Chapter 1
In 1976 a string of robberies were linked together and a profile was created of the two masterminds behind them. In 1977 they were gunned down. Pronounced dead on the scene and subsequently identified as a disgraced heir and a farmer's son.
Eventually, the public moved on, and the Bonnie and Clyde-esque story faded to a memory in the back of people's minds, but not mine. I was only two when the crimes were committed, not much older when they died, but there was always something about the case that drew me in, something about it that was… etched into my skin.
And you wouldn't be here if you didn't feel the same. If you weren't just as curious as I was.
So, who really were Sirius Black and Remus Lupin?
*
INTERVIEW #1 // J. F. Potter Edinburgh, UNITED KINGDOM
The house is nice. Cosy and in all honesty huge, you wouldn't expect it to feel so homey from the outside despite the finery and beauty of the front garden. The entryway has a welcome mat and shoe rack, there's mud on the floor that Mr Potter asks me to ignore with a laugh. He leads me into the family room and I can't help but notice how cluttered the walls are. Photos, so many photos; most of a boy with green eyes in varying stages of his life, but there are others with who I can only assume are friends and family, there is one in particular that catches my eye, but that isn't important now.
Mr Potter doesn't seem uncomfortable in the slightest as the camera comes out, we have talked twice before, once over email and once over call and he already treats me as a friend. His eyes are bright and his smile big, as if he is a child instead of a man in his middle age. He sits in his chair with his legs crossed, talking to me about the latest football match he has watched, I try my best to engage but I’ve never much been a sports fan.
I: Do you care if we begin Mr Potter?
J: Eh? No, not at all! It's why you're here after all? *soft laughter*
I: I do have to say a little script before we start, legalities and all. *Pause, Mr Potter nods at me* Right, you understand that everything you say here is recorded and will be used on a televised program to a number of countries, anything that may be admitted that could implicate you in a crime will not be excluded, and the producers and director will use footage indiscriminately in order to convey the story to its best possible version. ..I think thats the gist of what they wanted me to explain, it was all in the contract that was sent a few weeks back.
J: Yeah, I think we're covered here.
I: Great.
J: So where do we start?
I: It's up to you Mr Potter. Wherever you're comfortable, most start at the beginning.
J: …*Sigh*, That bits.. hard. *Laugh*. I guess the start was when I was 13. Thats when I met him, I still remember the day like it just happened. Weird how the brain works.
This is the first time I see Mr Potter's demeanour change. His smile is mostly gone now and he's uncrossed his legs, leaning forward a bit while his hands pull anxiously at each other. He seems far away now, not fully in the moment, talking as if on autopilot.
J: I didn't grow up here, I was born in India. Lived there until I was 12, my Dad’s business had expanded and he thought it best we move. London was nice for a while, but I struggled at the school I went to, I guess you could say I wasn't exactly happy about the move and was a bit.. homesick. I was always a good kid, my parents didn't really know what to do when the schools started to call talking about the s*** I did. They suggested boarding school and a month later I boarded a train.
J: I tried my best to get sent home. I acted out, destroyed things, and created a whole reputation for myself until no one wanted to be seen with me. I didn't really have anyone other than my parents, and I was angry at them. I didn't care about the business; I didn't care about anything other than leaving. It was maybe a week after my birthday that everything changed.
J: I still…
Mr Potter closes his eyes now, the room quiet other than our breathing. I almost feel as if I am interrupting, while Mr. Potter seems like a very open man this.. this feels private. The way pain and nostalgia radiate off of him, it almost tells the story for him.
J: I still remember how he looked that day.
J: He joined the year late—So late. His parents had pulled some strings and it made him hate the place even more. I remember being thrown off by someone hating the place more than me. I mean, yeah, I didn't want to be there, but I also didn't want to burn it to the ground, but he— Ha. He did.
J: I couldn't tell you why on earth they decided to room us together. Maybe they thought it would straighten us out, but honestly.. It made it so much worse. The first few hours he wouldn't talk to me, he just sat there on his bed with the most furious look I had ever seen, and he was scrawny back then. Honestly a bit scary, his head had been shaved before he came to the school, he had a black eye and a busted lip. I was convinced he was part of a gang.
