Flightless Bird

It was early in the morning, and Remus’ eyes were still sore as he bent over his bike parked by the church, fastening packages to the pannier. He had agreed to do deliveries for both Gus Fletcher’s antique shop and Garrick’s bookstore that day, and it was getting colder and colder; his hands were numb as he fidgeted with the cords.

“I see the bike is helping out,” a voice spoke, and Remus twisted his head to see Sirius walking towards up along the pavement. He was wrapped up in a dark orange duffle coat and a green scarf, and his dark curls were windswept. He didn’t look so much the city boy as he came closer.

“Hi,” he said, and he smiled for some reason, and then Sirius smiled, and there was a weird something, like a click of the fingers, the pull of a thread, a spark from a lighter in the dark, the tugging at Remus’ heart. And then they were both standing there, smiling, before Remus startled, and turned back to his bike again. 

“You’re here early,” he said.

Sirius nodded down to the bag slung over his shoulder, “Had some chores.”

“You don’t have a butler to do that?” 

“What a quick wit you are,” replied Sirius, drolly. 

Humming in dry agreement, Remus fastened the last buckle and straightened, as Sirius wandered around to the front of his bike.

Remus gestured at his bag, “What chores?”

“Groceries. You know. One flavour of pot noodle. Another flavour of pot noodle. Tea bags.”

“Not a big cook?”

“Never really learned how to,” he said, and Remus resisted the temptation to make a private-chef related joke, instead beginning to pull on one of his thin gloves. “I’m probably deficient in all sorts of nutrients.”

“Probably.”

“Speaking of food,” He began, “You had dinner with Benji Fenwick yet?”

Remus slowed in fixing the knitted fingers, permitting his gaze to flick upwards. He answered, hesitantly, “No.”

“Interesting.”

“Not really.”

“Fascinating, even,” Sirius trailed his hand along the metal handlebar of the bike, until he reached the rusty bell on the left, which he dinged with a flick of his finger. “Has he asked you again?”

Frowning down at the ringing of his bell, Remus hesitated. Benji had not asked him again. In fact, in the past week he had not even seen him. But he settled on replying with–

“That’s none of your business.”

Sirius looked away with a drawn-back laugh, squinting out at the stretch of green park past the wall, “You’ve made it very clear that nothing you do is my business, Lupin.”

Then– “Remus?” 

Remus knew the rough voice, the cadence worn down from years of smoking, and he squeezed his eyes shut, for just a moment, as if he could somehow will himself to be somewhere else. Eventually, he turned. It was Lyall, standing there wearing his usual oversized jacket and a nervous smile which Remus struggled to half-return.

“There you are,” His dad said.

Stepping back from his bike, Remus pressed his lips together, “Hi.”

Lyall took a step closer, “Went to your flat, but you weren’t in.”

“Yeah. Because I’m… here.” replied Remus, shortly, and he glanced at Sirius, who was uncharacteristically quiet as his eyes flickered between Remus and Lyall.

Clearing his throat, Lyall rasped, “How have you been?”

“Fine.” 

“Good,” Finally, Lyall looked over at Sirius as well, giving him an awkward nod of his head, “Who’s your friend?”

“Uh…” Remus stalled, searching for any way he could avoid introducing Sirius Black to his father– as if he needed any more reasons for Sirius to taunt him.

But before Remus could get to explaining, Sirius stuck out a hand, grinned, and said, “I’m Sirius.”

“That’s a hell of a name,” chuckled Lyall.

“Well,” Sirius lifted a shoulder, “It runs in the family. My brother got the worst of it. Regulus.”

“Almost as bad as Remus,” muttered Remus, with no real heat behind it.

“I wanted to call you John,” said his dad, and he put his hands on his hips– it almost made Remus smile, how much he looked like the father he had known when he was nine or ten. It was the same position he would take to scold, or to inform Remus of some very serious fact. “Remus wasn’t my idea. It was your–”

Trailing off, Lyall’s mouth warped into a strange, wobbling line, and he rubbed at his own wrinkled temple.

“I know,” Remus finished for him, “It was mum.”

In the silence that followed, Sirius glanced back towards Lyall, and then over to Remus, before his grey eyes rounded. Wincing, Remus avoided his gaze, staring off into the town square instead.

“Remus, I–” Lyall began, and his voice shook, “I need to have a word. Are you around later for a chat?”

“I don’t know,” said Remus, keeping his focus trained on the spire of the church, “I’m busy.”

