Master Sirius, you have come home at last.”

“I’ve come to call on Walburga,” Sirius corrected, feeling awkward and wishing the elf would stand up straight and stop his bloody servitude nonsense.

“Mistress is in her room,” Kreacher said, and he held his head very high and gestured, “right this way.”

“Kreacher,” Sirius said cautiously. He had no affection for the house elf, but all the same, he hated to see anyone unjustly punished because of him. “Hadn’t you better check with Walburga before you bring me up to see her?”

“No, Master Sirius, my mistress is expecting you.”

That was a surprise. Sirius decided it wasn’t worth it to comment; who knew what his mother expected, or why? Whatever she thought, he was sure that the reason for his current visit would upend all her ideas—and, as such, would make her furious. Not probably, in fact; certainly. Never in his life had Sirius done something that Walburga did not expect or approve and gotten through the situation unscathed. At least now, there was nothing she could do to hurt him. Sirius had already been through the worst; there was only one person in the world who could hurt him now, really—and that person hurt him constantly, without even trying to, so the point was moot.

“Kreacher!” Walburga’s voice echoed down the grimy halls of the Black family ancestral home. Sirius observed the thick layer of dust that covered everything, alarmed that his mother allowed things to progress in such a state. “Who was at the door?”

Kreacher disapparated with a loud crack, and Sirius continued to walk the hall, slowing his steps so that his mother could decline his visit, if she liked. He could look around for Regulus’s locket with or without Walburga’s permission.

That was the assignment from Dumbledore, of course. Find the artefact that Regulus had hidden—and it was a doozy. Evidently, Voldemort had gotten ahold of Salazar Slytherin’s own locket, and he’d performed some sort of dark magic with it. Dumbledore had gone to great lengths to recover this from the hiding spot Voldemort had ordered it placed in, only to discover that it had been stolen by none other than Sirius’s own brother, Regulus Black. It was a shock and a revelation that Sirius hadn’t yet had time to pick apart in his own heart. He’d been used to thinking of Regulus as a lost cause, the brother who’d chosen the wrong side and paid the ultimate price for it. Somehow, the revelation that he’d died while taking one of Voldemort’s artefacts—one he'd been entrusted with hiding—and had swapped it with a meaningless Black family heirloom was both everything and nothing, all at once. It hadn’t saved Regulus, in the end, and it hadn’t stopped Voldemort.

But, maybe they still could defeat the old bastard. If anybody was going to do it, it would be Dumbledore.

Sirius waited for Kreacher, and he looked around. Everything was so grimy, it was hard to see if a lost old locket was hidden beneath any of the knickknacks scattered about. He pulled out his wand and muttered a few quick cleaning spells, holding his breath when plumes of dust rose before he could Scourgify them away.

Kreacher’s return was heralded by the same telltale crack, and Sirius turned to him and gave him an innocent smile, like he’d done when he was a little boy, hoping the house elf and his mistress would either not notice or not comment about the cleaning he was doing.

“Mistress Walburga will see you now,” Kreacher said, with a disdainful glance at Sirius that suggested he certainly had noticed.

“Delightful.” Sirius pocketed his wand after a moment of deliberation, then finished the short walk to his mother’s sitting room—an old-fashioned parlour with dark curtains and thick, mothy tapestries hanging from the walls. Sirius hadn’t been in this room in nearly seven years—not since he was sixteen. That was the summer he’d finally moved out, as his own family’s activities had grown darker, more entwined with Voldemort, and James had been so worried about Sirius that he’d convinced his parents to take him in. That was so like James, always concerned for others. He would see what needed to be done and just go ahead and do it, without a second thought.

I’m doing this for you, James, Sirius thought. I’ll make them all pay, or I’ll die trying.

Walburga looked up from her seat on the settee when Sirius approached, and he gave a little start, not recognizing her. She had aged so much more than seven years; her hair was white, and her body looked shrunken and brittle. She was wide-eyed, thin, and sallow.

“Sirius,” she said. She didn’t smile.

He hadn’t meant to call her “Mum,” but that was what he said, when he opened his startled mouth to reply. He wished he could take the word back; its vulnerable sound made him disgusted with himself. You should never show a sign of weakness in the presence of a Black.

But he needn’t have been concerned. Walburga finally smiled, very faintly, and said, “I’d wondered when you would call. Regulus hasn’t come in ages and ages.”

Sirius stared at her. Over her shoulder, he could just make out the place on the Black family tapestry where his own name had been blasted off, and he wondered if she could even remember that she’d done it. Her usual coldness, her disdain for him and his disappointing life choices, was nowhere to be found. In its place was this vacant, nonspecific sort of wonder.

“Won’t you sit down?” she said. Her voice was creaky. “You’ll want tea, of course. Kreacher!”

The house elf reappeared, and Sirius glanced around the room while Walburga requested their refreshments. This room, at least, was not as dusty as the others. Perhaps Kreacher had taken to only cleaning those rooms that Walburga used. He wouldn’t blame him, if that were the case. Kreacher had been old even when Sirius was a child, and he must be positively ancient now. Sirius wasn’t sure what happened to most house elves when they were too shriveled and decrepit to be of use anymore. The Black family had a longstanding and barbaric tradition of beheading their elves, but as Kreacher had no descendants, it seemed unlikely that Walburga would do anything so drastic to him, if only for the sake of her own convenience.

When Sirius had received his teacup—chipped, he noticed—he thought twice before taking a sip. It smelled perfectly ordinary, but that didn’t mean anything. He had noticed a little uprising of paranoia in himself since Azkaban, too, but he didn’t think it was unwarranted in this particular instance. Walburga was being suspiciously neutral towards him. The last time he’d seen her, she’d thrown a vase at his head and called him an abomination, so this was a considerable shift.

“Mother,” Sirius said, setting down the teacup after just letting the tea touch his lips, and not swallowing a drop of it. “I wondered if it would be alright with you if I took a look around upstairs.”

“Why would you want to do that?” she asked, sounding a bit more like her old self—judgemental, haughty.

“I believe I left something when I moved out,” Sirius asked smoothly, “and I’d like to check and see.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure Kreacher could find it for you,” Walburga remarked, with a wave of her hand. “You needn’t scurry about like a house elf. Quite unfit for the Black family heir to behave so, I assure you.”

Last Sirius had known, he was disowned—and presumed disinherited. He glanced at Kreacher, who was still lingering about the tea things. He seemed to have no reaction to this assertion that Sirius was the family heir; perhaps he still was, somehow. If anybody would know, it would be the house elf who was bound to the family by magic.

“I’m not sure he could find it,” Sirius remarked, attempting to match his mother’s haughty tone. She responded to that sort of thing, usually. “I’ve cast so many charms over my things—”

“Elf magic can overcome any wizard charms,” Kreacher said disdainfully—without having been invited to speak. Sirius half-expected his mother to lash out at him, as his father would have done, but Walburga only nodded her head and gave him a knowing, indulgent little smirk.

Sirius stared at them both, so taken aback that it took a moment or two for him to refocus on his mission. Had Walburga come to think of Kreacher as a member of her family, in some perverse way? It was unheard of, if it was true. Not that Sirius had a problem with house elves being treated well—on the contrary, he thought it was best that they were, and the Potters had always been far more respectful to their elf than the Blacks had ever been. But for a pureblood witch from a dark family to treat a house elf with such dignity and familiarity was, frankly, unthinkable. How long had it been, Sirius wondered, since anybody but Kreacher had even spoken to Walburga Black?

“Nevertheless,” Sirius said, “It’s been so long since I’ve been home, and I feel I should look around the place.”

“If you must,” Walburga answered tiredly. Before Sirius had entered the room, she’d had a bit of needlework on her lap, and she looked at it now, tracing her fingers over the half-finished embroidery. It was clear that she wasn’t really working on it, and probably hadn’t worked on it for some time. The thread was worn and brittle, and the colours faded.

“Very well,” Sirius said, rising to his feet. Kreacher gave him a parting look as he approached the door, but Walburga did not.

The strangeness of both of them! Sirius would have been happier never to see Walburga Black again, frankly, rather than to be required to rework her in his mind like this. She was formidable, cold, and powerful in his memory; in life—or what remained of her life—she was a shell, half-empty, no better than Sirius had been in Azkaban. Of course, he’d been continually preyed upon by dark non-beings who’d stolen his good thoughts and replaced them with every bad memory of his life. What was Walburga’s excuse, then? He reflected on this for only a moment before deciding that he’d rather not know.

“Right,” he muttered to himself as he stepped into the corridor. He considered where to begin for a moment before deciding on a destination, and he strode up the stairs to Regulus’s bedroom, determinedly forcing back every memory of his brother as he’d been when they were small. All that camaraderie had ended long before Regulus had made his choice—following the family into Voldemort’s allegiance, and gladly allowing his parents to shut Sirius out in the cold.

When Sirius left Grimmauld Place, it was nearly five o’clock. He’d spent all afternoon casting cleaning charms, summoning charms, revealing charms, and the like. For hours, he was on his hands and knees, checking old floorboards under which he and Regulus had used to hide sweets as a trick, and the bottoms of cupboards and trunks and drawers long-abandoned. He’d found numerous objects in Regulus’s room that he questioned as possibly being cursed, but not one of them was a locket, and not one of them was an artefact transfigured to look like something else.

Sirius had finally gone home, irritated and sore, after realising he was getting nowhere, and meanwhile, Remus’s last class of the day would be ending soon. Ever since Sirius had moved back into his old flat, the one he’d shared with Remus a lifetime ago, Remus and Harry had spent every weekend with him. It was a small consolation, frankly, for missing them both so much during the week, but Sirius would take what he could get.

No sooner had Sirius removed his hat and coat than the Floo flared up, and Remus stepped into the living room, with Harry a wriggling bundle in his arms. He was two and a half years old now, and his vocabulary had recently experienced a massive expansion. As soon as Harry saw Sirius, he called, “Paddy, Paddy, we have a present for you!”

Remus grinned shyly at Sirius, same as he always did, making Sirius’s stupid heart flutter like it always did. He set Harry down, and Sirius knelt to catch the force of Harry’s running hug.

“A present, really?”

Harry nodded and said, “For Balentimes Day.”

At first, Remus had translated little mispronunciations like these for Harry, but nowadays, he just assumed Sirius could understand. Sirius did understand, and he felt a flash of surprised confusion. He and Remus had never celebrated Valentine’s Day, not even when they were a couple.

But then Remus had said, “It’s actually for Pawpaw.”

Pawpaw was the name of Sirius’s cat, a large, stately looking feline who tolerated Harry admirably but was otherwise Sirius’s pet, through and through. She’d been Harry’s Christmas present from Sirius, long-planned and eagerly anticipated, but she didn’t particularly like children—and who could blame her, with the way Harry played?—and so Remus and Sirius had agreed that she should live at the flat primarily, and that was that.

Harry went to look for Pawpaw, and Remus walked up to Sirius, handing him the little box they’d brought. “It’s something he made with Hagrid today,” Remus said quietly, “so I’m not sure if you’ll actually want to feed it to Pawpaw.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Sirius smiled, wondering momentarily if Remus would embrace him, as he sometimes did. It was really anybody’s guess whether Remus would be feeling affectionate on any particular day. Today, Sirius was out of luck. Remus withdrew as soon as the package was passed to Sirius.

“Why don’t you two take care of the gift?” Remus said. “I’d like to pop down and say hello to Jane.”

“Oh, right.” Remus’s Muggle friend. Half the time, Sirius wondered if Remus only accompanied Harry on these weekend visits so that he could see Jane. Sirius had only met her once or twice, though Remus had invited him to her flat with him every time, when Sirius had first moved back in. She seemed nice enough, but Sirius hadn’t been interested in making friends. At the time, he was still frustrated with Remus—with the fact that he was holding Sirius to all the things he’d said back when they’d broken up, things he couldn’t even remember—and so he’d been rather rude about it all. He regretted it now—he regretted lots of things, in fact—but there was nothing for it except to try harder. And he was trying, very hard. “That’s fine. Have you both eaten?”

Remus nodded. “No, shall I get us a takeaway?”

Sirius tried to sound casual as he said, “Actually, I’ve got groceries.”

“To…cook with?”

Sirius laughed, and Remus did, too, after a moment. “Yes, to cook with. What else?”

“Is this a new skill?”

“It is, as a matter of fact,” Sirius said. He’d been working very hard at it, actually—practicing almost every day, wanting to show Remus how good it could be if they really did live together again.

Remus said, “I’m impressed. Shall I invite Jane to eat with us?”

“Oh, I hadn’t planned—” he stopped, remembering that he was trying to impress Remus. “I mean, if you want to, certainly—”

“No, no,” Remus waved his hand, “There wouldn’t be enough to feed all three of them, would there? Never mind, I’ll just say hello to them and come right back.”

He left, and Sirius only stared after him at the closed door for a moment or two before he went to find Harry and rescue Pawpaw from his over-the-top affection.

After they’d fed the cat her little mouse-cake from Hagrid (it was all Sirius could do not to gag at the sight of it), they made their way to the kitchen. Remus had cultivated a horrible habit in Harry of sitting him up on the counter when he cooked, and Harry insisted on doing this now, lifting his arms and saying in a petulant tone, “Daddy lets me!”

Sirius plopped him on the counter reluctantly, not wanting to be the uncool parent, and set to work slicing up vegetables for their stew. Since his release from Azkaban, there hadn’t been much for Sirius to do except run errands for Dumbledore and wait for the weekends, so he’d invested copious amounts of time, energy, and money on replenishing the nutrients he’d been deprived of during his year in prison via improving his cooking skills. Neither he nor Remus had been any good at this back when they’d first gotten the flat together after school ended, but Remus had tried hardest, back then. He’d gotten quite good at breakfasts—kippers and eggs, and a scrumptious little fruit tart that Remus had made every time either of them had a particularly hard week. Sirius could appreciate now, in a way he never had quite done enough back then, how hard Remus had tried to do nice things for him. He’d sometimes used to think, because Remus didn’t initiate physical affection very often, that Sirius was doing most of the ‘work’ in the relationship. But now, hindsight shaded everything with a different colour. Remus wasn’t bold; he could be shy, at times, but he’d really loved Sirius. Now, Sirius felt the absence of it like a bone-deep chill, making his whole body ache with longing. All he wanted was Remus, and he’d thrown him off without even knowing he’d done it.

When Remus returned, the stew was in the pot, and Harry was off the counter and in the living room, playing with a little enchanted dollhouse Sirius had bought for him. Remus smiled and knelt beside Harry, saying, “This is cool.”

“My little person,” Harry said, “is going to work now.”

“Is he? Where does he work?”

“He’s a teacher.”

Remus grinned up at Sirius, who was leaning against the kitchen island, watching them. “That’s very interesting. What does he teach?”

“History.” Remus’s smile widened, and Sirius laughed.

“And this little person—” he picked up another doll, one with dark hair and a leather jacket, “has to work now, too.”

“Another teacher?”

“No, he—” Harry paused. He glanced at Sirius and said, “He does…cooking.”

Remus laughed. “Does he? A chef! Very impressive.”

“Mhmm.”

“And this little person is going away…” Harry continued to mutter to himself, and when his speech got quieter and more nonsensical, Remus left him to it, rising to his feet and approaching Sirius in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Smells good,” Remus said.

“Lamb stew,” Sirius replied, “and dumplings.”

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble just for us.”

“Nonsense.” Sirius smiled. “You’re passing up a Hogwarts Friday night feast to see me; the least I can do is make it worth your while.”

“We’d think it was worthwhile either way.”

Remus was always saying things like that—things that would have been better if they were lovers instead of just friends. Sirius nodded and said, “All the same.” He hesitated before asking, but really, he did need to know. “Will you be staying the night?”

“Oh—” Remus face turned a bit red. “I hadn’t thought we would. We can come back in the morning, but—well, the crib’s a bit small for Harry now, and there isn’t anywhere for me to sleep—”

“You and Harry can share my bed!” Sirius said, with more enthusiasm for the idea than he really felt. “And I’ll just sleep as Padfoot out on the sofa. Or the floor, or wherever.”

“No,” Remus smiled, “that’s no better than prison, I can’t have you doing that.”

“I beg your pardon, it’s much better than prison,” Sirius said, raising an eyebrow.

Remus nodded. “If you say so, I’ll take your word for it. But I don’t want to impose.”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition,” Sirius said, “I want you to.”

Please, he thought. I just want to wake up and see you in my bed, even if I’m not there, too, just this once…

“I just think Harry would be more comfortable in his own room,” Remus said, with an apologetic shrug.

Sirius nodded, trying not to sigh. That was what Remus usually said. He and Harry had stayed over before, but it was rare, and Sirius knew better than to push his luck.

“So,” Remus said, “are you training to become a professional chef or something?”

“What?” Sirius gave him a puzzled grin, relieved for the subject change. “Why would you think that?”

Remus shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. Harry seems to think that’s what you do for a living.”

“I don’t do anything for a living,” Sirius said, putting on his mother’s haughty tone as a joke, “I have an inheritance for that, thank you very much.”

“I know you do,” Remus rolled his eyes, not unkindly, “but you’ve got to do something with your time, Sirius.”

“I know that,” Sirius replied, bristling. “But I’ve only been out of prison since December, and Dumbledore’s got me doing jobs for him—”

“Still?” Remus frowned, and Sirius realised belatedly that he hadn’t told Remus about any of this before.

“Oh—well, um. Just easy things, researching and—well.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me,” Remus gave him an easy smile. “I know how Dumbledore is. And anyway, it can’t be anything too dangerous, now the war’s over.”

“It isn’t,” Sirius agreed, relieved. “Just simple things.”

“Which means,” Remus filled in, “you probably do have time to do some sort of work, if you want to.”

“Why are you so interested?” Sirius asked.

Remus shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

Sirius didn’t believe that for a minute. Remus probably wanted to fix him, which was absurd because he wasn't broken, and he wasn't depressed, and there was nothing wrong with him at all. But, he didn’t want an argument. He said, “I’ve had a lot of offers, actually. I’m just waiting to find the right opportunity.”

“Offers, really? From whom?”

“The Ministry,” Sirius replied, striving for a casual tone.

“Wow, that’s—” he thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “Actually, not surprising at all, knowing them. Are you going to take them up on it?”

“Why is it not surprising?” Sirius asked, ignoring Remus’s question.

“Good press, I suppose, to hire the man they wrongly imprisoned. To show you had no hard feelings, and all that.”

“I do have hard feelings.”

“Of course. But it would look better for them if you didn’t.”

“Tough luck.”

Remus’s tone was too gentle. “I know. Never mind.”

Sirius shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Remus said hurriedly.

“No, I didn’t mean to snap at you, just—”

“I understand,” Remus said.

Sirius sighed. It was always like this between them now; Remus was kind and understanding, and Sirius was a monster. He didn’t want to be. He was just frustrated, and lonely, and the hours he got to spend with Remus were so short, so few and far between. It felt like he couldn’t afford to get anything wrong, and yet somehow, it was all he could do.

“Are you sure you two can’t stay the night?” Sirius asked again. “I’ll change to a dog, you won’t even know I’m here. I'll sleep on the foot of the bed, if that's what you're worried about.”

Remus studied him for a long moment, and Sirius would have given anything to be a Legilimens, to know what Remus really felt for him, after all this time.

“If it’s that important to you, sure,” Remus said at last, with a tired looking smile.

Sirius tried to feel pleased, but a victory given so reluctantly wasn’t much of a victory at all, and when push came to shove, spending the night as a dog really wasn’t pleasant no matter where he slept.

Still, having Remus nearby was better than not having him at all. Sirius was grateful to drift off that night on the foot of Harry and Remus’s bed, having had his silky black fur smothered in Harry’s kisses, breathing in Remus’s scent and knowing that, after Remus left tomorrow, his pillow would still smell like him.

Chapter Text

21 February 1983

The trouble with one thing going right—going very, incredibly, perfectly, unbelievably right—had been the way Remus had felt so invincible afterwards. He’d had a spring in his step for weeks, blithely and confidently pursuing anything he wanted, and then being utterly shocked when literally everything else had gone drastically wrong.

The first misfortune had happened when Sirius was moved from Azkaban to a holding cell at the Ministry following Peter’s arrest. That was for the best, obviously, and nobody who cared about Sirius should have wanted anything different for him. Only, they’d had to give up their enchanted parchments. Dumbledore couldn’t have the Ministry knowing such things existed, so he’d used a spell to vanish the lot of them, and Remus went from speaking to Sirius every day, to complete separation for four weeks.

The trial, at least, had been quick. But it had also been unsatisfactory, in the end. Even with a preponderance of evidence clearly proving his guilt, Peter never admitted to having done anything wrong. He attempted to defend himself by claiming he’d thought he was just doing his job, never realising the secrets he disclosed to his Ministry co-workers would be given to Voldemort.

It was a flimsy defence, and when he was challenged about why he had disclosed the Potters’ whereabouts, he’d claimed it was because Sirius had pressured him to do it. Sirius, he said, was jealous that James had Harry and Lily in his life—that his position as his best friend had been usurped. He’d said Sirius was involved in everything to do with the Death Eaters, and Peter had feared for his life.

Nobody believed him for a moment, of course. In fact, that particular line had been printed in the Daily Prophet and quickly became a rather tasteless but widespread joke—people would say, ‘Sirius Black made me do it,’ whenever anybody made a bad decision of any kind—because it was so absurd and desperate. Everyone thought it was funny except for Sirius, who had been so enraged that it took two Incarcerus spells to hold him back when Peter passed in front of him in the courtroom.

In the end, although Peter had been convicted, he’d never admitted to a single thing, not even the explosion, which a simple Priori Incantatum on his wand had easily confirmed he’d caused. Not even when they exposed the Dark Mark on his arm would he own up. “I was forced,” he’d said, “it was all a rouse, I was meant to spy for our side—”

Sirius was released the day the trial ended. By then, the Minister for Magic was already attempting to smooth things over with him. She’d given him new robes to wear to the trials, and she’d sent her lackeys to meet with Sirius multiple times, always insisting that they’d soon reform the criminal justice arm of the Ministry, and Sirius himself could be instrumental in the changes they implemented, if he had any wish to be.

But Sirius had had no such wish. All he had wanted was to go home, curl up in his bed, and sleep. And for the first week, that had been all he did. Harry had found it very odd, in that curious way that two-year-olds find any unexpected behaviour odd: he commented on Sirius continually.

“Paddy loves to sleep,” he said when Sirius curled up in Remus’s bed after deigning to join them for a little late breakfast with the toast and jam Remus had sneaked back from the Great Hall. “You have to whisper,” he’d admonished Remus, once, when Remus was making a good deal of noise to try to rouse Sirius from a three-hour nap.

When Sirius had said he wanted to move back into their old flat—a decision Remus had seen coming from a mile away, but still dreaded—Remus had been worried he would go from leaving his bed two or three times a day to leaving it never. He’d made Sirius an appointment with a mind healer the very next day, purely out of concern for him. And sure, he probably should have asked first, but he’d been so worried that it honestly hadn’t occurred to him that Sirius might be offended.

Sirius took a full week to forgive him after that, which Remus had felt was unfair and unwarranted, until he realised that it wasn’t really about the mind healer.

“If you care so much,” Sirius had said, breaking his silence at last, the day before he’d moved out, “then why won’t you just forgive me?”

“You don’t even know what you want to be forgiven for,” Remus had shot back. He’d run out of patience, after a week of the silent treatment. “You can’t remember it!”

“So, if I never remember, then you’ll never forgive me? That’s what you’re saying?”

“No, I’m saying it’s complicated.”

“I don’t see how you can be so angry about something I don’t even remember doing.”

“I’m not angry, I’m hurt! You hurt me, do you not see that?” Remus had snapped.

It was the wrong thing to say. All at once, the colour had drained from Sirius’s face, and he was all apologies—Believe me, I’d do anything to change it, Remus—and Remus hadn’t wanted to talk about it, after all. It was too much. He’d rather pretend to be fine than hear Sirius acting like he cared, when Remus could still remember, would never be able to forget, the cold way Sirius had looked at him that late April afternoon. The accusation in his eyes.

“We can still try to figure out what I forgot,” Sirius had offered weakly. “We can keep going over the war—”

“Moody took back the Order files after Peter was arrested,” Remus muttered, petulant.

Sirius touched his shoulder, and Remus shrugged it off. “We could work from memory.”

“No.”

Sirius stood at his shoulder, buzzing with nervous energy. “What about the whole mind translusionment thing?”

“What about it?”

“Well, you were going to look into it—”

“I did look into it.”

That was another thing that hadn’t gone well. After the December moon, Remus had told his healer about Sirius and shown him the passage in the book he’d highlighted.

The healer had said, very haughtily, “Oh, I’ve heard of that. Rubbish field, that is. The professors are all mental. That wouldn’t help your friend. What did you say his name was?”

“Sirius Black.”

“Big fan of the mass murderer, are you?” The healer raised his eyebrows and leered, then continued the examination. Like everyone else in the study, he treated Remus with an indifference that bordered on disdain, and Remus was tired of it. He wouldn’t bother asking him again. There must be other people who knew about mind translusionment, who weren’t such prats about it.

“What did you find out?” Sirius asked.

“I found out that most mind healers have at least heard of it, but you’d have to consult with one, and since you don’t want to do that, there’s really nothing else for it. There, will you give me the silent treatment for another week, since I dared to mention mind healing to you again?”

Sirius had exhaled, wilting. "Of course not. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. I was only trying to help.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He sighed, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I think that’s why it’s best that I move out, you know? Just—just go somewhere alone, where I can’t…lash out at anybody.”

“Sirius—”

“No, listen—you’re right, I was a prat. It’s just so hard. You know, to me, nothing’s changed, but to you—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I just think we could both do with some space.”

Remus didn’t have the energy to argue with him. It only occurred to him weeks later that they had been arguing about two very different things, all along.

The long and short of it was, Remus had had an extraordinary stroke of luck in November—better than he’d had any right to expect—and then, his luck had run out. That was the thing with luck, wasn’t it? It was always changing. The fact that things weren’t working now was just the universe straightening things out after one unbelievable full moon when every single thing had gone right. If this was the trade for Sirius’s freedom, Remus would take it. He wouldn’t let his string of bad luck keep him down for long. After all, Sirius was getting out of the house more lately, according to Remus's sources. He was getting better now, slowly but surely. Remus’s plans for him—pushing him into taking care of himself—hadn’t been the right strategy. Sirius’s way was better, and Remus could respect that. Harry was safe and well, and Sirius was finally free, and Remus was grateful for the things he had.

And then, on the February moon, Remus’s luck changed again.

“How does this thing work?”

“You just put the coin in here, and then you dial. You push the numbers.”

“Right. Sorry, I’ll get the hang of it.”

“It’s fine.” Remus’s favourite fourth year student—Mandy Charles, the muggleborn who’d enchanted Harry’s cat book—was helping him use the payphone in Hogsmeade during what was easily the coldest Hogsmeade weekend of the year. She beamed up at him when it began to ring, then said, “I’ll leave you to it, Professor. Remember that you have to add extra coins if the time runs out.”

“How will I know—”

“It’ll beep.” She pressed a coin into his hand and said, “Here, that’s another fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” he called after her as she popped out the glass door, letting it shuffle closed behind her again.

“Thank you?” Jane’s voice carried through the receiver, and Remus smiled, settling in.

“Jane!”

“Remus!” she laughed. “What are you so surprised for? You’re the one who rang me!”

“Sorry.” He didn’t want to admit to Jane that he’d needed help using the payphone—he ought to have remembered how to do it, frankly, but it had been years since he’d even touched a Muggle telephone. Not since his mother had died, and she hadn’t needed a payphone; she’d had her own, a pink rotary that she’d kept on her side of the bed and used to dial her sister. When Remus returned home after she’d passed away, Lyall had already gotten rid of it, along with all her clothes and other things. Erased her, as if she’d never been.

In fact, Remus hadn’t spoken to his aunt since Hope had died. He hadn’t even remembered she existed, until this moment.

“Alright there?”

“Yes, sorry—” Remus blew out a breath, embarrassed for how distractable he was being. He’d been that way often, lately. “How’s it going?”

“Good. He brought Harry to the park, and they came back with a huge bag of sweets.”

Remus laughed. “Oh, that sounds like Sirius. And they came to yours for breakfast?”

“They did, and your boyfriend even brought scones.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Okay, Remus.”

“I’m glad he agreed to come, though. I was afraid he wouldn’t.”

“Harry was so excited to see me, he could hardly say no.”

“I hope Harry didn’t seem to be giving him too much trouble?”

“Oh, Harry was a nightmare. He can get away with anything with Sirius, and he knows it.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Are you going to talk to Sirius about it?”

“I don’t know.” Remus looked at his fingernails. They were bitten short, and dry from the winter air. “I’d rather he just—figure it out for himself, I suppose.”

Jane tutted, and Remus sighed. He knew she didn’t approve of his approach with Sirius, but she didn’t understand how fragile he was now—how much he’d been through.

“At least he’s answering the door now when you knock,” Remus said.

“Yes, that is a vast improvement over the past month. Though, I think I know the reason why.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, do tell.”

“I think,” she said, “it has to do with a certain ex-boyfriend he’s trying to impress.”

Remus sighed. “That’s an interesting theory, but have you considered the fact that he could have been impressing me by talking to you for weeks, but he’s only just started now?”

“Well, what’s your theory, then?”

“That he’s getting better.”

She sighed. “He does seem better. Especially with Harry around.”

“I knew it was a good idea to send him over a couple days early. Can’t wallow when you’ve got a toddler around to keep you on your toes.”

“Know that from personal experience, do you?”

That was exactly how Remus knew it, as Jane was well aware. Ignoring her teasing, he said, “Anyway, I want them to have some time together without me. Sirius is his godfather, after all.”

“Sure,” Jane said dismissively. Remus remembered, then, that muggle godparents really weren’t as important as wizarding ones. He considered explaining to Jane that, had Sirius not been in prison, he would have been the one named Harry’s guardian—but then he thought better of it. Too complicated, and anyway, Remus loved raising Harry. He wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world, so there was no point in wondering what if.

“I’ll be traveling tonight,” Remus reminded her, “but if you could check on them again—”

“Of course, I will,” she sighed. “You know, I didn’t mention, he left the flat again Wednesday.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. He didn’t answer when I knocked, and there weren’t any lights on.”

“He might have just been sleeping again.”

“No, I can usually hear him when he’s in there. He gets up and slams the bedroom door.”

Remus laughed quietly, picturing it. “And he hasn’t caught on yet that I’ve got you watching him?”

She giggled. “Men never notice anything, Remus, I’ve told you this a hundred times.”

“I feel like he notices everything about me,” Remus remarked, because that was true—Sirius knew when he wore a new jumper, when he’d gotten his hair cut, when he’d had a bad moon or even just a rough night’s sleep.

“And that brings me back to the fact that he’s in love with you,” she said casually. “Honestly, I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“What?” he said, annoyed.

“That there was a reason you wouldn’t let me set you up with my brother!”

“Oh, right.” The favour Jane had wanted from Remus, ages and ages ago, was to go on a date with her brother. He wasn’t sure how she’d figured out that he was queer, but she had—and she’d been convinced that her younger brother was perfect for Remus. He was a footballer, and he lived in Kent, but he’d come to stay with Jane in December, and she’d hoped Remus could show him a good time. But December was Peter’s trial, and Sirius’s release, and—well. With one thing and another, Remus didn’t really have any attention to spare for Liam—though he was quite fit, to be fair.

“Anyway, I’m not cross about it,” she said, in that way women do when they very obviously are cross. “I just think it’s silly that you both seem so tortured about the whole thing. If you want him, and he wants you, then just have at it!”

“Thank you for that brilliant insight,” Remus said drily, very much wanting the subject to be closed. “Look, I don’t have long—”

“No, no, I know, sorry,” she said, without so much as a hint of apology in her voice, Remus noted with amusement. “Will you all be over Sunday for dinner?”

“That’s the plan. Can we bring anything?”

“Just your sunny smiles,” she said.

Remus laughed. He’d bring wine; that was always appreciated.

When they rang off, Remus walked back to the main street, shivering now that the wind had picked up. It was his turn to chaperone Hogsmeade weekend, which essentially meant patrolling the streets watching for students who were breaking the rules. Not that he ever interfered—that wasn’t part of the job description. Unless a student was endangering themselves or others, Dumbledore had strictly instructed that they should be left to their own devices.

“We are teaching them to make their own choices, for better or for worse,” he had said, in that lofty way he always talked when he was addressing his staff, like every word was precious.

Though, that wasn’t quite fair. Remus was irritable, because he missed Harry and Sirius, and it was annoying that they were having fun and going to the park and eating sweets without him.

It was awfully cold for the park, wasn’t it? Remus should have asked Jane if it had looked like Harry was dressed warmly enough. He supposed Sirius could have cast some warming spells; in fact, that was almost certainly what he’d done. But it was dangerous with so many Muggles around. Of course, Sirius wouldn’t have cared. He’d have done it anyway, and laughed if Remus dared to comment, and said, “Oh, loosen up, Moony! What’s life without a little walk on the wild side?”

The wind picked up, and Remus tucked his scarf more tightly around his neck. Being a new teacher, he’d drawn the short straw when it came to Hogsmeade weekends. Why couldn’t he have gotten the October one, or better yet, the May one? At least Snape was as uncomfortable as he was. They walked past each other a few times, Snape with his robes floating behind him as if they were wings. He hadn’t dressed a bit sensibly for the day; the other teachers were in wool coats and hats and gloves; Snape looked like he’d just stepped out of the castle in his ordinary clothes.

“Don’t you have a coat, Severus?” Remus called to him when he passed him the third time, after having ignored each other the first two.

“Yes,” Snape replied.

“Well. Now might be the ideal time to wear one.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “I drank a warming draught; I don’t need a coat.”

“What’s a warming draught?” That sounded fantastic, right about now.

“How in the world are you a teacher?” Snape responded. He’d been more cross than usual with Remus ever since Sirius had gotten out of prison, though the subject of Remus’s best friend and Snape’s worst enemy hadn’t ever been explicitly raised between them. He was still nice to Harry, at least, and that was much more important to Remus than his own ‘friendship’ with Snape, if it could be called that.

“I’m sure I know as much about potions as you know about history,” Remus replied.

“That would be astonishing. I’m sure nobody knows less about anything than you know about potions. Lily would be horrified at the example you’re setting for Harry.”

“Lily would be fine with it,” Remus said, as cheerfully as he could manage in the frigid February air. He’d found, with Snape, that it was best to just smile constantly until you wore him down with sheer optimism. “And anyway, she was muggleborn, she never learned about potions from her parents, and she was top of the year, after you.”

“She learned from me,” he said, offended.

“Then Harry can learn from you, too. See? Problem solved.”

Remus smiled, and Snape sighed.

“Want to get a drink at the Three Broomsticks?”

“Why would I want that?”

“I suppose if you were thirsty,” Remus said, playing dumb for the sheer joy of seeing how irritated it made Snape.

“I’m not thirsty.”

“Fine. Just for me, then.” Remus nodded and turned to the pub. It was too cold for this rubbish, and Dumbledore had said they could go into the businesses, if students were there, too.

Remus had half-expected Snape to follow him, but he didn’t. Oh, well. He’d probably have more fun alone, anyway. Remus drew up a seat at the bar and ordered a butterbeer to enjoy in the relative quiet of the mid-day lag.

The solitude wasn’t to last, however.

“Well, if it isn’t subject one hundred and three!”

Remus turned towards the sound of a voice that was only slightly familiar—an unusual accent, Irish and French. It took him a moment to place the tall, blond-haired man who was standing beside him, ruddy with drink and just a little bit sloppy, hanging on the counter.

Oh, great—just his bloody luck. It was Remus’s stuck-up, condescending healer from the Wolfsbane study.

“I prefer ‘Remus Lupin,’ actually,” Remus said, turning towards him with a tight smile.

“Christian Mortimer,” the healer said with a very over-the-top smile, sticking his hand out for Remus to shake. His breath smelled strongly of whisky, and Remus didn’t have much of a choice but to shake his hand and be friendly. “What brings you to Hogsmeade this fine full moon?”

Remus wanted to tell him to keep his voice down with students milling about; he settled for casting a wordless Muffliato over them both. Christian was too drunk to notice. “I could ask you the same question,” he said.

“Stag party,” Christian said, nodding to a table in the corner where a group of men were rowdily slapping each other on the back and hollering at the seventh year girls who’d just walked into the pub—girls, Remus noticed, who were easily more than a decade younger than them.

“Ah.” Remus nodded. “Getting an early start, are you?”

“No, a late ending, more like.” He hiccoughed. “Hair o’ the dog.”

Seeing the buttoned up, arrogant healer from the Wolfsbane study falling all over himself with drink was sort of cathartic. Remus was used to feeling inferior around him, but now the tables were turned. Christian was a very sloppy drunk.

“What’s your excuse, then?” Christian said. “Drinking alone? Is that a butterbeer?”

Remus nodded. “I’m working, actually.”

Christian raised his eyebrows, then leaned in and whispered, “You’re on the wrong side of the counter for that, you are.”

“I don’t work here,” Remus laughed, “I’m a teacher. I’ve got to supervise the students. Didn’t you notice, the place is overrun with them?”

“Oh. Oh!” Christian tilted his head, looking hilariously surprised. “You teach at Hogwarts?”

Remus nodded. He had never realised before, until he’d gotten actual, gainful employment, how good it made him feel to say he had a job—how bad it had felt, how embarrassing and unfair it felt, when he hadn’t been able to get one.

“Wow. So do they know you’re a were—”

“No,” Remus interrupted, glad he’d used the spell, “the staff does, but the students don’t. And they aren’t going to find out, either. So, if you wouldn’t mind not referring to me by subject number.”

“Of course, Regis. Of course.” He patted Remus on the shoulder, much too hard. Across the room, Remus heard a little snicker and turned to see the group of seventh year girls, now seated at a table near the stag party. They were watching Remus and laughing—probably getting the wrong idea, entirely.

Remus turned back to Christian and said, “Well, it was good to see you. I’ll let you get back to your friends.”

“Psssh. M’tired of them.” Christian hunched over on the counter, staring at Remus’s butterbeer like he might just grab it and take a sip for himself.

Remus gave Rosmerta a little wave, and when she walked over, said, “Sorry to be a bother. Can we have a glass of water?”

Rosmerta liked Remus—she always had, ever since he’d been a regular at the pub with the Marauders back in school. And now that it was well-known that Remus was raising Harry, it seemed like everybody liked him. At least, everybody but Snape, and he didn’t like anyone, so he hardly counted.

“You got it, sugar,” she said.

When Remus pushed the water in front of Christian, he snorted a little and sat straight up—and Remus realised he’d fallen asleep a bit at the counter.

“Here,” he said, “drink up.”

“M’not thirsty.”

“You’ll get a headache if you don’t.”

“Ah—but I have that potion for headaches! You love that potion,” he added, giving Remus a rather haughty look. It was all Remus could do not to laugh. “You were so impressed.”

“I was,” Remus agreed. “Who’s getting married, anyway? You?”

“Hm? Oh, no. My little brother.” He waved at the table, and there was some loud and general hooting and hollering in response. “He’s marrying a Scottish girl. Met her abroad. Curse-breakers.”

“Did she go to Hogwarts? I might know her.”

“Oh, she’s older than you. We’re all older than you, you’re barely out of school yourself!”

“Not quite,” Remus said. He pushed the water glass closer to Christian and said, “Are you sure you don’t want some water?”

Christian opened his mouth to respond and burped loudly—whisky and bile and stale breath.

Remus glanced down at his own butterbeer. With one thing and the other, he didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. “Here,” he said, “have this, if you won’t have water.”

“Oh, I haven’t had a butterbeer in ages!”

“Mm. Well, you enjoy that. I’ve got to go finish up my patrol.”

“Oh, you’re leaving?”

Remus nodded. “Afraid so. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right.” Christian’s eyes glassed over a bit, and Remus could tell he’d already forgotten where he knew Remus from, and what tomorrow was. Good lord, he hoped Christian was over the worst of it by morning. Though, he supposed another healer could fix him up just as well. Still, Snape had told him this month he’d get the sleeping draught, and that meant he’d really need Christian’s healing potion when it was all said and done.

When five o’clock rolled around, Remus headed back to the castle and got his portkey to Ireland. The graduate assistant who would observe him this month got him all settled in, and he tried not to make it obvious that he knew he’d fall asleep any minute. He really loved the sleeping draught. Though he hadn’t been sure it was worth the headache at first, after November’s moon, he was now very sure that it was. He curled up, head on his arms, and when they became paws, he just yawned and endured it, knowing that sleep was coming.

Daylight broke before Remus realised any time had passed at all. He felt good, except for the splitting headache. He was used to the routine by now—get checked out by the grad student, convince her to let him put on his clothes like a civilized person, walk down to the exam room, get poked and prodded by the healer.

As soon as Remus walked in the room, Christian took one look at him and turned bright red.

“Oh, my god,” he said as the door swung closed. “I am so embarrassed.”

Remus smiled. “It’s fine. It was your brother’s stag party, I wasn’t about to judge.”

“Did I take your butterbeer, or am I imagining that?”

“I gave it to you,” Remus said. “To help you sober up.”

Christian rubbed his head and smiled coyly at Remus, as if this was all a great joke. “At least I know my pain potion works on hangovers, eh? Speaking of which.” He tossed Remus a vial of it, and Remus downed it appreciatively.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you,” he said, “for not telling anybody you saw me there.”

“Who would I tell?” Remus submitted to the examination Christian was doing, surprised when he took Remus’s arm—the scarred one, from where the silver chains had burned him—and rubbed an ointment over it. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” Christian looked up. “Oh. It’s for your burns. Should make them turn white, disappear eventually. I’ll send you home with a jar of it.”

“Wow,” Remus raised his eyebrows. “Thanks.”

“Least I can do for an old drinking buddy,” Christian said. He winked at Remus, and Remus hardly knew how to respond to that. He hoped the half-smile he gave wasn’t too puzzled.

“And, to answer your question, you could have told everybody at the study. We aren’t supposed to fraternise with subjects, you know.”

Remus didn’t know that, but he wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway. “Ah. Well, you don’t have to worry.”

“I know I don’t.” He whacked Remus on the shoulder, just as hard as he’d done when he was drunk yesterday. “You're a good guy, Regis. Not like the others, are ya? A teacher.”

“I haven’t spoken to the other subjects,” Remus replied with a casual smile, “so I really couldn’t say.”

“Take my word for it,” Christian said. He made some notes on Remus’s chart. “Anyway, Regis, if I can ever return the favour, you let me know.”

“It’s Remus.”

“What kind of name—?” He paused, and then, the arrogant prick actually checked Remus’s chart to confirm it, as if he might have been wrong about his own name. “Huh. That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

Remus regretted saying anything. Instead, he decided to push his luck just one more time. After all, what would be the harm?

“Since you mentioned it,” Remus said, “there is something I need. If it isn’t too much trouble. I wondered if you could put me in touch with anybody from the Mind Translusionment Institute?”

“Oh, that’s right, you asked about that, didn’t you? Still obsessed with that famous ex-murderer in England, then?”

For a split second, Remus thought he might explain himself, but then—well. It wasn’t really worth it. Might as well amuse himself instead. “I’m—yes, completely obsessed, it’s pathetic really.”

“Well, at least you aren’t in denial about it.” Another slap on the shoulder, much too hard. “Here you go,” he said, scribbling a name on a paper and passing it to Remus. “My old professor. You can owl him. Can’t guarantee he’ll get back to you, but if you tell him you teach at Hogwarts, he’ll at least read your letter. They love that old headmaster of yours around here. What’s his name?”

“Albus Dumbledore,” Remus said, then regretted not letting Christian guess. He probably would have said something hilarious. Ah, well. Odds were, he’d forget, and Remus could laugh at him next time.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Drop his name, and they’ll do whatever you say. Alright, we’re finished here. Thanks again for the butterbeer, Regis!”

Chapter Text

27 February 1983

Millicent Bagnold was by no means a formidable witch, if appearances were any indication. She was rather young for her position as Minister for Magic, and she was petite and pretty, with a smile for everyone and an aura of magic that seemed to sparkle around her all the time.

Sirius realised, after a few minutes spent waiting for their tea to be poured, that this last quality was mainly due to her earrings, which were enchanted to have little golden birds flitting around her ears. They were quick, like hummingbirds, and they made her seem flighty and whimsical, in contrast with her hair, which was meticulously set, and her robes, which were an elegant deep blue. In all, she looked extremely odd. Harry would have been obsessed with her.

“I want to thank you, again, Mr. Black, for making the time to meet with me.”

“It was nothing,” he said, glancing around the room. They were meeting in Bagnold’s own flat, in London. He’d received the invitation yesterday, by courier rather than by owl, which was so surprising that Sirius hadn’t been able to think of a good excuse to decline.

Bagnold smiled and waved over her house elf, who brought the tea promptly. She said as she stirred milk into her teacup, “And yet, you have been surprisingly hard to reach.”

“Have I?”

“I think you know you have.”

He shrugged. “It’s the ‘surprising’ part that got me, really.”

She looked almost as if she was holding back a laugh—but it passed quickly. Clearing her throat, she said, “Mr. Black, I know your time is valuable, so I’ll be direct. In the aftermath of the war, there has been a great deal of public outcry related to the Ministry’s missteps, and an unfortunate lack of attention given to our successes.”

Sirius stirred his own tea, unsure whether he should drink it. He didn’t really have a reason to believe the Minister for Magic might poison him, but still. Trust wasn’t exactly his forte at this point in his life. He set down his spoon and said, “Is that right?”

She smiled again. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that your retrial set off a wave of dissatisfaction among the public, despite all that my administration has achieved.”

“Perhaps, had I received a fair trial in the first place, the public would be better satisfied. I know I would have been.”

“And you have my sincerest apologies, Mr. Black, for the administrative oversights that resulted in your imprisonment.”

It was enough to make him laugh out loud. “Administrative oversights, that’s a new one.” Sirius dropped three sugar cubes into his teacup carelessly, allowing the liquid to slosh up the edge.

Bagnold sniffed, watching him as he began to stir again. She said, “Nothing I say or do can restore what you’ve lost—what the Ministry unjustly took from you—so I won’t try. But please know that I am most sincerely sorry.”

Sirius hadn’t expected an apology like that—that is, a truly sympathetic one. He stared at her, and for a moment failed to realise that he was still stirring his tea, though the sugar had dissolved away.

When he didn’t answer, she went on, “I understand you’ve been offered positions in various branches of the Ministry.”

“You understand? What, weren’t they your ideas in the first place?”

She smiled. “No. In fact, I was relieved you didn’t take them. I’d been searching for a position for you in my own administration, and offering it to you would have been far more complicated had you already been employed elsewhere.”

Sirius sipped his tea and immediately regretted all the sugar. He said, “And why, exactly, would you want me working for you?”

“Your credentials out of school were stellar—”

“Yes, and since then, I’ve spent three years in a war and another year in a prison. Not exactly a stellar resumé.”