J: I wore him down though, got him talking to me before the end of the night. ….We didn't end up going to sleep that night. We stayed up talking about how we hated this place, came up with a million plans to run away, and even more on how to get sent home.. He didn't much care about that part, just cared about making sure his parents got a note sent home every week.
I: People have described him as violent, even at that age, would you agree with that?
J: God—No, just no. He.. He wasn't violent. I don't think anyone would've said that before.. all that happened. I never ever would describe him as violent, he was passionate. He was loud and opinionated and refused to be dimmed. He went through so much but he was good. To me he was good.
I: What about the victims? His crimes?
J: I–... I don't know. I wasn't there, I don't know what went down but he wasn't.. He wasn't senseless, I can't imagine him just.. killing to kill. That isn't him. It wasn't.
Mr Potter is quiet now, his own passionate speech over with. You can tell that this part was draining, gone is the warm smile that greeted me replaced by a look of pure helplessness. He doesn't know. No one does, the only people that truly know what happened are dead.
I: You think the assumptions people have made are.. wrong?
J: *Sigh*, I mean.. Yeah? I.. I have spent twenty-five years quiet about my best friend. Biting my tongue through police interviews, avoiding news outlets, refusing interviews…
I: Until now.
J: Until now. I guess I was just tired of being quiet. I was never much good at it.
“Mr Potter–” He doesn't get any other words out, doesn't have the time before the tense silence is cut through by a phone call—A Bowie song he recognises plays as the tone. The older man in front of him is standing in less than a second, sliding his phone out of his pocket and sighing.
“I’ve got to take this, I’ll be right back..” Mr Potter says as he turns on his heel, walking away from the recording equipment and straight out of the room.
He almost feels as if he is interrupting, an intruder– a feeling that must be rare in this sort of house. One you can tell is haunted in the best way, decades of memories etched into the walls and burned in the very foundation. In all honestly, he wants to blame what he does on that feeling, for how could he be a stranger in this home? It just isn't right.
He's taking the picture frame off the wall before he has a moment to think twice. He pops off the back and slides the photo out, running his finger over it just for a moment before he tucks it into his bag.
He prays Mr Potter doesn't often look at his walls.
He sits back in his chair, doing his best to look casual in a way thats always been a bit awkward for him, despite his extroverted demeanour. It's not long later that Mr Potter comes back to the room, phone gone and wiping a hand across his face. At first, he thinks he is crying, his shoulders are shaking and his mouth is scrunched up and he is just waiting for a wail to come out but—
It doesn't.
He's laughing.
Fully belly laughing as if he’s just heard the funniest thing he ever heard, that warm smile is back and he throws himself down to his chair like a careless schoolboy.
“Ready to go?” He asks, voice full of mirth.
*
LATE OCTOBER 1976 London, UNITED KINGDOM
The music is loud in the perfect way it always is in the Leaky Cauldron. He’s been coming here since he was old enough to charm Rosmerta into serving them, and he is nothing if not charming. James is over by the jukebox, fighting coins into the old thing and trying to get it to play a Billy Joel song he doesn't quite remember the name of. The bar isn't quite packed yet, it's a weekday and not yet late enough for most of its usual occupants to find their places, but he is here for a reason.
He’s here to see him .
He had shown up about a month ago working behind the bar, hands clumsy and eyes guarded. He watched as the boy shrugged off poor attempts at flirting or just outright ignoring someone trying to get into his pants—While his customer service skills are fucking horrible, he's far too pretty for that to matter.
Not Sirius’ usual type at all, but that almost makes him want it more.
Sirius is sitting at the end of the bar watching as this kid mixes drinks, nothing fancy of course that was not what Leaky was known for but.. James had already ordered for the both of them before Sirius had arrived, some beer that tasted akin to what Sirius imagines still-water to taste like but he drinks it anyway, the faster it's done with the faster he has an excuse to talk to the bartender. He can't be much younger than Sirius is at 19, but has a sort of.. winded look about him that makes him look a bit wide-eyed and naive. As if he's new to the city and still has much to learn. Sirius is sure he could teach him a thing or two.