“When you're not busy, give us a call,” his dad raised his arm to place a hand on his shoulder– Remus did not miss how it trembled, or the yellow cigarette stains on his fingers, “You still have my number, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Right-o,” Lyall drew back, forcing another taut smile onto his lips, “I'll leave you lads to it then.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Sirius said, quickly, and Remus glanced at him incredulously, resisting the urge to jam his elbow into Sirius’ side for pretending to actually have a scrap of manners.

He waited until his dad had shuffled away, his head shrunken into his coat like a turtle, before putting some distance between himself and Sirius. Remus stepped back, narrowly avoiding bumping into a lamp-post as he turned towards his bike and pulled it out onto the quiet road.

“Lupin–” Sirius started.

“I’m late to deliver this,” Remus cut in, and then climbed over the saddle and kicked off from the curb; he did not want to see his expression.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Remus was walking when Lily phoned him. It had been a long day at the bar, and luckily he had been able to go home early, before all the light had left the sky– so he had pulled on his worn-down trainers and jacket and set out into the cold air. 

The sun was setting in pale streaks of yellow and orange across a clear sky as he crossed the first field. In his pocket, his phone vibrated, and he fished it out to see Lily’s contact ID, the picture of her taking a ginormous bite of a blueberry muffin. He had taken that at Madam Puddifoots when they were seventeen. 

“Hi,” he said when he answered, “You alright?” 

“You sound out of breath,” Lily told him.

“I'm walking,” he replied, “Need fresh air, I've been stuck inside working all day.”

“Where to?”

“Cliff's edge by Shell Beach.”

She sighed, wistfully, “Ah. Classic.”

“I'm predictable, I know. How's uni?”

“Fine,” She was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “You know who I keep seeing?” 

“Who?”

“James. James Potter? He keeps trying to talk to me.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, “Trying meaning you aren't… letting him?”

“It's not so much letting,” she reasoned, the frustration evident in her voice, “It's more a matter of time.”

“Time?”

“I don't have time for– him.”

“Alright.”

“I mean, I have a degree to do,” Lily continued, as if he were arguing against her, “And he's not helping matters by bringing me hot chocolate– and–”

“He's bringing you hot chocolate?” Remus repeated, smiling, “That's sweet.”

“It is not sweet, Remus,” said Lily, sternly, “It is distracting, and you're not even allowed hot drinks in the library but of course he's got the librarian in the palm of his disgustingly attractive hand."

Silent at first, Remus considered this, before replying, “Is it just his hands that are attractive, or…?”

She groaned, “You are not helping.”

“Sorry.”

“We're just friends,” she said, “I've made that very clear.”

“If you say so.”

“I do! Stop it.”

“You're being incredibly defensive,” Remus told her cheerfully, as he pushed open the wooden gate into the next field. 

“Yeah, well, why don't we talk about your resident problem instead?” She asked, and he frowned, his spine prickling, and not just from the icy winter air. 

“Don't know what you mean.”

“Goes by the name Sirius Black?”

“He's not my anything. We don't even really speak.” Not true. But he didn't think Lily needed to know that. 

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Because last time we spoke, you seemed kind of–”

“Listen, I've got to go,” he said, which was at least true, despite his obvious attempt to avoid the subject altogether, “I've just got to the hill.”

“Alright, alright,” Lily sighed, “I should probably get back to my essay anyway.”

They hung up, and Remus began the climb up the high slope that rose up past the thinning trees and bushes; it cut off sharply on the other side, chipped into the jagged face of the cliff. 

He was nearing the top now, his calves burning as the incline steepened. He reached the level stretch of earth, the grass tickling up to his ankles. Rolling back his shoulders, he could feel his cheek numbing with cold, and he turned around to the cliff– where, there was someone standing. 

It was only instinct at first, a feeling that the silhouette leaning up against the metal railing was Sirius. Then, the person turned their head in the direction of the blinding sun, and he saw the outline of their profile. 

Speak of the devil, he thought. Warily. Almost turning to leave, but not quite able to. 

“Don’t jump,” Remus says instead as he walks up behind him. Freezing, fresh air stings his skin, skips its way up his spine, the salt wind ruffling through his hair. 

Sirius raises his chin but doesn’t look back at him, “As if you’d care.”

“You’d make one hell of a mess,” murmured Remus, a smile tugging at his mouth, “Would be a shame for such a pretty view.”