“I disagree. As do many of my colleagues, who wanted you for themselves.”

“The idea that any of you would assume I would work for you is laughable.”

“Then why did you take this meeting, Mr. Black?” she asked, still smiling.

He paused, rubbing his lips together. The tea was much too sweet, and he was thirsty. “I like a laugh,” he replied drily.

Bagnold smiled and leaned forward in her seat. “Mr. Black, I believe we can help each other.”

“Can we?”

She nodded and helped herself to a biscuit from the dish at the centre of the table. “Mm. Yes. The public’s perception of you has been overwhelmingly positive since your release from Azkaban.”

“Yes,” he said, shuddering, “inexplicably so. So what? The public are idiots. Surely you don’t agree with their perceptions over your own good sense?”

“I agree with them about some things,” she replied. “You’re a war hero. You were framed for a crime you didn’t commit while in brave pursuit of the true perpetrator, and you never stopped fighting for his capture and conviction. You’ve an enormous following, and what’s more, you’re well-liked on all sides.”

“On all sides,” he repeated, and she nodded, with a cunning look. Sirius began to see that Bagnold was more formidable than she looked.

She said, “The war may have ended, Mr. Black, but the divisions that birthed it haven’t. Those among us who supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are reluctant to acknowledge the rights of muggleborns. Those who opposed him are mistrustful of purebloods. Some are even mistrustful of the Ministry.”

“Perhaps if you imprisoned fewer innocent people, the public would trust you more.” He withheld a facetious grin and felt proud of his own self-control.

“They might also trust us more if we appointed the pureblood champion of muggleborn rights to the Council of Magical Law,” she said, so casually that, at first, Sirius didn’t understand her.

“If you appointed—what?”

“You heard me.”

He sat in silent shock for a moment. Then: “The pureblood champion of muggleborn rights? Really?”

“I didn’t invent that,” she said innocently, with another smile. “It was in the papers.”

“The papers are rubbish. This whole conversation is rubbish!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“How can you possibly want me for a job on the Council of Magical Law?”

She tilted her head just slightly, still smiling. “Is the thought so very absurd?”

“Yes, it is! For one thing, I’m not even a solicitor.”

“Of course, I know that. I don’t want you for a councilor; I want you on my cabinet, as liaison to the council.”

“You want me for the most powerful position on your cabinet,” he repeated, dry.

“Yes.”

“You’re having me on.”

“No.”

He shook his head, frustration growing. “Minister, there must be hundreds of people who are infinitely more qualified than I am for that post.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Black,” she replied. “War heroes are more qualified than most. The public trusts you, and as we pursue our new legislative goals for the next three years, it will be imperative to secure public support.”

“I can’t do that for you.”

“I beg your pardon, you certainly can.”

“I’m not a yes-man,” Sirius protested.

“I know you’re not,” she said. “I don’t want one.”

He made a fist, then released it, frustrated. Leaning forward and refraining from pounding his hand on the table, he pronounced emphatically, “I would do nothing you want me to do. I wouldn’t help you complete your agenda; I wouldn’t argue for your pet projects; I wouldn’t do interviews with the Daily Prophet. I couldn’t be bribed or bought, and I think it’s despicable when other people are.”

“I know,” she smiled. “You would redefine the role as we know it.”

“Yes, I would! And you can’t possibly want that.”

“And yet, I do.”

Sirius was so frustrated that he almost wished he hadn’t come. Why wasn’t she listening to him? Was this all an elaborate trick? And, if so, hadn’t the Ministry done enough damage to him already?

Finally, he calmed himself enough to say, “Are you sure you’re trying to instill public confidence? Because if you keep talking like this, you might have exactly the opposite effect.”

She gave a short laugh, surprised. “Mr. Black, appointing you makes my administration look very good, despite all your objections. It gives us exactly what we need—exactly what we lack. It makes amends for our missteps and proves we don’t fear empowering someone who might rightfully view us as an enemy. And, by accepting the position, you would influence public opinion of us in a manner we believe would be very positive, even if you never did us another favour again,” she said.

He hadn’t expected her to tell the truth; it took the wind from his sails, somewhat. Sirius said, quieter, “Fine. I believe that you think it would be to your advantage. But what’s in it for me? Why should I give up my hard-won freedom to help you?”

“Hard-won freedom,” she repeated under her breath, with a smile that almost looked fond. “It would be hardly three days a week, for one thing, so your leisure time can continue almost completely uninterrupted. And you wouldn’t be a figurehead, Mr. Black. It’s a real position, and a powerful one, at that.”

He forgot the tea was awful and sipped it again by mistake.

She went on, “You could support whatever causes and initiatives you choose and guide the council however you see fit. Your influence would be entirely your own, to use as you wish.”

“And I’m the person you want in that role, influencing the council and the public?” he said.

“You are,” she looked him directly in the eye. “I want it known that this administration is in full support of the anti-war efforts that you and your fellow Order members led. It’s only fair, after all you’ve done for our world, that we empower you to lead, if you have any interest or desire to do so.”

“Why me, then? There were dozens of us in the Order, and even more allies besides, and you could have offered this position to any one of them.”

“It wouldn’t have been the same, as you’re well aware,” she replied. “None of them are so well connected on the other side. None of them hold so much public sway.”

He hesitated, then lifted his teacup to his lips and drained it. The sugary bottom was much too sweet, and he replaced it on the saucer with a frown. He’d expected the meeting with Minister Bagnold to be ridiculous, but he hadn’t known exactly the degree of absurdity to expect.

It was nonsense that she wanted him on her cabinet. Utter and completely nonsense.

Unless it wasn’t. Maybe, it was just like Remus always used to say: “With the right amount of Galleons, anybody can work for the Ministry. Well, except a werewolf.”

He’d always complained about how institutions like that worked for people like Sirius and James. Especially when they were young—before Sirius had won him over—Sirius sometimes got the impression that Remus really resented both of them for it, at times. They were born with the world in the palms of their hands, he’d said.

Of course, it hadn’t made any difference for James, in the end, and it hadn’t made much of a difference for Sirius, either. But maybe, it still could.

“When do you need my answer?” he said, straight-faced, wishing to give nothing away.

Bagnold looked like the cat that got the cream. “You can have a bit of time to think it over. Would the weekend suffice?”

He nodded. “Yes. I’ll owl you on Monday.”           

When they were in school, impressing Remus had been an order of first importance for Sirius. He was a rebel at heart—disliking whatever his family approved, breaking the rules because their existence offended him, neglecting his homework because he knew his teachers expected him to do it. But the moment he realised that good marks were important to Remus was the moment they became important to Sirius, too. When Remus complimented his leather jacket, Sirius wore it every day for nearly a year straight. When Remus waxed poetical on the merits of Charles Dickens, Sirius was off to the Muggle bookstore that very weekend to buy Bleak House and Great Expectations and The Adventures of Oliver Twist. When Remus started coming to watch Sirius’s Quidditch practices, he flew twice as hard and twice as fast, showing off so recklessly that he nearly fell off his broom on several occasions.  

It was just that there was something irresistible about being the one to pull Moony’s nose out of whatever book it had been buried in that week. Brilliant and thoughtful, he was far away even when he was nearby—head always in the clouds. Unless you were very noticeable, Moony might never look your way.

Luckily, Sirius Black knew how to get noticed. He would never forget the day in sixth year when they had ambled together out to the grounds to study, and Moony was all smiles and encouragement.

“I’m sure you’ll do well,” he’d said, with his usual sunny optimism. “You had the top exam score at mid-terms.”

“But you’ve been spending all that time in the library without me.”

“Did you want to go?” Remus nudged him with a bony elbow. “You never said! I’ll wait for you next time.”

Sirius had grinned and promised to be there, and soon Remus was all quiet focus, one hand hovering over his Ancient Runes book, tracing the words with an elegant finger, and the other hand twirling his quill above his knee. Eventually, he’d rolled onto his stomach and flipped through the pages, engrossed in the subject. Sirius had long since stopped looking at his own book, and he was watching the way Remus’s ribcage expanded and contracted with his every breath, and the long curve of his spine, and the angled, masculine shape of him, when he heard a distant roll of thunder.

The air was humid, and the clouds were thick. Sirius knew it would rain soon, but Remus was so absorbed in the book he was reading that Sirius didn’t want to interrupt him. He loved him when he was like this, attentive and eager. It would have been better if his attention was on Sirius, of course, but it was riveting to watch him worship anything—the way he poured himself into everything he did. Who could have looked away? Sirius was sure there would be time to run up to the castle after Remus finished the chapter he was on, and anyway, they could always use an Impervious charm if the rain hit. There was no reason at all to rush.

But the storm broke suddenly, with a clap of thunder that made Remus jump a foot in the air. He rolled onto his back, propped up on his elbows, and glared at the clouds as if they’d horridly betrayed him as the raindrops began to fall, thick and heavy, on his books and parchments, all of which were carelessly strewn about him.

“Did you know it would rain?” Remus said, with the most adorable look of affronted shock at Sirius. It was all so very Remus; Sirius couldn’t stop himself. He forgot about the Impervious charm, the homework, the rain—he forgot about everything. He leaned over top of Remus, put his hands on either side of his face, and kissed him.

If Remus had shoved him off, he wouldn’t have been surprised. They’d never kissed; they’d never talked about kissing. But they were always together, one gravitating towards the other, moths to a flame. And when Remus reached up to wrap his arms around Sirius’s back, that felt even less surprising than anything. It felt perfect, inevitable, the destination they’d always been striving towards.

Without Remus’s arms to prop them up, they lost their balance and fell hard against the books Remus had been reading. He seemed startled, but it wasn’t enough to break Sirius’s concentration—not nearly enough. Not when he was finally doing something he’d only dreamt of before now.

The idea had occurred to Sirius, fleetingly, that he really could have whatever he wanted, if he worked hard enough for it. If he wanted it badly enough.

His hands in Remus’s hair were soaked with rainwater by the time they agreed to make the trek inside, with parchments soaked and ruined around them, mud and grass covering their robes.

“I didn’t think you’d—” Remus started to say, wide-eyed and breathless, when they’d made it beneath an awning. He was glistening everywhere.

Sirius had turned around and kissed him again before he could finish the thought. It was another twenty minutes before they’d made it all the way inside, and Sirius had continued to get exactly what he wanted: Remus hadn’t cracked open another book for the rest of the day—nor the weekend that followed it.

The point was, getting Remus’s attention wasn’t easy, but it was always well worth the effort. It had been a long time—too long, really—since Sirius had tried to impress him. Of course, there were reasons for that. He’d been in prison for a year, and before that, there’d been the bloody war. But Sirius still wanted Remus watching him; he still cared what he thought, more than he cared about anybody else’s opinion—or, quite frankly, everyone else’s opinions combined. And if Remus wanted him to get a job, well then, maybe he should get a job. The best damned job he could have dreamed of.

Sirius apparated to Diagon Alley from the Minister’s flat and Flooed home from The Leaky Cauldron in time to prepare dinner for Harry and Remus, whom he expected just after five. He’d bought the groceries to make bangers and mash—one of the few things Harry liked, and a favourite of Remus’s. Sirius had whipped up a Bakewell tart, too, for dessert, and he was just putting the finishing touches on the potatoes when the Floo flared up.

“Sorry we’re late,” Remus said with a breezy smile. He let Harry down to run and leap at Sirius, like he always did. Sirius stepped out of the kitchen to meet him. He tossed him in the air briefly, making aeroplane sounds, then plopped him on the sofa and pulled Remus into a hug, relieved when Remus did nothing to resist.

“You weren’t late,” he said. Then he glanced at his grandfather clock—one of the new additions to his main room he’d made lately—and saw that it was quarter to six. He said, “Oh, maybe you were. But I wouldn’t have been ready sooner, anyway.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No, I got home late.” Sirius hurried back to the kitchen; the oven timer was ringing.

“Where did you go?” Remus followed him, casual and friendly.

“I had a meeting with the Minister for Magic.”

Remus snorted, and Sirius turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Wait—you aren’t joking?”

Sirius shook his head, hiding a smile. The tart looked done; he pulled it from the oven.

“Why, exactly, were you meeting with her?”

“She offered me a position in her cabinet.”

“She—I’m sorry, what?”

Sirius laughed at the look of disbelief on Remus’s face. “I know. It didn’t make much sense to me either, at first, but. Well, she thinks it’ll help with her own popularity, and she did make some good points about it.”

“Like what?”

“Like how there are still divisions after the war, and appointing someone like me would appeal to both sides.” He hesitated, spooning their meal into serving dishes to bring to the new dining table he’d just bought—an oak round with tall-backed chairs that could only fit in the room after Sirius had put a sneaky extension charm on it. Luckily, he was quite good at transfigurations.

Remus said, “I suppose that’s true.” He sounded uncertain, and Sirius’s eyes snapped up to his, worried—but when they met, Remus smiled.

Sirius said, “Actually, that part I wasn’t too thrilled with. But the other things she said made it sound really interesting.”

“Like what?” Remus reached for a dish of cherry tomatoes on the counter and popped one into his mouth.

Sirius elbowed him lightly. “That’s for the salad, Moony.”

Remus snorted and grabbed the salad dish to carry to the table, following Sirius with the bangers and mash. “What’s the job?” he pressed.

“Just—the liaison to the Council for Magical Law.”

“What?!”

“I know,” he swallowed, nervously, as they walked back into the main room. This was Remus’s second time in his flat since he’d redecorated—the first time being the Sunday after the full moon, to pick up Harry—and he still hadn’t said anything about the way Sirius had spruced up the place. He really, really wanted to make an impression. “But she seemed to think my experiences in the war, and even in Azkaban, were actually good qualifications.”

“And as a member of the Black family, I suppose,” Remus added.

Sirius couldn’t quite get a read on his face. “Well, it’s about time that name was good for something,” he said.

Remus snorted again, looking down at the table. “Right,” he said.

“I’ll get us some drinks,” Sirius added, cautious. “Want to wrangle Harry?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

Remus was thoughtful as they settled in to eat, and thoughtful as they cleaned up afterwards. Sirius finally gave up any semblance of pride and pointed out the new chaise, the oversized leather armchair, the console table, the clock and the paintings and the rows of new books—many of which were chosen specifically with Remus in mind.

But Remus only nodded at everything, giving a vague smile that didn’t really reach his eyes, and said, “Wow. Looks so different,” or, “Oh, that’s new,” or something else painfully neutral, until Sirius fell silent, hiding his disappointment behind a round of rough-housing with Harry.

They settled in after a bit to watch Harry play, like they usually did, and Sirius tried to strike up a conversation with Remus a few times. He tried to get him to talk about school, or his students, or his fellow teachers and staff—Remus was great friends with Hagrid now, which amused Sirius greatly; he was also friends with Snivellus Snape, which was less amusing—but every question seemed to lead to a dead end.

Remus looked ill at ease, staring into the fire, and when Sirius finally worked up the courage to ask, “What’s wrong?” Remus had merely shrugged and said, “Oh, nothing, really.”

Was Remus angry about all the new furniture? Did he miss the way the flat used to look? Sirius supposed he could have asked permission before getting rid of the old stuff, but after all, that had been the furniture that came with the flat when they’d purchased it. They hadn’t selected any of it; it hadn’t been unique or special or theirs. Now, the flat was sleek and fashionable; it was much more him.

Finally, after asking about two hundred questions that led straight to a dead end, Sirius said, “Are you angry about something?”

Remus looked up, startled. “No, of course not.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed.

“Yes,” he said pointedly. Then he sighed. “Okay, look. It’s very elegant. Very expensive-looking.”

There was something familiar about this conversation. Sirius fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Come on, it wasn’t that expensive, and anyway, if I can afford it, what’s the big deal if I—”

“No, don’t misunderstand me,” Remus said, back to that careful tone that pushed all of Sirius’s buttons. “It’s just that Harry stays here often, and he’s—” he glanced at Harry, playing happily with his dollhouse, which had now been pushed to a far corner of the room, and cast a quick Muffliato over them. “He’s a very messy child. I mean, all children are, but Harry is basically a disaster.”

Sirius smiled, exhaling. “That’s all you’re upset about?”

“It doesn’t look like you had him in mind, that’s all. And I couldn’t tell whether that meant—”

“I didn’t have him in mind in here,” Sirius said, “but come and see.”

He held out his hand, and Remus hesitated for a moment before taking it. Sirius’s heart pounded as he pulled Remus out of the deep armchair, and it flipped a time or two when Remus didn’t let go of his hand immediately. He didn’t let go until they’d stopped walking and were standing together in the doorway of what used to be the bedroom.

“Oh Godric, what did you do?” Remus grinned, looking in over Sirius’s shoulder.

“I know, but just hear me out. Sharing a room with Harry was awful, and this way, we can all have space.”

The room had been extended with another of Sirius’s complicated transfigurations. Now, where one cramped room had been, there was a sprawling playroom for Harry, filled with toys. Remus hadn’t seen this when he’d come last week; Sirius had hoped he’d ask to look around the flat, and when he didn’t, he’d been so thrown that he hadn’t thought to suggest it. Now, he got to enjoy the way Remus’s eyes lit up as he walked through the room, looking at the trunks full of toys, the bookshelves, child-sized furniture, and toy Quidditch sets. Harry had already seen it, of course, and—in his usual way—had accepted it all as a matter of course, as if having a room full of toys just for him appear suddenly and out of nowhere was just an ordinary occurrence.

“You are going to spoil him rotten,” Remus said at last, but he didn’t sound angry about it.

Sirius replied, “Guilty as charged. For once.”

Remus laughed and walked back over to Sirius, and before Sirius knew what he was doing, Remus was hugging him, arms squeezing around his back. “I’m sorry I was such a prat about it all. I don’t know why. I just thought you were…I don’t know, trying to get rid of us or something.”

Sirius barked a laugh, holding Remus tightly in return. Where did he get these ideas? “Moony, that’s mental! That’s the last thing I’d ever do.”

“I know,” Remus pulled away, shaking his head. His cheeks were pink. “Sorry. I just—the whole thing with the…fancy Ministry job, and… I don’t know.”

Sirius took a deep breath; it hurt a bit, loving Remus this much and needing to hide it. “Do you want me to turn down the job?”

“What? No, of course not, I—”

“I will, if you want me to. I was only thinking about it because you said I should find something, and unlike every other job, this one actually sounded kind of interesting, but—”

“No, you should take it. You should absolutely take it, don’t let my stupid tantrum stop you from being happy.”

“That was hardly a tantrum,” Sirius replied, and Remus bumped him with his shoulder.

“Honestly, I’m so happy for you. Take the job. You’ll be amazing.”

Sirius had to look away so he wouldn’t do something rash like try to kiss him and make an idiot of himself. He walked to the far wall and said, “I’ve put the bedrooms over here, do you want to see?”

Remus nodded and followed him over to look at Harry’s room, which was small and neat, a single bed with a twin dresser and matching desk, trunk, and night table. It was decorated for an older boy, but Sirius thought the playroom had enough whimsy, and the bedroom should be plain, for sleeping.

Remus clearly approved. He said, “Oh, this is great.”

“Good.” Sirius smiled. “Then, there’s a guest room,” he added, gesturing to another door, “so you can stay over whenever you like.”

“You—you got me my own bed?” Remus gave Sirius a look he couldn’t interpret.

“Well, it’s a guest room,” he repeated, heart pounding. He hoped he hadn’t mucked this up, too.

But then, Remus smiled very sincerely, shaking his head, and said, “Thank you. This is amazing, Sirius. You didn’t have to, you know.”

Sirius sighed with relief. “I know. But I want you to be happy.”

Remus smiled at his own feet and pulled the door shut on the little yellow room with its full bed and its sunny window and its shelves just waiting to be adorned with books.

“I thought maybe the two of you could come to stay in the summer,” Sirius added. “I mean, if you want. Obviously, if you’d rather stay at Hogwarts, or somewhere else, then that’s—”

“No, that sounds great,” Remus said. He still had that look on his face—partly impressed, and partly something else Sirius couldn’t quite make out. “I didn’t know you knew how to do extension charms like this.”

“I’ve been reading up on it.”

“Did it take long?”

It had taken the better part of five weeks to figure it out. But Sirius, wanting to impress him, gave a breezy smile and said, “No, not too long.”

They returned to Harry, because it had been quiet in the main room for far too long, and that’s never a good sign when you have a two-year-old. Sure enough, they found him at the table with the remainder of the Bakewell tart mostly on his jumper, and a good part of it in his hair, as well.

“We should give him a bath,” Sirius commented as Remus fussed over him and spoke to Harry in a quietly stern voice about how important it is to ask a grown-up for help if you’re hungry.

“You don’t have a bathtub,” Remus replied, and just as Sirius was opening his mouth to reply, he added, “Oh, Merlin, you do have one, now, don’t you?”

Sirius laughed self-consciously and said, “Well, you always liked the prefect’s bathroom at Hogwarts, and there was this set you can buy that extends the bathroom, and it’s supposed to look just like it.”

“How much did you spend on all this?” Remus said, hurrying straight to the bathroom, looking so eager to see it that every last sickle was honestly so worth it.

“Not too much,” Sirius lied. “And anyway, if you don’t like it, we can get rid of it, but—”

“Harry,” Remus called, ignoring this, “come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

They had Harry in bed by eight-thirty, and afterwards, Remus and Sirius went back out to the living room, where Sirius had convinced Remus to join him for a nightcap. All in all, Sirius was really pleased with how the evening had gone; there had been that awkward little blip at first, of course, but it hadn’t lasted. Harry had been his charming self, and obviously Remus had been Remus—funny and clever and wonderful. It was what Sirius lived for all week: the weekends like these, just him and his boys.

Add James to the mix, and it would have been a perfect night. But, better not to think about that. 

Remus grew quiet, though, as they sat by the fire. He seemed thoughtful, which wasn’t really unusual for him, but it made Sirius feel anxious, all the same. Finally, he said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.”

“What is it?” Sirius said.

“Nothing bad,” Remus said hurriedly. “I wondered if you wanted to come to Ireland with me.”

Sirius blinked. “For the trials?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve written to a witch there who specialises in Mind Translusionment, and she’s agreed to take a meeting with me. And you, if you’re free. And willing, I suppose.”

Sirius frowned. He knew he’d heard the term ‘Mind Translusionment’ before, but he couldn’t place it.

Remus reminded him, “It’s for the memory damage, from the Dementors.”

“Oh. Oh,” Sirius raised his eyebrows. He was completely surprised. With one thing and the other, he hadn’t thought much about the missing memories lately. “And they think they can help me?”

Remus nodded, eager. “They want to meet you, anyway. There’s a method they can try, but they said we should talk about it in person. And I said we might be able to come on a Tuesday, because I’ve got a long free period—but, if you’re working now—”

“No, I’m not yet,” Sirius said, “I haven’t even accepted the job yet. I’m free Tuesday.”

“Okay,” Remus exhaled, clearly relieved. “So you’ll come?”

“I guess,” Sirius said. “I mean, is it that important to you? For me to remember…whatever it is I forgot?”

“Our break-up,” Remus filled in, unhelpfully.

Sirius sighed. “Right. That.”

Remus grew quiet again, and Sirius twirled his drink in its tumbler, watching the firelight bounce off his glass. Maybe this would be a good thing, somehow. Maybe he’d be able to explain what he’d been thinking to Remus, and they would finally be able to get past all this and be happy again.

The silence was next broken by Remus, who said, “It can only help.”

“I don’t know…”

“Before the dementor’s embrace, you didn’t—everything was different, between us. You’ll see.”

Sirius looked up at Remus, frowning. “Is that what you want? For it to be different?”

Remus laughed disbelievingly, but his eyes were sad. “How can you ask me that? It’s not about what I want, it’s about what’s right. You forgot something that made you stop loving me. That’s a big thing to forget, whatever it was. And I’ve already come to terms with it, but I’d like to know why, if it’s all the same.”

Sirius sighed heavily and downed the rest of his drink. This was so unbelievably frustrating. Sometimes it seemed like Remus was doing everything in his power to stop them from being happy. If life had granted them a second chance like this, then why not take it?

But then, all at once, Sirius remembered Remus’s words from when Sirius moved out, weeks ago: I’m hurt. You hurt me.

And he understood that Remus didn’t want this second chance, not really. Not after whatever it was Sirius had done.

“Well. Count me in, then.”

“Really?” Remus’s eyes snapped to his, and something in Sirius’s stupid heart stuttered at being the one Remus was looking at. Keep looking at me. Don’t look away.

“Of course. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. What time Tuesday?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you at yours?”

Remus smiled—hopeful. “Okay. Great.”

They both turned back to the fire, and Sirius gazed into it with a sinking feeling that something precious was ending—that this might be the last time he could fool himself into believing it wasn’t already gone.

Chapter Text

3 March 1983

“This is, without question, the worst paper that any Hogwarts student has ever written,” Sirius announced.

Remus smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Finn Doherty?”

“How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Remus said drily. This particular student had a tendency to forget a paper was due until the very last minute, and the resulting assignments he handed in were always very creative, to say the least.

“It’s bizarre! Moony, listen to this: The Goblin rebellions were first instigated following the widespread riots that came in consequence of Ireland’s 1882 loss in the Quidditch World Cup. I mean—what?! Everything about that is wrong! Literally all of it. Was he even in the same class as the rest of them?”

Remus snorted. “Yes, of course he was. That’s just his thing. He didn’t do the homework, and he panicked, but he’s a talented creative writer. It’s just a private joke, really, between us. Here, hand me his essay, I’ll mark it.”

Sirius was giving Remus a crooked smile. He held the parchment out of reach. “No need. I can mark a T as easily as you can.”

“No, don’t give him a T! Here, give me that.”

“This is a troll of an essay, if I ever saw one, Remus.”

“I know, but just—trust me, he wrote it to give me a laugh. He knows he didn’t learn the material, and it’s—sort of his way of asking for another chance.”

“And you’ll give him one, I suppose?”

Remus nodded. “I’ll give him an incomplete, and he can try again later. He’s on the Quidditch team for Ravenclaw, and they had a match weekend before last. He’s been training like mad; I remember what that was like.”

Sirius snorted. “You never even touched a broomstick, Moony.”

“I meant, I remember what it was like for my friends,” he said. “You and James were obsessed with Quidditch.”

“Eh,” Sirius shrugged noncommittally, which made Remus laugh.

“Oh, have you forgotten your love for Quidditch, too?” he teased.

Sirius glanced at him, surprised but not angry. He said, smirking, “In fact, I’ll have you know I never liked it all that much. James did, and I wanted to make him happy. And I wanted to impress you, of course, and you’d started coming to practices—”

“No, you did not!” Remus said, on the verge of another laugh.

“What? I didn’t play Quidditch to impress you? I beg your pardon, I certainly did.”

Remus tossed a pillow at Sirius. “I only came to the practices to watch you! I didn’t care about Quidditch.”

“Really?” Now it was Sirius’s turn to laugh. “Merlin, what were we doing, wasting all that time?”

“Making James happy, I suppose,” Remus said, and Sirius smiled.

“Well, there is that. Here.” He finally passed the parchment across the rug to Remus, who was stretched out on the sofa opposite his. It was early, just quarter to nine, and Harry was already at Hagrid’s for the day. They were meant to Floo to Ireland soon for Sirius’s meeting with the mind translusionist, but Sirius had shown up to Hogwarts nearly a full hour early, while Remus had been getting a jump on his fourth years’ midterm papers. Next thing he knew, Sirius was marking right alongside him.

“I have too much anxious energy,” he’d explained as he levitated a stack of parchments to himself and dropped like a stone onto the sofa nearest the fire. “This’ll calm me down.”

“Fine, I won’t turn down free help,” Remus had said, tossing him a Quick Quill.

“Oh, it won’t be free. I’ll send you my bill on the first of the month.”

Remus truly did like teaching, but all the homework could be incredibly taxing. Like everything else in his entire life, the task was much more fun with Sirius involved.

“Okay, this one’s better,” Sirius said, as soon as he’d been relieved of the burden of marking Mr. Doherty’s truly atrocious essay. “The plight of the goblins—deprived of wands and often denied opportunities by wizards who might, if given the chance, enslave them just as they’ve done house elves—has been either downplayed or deliberately misunderstood by most of wizarding society for the better part of four centuries. As wizards assimilate with muggle culture, they grow estranged from their magical counterparts and even begin to perpetrate the same prejudices against their fellow beings as muggles have historically held against them.”

Remus smiled proudly. “Ah, yes. That’ll be Mandy Charles.”

“That’s right!” Sirius looked sincerely impressed. “How could you tell?”

“She’s my favourite student. Brightest fourth year in the school. How did you get all the best essays, anyway?”

Sirius ignored this question and said, “Is she the muggleborn you told me about?”

“Oh, I’ve mentioned her to you?”

Sirius nodded. “She’s the one who afflicted us with that god-awful book for Harry, isn’t she?”

Remus laughed. “Yes, that was her! You don’t have to make that face. Really, she’s a wonderful student. Makes connections and arguments that probably half the seventh years couldn’t keep up with.”

“Sounds like someone else I knew in school,” Sirius said.

“Oh, stop, I wasn’t like that.”

“Sure, you were. Made the rest of us look like trolls.”

“I did not!”

“Did so. I still remember James’s parents trying to console him after you beat him in our OWLs.”

He waved a hand dismissively, “Oh, I did not beat him, he did fine.”

“You scored as high or higher in every single exam, Moony. That is, by definition, what it means to beat someone.”

“Well, he beat me in Potions,” Remus pointed out.

Sirius burst out laughing. “Oh, okay. Well, in that case, your six O’s don’t count.”

“You had five,” Remus replied, “And that was better than the rest of the class, too. I don’t see why you’re having a go at me—”

“Having a go?” Sirius laughed harder. “Merlin, Moony, I’m not—I was impressed, don’t you remember? We all were! All the Ravenclaws thought they were so smart, but Gryffindor had the best wizard in our year.”

“I’m not the best wizard, stop.” Remus was blushing, staring down at the parchment and trying not to smile. He couldn’t focus on Finn’s satire of an essay at all.

Sirius chuckled and turned back to his own parchment, and Remus felt a tiny bit jealous that he got to read Mandy’s thoughts on the reasons for the goblin rebellions instead of him. Mostly, he felt warm inside.

At five minutes to nine, Remus rolled up his parchment and said, “Shall we?”

Sirius had been absorbed in reading, and he looked up, surprised. “Is it that time already?”

“Mhm. Better go now, it’ll be a bit of a walk.”

“I hope we won’t be late,” Sirius replied. He rolled up his parchment, too.

“No, we won’t. The appointment is at quarter after.”

“Ah. Clever you.”

They stepped out of the Floo, both of them dusty and brimming with anxious energy, and Sirius stopped abruptly to look around the lobby. The Magical Institute of Ireland was a post-secondary school for those witches and wizards who wanted to continue their studies in an advanced field of magic. Such students were rare, and accordingly, the school was quite small. However, it had a great deal of money in its endowment. Remus suspected that families like Sirius’s were responsible for this, having made large contributions in exchange for admissions leniency, or to support research into areas that best suited their own agendas. For example, the laboratory where Remus went every full moon for the Wolfsbane study was named after Lenora Greengrass, who championed pureblood rights and, half a century ago, had sponsored a study designed to prove that muggleborns were weaker and had less magical aptitude than purebloods.

(Incidentally, when the study produced almost the complete opposite result, Ms. Greengrass had attempted to have her funds returned to her, only to be told the gift was nonrefundable. She’d placed a curse on the laboratory in response, and that was why no grass could grow outside of it.)

“This is an impressive building,” Sirius remarked. “Nicer than Hogwarts, isn’t it?”

“I like Hogwarts,” Remus replied.

“Well, of course, I like it, too,” Sirius said. He nudged Remus lightly. “I just meant the place is a bit more—”

When Sirius hesitated, Remus prompted, “A bit more…?”

Sirius shrugged. “Elegant, I suppose? Polished? Refined?”

“Expensive,” Remus filled in. “You always did have expensive taste.”

Sirius didn’t reply, and Remus felt a pang of guilt. He probably shouldn’t keep going on about the amount of money Sirius spent on things. He knew that Sirius’s fortune was his to spend however he wished. He just would have preferred Sirius to be a bit less ostentatious about it, that’s all. Remus had felt so small and stupid, looking around Sirius’s redecorated flat the other day. He probably shouldn’t have taken it so personally, but he couldn’t help feeling like Sirius was showing off—trying to prove something. All he’d been able to think about was how pathetic he must have looked by comparison in his own shabby, second-hand jumper, and the fact that the last time they’d made love, it had been on that stupid, grubby old couch that Sirius had thrown away without a second thought.

“This way,” Remus said, when Sirius’s pace lagged; he’d paused to examine a display of enchanted harps, which were playing some Muggle concerto to themselves. Sirius sped up, and they walked a long corridor to the very end, where a small clinic was situated.

“They see patients here?”

Remus nodded. “Yes, they do regular mind-healing as well as experimental.”

“Experimental,” Sirius repeated. Remus glanced at him and saw that he looked rather paler than usual—nervous, probably. No wonder he’d been dawdling. Remus felt a bit nervous, too.

They came into a small lobby, neat and sparse, and Remus appreciated how much less grandiose it appeared than the rest of the Institute. The walls were glass, but they were shadowy and rippled—rather reminiscent of the magical partitions in Azkaban, in fact—and they couldn’t be easily seen through. Remus glanced at Sirius again to see how he reacted, and started when he observed that he had a look of complete terror plastered on his face. A guilty feeling spread through Remus’s chest. Maybe he shouldn’t be pressuring Sirius to do this. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, or undo any of the progress he’d apparently been making.

He put a hand on Sirius’s arm, and Sirius’s eyes snapped up to Remus’s, looking lost and vulnerable—suddenly a teenager again. But before Remus could say anything to him, a healer in long, emerald green robes approached them and said, “Mr. Black, welcome to the Institute. And you must be Mr. Lupin?”

Remus turned and shook the healer’s hand. She was tall—nearly taller than Sirius—and looked older than Dumbledore. But she was hale, hearty, with eyes that pierced. She reminded him a bit of Mad-eye Moody, in that way.

“Professor Okafor, I presume?” Remus smiled.

“That’s right. Very good to meet you both.” The healer gave Sirius a meaningful look, but he didn’t respond, except to scowl.

“Do you want to leave?” Remus whispered to him, as Okafor turned to lead them into her office.

But Sirius’s face softened, and he said, “No, sorry. Just—this place sort of gives me the creeps.”

“I know,” Remus said, with a sympathetic frown. “It’s like Azkaban.”

Sirius nodded and turned to follow Okafor, and Remus slipped his arm around Sirius’s back, the way Sirius used to do for him when they were in school. Sirius turned and smiled at him—brief and rather bashful. It was sweet. Would this be one of the last times Sirius was ever sweet to him like this? If he got his memories back, everything would go back to the way it was before. He shuddered a bit and pulled Sirius closer.

When they reached Okafor’s office, she gestured to the chairs in front of her desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks,” Remus said. His arm slipped off Sirius’s shoulder when they sat down, but Sirius reached for him, so Remus took his hand, placing it on his own knee.

“I understand you’ve had a Dementor’s embrace, Mr. Black,” she said, getting directly to business.

Sirius took a deep, steadying breath. Her straightforward manners seemed to help. He said, “That’s right. While I was in Azkaban, I got in trouble for smuggling chocolate to the other prisoners in exchange for information.”

She didn’t smile, but her eyes seemed to twinkle at this. She said, “Your services in ending the wizarding war are truly heroic, Mr. Black. I am sorry to hear of how much you’ve suffered in the process.”

He nodded. “Is there a way to get the memories back, then?”

She nodded, but she looked thoughtful. “Usually. Often, there is. I’ll need to run some tests, and we’ll do a few spells to locate the memories we need to recover.”

“Remus has already restored a few of my memories,” Sirius added, eager. “So I know they’re still in there somewhere.”

“Yes,” Okafor nodded. She spoke slowly, annunciating every word perfectly. “Mr. Lupin wrote in his letter to me that he had met with a healer at St. Mungo’s to learn the procedure for restoring memories before they can be lost in the transition to long-term memory. It’s very fortunate that he was able to intercede when he did.”

Sirius nodded. “So there’s a time limit?”

“No.” She smiled. “Actually, there isn’t. But the process to locate the memory after it leaves the short-term mind is rather complex. There is a chance that you would get lost. A remote chance, but a chance, nonetheless.”

Sirius nodded again, as if that made any sense at all.

“What do you mean, get lost?” Remus said, fingers tightening around Sirius’s hand.

She nodded as if she expected that question, and continued in that calm, slow voice. “The mind is a maze, Mr. Lupin. Every thought, every connection, every pathway—we know very little about its inner workings. What we do know, however, is that the connectedness of everything is contingent on mind health. A healthy mind,” she added, “is essential to our proper grasp of reality. That is to say, our sanity.”

“Makes sense,” Sirius said.

“But, in practical terms, what does it mean to get lost?” Remus pressed.

“Mr. Black’s mind pathways were compromised,” she replied. “The memories he’s lost have been concealed. We could reveal them, if we knew where they were. But they aren’t where they belong, I suspect. The Dementor’s embrace has caused a crisis. A trauma, if you will. His memories have fled, and we can only reveal them if we can find them. You were able to find the memories that were in short-term storage easily enough; these other memories could be anywhere.”

“Is it dangerous?” Remus finally asked, impatient, because she didn’t seem to be understanding his question—or, even worse, she was ignoring it. The danger didn’t mean anything to her, after all. Sirius was nothing more than an interesting specimen, in her eyes. She didn’t love him; she didn’t care the way Remus did.

Okafor raised an eyebrow at him, then looked at Sirius when she said, “Yes, quite.”

“How so?” Remus leaned forward eagerly. “I mean, what are the risks?”

“Does it matter?” Sirius turned to him.

“Yes, of course it matters. If it’s too risky—”

“It’s still our only option.”

“Not really. We could leave things as they are,” Remus pointed out.

Sirius looked at him as if he was crazy and said, “Not if you’ll only forgive me if I remember what I did.”

From the corner of his eye, Remus could see Okafor react to this, but she said nothing. Remus replied firmly, “I never said that. Sirius, if it isn’t safe, then we aren’t doing it. Okay? We’ll figure something else out, there are always other options. I’m not losing you, too.”

Remus expected an argument, or at least an eyeroll, but Sirius simply sighed and turned back to the mind healer, with an apologetic shrug. “The risks?” he repeated.

Okafor said, “Yes. The risks are complicated, as is the treatment.”

When she didn’t immediately continue, Sirius gestured with his arm, “Whenever you’re ready, professor.”

She took a deep breath, as if the idea had only just occurred to her. “Ideally, the procedure would begin with a memory.”

“And as luck would have it, I’m fresh out.”

That made her smile. “Fortunately, you don’t need to give the memory. You would only need to see it. Do I understand correctly that there is something—a point of contention, perhaps—between you, and only Mr. Lupin remembers what it is?”

“That’s correct,” Sirius replied.

“May I have the memory, Mr. Lupin?”

Remus hadn’t expected that. He felt his shoulders tense up. He hadn’t viewed the memory, had avoided thinking about it, ever since it happened. Their break-up was one of the very worst days of his life—easily in the top ten—and he’d rather not relive it, if it was all the same.

But, apparently it was not all the same. Okafor, seeing his hesitation, said, “If your theory is correct, Mr. Black has lost not merely a single memory but a network of memories. He must have been reflecting on a complex memory, or a complex facet of a memory. But the fact that all the memories were vanished at once means that they were all connected. If he views the single memory from you, I can help him explore the connections in his mind until we identify those memories. We can remove the disillusionments from them, piece by piece.”

“So when you said he could get lost,” Remus said, “you meant he’d get lost searching for these memories.”

“Yes,” she said. “Similar to when a dementor’s embrace is fresh, there are moments when the victim’s consciousness simply cannot cope and retreats into a catatonic state. That is the risk we run if we perform this procedure. But it is by no means a foregone conclusion, and some patients find that the rewards are worth the risks.”

“No,” Remus said, turning to Sirius. “Absolutely not.”

Sirius tilted his head to one side and gave Remus a placating look. “Moony—”

“No. This isn’t negotiable, Sirius. You’re not taking a risk like that just so I can have—closure, or whatever. You’re not.”

Sirius held his gaze for a long moment, then turned back to Okafor. “What are the odds of something like that happening?”

“It’s difficult to say,” she replied. She’d hardly reacted at all to what Remus had said, and her persistent calmness did nothing to mitigate Remus’s rising angst. “The nature of the damage can vary so widely, and there are so few cases on record. We haven’t much evidence to support the assessment of risk—”

“Guess, then,” Remus said. He was gripping Sirius’s hand so tightly that his knuckles were turning white, but Sirius didn’t try to pull away.

“I’d say—a one in four chance of complications, based on my experiences. And, of those complications, a one in ten chance that they would be permanent.”

“No,” Remus repeated, looking back at Sirius. “That’s way too risky. You aren’t doing it.”

Sirius didn’t seem as nervous, now, and he said to Remus in a quiet voice, “Shouldn’t we talk about it?”

“No.”

He sighed, then glanced at Okafor. “May we get back to you?”

She smiled again. “Certainly. Mr. Lupin, would you mind sharing the memory with me? I’ll assess its quality, and that will help me ascertain the risk with a higher degree of specificity, as well.”

Remus looked down at his hands. He hated this memory. He could remember the briskness of the air, and the sound of a nightingale singing, and how indifferent Sirius had been. He really, truly didn’t want to see it again. But he didn’t have to see it to withdraw it, and Sirius deserved every chance. They both deserved every chance, if he was being honest.

Everyone was waiting for him. He looked at Sirius, whose eyes were soft. As if nothing had happened at all. Remus smiled tightly. “Of course.” He put his wand to his forehead and closed his eyes.

The silvery memory fell from Remus’s wand into the vial on the table, and Sirius’s hand gripped Remus’s knee. Remus looked up to see eyes warm with concern, watching him closely.

“I’m okay,” he said softly, smiling to reassure him.

Sirius smiled back, but he still looked nervous. “Okay.”

Remus was startled when Professor Okafor spoke; lost in Sirius’s eyes, he’d almost forgotten she was there. “I suspect the damage involves more than a single memory or two. I’ll inspect this,” she took the vial from his hand, “and assess its strength and connections, and formulate a treatment plan from there.”

“I still don’t want you to do this,” Remus said, looking at Sirius urgently.

Sirius nodded. “Okay. Whatever you think.”

Sirius was careful on the walk back, quiet and nervous. He didn’t stop to inspect the architecture or admire the décor. He watched Remus closely; Remus was conscious of his eyes on him, and he again felt that familiar wish to just pretend. To forget the unpleasant memories just like Sirius had, and be happy together.

After they Flooed back to Hogwarts, Sirius said, “What time do you teach?”

“Not for an hour.”

“Want to mark more papers?”

Remus smiled. “No, you’ve helped me enough, it’s fine.”

“I like helping. And that was a good essay.”

Remus snorted. “You really do need to get a job.”

“I did,” Sirius replied quietly.

Remus’s eyes snapped up to his. “You accepted it?”

Sirius nodded. “I wrote to Bagnold yesterday.”

“You never said.” Remus felt awkward, suddenly. Inferior, though he knew Sirius would never want him to feel that way. Remus, in his office, teaching at a children’s boarding school, had a member of the Minister for Magic’s cabinet sitting on his faded old sofa.

“I’m saying now. I didn’t see you yesterday.”

“You could have written,” Remus pointed out. He sat down, too, moving a stack of parchments over to do it.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted me writing to you,” Sirius replied. He still had that same nervous energy.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius shrugged. “I will, if you want me to. I was thinking about getting an owl.”

Of course. Sirius could certainly afford it, couldn’t he?

“Are you angry with me?” Sirius asked carefully.

Remus sighed. “No. No, I just. Sorry.” Sirius looked so worried. “That was just...weird, wasn’t it? With Okafor. And the whole—getting lost in your own mind thing.”

Sirius nodded, and he moved over to Remus’s sofa. Apparently, all the hand-holding in Ireland had made him feel rather bold. He grabbed Remus’s hand again. “I know. But if she assesses the risk and finds out that it isn’t so bad—”

“Right, right,” Remus said hurriedly, “we’ll just wait and see what she says.”

“I really want to remember,” Sirius said, and Remus paused, surprised. It was the first time Sirius had actually said something like that.

“You do?”

Sirius nodded. “Yes. I know it’s important to you, and—and I want to do whatever you want. Okay?”

Remus exhaled, surprised. This was so different from how things had been between them, at the end. When Sirius finally remembered how he’d felt back then, it would ruin everything.

He hadn’t meant to kiss him; honestly, he hadn’t. He just loved him so stupidly much, and every time he said something like that, it felt like it might be the last time Remus would ever hear it.

He’d caught Sirius off-guard, but it only took about three seconds for him to kiss back, and then before Remus knew what was happening, Sirius was pressing his advantage, leaning them both back over the parchments, creasing them terribly, fingers stroking Remus’s hair just like he used to do—the way Remus loved, loved, loved.

“Just—this isn’t—it’s not—” Remus tried to say between kisses, but to speak, he’d have needed to stop kissing Sirius, and he couldn’t.

“Do you want me to stop?” Sirius breathed, lips only a hair’s breadth away, hands stilling on Remus’s sides.

“No,” Remus answered before he could think, shaking his head, pulling Sirius back on top of him.

They didn’t take off their clothes; they just rutted against each other and snogged like teenagers again, and it was hardly ten minutes before they were both gasping their release into each other’s mouths.

“Moony,” Sirius whispered, so sweetly, when it was over, and crushed his face into Remus’s neck, trembling everywhere.

Remus was trembling, too. He closed his eyes, clamping down on the feelings of guilt that were threatening to slide up the edges of his consciousness. He just wanted to feel good, for once, just for a little while.

They caught their breath, and Sirius lifted up to smile at Remus, eyes glistening. “I love you so much,” he said, then laughed at himself softly and leaned in for another kiss.

The words were like ice water in Remus’s veins. Fuck. They shouldn’t have done that. They really, really shouldn't have done it. Remus hesitated for only a moment before the memory of Sirius’s indifferent eyes in the moonlight last spring flooded his mind again, and he stopped him with a gentle push.

“Sorry,” he said, sitting up. Sirius respected his wishes—he always had, paying copious amounts of attention to what Remus wanted. He sat up immediately and scooted over beside him, and Remus could feel the agitated energy bleeding off his neck and shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked—quiet.

Remus shook his head. “That was—” He didn’t want to hurt Sirius worse than he already had. That was the last thing he wanted. “We can’t do things like that, Sirius, we aren’t—we aren’t together.”

A horrible beat of silence stretched between them. “I thought you wanted it,” Sirius said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I did, just. It was a mistake.”

Sirius nodded, then after a moment he frowned and said, “But why? Why was that a mistake, if we both wanted it, if we both—”

“Because you can’t remember that you don’t want it, Sirius, but I’m sure you don’t!”