“You look like a fucking creep,” James is saying, slinging his arms over Sirius and leaning his weight on him, “I think you're actually drooling a bit there,”
Sirius slaps James' hand where it had begun to gesture at his mouth, but James doesn't care just laughs way too loud in Sirius’ ear before relenting and letting go to take his seat next to him, sprawling out in the wobbly chair in a way that should look stupid but doesn't, the fool is too confident and handsome. Sirius kicks the leg of the chair just to see James scramble for balance.
“Bitch.”
“Cunt.” Sirius bites, taking a sip of his beer and instantly grimacing, “God, what the fuck even is this?”
James shrugs taking his own swig, “Cheap.”
“For the son of a millionaire you sure are a cheap motherfucker.”
James screws up his face, “You really wanna talk, m’lord? How’s your cousin the Queen?”
Luckily Sirius doesn't have to dignify that with a response, for an angel in the form of a redhead comes to save him.
“Being a bully there, are you?” She asks, sliding up next to James to plant a kiss on his cheek.
James practically melts. It's sickening. He doesn't even look like a grown man the way he’s pouting though she's hardly even reprimanded him, blinking up as if his puppy eyes were charming.
“You know he's the one being cruel to me.” James claims, “I've only been a devoted and loving best friend.”
“You're a prick, James,” Sirius mutters, shaking his head.
“Hush, you.” Lily says eyebrow raised, “I'm not babysitting tonight. I’ll separate you two.”
“We are grown men–”
“Yeah, yeah. Grown men who hide when the delivery guy’s at the door. Real men, you are.” Lily rolls her eyes, stealing James’ beer from his hand and taking a swig, “Why are we all congregated over here anyways? I thought we were going out dancing.”
“Soon, love.” James says, placing a gentle kiss on the side of Lily’s neck, “Sirius over here is just trying to suddenly gain some balls and go talk too–”
“You really are a prick, did you know?” Sirius says, “How long did I have to wait for you to talk to Lily? Hear you whinge?”
“Oh. Oh .” Lily's grin is wider now, “Who are we looking at, hm? Him?” Lily narrows her eyes, studying Sirius’ face and– “Oh, him .”
Then they're all looking at the boy behind the bar, very inconspicuously in his opinion. Really, there's nothing out of the ordinary about him. He was tall, only a bit taller than Sirius himself and skinny. Could be mistaken for lean if you didn't look hard enough, but Sirius had been watching him, he'd noticed things, it only happened that he mostly noticed that his arms seemed to be hiding an impressive bit of muscle that popped deliciously when he moved the right way. His skin was tan, and scars nicked their way up his arms. Still, his most distinctive feature was the long jagged scar that cut from the top of his lip across to his eyebrow. A scar that should be anything but pretty, a scar that lingered with violence and something hard. Sirius wanted to drag his nails across it, or perhaps something gentler.
“He's nice,” Lily comments, tilting her head as she sizes him up, “not your usual type.”
“Are you trying to say he’s ugly?”
“I'm saying I'm surprised.” Lily shrugs, a smirk slowly melting onto her face, “Honestly he looks more the type I’d bring home.”
“You're boyfriend right there.”
“I’d let him watch, I'm not a monster.”
Sirius looked at James gauging his reaction, in response James merely shrugged. Sirius was trying to decide if he respected James more or less.
“Wonder if he has a nice voice.” Lily mused, leaning on the bar, “A voice can ruin someone's sexiness.”
“I don't think I like where this conversation is going.”
Lily smiles at him in an almost vicious way, a side of her so rarely caught simply because she's good at pretending to be good–but Sirius knows. She's more like them than she’d ever let on. It's why Sirius knows the night is going to go one of two ways; Oh so wrong or oh so right. She’s turned toward the bar in a second, slapping her hand on the top just loud enough not to be terribly rude, leaning forward as she whistled at the boy behind the bar to get his attention. He looks up from where he's standing, cocking that eyebrow with the scar, as if gauging to see if he's being teased and really he isn't wrong. Lily cocks her head back at him, watching him hesitate she beckons him over with a curl of her finger. He follows after a moment, walking slowly as if he is not exactly sure what he is doing until he is standing in front of Lily behind the bar.
“Ma’am?”