“Sure,” Sirius said, and he turned around, one hand still braced against the railing. His expression was clear, and careful. “That was your dad yesterday. Wasn’t it?”

Even though he had almost been expecting this question, he blinked in surprise. “Yes.”

“He seemed nice.”

Remus snorted, and he shoved his boot into a stone– he watched it skitter off across the rocks and out of sight, before lifting his head to meet Sirius’ eyes, “Did he?”

“You aren't close,” Sirius said, in a tone that made it clear it wasn't a question. 

“No. Not anymore,” he replied, “It's… complicated.”

Nodding, Sirius leaned back, “Family is complicated.” 

“Yeah, well,” murmured Remus, frowning out at the faded horizon where the deep blue of the sea unfurled out into the mist. He shook his head, and added, his voice stiff and quick– “It's whatever. I barely see him anyway “ 

“When did you move out?” 

He tensed, “Why do you care?”

“No need to bite my head off, Lupin. I'm just curious.”

Pressing his lips together, Remus replied, “When I was eighteen.” 

Sirius was still watching him, but at least he had the grace to not show any change in his expression, “That’s a long time to live on your own.”

To tell the truth, Remus hadn't thought about it in a while, or at least had been trying not to think about it; that time in his life, when he had finally made the decision to leave, was like a child’s messy jigsaw puzzle of half-packed suitcases and weeks of only using a faulty microwave for his meals. 

“It's better this way,” he settled on. 

Sirius asked, “For you or for him?”

First, Remus walked closer so they were standing across from each other, tracing the damp metal. He didn’t want to look at Sirius when he said this. “He's an alcoholic.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ voice was soft. His fingers twitch against the rail. Remus still does not risk glancing up.

“Has been for a long time.”

“Yeah? How long?”

“Don’t know. He’s always liked a drink,” His shoulders were painfully tight. And suddenly he was wondering when he started talking about this, and why his mouth would not stop moving even now– “Wasn't a problem until I was thirteen.”

“What happened--” For a moment, Sirius faltered, and it was then that Remus finally met Sirius’ gaze, which was still and gentle, like clear running water. “Why thirteen?" 

“My mum died,” Remus said, and the way Sirius was looking at him made him nervous, so that he stammered over his next words, “I don't know why I'm, um– you don't need to hear about this.”

Sirius’ mouth pulled upwards, warily, “I'm the one asking questions.”

He frowned, swivelling the ring around his finger, “Well, maybe you should stop.”

“Stop asking questions?”

“That sounds like a question to me,” fired back Remus.

“Damn,” A smile glimmered across Sirius’ mouth, warm and perplexingly genuine, “You got me.”

Remus shook his head, searching for a way to explain himself, and landing on– “I don't talk about this, normally.”

“You know what they say about talking.”

“What?”

“People should…” He waved a hand indiscriminately in the air, “do it… more.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Remus told him. He could taste the salt on the wind as it rushed through him, pushing back against his jumper and his trousers, tousling his hair. Below, the sea crashed against the rocks, racing to meet the sand with a crackle of white foam and broken waves. 

“Hey, Black?” he added.

“Yeah.”

“How come,” His mouth was dry, “I always end up speaking to you about this shit?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “You’re asking me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why do you think?”

“I said I don't know," Remus frowned, "I was expecting some sort of scathing insight."

"I do love to scathe..."

"I am well aware."

Sirius' eyes glimmered, "Maybe you're a masochist." 

"Very funny. That's not it."

"Then what is it?" 

Remus sighed, and then replied, eventually, wearily, "I guess you don't give enough of a shit to treat me differently. You'll always be the same."

He repeated, “The same.”

“You know... Belligerent.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

Shifting his weight, Sirius put a hand up to his own nape, teasing at the hair that curled there, the ringlets made tighter by the dampness of the mist. It was a habit. Something Remus had noticed now and then. As he stood there in the silence between them, he seemed to be debating with himself about something, his lips twisting. 

Finally, he said, “I don't speak to my dad either. Or my mom.”

Remus could not help the spike of his heart, a token of his surprise, “You don't?” 

“They–” he tipped his head to one side, as if searching for the right way to phrase it, before finishing, “don't know I'm here. They don't know what I'm doing, actually.”

“But…” began Remus, a thousand new questions springing into his head, “Won't they be worried?”

“They have bigger problems right now than worrying about their failed attempt at a son. Trust me.” 