“I do!” He reached for Remus’s hand again, getting a second wind. “Honestly, Moony, I do, I’m not… This isn’t a game, for me. I love you!”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Sirius stood up suddenly, frustration rolling off him in waves. “Why can’t I say it, if it’s true?”

He looked stiff—uncomfortable with the mess in his slacks, the red colour of his cheeks still high and irresistible-looking. Remus wanted to pull him back down on top of him and lick him clean. He wanted to shove him through the Floo and never see him again. He wanted to show him the memory and make him watch Remus’s heart break, make him understand.

“You act like I should just feel all the same things you feel, but I can’t, don’t you see that? I can’t forget.” Remus’s voice broke, and Sirius’s face crumpled. He reached for Remus’s hand again, approaching him slowly. Remus stood up and backed away. Letting Sirius come close to him was a bad idea, right now. “I’ll never forget what you said to me, I’ll never forget—how you made me feel.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius breathed, reaching helplessly. “I can’t… Remus, what can I do? If you won’t let me restore the memories, if you won’t let me try—”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to, before. Trust me.”

Sirius shook his head, and his eyes grew colder—frustration rising. That was better than sadness; Remus felt relieved, even though it still hurt him, made his gut twist and plummet. “How do you know? You don’t know what I was feeling, you don’t know—”

“I know what you said, and I know how you acted.”

“But I don’t! That isn’t fair, Remus! It isn’t fair to punish me for something I don’t even remember!”

“I’m not punishing you!” Remus shot back. “This is what you wanted! This was your idea!”

Sirius growled, like a wild dog, and turned away, pacing the room. “You’re so bloody frustrating, sometimes!”

“I know,” Remus said, exasperated. Of course, he could understand how Sirius must be feeling, and this situation—this exact situation, this moment—wasn’t something he’d wish on his worst enemy. And Sirius had never been that, to him. He was his friend, the best friend he had left. He shouldn’t have been so reckless, so careless with him.

Remus said, softer now, “This was my fault, I shouldn’t have gone along with everything. We’ve just been spending so much time together lately, and it was confusing, and —”

Sirius’s eyes were on Remus’s again, urgent. “Okay, okay, fine. We won’t have sex, okay? We won’t—I won’t touch you anymore. I promise.”

Remus almost gave a gentle laugh, but he couldn’t quite manage the levity.

“Honest,” Sirius said. “I don’t want to spend less time with you, I already hardly see you. Whatever you want, I respect that, I really do.”

Remus nodded, closing his eyes. This wasn’t just about what he wanted; it was about what Sirius had wanted, and would still want, if he had his memories. Even though he might never have those memories again.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said after the silence had stretched long between them.

“What for?” Remus glanced up at him, feeling the last remnants of their fight draining away at the defeat he heard in Sirius’s voice. They were both exhausted, wrung out and miserable. Why did they keep doing this to each other?

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, almost smiling. Rueful.

Remus hesitated only a moment before walking towards him. Sirius opened his arms, and they held each other—chastely, hands strictly above each other’s waists. Sirius pressed his face into Remus’s neck and breathed deeply, then sighed.

“We could try to start over, couldn’t we?” he asked timidly.

Remus couldn’t stop himself smiling. Sirius was still as persistent as ever; some things really never changed. “That seems a tall order.”

“I know, but…if my memories are gone, anyway. If they aren’t coming back.”

Remus released Sirius, and he stood back reluctantly, hands lingering a moment before pulling away. “Starting over would mean starting as friends.”

Sirius nodded. “Okay. Fine. Friends.” Remus smiled, and Sirius added, “We’re friends already, so. Off to a great start.”

Remus chuckled. He glanced at the clock. He’d need to shower again before his first class, and that was only half an hour away, now.

Sirius noticed and said, “Suppose I should let you get back to work, eh?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for—um. The help. With the essays.”

Sirius looked confused for a moment before he remembered what Remus was talking about. “Oh, right. Sure, anytime.” He pulled out his wand, discreetly casting a cleaning spell over himself. He was always so shy about things like that. Remus sighed and looked away, ignoring how fond it made him feel. He could get a handle on this; he could stop feeling so stupidly in love.

“If you want,” Sirius added, stepping towards the Floo, “you could return the favour.”

“Hm?” What did that mean?

“I have a gala I’m supposed to attend, in two weeks. All the ‘important politicians’ will be there,” he added, with an eye roll.

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Remus remarked.

“Yeah, it does. But it would be better if you were there.”

“What?”

“I’m meant to bring a guest.”

“Oh, Sirius, I don’t know…”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! As friends, of course. Just as friends. But you’ll get to meet all my new co-workers, and even though the conversation might be boring, the food will be divine, they always serve the best meals at these kinds of things—”

“No,” Remus said firmly, shaking his head. Going on a date with Sirius was the last thing he should be doing right now. Even ‘as friends,’ which was complete bollocks. And besides, how out of place would he feel at an event like that? One year removed from serious poverty, a single parent and a history professor, and a werewolf, for Godric’s sake, strutting around on the arm of Sirius Black? The very idea of it was pathetic; it made Remus shutter with shame.

“I have to bring someone,” Sirius added, “so you’d just be doing me a favour—”

“I can’t,” Remus said. “I start getting the Wolfsbane potion that Sunday, and I don’t want to miss the delivery.”

“This is on Saturday. You won’t miss the delivery.”

“It could happen.”

“Come on, Moony. That’s a flimsy excuse, if I ever heard one.”

“Okay, fine. I just don’t want to go, how’s that?”

Sirius’s face fell so dramatically that Remus felt a spike of guilt again, but this time he clamped down on it successfully. Sirius had no right to expect him to go to this with him, or to make him feel guilty about setting a boundary.

“Okay, okay. Sorry I asked.” Sirius’s shoulders slumped slightly as he walked towards the fireplace. But, ever persistent, he turned at the last minute and said, “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t,” Remus said. Then, he finally relented, because it was Sirius, and Remus was pathetic. “If I do, I’ll send you an owl.”

That was enough to make Sirius smile again, which in turn was enough to make Remus’s heart flip into his throat.

“Great. See you Friday?”

“See you Friday,” Remus echoed.

He watched Sirius Floo away, and though the minutes before his first class were ticking away, Remus stood there, unmoving, staring after him at the empty fireplace until his eyes blurred everything away.  

Chapter Text

11 March 1983

“Thanks for meeting me here. I know you don’t normally do house calls.”

“No problem. I understand the extenuating circumstances.”

Sirius nodded and cleared his throat. “Right. Okay, so. How do we—uh. How do we do this, exactly?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never…I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve never seen a mind healer?”

Sirius shook his head and gave a nervous little smile. “No.”

The healer was close to Sirius’s age—probably only five or six years older. He was American, which had been a plus. Sirius had asked for someone who would know as little as possible about the war, and Professor Okafor had recommended Nathan Shoehorn, a muggleborn wizard and recent hire at the Institute who had introduced himself to Sirius as ‘Nate’. He been trained at a school in New England, and apparently he was something of a prodigy in the field, whatever that meant, as well as an expert in trauma. Which, incidentally, Professor Okafor had suggested was an absolute must for a patient like Sirius.

“Well, if it helps, you can think of this just like a conversation with a friend,” Nathan said. “Nothing special you need to say or do, just be yourself.”

Sirius nodded. “Okay, well. I’ll try that, I suppose.” He was vibrating with anxious energy; he rocked in his seat at the table, then stood up and said, “Would you like a cup of tea, Professor Shoehorn?”

“Oh, Nate’s fine,” he said. “And I’ll have coffee, if you’ve got it.” Sirius turned away, trying to hide the look of horror on his face. Americans and their nonsensical disdain for tea.

“No, I haven’t any,” he said, “sorry. If you’re really not keen on tea, I could try transfiguring it into something else.”

“Oh, no,” Nathan waved a hand, smiling breezily, “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

Sirius nodded and busied himself with the tea kettle. He made the chore take too long, dawdling at the kitchen sink, and after a minute, Nathan followed him into the kitchen.

“I’m curious, Sirius. What made you decide to see a mind healer?”

He probably thought that was an easy question. Little did he know, with Sirius there were no easy questions.

“Well,” he said, with a rather dramatic pause, “I suppose, after fighting in a war and losing my best friends and going to prison and losing my memories, I just—I thought perhaps my mind could use some healing.” He smiled, facetious, and said, “I imagine most experts would agree.”

“Sure, when you put it like that,” Nathan said easily. He leaned back on the counter, holding the edge with his fingertips. He looked to be more at ease than Sirius was, but that wasn’t saying much. He probably wasn’t used to seeing patients outside the clinic, but Sirius couldn’t go back to that god-awful place. The shadowy walls and the eerie quiet: he’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

When Sirius didn’t turn around, Nathan moved into his line of sight and kept talking. “Typically, when I start seeing a patient, we talk about their goals: any changes they’d like to see, or struggles they’d like to work on. Then, we come up with a plan for how to work on those things, and if there’s any additional support I can offer, then I usually recommend—”

“Additional support?” Sirius interrupted. “What, like—potions or something?”

He nodded, smiling in way he probably thought was reassuring. “That’s right. There are potions for anxiety, depression, to help with mood regulation. But it’s best to sort of…talk it out first. So maybe we can start there.”

“Fine.” The tea kettle whistled, and Sirius turned to pour the water into the pot. This chore, too, he extended as long as he could.

Finally, when he’d poured two cups of tea and handed Nathan his, Nathan said, “Where would you like to begin?”

“I don’t know.” Sirius carried his cup back to the table. This was so awkward. It was a bad idea; he never should have written to Professor Okafor about this. He’d just thought—after everything with Remus—that maybe he’d impress him if he finally started seeing the mind healer, like he’d wanted all along. That maybe this would be the last piece to finally push him over the edge and prove to him that Sirius really did care.

“You’ve been out of prison for a few months now, haven’t you?” Nathan said casually. He sat with his tea, too, but didn’t drink it. The milk and sugar were at the centre of the table, but Nathan looked like he hardly knew what to do with either of them. He stirred the tea once with the spoon Sirius had given him, clinking it noisily on the sides of his teacup, then placed it on the table and met Sirius’s eye with an expectant smile.

“How do you take your tea?” Sirius asked, ignoring his question.

“Iced,” Nathan answered instantly, looking slightly embarrassed, “with lemonade.”

Sirius was too horrified to reply, and Nathan laughed.

“Okay, let’s start with something easy. Let’s say I could give you a potion that would do anything you wanted. Anything that would help you recover from what you’ve gone through. What would that potion treat?”

Sirius frowned. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“For example, would it be a potion to cure sleepless nights? Would it give you more energy? Would it—”

“Oh, okay, I get it,” Sirius sipped his tea and set down the cup, folding his hands and sitting up straighter. Might as well get straight to the point, if he was doing this. Let the prodigy healer know exactly who and what he was dealing with. “That’s an easy one, Nathan. You’d give me a potion that could bring my friends back from the dead. You could give me another that would make my ex-boyfriend forgive me for whatever I did—that I can’t even remember doing!—that’s convinced him I’m not really in love with him, when I certainly am. Oh, and while you’re at it, another one that would make my bitch mother—who, by the way, is the current matriarch of one of the darkest wizarding families in England—give me the godforsaken locket that my dead brother hid somewhere in her deathtrap of a mansion, so we can actually defeat Voldemort because—surprise!—he isn’t really dead.” He took another sip of tea, then said, “There’s patient-healer confidentiality, right? Because I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that last bit.”

Nathan blinked. “Right. There is.”

Sirius sighed, looking down at his teacup. How was it possible that he was bad at this, too, on top of everything else he’d mucked up in the past two years? “Great. Well, then. Don’t repeat it.”

“I won’t,” Nathan said easily.  Sirius glanced up at him and could tell, simply by this reaction alone, that he had no idea of the true horrors that all of Britain had faced when Voldemort rose to power. Lucky him, he’d just moved to Ireland last year. Sirius hoped, for Nathan’s own sake, that he would move back to America before the next wizarding war started—assuming Dumbledore was right, and a return to war was inevitable. This muggleborn—optimistic and easygoing—would be as easy to kill as James had been.

Godric. Shouldn’t think about that.

If Sirius was botching it all up, Nathan was a good enough sport about it all; he gave Sirius a break, looking away and trying to drink his tea. The tiniest sip made him cringe, though he made a valiant attempt to hide it, and he set the cup down again and then fixed Sirius with a steady, gentle gaze. Something about the weight of it made Sirius feel distinctly seen. It was uncomfortable, and he shifted in his seat.

“The things you’ve mentioned would be difficult for anybody to process,” Nathan said. “You’ve experienced all sorts of losses, and the grieving process has no clear direction or time limit. These are important experiences, and it’s only natural that you’re still grappling with them, and will continue to do so for some time.”

“I’m not grappling with them, I’m fine.”

Nathan nodded, still totally free of judgement. “I’m glad that you feel you’re fine. I just wanted you to know that it’s not required.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not required. To feel fine. I’m not necessarily saying you feel this way, but I’ve heard other patients who are dealing with trauma say that it feels like the rest of the world has moved on, while the worst events of their life are just…replaying themselves, over and over, in their heads. And everyone else is oblivious. It can feel lonely. Isolating.” He looked at Sirius with so much empathy that for a moment, Sirius wondered if this mind healer was a legilimens, too. “And it’s okay not to be fine,” he repeated, not too gently. Just stating a fact.

Sirius was glad for it; he matched his tone. “Lovely. But I’m still fine.”

Nathan smiled, nodding. “Okay. Well, where would you like to focus first, then?”

Sirius blinked. To be honest, he’d like to focus nowhere. He was already regretting doing this, no matter how much it might impress Remus if it somehow managed to fix all the millions of ways he was broken. “I don’t know.”

There was another long silence, and then Nathan lifted his teacup again. He took a long drink. Sirius watched him; he clearly didn’t enjoy the flavour, but he was trying.

“Was there a particular reason why you waited until now to arrange to see a mind healer?”

Sirius shook his head. “Opportunity, I suppose. Okafor wrote to me, I wrote back.” He sipped his own tea, buying himself some time. He couldn’t tell the truth, but he could say something. “Well, that, and wanting to…seem more normal.”

“To seem normal to whom?”

Remus. Remus, Remus, Remus.

“My co-workers. I started a new job yesterday,” Sirius said, and held his head a little higher as he said it. “At the British Ministry for Magic. I’m in the Minister’s cabinet.”

“Are you? That’s nice, congratulations.”

It was clearer than ever that this American healer didn’t understand the first thing about magical life in Britain. He should have known what an incredible honour it was to serve on a Minister for Magic’s cabinet…but, somehow, Sirius wasn’t too bothered by it. He’d wanted someone ignorant of all things related to him, after all. It occurred to him that Nathan probably didn’t even know what it meant that he was a member of the Black family, despite the hints he’d dropped.

“Did you enjoy your first day?” Nathan prompted, pleasantly.

Sirius shrugged. Remus used to ask him things like this all the time, and it had seemed so novel and strange at first. Sirius’s parents had never asked about school or anything; they hadn’t really cared much what Sirius was up to, especially after he’d been sorted a Gryffindor. Then, he’d moved out when he was sixteen, so there wasn’t ever a job they could ask after. James would listen to everything Sirius said, of course, but he never really instigated the subject. Remus, though, was always asking questions like this, and then doing this cute but sort of annoying thing where he stopped listening halfway through the answer.

Nathan wasn’t anything like that. Sirius described his day—the people he met, the pamphlets he read, the briefings he attended, his opinions on everything—and Nathan listened the whole time, with eye contact and nods and good questions. Had he felt comfortable? Had anything felt triggering for him? Were any parts of the day easier or harder than the others?

“It sounds like a great first day,” Nathan said when Sirius had finished. “Are you happy with how it went?”

“Happy,” Sirius repeated, scornfully, with a little lift of his eyebrows. “I suppose.”

Nathan tilted his head. “You don’t like that word?”

“It’s a fine word. I have no problem with any words, generally speaking. A word is a word is a word.”

“You’re right,” Nathan smiled. “I’ll rephrase. You didn’t like when I suggested that your new job would make you happy?”

“No,” Sirius said, immediately. He didn’t even need to think about it.

“Why is that?”

“Because my best friend is dead, and I’m helping my ex-boyfriend raise his orphaned son, and I…I just cannot imagine being happy, while he’s gone.”

The fact of it was simple enough, but Sirius hadn’t said all that out loud before. He hadn’t felt he’d needed to; it was so obvious. Remus understood it implicitly, and his mother didn’t have the wherewithal to care, and Dumbledore didn’t have the tact to care. But that was how he felt: like happiness would be an affront to James. Like it would mean forgetting about him.

Nathan nodded. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“James,” Sirius said, with a perfectly steady voice. “Potter.” He didn’t normally have to tell people this. People usually knew.

Now it was really obvious that Nathan understood nothing; he didn’t react a bit. He said, “I’m sorry you lost your friend.”

Sirius swallowed, trying to maintain his handle on his emotions. “He was more like a brother, actually.”

“Losing him affected you very much,” Nathan remarked.

“Of course, it did,” Sirius snapped. “He didn’t deserve to die, to die…like that. He didn’t deserve to—to have one of his best friends betray him.”

“What do you mean?”

Godric, Nathan understood nothing. “You can read about it in the papers, Nathan, if you really want to know.”

“It’s difficult to talk about.”

“Of course, it is!” Mind healing prodigy, please! “You know, I was the one who suggested making Pettigrew the secret keeper. I said, ‘Nobody would ever guess it was him, who would choose him?’ I mean, I said that in front of him! Of course, he betrayed them, of course he—he was just waiting for his chance. To prove everyone wrong, to prove what a power-hungry, cowardly little weasel he really was!”

“Do you feel like it was your fault?”

“Of course, it was my bloody fault! Merlin’s sake! I should have just done it myself! I don’t even remember why I didn’t!”

Nathan frowned for a moment, before his eyes cleared, and he said, “Oh. Salina said something about that.”

Sirius tilted his head.

“Professor Okafor. She told me a bit about your case with her. The missing memories.”

Sirius drained the rest of his tea. “Yes. So, it must have had something to do with Remus, but I don’t remember why, and—Yes, I feel really bloody guilty.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Nathan said it simply, and he didn’t expect a response. He went on, “And it wasn’t James’s fault, or anybody else’s fault, for trusting someone you thought was your friend. I’m sorry that that trust was misplaced. And your anger is very justified.”

Something inside Sirius twisted; he didn’t want to hear that, to have Nathan pretend he understood something that was impossible to understand, that defied understanding. “Okay, so—that’s it? You’re supposed to be the mind healer, do you mean I just—stay angry? Forever?”

Nathan smiled softly. “No. But just like grief is complicated, so is anger. So is peace.”

“Peace is complicated,” Sirius repeated.

“Yes. And nobody else can find it for you. You have to find it for yourself. But…I’m here to help.”

This was, truly, complete bollocks. But what else could Sirius do? He had to try. And anyway, this was part of what kept him up at night, tossing and turning, wasn’t it? The mistakes he’d made. His failure to understand them, even now. Nothing made any sense. Trusting Peter hadn’t seemed like a choice; it had just been the default position, a failure to grasp the threat inherent in trusting anybody. Now, Sirius understood how stupid he’d been. But he still didn’t know how to avoid repeating the same mistakes, except to isolate himself completely, to swear off trust forever. Just him, Remus, and Harry against the world.

“I’ll jot that down for a goal for us for later, shall I?” Nathan didn’t use a quill; he used an inkpen, like a muggle. It was white with a little blue cap that Nathan snapped over the end of it before making a note on his paper. That was muggle style, too—bound with some kind of spiral wire.

Sirius craned his neck at Nathan’s notebook, curious. “What have you written?”

Nathan wasn’t offput by this in the slightest; he passed the notebook over, and Sirius saw that he’d scrawled, “Goal 1: Overcome survivor’s guilt.”

“Survivor’s guilt,” Sirius repeated.

“That’s right. The feeling like you don’t deserve to be happy. I’d like us to work on that, if you’re willing.”

Sirius sighed. “I don’t want to forget about him,” he said quietly.

“You’ll never forget about him,” Nathan said, with the same mix of gentleness and matter-of-factness he always used. “Don’t worry about that.”

Sirius nodded, his throat feeling tight.

“Want to talk more about James, or should we move onto the next?” Nathan asked, still breezy.

“On to the next. Please.”

Nathan stayed for an hour, and Sirius was drained by the time he left—even more so than he’d been yesterday, after his first day at the Ministry. That had been rough—rougher than he’d admitted to his mind healer. He got tired easily, had trouble focusing, and was unjustly offended by at least ten different things that he normally wouldn’t have batted an eye at. But, as Nathan would say, he’d been through a trauma. And Sirius was humble enough to admit that Nathan wasn’t nearly as bad as he had worried he’d be. They’d arranged to meet every Wednesday, and Sirius paid the Institute extra for the house calls.

“I can probably get that fee waived,” Nathan mentioned as he was leaving. “You shouldn’t have to pay extra if you’ve been traumatised by the magical curtaining that the Institute uses.”

“It’s fine, I can afford it,” Sirius had said.

“Suit yourself.”

After he was gone, Sirius stared at the fire and thought of nothing. It was late afternoon—nearly dinner time—and Sirius’s mania for cooking had ended as quickly as it had started. He wasn’t a bit hungry, but he ought to eat something. He was thinking about what to eat, and contemplating the task of standing up, which seemed monumental at the moment, when the Floo flared up, and Sirius’s heart fluttered with excitement. This was what he’d been waiting for—what he waited for every night.

“Harry’s in bed,” Remus’s voice came through the fire—his face sprang up, orange with embers and handsome in the dark ashes.

“Be right there,” Sirius replied, hopping to his feet with a brief, astonished glance at the clock. It was already eight. How had three hours passed so quickly? He hurried to the loo, then crammed a few crisps in his mouth, washed his hands, and combed his hair. Then he stepped into the Floo, and stepped out at Hogwarts.

“Hi,” Remus grinned from the sofa, parchments surrounding him.

“Hi,” Sirius answered.

Lovesick fools, the pair of them. Remus only took ten seconds before reaching out and pulling Sirius onto the sofa with him, tossing the parchments onto the floor. Then, it was a repeat of last Tuesday—and every night since. Snogging until they were more body than mind, and then curling into each other’s arms, spent and happy, and whispering to each other in the fading firelight.

Okay, so it wasn’t just like Tuesday anymore. Remus hadn’t called it a mistake again. And he hadn’t pushed Sirius away. At least, not physically.

Sirius closed his eyes, feeling soft and comfortable on Remus’s shoulder. Remus dragged his fingers through Sirius’s hair. “Did the mind healer come today?”

“Mhm.”

“How was it?”

“Oh. Fine, I suppose.”

Remus squeezed him, kissing his hair. “Glad to hear it.”

“You can ask more,” Sirius said, sighing softly. “I don’t mind.”

Remus smiled down at him. “Okay. Did you talk about me?”

Sirius burst into laughter. “No, Remus, we didn’t. Were you always this egotistical, or is it just my memory loss making me forget?”

Remus poked him and muttered, “Shut up.” His cheeks turned pink, so Sirius had to kiss them; it went without saying. “I was just curious. What did you talk about, then?”

“James,” Sirius said softly, returning to Remus’s shoulder.

“James,” Remus repeated. It sounded like a prayer. Like an open wound. Remus was hurting, too; sometimes, it was easy for Sirius to forget.

“He thinks that should be the first thing we work on together,” Sirius said. “Survivor’s guilt, he called it.”

Remus craned his neck to look down at Sirius. “You feel guilty?”

“Of course.” Sirius buried his face in Remus’s shoulder again, not wanting his face to be visible.

“But it wasn’t your fault. At all.”

Sirius smiled and placed a kiss on Remus’s warm skin. “I know. I mean. I know you don’t think so, I suppose. There are just…” he sighed. “So many things I regret.”

Remus’s arms tightened around him again. “Was it hard to talk about?”

“Yeah.” It was still hard to talk about. Even right now, it was hard.

Remus didn’t push it; he never did. At one time, Sirius might have thought he didn’t care, but now Sirius saw it for what it was. Remus was being gentle with him. His words in Ireland were still repeating in Sirius’s head: I can’t lose you, too.

Remus said, carefully, “Did it help at all?”

Sirius nodded. Remus’s shirt smelled nice. Clean. He’d rather he’d gone without it, of course, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“Are you glad you did it?”

“I think so,” Sirius replied. “He was easy to talk to. Good listener.”

“That’s good.”

Sirius nodded again. Remus’s hands in his hair felt so nice. He was massaging his scalp, long fingers slowly working their way up and down. “Missed you today,” he said, hardly thinking.

Remus hesitated, and some of Sirius’s pleasant calmness fell away—but then he kissed Sirius’s hair again and said, “Me, too. I missed you when I woke up this morning.”

That was quite the admission, for Remus. Sirius didn’t answer, just nestled closer, nose pressed into the crook of Remus’s neck.

“You could stay over, if you want,” he added, sounding shy.

“Really?” Sirius’s head snapped up too quickly, and his hair was caught in Remus’s fingers.

Remus shook his hand out and smiled apologetically, letting his arms fall to Sirius’s waist. “Yeah, I mean.” He swallowed. “You’d want to leave before Harry wakes up, obviously, but—”

“Why obviously?”

“Hm?”

“Why is that obvious? He’s two, he won’t know the difference.”

“Oh.” Remus took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I guess…it doesn’t matter.”

“I mean, if you want me to go early, I’ll go early. I’ll do whatever you say, Moony.”

Remus smiled, looking like he was trying not to. “I know, Sirius, you’ve said.” He stroked his hair again with one hand, looking fondly into his eyes. “What about what you want?”

“The answer’s always yes for me,” he said quietly.

Remus leaned up and kissed him, and it was a few minutes before they spoke again, and Sirius was the one who broke the silence.

“Are you sure you can’t come to that gala with me?”

“Yes,” he sighed.

“Because I know you said you wanted space, but—well, it’s not clear that that’s a priority for you anymore. Not that I’m complaining, because I am truly not.”

Remus chuckled. “I know, Sirius.”

He’d been using his first name often lately. ‘Sirius, this’ and ‘Sirius, that.’ It made Sirius feel warm inside—like his name was something sweet to Remus, something he wanted to repeat over and over.

“I just have to go, you know? I can’t get out of it. Obviously, I’d rather be spending time with you—”

“Don’t be ridiculous, this is one of the most prestigious events the Ministry holds all year.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I know you don’t, but most people do. And it would be strange if you brought me.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because I’m a man?”

“Given everything else that’s happened, I believe my sexuality isn’t of concern to these people, though I appreciate the thought.”

“Or because I’m a werewolf?”

“That might concern them a little bit, I’ll grant you, but it doesn’t concern me. It never has.”

“Not never,” Remus said.

Sirius sat up further, looking him in the eye. “What does that mean? That isn’t—that’s not why we broke up, is it?”

Remus shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Is that what I told you?”

“No, but—”

“I thought so,” Sirius exhaled, relieved. “It couldn’t be. I can’t imagine that being a reason—”

“But it made you question my loyalty to our cause,” he pointed out. “To the Order.”

“Because you’re a werewolf?” Sirius repeated, disbelievingly. “I don’t think that’s right, honestly, I don’t.”

“Well, I’m just going off what you told me.”

Remus sat up, too, so they were a few inches apart. This wasn’t going well; Sirius didn’t want this much space between them. He leaned over, resting his head on Remus’s shoulder, and slipped his hand into Remus’s, threading their fingers together. Remus squeezed his hand, and Sirius gave a relieved sigh.

“Well, if we’re going to start over, then I should clarify that I know how loyal you were, and I love that you’re a werewolf.” That made Remus laugh, and Sirius sat up, laughing, too. “What’s so funny?”

“You can’t love that I’m a werewolf, Sirius, that’s ridiculous.”

“I do,” he said. “Because you handle it so well. You’re responsible, and you manage it, and you—you never complain.”

“What good would complaining do?”

“Exactly. Sometimes I complain over a papercut, but you don’t even complain over the brutal condition you’ve had since you were five years old.”

Remus shrugged. “It never occurred to me to complain.”

“I love that about you.” Remus gave him a stern look, and Sirius held up his hands in surrender and said, “What? That’s not the same as saying I love you. I’m just saying I love this one thing about you, it’s different.”

Remus held out for about a second before laughing and pulling Sirius close, kissing him again. “Okay, then I suppose I’ll allow it.”

They kissed for a long time, unhurried and familiar, and every time they pulled apart to catch their breath, Sirius had to stop himself from saying, “I love you,” all over again. He said all kinds of nonsensical things as a result, like, “I keep forgetting what a good kisser you are,” and, “I like these reading glasses on you.”

Remus, at least, seemed to be having just as hard of a time. He pulled away every few minutes, and even suggested they take a break and mark essays at one point, but of course, it didn’t last. Sirius went to the other sofa, respectful as ever, and it wasn’t half an hour before Remus was crawling onto his lap again.

Sirius was willing to give Remus time to work through whatever he was working through; gone were the days when he would have taken his reticence as a sign of disinterest. Remus had fought tooth and nail to free Sirius from prison, even after Sirius had, evidently, been awful to him. Remus’s love was true, and Sirius would prove that his was, too. He’d prove it every day, every moment.

“You sure you want me to sleep over?” Sirius asked when they were finally settling down for bed. They’d eaten leftovers of the birthday cake Sirius had brought for Remus yesterday—it had been his twenty-third birthday, and he’d forbidden Sirius from bringing a gift—and they were both crashing hard from the sugar rush of half an hour ago.

“I’m sure,” Remus said, blushing a bit. “I mean—that doesn’t mean anything’s changed, we’re still—”

“Just friends, right, I know,” Sirius said, then tugged Remus into his arms playfully and kissed him.

“Dating, I’d say,” Remus corrected, smiling against his lips. “Just casually. Starting over, like you said.”

“Mhm,” Sirius kissed him deeply, not knowing quite what that meant and not really caring, either. It would be fine with him if they just moved on from the past, but he knew that wasn’t what Remus needed. He just hoped, whatever it was that would get Remus past this, he’d figure it out soon. Meanwhile, he wasn’t going to turn down anything Remus offered.

The bed was small, and they both wore pajamas—Sirius in a pair of his own that Remus had evidently stolen years ago, to his great amusement. They were a hand’s breadth apart, just sleeping, nothing else, and Sirius was still so grateful for it. To be here, with the one he loved. To have everything that mattered to him in the whole world within his reach. It wasn’t until Remus had already fallen asleep—breath evening out, face slackening into peaceful oblivion—that the guilt returned.

Sirius didn’t deserve any of this, not really. Everything Sirius had now, he had because James had nothing. James was the funniest, best, and truest friend Sirius had ever had, and he would have gladly died for him, but when push came to shove, he’d sacrificed his opportunity to do it. He’d placed that mantle on Peter Pettigrew’s shoulders—Peter Pettigrew, of all the weak, simple-minded people—and James had paid the ultimate price for Sirius’s stupidity. In what universe was this anybody’s fault but Sirius’s? He closed his eyes and tried to remember whether Nathan had said anything helpful about this, but all he could remember was ‘peace is complicated,’ and that didn’t make any more sense now than it had earlier.

He wasn’t alarmed when the tears came; he cried over losing James often enough that there was nothing novel about it. But he was usually alone. He didn’t want to wake Remus, but the bed was so small. Sirius curled away from him, trying to be quiet, but it wasn’t any use.

“What’s wrong?” Remus whispered.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s just—the stuff with the mind healer today has me all wound up.” He wiped his face, embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m being stupid.” It was all he could say. He knew Remus wouldn’t really understand the terrible weight of the guilt he felt, and even if Remus said something meant to be kind, Sirius would only feel worse.

But Remus didn’t say anything like that. He just curled up close behind Sirius’s back, sliding one arm over his side, and tugging him back against his chest. He kissed Sirius’s ear, and then his hair.

 “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I do it, too, sometimes.”

Sirius rolled over, looking at Remus’s beautiful face in the shadows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius nodded, voice caught in his throat.

“It’s okay,” Remus repeated, gently. He brushed his fingers through Sirius’s hair again, pulling him to his chest. Sirius let out a long breath, letting himself be held. He couldn’t remember if anybody had ever held him while he cried before, and it was awkward, if he was being honest. He felt like a child. There was no sense crying like this, as if it accomplished anything at all besides making him seem pathetic and giving him a headache.

But when the guilty feelings crept back in, Remus held him tightly, not reacting to his sobs except to stroke Sirius’s hair. And Sirius couldn’t feel embarrassed when Remus reacted like that. He couldn’t do anything except let it all out, until he was exhausted, and grateful, and—at last, mercifully—fast asleep.

Chapter Text

14 March 1983

“I’m a werewolf. A-woooooo!”

“Harry, love, no howling at the table.”

Sirius, seated across from Remus and Harry, said nothing, but his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Why did you have to teach him that?” Remus said, shaking his head.

Sirius wiped the moisture from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realise he’d do it quite so often.”

“Or quite so loudly,” Remus remarked.

“Oh, it isn’t as if he’ll give you away, everybody knows how much he loves animals.”

“He did it in the Great Hall last night.”

“He never!”

“He did. And both Snape and Hagrid were right there, and Hagrid laughed—you know how he laughs, so loudly it shakes the table!”

Sirius started laughing again, this time making less of an effort to hide it. Beside Remus in his booster chair, Harry started laughing, too. He also took the opportunity to stuff a fat little fist into his cereal bowl.

“Spoon,” Remus reminded him, replacing the utensil in his hand. “And Snape just rolled his eyes, but you know how over-the-top he is about everything.”

“Yes, I can just imagine,” Sirius said, sobering slightly. “Snivellus would tell the whole school if Dumbledore would let him.”

“I don’t think that’s true anymore,” Remus said, “but he did have opinions on it, which I thought was unnecessary.”

Sirius reached over to the fruit tart, which Remus had made them this morning after Sirius dropped a hint about wanting one last weekend. He scooped himself a generous second helping, then said, “I hate to even ask…”

“Nothing bad,” Remus said, “but he popped over to my office just afterwards and said, ‘He might not be old enough to keep a secret, you know. He is only two.’” Remus’s impression of Snape wasn’t the most convincing, but it still had Sirius in stitches. “I said, ‘Thank you, Severus, believe it or not, I am aware of his age, and I would rather not lie to him, regardless.’”

“I hate to say he has a point,” Sirius said, still smiling.

“Then don’t say it,” Remus replied, kicking Sirius’s ankle lightly under the table. Sirius rolled his eyes, but he looked very fond. “Besides, Harry’s known about me for a long time. He only started thinking it was cool when you taught him to howl.”

As if on cue, Harry howled again, and this time, Sirius shushed him, though he was still laughing.

“Godric, Harry, you’ll wake the whole building!”

“That’s nothing,” Remus said, “remind me to tell you what happened at the end of January.”

“What happened at the end of January?” Sirius said, all eager attention.

Remus shook his head, glancing at Harry, who was preoccupied with his cereal again. “Ask me again later,” he said.

Sirius grinned. “Fine, I suppose I can be patient.”

“You’ve grown, haven’t you?” Remus teased.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yes, and you’ve done all you can to help me with that.”

Remus smirked but didn’t reply. Sirius might have been trying to pick a fight—it was hard to say, these days—but Remus didn’t have to rise to the bait. He could choose to be positive. That was what he preferred, anyway, so it was easy.

“What do you two want to do today?” Sirius asked after he’d devoured another plateful of berry tart.

Remus shrugged. “Up to you. You have that gala later, don’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s not until this evening, so I’m yours all day. And all night, if you’d like to join me.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and Remus laughed.

“Sorry. Still no.”

“Why?” Sirius said. He’d asked the same question at least fifty times now, so Remus didn’t really see a point in answering it seriously.

“I have a date with my secret lover.”

“What?!”

Remus burst into laughter at the look on Sirius’s face, and Sirius put his fork down, with an exasperated sigh. “Merlin’s sake…”

“What? Look, I—hey, come on, don’t be angry. Obviously, there isn’t anybody else.”

“Isn’t that a relief.”

“Sorry,” Remus said, still grinning. “Just—you keep asking, and I’ve told you I don’t want to come. You could try just, I don’t know, respecting that.”

“I do respect that,” Sirius said, “but if I don’t bring you, I’ll have to bring someone else.”

“No, you won’t,” Remus said, “just go alone, Sirius. Merlin, you’re so dramatic about things like this.”

“My boss expects me to bring someone,” Sirius said.

“Your boss, meaning the Minister for Magic?”

“Yes. She’s mentioned it several times, and so has the wizard who’s coordinating the event.”

“They’ve mentioned that you have to bring a date?”

“That it’s expected, yes. It’s a networking event, very flashy. We’re all meant to leverage the connections of the people present to forward the Minister’s agenda.”

“Sounds like something you’d do,” Remus said drily.

“I’ve already told her I won’t advocate for any plan of hers that I don’t already agree with, and she had no problem with that.”

“Of course, you told her,” Remus muttered, picking at his own half-eaten second helping of tart. Just when he thought Sirius couldn’t get any sexier, he’d say something like that.

“Look, it’s my first foray back into wizarding society—”

“And you’re already talking like them again, I see,” Remus interrupted cheekily.

“And,” Sirius said, pointedly ignoring him, “I’ll have only one chance to make the kind of impression I want to make.”

“Why does that matter?”

“It matters because whether or not I have any influence in my role depends on whether people see me as someone they want to impress.”

“Why do you care whether you have influence?” Remus said.

Sirius blinked. “I thought you would care.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Don’t you? What about all the werewolf rights things you’re always going on about?”

It took Remus a moment to respond. He had, when they were younger, been passionate about lobbying Ministry officials to change the laws governing life in wizarding England for werewolves—but that had been before the war, when he was even more naïve and optimistic than he was now, if such a thing was possible. He knew now that there were things that could never change—prejudices and systems that were larger than any one person, and would probably go on forever, even when nobody liked or wanted them anymore. Remus could have driven himself crazy caring about all that; he’d had to let it go.

“I haven’t thought about that in a long time, to be honest with you, Sirius,” he said at last.

Sirius swallowed a bit of tart and said, “Well, I think about it.”

“Do you?”

He nodded. “The wolfsbane trials end soon. Did you know?”

Remus shook his head. “No. How did you know that?”

“I found out at work Thursday.”

Remus wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, except that it didn’t feel good to be last to know. Of course, he wasn’t really last. Thanks to Sirius, he had the inside scoop. “Are they going to tell the participants?”

“I imagine so,” Sirius replied. “The reason it came up is, there’s this law being considered to provide the potion to all werewolves, free of charge.”

“That’s amazing!” Remus could hardly believe his ears.

“It is, or it seems like it is,” Sirius said, “but it’s all contingent on registration.”

“Oh.” Remus’s heart fell, his hopes dashed as soon as they’d risen. At least he hadn’t spent too long celebrating that little non-victory. “Well, count me out, then.”

“I know. And I pointed out that it seems coercive, you know? Like, just another way to force the werewolves’ hands, and get them under the Ministry’s thumb.”

Remus nodded. Yes, that was exactly how it seemed. He was impressed that Sirius had noticed it, however.

“And then I said, ‘Isn’t there another way to distribute the potion without forcing them to register?’, and then! Then, Moony, they tipped their hand. Leroy Jameson—he’s the head of the committee for creature law—he said, ‘Well, then what incentive do we have to provide the potion?’”

“He didn’t!”

“He did! And the rest of the committee went berserk, and the law never came before the council because it died in committee.”

“That’s that, then,” Remus sighed. It would have been nice to have potions for all the werewolves, but Sirius was right. The cost wouldn’t outweigh the benefit if the Ministry used the information it collected about the werewolves against them—and there were no guarantees that future administrations would be as lycanthrope-friendly as this one had been.

“Not necessarily,” Sirius said. “If there was a way to distribute the potion without registration—”

“How would that be possible?” Remus said. “They wouldn’t know who to give it to, and they can hardly just brew up a bunch and give it away for free. It’s time-sensitive, potentially fatal if taken improperly—”

“Yes, yes,” Sirius said, “but what about having a third-party distribute?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said thoughtfully.

“Or something. There must be some other solution.” He sipped his tea and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m not giving up.”

Remus smiled, and Sirius tilted his head to the side.

“What?”

“I forgot what you were like when you have a job to do.”

Sirius sat up a bit straighter in his seat. “Tenacious? Ingenious?”

“Stubborn. Headstrong.”

Sirius smiled. “You love it.”

Remus couldn’t respond except to look away, cheeks feeling hot. Harry grinned when Remus’s eyes fell on him, and he resumed reaching his hands in his cereal again—a sure sign that he was tired of being ignored and was ready to attract attention to himself by any means possible, with the speediest measure being misbehaviour.

“You messy little thing!” Remus cried, coming at Harry with tickling fingers, delighted when he shrieked with joy and tried to squirm away. “Get back here!”

Harry’s laugh was still Remus’s favourite sound. He tickled him until his cheeks were pink, then released him from his booster seat with a directive to wash his hands and face in the sink.

“Can he do that by himself?” Sirius asked after Harry toddled off towards the loo.

“Oh, yes. He loves to do that by himself. In fact, that’s his favourite thing to do.”

“Wash his hands?”

“No, just anything, as long as it’s by himself.”

“Ah.” Sirius nodded. “Well. Sounds entertaining, to say the least?”

“Entertaining is one word for it,” Remus agreed.

“I can’t wait to spend the week with him.”

Remus smiled. Sirius had offered to take Harry after the gala and keep him until next Saturday when Remus returned from Ireland after the moon, and Remus had been all too eager to agree. Just imagining mornings without a toddler climbing into his bed and waking him up at five-thirty had him smiling. Sirius really had no idea what he was in for come Monday. “You’ll love it. You both will. What are you doing with him while you’re at work, anyway?”

“Pardon me?”

“Tuesday and Thursday, when you work. What will you do with Harry?”

“Oh,” Sirius looked sincerely surprised. “Well, what do you normally do with him?”

“I normally have Hagrid come by my quarters.”

Sirius nodded. “Okay. Should I ask him to come here, then?”

Remus grinned. “Whatever you think. He’s yours this week, so you can figure it out.”

Sirius looked much too amused. “Ah, okay. I see how it is.”

“What? I can’t do everything for you.”

“No, you shouldn’t. That’s fine. I’ll handle it.” Sirius was still smiling. “You’ve just been waiting for me to start pulling my own weight, haven’t you?”

Remus snorted. It was too close to the truth to deny it, but he didn’t want to hurt Sirius’s feelings. Tease him, yes; offend him, never. “I’m glad to see you doing so much better, that’s all.”

“Yes, and after just one mind-healing session,” Sirius said. “Imagine how recovered I’ll be after I’ve had more!”

Remus stood up to help Sirius clear the table.

After a moment, Sirius glanced at him over his shoulder and said, “Aren’t you going to say ‘I told you so’?”

“I thought it went without saying.”

Sirius poked him. “Go on. Harry’s surely wreaking havoc somewhere. I’ll clean up.”

Remus went, still smiling, into the next room. Maybe he could find someone to watch Harry tonight, after all. The idea of going to a prestigious Ministry gala made him a little queasy, but spending time with Sirius was worth it, regardless of circumstances.

Harry was in the playroom when Remus found him. He had the toy Quidditch set out and was attempting to sit on all four miniature brooms at once.

“What’s this?” Remus said, walking over. This room was truly enormous now. He didn’t care what Sirius said; there was no way this had been a quick and easy transfiguration. He’d mentioned it to McGonagall, and she’d suggested he must have used some sort of advanced computing technology—possibly magical, possibly muggle—to do the calculations.

“I’m going extra fast,” Harry said, eyes wide with delight.

“Well—” Remus hesitated. Part of him wanted to stop Harry from trying this ill-fated experiment, and the other part of him was genuinely curious what would happen. “But how will you hold on to so many broomsticks at once?”

“With—my arms…” Harry said slowly. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around all four brooms, then kicked off the ground.

Predictably, he plummeted face-first into the carpet. At least it was a short fall. Remus laughed, and after a moment, Harry laughed, too.

“Turns out that doesn’t make you go extra fast, Harry. Good experiment. What shall we try next?”

Harry stood up clumsily, then glanced around the room. “My…wand to make me go extra fast?”

“You could try running extra fast,” Remus suggested, but Harry was already off to find the wand. Luckily, that toy had been missing for a few days. Remus followed after him slowly, pretending to search the piles of toys every time Harry said, “Help!” He could have just used Accio to find it, of course, but—well, frankly, he didn’t want to.

Soon enough, Harry saw the mini motor bike Sirius had bought him and decided that was as expedient a way to injure himself as anything else. Sirius walked in just as Harry was climbing on.

“Lily would kill you,” Remus remarked.

Sirius laughed. “He does fine on it! He’s even ridden it outside.”

“Sirius!”

“It was perfectly safe, I was with him the whole time—”

“I cannot believe Jane never mentioned that.”

“Ah-ha!” Sirius shouted, and Remus cringed. Sirius tugged his wrist, pulling Remus close and squeezing him around the waist. “You have your muggle friend spying on me, don’t you?”

“Not spying…”

“Admit it! She’s watching me and reporting back to you.”

Remus sighed. Nobody to blame but himself for letting that one slip. “How did you know?”

“You said something last week about us going to the candy shoppe, and I was sure I never told you…”

“Well, you know I have a hard enough time getting him to eat real food, as it is…”

“Mhm.” Sirius smirked.

“You aren’t angry?” Remus asked.

“No, I’m flattered.”

“Be serious,” Remus said, then immediately added, “and don’t say you’re always Sirius!”

Sirius laughed and leaned up, kissing the corner of Remus’s mouth. Oh, this was much too easy to get used to. Remus blushed, and he only hesitated for a moment before taking Sirius’s face in his hands and kissing him—briefly but deeply.

“I don’t mind,” Sirius said softly when they parted. “I know you were just worried about me. And, frankly, I gave you plenty to worry about.”

“She told me you’re doing much better, for what it’s worth,” Remus said, then instantly regretted it when Sirius threw his head back and laughed.

“Excellent. My biggest fan, is she?”

Remus glanced away. Jane didn’t much care for Sirius, actually. Not that she ever said as much to Remus, but she kept bringing up her brother and how available and eligible and single he was. “She’s getting there,” he said cautiously.

“That means, no.” Sirius squeezed Remus’s shoulders. “That’s fine. I’m not terribly fond of her, either.”

“I’d like it if you were friends,” Remus said, unthinkingly.

Sirius immediately said, “I’ll try harder, if you like,” and Remus could have kicked himself, because he knew Sirius would, and that wasn’t necessary, really. Sirius and Jane were like oil and water—total opposites, with no real incentive for friendship, besides the people they had in common.

“It’s fine,” Remus said. “I don’t want you going to any trouble for my sake.”

Remus thought he saw Sirius smirk for half a moment, but then it was gone, and he was all good-natured smiles again. “Anyway,” Sirius changed the subject pointedly, “I think I’m doing better, too. Getting out of the house helps. I’m taking walks again.”

“Oh, are you? I’d like to walk with you,” Remus said.

“This summer, we can.”

They both grinned at each other. They never discussed how much they were looking forward to the summer spent together, but Remus knew they both were thrilled with the prospect of it.