Oh, his voice is nice. So very nice. Warm and deep, Sirius almost wonders if he’s doing it intentionally. A way to get tips or something, the way that one word to Lily lingers sinfully in his ear.
“Oh,” Lily’s smile grows, self-satisfied, “Two of whatever's on tap, thanks.”
The boy nods, turning away to grab two glasses and Lily looks over to Sirius and widens her eyes teasingly.
“Wingman?”
“ Lily .”
“Don't worry, I’m great at this.” Sirius doesn't even get to process the words before Lily is talking again, this time to the boy behind the bar, “Haven't seen you round here before, new job?”
Sirius watches as he looks over his shoulder, watches his face tense and relax, watches him turn away again setting down a cup, foam spilling over the side and onto his fingers.
“Yeah, just moved up.” is what the boy eventually settles on, bringing the beers over and sliding them to Lily.
“From where?” Lily asks sliding over the cash for the drinks.
“South Wales.”
“Bit different than London, innit?” She laughs, “What made you come all this way?”
“Boredom, I guess.” he shrugs, “Can I get you anything else?”
“Maybe your name?” She asks, “I have a friend who would love to know.”
He pauses for a second, and honestly, Sirius thinks he might just walk away–He’s watched this guy do it before. Doesn't doubt for a second he wouldn't again. But then he looks. Maybe he was staring too hard, maybe luck was just on his side that day but the boy looks. He looks right at him. Sirius notices for the first time he has green in his eyes, green is his favourite colour. He stares for what must be longer than appropriate— it doesn't feel appropriate, he doesn't want it to, but maybe he’s just insane.
When he looks away, Sirius almost feels like it's a slight, until he opens his mouth to talk.
“John.” He says, “I go by John.”
“Well, John–”
“Oi, Lupin!” Rosmerta's voice calls out from the room behind the bar, Sirius looks up to see her coming out the door with a box in her arms, “Paying you to talk up the pretty girls now do I?”
John rolls his eyes, a grin Sirius hasn't seen before spreading on his face, “No, of course not. It's in my contract the only pretty girl I talk to is you,”
Rosmerta clicks her tongue, shaking her head at him despite laughing, “You and your cheek, ought to fire you right here and now,” She sets the box down behind the bar, hands finding a place on her hips, “How are you three tonight? This one isn't giving you any trouble is he?”
“Nothing more than we can handle,” Lily nods back, making Rosmerta laugh.
“Oh, I see. Should be asking the other way round, you giving my boy trouble? You know I hate to do it, but I’ll send you out.” She threatens with a teasing point, “He’s still new and sweet, don't scare this one off.”
“How'd you survive without us?” James asks, “I think we single-handedly keep this place running.”
“I’d find my way, Love.” Rosmerta laughs, “Now, you,” She says, turning to John, “off you go, boxes need to be sorted. I’ll handle these vultures at the bar.”
“You sure–”
“Shoo, Go.” Rosmerta is pushing him now toward the room she just came out of. “You're due a break soon anyway. Go, go.” Rosmerta looks satisfied as John leaves, clapping her hands before turning back to them. She raises an eyebrow at Sirius as if this is all his fault.
“I wasn't even doing anything–”
“Don’t you start with me,” She laughs, “now. Are you all taken care of, or do you need anything else, love?”
Smart enough to know when to stop, Lily grabbed her beers and said her goodbyes, leaving the boys at the bar. James watched her as she joined her group back at the table, eyes soft and a soft smile on his face. Sirius shook his head, James was such a fool. They’d only been together a year and yet he was hopelessly in love, personally, Sirius thought it was too soon to know, but then again he’d never been in love.
“Go on,” Sirius sighed.
James turned to look at him, straightening his glasses, “You sure?”
“Yeah, need a smoke anyway.”
James leaves with a smile, walking right over to Lily's booth and sliding in next to her, arm over her shoulder. Sirius rises from the bar, patting his pocket to make sure he actually remembered to bring his cigarettes. The air outside the bar is cold and sobering as he lights his cigarette, the heat warming his fingertips. He regrets not bringing a better coat, but his leather jacket had been a gift from Regulus and he’s more often wearing it than not.