It was the most Sirius had ever spoken about his parents in all the time Remus had spent arguing with him or snapping at him, and Remus did not know what to do with it. He wanted to ask about the bigger problems. He wanted to ask what it was that made the perfect Sirius Black, who looked like an angel that had snuck onto earth, who had a knack for charming anyone but Remus, and who was clearly well-educated to an annoying degree, a failure. 

But he didn’t. Instead, as his brain whirred like a hungry, frantic engine, he studied Sirius’ face, his expression.

“Can I ask you something?” said Sirius, and it snapped Remus out of his reverie, “About your mum?”

“Yes.”

“What was her name?”

His heart skipped. Her name. “Hope.”

“Ah,” Sirius was quiet. He asked, “Was she? Hopeful?”

“Oh,” Remus smiled, and he thought about her. The soft green of her knitted cardigans. Her perfume, the only thing she ever splashed out on. The way she hummed, the way she corrected his grammar everytime without fail. “The most desperately hopeful person I've ever known.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“She was,” replied Remus, and he turned his body to face Sirius, so that they were face to face, “Thank you. For asking. People don’t usually ask. It’s nice to be able to talk– about her. When someone dies, everyone just… stops talking about them.”

“I know,” Sirius said. He didn’t say anything else. 

Instead, they were sharing at each other, and Remus felt conscious of his whole body, his nose, his eyes, his stupid gangly limbs. Sirius’ eyes pinned him down, like pieces of falling grey sky. The breaths in Remus’ chest quickened. On the fence, their hands were inches apart, pinky fingers nearly brushing. 

Sirius was suddenly very serious. Any usual glimpse of mirth or mockery was gone as he ducked his head, and he pushed himself away.  

“I should go,” he said, and he was tugging his coat further around him, “I– have somewhere to be.”

“Sure,” Remus murmured as he watched him head back down the steep hill, his head bent, going slowly in the slippery grass. “You always do.”

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Although they had texted, It had been a week since Remus had last called Lily, because he was staying firmly and resolutely away from his phone. Three unanswered messages sat for him there, heavier and hungrier by the day. 

Hello Remus. Around for a chat ? 

Dad. 

Is this still the right number?

Dad. 

I popped round again earlier. Old woman downstairs told me you were out - sorry. Txt me when your in? 

Dad. 

Even now, as he poured what was hopefully one of the last pints of the night, his stomach lurched a little. He knew he could not avoid the texts forever.

He had not slept the night before. He had nearly typed back once it had passed 3 in the morning, and he lay there, scowling at the ceiling. At least his flat, with the aid of his new curtains, was dark and cool, and not a bad prison to spend the night tormenting over paternal relationships. 

As the last customer, an older man from the village, sat nursing his beer in the corner, Marlene appeared from out of one of the back rooms, having just completed their stock count. She had cut her bangs into a more full fringe, which she blew out of her eyes as she slumped over the counter and groaned. 

“Ugh,” she frowned, rubbing at her shoulder, “My back kills.”

“You can go home,” Remus told her, “Once that guy leaves I'll just lock up.”

“Nah,” Marlene replied, with her usual unflustered grin, “What about closing?” 

“I can handle it.”

“Uh. I mean, you look a bit tired, Moo, are you sure you–”

“Marlene,” cut in Remus, a little too sharply, “Please. I'm not a baby. Go home and I'll deal with it.” 

It wasn't fair, because he was, of course, absolutely exhausted. But she did not need to know that, and God knows she's finished up enough late shifts for him when he was on the verge of losing consciousness. 

Unbothered, Marlene shrugged and went to fetch her coat, a gaudy yellow puffer-jacket. She pulled it on over her black work clothes as she headed for the door, calling back, “Meet me tomorrow?”

“When?” he asked.

“We'll grab lunch. My treat.”

“We're paid the same, you donkey.”

“And you're the only one paying rent,” she stuck out her tongue as she passed out into the cold, “My. Treat.”

Before he could argue anymore, she was disappearing down the street and into the night. Shaking his head, Remus leaned against the counter, watching as the old man drained the last of his pipe and slowly gathered up his jacket. Soon, with a tip of his hat, he was gone too. 

Remus sighed and turned his head about the room, kneading the muscles at the back of his own neck with his knuckles. He started with putting the chairs up on the tables first. 