Harry zoomed past them, and Remus made to chase after him, calling back to Sirius over his shoulder, “And we can bring this hooligan, if he survives that long!”

Sirius laughed. “He’s fine, Moony, honest! He probably won’t fall, and if he does, he’ll get right back up.”

“How do you know that? Wait—is this where the bruise on his knee came from last weekend when I was marking papers?”

“…Maybe.”

“Sirius! That is an enormous bruise!”

“It’s fine, barely a mark.”

“It’s as big as his whole knee.”

“He’s got a small knee! And he didn’t cry longer than a minute.”

“Oh, Merlin…” Remus gave up on Harry—he was much too fast to follow on foot—and circled back to Sirius, arms folded, scowling at him.

Sirius, of course, was all charming smiles. “Come on, Moony, let him live a little! He’s James’s boy, after all—a Marauder!”

“He’d better be in one piece after next weekend.”

“He will, I promise. Have Jane check up on us, if you like.”

“I will,” Remus said.

Sirius rolled his eyes, pulling Remus in for another hug. Remus didn’t resist. “I don’t doubt it.”

“And he’s Lily’s boy, too,” Remus pointed out.

“Lily would have had her hands full with him, regardless.”

Remus smiled, releasing Sirius and nudging his shoulder with his own. “I suppose that’s true. Anybody would.”

“She would think you’re doing such an amazing job with him,” Sirius added.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Well.” Remus glanced at him, pleased. “So are you.”

“Even with the giant knee bruises?” Sirius raised his eyebrows, and Remus elbowed him, laughing.

“Yes, even then.”

Sirius frowned a little, looking down at his feet as he replied, “Well, I don’t know. I wasn’t even there at all until December.”

“That’s not true! You were great with him whenever we came to see you.”

“Right, whenever you brought him to prison, I was great with him. Well, if that isn’t a glowing endorsement, I don’t know what is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Remus said earnestly. “You’re out now. Fully immersed in the madness.”

“That reminds me. While he’s distracted,” Sirius said, turning with an eager smile to Remus, “what was the story you mentioned earlier?”

It took Remus a moment to remember what Sirius meant. “Oh, okay, so you know how he loves cats?”

“Now that you mention it, yes, I did notice,” Sirius said, nodding with mock solemnity. Pawpaw was currently—and perpetually—hiding from Harry.

“Well, I woke up one morning to this high-pitched noise,” Remus lowered his voice, “and I couldn’t figure out what it was. I don’t use an alarm clock, I never need to—”

“Right, because of Harry,” Sirius said, nodding.

“Yes,” Remus said, “and I looked around, but Harry wasn’t there, he was still in his room. And then,” he added, grinning in anticipation of how Sirius would react, “I realised the sound was cats.”

“Cats?”

“Cats,” Remus repeated, nodding. “He summoned every cat in the castle.”

Sirius had never looked so horrified, and Remus laughed gleefully at his gasp of, “Not really!”

“He did! I didn’t even know there was magic that could do that kind of thing! I mean, to summon every cat at Hogwarts! Even Mrs. Norris!”

Sirius was now in peals of laughter, holding onto Remus’s arm with one hand. However well-intentioned Remus had been with his wish to keep Harry from overhearing this story, Harry couldn’t ignore the laughter. He soon abandoned his bike and ran up to claim his share of the conversation, holding his arms up to Remus and saying, “Daddy, up!”

Remus scooped Harry up while Sirius got himself together, then said, “Hagrid had to come and perform some creature-repelling counter spell, in lieu of Harry reversing it himself, which he refused to do.”

“Refused!” Sirius wiped his eye, then reached for Harry, who threw himself across to his godfather with a resplendent smile. He loved playing favourites between them. “I’m sure he didn’t know how!”

“Dumbledore said it would require him to simply think very hard about how much he wanted them to go back to their own beds.”

Sirius was still quaking with laughter, and Harry soon joined him. Remus’s heart ached with how perfect it sounded to hear them both laughing, together. It was almost too much.

“Dumbledore was there, too?” Sirius managed to say. “Oh, little Prongs, you’d give your first dad a run for his money, do you know that?”

“My first daddy loved cats?” Harry sounded much too pleased with the idea of that.

“No,” Sirius replied, laughter tapering off at last. “No, but he loved mischief.”

“He loved to laugh,” Remus corrected, not wanting Harry to aspire to be like the Marauders—or, at least, not to think about it yet. “Just like you and me, right?”

“I want my cat book,” Harry replied, already bored with them—which was usual, more or less.

“Okay,” Sirius set Harry down, and Harry marched off to the enchanted bookshelf, which could usually produce the book Harry wanted if he thought about it on the approach. It was from a specialty magical furniture store, and Remus didn’t even want to know how much Sirius must have spent on it.

“Shall we leave him to it?” Sirius asked, turning to Remus when the noisy meowing started.

“Good idea.” Remus led the way to the main room, hopeful that Sirius would join him on the same sofa, rather than taking the armchair across the room.

But instead, Sirius did neither. He went straight to the table, summoned a piece of parchment and quill, and began to scribble a quick note.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing to a friend, before I forget,” Sirius said absently. He looked rather cross all of a sudden, and Remus was reminded of those days not too long ago when Sirius’s mood could flip at the drop of a hat.

“Anybody I know?” Remus asked when further explanations were not forthcoming.

“No,” Sirius said, “I don’t believe so. Well, maybe.” He looked up. “Delphia Bulstrode.”

“I’ve heard the name Bulstrode…”

“Yes, you would,” Sirius replied. “They’re in the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“Ah, yes,” Remus turned towards the fire. “Your elite club.”

Sirius huffed. “Right, my club.”

“Any particular reason for you to write to Delphia?”

“Yes,” Sirius paused at the doorway to the extra rooms, hand on the frame. “She works at the Ministry, and I spoke to her there last week. Old family friend.”

“Okay.”

“And, since my boyfriend—or, sorry, ‘dating friend’ person, whatever, won’t come to the gala with me, I am forced to beg her to accompany me.”

He sounded partly facetious, partly serious, and Remus knew his feelings were hurt. He still thought maybe he might like to go to the gala after all, but he wasn’t going to admit it when Sirius was being all pouty like this. So instead, he tried to sound casual as he asked, “You think she’ll be available on such short notice?”

“I’m sure she will,” he replied. “I mentioned to her that I wasn’t sure my date could make it, and she said she would be happy to stand in in a pinch. So,” he patted the rolled-up parchment in his hand, “I’ll invite her. See what she says.”

“Are you going to the owlery now?” Remus asked.

“No, Harry and I got an owl last Saturday while you were working, didn’t I tell you?” Sirius disappeared through the door, and Remus stood up to follow him. Harry did, too, when he realised where they were going. They all paraded into the bedroom—Remus’s own former bedroom—and watched as Sirius opened the cage of an elegant brown owl, tied the parchment to its leg, and carried it out of the room on his arm.

Harry was on his very best behaviour, holding his hands behind his back as if they might fly up of their own accord if he released them, and biting his lip as he bounced from foot to foot.

“Okay, Harry,” Sirius said, in that gentle voice he reserved just for him, “come on, then, nice and slow.”

Harry walked up, took a deep breath, and—

“No hooting,” Sirius reminded him.

Harry nodded, released the breath, and touched the owl’s feathers. “I love you,” he breathed softly.

It was a miracle that neither Sirius nor Remus laughed; one glance at each other was all it took to prove to Remus that they were both on the verge of hysterics.

“That’s enough for now, love,” Sirius said, and Harry stepped back obediently, positively beaming when Sirius added, “Well done. Hooty likes you.”

After Sirius opened the window and locked it again, Harry stood up on the armchair to watch him fly away, growing smaller and smaller on the horizon.

“Hooty?” Remus said softly, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Sirius.

“I let Harry name him,” Sirius replied, without so much as a trace of shame.

Remus grinned. “Hooty.”

“Because he’s an owl,” he said, nodding. “I thought it was a fine name. Better than ‘bird,’ which was his first idea.”

Remus snorted. “You didn’t want to call him ‘bird,’ really?”

“I thought it might get confusing if I started calling him that. How would all the other birds know I wasn’t talking to them?”

“Sure, yeah, makes perfect sense.”

They grinned at each other. Remus wasn’t sure he’d smiled this much in recent memory; his face hurt a bit from all of it. Having Sirius out of Azkaban made him so, so happy—and it made Harry happy, too. In fact, Remus was so stupidly, overwhelmingly grateful that, had Sirius asked him just one more time to the gala, in that moment, he would have gladly accepted him.

But, unfortunately, he did not. He’d asked someone else, and barely an hour later, Hooty had returned with her answer.

“Excellent,” Sirius said, rolling up the parchment and rising to walk Hooty back to his cage.

“Your friend can go to the gala?”

“Yes.”

Remus hadn’t been quite sure how he’d felt about the idea when Sirius sent out the parchment, but now that the reply had come, he felt incredibly uncomfortable with the thought. Even though it was his own fault that Sirius was bringing someone else, he still hated it. “What was her name again?”

“Hang on,” Sirius called. He’d already disappeared through the door, and soon Remus could hear Harry—who’d gone back to the playroom—hooting and cawing after the owl.

When Sirius returned, he sat beside Remus on the sofa and said, “Her name is Delphia.”

“That’s right. Dephia Bulstrode.”

“She’s nice,” Sirius offered, looking closely at Remus. “She has a niece who’s just about Harry’s age, actually. Her older brother’s daughter.”

“Oh, really?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, we talked about kids for a bit. She says she wants to get married and have a few of her own.”

“Trying to make me jealous?” Remus said, before he could think better of it. It didn’t come off as petty; he was sure he sounded perfectly light and teasing when he said it.

But Sirius’s eyes flashed a little—just the smallest twinge of sadness—before he smiled back and said, “As if I could.”

“You could,” Remus answered. They grew quiet for a moment.

“Want me to cancel on her?” Sirius asked, all at once, sounding so eager that Remus’s heart ached and ached.

“No, of course not,” Remus turned, apologetic and chagrined, and put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, which was stretched out on the sofa behind him. “Sorry. I already said I didn’t want to go, and if you have to bring someone, it might as well be her, if you like her.”

“I’m not interested in her,” Sirius reminded him, with a little smile. 

“I know."

Remus tried not to get too hopeful. The notion that Sirius might never recover his old memories occurred to Remus more and more often lately, and with it, there was a dissonant sort of peace. Maybe he could never reconcile with the old Sirius, but it almost felt like there were two different versions of him, now. Just as Remus was part man and part wolf, Sirius was part the past and part the present. He’d changed—Azkaban had changed him, and losing James and Lily had changed him. These changes might have happened even if he’d kept his memories. They might have gotten past their differences; the old Sirius might have fallen back in love with him, too.

At least, Remus thought so. And he couldn’t stop the hope that rose, uncontrollably, every time Sirius looked at him like that—every time he could see the words ‘I love you’ forming behind his eyes, withheld only because Remus had told him he didn’t want to hear it.

But he did want to hear it. The truth was, he wanted everything.

Remus might have moved first, or it might have been Sirius; it might have been both of them, at exactly the same moment. Then, they were kissing—Sirius’s arms around Remus’s shoulders, Remus’s hands in Sirius’s hair. And even if it destroyed him, Remus knew that he couldn’t resist this. His heart was still ragged and aching, but it bore up, foolish thing, and poured itself into Sirius’s mouth, diving deep, surrendering everything. His heart raced, skin electric wherever Sirius touched him, and he was lost and found at the same time—everywhere and nowhere, terrified and certain, shattered and whole.

He was dangerously close to losing himself, with Sirius's fingers slipping into his waistband, when he remembered all at once that Harry was in the next room. “Okay,” Remus breathed. He tore his hands away reluctantly, then walked, trembling, over to the window. He paced slowly, flattening his hair. Bad idea, bad idea. “Okay.”

“Right, shouldn’t do that,” Sirius said breathily, on a laugh. He wiped his mouth and looked up at Remus with eyes very dark, filled with that old, familiar mischief.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Remus smiled.

“Mm. Okay.”

“Think about something else,” Remus added, talking to himself as much as to Sirius.

“Good idea. Oh, I know! Tell me about Harry summoning all those cats again.”

They laughed, but Remus still felt shaky. He didn’t have a shred of self-preservation instincts in his entire body, did he? He was letting himself trust someone who’d obliterated that trust the last time he’d given it to him. This wasn’t a good decision.

But it was already too late. Remus knew the tell-tale signs of it: the buoying joy, the anticipation and desire and helpless longing. Regardless of what Remus’s head wanted, his heart had already made up its mind. One look at Sirius's smile, and he was a goner. He was sure he would live to regret this, but all his stupid heart could do was fall, fall, fall.

Chapter Text

22 March 1983

“You ready to see your dad?” Sirius asked Harry as he bundled him up in his warmest jumper. It was a bit cooler in Scotland than in London, and though they wouldn’t be going outdoors, Sirius felt as if any excursion involving a toddler ought to feature the kind of wardrobe that would be appropriate for all seasons and situations: removeable layers and stainproof when possible.

“I have two dads,” Harry corrected, with all his soon-to-be-three-year-old smugness.

Sirius hesitated, unsure how to answer. Harry had asked Sirius whether he was also his dad a few days ago, after Sirius had allowed him to eat ice cream for supper. (Sure, he was trying to buy his affections, but Remus had had a fourteen-month head start, so Sirius had to do something.)

Sirius had said, “Well. In a manner of speaking. I’m your godfather, and your dad and I are raising you together. Your first dad, though, also counts, so I suppose technically speaking you have several, any way you slice it—”

“Are you my daddy,” Harry’d interrupted, adorable and covered in sticky chocolate sauce, “or my Paddy?”

“Ah, yes, um, Paddy. Sure,” Sirius fumbled, wishing he could consult Remus on the rules of the situation, as it were. They hadn’t seen Remus all week, in fact. Though Sirius had expected them to resume their schedule of evenings together after Harry went to bed, Remus had ignored Sirius’s messages every time he’d sent them, and after Wednesday night, Sirius had given up.

And Sirius had a theory about why, but he’d learned the hard way what happened when you made assumptions. He would give Remus the benefit of the doubt; as a first-year teacher, he was quite busy, and he was on his first break from parenting since adopting Harry a year and a half ago. Those had to be good enough excuses, and Sirius was happy to support him however he could. Remus wasn’t necessarily avoiding Sirius on purpose.

Zipping the jumper, Sirius stuck with the old line he’d come up with earlier that week. “You have a daddy and a Paddy, and we both love you very much.” There. Perfectly true, and not overstepping. Hopefully Remus would be fine with that.

“If I were a manny-magus,” Harry said thoughtfully, already onto his next idea, per usual, “would I be a cat?”

“You know, I think you probably would, but you don’t actually get to choose,” Sirius replied, ruffling Harry’s already messy hair. “It’s supposed to reflect your character. You might be a stag, like your dad—brave and noble. My animagus form is a dog, I suppose because I’m loyal and friendly. And charming, of course.”

Harry nodded as if this was all very interesting and indisputably true. He made a great audience, when he wasn’t throwing a tantrum—all rapt attention and gullibility.

“You might be an owl,” Sirius added, “since you’re so clever. Plus, you can fly so fast.”

“I’m a cheetah! RAWR!” Harry pounced on Sirius, who was just kneeling to tie on Harry’s shoes. Sirius hadn’t expected it, and they tumbled to the floor in a heap, which had Harry laughing so hard, he caught the hiccoughs.

“Oh, that’s rotten luck,” Sirius said, rubbing his back. “Want a cup of warm milk before we go?”

Harry nodded, pouting adorably, and followed Sirius to the kitchen. Nature versus nurture was really something; Harry looked so much like James that sometimes Sirius slipped and actually called him that, but his behaviours and mannerisms were all Remus, right down to that pouty look that Sirius was such a sucker for.

They stepped around the remains of a broken vase on their way to the refrigerator, and Sirius reminded himself that there was a potted plant in the bathroom that had been similarly afflicted and would need cleaning up. It had been bound to happen, so Sirius wasn’t too fussed about it. Remus had been right, as usual; he absolutely should not have chosen the décor he had. After a week with Harry, everything nice was stained, everything fragile was ruined, and everything he’d loved was sacrificed to his greater love for Harry, who could break something as soon as he looked at it.

Sirius considered starting the cleaning and mending spells now, but then he remembered that underestimating Harry’s ability to make a mess was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place, and he wouldn’t get out of it by making the same mistake twice.

“I have two bedrooms,” Harry said, as Sirius handed him a little plastic mug filled with milk and honey.

“You do,” Sirius said, “and two homes, and two parents who love you very, very much.”

“I want three bedrooms.”

Sirius smiled. “Why do you need three?”

“For more beds!”

“Hm. Well, two is probably plenty.”

Harry shook his head. “No. I want…fifty bedrooms!”

“Fifty, wow,” Sirius raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you knew that number already. Fifty is quite a lot, Harry, are you sure—”

“I want one hundred bedrooms and one thousand beds!”

“That’s a bit excessive,” Sirius said, stroking his chin as if he was really thinking it over, and Harry giggled.

“I will have ALL the bedrooms!”

Sirius rolled his eyes fondly and checked the clock. Nearly eight; Remus would be expecting them. If Harry was this slaphappy, then he was definitely tired enough for bed, at least. They’d get him right down, and then, they could finally talk—about the gala, and the Daily Prophet, and the fact that Remus had cancelled all their plans together for the week, ignored all Sirius’s owls and Floo calls, and used every other method imaginable to push Sirius away.

“All done?” Sirius asked when Harry’s sipping turned to slurping, milk dribbling down his chin—and hiccoughs, happily, disappeared.

“Yeah,” Harry gave Sirius a sleepy grin, and Sirius picked him up and walked carefully over all the detritus of the living room to reach the fireplace, tossing Harry’s little travel bag over his shoulder.

“Here we go,” he said, stepping into the Floo. “Hogwarts castle,” he pronounced. The Floo was only connected to Remus’s office, so there wasn’t any risk of winding up somewhere else. They stepped out a moment later to find Remus’s office neater and tidier than Sirius had ever seen it. There wasn’t a single toy anywhere, not a pillow or throw blanket out of place, nor a book left open, nor a stray shoe or jumper. Everything was as it should be—and, at the table with three stacks of parchments, clearly divided by some sort of system—sat Remus.

“Daddy!” Harry cried. “I’m a cheetah!” He squirmed out of Sirius’s arms and ran directly to Remus, who caught him, grinning like mad, and kissed Harry’s hair.

“Oh, I missed you,” he whispered, then held Harry back and grinned at him. “You’ve grown, haven’t you?”

Harry nodded earnestly. “Paddy gave me lots of food to make me big!”

Sirius had indeed implemented an interesting new method of persuading Harry to eat his fruits and vegetables, involving claiming supernatural abilities could be gained by eating certain foods. With magic, he could even make a convincing lie of it.

Remus smiled (rather coolly, Sirius thought) at Sirius and said, “Well, clearly it worked. Shall we get you ready for bed, Harry? I wouldn’t want to ruin your schedule.”

“His pyjamas are on under the jumper,” Sirius said.

“Oh, really? Thanks,” Remus’s smile had faded, and he was back to looking at Harry, helping him out of his shoes. “I suppose we’ll get off to bed, then.”

Sirius nodded. “Can I help?”

“No, no, you’ve done plenty. We’ll see you on Friday.”

Remus didn’t look at Sirius while he said it; he bundled Harry in his arms and walked him straight back into his room—not even giving Sirius a chance to say goodnight to him!

Sirius stood afterwards in the dimly lit office, listening to the quiet crackling of the fire. Was that—a dismissal? Did Remus expect him to just leave now?

Well. Tough luck, if that was the case. Sirius walked over to the sofa nearest the fire—the one he and Remus often used, when they were together—and made himself comfortable. He loved this office of Remus’s—the way every wall and shelf and surface seemed to reflect so much of Moony, his personality and preferences. He’d missed it more than he’d realised this week, with Remus completely ignoring him, and Harry overwhelming Sirius’s own space with chaos and destruction. He had to admit, Remus did seem to be a bit better at this whole parenting thing than Sirius was. There were a few vases in this very room, for example, and not a single one was broken.

Sirius waited a long time, gazing into the fire. Remus was dawdling; Sirius knew after a week with Harry that bedtime did not take a full hour, even if they hadn’t seen each other in a week. And besides, that distance had been Remus’s fault. He could have come over any of the times he’d been invited, and he hadn’t. That was his own choice.

When he finally stepped out of Harry’s room, Remus looked startled to see Sirius sitting there. “Oh. Haven’t you gone?”

“No,” Sirius said, redundantly.

“I have a lot of papers left to mark,” Remus replied, “so I hate to be rude, but—”

“Oh, I think we both know you don’t hate it all that much,” Sirius said. He’d meant it to be teasing, but the words sounded sharp, even to his own ear.

Remus sighed. “What do you want, Sirius?”

“To talk to you,” he said. As if that hadn’t been obvious.

“What about?” Remus folded his arms.

Might as well start easy. Sirius knew from experience that pushing Remus never got him anywhere. “Don’t you want to know how our week went?”

Remus sighed as if this was the most tedious idea in the world. “I suppose, if you make it quick.”

“We had a nice time,” Sirius replied, choosing with great self-control to rise above Remus’s attitude. “We spent a lot of time cooking together. I got him a little enchanted kitchen for his playroom, and I think he’s got a knack—”

“I really wish you wouldn’t spend so much money on him,” Remus said, sighing again.

Sirius paused. He had worried about that, a bit, but he just loved Harry so much, and he was so sorry about James, and if he couldn’t do something to make up for it all, he felt like he’d burst.

“I know, it was a bit much,” he said, “and I did think about asking what you thought, but you didn’t answer my messages, so.” He shrugged. “I had to decide on my own.”

Remus sighed yet again, and Sirius decided to change tactics.

“Why don’t we skip the chit chat,” Sirius said, “and talk about what’s really wrong.”

“What’s really wrong?” Remus gave him a fake smile, and Sirius counted to ten in his head before going on. He’d forgotten how bloody infuriating Remus could be when he was holding a grudge.

“The article in the Daily Prophet Monday?”

“Oh, you mean the one with all the photographs of you and your date at the gala? You did look rather cosy together, but—”

“We had to dance together, Remus, that was the whole point of the evening—”

“And laughing, too. Like you were having the best time in the world.”

“Generally speaking, when someone’s picture is being taken, they do tend to smile.”

“It wasn’t a fake smile. They’re living photographs, Sirius, so it was easy to tell.”

“No,” Sirius said, “it wasn’t fake. I was having fun with her. Not as much fun as I would have had with you, but after you declined my invitation for the fiftieth time—”

“You didn’t have to bring a date. I know you don’t care about impressing your boss that much.”

“I wanted to bring her,” Sirius admitted, holding out his arms as if to say, ‘Come and get me, then.’ If they were going to fight, may as well make it a good one.

“Excuse me?” Remus’s affronted look was equal parts adorable and obnoxious. Sirius could have kissed that look right off his face.

He turned towards the fireplace. “She’s an old friend, like I told you.”

“You didn’t mention how pretty she was.”

That made Sirius laugh, incredulous, and turn back to him. “Well, considering I’m gay, I didn’t think it was relevant, Remus.”

Remus stared at him for another moment, and then he laughed, too. His cheeks turned a little pink, and he sighed again, for the millionth time.

“The article had some interesting bits, too,” he said, but most of the fight had gone from his voice—and didn’t that just take half the fun out of it?

“Everything printed in the Daily Prophet is rubbish, you know that,” Sirius replied, folding his arms. Now that he finally had Remus talking to him, he didn’t have a problem with letting him see how annoyed he was—that Remus wasn’t the only one in the room holding a grudge.

“Of course, I know that,” Remus said. “All the quotes were made up, and so was the headline. You wouldn’t have gotten engaged without telling me.”

Sirius barked a laugh. Was that what Remus was upset about? Nobody in their right mind had believed it!

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Sirius said. “Not to mention, the only possible scenario in which I can imagine getting engaged, you would quite literally be the first to know.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Fine,” Sirius snapped, looking towards the fire again. It really was one step forward and three steps back with Remus, wasn’t it?

“Sorry,” Remus said quietly, after a moment or two of silence.

“What for?” Sirius didn’t look at him. He heard footfalls; Remus took a few steps closer.

“Being jealous,” he said. “Acting stupid.”

Sirius sighed. “I suppose that sums it up rather efficiently.”

Remus reached out; one hand gripped Sirius’s arm, but Sirius didn’t relent. “I don’t really have to mark papers. I’m a bit ahead. If you want to stay…”

“No,” Sirius said, “I don’t think I should, actually.”

Remus's face fell so dramatically that Sirius felt immediately guilty, which wasn't fair, because Remus was the one who'd put this distance between them in the first place. "Right," he said. "We're broken up, after all. Have been for a while.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sirius replied, too sharply. He regretted it when he saw Remus’s eyes brighten. Damn it, what was the matter with him? “No, look.” He finally let his arms fall to his sides, turning to look Remus in the eye. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to spend all week doing everything you can to push me away, and then act surprised that it worked. That isn’t fair.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said.

Sirius watched him warily, but Remus really did look sincere, and all Sirius's anger faded away, like it had never been. He sighed, then pulled Remus into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said again, burrowing his face into Sirius's neck. “Godric, you must think I’m such an idiot.”

“No…”

“Yes. I am one.”

“You’re the smartest person I know. Well, among the smartest.”

Remus snorted, sounding muffled but cautiously pleased. “You are such an ass.”

“Yes. I always was. You still liked me, for some reason.”

Remus pulled back, still looking sorrowful. “I don’t mean to—jerk you around like this. I really don’t.”

“No?” Sirius still felt a bit tender, and confused, too, like Remus was a hornet that had stung before and could sting again, but was fluttering gentle as a butterfly in the meantime.

“No. I’m just…I know you don’t remember what happened between us, and I feel stupid having to describe it all to you, because you were there, but you weren’t there, and—and I don't know how to make you understand how bad it was.”

Sirius's heart twisted miserably, and he reached out to rub Remus’s shoulder. It always came back to this, didn’t it? Their alleged break-up. How badly he’d hurt Remus, in some alternate world that seemed too terrible to be true. His hand slipped higher, to Remus’s neck, working out the knots there. Remus sighed, ducking his head. “Was it awful?” Sirius asked.

“Yes,” Remus said, still with face lowered. Sirius wished he could look into his eyes.

“Too awful to talk about?”

“Yes.”

Sirius raised his other hand, too, and massaged Remus’s shoulders, firm and steady. Remus sighed and let his forehead fall to Sirius’s shoulder. After they’d been quiet for a few minutes, Sirius began to have an idea. It might have been an awful one, and he might really regret it, but…Well. Maybe it would help. At least, it would help Remus, and that was worth any price.

“Moony?” he said tentatively.

Remus raised his head, finally looking relaxed. He seemed sleepy, too, and it was all Sirius could do not to kiss him. “Hm?”

“I have an idea, but it might be mad…”

“Your ideas are always mad, Padfoot,” he replied.

“Thank you for that vote of confidence.”

“What’s the idea?” Remus smiled. He was the sweetest thing in the world.

“Well. When we were in Ireland, you gave Professor Okafor the memory of the day we broke up, and she was going to watch it and analyse it.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Sirius shrugged, smiling nervously. “Dumbledore has a pensieve. Why not—why not give me the memory, too?”

“Oh,” Remus shook his head even before Sirius was finished speaking. “I really don’t know about that…”

“Why not? I mean, okay, I know why not, but first, just think about why it could be a good idea.”

“It is an awful idea,” Remus replied. All the tension Sirius had worked away returned to Remus’s shoulders, and he turned towards the sofa and started pacing.

“You keep telling me how bad it was, and how much it changed things, but if you’re the only one who knows what happened—”

“Watching it won’t make you remember, though,” Remus protested, “it would only confuse you, and I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

“But think about how hard it is for you,” Sirius protested. “You keep saying I don’t understand. Well, let me understand. Show me what happened, so I can at least have the same frame of reference.”

“Frame of reference—Sirius, this isn’t a debate! We aren’t—writing an analysis, or something! It’s our lives! You were—so cold that night, if you could see it—”

“Let me see it,” Sirius said. He felt cold now, too—like all the blood had rushed out of his body.

“It’s embarrassing,” Remus said finally, with eyes wary, still standing across the room. “I was so blindsided, just—” he shook his head, “truly, I had no idea it was coming, and—and I don’t think I even said two words afterwards, I just stood there like I was in shock.” He sniffed. “I was in shock. I never dreamed you would…”

“Let me see,” Sirius repeated, walking closer to him, aching, aching. “Please. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“No, you aren’t, you don’t even remember.”

“I’m still sorry.” He tugged Remus into his arms. He came, very reluctantly, and he didn’t hug Sirius back. “Honestly, Moony, it can only help. Maybe it’ll trigger something for me, some memory. Or maybe you’ll remember things differently, when you see it,” he added, still holding out the tiniest sliver of hope that it had all been a misunderstanding. That, after they saw it, Moony would be his again.

“Wait, you want me to watch it, too?” Remus pulled away.

“Well,” Sirius blinked, “I thought so, yeah. If we’re trying to work through it.”

“I don’t need to work through it,” Remus said, throwing up his hands. “It’s fine. I can learn to—to move on.”

Sirius sighed. “Remus.”

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“No,” he said quietly, “and I think you’d wind up resenting me forever, if I let you try.”

Remus huffed. “You make me sound completely irrational.”

“Well. First of all, that wouldn't be irrational. And second of all, while we're on the subject." He smirked. "You’re the one who ignored me for a week over a few outrageous claims in the Daily Prophet.”

Remus looked mildly chagrined, but he smiled ruefully and said, “And photographs, too.”

Sirius laughed softly. “My point still stands, Remus.”

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could remember how much you hate me,” Remus said. The answer was ready so quickly, so certainly, that Sirius was completely taken aback. He stared, unsure if Remus was joking. It was a terrible joke, if so. But his eyes were clear and sad, and his face was very serious.

"I have never hated you for a single moment, Remus, I swear.”

“If you saw the memory, you’d see,” he answered softly. “You’d never looked at me like that before.”

Sirius couldn’t answer; his throat went dry, and for the first time, he felt afraid of the past he’d forgotten.

With eyes fixed on a place on the floor a few feet away, Remus said, “Something happened to make you think…that I was more werewolf than wizard.” The words sounded well practiced, and Sirius ached to think how often Remus must have repeated them to himself—ashamed of them, the way he always was about his lycanthropy. Convinced Sirius must be ashamed, too. “And you looked at me like…like you were really seeing me for the first time.”

“I don’t think you’re more wolf than wizard,” Sirius said. He felt like he was in some bizarre alternate universe, and everything was mad, and nothing made any sense.

“You don’t think it now,” Remus said quietly, “because you’ve forgotten whatever it was that made you think it then. And when you finally remember—”

“No,” Sirius said firmly. He crossed the room, taking Remus’s shoulders in his hands, looking straight into his eyes. “No, Remus, there’s nothing that could ever make me stop loving you. Do you understand? Nothing at all.”

“But you did,” Remus replied. He was looking away, voice shaky.

“Did I say that? The night we broke up? I said I didn’t love you?” 

Remus frowned. “No,” he said reluctantly, “but I could tell.”

“Or, you only thought you could,” Sirius said. “Or you’re remembering it wrong. Maybe, if you watch it again—”

“I don’t want to relive it! Sirius, that was the worst day of my life! And considering everything I’ve lived through, everything I’ve lost, that’s really saying something!”

Remus tried to pull away, but Sirius wouldn’t let him. He held him more firmly, taking his face in his hands.

“I’ll tell you everything I remember, okay? Everything I know. And then you'll see what I mean."

Remus finally met his eyes, but he didn’t reply.

“I remember that I was trying to convince James to be careful what he told you.”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said. “I know I was worried about you, and I thought you were behaving erratically, but I really don’t remember why.”

Remus frowned and folded his arms, but he still didn’t pull away, which Sirius took as a good sign, all things considered. “Fine.”

“I remember Harry’s birthday,” Sirius said. “It was one of the only times I can remember seeing you in the summer.”

“Right, well, we’d broken up,” Remus replied tiredly.

“I was trying to get you alone,” Sirius said, “and I remember thinking you looked really good. You had new jeans on.”

Remus’s eyebrows raised at that, just for a moment, before the indifferent façade was back. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“Oh, I definitely noticed,” Sirius said.

Remus elbowed him. “Don’t flirt.”

“Right, sorry.”

“What else?” He looked nervous, but the fact that he’d asked to hear more was a very good sign.

“The cake was strawberry, and you had two helpings. You left the room when I started telling the story about the night Harry was born, and you left again when he was using his toy broom, and you left again when I was talking to James, and he called you over. You were avoiding me, and I was following you around like a lost puppy, and in the memory, I loved you, Remus.”

Remus's eyes flickered, but he didn’t say a word.

“And—and I loved you in Azkaban.”

“Okay,” Remus’s tone shifted, “you definitely didn’t.”

“I did!”

“I was there, too, and I know—”

“I was miserable,” Sirius interrupted, “because I kept snapping at you. The dementors were making my mood just—just horrible, all the time. And the only bright spot was you, but I was so embarrassed for you to see me like that, and I remember thinking, ‘If he hasn’t already stopped loving me, he will soon, seeing me like this.’”

Remus exhaled shakily, and guilt rose up in Sirius’s throat.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Sirius said, leaning close to Remus again—pressing their foreheads together. “But Moony—I could forget everything, I could forget my own name, and I could never forget that I love you.”

Remus’s shoulders were shaking, but he didn’t move or say a word. He didn’t pull away.

“Do you want to fix this?” Sirius asked at last. It was the question he was most afraid to know the answer to—but he was asking Remus to face his fears, and it wasn’t fair to expect him to do that alone.

Remus opened his eyes, frowning. Sirius’s heart pounded. But then, he said, clear as anything, “If it’s fixable, I want to fix it.”

Sirius drew in a shaky breath and tried to smile. ‘If it’s fixable…’ Godric, what if it wasn’t?

They reached for each other at the same moment, kissing desperately, until a little nervous laugh bubbled out of Remus’s mouth, and he pulled away, wiping his lips. “Merlin…”

“It has to work out,” Sirius whispered, taking Remus’s shoulders in his hands. “We can’t both want it this much and still not be able to make it work.”

“Unless whatever happened that you forgot was really awful,” Remus said, for what felt like the one millionth time. He didn’t even sound like he believed it anymore, though.

Sirius said, “Did you do something awful?”

“No,” Remus shook a little—possibly a laugh. “I didn’t.”

“Well, then.”

“Maybe you were under the Imperious curse,” Remus suggested—a glimmer of his usual playfulness, making Sirius's heart balloon with hope.

"I thought that, myself,” he said, grinning when Remus leaned back to get a better look at him. “That day in Azkaban, after you told me. And then those couple weeks we weren’t talking. I was sure it must have been an Imperious. What else could it be? But I asked Dumbledore, and he said I had my own mind.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Remus snorted. “I can’t believe you wrote to him about us.”

“I was desperate,” Sirius said, remembering those days all too well—the miserable longing he felt, the regret with no crime to attach it to, the love without an object to receive it.

“I’m sorry,” Remus started to say, but Sirius squeezed him close again.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I’m the one who ended things. Apparently. I’m the one who hurt you, not the other way around. And I want to make it right.”

Remus sighed and held Sirius more tightly. “Promise you’ll feel the same way after?”

Sirius wanted to whoop with victory, but he wisely withheld it. He leaned back and looked into Remus’s eyes. “Yes, I promise,” he said. “I love you now, and I loved you then, and I’ll love you as long as you’ll have me.”

Remus held his gaze bravely, not wavering for a moment. Sirius felt like his soul was being searched, and he held his breath, hoping Remus approved of whatever he found there.

“Okay,” Remus said at last, almost smiling. “I’ll have Hagrid come and watch Harry.”

“What, right now?”

He nodded. “Dumbledore’s away on some sort of secret business this week, but I know the password to get into his office. We’ll go look at the pensieve.”

“No time like the present,” Sirius muttered. Now that this was really happening, his heart and mind were racing, second and third and even fourth thoughts piling on top of themselves, competing for purchase in his storm-addled brain.

“Before we lose our nerve,” Remus replied, still sounding shaky. But he smiled, and when Sirius leaned in to kiss him, he allowed it.

Hagrid was all too happy to help—“Oh, ho—but he’s sleeping? I wanted to play with tha little tyke!”

“It’s after nine, unfortunately,” Remus replied with a friendly smile. “We won’t be too long. Just a quick errand.”

“I really appreciate this,” Sirius added, trying to match Remus’s casual tone. He knew Remus and Hagrid had gotten close—closer than Sirius and Hagrid had ever been—and Sirius had felt awkward around him ever since Tuesday, when Hagrid had come to the flat to babysit Harry, and Sirius had committed the egregious faux pas of trying to pay him for his services.

“Anything for you three,” Hagrid said, with such easy sincerity that Sirius felt ashamed of himself.

They walked the corridor together, and Sirius dared to take Remus’s hand. That, too, he allowed, with a cheeky smile and the word, “Flirt.”

Sirius laughed. “I’m nervous,” he admitted, as they approached the Headmaster’s tower.

“Don’t be,” Remus said. “I’m the one who should be nervous. Getting dumped all over again.”

Sirius’s heart ached. “I take it back. Okay? Whatever we’re about to see, I completely and wholeheartedly revoke.”

Remus tutted, smiling despite himself as they approached the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office. “I’m not sure it works that way, but thanks, all the same.”

“What works what way?” Sirius said. “We make the rules, it’s our lives.”

“Sticky bun,” Remus said. The gargoyle stepped aside, revealing the spiral staircase. It had been a long time since Sirius had walked these stairs, but when he did, it was usually with this same boy at his side.

He squeezed Remus’s hand, and smiled when Remus turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Love you,” he said.

Remus sighed, turning away—but not before Sirius could see that he was smiling, too.

They reached the landing, and Remus went to the cupboard with the pensieve, opening it right away and then wasting no time in tapping his forehead with his wand, drawing the memory out like silver thread, then guiding it gracefully into the swirling pool.

“Remus,” Sirius said, touching his arm. “I mean it. I love you. Nothing you show me is going to change that. Okay?”

Remus swallowed, staring at the memory, which was just taking shape in the water—a little yellow house. Moonlight. A stoop with three stairs.

“I love you,” Sirius repeated, urgent, hands on Remus’s elbows. “Do you believe me?”

Remus hesitated just a moment, then leaned down and kissed Sirius, hard, on the mouth. “Yes,” he said. “You promise nothing will change?”

“I promise,” Sirius nodded earnestly.

“Okay.” Remus kissed him again, then tried to smile. He squeezed his hand and turned to the pensieve. “Let’s see it.”

And together, hands still linked, they dove into the past.

Chapter Text

Remus stepped through the fireplace and into a cosy, blue-curtained room. It was empty, except for the red-haired girl seated on the sofa, whose green eyes lit up when she saw him.

“You’re home!” She sprang up, smelling faintly floral and feeling as warm as the summer sunshine in Remus’s arms. “We were all so worried!”

“Sorry,” Remus said. Fondly, he twirled a finger through Lily’s hair, then rested his wrists on her shoulders. She stared up at him, smiling like she didn’t mind being turned into his personal armrest. “I was already there, figured I might as well run the moon with them, too.”

“Dumbledore was worried, though,” Lily said. She stepped backwards, and Remus’s arms fell from her shoulders. She took one of his hands and guided him back to the sofa where she’d been seated, lifting the white throw blanket and tossing it over both their legs. “He said there was supposed to be a migration during the next moon.”

Remus nodded. “There was, but they’ve postponed it. Next month, they said.”

Lily nodded. “I can’t believe they tell you things like that, even though they know you’re one of us!”

Remus shrugged. “It isn’t really like that when I’m with them. It’s hard to explain.” She drew her legs up onto the sofa, and Remus let her drape them over his lap, settling the blanket more evenly. “They don’t feel any loyalty to the wizarding world,” he added, “so they can’t imagine anybody else would.”

“Arrogant of them,” she grinned and poked Remus’s side. “I’m happy you’re home. Sirius was so worried, he was beside himself, but I told him you could take care of yourself, just like you always do.”

Remus smiled. Of all his friends, Lily had the most faith in him. She was the one on Remus’s side when the others tried to pressure him to share too much of what he’d learned with the pack. “I trust him,” she’d always say, as if that closed the issue—and often, it did.

“Is he here?” Remus glanced around the room as if Sirius had been hiding somewhere.

Lily nodded. “Yes. Or, he’s nearby, I should say. I think.” She laughed at Remus’s puzzled smile. “I just mean, he’s with James. They went for a ride.”

“Ah.” Sirius’s motorbike had been a point of contention for them, at first. Remus wasn’t sure why Sirius would choose the most dangerous possible mode of transportation for himself, particularly when he didn’t need any muggle accommodations, at all. Was apparating not good enough for him anymore? But then, Remus had seen him sitting on the thing, wearing his leather jacket, with his dark hair tied back loosely, and his cheeks pink and wind-kissed, and…well. He’d realised it wasn’t all bad.

“They’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” Lily added.

“Harry asleep?”

“Mhm. Went right down tonight, thank goodness. I didn’t even have to use the enchanted music box.”

“I can’t believe James’s parents got you that thing!”

“I know!” Lily giggled. “Apparently, it used to work wonders on him. I don’t know how muggles do it.”

“You could ask your parents,” Remus said, and then he stopped, realising his mistake. “Oh, Lily, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” she said, bucking up admirably. “Don’t worry. It’s better that they’ve had their memories of me erased, it’s—truly, it’s much safer this way.”

“And you can always reverse it,” Remus added.

“Right,” she nodded, but her eyes were still sad, and Remus sighed.

“I’m sorry, Lils,” he said, and he put his arm around her. She smiled and scooted into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” she repeated. “They agreed to it, which means I really have nothing to feel guilty over.”

“I know,” Remus said.

“And Petunia only refused because she doesn’t trust magic—but she’s married, so I don’t think anyone could ever find out we’re related…”

“No, there’s no record of it in the Ministry, according to my sources.”

“Your sources,” she repeated, snorting. “You’re the only person I know with Death Eater friends.”

“Not friends, pack members,” he said, with a gentle tug on the lock of her hair he’d been playing with, “and really, they aren’t loyal to the Death Eaters. They’re mercenaries, if anything.”

“Sirius said something about one of them, though.”

Remus nodded. “Right, Artemis. He was worried about this one werewolf, but I talked to him, and it’s all come to nothing. I’m not in any danger.”

She looked into his eyes for a long moment, then smiled, looking genuinely convinced. “Good. If you aren’t worried, neither will I.”

“Wish I could tell Sirius to do that,” Remus remarked.

Just then, the front door swung open, and James and Sirius stepped inside—both looking windswept and breathless.

“Tell Sirius to do what?” Sirius said, eyes locking with Remus’s.

“Moony!” James barreled towards the sofa, stopping when Lily called out, “Shoes!” and turning around to kick off his boots. Lily had him well-trained, didn’t she? Remus grinned and rose to meet him, and was tackled with a gigantic bear hug. “You’re home!”

“Lily said that, too,” Remus laughed fondly, “but you do both know that I don’t actually live here, right?”

“Oh, tell that to my refrigerator,” Lily said, sticking out her tongue.

Remus laughed, and—as if on cue—his stomach growled.

“Why did you have to go and mention food, hm?” James teased, reaching up to ruffle Remus’s hair. Remus was always ravenous after the full moon, but really, that was nothing. They didn’t have to feed him, especially if they felt put out. He straightened his hair self-consciously, and his eyes fell again on Sirius, who was still hanging back near the door. He probably wanted a little privacy for their reunion—and Remus wouldn’t mind it, either.

Remus looked back at Lily. “You don’t need to feed me, honest, I’m fine—”

“I love to feed you,” Lily answered, rising to her feet with a smile. James and Remus both looked adoringly at her—as her best friend since they were fifteen, Remus was nearly as much of a fool for her as James was—and she kissed them both on the cheek, then was off to the kitchen.

“Every day, I thank my lucky stars,” James said.

“Yes, yes, we know, you still can’t believe she’s in love with you,” Sirius said, grinning and rolling his eyes at James.

“Not that,” James said. “I mean, yes, but—no, I meant I thank my lucky stars Moony here only has eyes for you,” he smirked at Sirius. “Otherwise, I don’t think I’d have ever stood a chance with her.”

Remus groaned and hit James with a pillow, and Sirius laughed, and Lily called from the kitchen, “I heard that, and it’s absolutely right.”

James’s face lit up like that was the funniest thing in the world, and he darted to the kitchen, calling, “You’ll pay for that!”

“We’ll see…”

Their voices faded—a sure sign that James had cast a Muffliato—and Remus turned to Sirius and smiled, shyly. Sirius still hadn’t moved away from the doorway, but the room was empty now; that was convenient.

“I came over after I noticed you weren’t at home,” Remus said, stepping towards him.

Sirius’s smile was fading, and he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Have you been back long?”

“No,” Remus shook his head. “Just about an hour. I took a shower and came straight here. Are we out of shampoo, by the way?”

Sirius raised his eyebrows, looking at a loss.

“The bottle was missing, never mind,” Remus smiled. “I used a spell, so no harm done. Maybe I’ll pop down to the shops before we go home?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Sirius cleared his throat. “Actually, Remus, can we—would you go outside with me for a minute?”

Remus’s grin widened. He thought the empty room was private enough, but if Sirius had other ideas, Remus wouldn’t complain. “Sure,” he said. He wasn’t wearing a coat, but it wasn’t too chilly just now—and anyway, he had Sirius to keep him warm.

They stepped through the door, and Remus’s eyes adjusted to the light of the waning moon. Spring had come early this year, and the air smelled floral. The sun had set, but a light breeze made Remus shiver, so he stepped closer to Sirius on the little stoop. Sirius closed the front door, then he sat down on the top step, and Remus sat beside him without even thinking about it, one leg tucked up so he could face Sirius and scoot close. He was about to lay his head on Sirius’s shoulder when Sirius spoke, and something in his voice made Remus pause.

“I didn’t know you’d be late,” Sirius said. “Did you know?” He wrapped his arms around his knees, glancing over his shoulder at Remus with the posture of a frightened child. His body language was odd, and Remus could tell then that something was definitely wrong. Concerned, he reached out, rubbing Sirius’s back.

After a moment, Remus nodded, studying Sirius’s face. He looked so beautiful in the moonlight—pale and dark-haired, blue eyes gleaming. Noble and angular and exquisite; Remus could have kissed him all night, though he was very tired. “I knew it was a possibility that I’d have to stay an extra day or two,” he said. He smiled, hoping to reassure whatever lingering worry Sirius still felt. “I didn’t mind.”

Sirius sighed and didn’t reply, so Remus reached up higher and massaged his neck.

“Lily mentioned that you were worried,” he said.

Sirius released his knees, sitting up straighter, so that Remus’s arm fell away. He looked into Remus’s eyes for a long moment, then spoke—a careful, tentative offering. “I was. You know, your plans always change at the last minute. You never do quite what you say you’ll do, when it comes to the pack.”