He’s halfway through the cigarette when he hears a voice. In the alley beside the bar curses ring out, and Sirius should probably ignore it, go back into the bar and avoid the possibility of being murdered but... Well, he wouldn't be telling this story if that is what he did. He crosses into the alley, blowing out a huff of smoke only to find John, leaning against the wall with his head thrown back, neck on display. A pretty picture of defeat.
Sirius clears his throat to get his attention and John's head snaps to him at the sound, those brown eyes boring into grey.
“Alright?” he asks.
John stays stationary, his eyes breaking away from his own to scan up and down Sirius’ body, goosebumps following in their path. Sirius watches the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way the light of a nearby lamppost highlights his tan skin, the way an unlit cigarette hands limply between his fingers.
“Fine.” John nods, his eyes flicking to the lit cigarette, “Could I borrow a light?”
Sirius is reaching for his lighter before the question is even finished, sliding the zippo from his pocket and flipping it open, lighting the flame. John is closer now, cigarette to his lips as he leans down to where Sirius’ hand is shielding the flame from the wind. The flame lights his face in a wash of warm orange and Sirius can feel his breathing. He breathes in as the cigarette lights, pulling back and clearing his throat, going to lean against the wall but not moving away. For a while, there is just silence, neither the comfortable kind he has with James nor the uncomfortable he has with his father, just simple silence. There is no pressure to talk, to try and woo this man off of his feet and take him home like he has done countless other times, he can just be, and so he is.
It is John who talks first.
“Thanks,” He breathed out, “for the light.”
“Course.” Sirius nods.
Honestly, he's sure this is where the conversation is meant to end. Really, what else is there for him to say? He doesn't want it to end. He desperately wants to hear that deep cadence of the other man's voice echoing throughout the alley. He wants to learn him in a way he so often craves. He wants to know.
“I didn't think Rosemerta ever hired any staff,” Sirius blurts out, the half-formed question statement hangs in the air for a few seconds, “It's always just been her.”
“I guess she liked my dazzling personality,” Is Johns answers, shaking his head, “She knows my mother, they're old friends. She hired me on as a favour, she doesn't need the extra help but..”
“She's a good person.”
“Can't argue there.” John says, blowing smoke out his nose, “Do you come here often?”
“Been coming since I was 16, course if Rosmerta asks we were older.” That gets a short laugh from John, a pitiful sound that makes a smile grow on Sirius’ face, “My best friend, James, was the one who found it, and we never found anything better. You just can't replace how this bar feels anywhere else.”
“And how does it feel?”
“Homey.”
“Homey?” John asks, voice quiet, “Don't feel that very often.”
Sirius can't tell if it's a question or a statement, but can't help but agree either way. He would be the first to admit home was an unrealistic ideation for him, the feelings of safety so very rare and cherished. The ability to be loud and himself. He knew he could do that at the Leaky Cauldron, that Rosemrta would shake her head at him hopelessly but smile once she turned away, that James would defend him and join him in everything he ever ventured to do, they all would; every single one of his friends in their group. It was homey.
“You said you were from Wales, didn't you?” Sirius asks, and John nods, “How’d boredom drive you up this way?”
Sirius watches John as he fiddles with his cigarette, clenching and unclenching his jaw.
“Suppose things seem bigger here, a bit more meaningful,” John says, letting the cigarette fall from his fingers, using his shoe to snuff the flame. “Thought I’d find something.”
“Have you?” Sirius asks.
“I'm not sure yet,” He answers, “ask me again one day.”
“I'm holding you to that,” Sirius laughs, dropping his own cigarette as John pushes himself off the wall, “I'm Sirius, by the way.”
“Sirius?”
“Like the star. S-I-R-I-U-S.” He nods, “Just in case you were wondering.”
John smiles at him, a real genuine smile and just—Wow. Okay.
“Bye, Sirius like the star,” John smiles as he walks past, going towards the back entrance to the bar, “I'm Remus.”
“Not John?”
“My middle name,” he offers as an explanation.
Sirius simply hums, “Remus suits you better.”
*
INTERVIEW #2 // Dr. L. J. Evans-Potter Edinburgh, UNITED KINGDOM
I: Do you remember that night?
L: Mostly, I remember seeing him for the first time and thinking Sirius was in trouble.
I: What do you mean by that?