He was climbing, hauling himself up a soaring tower made entirely of books; encyclopedias, textbooks, the novels that scattered his night-stand, the old volumes he saw in bookshops, tattered library books he borrowed as a kid. The higher he climbed, the more the tower shook beneath him, the pages shifting under his feet. Just as he was reaching the top, his foot slipped on a cover, and the whole world crumbled beneath him, and he was falling and falling–

It was dark when Remus jolted awake. His neck must have been stretched at a particularly awful angle, because it ached as he sat up, a sharp twinge that yawned all the way down his back. He blinked, and then realised only a split second later where he was, and what had happened…

“Fuck!” he said, scrambling up from the chair, and towards the bar– and then stopped. The lights were dimmed, but he could see the glasses all polished in their racks, the countertop clean and still slightly wet, although gleaming. There was nothing even cluttering the surfaces. The chairs were up on the tables. 

“What?” he put a hand to his now throbbing temple as he turned to look at the blinds down across the windows, wondering deliriously if he had somehow done this in his sleep, when the floorboard creaked behind him, and he startled. 

Sirius stood by the side of the bar. He was in a knitted jumper, and he was wearing a woolly hat even though he was indoors, and Remus was struggling to place him in the current context of what was happening. He wondered if he was still dreaming. 

“Calm down, Lupin,” Sirius said, “It’s no big deal. You just fell asleep.”

“You–” Remus’ head spiked with another sharp ache, and he grimaced, partly from the pain and partly in deep disappointment in his own fucking brain. He had never fallen asleep on a shift before, no matter how bad his night had been. “What are you doing here?”

“This is a public house, right?”

Remus screwed his eyebrows together, “Not in the mood tonight, Black.”

“Really. It’s okay,” Sirius told him, and there was something unreadable brewing in his expression, “No one else has been in here. I saw you were asleep so I came in. That’s all.”

“It's really not okay,” Face burning hot, Remus spun around to look at him, “I don't understand. Was Marlene here? Or… Frank?”

“No.”

“Then who the hell closed up?” Remus asked, flinging out a hand to gesture at the chairs on the tables, the bar wiped clean, the gleaming glasses.

“I did, you dickhead,” Sirius said.

“You did,” repeated Remus. His stomach twisted, and he sat down again, “You did? Sorry– why would you do that?”

“I was bored.”

“Seriously?”

Sirius sighed, almost long-suffering, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“What?” Instantly prickly, Remus began, “Well, you should have woken me up, Black, I would have been absolutely fine–”

“Please!” snapped Sirius, and it was only then that he realized the strange emotion simmering in his eyes was a hot frustration, “You fell asleep at the table, Remus! You’re clearly not fine. You’re clearly exhausted. God forbid you give yourself a fucking break–”

“Hey,” bit Remus, the word cutting harshly through Sirius’ tirade as he rose from his seat, another pulse of pain and exhaustion sweeping through him, “You are doing exactly what I said that I– you’re treating me differently.”

“What are you talking about?” Sirius wound a hand through his own hair, white-knuckled, his teeth gritted, “God, you are so fucked up.”

“I’m fucked up?”

“Yes, because you can’t ever accept help! It’s infuriating! Just because someone does something for you doesn’t mean they’re treating you any differently. Maybe they just…” he trailed off, and then he was shaking his head, falling back into silence. 

Remus frowned at him, “Just what?”

For once, Sirius did not have a sharp-tongued reply, or confusing open-ended statement, or even one of his trademark withdrawn goodbyes. He slammed open the door, and walked out. 

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

It was getting closer and closer to Christmas - and if there was one thing Godric’s Hollow loved more than Halloween, it was this time of year. As the first days of December ticked onwards, the number of fairy-lights in the town-square increased three-fold, as did the shop-fronts that dressed their displays with tinsels and baubles. 

As Remus cycled through the centre, the seat shaking as his wheels hissed over the uneven cobblestones, he caught sight of Arthur Weasley and Lily’s dad, Edward Evans, struggling to drag their massive fourteen-foot tree. Just like every year, this tree would be placed neatly in the square and smothered with Christmas decorations. Just like every year, both men were panting and red in the face. 

Remus called, “Good luck!” out to them as he rode past, and Mr Evans raised a hand to wave wearily back at him. 

When he got to Grimmauld House, he hopped off his bike, and tied it to a thin tree at the edge of the property. He walked up the path to the door, fishing in his satchel for the tupperware he had stashed away for his journey. 

Then, he lifted the knocker, and brought it down. 