Remus frowned a little and paused, considering that remark. “I don’t always know what I’ll do,” he said at last. “I like to be flexible, especially because I can’t always guarantee their safety if the wrong person catches wind of where I’ve been. And protecting the pack has to be my top priority. You know?”

Sirius took a deep breath, so that his whole upper body moved with it, then let it out—like a balloon deflating. He looked tired, too, and he shook his head. “Not really, Moony, if I’m being honest. They’re werewolves; they can take care of themselves.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, and Sirius quickly backtracked.

“I mean, of course, their safety is important. I just—I think it’s important to remember that there’s a war we’re fighting here, too.”

“Oh, is that what we’re doing? Explains a lot.” Remus grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

It worked, for a little while. Sirius chuckled, then took a deep breath again, as if he was gathering his nerve. He said, “I just mean that…well, I do worry, sometimes. And I wonder if… I don’t know. If maybe you might be able to go on fewer missions with the pack.”

Remus snorted, bumping Sirius’s arm with his elbow. “Try telling Dumbledore that.”

“I have,” Sirius admitted, looking down at his feet.

Remus’s head snapped up at him, and he stared for a moment, shocked. “You’ve done what?” he said at last.

Sirius sighed. “I’ve asked if…maybe somebody else can take the next few missions. Give you a break.”

Remus answered, “No one else can go to the pack, Sirius, it wouldn’t be safe!”

“But it isn’t safe for you, either,” Sirius said. “Now that there’s a Death Eater sympathiser running with the pack—”

“His name is Artemis, for the hundredth time,” Remus said, starting to feel irritated. Sirius was so spoiled, sometimes. He thought he could just make everyone do everything he wanted. Agitated and still drawing power from the moon, he stood up. “And he’s not what you think. To call him a Death Eater sympathiser is unfair. It’s reductive, and—”

“Moony, come on,” Sirius’s tone changed abruptly. “He’s a murderer! He’s actually attacked half-blood families for Voldemort!”

“He was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Remus said firmly. “You haven’t spoken to him, you don’t know what really happened.”

“If I don’t know, it’s only because you haven’t told me!” Sirius stood up, too, and gave Remus a pleading look.

“I can’t tell you the specifics.”

“Why not?”

“Because he wouldn’t be safe if people knew!”

“’If people knew’?” Sirius repeated. “So I’m just ‘people’ now?”

“Well, you aren’t a werewolf,” Remus replied, rolling his eyes. He turned his face up towards the moon, closing his eyes—completely missing the way Sirius recoiled at his words. Eventually, Sirius sat back down on the stoop, resignation in his eyes. A minute later, Remus joined him again, having calmed himself down. He was ready to try to help Sirius understand.

“It’s in his nature to hunt on the full moon,” Remus explained patiently. “Just like it’s in my nature, but that doesn’t mean we want to. And if Voldemort found out where he was running and put his own victims there for Artemis to attack, then what was he supposed to do?”

“Nothing, at that point, obviously,” Sirius said, “but he told his Death Eater contacts where he would be! He gave Voldemort the information he needed to stage an attack; can’t you see how irresponsible that was?”

“He told his pack, at the time, and he didn’t do it in the context of an attack!” Remus protested. He was trying to keep his voice level, but it was impossible to stay calm when Sirius was acting like this.

“He still did it. I mean, aren’t you even a little bit worried that something similar could happen to you?”

“Of course, I am!” Remus said. “You think I don’t know all the horrible things that could happen to me?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Sirius said, throwing his arms to the sides in frustration.

“Well, I do! But I still have to do what’s right!”

“But what is right, in your mind? I honestly don’t even know, anymore, Moony—first with that ambush that went wrong, and now standing up for a murderer—”

“Artemis is not a murderer!” Remus cried sharply. “He didn’t know that would happen! And he does not deserve to be prosecuted by the Ministry, which would almost certainly happen if the Northern pack hadn’t taken him in!”

“So, you’re the arbiter of justice now? And the Ministry just has to do what you say?” Sirius shot back.

“Well, I’m not a Black like you are, so I can’t just pay them to do it!”

Sirius exhaled hard, like Remus had struck him. He didn’t answer; he only stared, with so much anger in his eyes that Remus could be forgiven for missing the hurt that hid just behind it.

After a moment, Remus’s gaze fell. He’d missed Sirius horribly, and he didn’t feel like fighting. He said, quietly, to his feet, “We’re both tired. We ought to go home and get some rest.”

Sirius looked down, too, and started fidgeting with his hands. “I can’t, Remus.”

“Oh, right, Lily’s making us something to eat…”

“No,” Sirius turned, looking into Remus’s eyes. His gaze was cold, suddenly—every bit the heir of the notorious Black family, with anger showing where Remus was used to seeing warmth. Involuntarily, Remus shivered.

“What are you talking about?” Remus tried to smile, though his heart was pounding.

Sirius turned away, facing the dark street—the neighbours’ houses, gleaming in the distance. “I’m not coming home. I moved out.”

“You what?” Remus laughed, because he felt so strange. It was an absurd joke, whatever Sirius was on about.

“I’m staying in an Order safe house. Dumbledore thought it was best, given the situation and all…”

“What are you talking about?” Remus repeated. Was this a dream?

Sirius turned to look at him, and his eyes were unreadable in the shadows. Remus took a deep breath, trying to get his eyes to stop swimming with spots. “It’s over,” Sirius said. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Another burst of nervous energy bubbled up in Remus’s chest, and he laughed again as he said, “So—that’s it? You’re just ending things? That’s the conclusion of this conversation, we had a fight, so you’re just—”

“We aren’t who we used to be anymore!” Sirius interrupted. His eyes were so terribly resigned. “You don’t talk to me, you don’t tell me things, you act like everybody is your enemy, just because I’m not a bloody werewolf—”

Remus shook his head. “It’s a war. There are things I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, and there are also choices,” Sirius said. “You’re making choices when it comes to the pack. Don’t act like you aren’t fully in control of what you do and why you do it.”

“Fine,” Remus said, defensive. “I am. And I’m not sorry.”

“Of course, you aren’t,” Sirius rolled his eyes. “You never are. Godric, it’s like you’re too much and not enough, sometimes. Like, nothing I do can get through to you. But maybe this will.”

Remus’s eyes blurred, and his gaze grew unfocused. That complete bastard! How could he do this? They were happy, they were in love—their life together was all Remus was fighting for, and now Sirius was pulling the plug, just like that?

Fury and shock and sorrow mingled until Remus was numb with it all, and he just wanted it to be over—to go home and curl up in bed. In Sirius’s arms, that is. He just wanted Sirius, and how in the world was it possible that Sirius didn’t want him, too?

It had to be a bad dream. It couldn’t be real.

Dazed, Remus wiped his nose and said, “Fine. Fine, if that’s how you want it. Leave, then.”

Sirius exhaled sharply. If Remus had been looking at him, he would have seen the hurt in his eyes—wide and blinking rapidly, with his jaw set firmly and lips pressed in a tight line. But Remus wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at the moon. He missed it when Sirius sagged with a long, unsteady breath, and took a last, miserable look at Remus. Then, Sirius stood up and slammed his way back into the house, leaving Remus alone in the moonlight.

Remus gasped as he emerged from the pensieve. Dumbledore’s office materialised around him and threw him off-balance, and he staggered back a step or two, reorienting himself in space and time. It was 1983, and he wasn’t in Godric’s Hollow anymore. He was in Scotland, at Hogwarts. The red-haired girl who’d hugged him, whose musical voice had called to him in the memory, had gone somewhere Remus couldn’t follow. He could look at her eyes whenever he liked—all he had to do was look at Harry—but the rest of her? Gone.

And James was gone, too—no more obnoxious jokes, or too-rough hair-rubs, or ridiculously tight hugs. No more laughing until their ribs ached, and hiding pranks around his friends’ houses, and promising everyone that things would be better, one day, after the war, if they could only remember to stick together.

The worst part was, he’d been right—just like he always was. Things had gotten better. But James hadn’t lived to see it.

Remus couldn’t let that thought in. He closed his eyes and tried to forget again; everything was better when he could just bury it all inside him.

Remus focused instead on the warmth of the room, and the feeling of his heartbeat in his chest, and the rhythm of his breaths—until, at last, his agitation began to fade. He felt as if he’d just been arguing with Sirius in the moonlight all over again, and he was shaky and raw from it.

And Sirius. Where could he even begin? There was so much Remus had never noticed about that night. The hurt in Sirius’s eyes was one thing—an important thing, a thing Remus wasn’t quite ready to touch—but what about the ambush he’d mentioned? It was a clue—the next piece to the puzzle. Remus wondered if it meant anything to Sirius, hearing it now. Remus honestly wasn’t sure what ambush he was alluding to, and he wished he’d asked back then. He would have, if he hadn’t been so caught off-guard, so defensive. He’d said horrible things to Sirius, too, hadn’t he? He’d forgotten all about that, too wrapped up in his own hurt to remember that there had been a decent amount of blame to go around.

But now wasn’t the time to get into that, either.

Remus hesitated only a moment before moving closer to Sirius and touching his shoulder. He hadn’t yet moved back from the pensieve; he was standing at its edge, shoulders hunched just as they’d been that long-ago night, hair a thick curtain around his face.

“At least we got to see Lily and James again,” Remus said, to break the ice.

Sirius didn’t reply; his shoulders rose and fell steadily with every breath.

“I think I probably remembered some of that wrong, before,” Remus offered hesitantly.

Sirius still didn’t answer, and Remus wished he would turn, wished he would say something—anything.

“Look, I get it if you’re angry,” he said, with a nervous attempt at a smile, “but you did promise to feel the same way about me afterwards. Remember?”

This time, when Sirius didn’t move, little alarms set off in Remus’s brain. That comment should have at least gotten a laugh, but it was as if Sirius hadn’t heard him, at all. And now that he thought about it, there was something cruelly familiar about the way Sirius’s head was bent forward, and the steady rhythm of his breaths—almost like he was asleep.

“Sirius?” Remus’s voice shook. He grabbed Sirius’s shoulder and shook him, hard. “Sirius!”

Sirius lost his balance. Remus caught him just before he hit the floor, and they both fell to the ground, with Sirius lying over Remus’s lap, eyes open but unseeing, blinking vacantly at nothing.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Remus whispered, brushing Sirius’s hair out of his face in panicked disbelief. This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just one memory, it wasn’t supposed to—do whatever this was! Sirius wasn’t supposed to get lost in his own mind, just from this!

“Come on, come on, wake up,” Remus breathed, rubbing his hands all over Sirius’s chest and neck and shoulders. “Come on, you’re not lost, you’re here, with me. You’re safe, and I'm here, and, and—come on, Sirius!”

Sirius didn’t respond a single bit, and Remus’s panic rose.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. He could hear the paintings muttering, portraits of former headmasters remarking on how unfortunate it was, and how strange, and how these young men shouldn’t really be in here without Dumbledore, anyway, and what did they think would happen?

“Think, Remus, think,” he muttered to himself, squeezing Sirius’s hands just for something to do with his own. After a moment, he decided to lay Sirius flat on the floor, to make him more comfortable. He wondered if he should try to get him back to his own quarters. They certainly couldn’t stay here, in Dumbledore’s office.

“You could try St. Mungo’s,” one of the portraits said.

Remus looked up. That was a good idea, but it gave Remus an even better one. “I’ll bring him to the Magical Institute,” he said, mostly to himself.

The portrait huffed. “What is there in Ireland that you can’t get in England?”

“The Magical Institute,” Remus repeated, inflating with hope. They’d know what to do; they’d have to. They probably saw cases like this all the time. He squeezed Sirius’s hand again. “Okay,” he whispered. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

He cast his patronus with a message for Professor Okafor, then moved Sirius carefully down the corridor using a hasty cocktail of charms to do it with as little risk to Sirius’s safety as possible. Not that he could be called particularly safe at the moment, but…well. They’d recover his mind soon, and there was no sense in getting him all banged up in the meantime.

It was all a blur, after that. Hagrid agreed to stay with Harry overnight—Remus had no idea the time, but it must have been very late. As soon as Okafor’s response came, they were off through the Floo, and by the time Remus and Sirius reached the Institute, Remus had worked his foolish mind back into some semblance of real hope. They were in the best possible place they could be for treatment, with the best possible healers. And the odds weren’t awful that Sirius could be found, were they? Professor Okafor had said many encouraging things last time, so really, this was nothing to worry about, and soon it would all be fine. It had to be. Sirius had survived so much during the war, and afterwards, in Azkaban; he wouldn’t be brought down at last by the mere memory of their breakup! The thought of it was absurd, and Remus wouldn’t consider it for another moment. Everything was going to be just fine.

This blissful illusion lasted only until Professor Okafor had seen Sirius in her office. Then, she sent two patronuses in rapid succession, then turned to Remus and sighed heavily.

“I’ll have to keep him here and attempt to isolate the damage.”

“Isolate the—”

“He’s very panicked,” she explained, already drawing out her wand, with her back turned to Remus. “He retreated deeply into his own memories, and I can’t possibly locate him until he calms down. And even then...”

“What are you talking about? What damage?”

“The memory he viewed triggered a trauma response,” she said. “I expected it would. That’s why it would have been the ideal way to track down his lost memories.”

“The ideal way? How is traumatising him ideal for anything?”

“If I’d been with him, I could have joined him on the journey,” she said, sounding harried. She had Sirius laid out on the sofa in her office, and with a wave of her wand, it had become an exam table like the one Christian used with Remus every full moon. Now, she was wandering around him in circles, casting silent spells.

“Are you—do you mean you would have entered his mind?”

“Yes, I’m a leglimens,” she said, pausing in her work to fix an assessing look at Remus. “Most mind healers are.”

Remus swallowed and looked away. Sirius had said something about that, hadn’t he? Ages ago. Remus hadn’t believed him. Remus had a bad habit of not listening to Sirius, he was beginning to realise.

“I didn’t know this would happen,” Remus said helplessly, staring down at Sirius’s body—which was still infuriatingly still, save for his perfectly even breaths.

She tutted. “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Remus turned to her abruptly. “What?”

“I wrote to tell him the risks,” she replied, “after I assessed the memory. I told him that his emotional response would potentially trigger the revival of all his older memories. I assumed,” she added with a note of irritation, “that he understood that I had to be with him to make the memories discernible.” She tutted again. “I don’t know how I’ll find him now. He won’t be able to see anything his mind is searching for, and he might have gone anywhere in the meantime.”

“But then—how can you help him?” Remus asked.

She sighed and paused again, looking at Remus with pity. “I don’t know. I’ll have to research it. We see a lot of patients here, but I’ve never had a case quite like this—”

“What do you mean, you told him?” Remus interrupted, as her earlier words slowly replayed in his mind.

“I told him that I’d completed the assessment of the memory,” she explained, “and that it would almost certainly trigger the response we needed to recover the other memories. Perhaps I shouldn’t have assumed that he understood my presence to be required.” She sounded irritated, but Remus couldn’t spare a thought for her; he was furious.

Sirius really did just go ahead and do whatever he wanted, all the time, didn’t he? Entitled, spoiled, selfish… Remus wanted to scream at Sirius that he was impulsive, and reckless, and infuriating—but the bloody idiot had disappeared so far into his own mind that he wouldn’t have even heard him. Instead, he stood helplessly at his side, thinking, How many times? How many times will I trust you, and you let me down? How many times until I finally learn?!

A memo fluttered into the room, just like they do at the Ministry for Magic, and Professor Okafor plucked it out of the air, scanning it quickly and nodding her head, muttering, “Mhm, mhm,” as she read.

“What?” Remus said impatiently.

“Other memories?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have any other memories that you two shared? Something else he might have lost?”

“Tons,” Remus said, “That’s the trouble. We never figured out what else he forgot.”

She nodded, frowning. “I see.”

“What did that memo say?”

“What did—? Oh.” She held it up as if that would somehow elucidate its contents for him. “A method that has been effective in the limited number of similar cases we’ve encountered has been to meet the patient in a similar memory. If we put Mr. Black back into a pensieve and meet him in a memory—a shared memory—then there’s a chance I could help him from there.”

“Okay!” Remus perked up. “I have loads of those!”

“Not so fast,” she said, “it has to be aligned with the part of his mind where he’s lost.”

“What does that mean?” Remus shook his head, impatient and antsy and almost crawling out of his skin.

“He’s gone somewhere in his own mind. If you find the memory where he is and put him in a pensieve, he’ll be able to realign his consciousness and return from the pensieve to the present moment.”

“I’ve got loads of memories,” Remus repeated, “we can just start looking—”

“Not exactly,” she interrupted. “We have to be careful. If we get it wrong, or we startle him, we could trigger another trauma response and make things even worse.”

Remus was starting to feel sick. He collapsed into the chair near Professor Okafor’s desk—the chair where, last time he’d come here, he and Sirius had held hands.

And Sirius had agreed not to do this. And Remus had believed him, like the fool he’d always been.

“Then how will we ever find him?” Remus asked helplessly.

Okafor didn’t sound at all discouraged, however, which sounded to Remus like a very good sign. “By determining the other memories he’s lost and finding a way to reach him through them,” she replied. “Is there anyone else who might know anything about the period that’s missing from Mr. Black’s mind?”

James would probably have known. Lily, too. But obviously, Remus couldn’t talk to them. Then, he had another idea—an idea that made his heart plummet through the floor.

This was the last person in the world Remus ever wanted to speak to again. The last person he could possibly forgive.

But Sirius was in trouble. And there might only be one way to save him.

“There’s someone else I can talk to,” Remus said, feeling numb. “But it might take a day or two. I’ll need to get a special dispensation to see him.”

Professor Okafor frowned. “Why is that?”

Remus thought of Harry. He closed his eyes. “Because he’s in Azkaban.”

Chapter Text

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”

—Pablo Neruda
“Tonight I Can Write (The Saddest Lines)”

30 April 1981

“He didn’t say a word.”

“Of course, he didn’t. He’s probably shocked, because last he knew, you weren’t a complete prat. And now, look at you.”

“James, I’m serious. I’m really worried about him.”

“I know you’re Sirius—one of the first things you ever said to me, in fact.”

“Ha, ha. Look, I mean—I know you think it’s all rubbish, but he’s spending so much time with that pack, and it’s like he’s not even on our side anymore!”

“La, la, la—I’m not listening to you!” Lily shouted as she walked past, with a squirming Harry in her arms, wrapped in a towel, post-bath. “Wait until I’m gone to pick up bad-talking my best friend again, won’t you? Or does saying that make me a traitor, too?”

Sirius sighed, and James shrugged. “She’ll be angry with you for a while, mate. You might as well get used to it.”

“Fine. At least someone is.”

“Pads, come on…”

“He acted like he didn’t even care! Like it didn’t matter at all to him!”

“You know Moony. If he isn’t happy, he isn’t anything. He never complains. I’ve never even seen him cry. Have you?”

“Yeah, I have. When his mum died.” Sirius sat on the floor in front of James, who was lounging on the sofa, and stretched out his legs, crossed at the ankle.

James shook his head. “Well, aren’t you special.”

“I’m just saying, he can feel things. He just doesn’t, when it comes to me.”

“Bullshit.”

“He didn’t even tell me before he sabotaged the ambush last month, did you know that? He never said a word to me, and he still thinks I don’t know it was him.”

“Well, if he knows you the way I know you, I’m not surprised.”

Sirius turned to glare at James over his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t kill the messenger,” he replied. Sirius just continued to glare, and James sighed quietly and said, “You’ve never really listened to him about the whole ‘werewolf rights’ thing. You always act like it’s a personal insult against you if he complains about how they’re treated.”

“I do not!”

James sighed, raising his arms in mock surrender. “Look, I’m just repeating what Lily’s told me.”

“What?”

“I think, maybe, he thinks you love him despite the fact that he’s a werewolf, instead of just—loving all of him. Again, Lily’s words! I haven’t talked to him about it.”

“Well, what does that mean? Did she say—”

“Uh-uh. Nope. That’s all I know, and I’m not saying anything else about it. You two need to talk.”

“She’s mad at me.” Sirius turned back to stare at the door Lily had passed through with Harry.

“Not Lily! Remus.”

Sirius replied, “I tried to talk to him yesterday, and it was pointless. He was just—” he waved his hand in the air, “a complete blank.”

“So, because he didn’t throw a fit when you unceremoniously dumped him, that makes him a traitor?”

“That’s not what I’m saying! I’m saying his behaviour is suspicious, and has been for a while now, and Dumbledore thinks so, too, and—”

“Okay, no. Dumbledore is irritated that he wouldn’t do anything to put the pack at risk, but I think Remus had a good point about that, Sirius.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That ambush on the Death Eaters would have had civilian casualties.”

“Werewolf casualties,” Sirius said, folding his arms.

“Werewolves are civilians! Godric, Sirius, what’s gotten into you?”

Sirius turned to look at James over his shoulder, feeling a pang of guilt. “Okay, okay. You’re right, I know they are. But it isn’t as if it was innocent muggles or children or something—”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it’s like.” James nudged Sirius’s back with his knee. “You’re not honestly telling me that you think werewolf casualties would be worth less than muggle casualties.”

“No, of course not! It’s just—they can take care of themselves, can’t they?”

James shook his head, nudging Sirius again as he rose off the couch. “If that’s how you feel, I’m surprised he didn’t dump you sooner.”

“Hey!” Sirius reached to kick James’s ankle, but he was already too far away. “That’s not—Hey! James! Where are you going?”

“To help Lily with Harry’s bedtime.” He glanced over his shoulder at Sirius and said, “And to give you some time to think about what you’ve done, young man.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. Why wasn’t it obvious to everybody else that Remus’s priorities were—at best—misguided, and—at worst—highly suspect? Sirius hadn’t just broken up him out of the blue; it was to knock some sense into him. He was putting the werewolves ahead of everything, and he wouldn’t even be upfront with Sirius about the things he was doing. And this latest trip was the last straw.

Remus had just gotten back from a week with a known Death Eater sympathiser, and he’d been completely cavalier about it. It was so obvious that the leader of this pack wanted Remus to join them permanently, and Remus was oblivious, like he always was, head in the clouds. Just trusting these people—these werewolves, dark creatures, who were nothing like Remus, no matter what anybody else said—and putting his safety completely in their hands! He’d chosen the wrong side, and he wasn’t even aware he’d done it.

Sirius had thought—he’d hoped—that giving Remus an ultimatum would be the nudge he needed to rethink how important that pack had become to him. But it hadn’t been. It had been awful. Remus had just stared at him, like he was a stranger. Sirius had been prepared for a fight, but Remus hadn’t had a drop of fight in him. He’d been a total blank, like he didn’t even care.

James never came back out, and Sirius eventually went home. His new home, that is. The safe house Dumbledore had gotten for him last week, while Remus was away. He wasn’t offended that James and Lily were angry; it was more or less what he’d expected, if things kept going the way they were with Remus. It would be hard for their friends to adjust if they weren’t together anymore.

Not to mention, how hard it would be for Sirius.

It was late, and Sirius hadn’t had anything for dinner, but he wasn’t hungry. He went straight to bed, hating the sterile scent of the sheets, their coldness. He used to love having Moony home again after a mission with the pack, and nestling into his arms, breathing in the forest and the wind and the trees, and sweat and desire and Moony.

He didn’t want to let himself think maybe what he’d done yesterday had been a mistake. He’d never really expected it to go this far. He’d thought Remus would call his bluff, and confess that he was in over his head with the pack, and admit he’d been wrong for keeping so much from Sirius. But he hadn’t. What did that mean?

Sirius didn’t want to believe Remus was a traitor. But how could he think anything else, after what had happened in March?

He fell asleep, reluctant to allow the full extent of his regret to take shape in his mind. He really, really missed Moony, and it hurt to think that maybe James was right—maybe he’d been hiding how he really felt. If Sirius had ever done something to make Remus feel like he couldn’t be honest with Sirius, he didn’t know what that could possibly be. He went out of his way to make sure Remus knew how special he was to him—buying him gifts, taking him places, practically bending over backwards to impress him.  

And still, it hadn’t been enough. He’d still put the pack first, and he’d still lied, and Sirius was left feeling like a fool. A lonely fool, and desperately worried that, for all his plotting and strategizing and fearing the worst for Moony, he’d given up the best thing he’d ever had—for nothing.

*            *            *

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Fuck, I really did break up with him, didn’t I? I was such a prat. He’ll never forgive me.

Okay, don’t think about that, just—don’t panic. You don’t know he won’t forgive you. He’s surprised you before. Be calm, just be calm.

Godric, he’ll be furious with me. Where am I, anyway? What happened? And what ambush?

Okay. It’s okay. Calm down, calm down, calm down. Just find something else, keep searching…

*            *            *

15 March 1981

“Well done, lad,” Alastor Moody said to Sirius, patting him on the shoulder. A meeting of the Order of the Phoenix was adjourning, and Sirius had spent half of it presenting a strategy to the group. Him, Sirius Black, being strategic! Sometimes, having Moony for a partner rubbed off in the best ways, didn’t it? If only Remus could have been there, he would have been so impressed.

“Thank you, sir,” Sirius grinned across the table at James, who looked as tickled as if Moody had been praising him, too.

Moody gripped Sirius’s shoulder tightly and added, “You’ll make a fine Auror one day, after we get through this mess.”

Sirius tried not to beam too brightly, though the praise made him feel about ten feet tall. “Thank you, sir. I hope so.”

James hurried over soon afterwards, laughing with excitement. “See? I told you. It’s the perfect plan.”

“No plan is perfect,” Sirius said, but he didn’t mean it. It was the perfect plan, and he’d made it all himself: compiled the notes, done the reconnaissance, located the Death Eater hideout, and figured out a safe way to infiltrate it. Safe for the good side, that is. The dark wizards would get what they deserved.

Peter joined them, too, half a foot shorter than them both and brimming with jittery energy. “Are you sure it’s safe, though?”

“Of course,” Sirius said. “The decoy—whoever it is—will wear a portkey, and as soon as the Death Eaters follow them out to the forest, we’ll attack. They’ll be totally surrounded, and they’ll never know what hit them!”

“If Voldemort’s there, though…”

“Then we’ll take him out!” Sirius enthused.

James patted his shoulder, grinning. “That’s the spirit, Padfoot—though, to be fair, if it were that easy to kill him—”

“It won’t be easy,” Sirius answered, “but this is the best opportunity we’ve had yet! They’ll never suspect—”

“But if they do suspect,” Peter interjected, wringing his hands.

“Then we’ll know,” Sirius said. “The decoy will know, and they’ll get out of there, and the rest of us will retreat.”

“I’m not sure about this…”

“If you don’t want to go, Wormy,” James said to him—quietly enough that he probably thought Sirius couldn’t hear it, “nobody would blame you. It’s a risky mission, and you have other responsibilities for the Order that are just as important.”

“I can do it,” Peter scoffed, folding his arms.

“Sorry,” James smiled and raised his hands in surrender, then patted Peter’s shoulder. “I just meant that we can’t afford to lose you.”

Peter rolled his eyes but looked marginally cheered.

Sirius sighed. “The question is, who will Dumbledore choose as the decoy?”

“Whoever it is,” James replied with his usual good humour, “we won’t find out until after, so there’s no point in wondering about it.”

Sirius had only been mildly annoyed that he hadn’t been chosen; Dumbledore had been impressed with the plan when Sirius laid it out, but he’d immediately shot down Sirius’s idea to be the decoy, himself.

“You’re too well-known,” he said, “and well-connected. Besides, I’d prefer if the Order in general weren’t aware of the decoy’s identity, for their own protection.”

The presence of a mole was, at this point, suspected by all the members of the Order, and everyone was in favour of the increased secrecy measures as a result. The mood of fear and paranoia was growing, which was very unfortunate, in Sirius’s opinion. It wasn’t as if the real mole could do anything except pretend to want the Order records tightened up, too. And meanwhile, nobody really knew anything.

“Coming for dinner tomorrow night?” James asked as he and Sirius neared the Apparation point.

“Mhm. Moony’ll be home by then,” Sirius said. James hugged him—he was always giving hugs now that he was a dad, the old softie—and headed off to Godric’s Hollow.

Sirius briefly entertained the idea of getting a takeaway, but he didn’t want Remus to be annoyed when he saw the boxes in the bin. He’d made a comment recently about how much money Sirius wasted on food, and even though Sirius had reminded him that money really wasn’t a concern, he still didn’t want to make Remus think he was wasteful, or to feel uncomfortable, or whatever he was thinking.

So, no takeaway. Groceries, maybe? Trouble was, Remus would get home tomorrow, and Sirius wasn’t sure what he’d want to eat. Sirius had plans—long-term plans, that is, he’d never have time during the war—to learn to cook, because he had a feeling Remus would be impressed. But he hadn’t learned it yet.

In the end, he decided to just go to Godric’s Hollow, too. James wouldn’t be surprised, and Lily wouldn’t mind—and Harry would be loads of fun, just like he always was. Besides, Remus had been away all week, and Sirius missed him so much that being at home was starting to hurt. But tomorrow, Moony would get home, and all would be well again. Just one more day.

*            *            *

Okay, okay, seriously, don’t panic. That’s not all there is; there has to be more. Keep searching. You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.

But—logically, wouldn’t Remus have brought this up if he’d actually sabotaged the ambush? When he was going through the Order records?

You might have actually suspected him—and dumped him—because of something he didn’t even do. In which case, he would be an idiot to forgive you. And Remus Lupin is many things, but he is no idiot.

Just calm down, Sirius, just calm down. Stop. Panicking. There must be more…something you’re missing…

*            *            *

16 March 1981

“You’re home!” Sirius launched himself off the sofa the moment Remus appeared next to the front door. Remus smiled, looking very tired, and folded Sirius in his arms. This was the best hug Remus ever gave, hands down—the reunion hug. Warm and woodsy and much longer than most hugs had any right to be.

Which was nice. Sirius was highly physical, and Remus didn’t often seem to reciprocate the need for constant touch that Sirius felt. You had to catch him off-guard, or distract him, to capture his attention most of the time. But not today. Not when he was newly home from a week away.

Remus smiled tiredly and leaned down for a kiss. Sirius responded enthusiastically, hands sliding from Remus’s shoulders down his sides, touching the bottom of his t-shirt.

“I love you,” Remus sighed when Sirius started kissing his neck.

“You, too,” Sirius mumbled against his skin. He tasted perfect.

They stumbled across the flat, shedding clothes along the way, and wound up in bed for the next hour or so, just like they always did when Remus was newly home from a mission. He was so sexy, with the scent of the wind in his hair and his lips just a bit chapped, and stubble all over his chin.

Sirius was wound up; he didn’t often take the lead in bed, but today he did. Remus allowed it—he was so laidback, he never complained about anything Sirius wanted to do, which was a wonderful quality in a lover. But Sirius wanted to make Remus feel good, and he couldn’t always tell what he liked until he’d already tried something. Then, he had to pay very close attention. When Remus’s breathing picked up, when his skin turned warmer, when he started rolling his hips, unconsciously seeking what he wanted. Sirius would pick up his every cue, and press harder, or touch lighter, or reach his tongue just there. And Remus would tremble, and moan, and fall apart, piece by piece.

Sirius loved him. He loved him more than breathing, more than he knew his own name, more than anything else in the world that was true and solid and real. Loving Remus was the gravitational centre of everything. Sirius could have drowned in him, and been more alive than ever for it.

They clung to each other, afterwards. Sirius burrowed his face in the crook of Remus’s neck, where his smell was strongest, and breathed him in like oxygen. Remus’s arms were very tight around Sirius’s back, and he had bent one arm up, so he could tangle his fingers in Sirius’s hair—which had come loose from its usual band and was a total mess.

“Good mission?” Sirius asked after he’d caught his breath.

He felt Remus’s head move—a nod.

“Missed you.”

Remus shifted slightly, lifting up so he could smile down at Sirius. “I missed you, too.”

Sirius kissed Remus’s chest, ridiculously pleased.

“Did I miss anything exciting?”

Remus always asked that, when he was home from a mission. Sirius finally rolled off of him and settled snug at his side, one leg resting over Remus’s, ankles entwined. “A few things.”

That made Remus tense slightly, and Sirius rubbed his chest, softly.

“Nothing bad,” he added.

Remus kissed his forehead. “Good. Lead with that next time.”

Sirius chuckled. “Sorry.”

Remus squeezed him tightly and reached down to kiss his lips. “Never mind.”

“I—uh.” Sirius felt bashful, suddenly. He wanted Remus to be proud of him—to grasp the full extent of his victory yesterday at the Order meeting. But he didn’t want to boast, because that kind of thing never got you anywhere with Moony. He had to be impressive and humble at the same time; it was a delicate balance. “I presented the plan I’ve been working on.”

“Oh, you did?” Remus’s eyes lit up at that. He really did love a good plan, didn’t he? “You haven’t told me about it yet.”

“I didn’t want to jinx it,” Sirius said. It was only half true. Actually, he hadn’t wanted Remus to poke holes in it, the way he usually did with any plans. Sirius loved him more than life itself, but Remus was too clever for anybody’s good, sometimes.

As if sensing Sirius’s hesitance, Remus asked carefully, “How did it go?”

Sirius hid his smile against Remus’s warm skin. “Pretty well.”

Remus rubbed his lower back. “That all you have to say about it?”

Sirius swallowed. “No. It…uh. Well. They’re gonna do it.”

“Really?” Remus’s enthusiasm was everything; Sirius drank it in. “They’re doing your plan?”

Sirius nodded, and blushed when he looked up to find Remus beaming at him.

“That’s amazing!”

“Yeah…”

“When are they doing it?”

“Next week.”

“Wow.” Remus rubbed Sirius’s back. “Proud of you,” he said softly.

Praise from Remus was even better than praise from Mad-Eye; Sirius preened, too pleased for words.

“Does this mean you’re finally going to tell me about it?” Remus asked.

Sirius leaned up on his elbow and nodded. “Yeah, only—don’t say anything until the very end. I know it sounds mad, okay, but I promise it’s a good plan. Even Dumbledore thought so.”

“Of course, he did,” Remus replied, beaming. “You’re brilliant about things like these—when you can slow down long enough to make an actual plan.”

Sirius poked him, and Remus laughed.

“Go on, then.”

Sirius sat up on the bed, cross-legged—still too thrilled with his victory to talk about it lying down. He explained the meeting, and how he’d presented everything, just like he’d done yesterday. Remus sat up, too, and had his ‘listening face’ on. He was so handsome, like this—tongue just peeking out over his bottom lip, brow furrowed in concentration, staring down at their mussed bedspread—listening quietly, taking it all in.

“A decoy,” he interrupted when Sirius got to that part—he actually couldn’t get through the whole recital without interrupting, which Sirius had known him well enough to anticipate. He wasn’t angry about it.

“Right,” Sirius said, “a person they don’t know, ideally. Someone to distract them enough that they won’t notice anything suspicious.”

“Brilliant idea,” Remus remarked.

Sirius’s chest inflated, and he put a hand on Remus’s knee, shaking it lightly. “That means a lot, from you,” he couldn’t resist saying.

“What?” Remus laughed, “I tell you when you’ve had a brilliant idea.”

“I just mean, if you think it’s smart,” Sirius answered. They both knew Remus was the brilliant one.

“It’s very smart,” Remus said. Then, because he’s Remus, he added, “I do have some questions.”

“Ask away,” Sirius replied, with total confidence. Dumbledore had liked the idea, which meant not even Remus would be able to find fault with it.

“How many Death Eaters would be at the hideout?”

“Based on my observations,” Sirius replied, “at least a dozen. They aren’t living there. It’s a regular gathering, and Voldemort is there sometimes, but not always.”

“Seems irresponsible of them to meet at the same time every month,” Remus remarked.

Sirius nodded. “Well. It aligns with. You know.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Next week’s the full moon,” he said, slowly.

“Exactly.” Sirius was never sure how much he was allowed to say about ‘werewolf things.’ They were really Remus’s purview, and Sirius didn’t want to step on his toes.

Remus frowned. “What does the full moon have to do with anything?”

“They like to be close to the pack that lives just east of there,” Sirius answered. “You’re the one who brought us that information, remember?”

Remus nodded. “Right, but the pack moved so they couldn’t be exploited.”

Sirius nodded. “The Death Eaters moved, too.”

Remus looked pained; he groaned. “Seriously?”

“That’s how it looks. And this safehouse is where we expect them to meet next time, based on where the pack has moved. So we’ll lure them to the forest, and then—”

“Wait, what about the pack?”

“Hm?”

“The pack that lives there,” Remus said. “If there’s going to be a battle—”

“Oh.” Sirius smiled. “They can just move further east. Or north. Anywhere, really, it doesn’t matter.”

“But have they been warned that there’s a battle coming?”

“Of course not!” Sirius was surprised Moony had even asked it; he was supposed to be the best strategist. “If we told them, we’d risk them tipping their hand to the Death Eaters.”

“Right, but if they don’t know it’s coming, they might get caught in the crosshairs.”

Sirius sighed. “They can take care of themselves, Remus. They’re not children.”

“Packs do have children, actually,” Remus replied, folding his arms.

“Fine. Some of them are, but the majority are fully grown witches and wizards who can take care of themselves.”

Remus nudged Sirius’s ankle, smiling. “Come on, you don’t mean that.”

Sirius hesitated, not wanting to let on how confused he felt. It seemed like Remus was poking a hole in his plan, after all, but Sirius didn’t even completely understand what it was yet.

“Well—obviously, we won’t try to involve them, but they’re responsible for their own safety. It’s not really my concern—”

“How is it not your concern,” Remus said, “when you’re coming to their home?”

“It’s not a home, it’s a forest,” Sirius said, then regretted it when Remus’s face fell. “I just mean—I get that they live there, but. Well, they’re nomads, aren’t they? They live all over.”

“Only because they haven’t found a safe place to settle.” Remus’s concern was quiet, and his eyes were worried. It made Sirius’s stomach flip.

“Look,” he said, “we won’t do anything to hurt them.”

“I know you won’t,” Remus smiled gently, and Sirius reached out and squeezed his fingers.

“And this is our best chance to do some real damage, Moony,” Sirius added. “We’ve never had a better lead, or a better plan. Even Moody said—”

“I just think,” Remus interrupted, with eyes thoughtful, and Sirius’s stomach flipped again, because he could tell he’d already lost Remus. He was on another plane of thought already, and once you lost him, you might never get him back on your level. “I just think,” he repeated, still staring thoughtfully at the bedspread, “that the pack should be warned. They don’t deserve to be exploited, and they don’t deserve to be ignored. They have rights, too.”

“Well, they don’t own the forest,” Sirius replied, annoyed.

“No,” Remus said quietly. “They don’t. They’d need money to be able to afford their own land, and they don’t have jobs, so.”

Sirius sighed; not this again. When they were in school, it always came back to werewolves’ rights for Remus. Since they’d joined the war efforts, it hadn’t been quite so bad, but Remus still made a fuss over it sometimes.

Evidently sensing Sirius’s rising irritation, Remus said, “Look, I’m not trying to—to second-guess you, or your plan. If Dumbledore is on board, I’m sure it’s sound—”

“Not to mention, if I think it’s a good plan.”

“Of course,” Remus reached out and touched Sirius’s ankle, squeezing it. “I just…I know a lot of the pack leaders now, and I know how afraid they are.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes,” Remus’s voice was still gentle. It was calming, and Sirius sighed and leaned forward, resting his head on Remus’s shoulder. He really had missed him so much, and he didn’t want to fight.

“I don’t want that, really,” Sirius said. “They’ll be safe, okay? I promise. We won’t let the battle come anywhere near them.”

“Promise?”

Sirius smiled, sitting up and kissing Remus’s lips, softly. “Of course.”

Remus pulled Sirius onto his lap, and Sirius’s grin widened. “You are insatiable, you know that?”

“Mhm.”

Sirius let Remus distract him. That had gone better than he thought it would, actually. If Remus’s only complaint was the pack’s safety, that meant the rest of the plan really was perfect. Remus would have said something if it wasn’t.

Plus, he’d said the decoy idea was brilliant; those were his exact words. Sirius kissed him harder, flooding with love for the clever, distractable, gorgeous man beside him—the one whose inner world was still a complete mystery to Sirius. A book for him to read, with incredible worlds for him to discover, page by page.

*            *            *

Wait, wait! I don’t want to leave that memory! I want to live in that one forever.

Damn it, it’s already gone.

Get back to it, get back to it, hurry!

Where am I? No, no, don’t panic again, be calm, be calm. Just go back to the last memory, the one with Remus, the one in our bed.

Fuck’s sake, not another one…

*            *            *

21 March, 1981

“What do you mean, they found out?”

“They found out,” Moody repeated, unhelpfully. Sirius was ready for the battle—mentally and physically. He’d taken a sleeping potion to make sure he got enough rest, and he’d gone over the plans in his mind and on paper about fifty times. But this morning, he’d arrived at the rendezvous spot and been told to go back home. “The safe house is empty, and there are curses all around it.”

“Curses?”

Moody nodded, darkly. “The decoy never stood a chance.”

At that, Sirius’s blood ran cold. He didn’t mean…

“Who was it?” he asked, heart in his throat.

“Dearborn,” Moody replied.

Sirius closed his eyes. No, not Caradoc. He was one of the members Sirius looked up to the most—discreet and intelligent and amazing at duelling. He had a family—a wife, a kid.

And Sirius’s plan had sent him to his death.

As if he could read his mind, Moody said, “Don’t blame yourself, son. You couldn’t have known they’d find out.”

“How?” Sirius opened his eyes. “How did they know?”

Moody sighed darkly. “We know information’s been leaking from our meetings; we’ve known it for some time now. But Dumbledore had a spell on this one to keep people from telling, so we assumed it would be safe.”

Sirius frowned. He hadn’t known that Dumbledore had a spell like that. “What’s the spell?”

Moody gave him a long look—almost suspicious, in fact. Sirius straightened his posture and looked him right in the eye. Black family or no, he didn’t deserve to be suspected. It was his own plan; why would he sabotage it?

“It would have triggered a tongue-tie spell,” Moody replied, “if anyone tried to disclose the specific dates and locations to anyone outside the Order.”

“That’s it?” Sirius said. “A simple ‘finite’ could overcome it.”

Moody raised his eyebrows. “True. But now we know for certain that there’s a spy in the ranks, and before we were only guessing.”

Something about that didn’t sit right with Sirius. He held his breath for a moment, then let it out in a rush, on the cusp of realising something—something he didn’t like. “But—but the plan was ruined.”

Moody nodded. “We always knew it might be, son.”

“You—you knew,” he repeated. “And you still sent Caradoc to the safehouse?”

“He knew, too,” Moody replied, sounding tired. “He went into it with his eyes open.”

“Well, I didn’t!” Sirius said. “You let me think I had a good plan, you let me think—”

“It was a good plan,” Moody said shortly. “But it wasn’t about you. It’s about winning the war.”

Sirius shut up, embarrassed. That was true, of course. Sirius was being childish. Godric’s sake, he was a grown man. Couldn’t he take a setback like this in stride?

It’s your fault Caradoc is dead, Sirius’s voice whispered in the back of his mind. Your stupid plan killed him.

Guilt was a tricky thing for Sirius; once it got a foothold, it usually spiraled into something much deeper. Sirius didn’t want to fixate on his failings. There must be something he could do, something good, some bright side from this whole mess.

“What about the pack?” Sirius asked.

Moody was looking out towards the horizon line, and he turned to Sirius as if he’d forgotten he was there. “What?”

“The pack that lives there? The curses haven’t affected them, have they?”

“Oh. No, they’re fine,” Moody replied. “Our most recent intel shows they’ve moved on.”

“They’ve—what?”

Moody nodded. “They got wise to the plan, too, apparently. Otherwise it’s just a coincidence, but it doesn’t seem likely. They wouldn’t ordinarily change locations so close to a full moon.”

Sirius didn’t reply; his mouth was dry, suddenly.

“Lucky for them, unlucky for us,” Moody said. He patted Sirius’s shoulder, just like he’d done at the meeting a week ago, but this time, it just made Sirius feel like a child. He didn’t want Moody’s condescension, and he shrugged his hand away. “That might be how the Death Eaters caught wind of the plan,” Moody added. “Can’t be sure. Dumbledore’s got some agents on it, and we’ll know more soon.”

Sirius nodded, still speechless.

Moody looked at him for a long moment—then patted his shoulder one more time and said, “Go on home, son. We’ll get ‘em next time.”

And Sirius turned and walked back towards the Apparation point, feeling like he was in a waking dream. He felt embarrassed and small, and underneath it all was a rising current of anger—a seed that was rapidly taking root, growing and strengthening until, by the time he reached the flat, it was fully formed.

He stomped inside, and violently shrugged off his jacket, shaking with fury.

Moony was home; he was on the sofa, book in his lap, and he turned to look at Sirius with his usual friendly concern. Sirius was too angry to even look at him. “You’re home already? How did it go?”

Sirius ignored him. He kicked off his boots and stomped towards the shower, locking the door.

The water helped clear his head, at least—steaming and harsh against his skin. Moody had said that Dumbledore had put a spell over the meeting, and everyone who was there was prevented from telling anyone outside the Order what had happened. But Remus hadn’t been at the meeting. There’d been no spell on him, and Sirius had told him everything. And Remus’s only concern had been the pack. He didn’t really care about Sirius’s plan, or the battle, or the safety of the decoy, or anything except the bloody werewolves.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

The question was, should Sirius tell Moody? The idea of doing that, of exposing Remus’s conflicted loyalties, made him feel like a traitor, himself.

He’d tell James first; that would be good. He’d go to Godric’s Hollow as soon as he was out of the shower. James would have opinions, too, on the failed plan—and he would make Sirius feel better about things, like he always did. He’d be confident and encouraging and loyal. Unlike Remus and his constant moral superiority and his head always in the clouds. Doing whatever he wanted, without any thought for the consequences.

He'd go to James. James would know what to do. He could always count on James.

Chapter Text

23 March 1983

When Remus finally crawled into bed in the wee hours of Monday morning, it was with a strong sense of dread. There was no way any of this would work out. Peter wouldn’t tell him anything, and finding Sirius in the maze of his mangled mind was such a longshot, and anyway, Sirius had chosen this, hadn’t he? He’d known he might get lost in his mind, and he’d asked Remus to show him the memory, anyway. Maybe Remus should just let him go.

Of course, the one thing Remus had never been able to do was let Sirius Black go.

He would hardly get three hours of sleep at this rate, but he tossed and turned until a fitful slumber overtook him, and if he dreamed, he didn’t remember them. He woke up what felt like a mere instant later, because Harry was being noisy. It was later than he normally slept, and he didn’t feel a bit prepared for the day—no lessons reviewed, papers left unmarked, not even the smallest semblance of a strategy for talking to Peter.

But somehow, as the shining light of spring peered past Remus’s curtains, a seed of optimism took root. He stretched and yawned, feeling better rested than he had any right to feel, all things considered. Hope tingled in his every limb, and he felt more like himself than he had in ages. Sure, the day would be challenging, but Remus overcome challenges before, hadn’t he? Who said he couldn’t do something, just because it would be hard? He did hard things all the time; he excelled at them. Hopeful like he hadn’t been since that long-ago day in November when everything had gone shockingly right, Remus sprang out of bed and knew exactly what he was going to do.