L: Well, Sirius was gorgeous. Thats a fact. He knew it too and he was so damn charming. He could meet someone and an hour later have them wrapped around his finger.
I: Do you think thats what happened here?
L: No. I thought he was in trouble because it didn't. Sirius didn't do attachment, or relationships or anything like that. He had a hard time. The people he was attached to were practically by force. Don't get me wrong, he loved us all, but love was seen as a weakness. Sirius couldn't afford to be weak.
I: Are you saying it was a.. Love at first sight sort of thing?
L: Ha. No, god no. I remember Sirius had disappeared for a bit and when he came back in the bar he gathered us all up to leave, I had wanted to go dancing and Sirius suddenly decided that was the best idea ever. He ended up avoiding the bar for almost a month, which was weird for us, it was where we all went nearly every weekend.
L: Of course, he eventually came back… But..
L: Remus had been pissed.
I: Oh?
L: Listen, I don't know what happened, I honestly don't want to. All I know is when Sirius came back he looked like a kicked puppy and all his drinks were either watered down or ‘accidentally’ spilt on him. One night they had a full-on argument over the bar, none of us had heard this guy talk above a half-whisper before so imagine how shocked we all were when all of a sudden Sirius is getting cursed out.
I: What happened then?
L: *Laughter*, Sirius leaned over the bar and kissed him.
L: If we had been anywhere else I’m so sure something bad would've happened, no one really knew how to react to it. Of course, we all knew Sirius was gay, or atleast liked blokes very much. It wasn't new and he had always been impulsive but.. It was a different time.
L: Remus had looked terrified. I don't blame him, not at all. I remember he left not soon after, but Sirius was right there with him. Remus started coming around a lot more after that.
I: So you could say you knew him well?
L: I think so yes, he was quiet. He was raised on a farm, and homeschooled by his mum. I remember a lot of times me and him would find ourselves out on James’ balcony in his and Sirius’ old apartment, we’d talk for hours. We both had trouble sleeping. Remus would tell me about his childhood growing up watching his parents take care of livestock and learning how to do it himself. I’d tell him about growing up in Scotland, and stories from boarding school. We were friends.
I: Let me guess, you don't think he could've done it?
L: ..Are you asking if I think he did it? Or if I thought he was capable of doing it?
I: Both.
L: People are capable of anything when pushed past a certain limit. Nervous systems get flooded, fight or flight kicks in, and if your brain thinks it’ll save you it will do things you never imagined yourself capable of.
I: That doesn't answer the question.
L: I don't know if he did it, ****. If he did, I can't imagine he didn't have a reason too. As for capable, yeah. Anyone is capable of it, even if they don't want to admit it.
I: And yet not everyone murders.
L: Some people are lucky enough not to be pushed to the limit.
“Rita,” Bruce called from behind the camera, causing the interviewer to look over, “Unbiased. Don't make me switch you out again.”
Rita rolled her eyes at that, turning back to Mrs. Evans-Potter who was sitting across from her. She was in the same place her husband had been the previous week when he had been interviewed, legs crossed in a similar fashion.
He had noticed it instantly when he first walked into the house, that the empty picture frame was gone. A large part wishes it was him conducting the interviews today, but the only reason he got the green light for the documentary was to agree to have a ‘bigger name’ on the project with him.
Rita had been his very last choice, but she owed the studio a favour. Now he was cursed to deal with her for half a year. Risking his biggest project to date because she had no integrity, no tact. She didn't care to prod until she got the answer she wanted—And all she wanted was a dramatic tantrum. After all, it was what she was known for.
He is lucky that Lily Evans-Potter is a force to be reckoned with, she hasn't fallen for the bait yet.
He isn't exactly needed for the shoot today but thought it better he came no matter how annoyed Bruce got at him. He didn't trust Rita, not alone. She could be a bloodhound. It was better for him to be here, just in case.
But she was distracted as of now, there was no harm in wandering a bit. Taking in the home in a way he didn't the last time. He stayed on the main floor, walking through the hallways and taking time for any photo that caught his eye. A wedding, graduation, birthdays, Mr & Mrs Potter's son in varying stages of his life.. And Them. The photo couldn't of been taken any earlier than '76, since it had the both of them in it. Young and full of life, sitting on a balcony holding hands and flipping off the camera.
