Their 20s and 30s had been sheer pandemonium.
Hogwarts hadn’t exactly been a safe haven, but it did keep them innocent for a little while. As soon as they graduated, they were thrust into the perils of war. They experienced grief, loss, and tragedy. Suspicious of one another, they placed their faith in the wrong person, and it cost them almost everything.
For twelve years, Sirius Black sat in a cell in Azkaban, more animal than man. Listening to the screams of inmates and the churning of the North Sea, he dreamed of revenge. Well into his thirties, he found it—and fell back into the arms of Remus Lupin.
The Wizarding World was at war again (or it had never ceased), and the pair of them had to help his godson defeat the most evil wizard of all time. After the chaos and trauma of their youth, they had decided to enjoy their golden years far removed from anything that might trigger those memories.
Their fifties were looking bright.
Simple.
Living in a cottage in Wales was a far cry from life in Azkaban—that wretched life by the sea. It was even further, if possible, from his life in Grimmauld Place, all fine robes and antique silver and portraits of dead relatives on the walls.
Their tiny cottage was but four rooms, and those rooms were lived in and well-loved. The back door led into a cozy kitchen with a window over the kitchen sink. It looked out upon the garden and brought in a fabulous view of the sunset. Remus and Sirius would sit out there some evenings at a white wrought iron table and chair set, sipping tea or wine as the season called for and watching the sun dip below the western horizon.
Through the kitchen was a living room at the front of the house, with a stone hearth and an overstuffed sofa and two windows lined with cheerful floral curtains. Books filled every inch of the built-in bookcase. Those that didn’t fit were piled in front of it on the floor and in stacks along the window ledges. Their current reads sat on the two end tables that were perched on either side of the emerald sofa.
Their bedroom was just through the living room, spanning the eastern side of the cottage. It was comfortable and modest, a room where they slept and made love. The attached bathroom had an unexpected perk: a clawfoot tub. Sirius had enchanted it to shower over him, rainfall style, whenever he washed his hair.
Sirius never had much need to use his inheritance from his uncle, so they were taken care of through their golden years. Neither had to work, which meant unlimited time spent together. They visited Harry and Ginny sometimes. Occasionally, they had them and Ron and Hermione round to visit, though that usually required dinner outside with an expanded version of their little table.
Their garden was a place of pride for the Lupins. Sirius had never thought of himself as the sort to tend a garden, but there was something about kneeling beside his husband, using a garden-gloved hand to wipe away the grey-streaked hair tumbling from its French braid as they planted vegetables. Remus’s favorite was harvesting their herbs and vegetables to use throughout the summer, the berries they could make into jams and for desserts, his hazel eyes twinkling as he shared whatever recipe he’d found in one of his thrifted cookbooks. Sirius, though, loved the flowers. His favorite garden pastime was pruning the vibrant-shaded roses and blooms, cutting back the greenery, creating something beautiful. He would arrange them so that they were spilling out of vases all over the house, brightening the space with brilliant pops of joy.
Life was about whiling away an afternoon baking a cake just for the hell of it, and then packing up that cake, two forks, and a thermos of lemonade. The two would walk down to the babbling brook behind their cottage and sit in the shade of the massive tree there, eating it and lazing about while the birds sang and the wind swayed the lush, verdant grass.
It was dishes and dinner and hands on knees as they sat on the sofa in front of the fireplace, cups of tea and books and crossword puzzles.
It was reading glasses and lower back pain, navigating the uncharted waters of aging together.
It freshly cleaned linens drying on a clothesline in the breeze.
It was evening walks with their dog, fingers laced as they crossed through the front gate and enjoyed the changing seasons.
It was limbs and lips joining in a dance that was second nature to them at this point, though still as beautiful and magical as the first time.
It was the two of them falling asleep with the familiar scent of one another, breath mingling, the sound of Remus’s snores a lullaby. Every night, they fell asleep spooning in bed, even if it meant that by morning they’d be facing opposite directions.
Life had become a series of breezes rolling through open windows and billowing sheer curtains, golden hour light and slow dances in the kitchen by floating candlelight, murmuring soft “I love yous” and promises of forever, forever, forever under the soundtrack of their lives.
For the first time in his life, Sirius Black truly knew peace.