It did not take that long for the door to open, and Sirius looked out at him. Despite it being the afternoon, he looked like he was still in his pyjamas, his eyes shadowed. Not that Remus, the king of dysfunctional sleep, could judge. Instead, he cleared his throat, his heart fluttering frantically in his chest like some sort of trapped bird, and held out the plastic container towards Sirius. 

“What?” Sirius said. 

“Here,” Remus thrust it out further, but Sirius did not yet tske it, “It’s teriyaki noodles. Fresh. You said you didn't cook much.”

Sirius peered down at it, and repeated, “What?”

Remus sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, quickly, very quickly so he didn't have to think too much about what he was saying or the heat taking seat in his cheeks, “Okay? I panicked. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep like that on a shift.”

And Sirius was still staring at him, so Remus added, “So. Thank you for helping me.”

“Look at you,” Sirius said, and his gaze swept up and down the length of his body. 

Not for the first time, Remus was struck with the distinct feeling that he was a particularly interesting exhibit in a gallery, or an item being sized up for auction. Maybe it was just something about Sirius’ eyes; the way they traced every part of him, the way they lingered. Even worse - it was not a look that made Remus recoil. It made his head spin. It made him feel hungry. 

Sirius continued, “Remus Lupin. Apologizing to me.”

“Alright. Don’t get too excited.”

“I can’t help it,” he said. Despite his general maddening attitude, he was at least now smiling, “Now I’ll always have the memory of you grovelling–”

“– Apologizing–”

“The memory of you grovelling at my feet, keeping me warm at night–”

“At night?” 

“I forgive you,” Sirius told him, and he reached over, and plucked the dish out of Remus’ hands, “You may resume your regularly scheduled programming of hating my guts.”

“And you,” said Remus, but now he was distracted, looking down at something else– the hoodie that Sirius was wearing, olive green with the block letters O X F O R D written across the chest. 

“My eyes are up here, Lupin,” murmured Sirius, his mouth quirking upwards in bemusement, and Remus startled, his head jerking upwards.

“I know,” he said, quickly, “I just– was looking at your jumper.”

“Oh,” Sirius tugged at the front of the sweatshirt to peer down at it, “Yeah. University memento.”

“Right,” Remus nodded, but he knew it came across as strange and stilted, “Must be… nice.”

Container of food tucked beneath his arm, Sirius was watching him, “Would you ever apply? To Oxford?”

Remus drew air in between his teeth, a noise that came out like a laugh, “I’m probably not clever enough for that.”

“Do you actually think that?” 

He shrugged, “I don’t know. I never went to private school or anything.”

“You don’t have to,” Sirius told him, his eyes narrowed. 

“Sure.”

“Did your friend Lily go to a private school?”

“No,” conceded Remus, but he still shook his head, “but… that’s different”

“Different how?”

“She’s special.” I’m not, he added, only in his head.

Sirius’ face scrunched up, an expression that would have looked ugly on anyone else, “Lupin– you–”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing.”

It did not seem nothing. But after a few seconds of Sirius' standing there, clearly disgruntled, Remus gave in, redirected the subject, “Even if I was applying to universities, I wouldn’t to Oxford.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Remus smiled, “Maybe Cambridge. Or Durham. They have some amazing Literature modules.”

“You’ve thought about it a lot,” Sirius said, as if he were telling Remus something he did not already know. 

“Not that much,” muttered Remus. He rubbed his numb hands together, his fingers pale from the cold. “Only, you know. The last five years of my life.”

“That’s a while.”

“Not really.”

“Okay. It is, though.”

“Fuck off, Black.”

“Gladly, Lupin.” 

For a ten more, long, strange, taut, seconds, they stood there, Sirius on the doorstep with his ruffled hair and pyjamas, Remus tired and windswept. And if it had been anyone else, Remus thought this sort of quiet, the way they stared, like two dogs circling each other, would have meant something. 

But it was not anyone else. It was them. So it didn't. 

Eventually, Remus drew back, and walked back to his bike at the edge of the property. He heard the door closing behind him. 

As he wheeled his bike over the rough terrain towards the road, he fumbled for his phone. There was another message waiting for him that he squinted down at, half-fearing it was yet another text from his father. 

Hi, it's Benji. I got your number from Marlene. You still owe me a dinner! 

Against his better judgement, Remus turned his head back towards Grimmauld House rising behind him, his eyes finding a light glowing from the upstairs window.There was a horrible, clawing feeling, deep in his chest.