“That was the first time Remus came over,” Mr Potter's voice calls from behind him, “Sirius spent two hours cleaning the flat. Forgot to go and pick him up.”
“Sorry, Mr. Potter.” he says, not the slightest bit guilty from being caught snooping.
James cringed at the formality, “Never getting used to you calling me that.” He says shaking his head, “It's alright. You've every right to look at these.”
“They seem happy.”
“They were.”
“When was this taken?”
“Bout a month before things went bad.” James sighs, “Month before he—... Well, I suppose you know the truth of it.”
“Mostly. Not all of it. Not yet.”
James hummed, standing next to him for a few moments before turning to look him in the eyes, “I hope you know what you're doing, kid.”
“Me too.”
James shakes his head, mumbling under his breath with a laugh before he turns on his heel and walks back the way he came. Leaving him to look at the pictures.
*
NOVEMBER 1976 London, UNITED KINGDOM
It's late when Remus gets home. He had taken two extra shifts on so Rosemrta could travel north for her son's wedding and hadn't got any kind of proper rest in a week. His flat is an ugly little thing in a renovated basement under a restaurant, the place is open 24 hours and the walls are thin . He can hear every little thing but atleast the rent is cheap.
He throws his keys on the couch once he is inside, shrugging off his coat and debating if he should shower now or in the morning when he notices it. His bedroom door is open, and there’s a light on. It's not bright, only shining a small bit of orange on the wall, it has to be the lamp on his bedside. He’s sure he didn't leave it on—He doesn't even remember using it at all that day.
He's slow as he walks toward the door, he doesn't live in a very safe neighbourhood and his mother would never forgive him if he was murdered. He can see the outline of someone on his bed, sitting crisscrossed with their back angled just enough that he can't see who it is and he can hear something—
Humming. Some Bowie song.
Remus pushes the door open before he can think much more about this possible rockstar-loving murderer, the doors hinge creaking and they turn toward him.
“Sirius? What the fuck” Remus can feel his heartbeat slow and lets out a breath of relief, but then he gets a good look at Sirius and the panic is back, “What the fuck?”
He’s bruised. A dark mark blooming on his left cheek and another knotted around his throat, as if something wrapped around it; His lip is slit and there's red stained around it as if it had bled for ages. He's holding a dark cloth to a spot on his head, and Remus would bet money that he has a nasty wound under it.
“What?” Sirius asks, “Am I not pretty anymore?”
Sirius is looking up at him from the bed, a half smile stretching the cut on his lip, and it's like he doesn't even feel it—like it's unimportant. Remus is staring; he knows he is. He can't look away, can hardly breathe as he takes in the face of his... of Sirius.
“Remus? I was joking– I'm fine.”
“Fine? You call this fine?”
Sirius shrugs, breaking eye contact and breathing out a sigh that leaves his body deflating: “Yeah, actually.”
“You've got to go to the hospital,” Remus is moving now, walking to his dresser and pulling it open. mind working on autopilot as he pulls out a non-bloody shirt for Sirius to change into, “You probably need stitches, when did this happen? I mean—What fucking happened?”
“My mother gets bored when I don't come for a visit,” Sirius answers lazily, “I guess I was away for too long.”
“What? Sirius, what do you even mean?” Remus turns, “That doesn't make—”
“Oh.” Because suddenly the realisation washes over him, the weight of Sirius’ words despite the lacklustre way he says them. Remus knows nothing of London politics, or what weight a family name holds, but he can pick up on context clues. He knows that Sirius’ family is important, their name holds power, and Sirius.. Well, Sirius is a walking hazard to high society, hes inperfect and beautiful. He belongs to the wrong sort, the sort his family would spit on. It would seem as though Mrs Black's preferred method of trying to change that is splitting her son's head open.
“God Sirius,” Remus doesn't know what else to say, what to do as he looks at Sirius sitting on his bed as if this is just something that happens, that its no cause for concern, “I– I don't even..”
“Don't freak out.” Sirius says, looking at him like he's a spooked animal, slowly holding a hand out to him, “C’mere.”
And who is Remus to deny him?