“Up and at ‘em, Harry,” Remus said, swinging the bedroom door open. Harry was lying fully on top of poor Pawpaw, whom Remus had had the wherewithal to bring to the castle late last night, together with Hooty, who was safe in the Owlery from the excessive interest of creatures both feline and toddler.

“Time to eat?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Remus scooped him up to get dressed, tickling his cheek and earning a happy giggle in return, “and not a moment to spare.”

They decided to play tag on the way to the Great Hall—because that was one way to get Harry to hurry, and besides, why not?—and they were just in time to catch Snape before he left for his first lesson.

“Go play crush a kitty with Severus,” Remus prodded, and Harry grinned gleefully and darted across the room to jump on Snape, which made the several students who observed it cackle with delight.

“Must you allow him to behave so?” Snape said to Remus tiredly, as Remus pried Harry off of him.

“Run along and ask Hagrid to make you a plate,” Remus said, setting Harry down. Obediently, the little boy ran, top speed, down the aisle to reach the head table. “Probably shouldn’t be so literal with him,” Remus muttered, mostly to himself.

“I assume you’re finished accosting me,” Snape remarked, turning to leave.

“Oh! No, I’m not.” He smiled in what he hoped was an appealing way. It would have worked great on Sirius.

But Snape sighed heavily, rolling his eyes.

Undeterred, Remus said in a low voice, “I wondered if you had any Polyjuice potion.”

Snape gave him a very suspicious look. “I do, in fact. Not that I have any to spare for you.”

“It’s really important, Severus.”

He sighed again. “Why do you need it?”

“I’ll tell you after you give it to me.”

“Oh, will you? A likely story.”

“When have I ever lied?” Remus asked. It was a rhetorical question. Snape had told Remus just a few weeks ago that Remus was the most infuriatingly honest person he’d ever met. It hadn’t quite been a compliment, but it wasn’t an insult, either.

Snape rolled his eyes again, muttering, “Bloody exhausting, the pair of you.”

Remus smiled, because if Snape was going to say no, he would have said it already.

“Fine,” he said, “come along then, I don’t have all day.”

“Can I grab a bite to eat first?” Remus asked, though he didn’t mean it—he just wanted to get Snape’s ire up, because that was so easy to do, and he really was in a fantastic mood today.

“Oh, of course,” Snape’s words dripped with sarcasm. “Anything else I can do for you? Shine your shoes, perhaps, or mark your student’s papers?”

Remus grinned. He’d saved the best part for last. “Now that you mention it, could I bother you for a strand of hair?”

Once he knew the reason, Snape was remarkably persuadable. Remus had a feeling his deep-rooted hatred for Peter Pettigrew, as the cause of Lily Evan’s death, had something to do with it. Wisely, he omitted mention of Sirius, because Snape might not be so obliging if he knew he would also be helping him.

With a vial of Polyjuice and a strand of hair in his pocket, Remus was ready to start forming his strategy. Of course, that part was slowed down considerably by the necessity of teaching all day—but by the time Remus had his sixth years in the room, just after lunch, it occurred to him that he might leverage their creativity.

“Today, we’re going to have a bit of a thought experiment,” he announced, scooting back to sit on top of his desk.

A Ravenclaw named Kelly Jones shot her hand into the air.

“Yes, Miss Jones?”

“Have you marked our essays?”

Remus grinned innocently. “No, but whoever helps me solve this little problem will receive extra credit when I do mark them.”

At that, Kelly perked up, as did all the Ravenclaws.

“I’d like you all to think of the person you most dislike in the world. Don’t say their name out loud,” he added, “just think about them in your mind. They’re a person whose choices you don’t agree with, whose actions are just—incomprehensible to you.” He paused, glancing around the room. Several of the students had closed their eyes and were taking this activity very seriously, which almost made him laugh. He really did love teaching.

“Have you got a person in mind?” Several students nodded. “Good, very good. Now, I’d like you to imagine that you have an opportunity to speak to this person in disguise. Perhaps—perhaps you have Polyjuice potion or something, and you can approach them as a person they trust. And you want them to help you solve a problem.”

Kelly's hand shot back into the air.

“Yes, Miss Jones?”

“What’s the problem?”

“That’s entirely up to you,” he said. “Is there something that the person you have in mind could have helped you with, if they weren’t so thoroughly horrible and dislikable?”

Kelly giggled and closed her eyes again, and a few of the other students laughed, too. Remus wondered, fleetingly, if someone had slipped him some Felix Felicis this morning; he just felt so good.

“Okay, so—you’ve got your person in mind,” Remus said, “you’ve got Polyjuice, you’re in disguise. How will you convince them to help you?”

Another hand shot in the air—Wyatt Davis, also in Ravenclaw.

“Mr. Davis?”

“Do they hate me as much as I hate them?”

Remus nodded. “Yes, probably.”

“And does the person I’m disguised as hate me, too?”

Remus hesitated. “Maybe. It’s irrelevant.”

“Not necessarily,” Wyatt said. “If they both hate me, then I would just get them bad-talking me, and maybe make them think that they could hurt me by telling me whatever it is that would actually help me.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Remus nodded.

“Or!” Kelly's hand shot in the air again—probably eager for her extra credit.

“Yes, Miss Jones?”

“You said you didn’t understand them and why they do the things they do. You could ask them, finally, and then you’d know.”

“That wouldn’t help solve the problem, though,” Wyatt interjected, and Remus lifted a hand to silence them both.

“That’s true,” he said, “but Miss Jones’s point is very wise. If all I want is to solve a current problem, then the strategy that you’ve shared is quite good, Mr. Davis. But if in the future, I wish to prevent further problems or conflicts, or learn from the past, then Miss Jones’s strategy is equally effective.”

“But that wasn’t the assignment,” Wyatt protested.

Remus grinned. “Quite true. However, you’ve both made excellent points. Let’s have a reflection exercise today—write about the problem from the point of view of your enemy. What makes them think the way they do? How did they become who they are?”

While the Ravenclaws dug in their backpacks for parchments, a Slytherin named Austin Franklin raised his hand, and Remus said, “Mr. Franklin?”

“What does any of this have to do with history of magic?”

“An excellent question,” Remus replied, smiling sincerely. “Perspective is essential to understanding the past. Without embodying the perspectives of others, we can never hope to understand them, nor to stop history from repeating itself. And this is a skill we all can cultivate. It’s called empathy.”

“Ugh, you sound like a Muggle,” Austin muttered.

Remus smiled at him. “My mother was a Muggle, and among the finest women I ever knew. So, I thank you for that compliment.”

Around the room, the muggleborn students sat up a bit straighter, and Remus felt his heart warming. They probably didn’t hear things like that very often at Hogwarts, but Remus meant it—and when he thought of Lily, he meant it even more.

With the sixth years working on their impromptu essays, Remus sat down to his own. What had Peter been thinking? Why had he done what he’d done?

But that wasn’t what he wrote, when quill came to paper. Instead, his mind and his heart were filled with Sirius—the hurt look in his eyes, that night, in the memory. The way he’d said, months later, “You didn’t even fight me on it.”

Something seemed so strange about that—out of character for him. Sirius hated fighting. He would give in more often than not, acquiescing to whatever Remus wanted him to do. It was almost annoying, how much attention Sirius paid to Remus’s wishes, instead of just doing what he thought was right.

The truth hit Remus suddenly, like a splash of cold water. The furniture, the ministry job, the mind healing, learning to cook…and going after the lost memories, too. Sirius had never wanted any of those things. He’d especially not wanted to learn about their break-up; he hated the mere thought of it, would shut down whenever Remus brought it up.

Sirius hadn’t done any of this for himself; he wasn’t trying to show off, or trick Remus, or do—whatever it was Remus, in his initial anger, had thought he was doing. He just wanted to get Remus’s attention—to make Remus see him.

He closed his eyes, and he could still hear Sirius’s voice in his head: It’s like you’re too much and not enough, sometimes. Like, nothing I do can get through to you. But maybe this will.

He almost laughed with incredulity when he realised the truth: Sirius was worried that Remus had inadvertently become a pawn for the other side. That manipulative idiot had broken up with him, even though he still loved him, because he understood Remus’s point-of-view so little that he’d actually thought there was no way to support werewolves without becoming a dark wizard, himself.

And that wasn’t even about Remus, was it? It was about Sirius—about his own family, and the upbringing he’d had, and his total refusal to be involved with anything that could be perceived as even remotely dark, because he was a Black, and Blacks had always been evil. Sirius couldn’t see any shades of gray, back then. It was only black and white for him, amid the terror of war and the fear that he would lose more people he loved to the irresistible pull of darkness.

If Sirius had really been against Remus, he would have told Dumbledore about his suspicions. If he’d really thought Remus was his enemy, he would have actively tried to expose him. What he’d done instead was still cruel, and certainly arrogant and unfair, and Remus would have to find a way to forgive him for it—to trust that Sirius had actually changed since then—if they were ever going to move forward. But it wasn’t quite as dire as Remus had thought it was. Though there was a lot between them that was broken—trust that would need to be repaired, piece by piece—it was fear, in the end, and not hatred, that had driven him to do it. And, even clearer, there was still love at the core of it all. It was in the look in Sirius’s eye that night, and in the fear in his voice. It was in the way he’d changed his mind about lycanthropy, to the point where he was actively discouraging the Ministry from keeping a registry, using his influence to make real change. Doing what he thought Remus wanted him to do, even now, because he had never stopped loving him.

Remus closed his eyes and let the realisation wash over him: Sirius would do anything to fix this.

The question was, did Remus still think it was worth fixing? After everything that had happened, would he ever be able to look at Sirius the same way again?

Class ended with Remus’s head still in the clouds, which was no good for teaching, considering he had the OWL students next period. In the end, he decided it would be better for them to have a teacher whose mind was fully immersed in 16^th century muggle visibility laws, even if that teacher was a ghost. He went and found Professor Binns in his old office and easily convinced him to come and fill in for him the rest of the day.

“Of course, young man, of course, I’m very happy to teach your lessons today,” the old ghost had said. “I’ll find my lesson plan for the 16^th of March…”

“Today is the 23^rd,” Remus said, smiling.

“Ah, yes. Twenty-three. Wonderful number…” Binns muttered all the way out the door, and Remus tried not to feel too guilty about subjecting his fifth years to this abrupt change of teacher. Perhaps he’d do an extra study hour this week to make up for it—if he ever got Sirius out of his own head, that is.

With that all settled, he went back to his quarters to Floo to the Ministry. He’d have to ask Moody for an exception to see Peter, but surely that wouldn’t be any extra trouble. He’d just explain the situation, and he was positive that Moody would oblige.

In fact, as he hurriedly poured a bowl of cream for the loudly meowing cat, he realised—Moody might be able to give him a memory, too. He’d been so involved in everything with the Order; he was easily as knowledgeable as Peter was, even if he hadn’t been privy to the exact details of Sirius’s reasoning during their break-up. He was far more likely to know what this ambush was that Sirius had mentioned in the memory, too.

And then, another thought occurred to Remus, sending his already high hopes completely over the top. He didn’t need a memory from Peter, or Moody, or anybody else. He already had a memory Sirius had forgotten! He had the memory of their argument over their break-up, when he’d come to Azkaban the day after Harry’s birthday. All along, he’d had the exact thing he needed—and if that wasn’t a good omen, he didn’t know what was.

He stepped into the Floo, all confidence and determination, and pronounced, “The Magical Institute of Ireland.”

For all the boundless energy with which Remus had stormed the mind healing clinic, he was met with the usual bureaucratic slowness of academia; Professor Okafor hadn’t expected Remus, and so he’d had to wait. He was sitting in the row of chairs in the hallway when he heard a voice he recognised calling, “Well, if it isn’t Regis Lupin!”

Remus looked up and grinned. As the person who’d given him that amazing pain potion after the full moon, Christian had earned some allowances, in Remus’s book. “Well, if it isn’t my favourite healer,” Remus replied, standing up to shake his hand.

Christian was dressed for business—no healer’s robes, just a regular professor’s robe, nearly identical to the one Remus was wearing himself.

“Forgot you were a professor, too,” Christian said, poking Remus’s chest. Remus took a step backwards, remembering all over again why he actually didn’t like Christian very much. “What brings you to Ireland this fine Monday?”

Remus replied, “Visiting a friend.” That was the shortest, easiest answer—or, he thought it would be.

But, for all his bad qualities, Christian really was very sharp. He said, “Oh, you mean the mass murderer?”

“Exonerated mass murderer,” Remus corrected.

Christian chuckled. “You really are obsessed with him, aren’t you, mate? They’re all talking about him here. Been having specialists in to see him all day.”

“Really?” Remus felt anxious at the thought; he hated the idea of Sirius being exposed or exploited, especially when he wasn’t even conscious. “I assume patient-healer confidentiality still applies.”

“Of course,” Christian patted Remus’s shoulder—too hard, as usual. “Between you and me,” he added, leaning in and lowering his voice, “I don’t know how he’ll ever come out of it. It’s extremely rare to have damage of this nature—not just one memory, but a network of them—and without even knowing what memories he’s lost—”

“We know a bit,” Remus interrupted, refusing to allow Christian’s pessimism to dampen the hope he felt—the optimism that seemed like a self-fulfilling prophecy, at times, carrying him through, even when things should have felt dire.

“That’s right. Old school mates, weren’t you? Well, I just hope, if he doesn’t come out of it, the gift will still come through, you know? Say, would you be the one to inherit his estate, if he can’t manage it himself?”

Remus frowned and shook his head, uncomprehending. “No. And it won’t come to that, he’ll come out of it.”

“Mm.” Christian looked both perfectly unconvinced and perfectly unbothered. He said, in a condescending voice, “That’s the spirit, mate. He might be okay, after all. You never know.”

“What did you mean about a gift?” Remus added.

“Oh, well,” Christian leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “it’s supposed to be anonymous, so you can’t repeat this, but he’s in talks to turn the Wolfsbane trials into a fully funded program! He wants to supply the potion to werewolves all over England and Ireland, free of charge. It’ll cost loads, of course, but it’s nothing to him. Proper aristocrat, isn’t he? And he wants us to use the same encrypting spell we did for our double-blind. That way, the werewolves’ identities can remain secret, so the program can run without a registry. Brilliant bloke, he is. Or was, I should say.”

“Is,” Remus corrected. His eyes felt sharp, prickling suddenly, and he turned away. Damn it, Sirius.

“I’d better get going,” Christian said, “but good luck with your friend, there!”

Remus nodded, not trusting his own voice. Of course, Sirius would do something like that, something amazing and selfless and incredible and life-changing, and never bother to say a single word about it. He wouldn’t want Remus to feel indebted, and just in case Remus wasn’t on board with the idea, he wouldn’t want Remus to stop him.

He sighed and wiped his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself back down. One way or another, they were going to have to start communicating with each other better. So many misunderstandings could have been avoided if they’d just been honest sooner. But it was never too late to start.

When Professor Okafor finally came out, she wasted no time getting to the point. “Do you have the memory?”

Remus nodded. “Yes. I have one of my own, actually.”

“Perfect,” she said, and turned to walk down the corridor. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder and called impatiently, “Are you coming?”

Remus sprang up from his seat and followed her, jarred by her pace but just as eager to help Sirius as soon as he could. He refused to let himself think about what Christian had said—how little chance they had to save Sirius. He couldn’t let himself think that way, not when they were this close.

Okafor led Remus into a room where Sirius was standing, still as a stone, gazing at nothing. He was beside a pensieve, which already had a memory swirling inside it.

“Ah, that’ll be the old one,” Okafor said, and drew it out with her wand.

“You made him watch it again?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I tried, but he didn’t return to it. He’s somewhere else in his mind, and we need to prod him into a place where we can safely meet him. Speaking of which,” she gestured, “you can put your memory in the pensieve now.”

Remus touched his wand to his forehead and pulled the argument at the prison out of his head. He didn’t want to watch this one—but, luckily, Okafor didn’t ask him to. Instead, she didn’t say a word to him. She simply helped Sirius into the pensieve, then joined him herself.

It was horrible, seeing Sirius like that, totally lost in his own mind. Remus stood aside, staring at Sirius’s back—his bent shoulders, his arms hanging loosely at his hips. Okafor had gripped the edge of the pensieve with one hand. The other hand—with the wand—had joined her in the memory.

It felt like hours, but it couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes, that Remus stood there, waiting for the memory to end—for something, anything, to happen. He paced, anxiety churning, and clung to the hope that this would work, it would, it would, it had to.

Professor Okafor drew herself up from the memory with perfect poise, taking a deep breath before helping Sirius out of the pensieve, too. Remus could see instantly that he was still lost in his mind, and his heart sank.

But then, Okafor said, “I was able to convince him to move back to his known mind.”

“What? What does that mean?”

She touched his forehead, then his shoulder, and finally his chest—then, tapping his head with her wand, she looked into Sirius’s empty eyes.

“He’s in a memory he didn’t forget—a known pathway.”

“Okay, which one?”

She smiled tightly, looking at Remus. “I’m not sure. But this is a good sign. I was able to calm him down using a regular anxiety-repelling spell. He’ll be in this calmer place for at least an hour, until it wears off. If we can find him, we should be able to persuade him to realign his consciousness with his body.”

Remus nodded, as if that made any sense. “So how do we find him?”

She said, “I’m trying to determine where he is.”

“Leglimency,” Remus said, and she nodded.

“Yes, but when one is disembodied from one’s memories, it isn’t as straightforward. I can get a sense of where he believes he is, but I cannot be certain. If I can communicate with him, I could guide him to a known memory that’s shared, with you,” she gestured, “and you could find him there—again, theoretically. This is all theoretical, and it’s never been done before…” As she said this, she walked across the room, raising a quill from a table there and scribbling something on a parchment. “Fascinating,” she murmured under her breath.

Impatiently, Remus followed her across the room. “What do we do next?” he said.

“Hm? Oh. Well, I’ll have to try to discern where in his mind he’s gone.”

“Great. I’ll help.”

She nodded again and said, in her infuriatingly slow way, “Alright.”

They walked back over to Sirius, and she put her hand on his forehead again. “He’s calm,” she said softly. “He’s peaceful. He’s found a happy memory.” She opened her eyes and looked at Remus. “I think it might be a shared memory, in fact. I think he might be thinking of you.”

Remus’s heartrate picked up; so, so much hope was rushing through him that he felt like he might burst from it.

Okafor removed her hand from Sirius’s head and turned to Remus. “I’m also sensing water. Would you have a memory of swimming? A holiday, perhaps?”

Remus shook his head. He didn’t like swimming, and he’d never done anything like that with Sirius. But then, another thought occurred to him, and he smiled. “Could it be rain?”

Remus was sure it was the right memory; just like he’d been sure of his plan this morning, he knew exactly what to do. He plunged into the pensieve, and when he opened his eyes, he was at Hogwarts, walking up a sloping, green hill, to the place where two boys were reclining beneath a shady tree at the edge of the Black Lake. It was raining on them, but Remus couldn’t feel the phantom rain. Strangely, all he could sense was the memory of how he had felt back then, thrilled and exhilarated and surrounded by Sirius for the very first time, feeling as if everything he’d ever wanted was within his reach.

And that was still true, even now. Because there was a man standing beneath the tree, watching the boys—someone who hadn’t been there the first time around.

“Hi, Sirius,” Remus said softly as he approached the tree. Sirius turned suddenly, and his mouth fell open.

“Is it really you?”

Remus nodded. Sirius exhaled in relief, and then he lunged at Remus, folding him tightly in his arms. This felt strange, too; even though Remus could feel him, his skin was cold, and there was a certain detachment between them—just as Okafor had explained, a discontinuation between Sirius’s body and his mind.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius breathed against Remus’s shoulder.

Remus squeezed him and said, “Good. You should be.”

Sirius snorted a wet-sounding laugh, and Remus pulled away, taking his hand. “Okay, here’s what we have to do. Listening?”

Sirius wiped his face with his other hand and nodded seriously.

“I’m going to hold onto your hand, and we’re going to talk about the memories you saw. Everything you remember. Okay?”

Sirius looked pained, but he nodded.

“And the moment you can feel my hand on yours, you have to tell me, okay? The very moment you feel it.”

Sirius nodded again, then looked down at their joined hands and frowned. “I—can’t really feel anything.”

“I know,” Remus nodded. “That’s normal. We’ve got to reconnect the pathways that were lost. Professor Okafor is working on you out there, and I’m going to be your guide in here.”

Sirius smirked. “My guide? Am I hallucinating?”

“No,” Remus smiled.

“I don’t believe you.”

Remus squeezed his hand. “Obnoxious prick,” he said fondly.

“See, the real you wouldn’t say that,” Sirius protested.

Remus barked a laugh. “Is that what you think?”

“He wouldn’t,” Sirius insisted, “no matter how much I deserved it. He would be—” he shook his head, and the edges of his eyes turned red. “He would be so much kinder to me than I ever deserved.”

Remus’s heart ached, and he squeezed his hand again—even though Sirius couldn’t feel it. “Tell me what you remember,” he said.

“That’s what I have to do to get out of here, really?”

“Yes, so just shut up and do as I say.”

“How can I do it if I’m meant to shut up?”

“Sirius…” Remus grinned. 

“Right, sorry.” Sirius looked at Remus for a long time, studying him as if he didn’t quite believe he was real. Which probably wasn’t far from the truth, frankly. Finally, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Okay, well. I remember breaking up. The things I said to you.” He paused, collecting himself and taking another long breath before continuing. “And…and before that, I can remember what I blamed you for. The reason I said the things I said.”

“Which was what?”

“The ambush I’d planned. When Caradoc was killed. I—I thought you tipped off the werewolves, and that’s how the Death Eaters found out.”

That…was surprising. Remus remembered that mission—it was part of the body of evidence he and Arthur had compiled against Peter. Because Remus hadn’t been personally involved, he’d never considered that might be the reason Sirius had doubted him. Sirius had told him all about his plan, of course, but that wasn’t unique. Sirius had always told him everything. Nothing about that particular circumstance felt unusual to Remus, in fact.

“I didn’t tell them,” Remus said, numbly.

Sirius immediately said, “Of course, you didn’t. I know that, now. I just—Godric, I was so scared that they’d trick you into doing something you’d regret, you know? Especially because of all the controversy with that werewolf, the one the Ministry was after that you were helping. I just assumed the Death Eaters would take advantage of you, too. Or that they already were. But you were always so much smarter than that. Smarter than me,” he added, with a look of annoyance at himself. “And I tried to convince James and Lily to help me change your mind, but,” he glanced up at Remus and smiled ruefully, “they never believed me. They were…placating me, if anything, just by listening. But they didn’t doubt you, Remus. Never, even for a moment.”

Remus closed his eyes. He hadn’t known how much he needed to hear that until this second.

“I’m sorry,” Sirius added, eyes cast downward again.

“What else?” Remus prodded softly. He stared down at their linked hands.

“I remember that I tried to win you back,” he said, then rolled his eyes. “I was so stupid. I thought I could…impress you. If I learned what the Ministry was doing to help werewolves, if I proved that things weren’t so bad. But then, of course, the opposite thing happened, and I found out you’d been right about everything, all along. And by then, I was sure you were in over your head.” He laughed bitterly. “But you never were. I was such an idiot to think…” he shook his head. “I just couldn’t see clearly, you know? And I think…I don’t know, I think maybe I was a little bit... Jealous.”

The last word came out so quietly, it was nearly a whisper, and it surprised Remus so much that he let out a short, incredulous laugh.

Sirius peered up at him and gave a sad little smile. “What? Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah, a bit," Remus replied honestly.

“You’re awfully feisty, for a figment of my imagination,” Sirius remarked.

Remus wanted to kiss him. “Jealous of what?” he said instead.

Sirius shrugged, cheeks reddening slightly. “I felt like…I don’t know, like they were all you cared about.”

“You thought I cared about them more than you?” Remus filled in, quietly.

“Which was stupid,” Sirius said, getting a second wind, “because they’re the ones who needed you. If I felt so left out, I could have just joined your side. I could have learned more about what you were doing and tried to help you, to help them. But instead, I just pushed you away.” He shook his head, sadly. “And now, it’s too late. You’ll never forgive me.”

Remus smiled at him. He was such a pessimist, sometimes. “Oh, really? Won’t I?”

“No,” Sirius said, “you can’t. Not after everything I’ve done.”

“Ah, okay.” Remus said. “Thank you for clarifying that. Good to know what I can and cannot do.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’ll hate me, when you find out the real reason.”

“You still think I’m not myself?” Remus squeezed his hand again.

Sirius shrugged. “If I was going to hallucinate anybody while I’m here, I think it would have to be you.”

“Do you hallucinate often?”

“Not anymore,” Sirius said, “but I used to. In Azkaban.”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Sirius nodded, then frowned. “Yes, but seeing as you’re a figment of my imagination, you ought to know that, already.”

Remus laughed. “Those figments of our imaginations can be so unpredictable, can’t they?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Sirius said drily. He wiped his eyes, then smiled at Remus so fondly that it warmed him to his toes. “It’s good to see you, though. Even if you aren’t real.”

“Missed me?”

“Always.” His expression turned soft and tender; Remus could have drifted away in it forever. Quietly, he said, “As soon as I did it, I regretted it, Remus. I want you to know, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“I wonder why you’re bothering to apologise,” Remus said, stroking Sirius’s hand with his thumb, “if you think this isn’t really me.”

Sirius shrugged. “I’ll take what I can get, I suppose. The real you will probably never want to see me again. And he’d be justified, wanting that.”

“You’re so stubborn,” Remus remarked. He reached up and touched Sirius’s cheek, then tucked his hair behind his ear. Sirius closed his eyes at the touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. “What else do you remember?” Remus asked.

“I remember you coming back from the pack,” Sirius said, eyes still closed, relaxing into Remus’s touch. “The day I told you about the ambush. I remembered—being with you.”

Was that all he was going to say about it? “Prude,” Remus teased, and Sirius finally opened his eyes to grin at him.

“You were adorable,” Remus added. He let the fingers of his free hand twist idly in the ends of Sirius’s hair. “You were so proud of yourself, after how Dumbledore and Moody reacted to your plan. And it was a very good plan,” he added, pleased when Sirius smiled. “I hope you realise, I would have never done anything to spoil that for you. And anyway, you promised me you had a plan to keep the werewolves safe, and I believed you.”

Sirius gave him a cautious look.

“What?”

He hesitated, cocking his head to one side slightly. “Is—is that really you?”

Remus nodded. He tugged on Sirius’s hair again. “I already told you, I am.”

Sirius just gazed at him, astonished. After a short pause, he said, “I can feel your hand.”

It took a second for the words to register—for the pure shock of it all to move through Remus’s system and take logical form in his brain. But then he heard it—and he understood.

It was just like he'd known all along; this was going to work.

“Okay. Hold on,” he said. And he gripped Sirius’s hand and pulled him up from the pensieve.

Chapter Text

24 March 1983

Sirius’s eyes blinked open in the dark, but he didn’t wonder where he was. That scent—warm skin and spice. He’d know that smell anywhere; he was in Remus’s bed. He stretched and smiled, then rolled over to look at the man beside him, who was still asleep—eyelashes fluttering over his tanned skin.

It had been a very good night.

Remus, for his part, had slept like a rock—passing out almost as soon as their lovemaking had ended—and hadn’t stirred the rest of the night, except to reach for him when Sirius rose to get dressed, and to curl back into his arms when Sirius returned in his shorts and undershirt, with a moaned complaint that sounded like it meant, ‘Stop leaving.’

Sirius intended to take that directive very seriously, in any case. He was never leaving this man again.

The sun hadn’t risen yet. A glance at the clock showed it was only half six, but that didn’t mean much, with Harry around. He could wake up any moment. Sirius would have to use the time wisely.

In the dim light of the fire they hadn’t extinguished yesterday, Sirius could make out Remus’s sleeping form—all long limbs and sharp angles. He was beautiful—more beautiful than Sirius had remembered. He had a rugged, manly quality that was only enhanced by its contrast with his silvery scars, the glimmering beauty of his eyes, the softness of his lips.

Remus had rolled onto his side in the night, folded over Sirius’s chest. Sirius turned him onto his back, grinning when Remus huffed a little complaint. He kissed Remus’s chest, letting his tongue linger on every place that made Remus’s pulse quicken—with one hand gently circling Remus’s wrist to confirm. He worshiped him, every reaction making Sirius’s own heartrate spike, a thrill rushing through him.

By the time Sirius had reached Remus’s hips, he was awake, though not very alert. He hummed, and Sirius could hear the smile in his voice as he asked, “What are you doing down there?”

“What do you think?” Sirius opened his mouth, sucking a bit of Remus’s flesh between his lips, letting his teeth close over it lightly.

Remus shivered. “Oh.”

Sirius grinned and kept moving lower, only looking up a time or two to catch a glimpse of Remus’s open lips, his breathless pleasure.

“I missed this so much,” Sirius whispered, just before drawing Remus deep into his throat. For all the foreplay, Remus still seemed not to have expected it; he gasped, and then he laughed.

“Do you mean this, specifically?”

Sirius pulled off of him and smirked. “Yes, this particular facet of your anatomy, is what I meant. Now be quiet and let me work.”

Remus laughed again, but it turned to a moan soon enough, and Sirius made a game of it—how quickly could he get Remus to come? His long fingers were wound tightly in Sirius’s hair, holding him steady, just a bit rough with him. Sirius could have wept with the joy of being here again; he had so much lost time to make up for.

He collapsed face first onto Remus’s hipbone afterwards, taking a long, deep breath of him. He could hear Remus panting, could feel the racing of his pulse.

“This is my spot,” Sirius mumbled, pressing a kiss to Remus’s warm skin.

“What’s your spot?”

“This. Right here,” Sirius reached a hand up to squeeze Remus’s other hip, then tilted his head to grin up at him. “You’re my pillow. I slept all night like this once, remember?”

Remus’s touch had turned very soft; he was stroking Sirius’s hair, fingers gently unwinding the tangles he’d made himself, rubbing rhythmically against Sirius’s scalp. “No. When was that?”

“Your nineteenth birthday!” he said, pretending to be affronted.

“Oh, that’s right! We never made it to the bed that night, did we?”

Sirius kissed him again and settled in. “No. But I had my pillow.”

Remus snorted. “Can’t be very soft.”

“Nope,” Sirius smiled. “But still my favourite spot.”

“You’re sweet.”

“You’re a bit salty,” he replied, and licked Remus's hipbone. Remus tugged his hair and snorted with laughter.

“Don’t be crass.”

“Sorry. Can’t help it. Wickedness is in my nature.”

“Godric,” Remus laughed. He reached down to stroke Sirius’s neck. “You used to say that all the time when we were in school. Remember?”

“Mhm,” Sirius nodded. “My go-to excuse. ‘I can’t help it, I’m a Black.’ It never got me very far.”

“Because you were nothing like your family,” Remus pointed out.

“Turns out, I’m a bit like them,” Sirius said.

“No, you are certainly not, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

“You’re still as bossy as you always were, I see.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha.”

“And you smell the same.”

“Do I?”

“Mm.” Sirius took another long breath of him, hiding his face in the juncture of Remus’s thigh. “I missed you,” he breathed. He hadn’t meant to say that; they’d agreed yesterday not to be mopey.

Remus didn’t complain. He stroked his hair and said, “I missed you, too.”

Sirius leaned up on one elbow to look at Remus. He was beautiful, with his hair a wreck, light brown curls too long and a bit tangled and sticking up everywhere. He didn’t look sad, which was good, but Sirius still worried.

He traced a finger along Remus’s thigh and said, “It’s alright if you’re still angry.”

“I’m not,” Remus said easily. He tugged Sirius’s hair again. “I don’t blame you, really.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. He knew Remus was kind, but that was absurd. “How in the world can you not blame me?”

Remus shrugged. “I don’t know. I probably should. Just—I remember how I was, back then. About the pack. I was so…”

“Tenacious?”

“I was going to say belligerent.”

“Oh, you were not,” Sirius poked his hip, and Remus gave him a little smile. “You were passionate because it was important, and you had to keep at it because nobody was listening to you. Including me.” He glanced downward and shook his head. “I’m ashamed of how I acted, Remus. And that wasn’t your fault.”

“I appreciate that,” Remus said softly, “but there’s still enough blame to go around.”

“No,” Sirius argued.

“Yes,” Remus said emphatically, with another playful tug of Sirius’s hair. “You don’t have a monopoly on apologising, Sirius.”

Sirius laughed, and then he sighed. “Oh, I’ve missed all the ridiculous things you say.”

“Hey!”

“Charming things! I meant to say charming.”

“Oh, please.” Remus gave Sirius’s head a little shove, making him laugh again.

“You have no idea, Moony,” Sirius said softly, looking down again. Laughter fading, he added, “I missed you like you wouldn’t believe.”

He could hear the smile in Remus’s voice. “You’ve said.”

“It’s true. You’ll never know how I sorry I am.”

Remus brought Sirius’s hand up to his lips, so that he could kiss his fingertips. “We weren’t going to mope, remember?”

Sirius smiled and nuzzled his hip lightly. He smelled so, so good. “That wasn’t moping.”

“No?”

“No. Just regular old remorse.”

“And that’s so different from moping,” he smirked.

“I’ll never stop being sorry, Moony, so you might as well get used to it.”

Remus’s hand moved back to Sirius’s hair. “And I’ll never change my mind about forgiving you, Pads, so you might as well get used to that.”

Sirius closed his eyes and kissed the inside of Remus’s thigh. That got Remus’s heartrate going again, and soon Sirius forgot what they’d been talking about in the first place.

“That’s enough.” Remus’s voice sounded rough, wrecked, and he tugged hard on Sirius’s hair, “Get up here and really kiss me.”

Sirius obliged, dropping kisses all the way up Remus’s body, adoring him, dazed with gratitude, pouring everything he had into Remus.

When they finally parted, they were breathless, laughing, thrilled to be together again and neither of them even remotely inclined to hide that fact.

“Why are you dressed?” Remus asked, tugging on the bottom of Sirius’s t-shirt.

“I figured one of us should be,” he replied, “in case Harry woke up and needed anything.”

“Oh, right. Him.”

Sirius laughed and nipped Remus’s bottom lip. Rather proud of himself, he added, “I did a locking charm on his door, too.”

“You did what?!”

Sirius rolled his eyes at Remus’s dismay. “Oh, come on! You didn’t want him waking up and walking in on that, did you?”

“No, but—”

“James absolutely would have done the same thing,” Sirius added, “you can’t tell me he wouldn’t have.”

Remus opened his mouth to argue, but then his expression shifted, and he shrugged. “Well. You might have a point there.”

“I do,” Sirius said, pleased. He kissed Remus again. “And anyway, it’s not like I put him into an enchanted sleep or something.” Remus laughed, and Sirius added, “Though, to be fair, that’s only because I didn’t think of it. We should probably do that next time.”

Remus grinned and said, “We’re such good parents.”

“Oh, the best.”

They kissed again, and this time, they kept kissing until Harry awoke—a loud thud on the door and an angry cry confirming that he had indeed noticed that he’d been locked inside.

“And there’s our wake-up call,” Sirius smiled.

“But what about you?” Remus said, when Sirius tried to sit up.

“Hm?”

“You haven’t—” he tugged on Sirius’s shorts, a mischievous half-smile on his lips.

“Oh,” Sirius smiled, then leaned in for another kiss. “I’m fine,” he said. “This morning was just for you.”

“Sirius…”

“I mean it. I’m alright, don’t worry about me.”

Remus sighed and said, “I suppose there isn’t much time, anyhow. I should get dressed, too.”

“No,” Sirius said.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated. “It’s Tuesday morning. You have a free period. Go back to sleep.”

Remus blinked at him, and for a moment Sirius worried that he was overstepping, but then Remus’s face lit up in a bright smile. “Really?”

Sirius leaned in to kiss him again. He could have kissed him forever. He would kiss him forever. “Yes, really. I’ll get Harry dressed and drop him off with Hagrid before I go to work. You get some rest.”

Remus sank back into his pillows, looking as if he couldn’t believe his luck. Sirius hurried away before Remus could somehow guilt himself into changing his mind and waking up, after all. He pulled on his own clothes and thought about how there was nothing he could do that would ever repay Remus for how happy he’d made him. It would be impossible—an infinite, irredeemable debt.

But he’d certainly try, and he’d never stop trying.

“Good morning, young man,” Sirius said when he opened Harry’s door. The little boy folded his arms, affronted.

“Where is daddy?” he demanded.

“Sleeping,” Sirius said, “and he’s very tired, so let’s give him a lie-in, yeah?”

“I can get in his bed,” Harry said confidently. Sirius laughed and stepped inside the bedroom door, closing it behind them.

“He’d prefer to sleep alone just now, darling. How about we get dressed instead, and then I’ll take you to Hagrid’s for some breakfast?”

“I don’t want breakfast!”

“You want to see Hagrid, don’t you?”

“No, I want daddy!”

“Let’s take a peek at him,” Sirius whispered. “You can see that he’s still sleeping, and we’ll be as quiet as a mouse so we don’t wake him. And then we’ll get dressed. Okay?”

Harry nodded and held out his arms to be carried. As soon as they were in the main room, he began squeaking like a mouse, which was exactly what Sirius had asked for, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. He hurried Harry back into the bedroom so he wouldn’t see Remus shaking with laughter under the covers.

Once Harry was all settled at Hagrid’s, Sirius walked to Hogsmeade to apparate to London. It was a lovely walk through the early morning fog, and Sirius felt lighter than he could remember ever feeling before. He’d been suffering from mind damage for so long that he’d forgotten what it was like to be without it—to have a clear mind, a perfect memory. He hadn’t realised until now, when he could finally recognise himself again, just how bad things had gotten. Even when the memories were painful, he’d rather have them than not. Now he felt fresh, like a cool breeze had wiped him clean, the residue of Azkaban eroded into a smooth surface: forever a part of him, but no longer sharp and gritty. His mind felt free again.

And then, of course, there was Remus—and Remus had been best of all.

When Sirius had emerged from the pensieve yesterday, he’d immediately found himself with an armful of Moony. He had one hand in his hair, and the other around his waist, and he was squeezing Sirius for all he was worth.

“You idiot,” he whispered into Sirius’s hair. “Do you have any idea—”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius had breathed.

Remus leaned back, and Sirius had fully expected to be pushed away. But Remus kissed him instead—long and deep, and Sirius was too shocked to say a word about it.

Then, Professor Okafor had interrupted them as if they weren’t shamelessly snogging in the middle of her laboratory, and she’d gotten right to work. Sirius wasn’t sure how long that had lasted—he’d passed out again almost immediately, and the last thing he remembered was Remus gripping his forearm, whispering in his ear, “It’s alright…”

When he opened his eyes sometime later, he was lying on a table in the exam room, and he’d had to listen to about a hundred questions from the team of researchers who were surrounding him there. But after he ignored all of these questions and asked for Remus just as many times, they finally relented and let Sirius go.

The walk to the clinic doors felt impossibly short, and Sirius’s feet had dragged like they were encased in cement. He was nervous, sure that Remus would finally let him have it—the dressing down he certainly deserved, and was perfectly ready to receive. Especially if he might have a chance of being forgiven afterwards.

But as soon as Sirius saw Remus in the corridor outside the clinic, Remus had grinned in his nonchalant way and said, “From now on, if you ever call me dramatic, I’m going to remind you of this day, and you won’t be able to say a single word.”

Sirius had tried to laugh, but it came out half a sob, and then Remus was surrounding him again.

Sirius pulled himself together soon enough; there was no excuse for making Remus play the role of comforter after all Sirius had put him through. He took Remus’s hands and kissed them both, then opened his mouth and said the first thing he could think of: “Will you take me back?”

And Remus had smiled at him as if nothing had ever gone wrong. He’d kissed him, very softly. And then, the total prat, he’d said, “I’ll consider it after a probationary period. Ninety days. And you’ll have to submit a formal request, in writing. Grammatical mistakes not permitted.”

Sirius smiled all the way to the Ministry, thinking of Remus. But his good mood didn’t last long once he was inside. Godric, did he ever hate this job. He tromped into his office at five minutes past eight, feeling all his usual annoyance after being accosted by no fewer than six sycophantic office aides who wanted to bring him tea and scones and newspapers.

“There you are!” Minister Bagnold said, following him into the small room.

“Here I am,” Sirius repeated, with a forced smile.

“Your eight fifteen is here,” she said.

“Are you my secretary now?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

Bagnold rolled her eyes. “No. I just wanted to check in.”

“That’s nice of you. Anything in particular you’re checking on?”

She sat in the chair opposite Sirius’s desk. “Will you come to the reception this weekend?”

Oh, right. Another pretentious party. Sirius doubted Remus would want to go—it would be a fundraising event for the politicians in Bagnold’s political party, filled with just the sort of person Remus couldn’t stand—and Sirius definitely didn’t want to go without him. And even though he’d had fun with Delphia the other night, it really wasn’t worth making Remus uncomfortable just to have a date.

“I’ll try,” Sirius said, hoping that would buy him a bit of time to make a decision.

“I’ll need your answer by Thursday,” she said.

“Fine,” Sirius nodded. He glanced at his clock. He’d like to get a few more things done before his appointment, but Bagnold wasn’t leaving. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” she smiled dangerously. “I wanted to make sure I mentioned to you how pleased I am with the plan you’re negotiating with the Institute. And I support what you’re doing for the werewolves, too. If,” she added archly, “my opinion matters to you.”

“Of course, it does.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” she remarked. “The deaths following the wolfsbane trials were very influential in the public opinion. The registry has never encountered such staunch resistance.”

“I’m against the registry, too,” Sirius pointed out.

“Having a treatment initiative,” she continued, pointedly ignoring him, “that doesn’t rely on or interfere with the registry, will be very popular.”

“Popular enough to garner financial support?”

“Who needs that, when they have you?” she replied, smirking.

“Mhm. Well, there’s talk of the governments that want to take part needing to pay in.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way around that,” she replied.

She turned to leave his office, and he called after her, “That bit was my idea, in fact.”

“I can’t hear you,” she called, and the sound of her clacking heels faded down the corridor.

Sirius sighed. One way or another, he would not be the only person footing the bill for this programme. Sure, he could afford it, but that was beside the point. For people to be invested, to be truly committed, they’d need to put their money where their mouths were. His goal wasn’t just to help the werewolves, after all; it was to sway public opinion about them: to reduce prejudices. To help people see that it was a predicament that could happen to anybody, and there was treatment that could render them perfectly harmless, and the only possible humane response to their suffering was to provide that treatment. How hard was that?

But of course, it had turned out to be very hard—as Remus had long known, and tried to convince Sirius of. It was all so much easier said than done.

Sirius trudged down the corridor at sixteen past the hour, because you could take the man out of the chaos, but you couldn’t take the chaos out of the man. He hated meetings, but he also knew very well that there was nothing else for it. Decisions had to be made, and now that he was one of the decision-makers, meetings were a part of his life. It was inevitable.

If someone had told his sixteen-year-old self that one day his job would consist of sitting at a table full of bureaucrats and do-nothings and trying to convince them to make werewolf rights their highest priority, he would have laughed in their face.

But, it was only a two-year commitment to serve on the cabinet. He would make all the changes he could in that time, and when it was over, he’d find something else to do—something he really enjoyed.

“Mr Black!” Professor Fillimon, director of the Lycanthropy Programme at the Magical Institute, rose to greet Sirius, shaking his hand with far too much enthusiasm. “We were so relieved to learn that your procedure yesterday went well.”

Sirius tried not to frown, though he was immediately very irritated. He’d thought the services he’d received at the mind healing clinic were confidential and protected by privacy policies, but perhaps that was only true for the mind healing sessions with Nathan. Or perhaps, if you were famous enough, that was never true, at all.

Two of Sirius’s own assistants were at the table, as well as a councilman, and Sirius would rather none of them learn what had happened last weekend. Taking charge of the meeting with all his usual natural authority, he said smoothly, “I was relieved, as well. Dementor damage is difficult to live with, and I’m very grateful that it turned out to be reversible. However, I can’t claim to know much about what was done. If such records are open to the public in general, you’d be better off discussing it with Professor Okafor.”

“Oh, yes—of course, they aren’t, but the sheer academic—”

“Meanwhile,” Sirius interrupted whatever nonsense Fillamon was about to say, “to be respectful of the committee’s time, shall we review the papers that were drawn up for the beta program?”

“Yes!” a petite witch who assisted Fillamon—Sirius believed she might have been a graduate student—rose to her feet and unfurled a parchment that detailed the stipulations Sirius had recommended last time.

“Our encryption spell should work perfectly, and if we expand to a separate facility to produce and distribute the potion via anonymous portkeys, there’s no reason why any identities should ever cross our researchers’ tables. As you can see…here,” she pointed shyly to the paper. “Unless something goes wrong, of course,” she added, eyes wide behind her black-rimmed glasses.

“Something goes wrong,” he repeated, frowning. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, just side effects,” she said, smiling pleasantly.

Fillamon sat up straighter and interrupted her. “Thank you, Sarah, that will be all. Really, the side effects are nothing to worry about, Mr Black, as the incident rate is so low.”

“But what are the side effects?” he pressed. “Do you mean deaths? I thought those issues had been resolved.”

“In most participants, yes, fortunately,” he said hurriedly. “The vast majority of deaths occurred back before ratios had been perfected. As I’m sure you’re aware, the potion is essentially a short-term poison intended to reduce the body’s ability to—”

“Wait, I’m sorry. It’s a poison?”

Fillamon gave Sirius a look that was rather condescending, and Sirius sat up straighter in his seat, irritated. “Wolfsbane is toxic to humans, yes. Werewolves have a higher tolerance for it, but not by much. We had to use the antidote, but not too soon, or else the potion wouldn’t work on the full moon. And if we gave it too late, the damage the wolfsbane caused would be permanent.”

“That was resolved, though,” Sirius said, “and the ratios currently used are safe. Correct?”

“For most werewolves,” Sarah piped up, and Sirius smiled at her. He liked her energy much better than Fillamon’s; she reminded him a bit of Remus. “We’ve gotten the incidence of side effects down to about a quarter of a percent.”

That seemed like a good number, but then Sirius hesitated. To the one or two people who would be affected, what did it matter that the rate had been low? If it was Remus?

“And are those cases treatable, or do they just die?”

“It would be treatable if we had them under our observation,” she replied, “and that’s the difficulty. We wouldn’t be able to know if they were ill, or even who they were. All of that information would be with the ministries they’d registered with—or, if they register for our programme independent of a ministry, then nobody would really know.”

Sirius sighed. That really wasn’t good. “Assuming the ministries are aware,” Sirius said, “what could be done?”

“They would need to be treated if the cases were reported to us.”

“But who’s making these reports?” Sirius pressed.

“Well. Nobody, right now,” one of Sirius’s assistants said, “so that’ll be one of the areas we need funded, if this passes council.”