He takes Sirius’ hand, lets him lead him to sit on the bed, and lets Sirius push and pull him until he is tucked into his side. They are nearly the same size and yet Sirius seems so small as Remus’ hand replaces his where the cloth is held, keeping his other hand linked in Sirius’’. This boy is strange, he is something new Remus has never had, never let himself fool himself into believing he could have and yet.. How natural it is for him to hold. How natural it is to let the rage simmer in his heart as he discovers every bruise.
Remus has always been quiet. He grew up on a farm with only his idealistic mother and quiet father as company. He is no stranger to solitude, to cold beds and he can feel neither is Sirius. Remus knows he can't claim to be smart, that he is a rash man. He let himself fall too quickly, too deeply. He dove in without a second thought, and that would be his undoing.
He knew the moment he saw Sirius Black that he would be trouble, but Remus had been bored for far too long. Alone for too long.
Maybe the whole thing was his fault, or maybe it was the 12-hour shift he had pulled. He wasn't sure then and still isn't sure now. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.
“I think I may hate your mother.”
Sirius coughs out a laugh, tracing Remus’ hand, “You're a bit late to the party, there.”
“Why do you go back to her?” Remus asks quietly, “If you know this is what you’ll get in return.”
“Always have.” Sirius shrugs, “Money, I suppose. Loyalty.”
“...Sirius?”
“Hm?”
“I might just be exhausted, or maybe plain stupid,” Remus is mumbling, “what if you didn't have to go back?”
“I’ve tried,” He shakes his head, “ran away four times. She always gets me back, I’m her’s, always have been. It would be far too embarrassing for people to know her favourite son, her heir, left her to run amok with those unworthy. She’ll let me go once I'm dead, or as good as.”
Dead. Or as good as.
Huh. Remus can work with as good as.
INTERVIEW #3 // R. A. Black Edinburgh, UNITED KINGDOM
I: You look different in your pictures
R: Twenty-five years changes people.
I: I get the sense you're a cut-to-the-chase kind of man. *Silence.* No laugh? Alright, then. Tell me about your brother.
R: ..Well, he was a fool.
I: I’ve gotten that impression a bit,
R: He dove into everything head first, and I’m not going to make excuses for him. He wasn't good, he wasn't bad, he was a Black. There's no escaping that. I won't pretend he didn't have reasons, or that I didn't understand them but I also won't pretend he did nothing wrong.
I: You seem passionate.
R: Well, it was my life for a while there. I've spent nearly thirty years struggling with the decisions that were made. What became of us.
You see, dear viewers, what many news outlets tend to forget is that with the robberies and murders, there was a third crime. Kidnapping.
R: I think it was blown out of proportion, to call it a kidnapping.
I: You were a minor who was taken not of their own free will, what would you call it?
R: Tough love?
*
“This is insane.”
“We don't have to do it.”
“It's not going to work.”
“We don't have to do it.”
“Then again, she’d never expect it..” Sirius was saying, “She’d be too embarrassed to say she was robbed by her own blood, she’d have to.. play it off. Like I don't exist anymore.”
“..So we’re doing it?”
“But Reg.. I can't leave him there alone, he's.. different. He can't protect himself, thats my job.”
“So we're not–?”
“But what if we take him with us?”
“Sirius–”
“It's brilliant. I can take him and—and we’ll have the money and we can get jobs and find a place to live, we can be normal. He’ll get to meet Lily, oh! And James! And he’ll find his own friends and—”
“Sirius.” Remus interrupts, holding Sirius in front of him, “Are we doing this?”
“It's absolutely crazy.”
“Yeah,”
“And so very stupid,”
“Probably.”
“And so many things could go wrong.”
“Yeah.”
“..But if it works..”
“If it works…”
Sirius is looking up at him now, a smile slowly spreading on his face and lighting it up, black eye and all. It only takes a slight lean up for their lips to meet, the kiss is messy and not good at all—Their both smiling, teeth knocking, muffled laughs spilling out between short breaths. He pulls away, Remus’ hands cradling his face as if he is something special, gentle and innocent.
Sirius knows the truth, that he is nothing of the sort, but for a moment he lets himself believe.
“We're doing this.”
He seals the promise with a kiss.