“If what passes council? I thought privately funding the programme meant the council’s approval wasn’t needed.”

“It isn’t needed for us,” Fillamon said, “but for governments to be able to use the programme for their own registered werewolves, they will need to institute some sort of policy.”

“That seems superfluous.”

“Welcome to government,” Fillamon said, almost laughing before the three delegates from Sirius’s own team glared at him.

But Sirius smirked and said, “Too true. Well, then. Recognising the need for approval, what sorts of information should we be prepared to provide to get this past the council? Maybe if we start now, we’ll be able to streamline the process.”

Sirius’s aide nodded. “You’ll need the exact parameters of the program,” she said, “the projected costs, the funding sources, and any contributions from the Ministry that would be required, including finances, dedicated personnel, and intelligence.”

Sirius sighed. This was so complicated.

They talked through the possibility of a proposal to the council at length, and then they moved onto other topics, running into just as many dead ends, before Sirius finally set his quill down and sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I just wish—” he paused, then glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven. Their meeting would end soon, and at Hogwarts, Remus’s classes would just be starting.

“You wish?” Blakely, the councilman, prompted.

Sirius looked around the table, irritated with himself for failing to notice it sooner. “We aren’t werewolves,” he said.

“No,” Fillamon smiled, as if this was a good joke, “well spotted.”

“We should have a werewolf at this table,” Sirius said. “One, at least, maybe more.”

“They aren’t exactly the legislative sort,” Blakely pointed out.

Sirius had to count to ten before answering, and remind himself that he’d once been just as ignorant as Blakely.

“I know one who is,” he said decisively. “There’s no point in our meeting without him, but I’ll have to convince him to show up before we get together again.”

The others glanced around the table as if unsure what to make of that response. The thing about having an obscene amount of money was that nobody really argued with you when you wanted to do something, even if they disliked your idea. They might say everything under the sun about you behind your back, but to your face, it was all eager assent.

The fact was, this programme couldn’t happen without Sirius’s considerable financial backing, and he wasn’t going to fund any programme that Remus didn’t wholly approve of.

Of course, he’d originally wanted to do all of this anonymously, so that Remus didn’t feel indebted or uncomfortable or whatever other nonsense he was always feeling when it came to money. But that wasn’t half as important as getting this right, and anyway, Remus would have to get used to the fact that Sirius was rich sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner.

“We can resume talks next week,” Fillamon said, after glancing at the others. “We’ll have to settle things soon. The trials will conclude by mid-summer, if all goes well.”

Sirius nodded. He didn’t want a gap in the potions the werewolves received—particularly because of Remus. He’d seen how happy Remus was after getting the potion with the sleeping draught—how well-rested and fit and cheerful he felt. There was no price he wouldn’t pay to give Remus that feeling.

The meeting adjourned, and it was a long day, after that. More meetings, more papers to review, more dull conversations that Sirius had to sit through. After less than a month on the job, Sirius was completely confident that a career in politics was just not for him. At least it was only two days a week—but those two days felt longer than the other five combined.

But the good news was, being so bored all day gave him plenty of time to think. And as he sat through nonsensical meeting after nonsensical meeting, he began to form a plan. The longer he thought about it, the better he liked it, and he finished his day with a mind positively bursting with ideas.

He ran a few errands on the way home—Gringotts, the grocery store, the apothecary, and last of all, the owl emporium, where he sent a quick note back to the castle:

Moony,

If I can convince Jane to babysit Harry, will you have dinner with me tomorrow night? (Yes, I’m asking you on a date—in case that wasn’t clear.)

Love you,

Pads

Chapter Text

25 March 1983

Remus had nothing to wear. Not that he was particularly concerned about such things, but he knew that Sirius was, and usually looked like he’d stepped straight off the pages of Modern Witch magazine (in the heartthrobs section, naturally) and that meant he should probably try to look at least halfway decent for their dinner tonight.

But, as usually happened when Remus tried to take half an hour to do anything for himself, Harry simply wasn’t having it.

“Pow!” Harry shrieked, tossing a handful of Floo powder into the air.

“No-no-no, what are you doing?” Remus rushed over to him, tie only half done, and coughed on the cloud of powder that was twirling through the air.

“It’s an explosion!” Harry grinned, delighted, and Remus shook his head, reaching for the jar of Floo powder that the boy had in his sticky little hands.

“Did Severus show you an explosion when Uncle Hagrid brought you by his classroom yesterday?”

Harry nodded, positively gleeful, and Remus cringed and put the jar high above the fireplace, where Harry couldn’t reach.

“Well, in case he didn’t mention it, it’s important to only do explosions when supervised by a grown-up. Do you understand?”

“It’s a rumpin potion!”

“Do you mean an erumpent potion?”

Harry nodded, all smiles.

“Why on earth would Severus show you one of those?”

“BOOM!”

“No,” Remus said, “no boom, erumpent potions are extremely dangerous, and there is no reason in the world why he should have shown you that.”

“No touch, or it will EXPLODE!” Harry hopped into Remus’s arms, limbs flung out wide.

“Uh-huh.” Remus reached for a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace, then stuck his head inside, with Harry still squirming in his arms.

“Yes?” Snape said, appearing in his own office, blurry and distant in the fire.

“Why are you showing my son erumpent potion?”

“I’m not,” Snape said, barely looking up from the cauldron on his desk.

“Well, he’s over here pretending he has an exploding potion, so—”

“BOOM!” Harry cried.

Remus set the squirming boy down and returned to the fire.

“I’m teaching it to the fifth years,” Snape said disinterestedly. “It’ll be on their OWLs, and it’s highly explosive, which means I cannot allow them to make any errors. As such, we have spent several weeks perfecting our technique. I imagine no such critical attention is required in your History lessons, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“That explains why your fifth years would know about the potion, Severus,” Remus said, ignoring the implied slight, “but not why Harry would know it.”

“I had a small vial on my desk,” Snape said. “He asked what it was, and I showed it to him. In a controlled environment, with every appropriate precaution taken, so you needn’t—”

“But he copies everything we do!” Remus said. “You can’t just show him a potion that explodes and expect him not to try to explode everything he comes across for the next week or month or however long it takes him to forget about the ‘amazing explosion’ you showed him!”

“Keep him away from explosive potions, then, and he should be fine,” Snape replied.

“He’s throwing Floo powder in the air and pretending it’s an explosion!”

“Sounds like your problem,” Snape said.

Remus didn’t know why he bothered. “Ugh, fine, whatever. Don’t show him things that explode anymore, please.”

“Mhm.”

Remus ended the fire call and stood up, then looked down at his clothes. He was covered in ash and Floo powder; this would never do. Knowing Sirius, he’d bring him somewhere ridiculously posh, and Remus had just mucked up his nicest pair of slacks. He performed a quick Scourgify, but he was no good at domestic spells, and anyway, that didn’t quite fix the smell. And his tie was a bit singed from the fire, too.

He sighed and went back to his trunk to find a change of clothes, and he’d just settled on a pair of brown corduroy trousers with a simple green jumper when the sound of the Floo flared up again, and Remus realised, too late, that Harry had been perfectly silent for the past ten minutes.

“Harry?”

“Digon Alley!” came a little voice, all confidence, and then the fire lit up green, and Remus ran to the fireplace just in time to see Harry disappear.

“Harry, no! Ah, fucking hell…” Remus kicked on the nearest pair of shoes and tossed a handful of powder into the fire. Just to be safe, he’d better mispronounce the words just the same as Harry had. “Digon Alley,” he muttered miserably. What was he going to do now that Harry had learnt to use Floo powder, and had apparently mastered the art of levitating the jar to himself?

Brimming with terror, Remus stepped into the Leaky Cauldron and blinked the smoke from his eyes, looking around. He barely had time to work himself into a good panic when he saw the little boy, only about a metre from the fire, glancing back and forth at the enormous, shadowy room around him with wide, teary eyes and a trembling chin.

“There you are,” Remus exhaled—taking what felt like his first breath since he’d heard the Floo flaring up.

 “Daddy!” Harry turned and ran into Remus’s arms, squeezing his neck for all he was worth.

Remus’s body was slowly catching up with the rest of him; his heart was pounding so hard it hurt. He ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and said, “Darling, you cannot use Floo powder by yourself. That’s extremely dangerous.”

Harry, clearly frightened, didn’t answer except to cry and cry into Remus’s neck, and Remus sighed and kissed his forehead.

“There, there,” he said. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

Harry nodded, then wiped his nose. “Birdies?” he said pitifully, one lip pouting.

Remus smiled. Godric, did he ever love this boy. “No, Harry, we can’t look at the owls right now. You’re meant to go to Jane’s and play with Louis and Ava, remember?”

Harry nodded again and sniffed dramatically, and Remus laughed, almost giddy with relief. That could have been so much worse. He’d have to ask Molly Weasley if there was a way to childproof the Floo. Tomorrow, of course. Not today—today, he had plans.

“Let me buy us a couple handfuls of Floo powder,” Remus said, sighing, “and we can go straight to the flat.”

Unfortunately, in the rush he’d left in, Remus hadn’t remembered to bring any money. He was lucky he’d even remembered his wand, frankly. He smiled apologetically at the barkeep, who refused to give him any powder for free—“It’s only two Sickles, sir, surely you can afford it”—and said to Harry, “How would you like to run to Gringotts with me?”

“Yeah!” Harry squirmed out of Remus’s arms and darted towards the door.

“We only walk, Harry, when we’re in Diagon Alley.”

“Oh, yes. We only walk,” Harry repeated, with a serious nod. Remus’s heart flooded with affection for him. Harry always put on such a grown-up air when he came to Diagon Alley with Remus. He was such a mini-Lily sometimes.

A clocktower in the main road showed it was still quarter to six; they wouldn’t be late to Sirius’s flat if they could make it snappy at Gringotts. Remus had brought Harry here a few times before, and he was quite proud of the fact that it was never to make withdrawals from the Potter vault. Things had been a bit tight there for a while before Remus had been hired at Hogwarts, but he’d always been able to feed Harry, even if he couldn’t quite feed himself.

He stood at the counter and asked to be shown to his vault, and was rather confused when the goblin waiting on him said, “Which one, sir?”

“Just mine,” he said, with a self-conscious smile. “Not Harry’s.”

“Yes,” the goblin gave him a smile that seemed oddly personal—meaningful, even, though Remus couldn’t imagine why. “But which of your vaults would you like to visit?”

“I only have one,” Remus replied. Had they scanned his wand incorrectly, perhaps? “It’s Remus John Lupin,” he added. “Born 10^th March, 1960.”

“Yes, sir, I have your account right here,” the goblin replied, holding up a little scroll that had magically filled with Remus’s own identifying information. “But you have two vaults. There’s the Lupin family vault, and the Black family vault.”

“Uh—no,” Remus smiled, trying to be patient. “I only have one.”

“No, sir,” the goblin shook his head, “you’re an owner of both vaults. See?”

Remus looked at the parchment in the goblin’s hands and saw, very clearly, the Black Family vault listed under his accounts.

“But—” he shook his head, baffled as to how that particular mistake had been made. He was too clever to think it was a coincidence, but still, this was nonsense. “I know the owner of that vault,” Remus said politely, “and it isn’t me.”

“Hm.” The goblin took the scroll back and tapped it several times with his finger. Then he showed it to Remus again. “You were added as part-owner yesterday, sir. You and Mr. Sirius Black the third are co-owners of the vault.”

Remus just stared at him, mouth open, unable to say a word.

Harry, friendly and bright-eyed, took the opportunity of silence to lean onto the counter, put his face right up to the goblin’s, and say, “Meow.”

Remus pulled Harry off the counter, embarrassed, and plopped him on the ground. “Don’t meow at people, love.”

“Which vault would you like to see?” the goblin asked, looking less friendly.

“Mine,” Remus said. “The—uh. The Lupin one, please.”

The goblin nodded, looking thoroughly unimpressed, and said, “Very well. You can follow Phyllis down to level one.”

Level one was where the smallest vaults were.

There must be some mistake, that was all. Sirius wouldn’t just add Remus to his vault without telling him. Perhaps he wanted to add Remus as a beneficiary; his time lost in his own head might’ve made him worry. Or, perhaps the change had been made accidentally when Sirius visited yesterday. Stranger things had happened, hadn’t they? 

Harry was difficult to keep on task as they walked past strangers of all sorts, in various colourful robes. Ordinarily, Remus would have found this tiresome, but today, he was pleased for the distraction.

“We don’t touch strangers’ clothes, Harry,” Remus muttered every so often as he redirected Harry to the little stone pathway.

Harry giggled and beamed up at him. “Can I have a purple robe with fur?”

“No.”

“Can I have a rainbow robe?”

“No, darling. Your clothes are just fine, you don’t need new robes.”

“Can I be a pirate?”

“What? No, Harry, and that man wasn’t a pirate.”

“Where’s his leg?”

“He just—” whispering, “Harry, I don’t know what happened to his leg, but it’s very rude to look at a person without a leg and just assume they’re a pirate. In fact, it’s best not to mention what they look like at all.”

“Ahoy, matey!”

“Oh, merlin…”

At last, they reached Remus’s vault with its modest pile of gold, and Remus withdrew a couple galleons. Sure, there wasn’t much here, but it was all his; he’d earned every last knut, sickle, and galleon in that pile. And that was something he felt sincerely proud of, even if it wasn’t as grand as the Black family vault.

“There we are,” he said, turning back to Harry. “Let’s be off.”

“Can I have one?” Harry asked, eyes shining at the glittering coins in Remus’s hand.

Remus grinned. Merlin knew why Harry wanted them, but his bright little face was very hard to turn down, resembling James like he did. “Sure,” he said, “and you can even give these to the barkeep when we pick up our Floo powder.”

“Okay!”

They walked back up Diagon Alley just as the clock struck six, and Remus hurried Harry into the Leaky Cauldron to Floo straight to Sirius’s flat.

“Ready?” Sirius grinned broadly as soon as he returned from dropping Harry off at Jane’s.

Remus was waiting for him patiently, trying to decide whether or not to mention his odd trip to Gringotts.

But Sirius seemed so eager to get on with things that Remus decided it could wait. Especially since he didn’t have the first clue how to broach the subject. Things with Sirius had been so good the past few days. He’d never expected the memories Sirius recovered to be so innocuous: a simple misunderstanding, some assumptions that he ought never to have made, and which he had regretted horribly for months to follow. He hadn’t expected to find Sirius so apologetic, so eager to please, so quick to forgive the mistakes Remus himself had made.

In fact, Sirius wouldn’t even admit that Remus had made any mistakes, at all. But Remus couldn’t forget how hard Sirius worked to impress Remus all the time, and how little Remus had seemed to notice him back then. He’d thought Sirius was showing off, but that wasn't it, at all; he’d misunderstood everything. Now, he had both eyes open, and it was obvious that Sirius adored him. Remus was almost embarrassed by it—the depth of it, the breadth.

Sirius was looking at him like that now, holding one of Remus’s hands in both of his and saying, “Okay, so—I have some surprises for you. But you have to promise not to get angry.”

Remus snorted a laugh. “I can’t promise that!”

“Just say it anyway,” Sirius grinned.

Remus shook his head.

“It’s nothing a reasonable person would be angry about,” Sirius added. “I think.”

Remus took a deep breath. That mad idiot really had added Remus to his vault, hadn’t he? And he was going to tell Remus about it tonight. Clearly, he had it all planned out.

For a second, Remus considered telling Sirius that he already knew. But then, he decided there wasn’t any harm in doing things Sirius’s way. So he leaned in, kissed him, and said, “Alright. I promise.”

Sirius smiled without so much as a hint of suspicion, the oblivious man. And then, they were off.

Remus had expected a fancy restaurant, posh and chic and ridiculously expensive. He hadn't expected Sirius to apparate them to Ilkley. Remus glanced around, then turned to look at Sirius, surprised.

“This is—”

“One of the oldest wizarding communities in England, I know,” he grinned. “You’ve always wanted to come here.”

Remus's mouth was open with shocked delight. “But what are we doing here?”

“Have you heard of Grey Gwenyth's Tavern?”

“You mean the oldest wizarding tavern in Britain?”

Sirius’s smile widened. “That’s the one.”

“But it’s a museum now.”

“Yes, but I’ve rented it out, and we’re going to eat there. Just like the grand old wizards of yore!”

“You mean we’ll eat wild game and drink mead that tastes like rubbing alcohol?”

“Ha, ha. No,” Sirius nudged Remus with his elbow, rolling his eyes. “I mean that it’ll be themed. Educational.”

“Why?” Remus started laughing. This was so absurd.

Sirius shrugged. “I thought you’d like it.”

Remus wanted to laugh harder, but withheld it to spare Sirius’s feelings. This ridiculous man.

Sirius looked exceedingly proud of himself as he offered Remus his arm and walked him to the museum.

It was unplottable; Sirius had to do a spell to open up the pathway to the rickety stone steps. The building looked like it was ready to fall apart—wooden, and probably only held together by magic.

“Did you know,” Sirius mentioned casually, “that one of the first Quidditch teams in England was based here in Ilkley?”

Remus stepped through the door that Sirius held open for him. “I did know it.”

“Of course, you did. There's a new stadium here, now, the old one was destroyed in a fiendfyre accident. Ah, here we are.” Sirius stepped up to the house elf who was waiting for them, looking very old and tired, but extremely enthusiastic to have such a prestigious—and probably, well-paying—customer.

“Welcome, sirs,” came the squeaky voice. “Your table is right this way.”

They followed the house elf down a dark corridor, past the old bar with its ancient barrels of mead and the torch lights and the tables and stools made for people half their height. Remus was delighted with all of it.

“Your meal will be served momentarily,” the elf said, bowing very low before leaving them in what appeared to be a totally empty corner of the dining room.

Remus glanced around, confused, and Sirius barked a laugh.

“The table is invisible,” he said gleefully. “A disillusionment gone wrong about five hundred years ago, and nobody’s ever been able to reverse it.” He drew out his wand and cast a wordless spell; blue sparks floated down and landed on the shape of a table and chairs, burning brightly before disappearing.

Sirius walked confidently to the place where a sparkling chair had appeared only moments before and pulled it out for Remus. He turned to him and smiled. “Will you sit down?”

Remus felt like he was being pranked. And he wouldn’t put it past Sirius, frankly. But he walked over and sat down anyway, and was pleased not to fall to the floor in a heap.

Sirius kissed the back of Remus’s head as he pushed his chair in, then walked over to his own chair and sat, resting his hands on the table and smiling. “Good, huh?” he said, looking as if he couldn’t resist saying something.

“It’s bloody brilliant!” Remus gushed. “How did you hear about this place?”

Sirius shrugged. “Some bloke at the Ministry was lobbying to have it preserved. Apparently they’re struggling to keep on a staff, except for the house elf there. I think,” he added, “they should open it up for private dinners like these. I've hired a caterer, but the current owner could easily arrange something similar at scale. No sense in the Ministry co-opting it; it could be a great business opportunity, if they play their cards right.”

“You've thought a lot about this,” Remus remarked, and Sirius shrugged, though he looked pleased.

“I’ve picked up a thing or two about business since working at the Ministry, that’s all,” he said.

“Would you ever want to open your own?”

“My own restaurant?"

Remus nodded.

"No,” Sirius said emphatically. Thoughtfully, he added, “Wouldn’t mind investing, if the right opportunity came along.”

The house elf returned with two glasses and a bottle of wine. Remus watched, delighted, as the wine bottle seemed to float between them, and the glasses balanced atop absolutely nothing, filling up with wine.

“This is brilliant,” Remus said after the house elf retreated.

Sirius beamed. “I’m glad you like it,” he said.

“Any reason why you wanted to do it in the middle of the work week?” Remus couldn’t resist asking.

“Ah.” Sirius set down his wine glass after having a long sip of it. “Yes. I have some things to discuss with you. Some of them time-sensitive. And I thought, why not go out? I haven’t taken you on a proper date in ages.”

“I can’t remember the last one,” Remus replied.

“Your birthday,” Sirius said without even thinking about it, “just before we broke up.” He sighed. “I never forgot that memory. That's when I got you that necklace, remember?”

Remus nodded. Sirius was looking mopey, and that was no good. Grinning, he said, “That’s right. That was a great night.”

Sirius finally smiled, though he was still looking downward slightly. “Yeah, it was.”

Remus definitely didn’t want to mention that he’d sold that necklace for groceries while Sirius was in prison, so he changed the subject. “So, what did you want to discuss?”

“There’s another gala coming up,” Sirius said.

It took Remus a moment to understand what he was talking about; he’d expected to be told about Gringotts.

Misinterpreting Remus’s frown, Sirius said, “I know you hate parties, but I do have to go. If you want me to go alone, I will, though.”

“I don’t mind—” Remus started to say.

“I’m not bringing Delphia again,” Sirius said decisively. “Not after how upset you were last time, and all those stupid rumours.”

“No, I meant, I don’t mind going," Remus laughed. "If you want me there.”

Sirius stopped, eyebrows raised. It was very clear he hadn’t expected that. “Really?”

“Sure,” Remus smiled. “Why not? If you’ll be going to these things, I might as well get used to them.”

“Really?” Sirius repeated.

Remus laughed again. “Yes. Godric, is it that hard to believe?”

“You were pretty set against it last time.”

“We hadn’t gotten back together last time.”

Sirius ducked his head so Remus wouldn’t see his smile, but Remus still saw it, warming him all over.

“When is it?” Remus asked. He stretched his legs under the table to tangle his feet with Sirius’s.

Sirius looked up, still smiling. “It’s Saturday night. A fundraising dinner. Lots of influential people there.”

“Ah. Sounds perfect."

“Mhm. Well,” Sirius took another sip of wine. “The food will be good, at least. And I have a bit of networking I need to do.”

“Oh?”

He nodded. “Yes. That’s—ah. Well, that’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

Remus nodded patiently. He had a feeling he knew what this was about, too. “Alright.”

Just then, the house elf arrived with bowls of soup for them, and Sirius waited until he’d gone away, leaving floating bowls of steaming Brown Windsor soup in front of them.

“So,” Sirius began, clearly nervous. “You know the Wolfsbane study?”

“The one I participate in every month? Heard of it, yeah.”

Sirius gave Remus a fond smile. “Well. I had a thought after our last conversation about the potion’s dissemination among the general populace.”

“Listen to how you talk,” Remus remarked. 

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’ve always talked this way.”

“I know.” Remus’s face hurt from how much he was smiling. He’d missed this man so much.

“So, I had an idea,” Sirius said. “And it turned out not to be half bad, but there are still some…kinks to work out.”

“Okay.”

“The encryption spells,” Sirius said, “that the Magical Institute uses.”

“Yes.”

“They’re proprietary,” he said, “but if a program was established at the Institute to distribute the potion to werewolves, it could be done with complete anonymity.”

Remus smiled at him. “That’s brilliant, Sirius.”

But Sirius furrowed his brow. “Wait. You already knew, didn’t you?”

Remus didn’t answer, trying to make an innocent face.

“Who told you?”

Remus sighed and shrugged. “My healer for the Wolfsbane study. He knows we’re friends, you and I, and. Well. He mentioned it when we were there earlier this week.”

“But my donations were meant to be anonymous!”

“Yes, he told me that, too.” Remus smiled.

“Well, that takes half the fun out of it, doesn’t it?”

Remus laughed. “Oh, come on. Why would you want it to be a secret, anyway?”

“Because if people know that you and I are—you know.” He reached out and squeezed Remus’s hand. “Then they might put two and two together and figure out that you’re a werewolf.”

“Oh.” Remus hadn’t thought of that, and he squeezed Sirius’s hand back. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

“Every now and then,” Sirius replied, with a bashful smile. Remus could have kissed him, if he weren’t sitting so far away.

“But that doesn’t explain why you were keeping it a secret from me,” he added.

Sirius shrugged, looking just a bit guilty. “I know. I didn’t want you to feel—whatever way you usually feel, when it comes to money.”

Remus took a breath, digesting that. He and Sirius hadn’t discussed money much since their reconciliation earlier this week, but it had always been a point of some contention when they were younger.

“What changed, then?” he said at last.

Sirius seemed relieved to have moved on from that so quickly, too. He said, “Well, we met yesterday, and I realised that there weren’t any werewolves helping make the decisions, and that was a huge oversight.”

Sirius really had changed, hadn’t he? This wasn’t the same man who’d broken up with him for wanting to help werewolves, who’d so badly misunderstood his motives that he’d chosen his own prejudices over trusting one of his oldest friends. This was the man who regretted it, and learned from his mistakes, and would do anything to fix them.

Remus pushed out his chair, walked over to Sirius, and kissed him, swallowing up Sirius’s exclamation of surprise, and moving easily when Sirius pulled him onto his lap. When they parted, Sirius gazed up at him, reverent and adoring, and Remus leaned down and placed another kiss, soft and chaste, on his upper lip.

“I love you,” he said.

Sirius’s eyes lit up, and he reached up and kissed him again, hard and desperate, and didn’t stop until the house elf came back with their next course.

“So,” Remus said when they were alone again and he had returned to his own invisible chair, watching Sirius slice into some sort of roast with his floating cutlery. “What kinds of decisions did you need my help with?”

“All of them,” Sirius said. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t approve of. If you’d be willing to come to the meetings with me, I’d appreciate it, but I understand if you don’t want to, for the sake of your own privacy.”

That was a good point. Remus took a bite of his own potatoes, diced and herbed and smelling delicious. “I’ll think about it,” he said as he chewed.

“That’s all I ask,” Sirius said. Then, he added. “Well, no. I also ask that you review all the parchments we’ve drawn up. I know you’re busy, but I can help you mark papers, if you could take the time to look them over.”

“How many are there?”

He cringed apologetically. “It’s a lot. There are so many details, honestly, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. But it’s nothing we can’t figure out together, I’m sure.”

Remus smiled at him. “You’re a regular politician now.”

Sirius made a face. “Ugh, don’t say that.”

Remus tilted his head. “Don’t you like your job?”

“No, I bloody hate it. You knew that.”

“No, I didn’t! You never said.” Remus felt a spike of guilt. Sirius had only gotten that job because of Remus.

“Well, it’s not my cup of tea,” he replied, “but in two years, it’ll be over.”

Remus shook his head. “I shouldn’t have pressured you to get a job.”

“Oh, yes, you should, stop,” Sirius smirked. “You’re always blaming yourself for things. You know, I needed to get out of the flat. I was a right wreck, and you knew it. You always know what’s best, and I’d do well to listen to you.”

“I don’t quite think that’s true.” Remus took a self-conscious sip from his wine glass, reminded suddenly of something Dumbledore had said to him months ago. Something about right and wrong.

“That’s only because you’re so modest,” Sirius said. “And kind. Kindest person I ever met.”

Remus was truly embarrassed now; Sirius was usually more likely to show his affection with actions than words, and Remus wasn’t used to being showered with praise like this. Not that he minded, necessarily, but still. It was rather a lot to take all at once.

“You’re embarrassed,” Sirius said, grinning.

“Oh, you’re doing it on purpose, you ass,” Remus kicked him lightly under the table, and Sirius barked a laugh. “It’s good to see you enjoying yourself again, I’ll say that much.”

“That was another thing,” Sirius said, eager. “I didn’t realise how much the mind damage was clouding my head. I feel so much better now.”

Remus grinned. “Really?”

Sirius nodded. “I forgot what it was like to feel like myself.”

Remus nodded; he knew that feeling. Not from mind damage, of course, but from when he’d first adopted Harry. The first half a year or so had been a dizzying blur, a comedy of errors. He’d lost himself while learning to be who Harry needed him to be, and it took a bit of time to find himself again.

“Anyway,” Sirius sipped his wine. “I’m grateful. You were so patient.”

Remus smiled at him, heart soaring. He felt seen; he felt understood. He’d almost forgotten all about the whole episode at Gringotts, until Sirius looked away, appearing rather nervous, and said, “There’s just one thing more.”

“Oh?” Remus tried to look like he didn’t expect anything in particular.

It didn’t work. Sirius frowned. “What do you think I’m going to say?” he asked suspiciously.

Remus tried to look innocent. He shrugged. “Couldn’t guess.”

“Mhm…”

“Okay, look.” Remus couldn’t hide his smile. “Maybe, Harry levitated the Floo powder to himself today and took an impromptu little trip to ‘Digon Alley” to look at the birdies.”

Sirius tilted his head, eyes wide with alarm; clearly, that wasn't what he'd expected. “Okay…”

“And, maybe I went after him so quickly, I forgot to bring the money for Floo powder.”

“Ah.” Sirius looked down at his hands in his lap, a slight grin taking shape.

“And then, maybe, I brought Harry to Gringotts to withdraw some money, and maybe the goblin asked me which of my vaults I wanted to see.”

Sirius laughed out loud, then rubbed his forehead, closing his eyes. “Oh, Godric. Of course, that would happen. Well.” He shrugged and looked up at Remus, abashed. “Surprise.”

“I don’t get it,” Remus said, shaking his head. “You’ve made me a beneficiary, or—?”

“No,” Sirius shook his head, leaning forward on the table. He took Remus’s hand again. “I’ve added you as part owner.”

Remus stared at him. He hadn’t expected him to acknowledge it outright like that, and the only thing he could think of to say in response was, “Why?”

Sirius glanced away, shrugged, then looked back at Remus with a smile so affectionate that it took Remus’s breath away.

“I love you, Moony. It’s honestly disgusting how much I love you. If I tried to put it into words, you would just—you would be horrified.”

Remus laughed, loving Sirius so much that it ached and ached.

“And there’s nothing I have that I wouldn’t give you. There’s nothing I have that isn’t already yours,” he added. Then he took a deep breath. “I know I’ll never understand what it’s like to—not to have money, or whatever. Because I just inherited this, you know? Somebody just gave it to me, I did nothing to deserve it, and. Well. It’s stupid.”

Remus snorted a laugh. “What’s stupid?”

“Having this much money! It’s ridiculous. And I was thinking about the wolfsbane program, and how much good we could do. But I didn’t want to make any decisions without you, and then I realised that there aren’t any decisions, financial or otherwise, that I want to make without you. We’re a family, you, me, and Harry.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“And our family should have one vault, and everything we have, we should share.”

“So you brought me here,” Remus said slowly, smiling down at their linked hands, positively flooded with affection for him, “to tell me that you’ve given me hundreds of thousands of galleons.”

“Well—more like tens of millions, but yes.” Sirius grinned. “And I’m not cutting you a cheque or something, we’re going to share it. We’re a family, so. It’s ours.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver key, sliding it across the table.

Remus took a deep breath, then said, “You know I can’t touch silver, Sirius.”

“Oh, fuck.” Sirius’s face turned bright red, and Remus laughed.

“It’s fine, just transfigure it.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed. “Godric, leave it to me to do something so stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid.”

Sirius tapped the key with his wand, and it turned golden. “There, how’s that?”

“I think that’s probably fine.” Remus reached out to touch it hesitantly, then smiled. “Yes, it’s fine. Well done.”

Sirius laughed. “Right, well done for almost poisoning the love of my life with a silver key in what was meant to be a romantic gesture…”

“Well,” Remus laughed. “I meant well done on the transfiguration. You’re great at those.”

“I didn’t become an animagus by being remedial, that’s for sure.”

Remus grinned. “And so modest.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I never was, and you never minded.”

“I still don’t mind.” Remus shook his head, feeling light and giddy and desperately in love. “Can we get out of here?”

“But they haven’t even brought dessert yet.”

“I know. Can we go home?”

Sirius’s confusion only lasted another moment, and then he finally noticed the expression on Remus's face. He smiled. “Oh, I suppose we can.”

“Great.” Remus stood up, crossed over to him, and kissed him. “Lead the way.”

They left Harry at Jane’s, because what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and they spent hours in bed, wrapped up in each other, warm and affectionate.

“You know,” Remus said, “you have a lot more in your vault than the Potters have in theirs.”

Sirius glanced at him. “You mean we have a lot more.”

“Right.” Remus played with Sirius’s fingers, tracing each one with his own. “You’re like. Really, really rich.”

“You mean we are.”

Remus laughed. “Right.”

Sirius sighed. “Yes, well. The Potters were new money. The Blacks are old money.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means we've been ridiculously rich for a very long time. And now, so are you.”

Remus hummed. “So, do you want me to ask first before I buy things, or—?”

“No, of course not.” Sirius nudged Remus with his shoulder, and Remus lifted his head to smile up at him. “I’m not going to ask you before I buy something. Unless it’s really big, like this wolfsbane program, obviously.”

“So I just—take the key and withdraw money?”

“Yes, just like you do now. No difference at all.”

“Should I combine my vault with yours?”

“Only if you want,” Sirius shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Right, you’re so rich, what do you need my money for?”

Sirius poked him, barking a laugh. “Right, exactly. Smart ass.”

Remus laughed and nuzzled his face into Sirius’s shoulder. “You aren’t afraid I’m going to clean out all your money and run off with it?”

It was a joke, but Sirius smiled very fondly at him, running a hand tenderly up Remus’s back, sending shivers over his already sensitive skin. “No. I trust you.”

Remus hadn’t expected him to say that. It was so casual, but the meaning wasn't lost on him a single bit. His throat tightened, and he closed his eyes.

“I’ll never doubt you again,” Sirius whispered, rolling onto his side, pulling Remus closer still.

Remus nodded, eyes still closed, and opened for Sirius when he kissed him. He felt something sharp and damaged inside his heart filling up again, and as Sirius’s lips moved over his own, as his hands stroked worshipfully along Remus’s sides, he felt it slot perfectly back into place, as if it had never been broken at all.

Chapter Text

16 May 1983

 “Wheeeeeeee!” Harry screeched, arms outstretched.

“Harry, put your arms down!” Remus yelled, trying to be heard over the ripping wind.

“Don’t worry, he’s buckled in,” Sirius called over his shoulder.

Remus ducked his head and buried his face further in the crook of Sirius’s neck. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I couldn’t believe it, either,” Sirius agreed, “but if it helps, James and I used to take Harry out in the sidecar, and he did just fine.”

“You are such a liar,” Remus yelled in Sirius’s ear.

“Am not!”

“Lily would have never allowed you to bring her one-year-old son on a flying motorcycle!”

Sirius grinned into the wildly whipping air. “What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.”

“Oh my god, you did it without telling her?!”

“It was Prongs’ job to tell if her if he wanted to, and he didn’t. Ah, here we are.” Sirius started the descent when he spotted the stadium down in Appleby, amused when Remus’s grip around his waist grew even tighter.

“Are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?” Remus asked.

“You could just look down and see for yourself.”

“No, that’s not an option.” Remus’s voice was high and nervous.

Sirius threw his head back and laughed. “If I’d known you’d be this afraid, I’d have offered to take Harry by myself, and let you apparate.”

“No way!” Sirius felt Remus shaking his head. “I’m not letting Harry ride on this muggle death machine without me.”

“Muggle death machine, Moony, really?”

“I looked it up,” Remus yelled. “They’re more dangerous than cars, and car accidents are one of the leading causes of death for Muggles. Horrible, muggle transportation is. My mum swore off it as soon as she married dad. Why drive when you can side-along? Of course, her friends all thought it was odd how she managed to show up everywhere without a car, in half the time it ought to have taken her to get there, but she’d make up all kinds of stories. One of her friends even believed she had access to a secret underground train! Clever woman, my mother. I wish you could have met her. Though, she might have been a bit nervous about you. Particularly back then, when you were so—what’s the word? Not reckless…rebellious. Godric, we’re going fast. Okay, I’m just going to—to close my eyes and hope for the best. Grab Harry if he falls off, won’t you?”

Sirius smiled at Remus’s stream-of-consciousness babbling. He wouldn’t calm down until they’d landed safely, so best to just get on with it. “Of course, I will,” he said, “but we’re nearly there, so you needn’t worry.”

Remus snorted and squeezed Sirius so tightly that it hurt.

Sirius slowed the motorbike considerably as they approached the stadium. He landed smoothly, pleased with how little his driving skills had regressed. Ever since Hagrid had given him back his motorbike last month, Sirius had been trying to persuade Remus to take a ride on it—and practising his driving every day in the hopes that Remus wouldn’t regret it whenever it finally happened.

Harry, at least, seemed impressed with the experience. Beside them in the sidecar, he was shrieking with delight and laughter, bouncing as much as his safety belt would allow and clapping his little hands. But behind Sirius, Remus’s face was still hidden in Sirius’s leather jacket.

“Aren’t you going to look now?” Sirius asked him.

“No.”

Sirius laughed again. “But we’re on the ground!”

“Don’t care. Too fast.”

Sirius slowed down even more. “We’re nearly there,” he said, “I just need to find a place to park.”

They did, shortly thereafter, between two buses from the Knight Bus fleet.

Remus finally looked up, and then—as if he’d been calm all along—asked casually, “Are you sure we’re allowed to park here? I’d hate for you to be ticketed—or worse, towed.”

Sirius removed his helmet, then reached over to help Harry out of his. “This’ll be fine,” he said. “See? It’s a numbered spot. I’ll pay the fee same as everybody else.”

“Wanna do it again!” Harry said, clapping and reaching from Sirius to Remus and back again, unsure which dad he wanted to pick him up.

Remus slipped off the seat onto solid ground and scooped Harry up before Sirius could even set down the helmets.

“Don’t you want to take off your helmet?” Sirius asked him, as Harry tried awkwardly to put his arms around his dad’s neck.

“You can help me,” Remus said, clinging to Harry as if he’d just pulled him from the edge of a cliff.

Sirius decided not to comment on this as he reached for Remus’s helmet, unclipping it and slinging it into the sidecar with the other two. He cast a couple quick spells to lock the bike and protect it from bumps and scratches (he hated to think the damage a Knight Bus would be capable of doing), then turned and said, “Ready to watch some Quidditch?”

Harry whooped with delight and squirmed so hard that Remus had to put him down.

“We’re walking, Harry, not running!” he called, as Harry immediately darted away.

Sirius whipped out his wand. “Lente,” he muttered, and Harry’s quick pace instantly slowed.

Remus turned to him with an incredulous smile and said, “Where did you learn that?”

“Molly taught me. Just a quick flick of the wrist, here.” Sirius showed Remus the movement, and Remus copied it. After, Sirius took the opportunity to grab Remus’s hand. He squeezed it as they walked together behind a much more manageably paced Harry. “So, I couldn’t help but notice that you weren’t all that surprised by my surprise,” he said.

Remus turned to him with that smile of his—the one that was apologetic and playful at the same time. “Your girlfriend told me.”

“Oh, stop,” Sirius shoved Remus with his shoulder, and Remus laughed.

“What? Jane’s better friends with you now than she ever was with me.”

“She is not. We’re just neighbours.”

“You’re friends. You went to Jazzercise class together.” Remus’s voice was shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Sirius frowned, then elbowed Remus when he laughed even harder. “Okay, that was one time, and I didn’t know what the class would be when I agreed to go.”

“But you bought that hideous outfit to wear!”

“I thought I had to! Jane said that’s what we had to wear, and I didn’t want to stand out!” Sirius paused, knowing he shouldn’t let Remus get a rise out of him. His boyfriend was positively quaking with laughter. “You two are ganging up on me,” he said. He let go of Remus’s hand to fold his arms, pretending to pout.

Remus’s arm came around Sirius’s back, and his chin landed on Sirius’s shoulder, and he nuzzled his jaw and said placatingly, “I’m glad you’re getting along with her. And I’m glad you’re getting some aerobic exercise, too, that’s supposed to be very healthy.”

“Shut up,” Sirius snorted, unable to pretend to be cross any longer. What was the point of lying, anyway? “Okay, do you know what? Fine. I didn’t just go to one class. I’ve gone to several.”

At that, Remus looked horrified. “No, you haven’t.”

“I have,” Sirius nodded. “I just didn’t want to tell you because of how much you laughed the first time,” nudging him lightly again, “but the truth is, I like them. They’re fun, and the music is upbeat, and the women are nice—”

Remus broke into peals of laughter. “Oh, godric, the women?”

“And I’m not half bad. Here, look.” He stepped away from Remus and started showing him one of the dance moves he liked, but at that point, Remus was so doubled over with laughter that he couldn’t see him, anyway.

Sirius shook his head and took the opportunity to pick up Harry, who had slowed down some, having finally tired himself out. He walked back to Remus, who was holding his side with one hand and wiping the corner of his eye with the other, and said, “Laugh all you want, but it’s popular for a reason. When you two move in with me this summer, you can come to a class with me, and then you’ll see for yourself.”

“Not a chance.”

“Fine. Jane and I will go without you, and you can watch all the kids.”

“What does she normally do with the kids while you’re in class?”

“She hires a babysitter. Well, she arranges the babysitter, I pay for it. But there’s no need if you’re around.”

“Will you pay me?”

“Pay yourself,” Sirius smirked.

They were finally nearing the entrance, and as they lined up in the queue at the will call, Remus said, “I’m glad you two are friends.”

“It turns out she’s very nice,” Sirius conceded. “Protective of her own, but that’s a good quality.”

“She said you told her we were going to a football match.”

“Yes, I did. I even looked up a team that was playing today, to fool her. I’ll just need to stop at a newsstand and find out the score of that match before I get home.”

Remus laughed. “Now that Harry’s doing accidental magic so often, we should just obliviate her every day and be done with it.”

“I’ve had to obliviate her three times already,” Sirius admitted.

Remus snorted with laughter. “Twice for me.” He turned to Harry, who was looking skyward—eyes on the players on brooms, just visible above the stadium walls. “Hey, how come you haven’t learned to control that yet? You’re almost three, you know!”

Harry glanced casually at Remus. “Daddy, I just can’t help it,” he said with a sigh.

“Oh, my god, he learned that from you,” Remus said, laughing.

Sirius smirked. “He did not. I don’t say that.”

“Mhm.”

They reached the counter and got their tickets, and Sirius tried not to look too proud of himself as he led Remus and Harry to their private box seats.

“Is it just us in here?” Remus asked, clearly impressed as he glanced around their suite.

Sirius grinned. “Figured we didn’t need strangers bothering us, and anyway, there’s space enough for Harry to play, if he ever gets tired of watching the flying. Though, we aren’t quite the only ones.”

“No?”

Just then, the door on the other side of the suite flung open, and in walked Arthur Weasley and his six oldest children.

“No Molly and Ginevra?” Sirius asked as he hurried over to hold the door for all those red-headed kids. Though he would never admit it to the Weasleys, he couldn’t stand the name ‘Ginny.’ It sounded so mundane and ordinary. Ginevra sounded like medieval royalty, and was far more befitting of the girl.

“No, sorry,” Arthur said, looking and sounding quite harried. “Ginny’s got a bit of a cold, and the pepper-up bottle was empty, so she and Molly are at home.”

“Ah,” Sirius nodded. The Weasleys seldom accepted gifts from him, but he thought maybe he could get away with slipping a fresh bottle of pepper-up into their pantry undetected.

“So, you brought everyone all by yourself?” Remus walked over, too, looking impressed with that feat—and rightfully so.

Harry, meanwhile, had darted towards the twins, whom he adored, and was holding out his arms and whirring like a flying motorcycle. Though the little boys didn’t know what Harry was doing, they entered right into the game, and soon, their suite was filled with the sounds of children buzzing their lips, feet pattering, and the general chaos that more or less characterised the Weasley home constantly.

“I thought Mols could use the break,” Arthur replied, straining his voice to be heard above the din.

“And I hope you’ll all enjoy the match, despite their absence,” Sirius said, ignoring the way Remus snorted at him. He really had started to sound like a politician since working at the Ministry. He could only hope it would wear off after his term was complete.

“I’m sure we will,” Arthur enthused, “and cheers for having us. It’s Fred, George, and Ron’s first match.”

“Excellent! Harry’s, too.” Sirius hesitated and glanced at Remus. “Right?”

Remus snorted. “Yes, that’s right, unless you count Hogwarts.”

“He sat with me at the first match of the year!” the oldest Weasley piped up, and Sirius glanced at Remus.

“What, and you didn’t go?”

“No, I was researching a certain imprisoned friend of mine at the time, if you recall, so I couldn’t spare the time.”

Sirius smiled and only refrained from kissing Remus because they were in mixed company. Not that the Weasleys would have minded on account of them both being men, but Remus and Sirius had found out the hard way at dinner a few weeks ago that even something as innocuous as a kiss on the cheek was fodder for infinite teasing from the oldest boys, who weren’t quite old enough to think kissing was anything but gross.

“Food’s over here,” Sirius told Arthur when he heard two of the boys bickering over a sandwich their mother had packed for them, gesturing towards the table he’d had catered for them in the back of the suite. “And seats to the stadium are just through that door. There are spells,” he added, “so nobody can fall over the ledge.”

It was a legitimate concern, but Arthur laughed as if the idea of a child plummeting a hundred feet into the stands below was a great joke. “Thank Merlin for that. Alright, boys, shall we grab a spot to eat, then?”

They paraded away, with the oldest boy pausing to ask Remus how he’d done on his last History of Magic essay.

“Nice try, Bill, but I haven’t marked the first years’ papers yet,” Remus replied. “OWLs were last week, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“I’ll be top at those, when I’m in school,” another little Weasley said—Sirius wasn’t sure which one.

Remus smiled politely and said, “I’m sure you’ll all do well.”

“Thanks for the seats,” Bill added, after his brothers had gone away. He was looking at Sirius now, and Sirius nodded.

“It was nothing, really. Especially after all your mother’s done for me.”

“She said you and Harry have been coming over twice a week.”

Sirius nodded. “Mondays and Fridays. And I’ve never come over that she hasn’t taught me a helpful spell or two. She could teach her very own course on magical parenting, your mother.”

“Should do,” Bill agreed, “if she ever had any time when she wasn’t taking care of us!”

He hurried away, then, and Remus turned and beamed at Sirius. “Okay,” he said, “this was a good surprise.”

“What, the Weasleys?”

Remus nodded. “Yes. I didn’t know you were inviting them. And Bill even got to come from school!”

“I checked with Molly, and she thought it was a good idea. He’d be jealous if everyone else came without him, she said.”

“Brilliant.” Remus smiled in that smitten way he sometimes did, the way that made Sirius’s heart pound. Sirius leaned in for a quick kiss, after all, since nobody was looking.

“I keep hoping Harry’ll start playing with the boy who’s his own age,” Remus added, gesturing to the smallest red-haired boy, who was chasing the other three around and attempting to join in the fun of their motorbike game.

“Ah, give it time,” Sirius said.

“That’s what Molly said, too,” Remus replied. “They don’t start playing with kids their own age until they’re a bit older. But wouldn’t it be great if he could have a best friend in his own year at Hogwarts? Just like you, me, and James.”

There was a Marauder missing from that sentence, but Sirius didn’t comment on it. He only smiled and said, “Yeah, that’d be great. And the Weasleys are the perfect family for it.”

“Of course, Severus has him going on playdates with his godson, too.”

“The Malfoy boy?” Sirius folded his arms.

“Your cousin, yes.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Harry’s quite fond of him. Says he has the best toys, and he doesn’t mind sharing. He seems like a nice kid.”

“Sure, he does.”

Remus grinned. “Look, I’m just saying, a son of a dark family was sorted into my house when I was in school, and he’s the best person I ever knew.”

“Who could you possibly be talking about?” Sirius teased, and Remus stepped close to him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“It’s a mystery,” he said, grinning, and kissed Sirius softly.

“Ewwww!” Charlie Weasley—the boy who loved dragons—had spotted them. “There’s no kissing in Quidditch!” he cried.

Sirius shrugged at Remus, who was blushing. “That’s fair,” he said, taking a reluctant step back. Then, noticing what was happening at the dessert table, he added, “Should one of us make Harry a plate?”

Remus turned in the direction Sirius was looking. “Oh, Godric. Harry, don’t lick the cream off the fruit tarts!”

They got Harry settled with his own plate of food, and then helped themselves as the match got underway. It was a pleasant, late spring day: the sky was clear, for once, and the sun was bright.

“I wonder if someone performed a weather charm,” Arthur remarked as he took a seat near them inside the suite. The boys were all outside watching the match, enjoying the warm breeze and loud sounds of the crowd.

“I don’t think so,” Sirius said. “We took the bike here, and it was clear skies all the way.”

“Is that right?”

Remus shrugged. “Oh, I wouldn’t know. My eyes were closed.”

Arthur laughed. “I’d love to go for a ride on that. Ingenious, those muggles! Who needs magic when you have so much innovation?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Sirius said, though in fact, he’d never entertained a thought like that in the whole course of his life. But it was fun to get a rise out of Remus, who rolled his eyes. "And I'll give you a ride anytime you like."

"Just don't tell Molly," Arthur grinned at them. “It really is perfect weather for a perfect day. I’m sorry Molly has to miss it.”

Sirius nodded. “Me, too. But I’m sure she was keen for the time to herself. Particularly if she used that drowsiness spell of hers to help Ginevra take a long nap. Speaking of ingenious.”

Remus said, “Oh, yes. Best thing that ever happened to us, that charm. She really should write her own parenting book, or something.”

Arthur laughed. “She’s a clever one, isn’t she? Oh, by the by, Sirius, I’ve just finished reading your interdepartmental memo about the extension of the Wolfsbane study. Great work you’ve done there. And I’m sure you didn’t do it alone.”

“No,” Sirius said, “I had an anonymous helper.” He glanced towards Remus, who winked.

“I’ll never say a word to anybody,” Arthur said.

“I wasn’t worried,” Remus replied.

“So, when does the next phase of trials begin?”

“Next month,” Remus replied. “And they’ve mapped it out to last a full year, which means there’ll be plenty of time to organise the distribution program before it concludes.”

“It’s brilliant, really,” Arthur said, “giving the full antidote at the same time as the aconite.”

“It’s the only way to do it safely,” Sirius said, “and the hypothesis that the poisoning was what caused the easier transformation had never even been tested, it was just assumed. We should be able to get the deaths all the way down to zero, with this method.”

“How did you convince them to try it this way?”

“We…may have tested a prototype of it ourselves,” Sirius replied, glancing at Remus, who laughed. “Unauthorised, of course, but—”

“But when has Sirius ever done things any other way?” Remus interrupted.

Sirius bumped him with his shoulder and rolled his eyes, grinning. “—but,” he continued, “Remus has an in with the healer that works at the institute.”

“Is that so?”

Remus nodded, but he had just taken a bite of his kebab, so Sirius spoke for him. “He’s an odd man, but he seems to like Remus an awful lot, and he’s always visiting Hogsmeade. Remus thinks he’s lonely,” he added, nudging Remus’s shoulder again. “He wants to set him up on a date with our friend Jane.”

Remus swallowed and said, all innocence, “I mean, I want to see if he’s interested, that’s all.”

“Jane wouldn’t like him,” Sirius replied.

“Looking out for your girlfriend, are you? She’s so lucky to have you.”

Sirius shook his head, poking Remus in the side and making him squirm away, laughing.

Arthur said, “Jane—is that the muggle who babysits Harry sometimes?”

“That’s the one,” Remus said.

“I wish I could meet her. I have so many questions…”

Sirius laughed. “I’m sure Remus here could answer most of your questions, too. He’s quite knowledgeable.”

“I’ll say. I’ve been sworn to secrecy, so you can’t repeat this, but Bill told me Remus is his favourite teacher. Not only that, he’s the favourite of every single first year in Gryffindor house. They wish he could be their head of house, in fact.”

“What? And dethrone McGonagall?”

“I know, it’s heresy!” Arthur said. “She’s been head of house since I was in school.”

“Brilliant woman,” Remus said.

“Brilliant man,” Sirius replied, making Remus blush. “It really is lucky you’re so good at teaching.”

Remus grinned. “Isn't it?”

Arthur cocked his head to the side. “Why do you say that?”

“Didn’t Molly tell you?” Sirius had given her the whole story the day it had happened, weeks ago now.

Arthur frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“Well,” Sirius glanced at Remus, who nodded at him to continue, “you know the whole mind damage thing.”

“Sure, we knew about that while you were still in Azkaban,” Arthur said, glancing at Remus.

Sirius nodded. “Right. Well, in a moment of colossally poor judgement—”

Remus snorted and said under his breath, “Understatement of the century…”

“—Remus and I broke into Dumbledore’s office to view an old memory I’d lost, which triggered the mind translusionment process.”

Arthur laughed. “Oh, you never! Why didn’t you just ask him first?”

“He was abroad,” Remus said, shrugging.

“And I’m too impulsive,” Sirius added.

“Well, that’s true. But I’m usually better at telling you no.”

“Yes,” Sirius gave Remus his most charming smile. “One of your many talents.”

Arthur shook his head, still smiling. “Poor Dumbledore. He’s got his hands full with you on staff, hasn’t he? You know, Gid and Fab used to warn us about the lot of you. Nothing but troublemakers, they said.”

Sirius laughed. “Yeah, me and James, but not Remus. He’s always been on the straight and narrow. Spent all his energy trying to keep us honest.”

“Not quite,” Remus said, smiling down at his hands.

“That’s how Molly felt about her brothers, too,” Arthur said. “She used to complain about them, once upon a time. Never anymore, of course.”

“No, never,” Sirius agreed. He sighed, as they all fell silent for a moment. Talking about James had gotten easier, but missing him still hurt like hell. That was one reason he liked spending so much time with Molly; he liked being around people who understood the pain that never really receded. Sirius finally broke the silence by saying, “Only the good die young, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right,” Remus echoed softly.

Arthur nodded. “Too true.”

And, Sirius added silently, James had been the very best. Sirius could give Harry the world, and it would still never make up for what he’d lost.

“Anyway,” Sirius said, unwilling to bring down the mood with wrongs that could never be righted, “when Dumbledore finally returned from abroad, the portraits in his office told him everything we’d done. And he was furious, naturally.”

Arthur remarked, “That’s always scary.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Yeah, it was. I’ve seen him angry before, but it’d been a long time. I’d thought my days of being called to the headmaster’s office for reprimands were over.”

“And then, what happened?”

Sirius shrugged, glancing at Remus again. “Well, I tried to take the blame, but the old man didn’t really believe me. He changed the Floo in Remus’s office so now only he and Harry can travel through it.”

Arthur looked surprised. “Were you coming to the castle unauthorised before that?”

Remus cringed. “In hindsight, we both recognised that it wasn’t the best choice we ever made.”

“Yes, we both fully owned that,” Sirius agreed. “Not that it made Dumbledore any less angry.”

“But we were coparenting Harry,” Remus said, “so at the time, it seemed really reasonable. But technically, it was a security breach, and we never should have done it.”

“He only let Remus keep his job because all the students adore him,” Sirius added, grinning.

Remus shook his head, but he was smiling.

“Is he still angry, then?” Arthur asked.

Sirius answered, “Just with me. Not Remus, anymore.”

Remus grinned at Sirius. “Yeah, he came around and realised you were the bad influence, all along.”

“And proud of it,” Sirius said. Arthur laughed. “But it’s fine. I’m sure I’ll figure out a way to get back on his good side sometime or other.”

“Maybe offer to do some odd jobs for him," Arthur suggested. "The quickest way to Dumbledore’s heart is through doing him favours.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Sirius said. “But I still haven’t finished the last job he asked me to do.”

“No?”

“No, but I’m not sure it’s possible. He—ah.” Sirius hesitated. He wasn’t technically supposed to discuss this with anybody, but Remus had already heard it all, and anyway, keeping secrets from people he trusted had never worked in his favour before. Lowering his voice, he said, “He told me about this artefact that’s supposedly hidden at Grimmauld Place. My family’s ancestral home,” he added, in case Arthur hadn’t heard of it. “And I’m meant to go and find it for him. Trouble is, I don’t know where it could possibly be, and the house is bloody enormous.”

“Do you even know what it looks like?”

“Oh, yes,” Sirius nodded, “I have a fake version of it, actually. But the real thing could be hidden anywhere. It might not even be at Grimmauld Place, honestly, it’s just—what Dumbledore thinks.” He shrugged. “But I’ve searched a few times now, and I couldn’t find it. I’m afraid my mother will get suspicious if I keep coming over there. She hardly remembers who I am anymore. And the last thing I need is for her to start mentioning me to her depraved Death Eater friends.”

Remus gave him a sympathetic look. It wasn’t really something Sirius liked to talk about, but Remus had a way of working it out of him. He knew all about how much Sirius’s mother had changed, both physically and mentally, and how she didn’t seem to remember that her son was estranged, or that her other son was dead.

Arthur had apparently picked up enough about Sirius’s family situation that he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he said, “I don’t suppose your mother has any house elves you could ask?”

Sirius paused, glancing at Arthur. “We do have a house elf. Kreacher. Do you think he’d know where it is?”

“Is it a magical object?”

Sirius nodded.

“Certainly, then. House elves are extremely attuned to the whereabouts of anything magical inside their homes. Molly’s family had one growing up, and she said that once, her brothers tried to sneak home an enchanted bow and arrow they'd bought in Knockturn Alley, and poor Tilly had to report it to Mrs. Prewett at once. She was under strict orders to tell her mistress if any magical artefacts entered the home.”

Remus snorted. “Your mother should have tried that with you.”

“What? I never brought home enchanted weapons, thank you very much," Sirius said. He wondered what Gid and Fab had needed them for, anyway, and was disappointed that he'd never get a chance to ask. At least, not during this lifetime.

“No," Remus said, tearing Sirius from his thoughts, "you just brewed the Animagus potion under your bed.”

“And it worked," Sirius grinned, "and aren’t you glad it did?”

The Weasleys were among the few people who knew that Sirius was an Animagus, and Arthur laughed. It was like he'd read Sirius's mind when he said, “Oh, I wish Gid and Fab had had more time with the two of you. You’d really have given them a run for their money.”

“James would,” Remus added, “not me.”

Sirius smiled fondly. “Oh, you kept up with us just fine, don’t pretend like you didn’t.” He turned to Arthur. All joking aside, he really did want to find this locket. “So you really think Kreacher could tell me where this artefact is?”

Arthur nodded confidently. “Oh, yeah. He’d have to, wouldn’t he? He answers to the family.”

Sirius had never thought that Kreacher might be able to help him; he hated that grumpy old elf, who seemed to share all the rudeness and prejudice his mother and father had always had. But Regulus had been Kreacher’s favourite; he’d doted on him. Perhaps this wasn’t a totally lost cause, after all.

“I’ll ask him, Arthur,” Sirius said. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Arthur grinned at him. “Gotta be good for something, eh? After all, you’ve gotten us the best seats we’ve ever had at a Quidditch match!”

“And you helped Remus get me out of prison,” Sirius replied, “so the scales are still tipped in your favour, I’m afraid.”

“You never should have been in prison in the first place,” Arthur replied. “I was furious with how the Ministry handled it.”

Though Sirius had barely been out of Azkaban six months, it already felt like a lifetime ago. He surprised himself a bit by saying, with complete sincerity, “Never mind. It all worked out in the end.”

Arthur left them to check on the boys, and Remus turned to Sirius. “So, Mr. Impulsive. How soon before you go to your mum’s and interrogate the house elf?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sirius replied. “But say, since you didn't enjoy the ride over, what do you say you and Harry take the Knight Bus home? You’ll be much more comfortable.”

“And you’ll fly home on the motorbike," Remus filled in, smiling.

“Well, I've got to get it home somehow.

“And perhaps take a little detour to Grimmauld Place?”

“Perhaps. It is on the way, after all.”

Remus leaned in and kissed him. “Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“That is such a lie."

"No..."

"I mean it, Sirius, if this object is cursed—”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of that,” Sirius said dismissively.

“Exactly! You aren't, but you should be. We lost people in the war to traps the Death Eaters set, sometimes with just ordinary-looking objects.”

Sirius nodded, recognising that Remus was in no mood to be teased. “Yes, you’re absolutely right, Moony,” he said. “I’ll be very careful. I promise.”

Remus smiled. “Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

They kissed again, but they were interrupted by a little boy pushing his way between them; he must have slipped inside when Arthur opened the door. “Paddy, up!” Harry demanded, then turned and squinted at Remus over his shoulder.

Sirius barked a laugh. “Harry,” he said, “it’s rude to interrupt people, you know.”

“My cuddles,” he replied, smirking at his dad as he curled up against Sirius’s chest.

Remus threw back his head and laughed. “That’s fine, Harry. I don’t mind sharing.”

“I’m sure,” Sirius shook his head, smiling. “Why don’t you go out and watch the match with the boys? I think Harry’s getting ready to take a little nap.”

“Oh, you’re right,” Remus said. Harry’d immediately closed his eyes and was very warm in Sirius’s arms. He never took long to fall asleep, when he was this worn out. “You sure you’ll be okay in here?”

Sirius nodded. “Of course. Go have fun.”

Remus hesitated. “Okay. But are you sure? You’re the one who loves Quidditch—”

“No, James was the one who loved Quidditch,” Sirius reminded him. “I’m the one who loves you. And you hardly ever get a moment to yourself. So, go on. You don’t even have to watch the match. You can go take a stroll, or get something to eat, or find a book to read, knowing you.”

Remus laughed.

“Go on, we’re just fine here,” Sirius insisted. “Besides, you’ll have him all afternoon while I visit my mother. Consider this your reprieve.”

Remus couldn’t resist that reasoning. He leaned over Harry, making sure he was asleep, and kissed Sirius softly. “Thank you,” he said, smiling.

“Oh, anytime.”

Remus left, and Sirius looked out at the red-headed boys flooding the box seats. He was proud to have given something small to them, in exchange for all the immeasurable things they’d given to him and Remus. But gazing out at them now, Sirius couldn’t help but wonder, if Lily and James had had another kid, if it might not have been a little ginger like these were: a mini-Lily, to complement the mini-James currently snoring in his arms. It occurred to him that this might be the reason why he’d grown so inexplicably attached to little Ginevra.

“You are so loved, Harry,” he whispered, stroking the sleeping boy’s hair. “You’ll never know how much.”

The fire, the anger, was still burning inside Sirius’s chest. Sometimes it burned cooler, but it never completely vanished. It was strong and solid now, a persistent, immovable flame. He would make Voldemort pay for this—for every moment of their futures James and Lily had been robbed of, and every child they’d never raised. And, most of all, for everything he’d taken from Harry, whose body would always bear the marks of his senseless hatred.

Sirius didn’t want to be a politician at the Ministry. He wanted to do something real, to make a difference. Slowly, in the very farthest reaches of his mind, an idea began to form.

And it was a good one.

Chapter Text

31 July 1983

The sun was hot, though it was hardly ten o’clock. Just like last year, it would be an oppressively warm day. Despite the humidity, the grass felt crisp, like it could already use a sprinkle of water. Remus stared awkwardly down at his feet. After a few moments of quiet, he sat down.

It seemed natural to use the gravestone as a backrest. That was easier than looking at their names: the birthdates that he knew so well, occasions that he’d memorised years ago, and commemorated with cakes and singing and laughter and, eventually, far too much drinking. He’d never been able to afford to buy them the sort of presents they were probably used to, but they’d never voiced a word of complaint about the ‘I owe you’ tickets he’d used to draw up for his friends: I owe you my history notes (for James); I owe you one (1) footrub (for Lily); I owe you three (3) hours of babysitting (for both of them, later on. Ironically, they’d never taken him up on it).

The death dates, too, he had memorised. Those weren’t hard to remember, being the same horrific day in October, and a holiday already. They’d ruined Halloween forever, but it wasn’t their fault.

It had hardly been two years ago that it had happened. They’d only been twenty-one.

“Well, Lils,” he said softly, staring at a clear, azure sky. “The first thing you’ll want to know is that he’s a right handful.” He chuckled to himself. “No, the first thing you’ll want to know is that he’s happy. And safe. And he takes after you. Not in looks, of course, but his personality. He’s caring. Better behaved than you ever were, Prongs. Though, not by much.”

He smiled down at his own hands, twisting them together. “Every time I look at him, I see you. Both of you.”

Remus turned his head and looked a short distance away at a nearby field of wildflowers, which grew grassier and more unruly the further out of Godric’s Hollow it went. Sirius was chasing Harry along the edge of it, and though they were too far away for him to hear the sound, Remus could tell they were both laughing.

He looked back down at his hands, folding them as if he were saying a prayer. His mum had used to pray when he was very small. Just after the bite, he remembered her pleading, desperate whispers that nobody ever seemed to hear. Except for Remus himself, small and frightened in his little bed, wracked with guilt for being the reason why his mother was so sad.

“He calls me Dad,” he told his friends, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. “I hope you don’t mind. He asked me about it once, and…I don’t know. It seemed cruel to say no, but it seemed cruel to say yes, too. We call James his first daddy, now. And he calls Sirius ‘Paddy.’ Or Pads, usually.” He looked up to the sky and added, “But don’t worry, Lils, his only mum is you.”

Just then, on the lane, an old muggle couple walked by. They saw Remus sitting at the gravestone, and the man removed his bowler hat, bowing his head a bit. Showing respect for the dead. Remus nodded back, then closed his eyes again. It had been easier when they were closed.

“He likes to do everything by himself,” he said. “Even dresses himself, though he has trouble with his shirts. Oh, and the accidental magic. It’s—” He blew out a breath, half laughing. “Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it. It is constant. We have this muggle friend, Jane, down the hall from the flat, and she’s seen him doing it so many times, I’ve lost track of how often we’ve had to obliviate her. Molly says she’s never had that problem, since she doesn’t have any Muggle friends, so she didn’t have any advice for us. I wish I could ask your parents, Lils.”

He sighed and opened his eyes again, studying the dry, brown dirt.

“That’s another thing. We wanted to undo the memory charms you put on them, to let them meet Harry. But Dumbledore said it still isn’t safe, and he wouldn’t give us their new address. I’ll keep trying, though, Lils. And I know he means well. Obviously, I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt them, or endanger them, or anything. But Petunia’s gone on pretending none of us exist, and…well.”

He leaned his head backwards, bumping it against the gravestone, and tried to smile. “You don’t want to hear about all that, do you? Not on Harry’s special day.”

The sun grew gradually warmer, and Remus thought of last year, when Harry’s birthday had been ridiculously hectic. Things had changed so much since then. There were a thousand reasons to be happy, to be grateful. But sitting here, just a stone’s throw from the house where Harry and his mum and dad should have still been living, Remus suddenly felt like weeping. Harry was happy, and safe, and loved—he was thriving. He had no idea how much he had lost.

But Remus knew, and it struck him deeply: To be the one privileged with raising his friends’ son; to want to tell them about him, but to have no livelier audience than a block of marble rising from the hallowed ground.

“He’s toilet trained now,” Remus went on softly, though tears were blurring his eyes, “and he’s obsessed with cats and owls and every other animal. He’d get such a kick out of you, Prongs,” he added, wiping his nose. “Whenever Pads changes to a dog, he just throws himself at him, can’t give him enough kisses.”

He laughed softly, scuffling the grass with his shoe. It cracked, half-dead in the mid-summer heat. It wasn't right. Remus stood up, glanced around to make sure he was alone, and cast a quick Aguamenti, sprinkling the grass around the plot with water. He conjured flowers, too—lilies, to lay in front of the gravestone.

“That’s better,” he said to himself. Only, he couldn’t sit now. But that was just as well; standing felt a bit more respectful, anyway. He bowed his head.

“So, as I’m sure you know, it’s Harry’s birthday today,” Remus said, after clearing his throat. “He’s three. We’re having a party tomorrow with his friends—the Weasleys, and the Longbottom boy, Neville.” He paused, but after a moment’s reflection, Remus decided he’d rather not tell James and Lily what had happened to Frank and Alice Longbottom.

“And Severus is bringing the Malfoy boy, too,” he continued. “Don’t complain, Prongs, you know Snape was Lily’s oldest friend.” Then, he chuckled at himself. 'Don’t complain', really.

“Okay, so Prongs, if you can hear me, get this,” Remus said, lowering his voice slightly, as if James were really there. “Sirius wants to become a curse breaker. He’s gotten it in his head that the only way to defeat Voldemort is to destroy these pieces of his soul that have gotten around, or something mad like that. I don’t know, Dumbledore supposedly knows more, and he had him swear to secrecy. He only told me as much as he did because…well.” Remus blushed, which was ridiculous. “I have my methods of being persuasive, I suppose. Anyway,” he rolled his eyes. “Can you imagine Padfoot as a curse breaker? The most impulsive person we’ve ever met, just—barreling his way in, ripping a cursed object off a shelf, or wherever you keep a cursed object, and just—I don’t know, lighting himself on fire or something, trying to destroy it.”

He groaned, half laughing, then shook his head.

“Okay, that’s probably not quite how it would be, but I’m still nervous. To be fair, he’s recovered one of these objects already, and he was very careful with it. And I’m supposed to be supportive, because according to Dumbledore, Sirius takes my opinions far too much to heart. So, the official party line is, I’m proud of him, and I know he’ll do well.”

He took a deep breath, sighing. “I am proud of him, of course. He’s already learnt so much. He won’t start the official training program for about a year and a half, since he’s working at the Ministry right now, and he’ll probably have finished every book ever written on curse-breaking by then.” He sighed. “I think I’m just nervous. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

He glanced at Sirius and Harry again and observed, with a sudden spark of amusement, that Sirius had transformed into a dog and was playing fetch with Harry.

“Godric, Sirius,” Remus whispered under his breath, laughing, “if anyone sees you, they’ll think I’ve left my three-year-old in a field to play all by himself.”

As if he’d heard him, Sirius changed back and resumed chasing Harry, top speed, through rows and rows of flowers.

“Did you ever bring Harry out there?” he asked, still watching the wild-haired little boy, whose laughter he could just make out on a warm gust of wind. “I suppose you must have, though he wasn’t as fast back then. He could hardly walk at all on his first birthday, as I recall. He’s amazing, now. Takes after his dad. And James, you should see him fly on that little broom of his! He’s a natural, it’s incredible. And Sirius did something ridiculous to our flat. Honestly, I was furious the first time I saw it, but now I rather like it. Don’t tell Padfoot that, of course. He’s still trying to make it up to me.” He snorted. Adorable man.

“Okay, Lils, cover your ears, because you won’t like this,” he said, fully embracing the bittersweet dissonance of being with his friends again—or at least, as close as he could currently get. “So, I got back from Hogwarts last month, and Sirius had transfigured Harry’s playroom floor into a pillow. Literally, it was bouncy and soft and impossible to walk on. Why a spell like that even exists is beyond my comprehension, but anyway, my completely mental boyfriend learned it and did it to our flat.”

Remus would never forget coming out of the Floo and seeing what Sirius had done, and the nervous smile on Sirius’s face, and the way he’d taken Remus by the hand and said, “Okay, but just hear me out before you have a freak out…”

Remus had been appropriately appalled, of course, but a greater part of him had been relieved. For the past several months, Sirius had been walking on eggshells around him, doing whatever he thought Remus wanted him to do. They hadn’t even argued a single time. It was nice to see that Sirius hadn’t lost the ability to drive Remus up a wall, after all. That was the first day things had really gone back to normal between them.

“In his defence,” Remus added, “Harry had been flying around in there on his toy broom an awful lot, and we were a bit worried that he’d hurt himself. I suppose Sirius decided to embrace the chaos. He raised the ceiling, too, and transfigured it to look like the sky. He even enlarged the toy hoops from Harry’s mini Quidditch set so it’s basically a Quidditch training room, now, and Harry just flies around in there all the time. And the Weasley boys are always coming over to use it.” He sighed, shaking his head, imagining what James would say—how he would laugh, and his eyes would light up. “You would love it so much, Prongs,” he said softly.

Then he laughed to himself and rubbed his face again, imagining what Lily would say. “Of course, I do try to represent your interests, Lils, honestly. I always say so if something seems unsafe, but…well.” He shrugged rather helplessly. “He’s a little Marauder, isn’t he? What could I do?”

He turned back to the field of wildflowers, but it was empty. Sirius and Harry were walking up the gravel path, quite near to him now, heading towards the cemetery. “Here they come,” he said. “You can see for yourself how big he is.”

The pair of them were walking side-by-side, but when Harry got close enough to spot Remus, he took off at top speed. Remus ran over to catch him, swinging him up into his arms and hugging him tightly.

“I’m the fastest cheetah in the world!”

“You’re my little wildcat,” Remus agreed, kissing his hair.

“My turn?” Sirius asked, smiling as he jogged up to Remus.

Remus nodded. “Yeah. We’ll go look at the house, if that’s okay.”

Sirius nodded. Remus wanted Harry to have a chance to see the house where he’d been born—where he’d survived the curse that nobody had ever survived before. Sirius couldn’t bear to go near it yet, and Remus wouldn’t dream of pushing him. As he walked away, with Harry clinging to his hand, he overheard Sirius talking to James.

“Well, Prongs, you were right—Moony gave me another chance, after all. I’d owe you a beer if you were here. Maybe Harry’ll accept it on your behalf once he’s old enough. He’s such a great kid, James, you’d be so proud of him…”

Remus grinned and said to Harry, so he wouldn’t overhear anything more, “How would you like to look at your old house?”

“Oh, I suppose so,” he said.

Remus snorted. “Three going on thirty, you are. Alright, rules?”

Harry nodded.

“No running. You have to hold my hand at all times. And absolutely no accidental magic.”

Harry nodded again, but he was already smiling. He loved doing magic, and Remus was relatively certain there was nothing ‘accidental’ about it.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked, tickling Harry’s cheek.

Harry giggled and shrugged, walking alongside Remus with a mischievous look on his face. He was so, so much like James.

They circled the ruins of the Potters’ old house, hardly recognisable as the friendly cottage it used to be. The curses had blown a hole through the roof, which had been magically preserved by someone as a memorial. Lily and James would probably prefer it be fixed, frankly; neither of them were sentimental people. But Remus, who was sentimental, preferred it this way, so nobody would ever forget them.

The house was too badly damaged to enter, but a plaque stood out front, surrounded by flowers and gifts. Remus blinked away tears when he saw it. Concealment charms had been cast over the memorial, so you could only see it if you were magical and standing close by. Harry, innocent of pain and unmoved by any similar feelings of grief, let go of Remus’s hand after he’d stood looking at it for too long and started prowling around the yard, eyes wide with curiosity.

Remus watched the boy for a long moment, then said, “Harry, I swear, if you summon any cats…”

“MEOW!” Harry shouted, looking gleefully up at Remus, happy to have his attention again. He clamored over to him on all fours. “I’m a kitty! Meow, meow!”

“You’re a kitty? Oh, and here I was, speaking human to you. Silly me. Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow. Meow?”

Harry giggled so hard he almost fell over.

See, Lily? Remus thought, heart flooding with a million emotions. He’s happy. He’s safe. I’d die before I let anything hurt him, I promise you that. We both would.

He turned to check on Sirius, back at the cemetery, and saw him kneeling in front of the gravestone. He was hunched over it, with one arm resting on the top of it. Weeping.

Sirius wasn’t like Remus; he didn’t like to be left alone when he was sad. Remus scooped up Harry.

“Come on,” he said. “Pads needs a Harry hug.”

“Yeah!” Harry shouted gleefully. “I give the best hugs!”

Remus laughed, though it was a bit shaky. “Who told you that?”

“Paddy!”

“He’s right,” Remus smiled softly. “You do. Lucky us, to get so many Harry hugs.”

As if on cue, Harry squeezed Remus’s neck. When they got close enough, Remus let him down to run to Sirius, who turned and laughed when he saw his little mini-James tearing over to him, shouting, “I’m the hug monster!”

Sirius stood up before Harry could tackle him, and he’d pulled himself together by the time Remus reached them.

Then he smiled, kissed Remus's cheek, and said, “Let’s go home.”

They were all sunburnt afterwards, in consequence of Remus having forgotten to bring along the sunblock potion. But the bright side was, Harry was pleasantly sleepy from the warmth, and he went willingly to his room for naptime. Sirius came out after he was all tucked in and threw himself onto the sofa Remus was sitting on, so that his back was propped against Remus’s chest. Amused, Remus wrapped both arms around Sirius and kissed the top of his head. Sirius captured one of Remus’s hands in both of his and commenced playing with his fingers, giving a sleepy sigh.

“Did you have a good talk with James?” Remus asked him.

Sirius nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “You?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, I told them all about Harry.”

“Me, too.”

“And about you becoming a curse breaker.”

“Oh, did you?” he turned again, smiling. “I told them about you teaching at Hogwarts.”

Remus laughed. “Oh, I forgot to mention that.”

Sirius laughed. “Listen to us, only talking about each other.”

“Sounds like something we’d do,” Remus agreed.

“Did you tell him about Harry’s birthday party tomorrow?”

“A bit," Remus nodded.

“Didn’t mention Snivellus, I hope.”

Remus nudged him with one elbow. “Of course, I did. I’m not going to lie to them.”

“Hmph.”

Remus laughed. “Oh, come on. He was Lily’s best friend, and he’s been very nice to Harry.”

“Yes, well. Look, I won’t tell you that you can’t be friends with your co-workers, obviously—”

“It’s so kind of you to refrain from imposing that sanction over my social life,” Remus interrupted cheekily, “especially since it would be well within your purview to do so.”

Sirius laughed and turned around in Remus’s arms, leaning up to kiss him. “You know what I meant. Smart ass.”

“Excuse me, what?”

Sirius turned back around and settled against Remus’s chest again. “What? He’s in bed, he didn’t hear it.”

“When Molly Weasley starts complaining about Harry’s language, you’d better be prepared to take full credit for every naughty word he uses.”

“I am prepared for that, yes.”

“Now, who’s the smart ass?” Remus asked, poking Sirius's ribs.

Sirius spun around and retaliated, getting Remus in his most ticklish spot, making him let out a very embarrassing shriek. He laughed and squirmed away when Remus reached for him in return, then raised both hands in surrender. “Truce!” he cried. “Let’s call a truce!”

“You started it,” Remus said, laughing, too, as he pulled Sirius back into his arms.

“I started it physically, but you started it verbally,” Sirius said stubbornly.

“That sounds like something we’d do, too,” Remus remarked.

Sirius barked a laugh. “Listen to how you talk. I hope you know, you’re just as bad as I am, with the language.”

“I never said I wasn’t.”

“Then how come I have to take the blame for it if Harry starts swearing?”

Remus shrugged. “Dunno. You should have asked that question before you agreed to it.”

Sirius threw back his head and laughed, then found Remus’s hand again and brought it to his lips. After he kissed it, he held it there, and Remus could feel his lips moving as he said, “Speaking of agreeing to things…”

Remus looked down at him warily. “Yes?”

“You know that vial of Polyjuice potion you never used from Snivellus?”

Remus snorted. “Oh, I knew you would never forget about something like that. Once a prankster, always a prankster.”

“Yes, well.” He turned over his shoulder again to give Remus a nervous smile. “And you know about that locket I found at Grimmauld Place, and how there’s a similar object at Malfoy Manor?”

“Yes, you said—Oh! No, Sirius, absolutely not.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet!”

“I certainly do. You’re going to say that you want to disguise yourself as Severus and search Malfoy Manor for the cursed object!”

Sirius paused. “Okay. You’re a very good guesser, did you know that?”

Remus groaned. “Tell me, why do you have to do so many dangerous things?”

“Because I’m a Gryffindor?”

“Your whole family was Slytherins, would it have been so hard to get sorted there?”

“Are you honestly upset with me for being sorted Gryffindor? You’re a decade or so late on that one, Moony, if you are.”

“I thought you were supposed to be looking for something of Bellatrix’s.”

“I was, but it’s a dead end. At least, until I get a job at Gringotts, and that’s years away.”

“Oh, merlin, I don’t even want to know…”

“Anyway, this one’s easier. According to Dumbledore, that is, but we all know his definition of easy is slightly outside the norm. But honestly, I don’t think it’s all that dangerous—”

“It is, though,” Remus interrupted, holding Sirius tighter, feeling that all-too-familiar fear in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. “Sneaking into a hostile home of a dark wizard family, whether related to you or not, is very dangerous. And this family happens to hate you; they aren’t strangers, they aren’t indifferent towards you. They actively hate you. And if that wasn’t bad enough, finding an object with Voldemort’s soul embedded in it is very dangerous.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, “all of that’s technically true, but just hear me out, before you say no.”

He paused, but Remus was willing to do that. He nodded for Sirius to go on.

“During the party tomorrow, Severus and Draco will both be at our flat. If I slip out and use the Polyjuice, I’m guaranteed that the real Snape won’t show up at the manor. Furthermore, I’ll have a plausible excuse for stopping by. I can say that Draco needs a change of clothes or something. Kids are always needing things like that!”

“Is this a scenario where Snape has lost the ability to use magic to clean up his existing clothes?”

“Yes,” he said, “or maybe—I don’t know, maybe he didn’t realise the party was themed and Draco was meant to wear a costume! Or maybe Snape accidentally left something of his own at the Manor, I don’t know—”

“There are too many variables, Sirius. The Malfoys might not even be home when you arrive—”

“All the better! Their house elf would let me in, wouldn’t he? And he might even know where the object is. After all, Kreacher knew about the one at Grimmauld Place! And anyway, the house elf will know who I am—he’ll know I’m a Black, a part of the family. He might even answer to me! The Polyjuice won’t fool him, but if I command him not to say anything—”

“That’s too dangerous, Sirius,” Remus pleaded, hating every moment of this curse-breaking kick that Sirius was on. Hating the fact that it might turn out not to be just a brief curse-breaking kick, at all. That it might be Sirius’s life, from now on. And he loved him so much, he’d just have to get used to it.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Sirius repeated. “I’ll be armed, I’ll be quick about it. I’ll be guaranteed that Snivellus won’t show up to blow my cover, because he’ll be at the flat. And if anyone catches me, I’ll obliviate them! I’ve gotten good at that spell, what with all the magic Jane’s seen!”

Remus wracked his brain, searching for any reason to say no, but it was hard to think of one. This did seem like an optimal opportunity. And Sirius was so excited. And technically, he didn’t even need Remus’s permission; he just needed his Polyjuice, and wouldn’t it be that much worse if he tried to go to Malfoy Manor without it? Sirius was capable of forcing Remus’s hand, in a manner of speaking—but, in a much truer sense, he really wasn’t capable of doing that, at all, and Remus knew that now better than ever.

“Okay,” Remus said at last, “before I say yes, we need a better plan. You can’t just pop over there and expect to find what you need.”

“Right, of course,” Sirius nodded at Remus over his shoulder, eyes alight. “A plan!”

“Any idea where in the manor the object might be?”

“Not a clue,” Sirius said, still grinning.

“Or what it looks like?”

“Supposedly it’s something that belonged to Voldemort when he was in school. That’s all I know.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down, does it?”

“Sure, it does,” Sirius said, “it gives me an idea of how old it is, anyway. Maybe that’ll help the house elf know which object it is. I can only imagine Malfoy Manor is filled with cursed artefacts.”

“And you’re completely sure that the Polyjuice potion won’t fool a house elf?”

Sirius hesitated. “No. I’m not sure, actually, but they’re so powerful, I just assumed…”

Remus nodded. “Okay, let’s not make any assumptions. We’ll need to look that up. I can do that this evening; after Harry goes to bed, I’ll pop over to the library at the castle.”

“Really?” Sirius looked surprised.

“Sure. Why not?”

Sirius shook his head, laughing. He turned around again, pulled Remus towards him, and kissed him, then squeezed the back of his neck. “How is it possible that I’ve known you this long, but you can still surprise me?”

“I think it’s your tendency to make assumptions that does it,” Remus replied, without missing a beat. Sirius laughed and kissed him again.

“And if it seems like the house elf will answer to me, you’ll do it?”

“Maybe,” Remus said.

“A maybe isn’t a no!”

“No, well spotted.”

Sirius sighed and settled back against Remus's chest again. “Well, that’ll make me feel a bit better, anyway.”

Remus looked down at him—at his black hair, shining and thick again, after how scraggly it had gotten in Azkaban. He’d gained back the weight he’d lost, and the dignity, too. Now he was the same pureblood heir he'd always been—gorgeous eyes, perfect bone structure, full lips. And behind it all, the biggest heart. He was more precious to Remus now than ever.

“Feel better than what?” Remus said, stroking one hand through his hair. “Are you sad? After—after today?”

“Oh, no.” Sirius sighed again. “Not sad. Just feeling…a bit melancholy, I suppose. It’s silly.”

“Are you glad you got to talk to James?”

Sirius nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah, it was nice. I think…”

Remus waited, eventually prompting, “You think what?”

Sirius rolled onto his stomach, curling against Remus’s chest. “I think he’d probably forgive me,” he said. It came out very quietly—firmly, as if he’d given it a great deal of thought.

“Of course, he would,” Remus replied. “He’d never blame you in the first place.”

“I know. Just—” he shook his head. “I should have been their secret keeper. Not Peter, or you, or anybody else. Me. And they’d still be alive, if I had.” He sighed. “I think about that all the time.”

Remus didn’t realise Sirius was still thinking of that so often. He’d seemed to be doing much better; his mind healing sessions were less frequent, now, and he seemed less wracked with guilt, most days. But guilt was something Sirius had dealt with for most of his life, from one quarter or another. He’d learned to hide it well.

Remus slipped his arms around Sirius’s back, scooting down on the sofa so he could hold him closer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the sweet-smelling waves of his hair.

Sirius snorted—his usual initial response when someone had the audacity to empathise with him. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Because it’s too much for you to carry,” Remus said, “and I wish you didn’t have to.”

Sirius burrowed his face into Remus’s shoulder, walls quickly falling away. Remus loved having that effect on him.

“I love you,” Sirius whispered, muffled, into Remus’s t-shirt.

Remus smiled. “I know.”

“…And you love me, too,” Sirius prompted, after a short silence.

Remus snorted a laugh. “Of course, I do. Merlin’s sake. How could I not?”

Sirius laughed. “I don’t know. I don’t always make it easy.”

“Nonsense. You’re perfect.”

Sirius looked up at Remus and rolled his eyes fondly. “That is such a lie.”

“No, it isn’t. To me, you are.”

Sirius smiled sadly. He lowered his head to Remus’s chest again.

“Do you think Harry’ll blame me?”

Remus was almost too astonished to reply. “No, Pads, of course not,” he said, horrified. He gripped Sirius as tightly as he could, hoping he could reinforce those words, imprint their truth in Sirius’s bones. How could he even think something like that?

Sirius didn’t reply, but he slipped his arms beneath Remus’s shoulders and held him closer.

“Listen to me,” Remus whispered in his ear, one hand stroking his back. “You loved James and his family more than anything in the world. You would have done anything to keep them safe. Right?”

Sirius nodded.

“They knew it” Remus continued, “and I knew it, and the Death Eaters knew it, too. You weren’t the right choice for Secret Keeper. It never would have worked. You’d be dead, right along with them. And don’t tell me you’d rather it were that way, because where would Harry and I be without you? Hm?”

He nudged Sirius until he looked up and met his eye. His cheeks were red, but he was holding himself together pretty well—stubborn man that he was.

Remus leaned down to kiss him, though it strained his neck, then pressed their foreheads together.

“Harry will blame Voldemort,” he said, “because it was Voldemort’s fault. And you’ve got to learn to do that, too, Pads. It doesn’t do anybody any good for you to blame yourself. Look, he outsmarted us last time, okay? He got the better of us, and he got the better of Peter. But next time, we’ll get the better of him, right? We’ve got a headstart, and we’ll be ready.”

Sirius sniffed, looking marginally cheered. He gave a little nod.

“You’ll become a curse breaker,” Remus said, finally understanding what Dumbledore had meant when he said this was exactly what Sirius needed, “and I’ll make sure Harry learns everything he needs to know. And we’ll make that bastard pay. Marauders forever, right?”

Sirius finally grinned, though reluctantly, and wiped his eyes. “Yeah. Marauders forever.” He leaned up and kissed Remus, who smiled.

“I hope you don’t expect me to kiss you while you look like Snape,” Remus added, settling back against the sofa cushions again.

Sirius curled onto Remus’s chest and poked him in the ribs, shaking with laughter. “You’d better not.”

Chapter Text

Back when they were little, perhaps eight or nine or so, Draco Malfoy had taught Harry the fine art of eavesdropping.

“It isn’t wrong,” Draco had corrected him when Harry protested against it. “They’re saying these things, anyway, aren’t they? You aren’t forcing them. You’re just listening. And grown-ups are always telling us to listen more.”

It was one of those times that Draco sounded logical and illogical at the same time. Frankly, that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

“But what if we get caught?” Harry had protested, rather than bothering to point out the moral ambiguity that was more or less a given when it came to Draco.

Draco had merely shrugged, all innocence. “Deny, deny, deny.”

“You mean lie?”

“Mhm,” Draco nodded. “Honestly, it’s like you’ve never broken a single rule in your entire life.”

“I never want to,” Harry had insisted. “Trouble just seems to find me! And I don’t want to get in trouble...”

“You wouldn’t,” Draco insisted. “And neither would I. I’m the Malfoy heir, which is as close to royalty as you can get. And you’re the chosen one, which—well. On second thought, I take back what I said. You’re as close to royalty as you can get, and I’m second.”

“What does royalty have to do with anything?” Harry had asked.

“Nothing. It doesn’t," Draco sighed. “Never mind. Just—look, do you want to know what they’re talking about or not?”

Harry nodded eagerly. 

“Then we've got to be very quiet and wait just outside the door until we hear something interesting.”

They’d been at the flat having a sleepover that evening, and Dumbledore had come over in the middle of the night, apparating directly into their living room. He’d had something with him that he urgently needed Pads to look at, and Harry and Draco probably weren’t supposed to know what it was. But the sound of the apparation had been so loud that it woke them both up.

They had crept to the doorway, careful not to trip on the pillow floor, and stood in the dark shadow, peering through a sliver of light to where the others were talking in hushed voices.

“Are you sure this is one of them?” Harry’s dad asked as Pads circled the coffee table, where Dumbledore had placed a small, golden ring.

“Relatively certain,” Dumbledore said. “And I confess, I was tempted to try to remove the curse myself. I believe it has some sort of allure on it, and it nearly overcame me. But…well. I came to my senses.” His eyes twinkled as he added, “What good is it having a cursebreaker in the Order if I don’t utilise him?”

“That’s the spirit,” Pads said. He knelt next to the table, peering very closely at the ring. “You didn’t wear it, did you?”

“No,” Dumbledore said quickly. He shivered a bit, which Harry had never seen him do before.

“My dad says Dumbledore is washed up,” Draco whispered to Harry.

“Shh!” Harry hissed in reply.

“That's good,” Pads said, “because you’d have signed your own death certificate if you had.” Meanwhile, Remus glanced over his shoulder, right at the crack in the door. Quietly, he turned, coming nearer to them. Harry and Draco took a step backwards, and Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist.

“Be ready to run,” he whispered.

“You can’t run on this floor!”

“Can you remove the curse?” Harry heard Dumbledore asked Pads.

“Mhm. But it'll be complicated.”

Then, the door opened, and before Draco and Harry could dart away, Harry's dad smiled at them. “What do we have here?”

“I heard a sound...” Harry flushed, glancing at Draco.

“Yes, we were being rather noisy, weren’t we? I apologise, boys. Off to bed, then, and I’ll put a silencing charm over your room so you aren’t disturbed again.”

Draco smiled very primly and seemed satisfied, but Harry knew his dad too well to think he’d really fooled him.

“Sorry,” he said softly, with a hesitant smile. “We were just curious.”

His dad smiled back. “There’s nothing wrong with being curious. And if you ever have any questions, Harry, about anything at all, you can always ask me. Okay?”

Harry nodded, relieved but not surprised, and gave him a quick hug around the waist. “Okay. Love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too.”

As they walked back to Harry's room, Draco had whispered, “We would have gotten away with it, you know! You shouldn’t shush people when you’re eavesdropping, it’s one of the loudest sounds you can make...”

The thing was, Harry did trust his parents. True to his word, his dad explained everything to him that he asked about—at least, to a degree. But he always knew there was a bit more he wasn’t telling him. And even if it was for his own good, it was like Draco had said. If Harry’s dads were going to talk about something, anyway, then they ran the risk of being overheard, didn’t they? And maybe all they wanted was to protect Harry, but he wasn’t a baby anymore. He deserved the full truth.

Over the years that followed, Harry got quite good at eavesdropping, and his dad had never caught him again—though Pads had caught him a time or two. But Pads wasn’t like Dad; he was made of mischief, through and through. He never even told Dad when he caught Harry doing something wrong. He’d just wink and whisper, “Next time, don’t get caught!”

But not getting caught got a whole lot easier the day Harry found the invisibility cloak underneath his dads' bed.

It was summer before first year, and Harry was pouting because his Dad had just told him that he had to choose between Pawpaw and Hooty coming to Hogwarts with him.

“But that isn't fair!” he’d cried. “I love them both, I can’t choose between them!”

“You aren’t choosing between them, Harry, they’re both still your pets,” Dad replied. “But first years are only allowed one pet at the castle, and that means you have to leave one here at the flat. It’s just for now, you’ll be with them again on holidays and over the summer.”

“But I can’t choose!”

Dad nodded, considering. “Well,” he said, “personally, I'd leave Pawpaw, since he doesn't particularly need wide open spaces, but Hooty does."

"You just want me to leave Pawpaw because Pads is his favourite," Harry said, pouting. That was something else unfair. Nobody loved cats more than Harry did, and still, Pawpaw preferred Pads to Harry. Pads said it was because of the animagus in him, but Harry would gladly become an animagus, too, if that’s what it took to win Pawpaw’s affections.

"I hadn't been thinking of Sirius, actually," Dad replied, "but now that you mention it, that’s a good point."

"If you lived at the castle, too, we could have them both," Harry'd pointed out.

Dad smiled. "You'll be living in the dorms, Harry, as you'll well aware. There's no need for me to live at the castle."

"You're choosing Pads over me," Harry grumped, folding his arms.

Dad had snorted and tugged Harry close, hugging him tightly. "Oh, I'll miss all the absurd things you say!"

"You'll see me every day," Harry replied eagerly, "you won’t need to miss me!”